#GOODBYE IDK WHAT THE FUCK I JUST SAID

[kyoghurts]

ROUND 6. kenji's incoherent yappings

you know what im just gonna take a really quick moment to analyze this scene cos..?????????? till was basically rejecting ivan’s smoochie woochie eugh he doesn’t know what the fuck is going ON. like . dude why are you suddenly kissing me and looking at me like that???

this one split second of them looking at each other, till’s perplexed expression is without a doubt evident on his face. but he lets ivan holds his face? he doesnt? push him away? like till is only digesting this just now and? actually pays even a little of his attention to ivan?

and then lets take a moment to also consider ivan’s expression. his eyes—always set upon till. his black sorrow, as black as his iris. as dead set as he is to his black sorrow, as obsessed and a freak that he is, lets himself run free of his affections like hes always longed for without consideration of till's feelings. of till's perception of ivan because he always believed and have been true that till will never, never look at his way. so yes, he will force his way for this. just for this split second, after all, their lives on the line. so he will make the most out of it. he is human, he is selfish, he has so much to give out and he can practically rip his heart from his ribcage if asked by till. that dead look is basically saying "i fucking loved u ever since were children, u ignorant piece of shit. look at me. look at me now"

then boom he feels tight hands choking him and with almost no resistance, accepts it with grace. slightly tilting his head back as he feels the pressure of each fingers restraining the circulation of air from lungs to throat.

now at this point, ivan could, you know. take till with him in the afterlife. he could fulfill his own selfish desires. he could tie till with his being because he is a freak like that. he sees their score and thinks "yeah, thats it. thats how its supposed to be."

"its my gift. its for you" that one small and tender peck to his lips is just. Augh. that took me out.

when blood gushes forth in his mouth, heart in throat. i think the actual choke here is ivan and his perpetual unrequited love for till. all for this moment, its always been a dull throb of pain, i think that explains why the presence of symbolism and strong emphasis on certain themes of this round is lacking. vivinos shoves us in the face with "take this shit. ivan will never be more than something to till. thats all there is to it." like, vivinos shrugs, and "it is what it is! :3"

which is another level of sad. there is no meaning to any of this. its just a guy with too much to give and another guy who has lost his everything. ivan will never be something to till. and ivan is replaceable to the aliens like any other pet humans they have. ivan, is meaningless, ivan is replaceable.

yk ivan sells himself short in the interview right? i think there's some truth to it that speaks of himself. and now, secrets revealed. all plain in the face. its that simple.

[rapidhighway]

stressed

I have to fight family again

[m0e-ru]

guy who knows krav maga fights himself like a girl

[zikadraws]

Yeah so I kinda just lost my dad

I don't really wanna say or mean anything more there, just wanted to make that known

[crowrelli]

.

[wp100]

this tweet is so weird like fanfiction isn't real. who cares if something isn't realistic. it might be "realistic" to some people. not everyone's experiences are universal.

Write whatever the fuck you want, regardless of experience, yknow, unless it's something actually really serious, like mental health. some things require research before writing or portraying

edit: and might i add that fic writers and artists are pouring their hearts into the fics and art you read/look at for FREE? We post our work for free and people say stuff like this. Saying stuff like this doesn't help, just feels unnecessary, and a tad mean

[lilalilan]

Ahhh got harassed by a random guy at the concert after-party could y'all just fucking not

[scattered-winter]

THIS SUCKS!!!!

[muttsona]

i hope i die, you broke my heart

[solcarow]

.

[anothermonikan]

Have I told you guys about the fucked up dreams I've been having recently? I've been having some fucked up dreams lately. yeah <3

[arcadequeerz]

I miss my dad.

[bunnyb34r]

Ough sleepy but I have to work on craft shit 😭😭😭😭

[strayskinny]

today was actually so awful i hate everything,,,,,,

[waluigisgaybf]

Theres at least like 2 separate people I follow on here I used to be mutuals with but I think since then they've both unfollowed me-

one was a fb friend who I loved talking to a BUNCH even if I didnt do it often- but after I hadnt heard from them in awhile I check their fb and theyd unfriended me :( (and maybe blocked because now I cant see him on there???? but idk)

and then the other I met on here and we were in a small discord server together and I adored everyone in there and really liked being friends with the person that had added me from here to the server- and I dont have them in my discord anymore at all and Ive just been so heart broken about both of them off and on for over at least a year now :(

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either.