#and that's it for my music analysis posts for now!

[m0rninglatte]

Oh yh I completely forgot to add this to my monster from Epic the musical and Icarus analysis post:

"How am I to reunite with my estranged?"

- Yeah it's prison duo.

No elaboration.

Just:

It's prison duo.

That's all. I just came to speak my words and will be going back to the corner of my box now.

#Estranged relationships can be from parent and child to partner's to friends so yk - that's always fun /sarc #no further elaboration just its prison duo. interrupt and analyse how you want #fsmp #fsmpblr #fable smp #fable smp icarus #icarus morningstar #fable smp centross #centross mistvale #prison duo

[iguessitsjustme]

Old Fashion Cupcake - Opening Song

I am ending my week of constant music analysis posts on a very short one, but a good one.

***Disclaimer! I am but a humble servant of our BL gods. I am not a musician. I have very minimal knowledge on music but I have a somewhat decent ear and a passion for well...I don’t know but something. Take everything I say with a grain of salt.

This is going to sound SO WEIRD, but the opening song for Old Fashion Cupcake reminds me of the opening song for Gilmore Girls, especially towards the end. So I was already primed to love this show based solely off of that. It made feel nostalgic for my college days, which is when I watched Gilmore Girls, not when it aired. But we don’t need to get into that.

Anyway, this opening might feel out of place especially at first because we went from such apathy to something so very upbeat and peppy. But it’s not the theme song’s goal to set the tone during the show, but rather for the show. This song carries us through five episodes of apathy and repetition and two characters learning to fall in love and learning to take risks and embrace the freedom they can give themselves. And this opening song sets the stage for the show to do just that. It’s a constant reminder at the beginning of each episode that there is hope for these two. It’s not a show about Nozue just giving up and embracing his mediocre life. It’s not a show about Togawa being stuck in an unrelenting, unrequited love and giving up on what could be. It’s a show about hope. It’s a show about seeing the positive in the ordinary things. It’s about embracing the happiness that you can allow yourself even if you think people might judge you for it. And every episode has a constant reminder of the show’s message at the very beginning.

We might be watching them struggle to find themselves, but we know they will learn and they will grow and that there is hope.

#old fashion cupcake #old fashion cupcake the series #old fashion cupcake bl #japanese bl #rae does music analysis #and that's it for my music analysis posts for now! #i hope you enjoyed this week of just random musical thoughts on my blog mixed in with everything else #if you did enjoy it and you just now are seeing these posts you are more than welcome to request an analysis #i just might not have the time to do it right away #my ask box and my dms are always open #even if you don't want to talk about music! #that's just what took over my brain #maybe one day whenever i rewatch the untamed i will do a musical analysis of that show #but that would be a huge undertaking #meant to post this yesterday but I was busy being on a plane and then being too tired to function #i do have one more analysis to do now based on a request and i will try my hardest to get to that this week but i make no promises

[juniemunie]

TEST DRIVE TEST DRIVE TEST DRI-

I have so many thoughts about this entire sequence, from the way Hiccup and Toothless get along to the MUSIC- (the music analysis is going to my tags)

.

But im gonna talk about Toothless pov again

I always think of this is like, the forbidden friendship scene for Toothless the way the actual forbidden friendship was for Hiccup

If Hiccup's scene was Toothless connecting to Hiccup through human things (sharing food, smiling, art and all that)

Then this scene is Toothless' because Hiccup connects with Toothless through flying, something I've always headcanoned to be what dragons (the ones that fly anyway) need not just to survive, but to live and bond with others.

if Hiccup's FF is the beginning of the potential then Toothless' FF is the "end", the moment where the potential is found and fulfilled, the thing that really solidifies their friendship because both has now experienced and accepted the other's unique sides

Just, yeah Toothless sees Hiccup just getting it, understanding why flying is so wonderful, hearing him cheer and whoop in joy like a fledgling's first time in the air, and seeing him at the end instinctively understand what to do-

Like that sudden spin near the end of the sea pillars- and both of them looked surprised they even managed to do that together instinctively- when just a few minutes ago Hiccup couldnt even dodge the two very obvious sea pillars in the beginning

He looks up at this human, this strange clever, brilliant little human who has somehow made this even possible, who has broken every preconception he has, who is now flying with him with a dragon's instinct but baring his teeth in that human way of expressing joy, screaming something he could not parse perfectly in his dragon tongue but understood the meaning all the same.

"We did it."

#they did it. they achieved what they thought was impossible but together they reached it #the line can apply to a lot of things so ill let you think about it #i totally didnt get that 'we' thing from a fanfic COUGH #httyd #httyd movies #junie art post #can u tell ive gone insane #this was supposed to be a short caption but ive gotten carried away #toothless the dragon #toothless #hiccup horrendous haddock lll #hiccup #NOW. FOR THE MUSIC. #most of the analysis is already talked well by sideways and phoebe-kate so ill talk about my headcanons and interpretations #toothless' theme always repeats over and over. not ever really having a satisfying conclusion which ive always thought of as a silent show #that toothless was never really happy or content with his life before since he lived a dangerous and monotonous life of serving the queen #sure in exchange for his servitude he was given shelter to a place no viking can reach but he would never call it home. #he most likely wanted out of that sitaution. wanted something new and he got that rather violently through hiccup #now lets talk about hiccups theme. his theme is beautiful and sounds complete. but in the beginning you barely if ever notice his theme #unless youre really looking for it. his theme plays quite subtly and softly. showing how hiccup wants to be seen but he never is #at the start his theme plays after berk's which makes it sound as if hes following them. he isnt the same as berk but he tries to be #FF comes and hiccup and toothless connect both on screen and music. see you tomorrow has hiccups theme play clearly & confidently for once #test drive comes and toothless takes the lead- hiccup following right after him. it sounds amazing but theyre still not quite there yet #then the sea pillars moment and toothless theme plays twice waiting for hiccup's theme to jump in- to let go #and when hiccup does let go his theme jumps right after toothless' fitting perfectly and toothless' lets hiccup theme take center stage #its loud & beautiful and you get to hear it so clearly it takes your breath away and it ends with toothless theme finally reaching an end #they completed each other both musically and in character #they broke the rules of the world and are neither berk's theme or the dragon's they are two parts creating something new and beautiful #they completed their theme bros thats their theme its not berks or the dragons its their very own #okay im done i dont know if i got this across right i hope yall at least get the gist of my insane rambling

[ganondoodle]

sorry about that last rambling post, i didnt mean to sound like its worse than it may be, but i got no ... lense to view it through but my own, and the main reason i wrote it out anyway was bc i needed to get it out (even if posting it might be not the greatest idea) .. and bc it kinda showcases, i think, how my stories kinda write themselves, involuntarily in a way? its not like im not putting in any effort- but its like .. i cant STOP it always keeps going and even the dumbest idea stays in some form, its very hard to get everything in place bc theres so much going on all the while i am very slow at making anything, writing or drawing anything, especially anythign coherent is very hard bc not only do i get constantly distracted, i get distracted by my own thoughts suddendly skipping to a certain scene and me having to go throguh imagining in detail NO MATTER how many times i have done it before for the same scene that i already decided on how it goes, when theres a new idea it can take over my entire day bc i cant let go of it-

not trying to sound either like im the only that has that sort of problem, but i think its a big part as of why i start tso many projects without being able to finish them, or even start them bc i constantly have to fight my own thoughts from derailing into another daydream session, thinking of too much too fast than i can ever draw or even write about and not knowing what is worthwhile and what isnt (im telling you i have no idea what is good and what isnt, idk why but for all i know all things i do could be trash, or they all could be bad, maybe the one i thinnk is decent is actually worse than the things i deem not good enough and once i start to think no this isnt good enough i stop having fun making or thinking it bc im trying to do better

honestly its kind of impressive that i can get anything out at all, not to pat myself on the back there but even if i hate how long it takes me, considering how much im having to work just to start working on something at all, the fact that i could post stuff coherent enough for some people to understand AND LIKE is something i should be a little more proud of

#ganondoodles talks #personal #sorry today is a bit of a brain fart day #got a headache and have wasted the entire time until now (5pm) with watching old analysis videos i have watched 5 times already #and crying over undertales music #how much could i get done if i didnt have to deal with thought trains going 200 above speed limit #also didnt mean to sound mean to people who like the things i deem cringy #BC I DONT KNOW WHAT IM TALKIGN ABOUT 90% OF THE TIME #I DONT KNOW IF ITS GOOD maybe it is #my judgement of my own stuff is pretty random #.... maybe thats why i can work with fanstuff that adheres to lore better #bc it sets limits for me #it gives me options of rails to derail onto without falling straight into the woods #idk if that made sense either #... i need to start drinking more #(and i guess by calling some of my stuff cringe bc i am entirely unsure of its quality im trying to make myself smaller than i am) #(so if it turns out to be actually bad- im more safe from ridicule since LOOK I AM SELF AWARE) #and there i go letting my thoughts spin further #maybe ill delete both of these posts tomorrow when i realize how dumb this is to say in the first place

[melit0n]

Just having a think about Half Alive's Now, Not yet again. In my own opinion, it's definitely their best album, half because it's a brilliant indie-rock-pop-electro-amalgamation, and half because it holds a very special sentiment with me.

That whole album is so unsure and wary of the present, and all the things it affects, yet so accepting of it.

I mean, lyrically, that much is obvious throughout all the tracks. Ok ok's "Far too great a toll it's played on me; the animal of destiny" and RUNAWAY'S "I hold my life out in front of me, dreams of who I want to be, I'm seeing every empty page".

And what is possibly my favourite line ever; Arrow's "The hardest place to be is right where you are."

Because they're right. We can be haunted by the past, we can worry as much as we want about the future, because the hardest place to be is the present. Present eventually becomes past and our actions during this time solidifies our future. Present is horrifying because it slips through our fingers faster than we even know; it's the hardest place to be.

The album constantly runs over the fear of the present and, consequently, the future, and being unable to escape it so well. But, sewn throughout the songs, I'd pure acceptance and joy at simply living.

RUNAWAY is a direct statement; you don't have to runaway from it all. It's hard, it's scary, but you don't have to runaway.

Still Feel is a shout that despite it all, they still feel alive. When it's hopeless, they start to notice that, because they feel hopeless, they're still alive and can change for the better.

TrusT speaks of the horrors of learning how to have faith in people, but the realisation of how good it is to trust someone is.

BREAKFAST acts as a sentimental contemplation to TrusT; it's the aftermath of it, in a way.

Finally, Creature is a love letter to humanity. A thank you for being made the way they were made. It feels like the first rays of warm sun after Winter. It's acceptance. They're not afraid of it all, they're fine with being made out of worn clay, because in the end they're still be haunted and Holy; recovering the beauty of discovery.

It's something I wish I could do, in short. I see myself in this album more than I'd like to admit. It's probably why I resonate with it so much.

#I also got the viynl for it recently so Rest and Arrow have been stuck in my head #I know I don't usually post about these guys but who cares this is my blog and I'll have a little cry about Now Not Yet if I want to #also spreading the Half·Alive propaganda because I think a lot of you (mutals I'm eyeing you) would like em'! #half•alive #half alive #now not yet (album) #creature by half·alive #music analysis #music and lyrics #lyric analysis #mel's rambles #now not yet #now not yet (half alive) #arrow by half·alive

[burning--heart]

my thoughts on dea and grinpayne’s relationship are coming soon they’re just coming slowly. i would not be surprised if it ends up being over 2k words i’m already well on my way. well, actually, here. it would be easy to split into two parts because it’s essentially two separate essays. it might end up being two and a half. i have a lot to say.

#looking at this post like wow this is cringe. that’s a lot of words. #no. they have just been cooking in my brain for over a month at this point i am finally freeing myself #i once described this musical as “nutrient dense.” and i was right. and these two are one of the more dense aspects for sure #also practically none of what i’ve written so far concerns version differences. i mention *one* thing *briefly.* #so this is allllllll script analysis. but i am also dying to examine how their relationship has changed since bristol. #i might as well just make this an entire series honestly. but whatever. vote now on your phones etc

[zeezu-ix]

textual analysis i hate you... ohhhh how i hate you

#if i could draw pictures as my analysis i so would. i can do a mean (and sexy) spider diagram #like i cannot write paragraphs unless its like. me talking #I NEED TO ASK MY TEACHER FOR HELP SO BAD BUT MY ANXIETY IS ALSO. EQUALLY SO BAD. #ive redrafted an email to send him like 3 times and i cant even write that i dont even know what I'd ask to be honest #AND URGH THIS IS COLLEGE THEY EXPECT ME TO KNOW HOW TO DO STUFF LIKE THIS BY NOW. #this is about my subway surfers analysis post from yesterday. i still havent written a single thing #i have..bullet points. about the music but thats it

[chiropteracupola]

I've been watching sharpe with my discord and I'm glad to see other people are coming onto it too, bizarre choice to be the niche interest of the moment but what a diamond in the rough regardless.

fascinating that we all seem to be here at this time!

for my part, I began partially because I had been wanting to do a rewatch of the hornblower show and unfortunately that was recently taken down from the place I had been watching it, so I thought 'o what will have a Similar Vibe to the hornblower show' and lo and behold there was sharpe, which I had been meaning to finish anyways.

and what a thing it was!!

#answers from the cupola #em is posting about sharpe #much in the same way as my animorphs incident it is a Drink A Bowl of Vinegar media experience to me #in the way that it is fast and sour and intense and I feel Weird after but also I enjoyed it and I liked the taste in its own acetic way #and this one it is fun because I have a good blend of Thoughts to have about it #silly fandom-y ones and kill james bond-esque analysis and just general I Like Military Uniforms and Things What Go Boom enjoyment #and the folk music o the folk music... <- I am Being Sad right now yes

[southislandwren]

can't wait to see my family tomorrow and be like i gotta show you this episode of star trek. btw i have the entire episode memorized because i've listened to the soundtrack nonstop since thursday

#watch out top 14 songs (PRLM is guaranteed no1 spot so just top 14) Subspace Rhapsody is coming for the top 15 songs! #i feel like i gotta write a musical analysis of this bc some of this is just so juicy and delicious #im glad i have earbuds bc this is like crack to me i cant get enough #music post #diary post #make your blood screeeem #kpop. klingon pop. i dig it. i want more #okay sorry i gotta chill i gotta chill #there is crack cocaine in my bloodstream right now and its called Subspace Rhapsody (and a large coffee)

[iguessitsjustme]

About Youth - Mini Music Analysis

***Disclaimer! I’m just a tiny internet person. I’m not a musician. Please form your own opinion and feel free to disagree with me! I’m not always right. Also this was written before episode 7 and 8 aired and I did not have have the mental energy to update it.

@heretherebedork asked for an analysis of the music in About Youth and this one was honestly the hardest one. I feel like I don’t have a lot to say about this soundtrack, but to be fair, I only went back and rewatched part of episode 6 so I’m basing this off of that. The soundtrack is good, and it fits the show, BUT the show utilizes silence a lot. The soundtrack really does become something more akin to background music. Something you don’t even notice is playing, but it’s there. It reminds me of when I lived close to my older brother, and we would go to a hotel bar to listen to his musician friends play music in the lobby. The music was there, but ultimately, we were more focused on our conversation and our food than anything else.

Overall, the soundtrack pretty calming and it matches the characters and the scenes well. It kind of feels like a less deliberate version of the OFC soundtrack (which as we all know I am quite literally in love with). Which is not to say it’s not deliberate! Just...less. Whoever was in charge of the soundtrack for About Youth knew what they were doing. It’s extraordinarily subtle. For the most part, it’s quiet and it’s calm. So when we have the scenes of Qizhang singing with his band, it stands out even more. The music in those scenes have an impact because they are a direct contrast to the rest of the show. The songs are upbeat, peppy, they make you want to bop your head along to the beat. I also cannot stress enough how much I enjoy the opening song. I pretty much only listened to this song on repeat last week (I only stopped because of a recent album release from one of my favorite artists), and I do actually listen to music quite a lot.

What can I say about the opening song other than I love it. I feel like this song works for the opening really well when you watch the scenes that were paired with certain parts of the opening. This is an opening song that I didn’t skip. Not once. And I typically skip opening songs. It is upbeat, it’s hopeful, it’s beautiful. It tells the story of Qizhang and Ye Guang and it lets us know that they are going to be okay.

This wasn’t much of an actual musical analysis, but I guess I’ll at least give the soundtrack a grade. It gets an A+. Any soundtrack that successfully sets the tone and doesn’t distract from what’s happening in the show is a good soundtrack. Now, I need to go listen to the opening song on repeat some more.

#about youth #about youth the series #about youth bl #taiwanese bl #rae does music analysis #i don't know why this show was so difficult for me to do a musical analysis of #maybe if i ever do a full rewatch i can do a new post #but right now this is all i got #in a few months when i probably force my mom to watch this show so i also rewatch i will do a more in depth analysis #also i wrote this before episodes 7 and 8 aired but here are my thoughts about the music in those episodes: #sjdhskjhgkdjhg holy shit thats some good soundtrack

[forecast-rain]

Today I make the revelation that apparently a good chunk of the music I listen to is quite rhythmic and has pretty heavy percussion/is loud.

#cloud posts #fascinating #I tend to just focus on the melodic line but #Huh #Huh. #I now suddenly want to have someone do an analysis of my music taste jfhdjdbdjcjdjcjr

[hussyknee]

i'm so confused rn, can you explain the goncharov thing?? i get off tumblr for five minutes

(Edits closed as of 28 Nov.)

Lmaoooo

Nah I getchu. So this post has been circulating for like two years:

Link to post.

But yesterday, it had inspired someone to do this:

Link to post.

Next thing I knew there were fake Letterboxed reviews.

Goncharov moodboards. Really good ones.

Link to post.

Meta analysis. So many fake meta essays. Disturbingly good ones. And of course the memes. (Edit: HAVE I SAID THIS SHIT IS DISTURBING)

As you can see, the myth just started to grow, characters and ships and tropes being added one after the other, almost bizzarely without contradiction, until there was enough of shape to the whole thing for people to start posting fanfic about it on AO3. "No beta we die like ice-pick Joe" is already a tag.

Link to post.

It was hilarious in the beginning, but the way it's developed within less than a day, kind of like it's being willed into existence, is freaking me out a bit. We're toying with powers beyond our comprehension. 😂😂😂

Link to post.

Of course, there could be an ulterior motive as well.

Link to post (tags mine).

Edit: guys, please tag these posts "unreality" so people with disassociation issues can filter them out (not this one, this is an explainer). <3

----------------------------------------------

Edit 2: Aparently the boots in the original post are actually referring to a movie called Gomorrah that came out in 2008, directed by Mateo Garrone, based on the Scampia Feud. And other people had also been making posts about the fake movie for a while before the poster took off.

found by @thepotch

Edit 3: Explainer: why did those boots have this movie on them anyway?

Edit 4: Alt text added to all images courtesy of @valentineish ❤️

Edit 5: Turns out tumblr has done this kind of thing before. Nine years in this hell place and I had to have "Squiddles" and penis smp explained in the replies.

Edit 6: This post collects the Lore so far.

Edit 7: Lynda Carter (real one)/ earns more/ Tumblr cred.

Edit 8: Holy shit y'all we have the theme music. With sheet music. And it's on Spotify!

Edit 9: THERE IS A TRAILER WITH THE THEME MUSIC

----------------------------------------------

I made this post 18 hours after the movie poster went up. Closed edits 27 hours after first posting. So all of the above happened within 45 hours of the movie poster going up.

Edit 10: Google document live-compiling all the lore so far (Day 3)

Edit 11: Masterpost of Goncharov soundtracks (Day 3)

Edit 12: Entertainment news articles covering the Gonch-posting (real) (Contd from yday)

Edit 13: The music from the masterpost all compiled into a 31-minute original score with video edits on YouTube (edit: unfortunately taken down)

Edit 14: Staff's Goncharov art showcase for Tumblr Tuesday

As of closing on Day 3 there are 371 works in the AO3 tag.

-----

Updating with Day 3 shenanigans I missed yesterday:

Edit 15: Goncharov TV Tropes page

Edit 16: Ethics of Gonchposting

Important PSA 1 (how to reduce harm to Tumblr's neurodivergents)

Important PSA 2 (reality affirmation, anti-bullying)

Important PSA 3 (why you should stop trying to vandalise legit information sites)

Edit 17: Character lore from beezlebub whose poster they originated from

Edit 18: What we know about/ Director Matteo JWHJ0715 (#unreality)

Edit 19: Link to post with screenshotted and described NYT article (scroll down) and this golden exerpt from BuzzFeed: 💀

(alt text included)

End of Day 4 there are now 485 works in the Goncharov tag on AO3

----

Didn't get to update this on Day 5, so these are the Day 5 doings:

More trailers!

Trailer 1 (My favourite)

Trailer 2

Trailer 3

Trailer 4

I also just found out about the Goncharov Game Jam.

It appears this opened a day after after the meme took off.

Goncharov was first entered into Wikipedia between Day 4 and 5 (attempts to vandalise it with fake info don't count, incidentally – please knock that shit off) under List of Internet Phenomena. This was then expanded into its own Wikipedia page at the end of Day 5 because, according to the talk history: "the topic now meets the notability threshold for its own artice due to significant coverage in The New York Times and other sources cited." We're on Wikipedia, people!

And then we made The Guardian half a day later. So while the meme is definitely dying down to embers by now, it still stays winning.

YouTube channels with episodes on the meme:

InformOverlord (4:30)

Lessons in Meme Culture (2:43)

End of Day of 5 there were 511 works on AO3, and End of Day 6 (today) there are 556.

--

🚨BREAKING 🚨 from Martin Scorsese's daughter's TikTok (real actual)

tw: unreality:

We did it you guys!

Clarification: Francesca Scorcese asked her Dad about the meme and Martin played along. Please reblog this PSA to help Tumblr people with psychosis. Thanks.

Final edit: Day 8. Media reactions to Scorcese's TikTok (everyone from Forbes to Vulture). That one Tumblr user who said they'd do a screenplay if their post got notes has promised to shoot a single scene, but please don't be dicks just because you reblogged it; leave them alone until they get around to it themselves. As of end of Day 8 there are 609 works in the AO3 tag. I love all you lunatics. Peace! ❤️

#goncharov 1973 #reasons i can never leave this hellsite #we've ascended from pirating criterion movies to straight up manifesting them into existence #get on our level twits #knee of huss #goncharov #tumblr lore #tumblr memes #tumblr culture

[smellrain]

in which: Jack has liked you for years, but so far you have been oblivious to his feelings. Will the guide he made with the help of his teammate make you fall for him? Or will it end up destroying your friendship?

tags: written, mention of use of alcohol, slight angst. (masterlist for this au) (my masterlist) <prev. part: prologue I next part: ch. 2>

notes: [4.3k] First of all: thank you for your kind words after the prologue yesterday! Very happy that so many of you liked it. There is an analysis post about this chapter here that you might want to check out after! I hope you enjoy :) & come tell me how you liked it!!!

It had been a long day at work for you. The data your boss had assigned you had taken you a lot longer to work on than you’d expected, which meant that you actually, genuinely missed your last lecture of the day. You had texted a barely-even-friend that attended the same elective about her notes but you hadn't gotten a text back so far. 

Standing in front of your door now, you leaned the crown of your head against the outside of it and took a deep breath in. You had missed the key hole not once but twice now and the anger that welled up inside of you was completely unwarranted, so you knew you needed to mentally take at least one step back. 

Four seconds in, seven hold, eight out. In and out. You blinked once and the dark of the wood was an unwelcome reminder of reality. Still, unlocked the door, this time succeeding on the first try. 

The hallway was quiet, but you had expected as much. One of your flatmates had a nightshift at the clinic she was working at while the other was sleeping over at her boyfriends. The blissful silence you had looked forward to this morning seemed suffocating now. 

It didn’t matter. It was fine like this, you were fine.

After turning on the kitchen light, you walked to your room, put down your bag and fell down onto your bed, face first. The scratchy fabric of your bedcover was not nearly as nice as the sheets you had dreamed of all day long. 

For a while you let your eyes fall closed, not asleep, but resting nonetheless. You just wanted to rinse the day off of you, but you were too hungry to even think about showering. 

With a groan you peeled yourself off your bed, sat at the edge of your mattress while an inexplicable urge to cry welled up inside of you. Your day had been really shitty and your were really, really hungry.

But you got up anyway and walked towards the light in the kitchen that shone through through the space of the door to your room.

The music you’d put on in the background helped but it didn’t quite scratch that itch for conversation, for company. When you saw your phone light up from where you had left it on the counter, you hoped it might be the classmate you had texted. 

You rinsed off your hands to see who had messaged you. 

Jack (worst Hughes brother): hey what r you doing tn? You: currently making dinner why what did you do what do you need Jack (worst Hughes brother): nothing  wait why did you assume i did/need sth anyways: can i come over soon?

The shower. You still had to shower, but soon for Jack usually meant at least half an hour. It  should be enough time and besides it was just Jack, no reason to put in more effort than necessary. 

You: because you always text me when you need my help sure, I might be eating by then, have you eaten? Jack (worst Hughes brother): I did like 5min ago wait no ignore that, you’re telling me I could have had some of yours??? jkjk see you soon

You liked the last message and turned the heat off your stove. Shower first, you reminded yourself, even as you mourned the loss of the start of your dinner that you had been frying on the stove. 

When he knocked at your door you were still sitting at the small kitchen table that could barely seat two people. “It’s open,” you said, loudly. 

From the sounds you could hear him open and close the door, take off his shoes and leave his bag in the hallway. When he finally came into your view, you couldn’t help but smile. Strange how that worked, considering you had almost cried half an hour ago. Food really worked miracles sometimes. But then again he had always had that kind of effect on you, making you smile despite yourself. 

“That’s not very safe of you,” he had said but he was already smiling, “having your door unlocked.”

“Hey you, fancy seeing you here.”

There was a warm feeling curling itself around your ribcage at the look at him, “hey yourself. I left it open because I knew you were coming over, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” he conceded, “did you watch the game yesterday?”

“‘Course I did,” you said, eyes following him as he took a glass from the cabinets and filled it up. There was something intimate about that, the ease he carried himself with, him knowing where to find your glassware and feeling comfortable enough to do so while carrying on with the conversation. 

There was something in you that ached at the feeling, at having someone that comes home to you. At having someone that just feels that comfortable with you, that you live your life alongside with. 

It’s not like you were lonely, you had wonderful flatmates and good friends, but there was just something different about this feeling, about this longing. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, inexplicable as always.

“Good, otherwise I would have felt stupid after my goal.”

You had seen the new ritual he did sometimes that he had been asked about by the media sometimes. He had done it a few times now, more often over this past year. He was approached by his teammates first, but then he was still for a bit, putting his hand on his chest and raising it up after, usually waving once. The warmth that had seeped into your bones crept up to your face, “you did that for me?”

The one time he talked to an interviewer about it, he had said it was a new good luck charm he was trying out.

Because of the small table the two of you sat close and his knee kept bumping into yours, but you hardly paid it any mind. It was comforting, having him here, this close in the low light of the kitchen, cradling one of your glasses in his hands. 

Admitting something he hadn’t told anyone else.

“Yeah, of course, had to show my appreciation for my number one fan somehow.”

You laughed a little, “you are such an idiot.”

The smile he gave you in return crinkled up the skin at the corner of his eyes and you wanted to trace that fold with your thumb. What were you even thinking? “I know.”

So you just swatted his shoulder and got up to wash your dish. “Did you guys go out and celebrate?”

Jack turned in his seat, his body facing your back from where he was still sitting at the table, “yeah. It was a really small bar in the middle of nowhere, Nico said he didn’t want to be recognised, despite the win.”

You hummed in response. The constant scrutiny must have been affecting them all after these past few games. “Cool. Did it actually work or,” you trailed off, not really sure how to finish your question. 

“Sort of, I mean we took a few pictures when we came in but it was a lot better than usual.”

“I’m glad then,” you said and turned back around to face him, “I’m glad nothing too exciting happened.”

At the word exciting his expression morphed into something odd. “What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he answered but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. 

“You can tell me, you know you can,” you reminded him, now getting closer to him again. You were usually able to get out every last secret of his if you just asked the right questions. 

“I know,” he assured you, now pulling you a little closer by your hip and resting his hand there. He had always been touchy like that, arms slung over your shoulders or around your waist, hands holding your wrist to pull you through crowds, thumbs circling your ankle when you rested your legs in his lap. 

“But it’s really nothing, I just got a little drunk,” he assured you, but you didn’t really buy it. 

Still, you had no real reason to press, knowing that it just made him close up further. He would end up telling you, just not now. “Okay.”

The two of you went back to your room soon after, deciding to watch a movie. You didn’t tell him that you were really, genuinely tired, because you knew he could tell. He always could, somehow, even if you yourself weren’t all that aware of it. Funny how that worked.

You sat down first and then patted the spot next to you on the bed, but for a split second you saw him hesitate. That hurt, just a bit because you had thought that the two of you were close enough for it to not matter anymore. 

Still, he leaned against the headboard next to you, his shoulder softly knocking against yours and your worries disappeared at that. You must have imagined it.

“Any preferences?”

“Ratatouille,” you said immediately, not even knowing where that request came from. 

He smiled, “I do like a girl that knows what she wants.”

For some reason you blushed at that, at the barely even there implication of being his. You really were going insane today. “Is that okay for you?”

“Sure,” he said, “let's watch the rat be a better cook than the two of us combined.”

You typed the website and clicked play on your screen and settled your laptop down between the two of you, one knee on each side of the bottom of it. 

You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that you didn’t even own a tv, that you were watching a movie from your laptop when he could be at home, watching it on a screen that was at least double the size of this.

It was a stupid thought, so you brushed it off. He was a professional athlete, you were a college student. There was something fundamentally different about your current lives, as intertwined as they were. 

The movie started soon after, so you pushed all of that to the back of your mind. At first the two of you ran a semi-steady commentary about what was going on but soon after you were both too engrossed in the story to think about anything fun to say. 

When a sharp sound came from the screen you realised that you had your eyes closed. Sleepily you blinked your eyes open again. It must have been for a few minutes, at least because you weren't sure what was going on anymore. 

“Tired?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

You let your forehead fall against his shoulder, this time on purpose. It was a welcome contrast to a few hours ago when you did the same thing against your front door. His shoulder was softer because of his sweatshirt and he smelled nice. Like the shampoo he used, like his laundry detergent. You wondered when that smell had become intrinsically his and not someone else's' like a friend of yours that used the same deodorant. 

You kind of wanted to drown in it, but you held yourself afloat anyway. He wasn’t yours, you weren’t his. The two of you weren’t like that.

“Had a hard day at work,” you mumbled, a little more tired now than you’d been just moments ago. His presence did that to you, calmed you down when you didn’t even know you were high to begin with. 

He lowered your shoulder a bit which made it more comfortable for you to rest your head on it. “You could have said no, you know that, right?”

But you had wanted to see him once you had seen his message. “I know.”

“Good,” he answered, as if it was as simple as that and remained quiet after that. 

You tried to turn your focus back to the movie, you really did, but before you knew it your eyelids were drooping again. 

Then you were woken up again, this time by Jack. 

The movie must have finished in the meantime because he had moved his arm, closing your laptop. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, trying to form a coherent thought but the only thing on your mind was the warmth of him next to you, the dream that just barely slipped out of your grasp. 

“Sorry,” you said.

He turned to you, surprised. “What for? If anything I should apologise, I kept watching even when you were tired.”

“You know I don't mind that,” you said. “I just wasn’t very good company today. Sorry.”

Jack knocked his shoulder against you with a little more purpose so you  turned to him. “Nope, none of that. I don’t mind, I got to see you, which is all I wanted anyway.”

How could he just say something like that? As if words like these didn’t bore themselves under your skin, living there forever, etching themselves into the white of your bones.

This casually, as if it didn’t just make your heart flutter the same way it did when you were eighteen, back when you had loved him. Still, in your barely illuminated room, late at night you let yourself linger. Let yourself pretend that his words held meaning. 

Let yourself pretend that the two of you were different.

You thought about the thousands of times you must have seen him just like this, in the dark, looking back at you. 

It was a weird memory that came to you, just then.

Back when the two of you had first met you had been crushing hard. It wasn’t really surprising, now looking back. You had never really gotten a lot of attention by boys growing up, so when he went out of his way to talk to you, you really had no choice but to fall for him. 

Liking him had become addicting. 

You could still remember the moment you thought he might like you back and the very same moment you knew it wasn’t, probably ever, going to work out between the two of you.

It was at a party, after you had just graduated. You had just come out of the bathroom, alone because your friend was finally, finally talking to the guy she liked. 

Then you picked up a friend’s voice somewhere down the corner, most likely from the kitchen. “C’mon your turn now. Who are you crushing on,” Aaron had said. They must still be playing a weird mixture of truth or dare and some other game you had already forgotten the name of.

Your mind immediately went to Jack, the way his hand had brushed yours when he had gotten you a drink earlier that night. 

“I don't?” Jack answered, slightly laughing, but there was an air of unease in his voice that you couldn’t help but notice. 

“C’mon, Jack don’t be like that,” someone else interjected, and suddenly you were a lot more invested in the conversation than just a moment ago. It was always like that when it was about him. 

“There are always so many girls throwing themselves at you, surely you want one of them,” you could hear the other guy’s jealousy from miles away but you weren’t sure if the others picked up on it too. 

“I’m serious, I barely have time for my friends already, let alone a girlfriend.” Jack said and there was this tiny spark of hope rising in your chest. Maybe you could change that. Maybe you could be the exception. 

“True,” Aaron agreed calmer than usual. You thought he might be noticing the tension waving off of the other guy. 

“There is no shame in admitting it,” the other guy doubled down, “what about that one girl? Short, brunette, on the track and field club.”

Oh god, he was describing your friend, the one you had just left with her crush. “Nah, wait I think she has a boyfriend, but what about her friend, the one that Kevin hangs out with.”

You. Shit, he was talking about you. Did you really want to hear Jack’s response? What if he said he didn’t like you? But what if he did?

“She is my friend too, you know,” Jack said, “but she is pretty, I guess.”

He guesses? That kind of really stung. You knew that there was nothing all that memorable about you, but it’s not like you were ugly. A thousand different insecurities that you thought you had worked through rose to the surface and you didn’t have the strength to push them back down. 

You had to escape, now, without being noticed and without listening to anything more. Still, your ear couldn’t help but pick up on the rest even as you pushed past that guy that sat behind you in math.

“Jack, don’t be like that,” the other guy insisted, “don’t you want to go up to her and just fuck her? I mean her ass-”

Humiliation. For some reason you felt humiliated and violated. You knew about locker room talk, but you had never wanted to be part of it. Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes and suddenly you could feel every single person that had touched any part of you today, suddenly questioning if it really was accidental. 

You had to get out, now. The static in your ear was loud and the bass vibrating through the soles of your feet seemed to turn it up even more. You had run away, texting the friend you came with some kind of bullshit excuse for leaving. 

The asphalt outside on the sidewalk was cold, but you sat down on it anyway. You just wanted to cry. Everything seemed so overwhelming and important all at once and you had no idea how to deal with all of it. 

Soon you were leaving high school for good, your friends were moving all across the country, you were so fucking lonely and the guy you had been crushing on for a better part of a year didn’t even think that you were worthy to look at. 

You drew your legs closer to your body and folded yourself up as much as possible. Growing up seemed scary all of a sudden. There was that one Lorde lyric that said that too, that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Suddenly people were streaming out of the house, all at once. You wiped your tears, looking up at what was happening. In the stream of people you couldn’t make out any of your friends.

Then you heard your name being called. It was Kevin, still standing at his door. He held Jack at the others shirt collar, as if he was holding up a particularly unruly cat that had gotten in trouble again. 

Your eyes must not have been red because when you came closer neither boy commented on it. “Get him home,” Kevin said and dumped a heap of Jack right in front of you. 

Jack glared back at where Kevin disappeared back into the house, eyes murderous. You had never really seen him act like that, especially to a friend. But then again how well did you really know him?

A beat of silence. You really wondered what on earth had happened for the party to just end. You shifted your weight on your feet. “Do you have a car?” you asked eventually. 

Jack brushed past you, “yeah. I’ll drive you home, didn’t drink anything.”

You followed him, but on the short walk back to his car neither of you said anything. 

The stereo remained off all the way back to your place. After you had stopped looking at him to try and figure out what had him in this bad of a mood, you looked outside. The neighbourhood was so familiar, and the horribly sad feeling from earlier came up again. 

You really needed some kind of distraction. “Thank you for driving me home.”

For a second he remained quiet and you really thought you were going to be ignored. He had always had a bit of a dramatic streak at times. “Of course.”

His expression remained scarily blank. “Can I ask what happened with Kevin?”

“Nothing,” he said, his gaze staring firmly ahead. Then, “I don’t like his friends.”

What kind of response was that? “Okay,” you tried, carefully, “then why did you come?”

“I didn’t know I didn’t like them before tonight,” he said. 

Then you looked at the way his hands were gripping the wheel, specifically at his knuckles. Wait- “did you punch one of them?”

He laughed, and the sound bounced off the small enclosure and some kind of happy feeling made your heart swell, even though you had been apprehensive about him just moments ago.

It was a lot longer than your comment had warranted. You really were a bit concerned about him. Should he be driving if he acted like this? “I might have.”

Before you could ask why, because you had never seen him actually punch anyone, he continued, “in my defense, he started it.”

“That’s a shitty defense,” you said, “that just means you have to be the one to take a step back first.”

He only shook his head in response but you were happy he was back to acting like that Jack you knew. “You would have punched him too, I just know it.”

“Sure,” you replied. You had never punched a person because you didn’t like them and you didn’t think you’d start anytime soon. 

“Trust me, you would have,” he said and left it at that. 

The two of you arrived at your place soon after, so you thanked him and left. 

The rest of the summer between highschool and college was spent getting over him, which you eventually succeeded at when he introduced his now ex-girlfriend to you and your friends. 

In college you went out on a few dates, but none of them ended up going anywhere. That was fine to you, because it just meant that you were prioritising other things now, like your studies and your friends. 

There wasn’t even anything all that similar between that memory and your current situation, but you drew the comparison anyway. His jaw was more refined now, his hair longer and his eyes seemed different now, a bit more mature maybe. Or maybe just a bit more tired. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

It must have been a bit strange, you just looking at him. “You,” you replied honestly. “Do you remember that one party, way back, after high school where you punched someone?”

He groaned and leaned his head back against the wall, his throat exposed. Your gaze lingered there for a bit before returning to his face. Some kind of feeling almost bubbled to the surface at the sound and the matching sight.

“I do.”

“I never actually figured why you did that.” When his gaze remained firmly on your ceiling, you continued, “I feel like now enough time has passed for you to admit why.”

He smiled a bit. “There was this other guy, right? The one I punched, I mean.”

You nodded. 

“He was being a real dick about one of my friends, and when he didn’t stop talking about her I just kinda wanted him to shut up. Moved before thinking about it.”

“Asshole,” you commented, not about Jack. 

“Right?” he turned his head so that he looked back down to you, “after that one punch I came back to myself but before I knew it Kevin had dragged me out by my collar, shouting that everyone had to go.”

“He must have wanted to avoid a full on fight,” you said. 

“For sure, can’t even blame him.” With a mischievous gleam in his eyes he said, “but it felt really good to finally shut him up.”

You laughed, thinking that the entire situation was a lot more dramatic than it really had any reason to be. The laugh turned to a yawn by the end. 

“I should leave,” he said but you had the weird urge to ask him to stay. 

“Sorry, I’m a lot more tired than I thought,” you said instead.

“Don’t apologise for that,” he said, getting up. He ended up offering you a hand to help you get up as well even though you really didn't need it. You took it anyway. 

He picked up the bag that he had left at the door, opened it and turned to you. “I had fun.”

You smiled, “me too.”

“Good,” he offered you a smile in return. You saw his hand reach out and stop for just a second, but before you could ask him about it, he held it against your temple and leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead. He lingered in your orbit for a bit longer than the duration of the kiss, just hovering above you. 

“See you soon,” he said, waving, and you replied the same. Then you closed your door and locked it. 

You didn’t need to hold your hand against your cheek to feel it burn. What was that? He had never done that before. He had never done anything like that before, ever.

You stumbled to your bathroom, and went through the motions of brushing your teeth and going on the toilet. When you finally crawled under your sheets, you let yourself sink down into them. 

Still, you were too tired to properly dissect the entire interaction so instead you closed your eyes. You drifted to sleep, your mind focusing on the tips of his ears that had seemed a bit flushed when he closed the door behind himself. 

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @hughescomplex @lupinslibraries @megaluke @cixrosie (send me an ask to be added!)

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #nhl #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x you #nhl x reader #ame writes #jhgtfil

[curekibouka-writing]

Analyzing the lullaby motif in book 7 (+translation of lyrics)

MAJOR SPOILERS for book 7 chapter 1-5

I hope everyone remembers the lullaby Malleus sang for everyone when he overblotted because that motif came back FOUR times in chapter 5 and I am going to analyze them all because they make me way too emotional 😭

Please feel free to find the lullaby motifs in this post and this post if necessary (although one of them is not included).

Translated lyrics of the lullaby:

A warm cradle

Starlight and joy

My eyes are watching over you still, let's be together

With no fear, even if we wake from this dream

Sleep, sleep, my beloved child

In dreams, I pray you would be guided to walk toward the light

(Analysis begins under the cut:)

The melody of the lullaby has been used 5 times at least in the story, they include:

When Malleus hummed it to everyone he put to sleep during his OB

When Meleanor sang it to Malleus

When Lilia sang it to Silver

When Malleus sang it to Silver

In the bgm when Sebek was helping come out of the darkness

The themes of this piece of music are love and farewell.

Motif use 2 is chronologically when the lullaby was first sung, it’s a song of love from a mother to her child when she knows they must part. I believe that when Meleanor sang this lullaby, she had already made up her mind to fight and let her guards escape with her child. She was taking the last moments she had with her child to name him "Malleus" and sing him this lullaby (7-75). Lyrics include sth like “I will be watching over you even if we wake up from this dream” and “may you be guided and walk towards the light”. But the beauty that comes with the theme of farewell is the theme of legacy. Because even though Meleanor is now gone, her song, and thus her love, never died.

Because Lilia remembers it. Motif 3 is Lilia singing it to Silver, and he’s also sung it to Malleus before. In a musical story, even if the characters lie or don’t have perfect information, the music never lies. Even if Lilia once doubted whether he could love Malleus and hatch him properly (7-77), and even if Lilia may still doubt whether he could love Silver, a human, properly (7-81), the motif symbolises love which tells us the truth — Lilia is capable of giving love. And the legacy is not just that Lilia passed the song to Malleus, it’s that Lilia internalized the song and sang it to his own son. He has seen what kind of mother Meleanor was, and he’s learnt from her kindness, her pride, her love and he has put that into how he raise his own child. Lilia has Meleanor’s legacy too.

And then to address the two Malleus motifs. First of all Malleus never sings it with lyrics, which would imply Malleus himself doesn’t fully know the true meaning of the song. However, he knows that he’s felt happiness and protection from hearing this song, so he sings it to Silver when Lilia asks him to as motif 4 (7-81). When he sang it to Silver he sounded confused, it must’ve been a long time since he’s heard the song. But he still remembers it, which means Meleanor’s love never died because Malleus remembers it all the same. It’s still in Malleus. It’s still there.

But when Malleus overblots, the song gets twisted a little bit (motif 1). However, in Malleus’s mind, it’s still a song of happiness and protection, because he overblotted trying to protect everyone’s happiness forever. But the music sounds creepy to show you the true nature of the song is not like this. The nature of the song is that "even though I cannot be with you always, I will still love you and wish for your happiness". This is the part that Malleus did not understand and did not cope with. It’s also interesting to note that Malleus sang motif 1 with a smile and no hesitation, he was completely confident and sure in what he was doing. Meanwhile, in all other three sung versions, each singer had their own different emotions in their singing, and those emotions were a lot softer, a lot less certain.

And the fifth and final use of the motif is used in the bgm when Sebek yells at Silver for him to get a grip (7-86). The song is arranged into a victorious piece with certainty and assurance. The use of the motif reminds us of the themes: love and legacy. It calls attention to these themes and entrenchs the truth that Silver IS Lilia’s legacy, and that’s only possible because of the love that Lilia has given him. The exact part where the bgm starts playing was when Silver said "Even in the darkness, I could always hear it. 'Stand up' 'Don't give in' 'Live'... it's father's voice. [...] All that he taught me, that's the proof that he had loved me. It's not a dream and not an illusion... it's true love." (I'm serious he really said "true love" for real this IS a translation T^T). When Silver saw Lilia's memories of the song, he denied the love, he said he should not deserve it. The motif had to come back because this is the moment when Silver can finally realize “Ah. This song is full of love and father sang it for me.” The motif HAD to come back because Silver has to come to accept it.

But the bgm arrangement is also made for Sebek. The bgm is full of certainty because Sebek has no doubts in what he’s telling Silver. Sebek, who has grown up alongside Silver, has witness all the love between Lilia and Silver. He KNOWS Lilia’s love is true and he’s conveying that to Silver with certainty. This bgm summarises what Sebek was doing so well, Sebek sees the love Lilia has for Silver and was literally blasting it in Silver’s ears.

As Disney's Sleeping Beauty (1959) puts it, "true love conquers all". And we've been shown that there's love in every direction among our Diasomnia found family. Let's hope that, soon enough, Silver and Sebek would wake Lilia up, and they can finally show Malleus the true meaning of his mother's lullaby and the wish she entrusted to it — that he would walk towards the light, even if she cannot be the one guiding him...

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst ch 7 spoilers #twst chapter 7 #lilia vanrouge #silver #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia #mallenoa draconia #meleanor draconia #twst book 7 #twst translation #twst analysis #diasomnia

[safety-pin-punk]

Punk History Resources: Vol 2

This is a compilation of resources found and recommended by various alternative bloggers, each of whom are credited for their contributions. This started because I was getting SO MANY asks about resources such as videos, books, and websites to use to learn about punk history. Admittedly, my own list wasn't that long, so I thought it was best to reach out to some others and share their knowledge with everyone. Now, I'm hoping to make this an annual occurrence, where we all share our knowledge with each other. So thank you again to everyone who helped out with this!!

Link to Volume 1

@whatamibutabutteredcroissant @unfriendlybat @ghost--in-a-machine @mushroomjar

YOUTUBE:

Part 1 of The Decline of Western Civilization (It recieved mixed reception from people in the scene) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Part 3 of The Decline of Western Civilization (Focuses on the gutter-punks of 90s LA) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

BOOKS:

Some Wear Leather Some Wear Lace by Andi Harriman and Marloes Bontje (It's mostly goth/horror rock/post punk/deathrock but I feel like it's adjacent enough for it to merit a read) (unfriendlybat)

Spray Paint the Walls: The Story of Black Flag by Stevie Chick (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Kids of the Black Hole: Punk Rock in Postsuburban California by Dewar Macleod (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

We Got the Neutron Bomb: The Untold Story of L.A. Punk by Marc Spitz and Brendan Mullen (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Left of The Dial: Conversations with Punk Icons by David Ensminger (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

The Art of Darkness: The History of Goth by John Robb (A comprehensive history of Goth) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Punk Zines by Eddie Piller and Steve Rowland (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

The High Desert by James Spooner ( A graphic novel memoir of how the authro came into the scene) (ghost--in-a-machine)

Let Fury Have The Hour by Antonio D'Ambrosio (About the band The Clash) (anonymous submission)

MOVIES / DOCUMENTARIES:

Masque (A 10 minute doc about the Masque club in LA) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

ARTICLES:

History of Anarcho-Punk and Peace Punk (mushroomjar)

Late 80s and Early 90s Puerto Rico Hardcore Punk (mushroomjar)

The Jewish History of Punk (mushroomjar)

Japan's Impact on Punk Culture (mushroomjar)

The Forgotten Story of Pure Hell, America's First Black Punk Band (mushroomjar)

The Black Punk Pioneers Who Made Music History (mushroomjar)

Why Poly Styrene is Punk's Great Lost Icon (mushroomjar)

Alternative to Alternatives: The Black Grrrls Riot Ignored (mushroomjar)

Abandoning The Ear? Punk and Deaf Convergences Part II (mushroomjar)

Race, Anarchy, and Punk Rock: The Impact of Cultural Boundaries Within The Anarchist Movement (mushroomjar)

Street Medic Handbook (safety-pin-punk)

ZINES:

Sticking To It (safety-pin-punk)

So You Say You Want An Insurrection (safety-pin-punk)

All Power To The People (safety-pin-punk)

How to Survive a Felony Trial: Keeping Your Head up through the Worst of It (safety-pin-punk)

Collectives: Anarchy Against The Mass (safety-pin-punk)

Social War on Stolen Native Land: Anarchist Contributions (safety-pin-punk)

A Civilian's Guide to Direct Action (safety-pin-punk)

Critical Thinking as Anarchist Weapon (safety-pin-punk)

Security Culture: A Handbook for Activists (safety-pin-punk)

Betrayal: A Critical Analysis of Rape Culture in Anarchist Subcultures (safety-pin-punk)

ETC:

The Anarcho-Stencilism Subreddit (people upload stencils for others to use for free) (mushroomjar)

I would love to make a Vol. 3 post next year, so if you have resources and want to share, PLEASE message me!! (Preferably DMs)

#punk 101 #punk culture #punk history #punk #punx #punk resources #resource list

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 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: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!! #my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic