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carmyboobear · 2 months

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.

tags for this ch: alcohol use, throwing up, semi-permanent lipstick, accidentally embarrassing carmy in front of all his coworkers

Chapter 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick (8k)

He doesn’t get to see them for a couple days after that night on the couch.

This is more the rhythm he’s used to—early mornings and late nights, out of the house so long he never sees them. The next several days blur together into what feels like one very, very long day. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. It often feels as if he didn’t sleep at all.

Their past exchange haunts him. He catches himself slipping, lost in thoughts as he watches the pot simmer. They’ve never had any sort of conversation like that before. Sure, they didn’t really talk about anything, but…

But in that same vein, Carmy can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if they’re thinking about it, too. The thought feels like a tangled ball of yarn in the pit of his stomach, writhing and messy. He shouldn’t be thinking about it—they’re just roommates, after all.

He’s restlessly worried about that moment on the couch, and yet, he can’t even muster up the words as to why.

Because if you finally say it, it’ll all be real, he thinks vaguely, somewhat hysterically to himself, and that’s where it always ends.

Wednesday evening, he comes in from home exhausted as ever. Nothing new. He feels the strain in his wrist when he shoves his shitty front door open—obviously overdid it in the kitchen. After shoving his sneakers off, he flicks the lights on in the kitchen, and he spots a bright pink sticky note on the counter.

Now that’s new.

He walks up to it, squinting at the pink that’s almost neon under the fluorescents. It’s a note from his roommate.

hey carmy, it reads, scribbled on in pen. im going out with friends tonight, so I won’t be back until later + leftovers in the fridge if you want any :)

Carmy makes a small noise of acknowledgement to himself. Picks up the note, puts it back down.

Running a hand through sweaty hair, he opens the fridge. It’s full of ingredients, perhaps far too many for a guy who barely cooks for himself. Ironically enough, it’s the one who doesn’t cook for a living who keeps the fridge stocked. There's a lot of miscellaneous sauces, near empty coffee creamers, and mysterious tupperwares.

He spots a new tupperware that has another pink sticky note on it, so he grabs that one out of the fridge.

He pops it open. There’s condensation on the inside of the lid, and it drips onto the floor. Inside sits pasta, potatoes, chicken, onions, and peppers, all cooked into a cheap, yet harmonious meal. It’s a familiar instant pot recipe.

It tastes familiar, too. The ingredients together taste like home. He’s not sure if it even tastes like his home, although surely his mom cooked something like this. As he stews over the flavors in his mouth, Italian seasoning, garlic, and black pepper, he wonders if maybe this apartment is starting to feel like home.

The thought is so ridiculous he shakes his head to himself, but…

It feels warm coming home to someone. He can’t deny that he likes that feeling. Maybe he’s settling into this place more than he thought. Maybe he’s…getting more used to having a roommate than he expected.

Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow, he thinks as he stares at his dark bedroom ceiling. He’s so sleepy he can’t even help himself from thinking about them. The lethargy always goes full blast as soon as his back hits the mattress.

Graciously, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps. Unfortunately, he wakes back up again in only a matter of hours.

When he reluctantly wakes up and squints at his phone, he sighs. 1:14 am. Slapping his phone back down on his side table, he stubbornly shuts his eyes in an attempt to go back to bed. It would’ve been too nice if his body let him sleep throughout the night.

Then, there’s the sound of the door opening.

He listens to the familiar sound of their footsteps against their old hardwood floor. It’s admittedly a little strange—it’s usually the other way around, with Carmy coming back home so late they’re already asleep. Except for this time.

They’re in the kitchen, he deduces, carefully listening. It’s easy to hear everything, especially in the quiet of night. As he closes his eyes again, listening, he imagines them.

The sound of the fridge opening. No, the freezer—it always squeaks when it opens. It shuts. Yes, now that’s the fridge door. He imagines them looking into the fridge just like he was a couple of hours ago, tilting their head thoughtfully to the side. He’s not sure if they know that they do that.

By all means, it should be disruptive, the way they’re opening and shutting cabinets in the kitchen. And yet, as he lays there, snuggled drowsily into his sheets, it starts to sound like a lullaby. He listens to them, thinking of them cooking, and he begins to drift to sleep.

“Fuck—fuck! Shit shit shit—”

There’s a sharp yelp, and Carmy’s jumping out of bed.

If he’s being honest, he probably wasn’t actually going to fall back asleep so easily anyway. He rarely ever does.

He stumbles into the brightly lit kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. The lights are so bright that he’s squinting, struggling to adjust.

“Sorry if I woke you up, there was a roach,” they explain meekly before he can think of what to say. They’re standing there, bottle of roach killer in their hand.

Carmy looks down. As expected, there’s a big dead roach, sitting in a pale pool of roach killer.

“I…see.” He yawns, a big one that makes the corners of his eyes tear up. “You didn’t wake me up, I was already awake. You just got back?”

“Mhm,” they reply, reaching for some paper towels, and that’s when Carmy really notices their outfit. Black, flashy, clearly meant for a night out at a bar. Dark colors always looked good on them. Their makeup matches, dark and smudged around their eyes. Seeing them dressed up like this makes it nearly impossible to deny how much he likes looking at them.

He in particular likes the plunging neckline on their thin shirt, dipping right down their chest.

Stop stop stop, he thinks suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He’s lucky they’re not looking at him, instead preoccupied with throwing away the roach corpse on the floor. He looks around almost a little frantically to find something, anything else to talk about.

“What’s this?” Carmy asks, peering into the pan on the stovetop.

“I, like, really want garlic bread right now.” They lean onto the counter, looking at the pan with him. “So I was making garlic bread. But then that fucking roach came and killed my vibe.”

This is when Carmy notices that they’re rather drunk.

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t this, uh, just a piece of bread?”

“Oh.” They pause, lifting the bread gingerly with one finger. “Um, this is so totally a piece of bread. No butter. No nothing.” They start laughing then, leaning harder onto the counter and covering their face. “Fuck, that is so dumb.”

“You were getting there,” he comments, unable to resist an amused smile.

“I couldn’t find the garlic powder,” they admit, face turning into a frown. “Or, like, anything else. But I need garlic bread, Carmy. I need this.”

“We have garlic cloves,” he points out.

“You cannot expect me to mince a fuckin’ garlic right now,” they retort, motioning at him with their arms so aggressively they stumble towards him. Instinctively, he puts his hands on their shoulders, and tries not to think too hard about it.

They’re warm, and they smell like perfume, weed, and alcohol.

“I think you should sit.” Carmy suggests, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t think he’s seen them this drunk before.

“Hm. Yeah. Imma do that.” They trudge over to one of their bar stools at the kitchen island, slumping onto it. Their shirt droops, revealing more skin, and Carmy pointedly looks away. There’s the sound of their forehead smacking against the counter, and then a groan.

“Uh, you ok?”

“I’m drunk and I want garlic bread,” they whine, flopping their arms across the counter. “But I can’t find the garlic—the garlic powder, and…I’m too stupid to make it right now,” they end in a miserable mumble.

“I could make you some,” Carmy hears himself saying.

“...Really?” They tilt their head up to look at him, eyes big and full of wonder. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s just garlic bread,” he tries, instantly stricken with embarrassment. He hopes he’s hiding it well enough.

“But you’re making it!” They make a contented noise. “Imagine getting the best chef in the world to make you garlic bread.”

“I can do a lot better than garlic bread. Just so you know,” he says, entirely in an attempt to hide the way their praise makes him feel giddy.

“I know.” His attempt backfires—their response is so genuine it makes him feel worse. “You could definitely do a million times better than garlic bread.”

“Maybe not quite a million, but somewhere around there,” he says, and then he starts working.

He starts with a clove of garlic, mincing it quickly on their small wooden cutting board. He stands at the kitchen island with them, eyes flickering between the garlic and their watchful gaze. They’re still strewn across the counter, cheek pressed against the surface.

“You literally mince garlic so good,” they mumble, eyes glued to his knife. “I wanna do it like you.”

“I could teach you.” The garlic is chopped thin, and then scraped against the edge of his knife. “Just takes a lot of practice, really.”

“Teacher Carmy,” they say, almost like a song. They’ve got this big, dopey smile on their face that makes Carmy’s heart hurt. “Mr. Berzattooo,” they add, their smile growing more mischievous.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he admits, words tinged with amusement, and they laugh. “I think we should just stick to chef.”

“Yes, chef!” They salute unnecessarily, and he chuckles.

He takes out the butter—their nice butter, not the spread stuff. Heats it over their pan, scrapes the minced garlic into the hot butter, creating a delicious sizzle.

“You, uh, go out to a bar?” He asks, because he’s curious. It’s easier talking to them with his back turned to them, forced to face the pan.

“Yeah, just went with a couple of friends. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought a little fun would be nice. But I must say, bars are not exciting on Wednesday nights.”

“Seems like you got to have a good time anyway.”

“Mhm, yeah. They had cheap drinks. I got so many.” They laugh. “They honestly didn’t taste that good.”

“And you kept getting them?”

“It’s just ‘cause they were strong. Sometimes you just wanna get fucked up, y’know? Oh my god, it smells so fuckin’ good right now. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s just butter and garlic,” he answers honestly.

“This is the best thing ever. You are literally so nice.” The sincerity in their words is so palpable that Carmy feels his stomach twist. “Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.”

Fuck, Carmy thinks distantly. He adamantly refuses to acknowledge how this comment makes him feel.

“I dunno about that,” he replies, a safe neutral even though he can’t help the embarrassment.

“Really?” They blow a raspberry at him. “Well, I like having you as my roommate. That’s something, right?”

Carmy’s glad he’s not facing them. He’s not sure what his expression looks like right now.

“Well. Lucky for me, I guess.” He pauses, listening to the sizzle of the garlic. for a moment. “You’re a good roommate, too. I…didn’t know if I would like having one at all.”

“Oh yeah? You never had one before?”

“Not since culinary school, and they weren’t good.” He sighs at the memory. “But this…I like this.”

“I like it too,” they agree, almost a bit dreamily. “It’s nice not having to be by yourself all the time.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

He turns around then, garlic bread plated and in his hand, and they gasp, hands over their mouth.

“Carmy,” they whisper. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, smiling in endearment.

“Um, yeah. And you just made me garlic bread. To a drunk person, garlic bread is the next coming of Christ.” They slide the plate towards them, staring at it with big eyes. “And you put cheese on it!”

“Should I not have?”

“Of course you should have!” They exclaim. “You could’ve put some shit on this I’ve never heard of and I would still eat it. You’re a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Well.” He laughs. Shakes his head. “I’m flattered?”

“You should be,” they whisper. They take a huge bite of it, resounding with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck.” They shake their head from side to side as they eat. “This is so fuckin’ yummy.”

“Good, good.” He nods, pleased. He props his elbows up on the counter, gauging their reaction.

“You are so talented,” they gush, continuing to eat urgently. “And so nice.”

Carmy knows he can’t hide the way his ears go pink.

“Well.” He gives them a shrug he knows looks as half-hearted as it feels. “I do nice things for nice people,” he says finally, mostly because he can't just take the damned compliment.

“I'm nice people?” They repeat, so genuinely earnest that Carmy almost laughs. “That's a relief. I’m, like, so glad you think that, because I can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes.”

“Annoying?” The self deprecation surprises him. They don’t usually talk like this. “I don’t—I don’t think you’re annoying. Have I ever, uh, seemed like I—?”

“Nonono, it has nothing to do with you,” they interrupt with a hiccup, waving their hands. “I just, like, have issues.” They laugh, although Carmy’s positive there’s nothing funny about this. “And I really like you as a, as a roommate,” they stutter clumsily. “So I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I, I don’t think you would fuck it up.” There’s something a little unsettling about all this, something that’s putting Carmy on edge.

“I always find a way! I just do, because, I’m—I’m not good at being a person,” they blurt out, and then there’s tears spilling all over their cheeks, streaked with black mascara.

Shit, Carmy thinks.

“Hey,” Carmy says softly, gentle and careful. He looks up at them, concerned eyes searching their watery ones. He wishes he had the words, but they're talking again.

“I just can’t do anything right,” they sob, bottom lip wobbling. He’s also not sure if he’s ever seen them crying so hard. Their face is scrunched in pain, skin drenched in tears. “I, I, I can't even fucking make garlic bread!”

“You're drunk,” he reminds them, carefully. “Very drunk.”

“I'm drunk, too,” they wail, and Carmy wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I'm a drunk fuck-up! I, I'm too damaged…”

“Damaged?” He echoes. Their own brutality towards themself takes his words away, and all he can do is repeat their cruelty in disbelief.

“My whole life, I've just,” they whisper, and something about it nestles into his chest and stays there. The feeling of it is familiar. “My—my whole life, I—oh, god—”

They stop with a sharp inhale, slapping their hand on their mouth. It’s a movement that Carmy would recognize just about anywhere.

“Shit,” he curses, and he rushes them to the bathroom.

They’re still crying as they throw up into the toilet, apologizing profusely. Carmy tries not to look, just focusing on holding up their hair.

“I’m sorry,” they apologize again before shoving their face back into the toilet.

“It’s okay. It happens.” He absentmindedly notices that he’s never touched their hair before. It’s soft—must be well taken care of. “You’re doing great right now, okay?”

“Thank you,” they sob, tilting their head to the side to rest their cheek on the toilet seat. He lets their hair fall behind them, instead just keeping one hand on their back. “I’m really s-sorry,” they say again, eyes watery and red.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, because it's all he can say. They seem grateful enough.

I haven’t thrown up like this since college,” they tell him miserably. “I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes throwing up,” he reasons, and they make a weak noise of agreement.

“Last time, I threw up in my roommate’s bathroom—” they pause, as if fighting a wave of nausea, but it seems to pass. “And I barely missed the toilet,” they whisper, like it’s some sort of dark secret.

“Damn.” Carmy’s not sure if he should be smiling, but he is, just a little bit. “Sounds like you were shitfaced.”

“So shitfaced,” they echo. At least they’re smiling back at him. That’s a good sign. “It was such a mess. I felt so bad.”

“Were they mad?”

“No, they weren’t. They even cleaned it up for me.” They groan. “I felt soooo bad, Carmy. So bad. I was worried they would forever hate me for that.”

“Well, if they weren’t mad at you, I’m sure they wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“I just really didn’t want them to hate me,” they say, and they’re looking so intently into Carmy eyes that it feels like he’s bearing his soul to them. “Are you gonna hate me?”

“I'm not gonna hate you because you're throwing up.” Their hair’s falling into their face, and he moves to tuck it behind their ear before he can think about it. Their cheeks are hot to the touch. “Would I be doing this for someone I hate?”

“Good point,” they mumble. Carmy’s hand lingers behind their ear before moving back to the middle of their back, rubbing little circles. The touch is guiltily electric on his end. “Sometimes I just…think people are waiting for a chance to hate me.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to find an excuse to dislike you,” Carmy says. “But…I get it.”

“...You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure what else to say. They’re still looking at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I’m not used to anyone caring much about me.”

“I care about you,” they whisper. “I care about you a lot.”

Silence settles between them as any words Carmy had disappear on the tip of his tongue. They just keep looking at him, their eyes gentle and searching, and he can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t tear his hand off their back, either.

“You shouldn't,” he whispers, strangely honest. “I'm not worth it.”

“Too bad.” He can't look away from their gaze, their eyes that are infinitely knowledgeable. “If I can't care about you, you have to stop being nice to me.”

Carmy opens his mouth to protest, but he can't. They seem to know it, too, with the way a knowing smile creeps up their face.

“I don't wanna do that,” he replies finally.

“Thought so.” Their face glows brilliantly with a smile, and it should be infuriating, but it's not. “So deal with it. Me caring about you.”

He laughs at that, because it's so stupid.

“Stupid,” he laughs, and they laugh back, their giggles echoing into the ring of the toilet. “Y'know, I fucked up today at work.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I was cutting onions. I've done it a million times, but for some reason, I fucked it all up. Onions got all over the floor, and I had to redo it all. Well, my sous had to redo ‘em.”

He's not sure why he's mentioning this to them, or why he's even mentioning it for a second time, but he is.

“I haven't fucked up like that in forever,” he continues, reliving the memory in the back of his brain. The knife hitting the floor, metal against linoleum. “It was stupid. I hadn't done something so fucking, stupid like that in—god knows how long.”

That can't be the point, he thinks to himself. He can't just bring up him messing up onions just to complain about messing up onions. That's not worth anything, to him or to them. They're drunk, anyhow. Why is he bringing up his issues like this, right now?

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” they say with surprisingly clarity. Their words carry a measured gentleness that doesn't seem possible from a drunk. “It would be crazy if you never messed up, y'know. Like, ever.”

“But it's been years,” he protests. There's a pressure building. “Years since I messed up like that. And someone had to clean up after my shit. They shouldn't have had to do that.”

“Hm…” They make a thoughtful noise. “It's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“Of course not.”

“That's what friends are for,” they murmur. “And coworkers. Sometimes. It's ok that you messed up.”

“...” A part of Carmy wants to continue protesting, but it feels futile. “I shouldn't have brought it up, you're still drunk anyway,” he says, mostly to himself, but also because he can't stand to acknowledge it anymore.

“I don't care,” they whisper. “I like it when people talk to me about things.” Carmy feels something twist in his stomach, palpable and physical.

“I’m probably being annoying,” he mutters, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he wants to bash his head in for saying something so childish.

“No. You’re not.” They respond before he has a chance to take it back. “I want to know you, Carmy.”

“You already know me.”

“Not as much as I would like,” they mutter, eyes fluttering shut, and Carmy has no choice but to swallow the heavy truth.

“You shouldn't fall asleep here. If you're feeling better, we need to get you into your bed.” He knows it's unfair, changing the subject like this. But he can't bear to look at it anymore than he already has.

Luckily for him, they relent without any protest. They lean up against him as he helps them to their room. It's a bit difficult to wade through the piles of clothes on the floor, but Carmy's no better.

“I really didn't mean to get this fucked up,” they mumble once they're laid back in bed.

“No one does.”

“Maybe not no one,” they mutter, mostly to themself. No comment. They sigh. “What time is it?”

“Uh…2:35,” he says after a beat, searching eyes landing on their bedside analog clock.

“Motherfucker. I'm sorry. Don't you have work tomorrow?”

“I do. But…it's fine.” It's very much not fine, he has to wake up in a couple hours, and yet. Here he is, at the end of it.

“You're sweet. You really are.”

“I'm…not sweet,” is all he can get out, voice quiet.

“Well, I think you're sweet to me. Taking care of me like this.” They outstretch their arms all of a sudden. “Come here? Please?”

He knows what they're asking. They've never hugged before. He’s only a hugger when it comes to family. He's seen them hug friends before, maybe, but him? Never.

He shouldn't get closer, he really shouldn't. But he ends up doing it anyway, because he tells himself he likes the way they say please.

“Can I hug you?” They ask.

“Um,” he says. He nods.

They smile again, as brilliant as ever, and bring him into a tight hug. They smell like the mint mouthwash they insisted Carmy retrieve for them, along with their perfume.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” they say. He’s never heard their voice in his ear like this before. They wrap their arms around his neck then, and Carmy’s heart feels like it’s in his throat.

“No problem,” he gets out, feeling a bit breathless.

Before he can even form the next thought, they’re pressing a sleepy kiss on their cheek before flipping back down on their bed.

Carmy feels like throwing up, but…not in a bad way.

“Good night,” they mumble, so sweet. “And thank you.”

Something in his brain shuts off after that. He walks to his room like a zombie, and he falls asleep nearly instantly.

It turns out that going to bed at 2:30 am the night before work is not so fine at all.

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t sleep,” Carmy says groggily when he comes in, and everyone’s eyes are on him. They’re staring so intently like there’s something on his face. “What?”

“It’s, uh,” Sydney starts, but Richie swiftly cuts her off.

“Must’ve been a long night, eh?” Richie says with such a shit eating grin that makes Carmy pinch his eyebrows.

“Fuck’s your deal?” Carmy bites back, gesturing at him. The length of his fuse matches the amount of sleep he got—slim to none.

“Nothing, cousin,” Richie replies, even though he’s still grinning like a mad man. “You better be telling me about it later though, got it?”

“Whatever,” Carmy mutters. It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this shit. “Just catch me up on what I missed.”

The day starts off rough, but he gets through it because he has to. Throughout the day, though, he can’t help but get the feeling that people keep looking at him when he’s not looking. Maybe it’s just his typical paranoia, but…

“These look good,” Carmy praises. “Really good,” he reiterates, turning the delicate dessert around on its circular plate. Marcus beams, clearly pleased. It’s a small matcha cake with carefully placed layers of ganache and fruit. Carmy takes a bit of it with a fork, rolling the earthy and tangy flavors around on his tongue.

“How is it?” Marcus asks, eyes firm on him.

“A little crumbly,” Carmy answers honestly. “Did you take my advice from last time?”

“I did,” he replies, frustration evident in his voice. “Think it’s the oven?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Carmy takes another bite. “Try a lower temp. Other than that, though, it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, chef,” Marcus says. “Means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He claps Marcus on the back, short and quick. “You’ve been working hard. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He pauses then, staring at Carmy. Just like how everyone has been all damn day. “Uh, Chef?”

“What?” He feels the impatience bubbling up in him, frustrated and confused. “People have been staring at my goddamn face all day like I got some shit on it.”

“You do,” Marcus says. “It’s not shit, though. Looks like…lipstick,” he says after a beat.

“Lipstick?” A rock drops in his stomach. Carmy raises his hand to his face, searching.

“On your left,” he clarifies. “By your ear.”

He rubs aggressively there, but he pulls his fingers back without any color on it.

“Did I get it?”

“Well, I thought you did.” Marcus makes a noise, thoughtful. “Guess it’s one of those permanent ones.”

“Permanent?” Carmy repeats, a little hysterical.

“Semi permanent,” Marcus clarifies. He seems amused.

Carmy rushes into their small, shitty bathroom, getting close to the streaked mirror. He angles his head to find the stain. Sure enough, it’s right here on his cheek. It’s a dark, reddish color, in the smeared but recognizable shape of a kiss mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His head feels hot. It must’ve happened last night, when they kissed him right before falling asleep.

Semi-permanent, he hears Marcus say in the back of his head. Of course it is.

With a wet paper towel, he scrubs at the mark so hard it hurts. Even so, it remains, still clear on his pale, reddened skin. He wishes his hair was long enough to hide it.

“It’s not coming off,” he says, stressed upon returning to Marcus’ station. He hopes he doesn’t sound as hysterical as he feels. Sydney’s there too, chewing on the matcha pastry Carmy had earlier. “Why the fuck isn’t it coming off?”

“You’ll probably need a makeup wipe. I think I have some in my bag if you want one,” Sydney offers. Carmy swears she has a halo around her head. “Just a warning, though, they’re old as fuck. I haven’t worn makeup in a long time.”

“It’s fine. Can I take one?” Carmy runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Can’t believe no one fuckin’ told me. I—I fucking greeted customers like this!”

“It’s cool, Carm. At least it wasn’t a hickey,” Marcus reasons, and Carmy thinks his ears go hot.

“Thank god,” he replies, sarcastic, and they have the nerve to laugh at him. “Shut up,” he tries, but there’s no real heat behind it. Sydney leaves and comes back with a semi-dried up makeup a minute later.

“Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work,” Sydney states, a cautionary disclaimer. “It might be one of those that has a specific remover.”

“Are you serious?” The sigh that comes out is full of disdain. “Fuck me.”

“Day’s already almost done, if it makes it any better,” Marcus notes with a cheeky smile, and Carmy just shakes his head.

The makeup wipe doesn’t work. Carmy tries not to get mad, but maybe he does. Maybe just a little bit.

“It’ll come off with enough washes,” Sydney reassures him. Tina’s standing with her now, too, eyeing him like a spectacle. Everyone seems to be enjoying his misery.

“Just ask your girl to get rid of it for you,” Tina says, an eyebrow raised. She raises a thumb to his cheek, rubs at the mark like a mom. “Damn. Shit’s on there.”

“They’re not—it’s not like that,” he sputters. He’s been trying to get through the day without anyone asking about it, but now that there’s some down time, there’s no stopping anyone.

“A one night stand?” Tina guesses, eyes widening. She laughs and smacks him on the arm. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”

“It’s not that, either,” Carmy stresses. He knows he’s getting overly flustered about it, but he can’t help it. His eyes flicker towards the clock. They’re closing soon. “Just forget it, okay? Please.”

He can tell from their expressions that neither of them want to forget about it, but by some stroke of luck, they’re considering letting it go. Just for now. That’s enough of a victory for now, so he’ll take it.

At least, it would’ve been a victory if Richie didn’t take that very opportunity to step into the kitchen.

“Been trying to find you all day, bastard!” Richie hollers, slinging an arm over Carmy’s hunched shoulder. Carmy sighs, expressive in his annoyance. “Looks like this baby’s finally growing up, huh?”

“I’m 30, asshole,” Carmy says, tiredly, but that never works. Richie’s still talking, anyhow.

“So? Do I know the chick?” Richie’s grin makes Carmy want to punch him.

“No,” he replies, flatly. He’s so tired. “And it’s not what you think. It was just, they’re, uh…”

“Oh shit, cousin!” Richie’s laughing, obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Didn’t think you were capable of—“

“It’s not a one night stand. Already guessed that,” Tina interrupts him.

“What?” He sounds annoyed, like he has the right to be more irritated than Carmy himself. “Then what’s the secret third option? Or are you lying to my face?”

“They’re my roommate,” Carmy explains, finally.

There’s a beat of silence. And then, uproarious noise.

“You have a roommate?” Is Richie’s first question. The second: “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Is, like, dating a roommate a good idea? No offense,” Sydney says, hands raised in defense. “Just wondering.”

“It’s not,” Tina answers for her, sharp eyes narrowed at him. But strangely enough, she’s smiling nonetheless.

“They’re my roommate, we’re not dating, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be weird about it!” He shouts over the noise, directing the last one at Richie. “Look—they were just drunk, and I was helping them because they were fucking throwing up. Happy now?”

“And they kissed you,” Richie points out. He’s grinning like he knows some big secret.

“Fuck, okay, can we stop fucking talking about this now? It was just an accident, it’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’re never gonna mention this shit again!”

Carmy gets saved by some distant catastrophic noise in the back, somewhere around the freezer. He leaves without a word. Behind him, he hears raucous laughter mostly to Richie’s tune.

Before he leaves for the night, he stops by the bathroom one more to try and get it off. Predictably, it remains stubborn and stalwart through soap, hot water, and scrubbing. The skin under it is red with irritation, and Carmy knows that he's getting nowhere. If anything, he's making it worse.

His eyes linger on the blotted lipstick on his face. It's smudged, but he can see the cracks and the shape of their lips. His gaze follows the lines of it.

The memory burns bright in his head for a split second. It bursts in like a flashbang, intense and unavoidable. There's a phantom sensation of their lips on his cheek, the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their embrace, and it's, it's just—

Carmy shuts the lights off and heads out. He needs this lipstick mark gone by morning.

When he gets home, the apartment is dark. Unoccupied. As he flicks on the lights, he searches for them. They're usually home before him most nights. However, it seems tonight is an anomaly. He walks down the hallway past his room to theirs, and their ajar door reveals an empty bedroom.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Just his luck.

He opens his phone then, a last resort. He has his messages pulled up, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard and stay there.

How the hell does he even word this?

Hey, I need lipstick remover.

No, that isn't enough information. Who knows how many types of remover there could be? What if it isn't the right one? He needs to be more specific.

Hey, I need lipstick remover for the lipstick you were wearing last night.

That sounds even stranger. Too specific, although it's the truth. That's what he needs. But he can't just…type that, can he? No, there's no way.

Is there any way he can get out of saying that there's lipstick on his face from last night and not make it weird? He wishes they were here so he could just show them. Words have never been his forte. There's little hope for him now.

Please come home right now, he briefly considers typing. It's by far the worst one out of all of them.

After pacing for a solid five minutes, he decides to send a hopefully neutral message.

Hey, you out for the night?

It's still pretty weird. Carmy is not a texter. There's not much he needs to talk about that can't wait until he sees them next. They're usually the one texting him, and it's usually only about groceries or bills. However, he tells himself it's fine because there's no note left on the counter. They always leave a note when they go out.

…They always leave a note when they go out.

This thought resets his pacing around the apartment, frantically looking for the square shape and vivid color of a sticky note. That's how they usually do it, and it's typically on the kitchen counter. So, it's honestly a futile effort to be looking around the whole place, but he does so anyway.

He looks at his phone. It's been almost 10 minutes, and still no response.

This isn't unnatural by any means. They always end up responding eventually, but the prickling anxiety is getting pricklier by the second.

They've got to be so hungover. There's no way they're out again tonight, he thinks to himself, and he's positive it has to be true.

They're missing, and you're not ever gonna get this shit off your face, his brain adds helpfully.

That's what finally kicks him into gear and forces him to press the call button.

It rings for a long time. The more it rings, the longer he stands there in the kitchen, the stupider and more anxious he feels. It's a pitiful feeling to be consumed by, but here he is, unable to resist.

However, when they finally pick up, he's not sure if he feels completely relieved. A different part of his anxiety is spiking now.

“Carmy?” Their voice carries a trace of static through the phone speaker.

“Yeah, hey. You see my text?”

“Oh, oops. Sorry, I missed it. Is everything ok?”

“Where are you?” He asks instead.

“I'm just gettin’ a drink from the corner store. Why? You want me to grab something for you?”

The absolute nonchalance in their voice humbles him, reducing him to complete embarrassment.

“Uh, no, I don't need anything. I mean, uh, I do actually need something from you, though,” he amends hastily.

“Sure, what's up? I guess it must be important if you're calling, right?”

“I, um—yeah, kinda important,” he says with attempted tranquility, completely ignoring how much he was freaking out earlier. “So…you got, uh, lipstick remover?”

“Lipstick remover?” Their surprise makes him shrivel. “Well, I have a couple types of makeup remover…”

“I think it needs to be specific?”

“You think it needs to be specific? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Their voice carries bewildered amusement.

“It's, uh…” He swallows. He can't tiptoe around it anymore. “It's…yours?”

“...Huh?”

“You got some lipstick on me last night, and it's not coming off,” he says finally, mortifyingly, and the line goes silent.

“Fucking—I'm so sorry, my memory is spotty from last night and I, I thought I imagined that, and, uh—” They awkwardly clear their throat. “I'm sorry, I really am. It's not supposed to transfer like that, but I guess it just…”

“It's okay,” he says, despite how hysterical it made him earlier. That part isn't their fault. “It's just, uh, really staying on there.”

“Shit. Of course. It's this super resilient lipstick I use for when I go out drinking, because it's not supposed to come off like, at all, so it comes with this specific remover—I'm sorry, I don’t need to be rambling like this.” They laugh nervously. “I'm on my way home now, but it should be on my desk if you wanna look at it. It's a black tube, which…isn't very specific, I guess. And my desk is really messy…”

“I'll start looking,” Carmy decides.

“I'm sorry,” they reply miserably.

“It's okay. You said you were coming home now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Cool. See you.”

The call ends. Carmy just stands there for a minute. It's like a tidal wave just rushed over him, and now the water is slowly settling to a stand still.

Black tube, he thinks. How hard can that be?

Very hard, it seems.

Their room is comfortably messy. Definitely not as messy as his. There's some clothes on the floor, jackets on chairs, underwear he turns his gaze away from (don't imagine them in that lace one lying in the corner or the flowery one or the fucking thong he didn't see anything), but that's about it. Nothing outside of typical clutter, in his opinion.

The desk, though. The desk.

He doesn't think he can even see the surface of it. There's just lots of little things scattered across it, from piles of jewelry to stacks of papers and books. It's like an ispy book.

He stares at it, trying to find a black tube. He quickly realizes how much of a futile effort it's going to be.

In this moment, he thinks about how he's never spent much time in their room. The two of them usually hang out in the living room. Besides, he's not one to go snooping around in someone's personal space. Until being pushed to his limits and being given explicit permission, that is.

He leans in, peering closer at the scattered items. There's a little bit of everything. Receipts, make-up brushes, scissors, paper scraps, empty water cups, hair ties, empty candy wrappers, lipsticks…none of which are black tubes.

Maybe it's not on their desk. Maybe it's on a different shelf.

They said it was on their desk, a voice in his head says, but he’s not listening.

The next closest thing is their nightstand. It's a little messy, but nowhere near as bad as their desk. There's a melatonin bottle, some lip balm, a bedside lamp. He squints, seeing what might be more pills or maybe skincare until a dark tube catches his eye.

When he picks it up, he realizes it's not black, instead being a dark blue. Also, it's not a tube, it's more of a bottle.

The text on it also reads as lube, not lipstick remover.

…Lube?

It's lube, his brain repeats, helpful as ever.

I can see that, he thinks back.

“Hello? Carmy?”

A familiar voice has him scrambling to put the lube back. He moves it back to the night stand more quickly than he could have ever expected of himself.

“Hey, I'm in your room,” he calls back, hoping that his fabricated nonchalance comes off as believable. He steps out of their room into the hallway, and they appear at the end of it.

The first he notices is how much better they look when he saw them last. To be fair, the last time he saw them, they were sobbing and throwing up into the toilet, drunk out of their mind, but still. It's still an improvement. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold, and their hair is mussed from being outside.

“Hey. Did you find it?”

“I couldn't find it,” he admits. He steps out of the way to let them through, and then he follows them back into their room.

“Yeah, sorry, my desk is a fucking nightmare,” they mutter darkly, making a beeline for their desk. “I swear I took it out and put it right here…Ah, yes!”

Miraculously, they pull it out. It looks like a lipstick in itself, and when they uncap it, it just looks like a white lip balm.

“So, do I just…rub it on?”

“Well—yeah, you should, but it emulsifies with water, so you just use water and then use a cotton pad…” Carmy supposes the confusion isn't too well masked on his face. “Can I see where it is?” They ask tentatively.

Wordlessly, Carmy turns his head. He supposes they're just glad they didn't see it immediately.

“Oh.” When he turns to face them again, their cheeks are dark with color. It's not a look he's used to seeing on them. “I'm sorry,” they say again with a downturned head.

“It's okay,” Carmy says again, and he means it. He brings a hand to his cheek subconsciously. “I just…”

“Let me take it off,” they insist, guilt knitted in their expression, and that's how Carmy ends up seated on the toilet seat.

“Now I'm the one getting patched up on the toilet,” he says quietly. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but it makes them laugh.

“So, um, when did you notice?” They ask. The tube uncaps with a small pop.

“A couple hours ago,” he admits. The balm feels smooth and oily against his cheek. “I had no idea, but my coworkers, uh…”

“Oh my god,” they mutter under their breath. “I just don't think I'm ever gonna stop apologizing for this.”

“It's fine, really,” he insists, even though he was manically scrubbing at his skin earlier. “It was sorta funny,” he adds, even though he was freaking out while everyone else was laughing. They don't need to know.

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah. It was—uh…”

He feels their thumb rubbing circles into his cheek, and the words disintegrate like sand in the wind.

“Sorry, this is just one of those things that takes a little bit of work to get off.” Their tone projects a casual indifference to it, but their voice is so quiet that it feels unfairly intimate.

“I didn't know lipstick could be this…intense,” Carmy hears himself say. He's far away, still trapped in the feeling of their hand on his face.

“It's what you need for an intense night out,” they reply with a small smile. He looks up at them then, meeting their dark eyes, but they're concentrated on the spot on his cheek. When they catch him looking, though, they don't look away.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly. He can’t stop looking.

“A lot better. Yesterday was rough, but I'm feeling okay now.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. Um…” They lean back, breaking eye contact, and Carmy feels a pressure releasing. They grab a wet paper towel and carefully drag it across his cheek. “Thanks again, by the way. For putting up with me last night. I mean, it was more than just putting up, but…y'know.”

“Sure,” he says, much softer than intended. “It happens.”

“I think you're just nice,” they tease, fully intended to be light-hearted, but because Carmy's the way that he is, it weighs heavily in his chest.

“Sometimes,” he mumbles, because that's all he can bear to say.

Because last night, they looked him in the eyes and whispered that they wanted to know him. That they thought he was sweet, he was kind. They spoke with such earnestness that for a split second, Carmy considered believing them about everything, even though that’s always the wrong thing to do.

Because once he believes them a little bit, he’ll start acting like he’s a good person. He’ll fool everyone around him, even himself.

Then, the inevitability that is his self-destruction will arrive like it’s always promised. He will mess everything up like he always does, sharp-edged flaws unfurling from the inside out. They’ll slice everyone he was able to fool into getting close enough.

The least he can do is try and give some kindness back before it happens.

“Just take the compliment,” they say with a small grin. “Y'know, I don't remember everything from last night. There's bits and pieces I know that're missing. But from what I do remember…” They make one final wipe at his cheek. “You have to let me be nice to you.”

He remembers, too.

So deal with it, they had said. Me caring about you.

“How could I forget,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes out sounding far too breathless. Luckily for him, their laugh, much more tangible and believable, joins his own.

“I said some crazy shit last night, I know.” They take a seat next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “But I meant it. I like being your friend, Carmy. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“You didn't say too much. You were just drunk.” He feels a bit stunned.

“Okay,” they accept after a beat. “I mean, you're right. I was just drunk. Um…” They gesture towards his face. “I got the mark off, by the way.”

Carmy stands up and checks his face in the mirror. Sure enough, it's gone. He feels relief wash over him like a breeze, and another feeling he can't place. It's…It's…

“Thanks,” he says, and they nod.

“It's the least I could do.” They stand up, too, and walk out of the bathroom. They stand in the doorway for a moment before looking at him. “I'm gonna smoke. You wanna join?”

It's…

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be just a sec.”

Then it's just him in the bathroom, the door shut as he stares at his reflection. The harsh fluorescent bathroom light casts harshly down the planes of his face, creating dark shapes on his face. He stares at the spot where the lipstick mark used to be. The longer he stares, the more the unnamed feeling stretches outwards.

When it drops in his stomach, that’s when he realizes.

The feeling is disappointment.

@zorrasucia

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #WHEEEEE CHAPTER 2 LETS GO!!!!!! thanks everyone for the kind words on ch 1.... it made me very happy..... i love carmy so much. so very muc #this chapter is all over the place but that's just whats up #my stuff #my writing #also hello zs i hope that's what u meant by tagging u LOL i'm a newbie to this #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

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fantastic-nonsense · 1 year

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the funniest thing about comics being called inaccessible because it's "impossible to know where to start" is that there are several hundred comic fans running around with extremely detailed reading lists literally begging people with metaphorical dog treats to read the comics on them and then talk about their faves with them

if you can google, you can find an easy-to-understand starter list for a character or team you're interested in

#it's me. I'm one of several hundred comic fans with multiple detailed reading lists begging people to read comics #pls I want to talk about them with you! I want to share them! I am herding you all like cats into my obsession!#there are absolutely several reasons that comics are inaccessible to newbies. 'not knowing where to start' isn't really one of them #personal #dc comics #marvel comics #indie comics

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angstywildcats · 2 months

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they're calling 7 year old maprojects classic....................... ( slowly withering into dust) (/LH)

#things that will make me realise how long ive been here #get me out get me out get me out #ahhhh (banging at the walls)#classic for me is . little fang (though thats only a 2 year difference apparently lol)#joan of arc. type of stuff #time is wack my guys #i feel a bit haunted bc i feel still like a “newbie” of the animation community but #i sure have been doing videos since 7 years ago huh..#echo feels a lot more recent too but ive been lied to apparently #(ALL SLASH LIGHTHEARTED BTW)#i genuinely have seen younger people literally see smth and go “i grew up w this at (before legal internet age)”#and that shocks me to my core every time

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misc-obeyme · 3 months

Note

Hello my beloved CC I’d love to hear about how Mephistopheles would react to MC giving him conversation hearts?

Dearest Violet, I hope you're having a fabulous Valentine's Day!

I really thought I wouldn't have time to do all the other characters today, but the stars have aligned and gave me some unexpected extra hours! So I went ahead and did everybody, including of course our man Mephisto! I also did my OC Arsenios because I was curious about what his reaction would be lol.

Thank you for asking! 💕

XOXO Part Two - GN!MC x side characters & OC Arsenios

Warnings: none!

Part One

Diavolo

Absolutely thrilled, of course. Tell him everything you know about conversation hearts, even if it's just that they exist and are sold every year. Watch his eyes get all shiny as he looks at them because he thinks they're so adorable.

He will eat them, but he will read every single one in the box out loud to you first. And he'll want you to eat them with him, so he's going to deliberately give you the ones that he would actually like to say to you. This means you end up eating most of them because he can't help himself.

Give him the one that says MY HERO and watch him blush. He tries to keep his cool, but you can see how much it means to him. He's happy you gave him these, MC. Thank you for sharing a piece of your world with him.

Now you're the one blushing. Diavolo gives you his signature laugh and pulls you into his arms. Gives you the last one that just says KISS before doing exactly that.

Barbatos

He's surprised, but quite happy because it turns out he actually made his own version to give to you. He thought you might like a little piece of home, but he never expected you to share that same thing with him. He's touched that you thought of him, MC.

He is aware of them because of his tendency to learn about human world desserts and candies. The ones he made for you are beyond delicious. You insist he share them with you because they taste better than the normal chalk version. Barbatos is happy to, but he finds the regular human world variety quite charming as well.

His hearts have a lot of the usual cute sayings, but a couple of them have more elaborate decorations such as a little bouquet of flowers or an elegant lace pattern. You can't help but blush when you find one that just says your name.

He finds the same message in both sets of hearts and gives them to you. They say BE MINE. Give him one back that says I'M YOURS and all the sweet candies are forgotten because he needs you in his arms that very second.

Simeon

Oh these are incredibly cute. He's so happy that you've given him some! If the box happens to have any texting acronyms, though, he will be baffled. Holds one up for you that says TTYL with a question in his eyes. Explain to him what they all mean and that it's only something they include because they're short enough to fit on the hearts.

Simeon finds them delightful. He'll be especially pleased if you give him an extra box for Luke. He thinks Luke would love to decorate a cake with some of these!

But he has to admit that the messages are a little too short to truly encompass how he feels about you. He shifts some of them around to from little sentences, eventually landing on REAL LOVE, PEACE, FOREVER. Do you understand what he's trying to say, MC?

Maybe you form your own sentence in hopes that he'll see you do understand. Something like ONLY YOU, ANGEL. Watch him blush and smile. Then he's kissing you and it's far sweeter than anything a conversation heart has to offer.

Solomon

Of course he's already familiar with this particular item from your shared human experience. He was probably alive when they first came on the scene and he might tell you about it if you prod him enough. He might not have been paying much attention, though, so likely his memory on this just that they showed up at some point.

He's really quite happy that you gave him some. His instinct is to wow you by using magic to alter them. He turns them different colors and changes the words on them. He makes one spell out a whole Shakespeare sonnet one or two words at a time.

You can't help but laugh at that, but you tell him it's cheating. If he really wants to let you know how he feels, he has to use what's already in the box. He accepts your challenge. Have you forgotten who you're dealing with, MC?

Surprises you by not giving you a whole stack of them. He only hands you a single heart. It says, boldly and clearly, I LOVE YOU. He's smiling his mischievous smile, but there's a slight blush there, too. Your answer is a kiss.

Mephistopheles

At first he's somewhat confused. Why are you giving him a box full of chalk, MC? He's not exactly familiar with human world stuff, so he doesn't realize it's candy at first. Explain it to him and he's surprisingly appreciative. He wasn't expecting you to think of him.

Really knock his socks off by giving him a few extra boxes for his little brother. The fact that you remembered he has one really makes him soft. It also gives him the opportunity to ask about your own family. He wants to know about them, if you want to talk about them.

Now you're having a whole conversation that goes far beyond the hearts, but you're both enjoying them together. He might not even like them all that much, but he seems to be content to eat them with you.

Deliberately give him one that says FIRST KISS and watch him get flustered. Acts like it wasn't an invitation on your part, so you'll have to be a little more blatant if you actually want him to kiss you. Eventually he gets the message and it turns out he's wanted to kiss you all along. You can tell by how hungry his lips are and the way he wraps his arms so tightly around you.

Raphael

Surprises you by actually knowing about them. Seems confused by your surprise. Surely you've heard about Michael's preference for sweet things. That extends to human world items like this, too. He doesn't really get the appeal, but he is happy that you thought of him.

He actually likes the brevity of the messages. They're short and efficient, communicating a single sentiment quickly and clearly. Nobody could misinterpret something that says CALL ME. That's pretty straightforward, don't you think, MC?

This argument is all well and good until you give him one that says XOXO. He has no idea what that means. Perhaps it's in a human world language he's not familiar with? He takes back everything he said about clear communication.

Once you explain what they mean, he gets a little flustered. Hugs and kisses? Why not just say that? Distract him by pulling him in for a simultaneous hug and kiss. He's blushing for real now. He understands the essence of XOXO a little better, but he wouldn't mind if you showed him again.

Thirteen

Wow, humans do some really adorable things, don't they? Look at these tiny hearts with cheesy words on them! They look like chalk, but she finds them endearing. And of course she's trying to hide how pleased she is that you gave her something. It's really cute of you.

She's already coming up with ways to use them for traps. Put a spell on one and leave it somewhere an immortal sorcerer just might happen to find it. She might do it, too, if you don't distract her a bit.

Find one that says MY GIRL to give to her. She smiles and blushes just a little, but leans in to ask if you think she belongs to you. Maybe you tell her that you'd like that. A direct response such as that flusters her and now she's not sure how to react.

Searches through the hearts, but she can't seem to find one that says what she wants, so she just shoves the first one she picks up toward you. It says LOL. You actually do laugh because it's pretty cute how flustered she is. She decides to clear things up by kissing you. You get a little dizzy at how quickly she goes from shy to bold. It's some time before she lets you go.

Arsenios

The minute you put the box in his hand, he's fighting down a blush because wow, you are really cute, MC. A sweet little human like you actually taking the time to give him these candies stamped with lovey phrases really surprises him.

He takes them all out of the box and lines them up in the way that makes the most sense. You're a little confused about why he's doing it until he takes out his guitar. A few chords later and he's singing you a song using every phrase from the box. You're both laughing pretty quickly because the words are mostly nonsense.

But Arsenios deliberately left the best group for last and his voice becomes sweet when he sings you the final line. ONLY YOU, MY LOVE, BE TRUE. It's still only a fragment of a sentence at best, but the sentiment rings through the notes and you can see it in his eyes.

He smiles at you as the notes fade away because he's pleased at your reaction. But it isn't enough, so he takes your hands and asks if he can kiss you. If you say yes, you'll find yourself so distracted in his embrace that you don't notice that he never actually ate any of the candy hearts.

xoxo part one with the brothers

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

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feyhunter78 · 8 months

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Fey's 2000 Follower Celebration!!!!

Description: It's Gabi's first day of first grade, and it gets Miguel thinking about when he first arrived in this universe. Pink Pastels Masterlist

“Papá, come on we’re going to be late.” Gabi pouts, tugging on the sleeve of his lab coat, her bright pink backpack sitting snuggly on her shoulders, her dark hair pulled up into a ponytail with a blue hair tie.

“I just want to make sure you have everything Mija.” Miguel says, going over his mental checklist. Lunch? Check. Pencil bag? Check. Name tag on her shirt with her name and classroom number? Check. Colorful tag shaped like a car that indicates she’s drop off and pick up only? Attached securely to her backpack. He knows she has everything; he packed her bag the night before, but he can’t stop himself from worrying.

“Come on, I want to get to school, I want to meet my new friends!” Gabi tugs harder, heading towards the door.

He chuckles. She’s so unlike him in this aspect, she isn’t afraid to put herself out there or go up to kids she doesn’t know and try to make friends. She relishes the challenge, and he almost envies her confidence.

“Okay, okay, we’ll go.” He says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

She smiles up at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door.

He lets he chose the music on the drive there, sings along softly to the Spanish songs she’s chosen, glancing up at the rearview mirror every so often to look at her.

Gabi is staring out the window, memorizing the route—just in case I make new friends, and we want to walk to school together—she told him in a very matter of fact tone.

He can’t imagine ever letting her walk to school. Of course, the streets are safe, he’s made sure of that, and she’d be walking with other kids, and most likely a parent, but his stomach churns at the idea of anything ever happening to her.

“Gabi?” Miguel asks, struck by a sudden need to confirm that she knows just how loved she is.

“Yeah?” Gabi replies, looking away from the window and towards him.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks, a smile tugging at his lips when he sees her smile.

“Yep, more than the sun loves the sky.” She says cheerily, easily, without a single moment of hesitation.

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep the tears from welling in his eyes. He spent so long searching for her, so long trying his best to be a father worthy of her. To never doubt that he loves her, to never wonder and fear as he did growing up.

“And guess what, Papá?” She says in a singsong voice.

“What?”

“I love you more than the moon loves the sea.” She says, beaming at him, her tone filled with that pure honesty that you can only find in children.

And here comes the waterworks.

Miguel manages to stop himself from crying by the time they pull into her school’s parking lot, and Gabi is already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“We’re here! We’re here!” She’s jiggling the door handle, which he would usually ask her not to do, but she’s so excited he can’t bring himself to correct her.

He turns off the car and slides out, opening the door for her and helping her out.

Gabi hits the ground running, already seeing her friends from kindergarten. She bolts forward, the sound of his name being called by another parent taking his attention away for a split second.

It all happens so fast, he looks away then hears the sound of brakes squealing, and someone shouting. His heart races, all his senses going into overdrive. Gabi is wrapped in the arms of a woman in a pink dress, Gabi’s cries filling his ears.

Miguel is there by her side in a second, pulling her from the woman. “What happened?”

“I didn’t see the car, I forgot to look, Papá I’m sorry.” She clings to him, burying her face in his lab coat.

“My goodness, I’m so glad I grabbed her in time.” The woman says, one hand pressed to her heart.

Miguel looks up, for a moment. She’s shorter than him, most people are, with a lovely figure wrapped in soft-looking fabric, her hair styled in a way that frames her face but still keeps it from getting in her eyes.

“Thank you, Ms?” He realizes he doesn’t know her name, he meant to go to Meet the Teacher Night, but he was called away.

“Y/N, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N, I’m Gabi’s teacher.” You say, giving him a bright smile.

“Ms. Y/N, thank you, I’m glad Gabi has a teacher with quick reflexes.”

“Oh yeah, I’m like a cat.” You joke.

He smiles, and he feels Gabi giggle against his coat.

“Like a cat, that’s silly.” She says, pulling herself away from him to face you.

“Oh really? Well, I have a lot more silly sayings ready for the school year if you’d like to hear them?” You tell her, bending slightly at your knees to look her in the eyes.

“Yes, please.” Gabi says, sniffling.

“Okay, but have to hold my hand, and no more running in the street.” You warn playfully, holding your hand out to her.

“Okay!” Gabi says, grabbing your hand, her fear vanishing as she wipes away her tears, her smile back in full force.

But Miguel can’t brush off his fear that easily, and his fingers catch on Gabi’s backpack.

She turns to look at him. “Oh, Papá, I almost forgot.” She lunges at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Bye, I’ll see you later!”

He crushes her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Bye Mija, be good.”

She wriggles out of his grasp and grabs your hand again, before waving goodbye and letting you lead her inside the school.

Miguel remains on his knees for a second, watching as you both disappear inside the building, before he stands and brushes himself off, heading towards his car.

He drives to Alchemax in silence, pulls into the parking lot in silence, and walks to his office in silence. He sits at his desk, boots up his computer, and tries to force himself to concentrate. His desk saver is a picture of him and Gabi on her fourth birthday. She’s got icing all over her face and hands, and she’s reaching for him, one tiny hand covered in frosting finding its mark on his cheek. He’s smiling, she’s laughing, and he remembers how when that picture was taken, he was so afraid everything would disappear, and he’d be left with only photos, and videos once again.

“Hey Miggy, just wanted to check on you.” Monica’s voice floats through the crack in the door she’s made by opening it without knocking, a terrible habit she has, but he finds it less annoying on days like this.

He gives her a weary smile. “It’s easier than last time, but still hard.”

She gives him a sympathetic grimace. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

He thanks her, and she closes his office door, her heels clicking on the tile of the hallway as she walks away.

Miguel smiles as the screen changes to a picture he took. Gabi is three, curled in his lap, head resting on his arm, Oso tucked underneath her arm.

He remembers the adrenaline that rushed through him when he got the alert. How he activated the program that transferred all commands to Jessica and Peter, and left them with a quick goodbye.

This universe’s Miguel was dead, Gabi would be placed in his mother’s care, unless Monica fought hard enough for custody, which he now had no doubt she would’ve done, no matter how chill she tried to portray herself as.

It was the perfect opportunity; one he would not waste. So, he left, took Lyla and his meager possessions, studied all he could about the old Miguel and became him—to an extent.

It was dark in his apartment, quiet, Gabi was asleep, Margo from next door asleep on the couch, some random telenovela playing at a low volume.

Miguel switched it off as he turned on one of the lamps, gently shaking her awake.

She jolted awake then relaxed, giving him a sleepy smile as she patted him on the shoulder and made her way down the hall.

He stood in Gabi’s doorway, almost afraid to go in. Would she recognize him, would she reject him? Somehow be able to tell he was not the father she knew, or would she love him as much as he loved her? They were blood, she was his daughter, and he was her father no matter what universes or canon events separated them.

Miguel gathered up his courage and stepped inside. Her room was different, a forest green instead of pink, with white accents, and glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. She’s still in a crib, she’s three now, soon he’ll need to transition her to a toddler bed, but when he leans against the railing, gazing down at her, he finds he wishes she would stay this little forever.

Her eyes slowly open, and she smiles at him, ever observant his daughter is.

“Hola Mija, lo siento, ¿te desperté?” He whispered, reaching into her crib and gently brushing her cheek with one bent finger. Trsl: Hello daughter, I’m sorry, did I wake you/wake you up?

She grabs it, then grabs more of his hand with surprising strength, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

That’s new.

“Papá’s back.” She said sleepily, cuddling Oso closer.

“Yes, I’m back.” He said softly. “And I’m never leaving you again.”

“Can I sleep with you?” She asked, letting go of his hand to reach out to him, silently asking to be picked up.

“Of course, Mija,” Miguel said, scooping her up and supporting her back with his hand.

“Yay, night Papá.” Gabi whispered, already falling back asleep.

He didn’t sleep that night, just stayed up watching her, marveling over the fact that he got another chance to be with his daughter. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, no matter what happened, he would not lose her.

Gabi is having a great first day at school. She got to pick the music on the way to school, survived running in the street, and her teacher is the nicest person ever.

Ms. Y/N is so beautiful, like a princess, Gabi thinks, and you answer everyone’s questions about yourself, even the silly ones like who your favorite Wild Kratt is and if you have a boyfriend.

She notices that you look a little sad when you answer that one, and it piques her interest. Gabi likes to think of herself as an amateur detective, her and Oso have solved many cases already. Like the case of the missing sock—the dryer ate it, or the case of the monster in the couch—her papa snores when he falls asleep watching TV.

She is also an expert in emotions and drama, Tia Margo says so herself when Gabi figures out the plot to their favorite shows before she does.

So once the school day is almost over, and you come around to her desk to collect her first day worksheet—really, it’s a few questions about her and some really fun things to color, not work at all, which she likes—she asks why you looked sad.

“Sad? Did I look sad? Oh, don't worry, I’m not.” You reassure her, taking her worksheet and adding it to the pile in your arms.

“My papá is single, if your boyfriend makes you sad again, you can marry him instead.” She says confidently, packing up her colored pencils and pens.

“Oh—that’s very nice of you to offer, sweetheart, but I think I’ll stick with my boyfriend.” You tell her, seeming a little bit embarrassed.

She likes when you call her sweetheart, and when you smile at her, and tell her how pretty her drawings are. She wishes you were her mom, not just her teacher.

“Okay…but if you change your mind! Let me know first because Ryan’s mom is single too, and I don’t want her to try and take my papá from you.”

You laugh at that and shake your head affectionately. “You have quite the mind, don’t you?”

“My papa says I’m very smart.” She says proudly.

“And he’s right.” You squeeze her shoulder then move onto her tablemates.

Maybe she’ll ask Lyla to help her come up with a way to get your boyfriend out of the picture? There are plenty of ways, she’s seen them on the telenovelas, but she doesn’t actually know how to find someone’s evil twin. She’ll definitely have to ask Lyla about that.

Gabi isn’t worried, though, the year has just started and there’s plenty of time for you and her papá to fall in love.

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars, @sxnasbitch, @111gltzpzy, @lucilavenxoxo, @ray-rook, @elizamelody, @soapbar99, @trashieboii, @erissco, @gardenof-venus, @vlads-dracula3

TL 2: @yaoisenpaiii, @the-occasional-artist1125, @polireader, @mvchmp, @shadowxfheaven, @hxlytrin, @melomichuwu, @weirdothatwritess, @ash-aragami, @deguzu, @angelarcheangel, @nekotaetae, @milohatesspit, @lollipop974, @miggyyyyohara, @itzsab, @namjooningera, @hana-1235, @amberpanda99, @joceymoo, @tfamidoingwithmylife, @itsashree, @battinsonwhore05, @namjooningera, @tortilla-chips-and-allioli, @fluffy-koalala, @fandom-ash, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @latersgaters-steven, @ariparri, @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast, @lycaninelizard, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @allysunny, @lollipopin, @allysunny, @loves0phelia, @caslistener

#meg's writing #I just want to say thank you to all of y'all who have been with me from the beginning and all my newbies #I'm so grateful y'all give me such a supportive and loving place for all my ideas #miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara x reader #I'm actually at 2014 but I needed time to write this XD #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n

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sunshinediaz · 3 months

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he's a big boy | 5.7k, explicit

for @puppyboybuckley 🫶🏼

“Look at you, baby. You’re so big.” Eddie runs his hands up and down Buck’s sides, tickling against the protrusion of Buck’s ribs. “Big shoulders, big tits, big hips, big hands, big heart. Big cock. Always fills me up so well.” He grins and squeezes Buck’s cock, enamored as it colors from dusty-pink to raging red beneath the pressure. “Shame it’s going to waste, though.” Buck makes a fucked out, whiny noise, and flutters his lashes to meet Eddie’s eyes. His mouth drops open and a flood of staccato of “uh uh uh’s” wash out in time with Eddie’s thrusts. He reaches down to play with his cock but Eddie slaps his hand away. “Don’t even know why you got this big dick, sweetheart,” he continues, unable to stop now that he’s gotten started. “You don’t even use it. Don’t even need it, not when you’re happier taking it like this than using it to fuck anybody.” A little mean, he flicks the tip of Buck’s cock. Buck whines and goes to close his legs, but Eddie catches his knees and keeps him spread wide. “Don’t hide from me.” Buck licks his lips and gives Eddie a darling smile, one that warms him up from the inside out, and oh, oh, he loves this. He loves it so much. “Got nothing to be ashamed of, pretty boy. Swear to God, I’ve never seen somebody as gorgeous as you.” “Eddie—” “You’re so good, Buck. So fucking good.” He rakes his fingers down Buck’s chest, playing in the hair that’s gathered between his fat tits. He pushes Buck’s tits together till they’re a proper handful and wonders if he could get Buck to wear a set of lacy lingerie for him one day and then tables that thought for another day because he’ll blow his load if he doesn’t calm the fuck down right now. “So perfect, taking me so well like this.”

read the rest on ao3

#winter storm came through and put me out of work and left me with too much time on my hands so here's this mess #THE THING IS: newbie likes to post pictures of oliver stark and he's so fuckin big it drives us both wild #so this is their fault tbh. all of it is their fault. bone apple the teeth newbie i adore you.#buddie #buddie fic #911 #911 fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #my fics

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eclectic-sassycoweyes · 10 months

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Been thinking a lot about not only TK using Carlos’ bicep as his personal ‘emotional support bicep’ which 🥹🥹🥹 - also thank you and creds to @paperstorm for making the huge contribution to the whole entire fandom with this description -

But, also about the whole thing from Carlos’ perspective and how Carlos reacts to it, and feels about it, makes my stomach do a little swoop every time I come across a gif from either the wedding ep or the scene where they’re waiting for news on Marjan

Like, I’m thinking about semi-lonely, tense pre- and during season 1 Carlos needing someone, not just to love and be loved by but to take care of and hold and be there for🥺 Like we all know Carlos must work a lot to maintain those biceps and of course this is probably for his own sake bc he likes them, and to be good at his job etc but,,

He’s obviously gotten some attention from it, guys who finds him sexy and maybe likes a little power play

And he can appreciate that especially when ‘guys’ are in fact TK who enjoys it and wants him to use his strength a little bit to press his hands into the mattress above his head: (🔥)

Or to ‘twist his arm’ 😏😏

But more than that S1 Carlos longed for his body (huge bicep) to be appreciated in different ways. To be the one that someone (TK) needed to be held by, to be the shoulder (bicep) that someone (TK) could cry on, and lean on (both figuratively:

And literally:

- He needed to be that for someone (TK), to take on that role in a healthy, loving relationship. And he certainly got that from TK. But he got even more than that, more than he could have dreamed of, bc with TK he’s also become a shoulder (bicep) to sleep on:

Not just in the domestic privacy of their own home, but in public, among a wonderful new group of friends and family:

As well as a shoulder (bicep) to both lean on and rub their thumb back and forth on for self soothing:

In short, that work paid off exponentially as he got to be someone’s (TK’s) ‘emotional support bicep’. 🥲

And what completely gets me is the way he’s so casual about it in this last one. Like I imagined the first couple of times Carlos in his head would have been like ‘oh, okay, my bicep is now your pillow, I see, I’ll stay as still as possible or react in some way like by kissing your hair or something or move so you’re more comfortable’, and ‘oh okay, you’re not letting go, you really must love that bicep, I’ll buy a permanent gym membership and think of that ever time I work out, this bicep shall be forever dedicated to your needs’ while in his head being all 😳🫠🥰😌🥹🥹🥰

But now he barely reacts, it’s so natural. He just barely registers that ‘oh, my adorable, emotional boyfriend (husband😭) (TK who I know in and out and who know me the same way😭) is (once again/per usual😭) reserving my bicep for emotional support reasons while he cries on me, imma let him do his thing while I grab his ankle, both to comfort TK,’ - but also bc while TK needs to physically lean on someone (Carlos) when he’s emotional (or sleepy, or just, it’s right there anyway), what Carlos needs it something (someone) (TK) to hold on to, to tether himself to bc it’s overwhelming for him to lose control of his emotions.

And TK is the perfect rock for him because he’s not only so open about his emotions, and an adorable kitten boyfriend (husband), but because he’s also and at the same time incredibly strong and prepared to catch Carlos at any time😭

The naturalness of it all just says so much about how long they’ve been together and built their relationship, how well they know and how comfortable they are with each other and how they’re perfect for each other and fit together like two pieces of a puzzle! There are some thoughts here about different kinds and ways of embodying ‘masculinity’ and vulnerability but I’m not nearly eloquent enough rn to go into that..

Anyway, with TK, Carlos, now without even giving it a second thought, has gotten the relationship he dreamed of and more, has gotten exactly the appreciation for his strength and body (biceps) that S1 Carlos longed for and worked so hard for, and gets to take on the role in his relationship that he needs and be who he always were and I’m just 😭🥹🥹🥰🥰🫠 slowly melting away over it.

#me rambling #Tarlos ramblings #Tarlos headcanons #am definitely not working on my thesis right now as you all can see🙃#@paperstorm I hope it’s okay that I tagged you I’m still a newbie when it comes to tumblr etiquette and I wanted to give creds for the #emotional support bicep #since you came up with the term and I appreciate where that made my mind go 🙃#Carlos’ biceps #Tarlos #9-1-1 lone star #911ls #carlos reyes #tk strand #headcanons #Tarlos feels #kitten tk #gentle dom carlos #tarlos wedding #tk sleeping on Carlos

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aemiron-main · 7 months

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Lord Henry and Lady Patty- Does This Mean That They’re a Romantic Couple? How Does Stranger Things Treat The Type of Relationship That Exists Between a Lord and a Lady?

So, like I said before, I’m definitely still not convinced that George is Henry, and I think it’s far more likely that George is Lonnie Byers or Allen Munson.

However, setting that aside/regardless of George’s identity, it’s clear that Patty and Henry are likely going to interact at some point (which we already knew based on their parallels in the animated trailer).

So, today, I want to talk about the supposed meanings of Patty and Henry’s names, as I saw a post awhile back talking about how “Henry means Lord of the House and Patty means Lady of The House so they MUST be a reciprocated romantic couple,” and there’s a few things I want to dismantle there.

Setting aside the obvious stuff that goes against a Patty-Henry romance, such as the age-gap & the inability to age Henry up because the play is canon material and Henry WAS 12 in 1959 in canon, and also setting aside the fact that the crush has been described as one-sided on Patty’s part, for this post, I want to focus on specifically why the “meanings of Henry and Patty’s names,” thing does NOT point towards a reciprocated romance.

Alright!

So, BEFORE we get to "how do we explain these names even in a seemingly romantic way" thing considering the whole age gap, if Henry and Patty aren't coded as romantic at all in any way, then what's up with the names?

Well, we know that the shot of Henry at the Creel house window in the animated TFS trailer seems to parallel the shot of Patty in the church:

So- is the “lord/lady of the house” thing being used more literally here? As in the literal, physical house?

Did Patty live in the Creel house before the Creels moved in? Did Victor buy the house from the Newby family?

However, even setting all of that speculation about the house aside, let’s assume that the meanings of the names are as they seem on the surface/have seemingly romantic connotations re: lord and lady.

I think that these name meanings are actually some strong evidence that Henry and Patty aren’t going to be romantic.

This is because these names are basically the equivalent of naming them Heteronormativity 1 and Heteronormativity 2- they may as well have named them Romeo and Juliet (and we all know that ST loves to poke fun at Romeo and Juliet/them not being “true love”).

Lords and Ladies are probably one of the furthest things from genuine romantic love/a genuine romantic relationship.

When it comes to lords and ladies, marriages were basically always arranged marriages- alliances between noble families, where the participants getting married had no choice in the matter. The people getting married were basically treated as property, as bargaining chips, like pawns in chess. There’s nothing actually romantic about the titles, quite the opposite.

Lords and ladies would also frequently take lovers outside of the marriage, including queer lovers (often using their marriage to conceal their homosexuality). Which, that would make sense with Henry’s constant queercoding.

And speaking of nobles and queerness, if we want to talk about the name “Henry,” re: nobility, then let’s talk about Henry III of France (which, there’s also the whole multiple Henries during NINA thing and rhe fact that Henry II was involved in the War of the Three Henrys, but that’s for another time), who had a wife, but has been frequently depicted as being gay.

And specifically/most notably, he was depicted as being gay in the 1954 film, La Reine Margot.

So, we’ve got a noble named Henry who has a famous gay portrayal from the 50s and we’ve also got a guy named Henry in a play from the 50s. I won’t be surprised at all if there’s a connection there regarding Henry’s queercoding.

But setting that aside entirely and going back to Romeo and Juliet, Romeo and Juliet were both nobles, from rival noble families, who “fell in love.” My point is, the whole “romantic nobility titles” thing that’s seemingly present with Henry and Patty is also present with Romeo and Juliet, and is an idea that ST has mocked repeatedly.

Like, ST pokes fun at the idea of pushing two people people into marriage (which is EXACTLY what happens with lords and ladies)- for example, in S1, Lucas makes fun of Mike and El, with his comment about Mike marrying El:

ST itself is poking fun at Mileven’s relationship, and leaving those early breadcrumbs to tell us that Mileven isn’t endgame. Lucas is pressuring Mike into heteronormativity/into a relationship (as a result of those same pressures having been put on Lucas himself), like a smaller-scale version of how lords and ladies were pressured (and more often, forced) into marriages.

Karen and Ted Wheeler’s relationship is also similar to an arranged marriage, as while it’s not an actual arranged marriage, Karen seems to have married Ted for money, and not for love, just like how the arranged marriages between lords and ladies were about money and status, and has nothing to do with love:

Like, Nancy specifically talks not only about Ted having money, but also coming from a “good family,” something that was a key part of the arranged relationships between lords and ladies.

Again, my point is- the relationship that exists between a lord and a lady is the EXACT type of relationship that ST frequently mocks and frequently pulls apart and subverts. It would make no sense and be completely contradictory to everything that ST has done and shown us so far for Patty and Henry to have genuine reciprocated romantic feelings for eachother while ALSO literally being named Lord and Lady. They may as well have named them Karen and Ted lmao, and even then, naming them Karen and Ted would still be MORE romantic than naming them Lord and Lady.

They could have named Henry and Patty anything- and yet they chose names that are specifically tied to societal pressure and class expectations, and NOT to genuine romantic feelings. Again, they may as well have named them Heteronormativity 1 and Heteronormativity 2.

I know a lot of Byler enthusiasts aren’t particularly interested in Henry and his queercoding, which is fair, but since we’ve spent the past god knows how long using these same examples (see: Romeo and Juliet) to demonstrate that Mileven isn’t endgame and likely was never actually a genuine romantic relationship with mutual attraction, why should it be any different for Henry and Patty? Hell, Patty, from what we’ve already seen of her audition tapes, seems to have multiple El parallels regarding how both seem to have similar relationships with their mother and a bunch of other dialogue parallels. I won’t be surprised if Henry and Patty not being romantic is being used to prep the GA for Byler endgame and Mileven not being a couple/not being romantic/gay Mike, etc.

Patty and Henry both also come from “noble” families in Hawkins- Patty is the daughter of Father Newby/she’s the preacher’s daughter in a religious town, and Henry, as we know, is the son of the wealthy Creel family who literally owns a mansion. It would make sense for somebody like Father Newby to try and set the two up (especially if he was running low on cash)/push them towards eachother, and Virginia would likely be happy to see her gay outcast son interacting with a girl- a religious girl, the preacher’s daughter no less.

Long story short, so far, all of the evidence points towards Henry and Patty not having a romantic relationship/not having reciprocated romantic feelings for eachother. Lord and lady are titles of obligation and class, not of love or romance or anything of the sort. And that’s not even counting the obvious age discrepancies that I mentioned before, something that TFS can’t just change or handwave away, because it’s been confirmed to be canon material, and Henry’s canon age is 12 in 1959.

And I also just still, genuinely, don’t think that Henry is George- the kid from the audition tape for George looks NOTHING like Henry, and even beyond that, the dialogue and behaviour in that George audition is NOTHING whatsoever like Henry- that snarky George line about “prom queen,” is leagues away from being anything like what we’ve seen of Henry’s personality, especially as a child.

I won’t be surprised if George is Lonnie or Allen, both of which seem to have “bad boy”/outcast/moody loner personalities, which is exactly what’s described for George, and if Patty fall in love with Lonnie or Allen, but is being pushed towards Henry by Father Newby because Henry’s from a wealthy, religious family. Especially since neither Lonnie’s family nor Allen’s family seem to be wealthy or particularly religious, and we all know that priests are often greedy bastards, which would align perfectly with Father Newby being interested in the Creels’ money.

Especially since Victor was described in the papers as being “generous” in a paragraph that talks about the church:

“Creel was known around town for his generosity, and the Creel Family was regularly seen at Sunday Mass at St. Philip’s Catholic Church on Sundays.”

So, if Victor was known for donating to the church, it makes sense that Father Newby would know that the Creels have money, and may either a.) be playing the long game trying to get Henry and to get married eventually or b.) hoping that Victor’s donations might increase if he has even more of a personal connection to the church via his son dating the prescher’s daughter, especially as Victor clearly loves his son, and Father Newby likely knows this.

And with Henry being gay/having so much gay queercoding, he obviously wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with Patty, so again, I really do think the angle for Henry and Patty’s relationship is more likely to be “people are trying to push Henry and Patty together, but Patty’s in love with somebody that’s ‘below’ her class-wise, and Henry is gay”.

Now, going more into speculation territory, I want to talk about LOTR.

I’ve talked about this briefly before, but while Will definitely has some Frodo parallels, Henry is also definitely, intentionally paralleled to Frodo- hell, Victor has constant Bilbo parallels, and the Creel house has constant Bag End parallels. Will also has some Sam parallels, especially when it comes to class and wealth and family, so Will’s LOTR parallels aren’t as simple as saying He’s Only Frodo/He’s The Only Frodo Coded Character.

And so, keeping the idea of Henry-Frodo parallels in mind:

In LOTR, Sam is of a lower class than Frodo. Frodo is basically Hobbit nobility, whereas Sam is a commoner. And Sam’s dad is the Baggins’ gardener.

And I talked in this post about how the Creels had a gardener and a groundsperson.

And, I’m wondering if Scott’s dad may have been the Creels’ gardener or groundsperson, just like how Sam’s dad was Bilbo’s gardener/groundsperson (which, again, Victor has constant Bilbo parallels). And this would further connect Henry and Patty in a platonic sense/something that parallels them, with both of them being in love with somebody that’s “below” their class- George/Lonnie/Allen in Patty’s case, and Scott in Henry’s case.

And this Henry-Scott idea might not even be part of TFS, because we still have all of S5 to go.

Anyway! There’s some thoughts.

#the first shadow #henry creel #patty newby #creelarke #also beloved tumblr user watchmenanon- this is not a vague at ur post abt the name meanings at all #i had this post drafted back when i saw another person’s post about the name meanings & they were snarkily claiming that it was irrefutable #proof that henry and patty were romantic and that anyone who thought otherwise is an idiot #so this is re: that post not ur post <<33 ur post just reminded me that i had this draft LMAO

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