#this post comes from the fact that i always 'ruin / waste' my holidays by doing 'nothing'
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so i "did nothing" today of what i had planned (groceries, 'mental health walk') but i also :
- did the laundry
- put away the dry cloth of the previous laundry run
- waxed (which i wanted to do yesterday so i'm glad i did it now)
- practiced my instrument (twas not great as it was a bit mindless, but i finally found the source of one recent sound problem)
- washed my hair
- did a little callisthenics
- downloaded some songs to begin making a collection
- learned that even if i'm not feeling it, putting the right song WILL give me the energy necessary to do the thing. i do not need to want to hear the sound for it to work.
so even if i didn't do a "specific activity" outside i still did things and that's good !
#3615 my life#this post comes from the fact that i always 'ruin / waste' my holidays by doing 'nothing'#when i want to do 'things'#and i'm beginning to see/add nuances to what is things and nothings and what feels like doing or not doing#it was sunny today (as much as it can be lately.) and in general i'm dog holding it's leash about it#and if i don't go out i feel like i shot myself in the foot and is doubly sad#but i thought about it and actually didn't want to go truly it was not uuuh i saw it again lately. it was not demand avoidance#because it's fucking wimdy and i hate the wind and behinf outside in the cold wind#so actually i was much happier home#day did not happen how i planned it but in the end i don't feel like i fucked it up. i did things that made me feel good#and or will help me later#and i shouldn't ask too much of myself. like for cleaning : one thing a day is already great ! all in it's time.#that's how the brain learn it's not a chore and is able to do it more readily and agreeably the next time
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You Can’t Get Better Than A Thrombey
Summary- 4.7 Ransom x You. You and Ransom have a good thing going. Friends with benefits and nothing more. But Ransom’s selfish ways end up ruining it, and you are done. Gone. You moved on with your life. Until one traveling night that brings you back to the city you had left behind, and of course Ransom Drysdale shows up. Written for @imanuglywombat Wombat’s Ugly 4k Challenge.
Warnings- This fic has a spousal cheating element to it. Please do not read if that bothers you. Other warnings, Smut, Male receiving Oral and Swears.
A/N- Thank you @imanuglywombat for the wonderful challenge! It was so much fun. Congratulations on your follower count babes.
A/N Two- Moodboard Wombat made is at the very bottom of the fic, and the lyrics used for second prompt, Good Luck by Basement Jaxx will be in italiacs through the fic.
A/N three- if just occurred to me that the whole "you cant get better then a thrombey" came from @jtargaryen18 series Naughty Ransom Holiday Tales, which her Ransom Drysdale series is top tier and absolutely should go read. It's one of my favorites. Probably why the line got stuck in my head.
“Come on Baby, just one more.” Ransom hissed against your ear, his tongue swiping over the shell of your ear while tightening his hold on your throat, your sobs coming out half strangled from needing to come on his cock that he kept pounding into you. Feet planted on the plush hotel carpet, his thrusts into your cunt had you gasping with need while your channel fluttered around his cock. He grasped your hand that was currently buried in his hair and wrenched your hand down to press against your stomach. “Feel that Kitten, how I’m rearranging your guts and fucking you useless for anyone else?”
Your head nodded, as much as he allowed with the hold on your throat, causing his fingers to flex, closing around your throat tighter till you were seeing sparks blossom in your sight and that's when you couldn't hold back anymore. Behind you, Ransom's sweaty chest clung like wrap to your back, vibrating as he grunted against your shoulder. You ended up flooding his cock, gushing on your thighs and slicking against his as he pounded you harder now, grabbing your hips and rutting you now to reach his end. Leaving your limp body to be rag-dolled in his lap till he shot himself inside of you to paint your walls, and you both fell back against the ruined California King bed, the sheets sex sweat stained from earlier.
Gasping breaths and heaving chests were the only sound in the overheated room, and you eased off him, your back peeling away to roll next to him with a groan. You peeked at him from where you had buried your head against the crook of your arm, and admired the flushed cheeks, and still tensing tendons in his neck, his hair was all disheveled and out of its usual place from where he always had it groomed back. “Mmh, what are you staring at?” He questioned before turning to look at you, his ridiculously long lashes were swept against his cheek for half a second before cold crystal cerulean’s looked at you inquiring.
“I'm looking at your post orgasm face.” You respond, and prop a hand under your head once you turn to your side. “It's a good look on you Ransom, one of your better ones.”
He arched a brow as he reached over, tracing the curve of your breast before tugging on a still sensitive nipple to make you gasp, and shove your hand against his shoulder making him smirk in his signature way. “Fucking glad you approve, maybe we should do this more often.”
“Well next time you're in the city, give me a call.” You say swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking around at your discarded clothing.
“And where the fuck you going?” He tugged you back to tumble into the bed, rolling over you so you could feel his thighs wedge yours apart and his hips drop into place. You fold your arms across your chest and huff, looking up at him as he braced himself above you, tendrils of sweaty hair falling over his forehead.
“You can't be serious Ransom, again? I have to go back to my apartment. I have a work meeting tomorrow with my bosses.” You state matter of fact. “Besides, whatever happened to that no sleeping over rule?”
“Who says I'm letting you sleep? I barely get to come to the city anyways.” He lowered over you, pressing his soft pillowed lips in all your weakest spots on your shoulder and neck, a hand sliding between your thighs and into slick folds. Fuck this man, your mind thought till it went blank again in the sensation of his fingers so expertly playing between your petals that you already were stretching your thighs wider for him. “I haven't thoroughly fucked you yet.”
“God I hate you.” You moaned out as you felt your resolve fluttering into his favor, the metal of his pinkie rubbed against your clit and a long finger stretched you open once more.
“Well this sure isn't love Kitten, cause I'm about to destroy you. Admit it Y/N, you haven't had anything better than me.” He expertly gave you those long fingered strokes that had you keening his name, losing your entire resolve.
“That's my girl…” He praised above you while you grabbed his biceps and started to climb to the heavens all over again.
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A knock on the door disturbed your sleep. You stirred in confusion against the overly soft pillow that wasn't at all familiar. You lifted your head in confusion, looking around when another knock came, and you heard Ransom yell from the bathroom, snapping it open. “Fuck, will be right there.”
You clutched the sheet and sat up, rubbing at your eyes while he brought in a cart with covered trays. “I didn't think you would ever get up Y/N.” He said while wheeling it to a table, and it occurred to you that the sun was awful bright.
“Oh shit, Ransom, what time is it?” You shoot across the bed, looking desperately for your cell phone, and he gives a shrug while lifting the cover off one tray.
“Hell if I know… 10? 11?” he says while grabbing a piece of toast and biting the corner while you are moving aside pillows trying to find your phone.
“Ransom!” You snagged your phone from under a pillow, and checked the notifications. Closing your eyes in frustration. “It's more like 1 in the afternoon, and I was supposed to have a meeting at 10. I set my alarm.”
Ransom strode over to you as you were typing out a message to your office hurriedly. “Oh, yea I might have silenced it this morning. The fucking thing wouldn’t stop chirping.”
Your eyes lifted from your screen and said with utmost disbelief. “You… silenced it?”
“It was so fucking early and woke me up Y/N.” Like you had inconvenienced him. “I don’t know why you set the fucking thing anyways.” He said, and you felt rage well up in your chest, pushing up out of the bed, and grabbed at your clothes.
“You did it this time Ransom. You are a fuck buddy, and yet you take the whole thing quite literally don’t you.” You grab at your panties, shoving them on and then snatch your bra. “Fucked me over on the most important meeting of my life, I should have known better then to answer your fucking text.” You are ranting to yourself, searching for your skirt.
Ransom seems confused at your words, starting to follow you around. “You’re mad because of that job? I’ve told you a hundred times to come on as Harlan's assistant. He’s been looking for years and you would be perfect. Probably pay you better and you can come to my place more often.” His tone turned cocky while saying this, his gift to you apparently.
You pushed past Ransom without even saying anything, grabbing your shirt and shoving it over your head. “You sold me down the river now Ransom.” You grab at your heels and slip them on while reading the message on your phone sent back from your office. Basically telling you to get your ass in because the boss wanted to see you. Breathing out in defeat. “I hope you’re feeling happy now.” You drop it in your bag while he gives an exaggerated eye roll at you.
“Come on Y/N, It's not the end of the world.” He grasped your arm to stop you storming out, and you hiss at him.
“You don't get it Ransom do you, I worked hard for this, my whole fucking life. And I let you ruin it for me. I should be mad at you but it would be such a waste of energy on you. So I’m mad at myself more.” You look him up and down while wrenching your arm out of his grasp, and look up at him, committing him to memory, this exact expression of his. Signature sneer crossing his face that edged on his face with a smirk like he would fix this problem with the easiest way possible. It might have worked with another woman, one who thought that he ‘Loved Her’ but you were not fooled, there was no love between you. This was a way to scratch an itch. One that you needed to break away from. Now that the damage was done.
“We’re all done Ransom, I can’t keep doing this shit anymore with you. The consequences outweigh the benefits of sleeping with you.” You started towards the door and you felt him spin you around, pressing you against the door.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Kitten?” He sneered down at you, and when you tried to push him away, he slammed you back into the door with a dull thud. “You don't throw away a good thing Sweetheart.”
You catch your breath, the hard masculine body crushing against you was all too familiar, and up to his expression that looked like he had won you over. Now you always have a sneer in your smile Ransom, you thought to yourself, thinking you have actual control over me. Your hands planted against his chest, and his gaze darkened as you made him back away from you with resolve. “But wake up, Baby, You’re so totally deluded… I'm throwing away this good thing right now.” Turning away, you were quick to open the door and look over your shoulder. “Don’t bother fucking calling me anymore.”
With a quick snap out the door, as you walked down the five star hotel hallway, you heard Ransom rip open the door and poke his head out. “Don't worry about me calling you Kitten, not like you are the only lay I can get in this town.”
You didn't even bother answering as you stepped on the elevator. Your last sight of him was striding towards the elevator doors as they shut, staring back at him coldly as he shouted your name and the doors blocked him from you, now your reflection staring coldly back at you in the steel doors as the elevator brought you to the lobby.
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That would be the last time you saw him in a couple years. You ended up losing your job that day, and decided that it wasn't just Ransom you needed to change in your life, but all of it. You put out resumes all over New England and found someone to take over the lease to your apartment. Within a couple months from that night, you were moving out of the city and to a small suburb, house, lawn and everything. You went to work as a legal aide at a small law firm. Dates happened here and there, but you didn't let any of them get close in the way Ransom was. Eventually dating turned into a matter of convenience for you. You settled finally. A lawyer that chased after you for a while, Neil. He made an excellent lover and you two were comfortable, you even loved him in a way. Just like he loved you in a way. He had long hours, and you always traveled. It became a relationship of sorts for you two.
This evening you sat in the swanky Boston bar, another business trip for the firm, sipping from a second gin and tonic while scanning the room when you saw a sight you never thought you would see again.
One Ransom Drysdale came in with some slim waisted woman clinging to him, chatting away but you could tell just from the way he scanned the room that he wasn't even paying attention to her. When his gaze fell on you, his brows arched in surprise, but then they darkened and he whispered to his companion. When she split away towards a table, he strode over to you sitting at the bar.
“Never thought I would see you slumming in this part of town again.” He said slowly while waving the bartender over. “You look good Y/N.” He said in a matter of fact tone, and you raked a gaze over him. In the two years you hadn’t seen him, he barely changed. Still wore the high end clothes, and that camel colored coat that was so soft to the touch, that pinkie ring shone just a bit in the low light. “Another gin and tonic for her to.” in which your drink was switched out with a fresh one.
“Business Hugh.” You snipped out, catching him scowl at mention of his name. How you got a thrill knowing how much he hated it. “And you don't look bad yourself. Still living that trust fund life, it treats you good.” You thanked the bartender and sipped from the much stronger gin and tonic now, feeling the tendrils of heat curl in your veins from the alcohol.
“Well I will have you know not entirely a trust fund life now.” He remarked your words back to you while he leaned in closer, his hand sliding along your thigh in that all too familiar way of his. “I took over part of Blood Like Wine just to piss Walt off. But I enjoy it, and have been doing some writing myself with Harlan’s help.”
Your eyes widened in surprise, tilting your head towards him. “You actually got serious in life? I’m impressed.”
Ransom shrugged while twirling his glass, the bits of ice clinking in the glass. “Got bored, needed something to do Y/N.”
You laughed hearing him, and glanced over your shoulder. “Isn’t your date waiting on your Ransom?”
He looked over his shoulder at the woman he had come in with, shaking his head. “Nah, she will be fine. See, she already is eyeing up someone else.” He stated, watching as his previous date scooted over, letting someone sit in the booth with her. Ransom turned back to you and smirked, settling in comfortably next to you. “Guess we actually get to catch up.” You didn't send him away, in fact you two fell back into easy conversation talking about the past two years. The evening turned to night, and the bartender gave you two the cut off. Before you could excuse yourself to leave, Ransom reached out and caught your wrist to keep you from getting up.
“Looks like I'm free tonight, what do you say… one more for old times sake?”
You pondered his offer, the last swallow of gin and tonic was probably that last push as you glanced at your old lover. His eyes showed promise that it would be good, and you knew full well that he had every right to be cocky. Setting your glass down, you nod.
“Old times sake… but this is it Drysdale.”
You two escaped the bar, Ransom knowing the streets like the back of his hand. It was like the old days when you two messed around, familiar in the sense you knew that you two would hit the subway. You hated riding in the beamer around the city, and he was well aware of it. Teasing looks and touches were shared on the subway, once in a while a dirty kiss before splitting apart. “Fuck you taste good Kitten.” He muttered your old nickname against your neck as he sucked a mark against your pulse. “So addictive.” You hide a grin in against his shoulder hearing him.
The thing that ended up surprising you was when Ransom didn't pull you to one of your regular meetup Hotels, but an actual apartment building. “What is this?” You stalled as he hit the numbers in the pad on the side of the building to be let in.
“I moved into the city. Made more sense then having to travel all the fucking time.” Pulling you into the building and steering you to the elevator, he crowded into you once the doors shut on you two. Your head tilted back to let him skim those lips over your pulse once more and tug your ear between sharp teeth, needy fingers bunching under your sweater, and trailing fire against your skin till his touch turned into a press of fingertips biting into your curves. Your hands fisted in his cashmere sweater, brushing your face against the hard planes of his jawline, sighing in such a needy way, its been so fucking long since you’ve felt this. Felt that physical urge to just get lost in the most primal of ways.
You two crashed into the apartment, tugging at each others clothes and stumbling into the walls, pushing back and forth till you shoved Ransom hard against the hallway wall, rolling into him with a clash of teeth and hisses when his hand fist in your hair, pulling you away to march you two closer to the bedroom, his enormous body crowding you where he wanted you. “Come on Kitten, remind me how good that mouth was again.”
You didn't hesitate to drop to your knees on the hardwood floor and your hands twisted in his trousers to tug at the button and zipper, yanking them down his legs till he stepped from them. “Open.” Ransom demanded while wrapping his hand around his hard cock and jerked it while you looked up at him with a begging expression, you wanted it, him. You tongue fell out to accept his offering. Perhaps you should have felt shame at your desperate actions, at how easily you turned into a whore for Ransom. You had been in a committed relationship with Neil for six months, and here you were breaking it all for a man you sworn yourself from. Ransom was not gentle about taking you apart either, which you had craved his demanding nature the past two years. His cock pressed past your lips into your wet heat, making you widen around him till he hit the back of your throat making you sputter. You tried to pull away instinctively but he held you there for a few seconds till you relaxed. “Thatta girl Kitten.” Ransom praised and his hips started to thrust into your mouth.
“Fuck I missed seeing you like this.” He grunted as he moved your head back and forth, his hands digging into your scalp and fucked into your mouth. You clenched your thighs underneath yourself, wanting to hide that desire to grind into anything for the friction, completely growing wet with the way he just fucked your mouth how he wanted. You slurped on his cock, hollowing your cheeks to tighten around him, fluttering your tongue against that thick vein while he pressed your mouth to take more, and your nose ended up against the tight dark pubic curls, drool dripped down your chin to leave you ruined looking.
“Grinding yourself against your thigh Slut, I can see those hips moving.” He yanked you off his cock, your tongue darting to kitten lick the red tip while looking up at him as your hands rubbed up and down his muscular thighs while he jerked himself. Seeing he was close you tipped back further as his hold allowed, whining.
“Yes I am Ransom, fuck you for making me this way.” You whined out as you shifted your hips, rubbing your cunt as hard as possible against the back of your foreleg, wanting to get that fulfillment.
He squeezed himself slightly to keep from cumming and dragged you back to your feet, snapping a hand against your ass to get you moving “Then let's take care of that Kitten.” Your fingers dipped into your waistband of your panties shimming them down while Ransom grabbed palmfuls of your ass and ground his cock between your cheeks. “I got to get inside you…” He panted into the curve of your neck and as soon as you reached the bedroom, he pressed you against the dresser just inside the door. Pulling your ass out and his cock pressed between slick folds, pushing himself into you, both of you sighed in relief at the familiar sensation. You stretched around him till you were full of him, and him feeling you wrapped around him so tight, your cunt seemed to swallow him.
He took you from behind, rattling the dresser with each pounding thrust, his hands digging permanent marks into your hips in a ruthless way. A way you had missed, hard demanding ruts, banging your hips into the hardwood of the dresser and your hands tried finding purchase against the wood when he angled and found that sweet spot that only he seemed to be able to find. Making you keen his name and he snapped his teeth, clenching his jaw till the tendons of his neck strained with the power he was slamming into you.
“That was all it took to flood my cock, Kitten, you must be needy.”
You sagged against the dresser but he wasn't over with you yet, it had been years since he had you with him. Man handling you to the bed, you went to your back and he fell over you. Snapping kisses against the sensitive part of your chest to the tops of your breasts, his hand dragged your bra down, the bands straining and lifting your chest off the bed while you dug your hands into his hair, pulling it hard enough for him to moan into your skin and his teeth sink into the top of your breast.
“Ransom, no more marks.” You tried to stop him but he muttered something between the curves, drawing a swipe till he got to your nipple, latching on and pulling on it for it to swell.
“Yea yea, got a boyfriend you can’t let see.” He said in a joking manner as a hand moved underneath you to release your bra, and he shifted your hips to settle underneath him. You slipped your hands along his chest, and curled around his neck, shrugging a shoulder.
“Perhaps, just don't mark me up.” you snapped, and he smothered you again, lip biting kisses as he thrust into you, your legs wrapping around his slender hips, and pulling him in closer.
As his hips rocked into you, slower than before dragging himself back and forth, he lifted to his elbows, looking down at you as you bit your lip, pressing your head back. “What's his name?”
Your eyes spring open as your fingers dig into his back. “W-what Ransom?”
He pressed forward, pinning you into the mattress while grinding into you. “His fucking name Kitten, what is it?” This time when you look up at him, you can see his mouth set in a thin line, and ground himself into you, making you clench around him.
“Why does it matter?” your nails loosen slightly and drag down his back. “You never cared before.”
Ransom then blessed you with that signature smirk, and moved his hand to your throat to tighten, and tighten enough to make you gasp out, the move making you flutter around him. “Because Kitten.” His mouth lowered over yours, teeth sinking into your lip and tongue filling your mouth and stealing the last air from your lungs. “I know you, you will never be satisfied with settling down Y/N. It's not in you. These past two years, have you actually been satisfied like this.”
“A lot changes in those two years Ransom.” You gasped into his mouth, fighting him back now after his words, working your hips back to meet him with each thrust. “Oh better to be like you? Just fucking around. You’ll end up old and lonely without someone in your life.” Your tongue lapped at the roof of his mouth and your eyes rolled up feeling him splitting you apart.
“Come on Kitten, you're not telling me you didn't miss this? Us? You are all I have ever needed, you know that.” Ransom demanded, and you shuddered under him, cumming just then, his hand around your neck tightened all that much further while he chased his own ending this time. Pushing you up the bed till you both were buried in the pillows. Soon you felt him paint your walls, burying himself into you till his body crushed yours down into the mattress, your thighs quivering around his waist and you were panting against his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. He lifted his head to look down at you, a brow arched waiting for an answer. “So?”
Your fingers slid up his back and over his shoulders, staring back up at him, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why do you have to make this anything more then a good one last time fuck?” You pushed on his shoulders to turn him to his back and straddled him, covering his mouth. “Just shut the fuck up, okay?”
Ransom's teeth sank into your palm, while grasping your hips and lifting you to sink you onto him.
“Make me Kitten.” he hissed at you in challenge.
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It was early morning when you both were tangled around each other, the sheets pushed off the bed, and you were using Ransom more as your blanket, soaking in that post sex haze that made you all limp. He was half snoring in your hair and you were staring at the ceiling. You closed your eyes with shame and disgust with yourself, since you were going to have to make some lame excuse to Neil about why you didn't answer your phone. As well as why you weren't at your hotel last night.
“I can hear you thinking” Ransom groaned from above you, and you tilted your head up to see an early morning beard starting to prickle his skin, and you shifted to pull back, giving a bit of space while resettling yourself to face him properly.
“You asked me last night if there was someone. There is Ransom… we've been dating just about six months. And he’s a good person, a decent man.”
He rubbed at his face to open his eyes and be able to focus on you, still sleep laced as he spoke once more. “And Y/N? Why are you worried? It's not like we haven’t done this plenty of times, dating someone or not.”
You worried your lip, sighing with a shake of your head. “That hasn't been me since I moved, I left it all behind when I left Boston. But then you come right back, and I’m stupid enough to fuck around with you again. Am I ever going to get you out of my system?”
That made him smirk, and lean into you, kissing you dirty so early in the morning. “Now you're making yourself sound like one of those crazy bitches on the ID channel. Should I be worried about you?”
You snorted against his kiss, pressing him against his chest to make him fall back into his spot in the bed. “If you didn’t get a bullet in your head already after the last time, you should know you're safe.”
His arm circled around your waist, his thumb sweeping back and forth across the small of your back. “I'm glad I’m forgiven for last time Y/N. And this changes nothing that you do with whatever his name is.”
You reached forward and let your fingers trail along the planes of his pecs, feeling guilty, but not regretting it, not really. Ransom had always fulfilled something in you that no one else ever was able to.
“Yea I guess you're forgiven, although it was still a shitty thing to do. Come on, even you have to admit that Ransom. And his name is Neil.” You pushed to hear him admit he was in the wrong, and he rolled his eyes at you, sliding his hand to grasp an ass cheek and squeeze it in his palm.
“Did I just have to say that last time for you to forgive me Kitten? Cause fuck, two years is a long time.”
You chuckle and shake your head. “No, I fucking hated you back then. I would have still left, I’m just now tolerating you.” You pulled back and moved to sit up at the edge of the bed. “And now I gotta call Neil with some lie about where I was.”
Ransom moved to the other side, reaching for his boxers to slip on. “Just tell him you met up with an old friend Y/N.”
You pushed off from the bed and tugged the first shirt you found, Ransom's sweater while leaving the bedroom to talk to Neil. With luck, he didn't answer, and you just left a message to call you back and that you were safe, that you had met up with some old girlfriends. Glancing around, it occurred to you that Ransom really did live here, not just stay here on occasion. There was mail on the counter, books and manuscripts on the coffee table in the living room, and coats hanging near the door, an abandoned dirty coffee mug near the sink. You started to pick up the clothing you two had scattered through the apartment when Ransom came out, watching you for a moment while leaning against the wall.
“Reach the boyfriend?” He said matter of fact, which you straightened, and glanced back at him while folding some clothes and shaking your head.
“No, but I should probably get ready to go, I'm supposed to be driving home today.” you pluck at his sweater you're wearing and he strides across the room, his fingers sliding under your chin to lift your gaze back up.
“You know Kitten we will never really be done with each other.” He said, tilting his head. “Week from now, five years down the road, it doesn't matter when it happens again. So lose the guilt, it's not good for you. It's just the way it is.”
He was right, you knew he was right and part of you hated him for the fact that he was right. “After all, you don't get anything better than a Thrombey, Kitten.”
Fuck this man for having this hold on you.
Moodboard Prompt- The City
#uglywombat4kchallenge#ransom drysdale x you#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale fic#knives out au#knives out fic#knives out#ransom drysdale au#amber writes#sweater writes
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Thoughts on ACOSF
⚠️ SPOILERY, SO DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK ⚠️
⚔️ the good and the bad, I’ll try to get rid of the bad thoughts first and keep the positive ones for the end but idk where my line of thought would go as I recall and type so here we go
• Nesta’s journey of healing is hers and hers alone. She owes no one in the inner circle anything, they didn’t do her any favors. (Now before I delve into this, I just want to say that I see they (Feyre and Elain only) had good intentions, but I’m going to point out everywhere it went wrong, probably against what they planned, but still it went horribly wrong) She was still suffering all the same after she got her free will stripped from her, the decision made for her by packing her things without informing her or listening to her opinion or trying to have a more lenient approach to the matter, being threatened that her second option is being thrown to the human lands where she could die, being lied to about the consequences of her actions in law, being told she “belongs in the Hewn City”, being told she’s “a pathetic waste of life”, and choosing the place everyone admits they hate going to aka the House of Wind, as her destination to heal. Knowing full well she can’t make the descent down these stairs and would be imprisoned without the power to winnow. And instead of being given her space and time, they push her to talk and interact when all she’s trying to do is have some distance from everyone. Some time to herself, to not feel anything, to control the storm of thoughts raging on the inside. And she’s pushed time and time again to face her trauma and heal RIGHT NOW because apparently, they’re timing her. And she shouldn’t have her emotions on display, when she tells them she doesn’t feel like talking yet she’s forced to interact and socialize. Anyone who’s been forced to interact against their will knows how draining it is. Now imagine this coupled with being triggered by water, and being triggered by fire, which are a daily necessity. And imagine everyone got a decade or more to deal with their trauma and are still not entirely healed, yet your time is up after little over a year. It sucks. And I hate how what triggered them to action wasn’t that she was wasting away to nothing, but the bill. When the bill was high, they drew the line. And I hate how in the narrative, the “conversation” -even though I wouldn’t call it that because only one side was allowed to talk and the other side wasn’t allowed to object- was written in a way that made it about THEIR image, when she’s frequenting taverns. THEIR image, when she doesn’t show up to their parties. THEIR image when the bill for her drinking is high. (They say it’s too much money, as if they don’t have all the riches and they all spend money on things that are absolutely not necessary, and THEY drowned her with gifts, LOADS of gifts, after she sacrificed her power to save her sister, which she didn’t do for payment, but anyway the thought is, they had the money and just like they thought Amren deserves payment for what she did in the war, they should’ve kept the same energy for Nesta because she had no small role in that either). I just think they handled it badly. Not exactly how you’d talk to someone suffering from PTSD, depression and survivor’s guilt. For one, threatening a worse alternative isn’t helpful. Secondly, There were way too many people in that room. More than necessary. Feyre and Elain would’ve been enough AS HER FAMILY (and I’ll get to details on this in a moment). And Feyre was the only decent one handling it as someone who actually was looking for a better outcome and really had the intention to help, someone who wasn’t there just to humiliate. Amren and Rhys were only there to land jabs and poke at her insecurities and bad coping mechanisms. Rhys used his power on her to force her to obey him and we all know how it’s a big NO among them. Many of those in the IC had worse coping mechanisms. But what she was doing was too much for them to handle? She was self-destructing. And she kept her distance. If I told someone I needed my space and they kept poking their head in my business, I sure as hell would lash out. When someone needs space, their privacy should be respected. No matter how long it takes them.
And I don’t see where the problem with her drinking was. She never showed up to events drunk. We never saw her hungover the day after. She was spending some money on drinking yes, but it did not get out of hand. She was also spending money on food and gambling. All in all, not the worst coping mechanism among those who were criticizing her. Not to mention that everyone who criticized her were drinkers as well, and they all slept around during some part of their lives.
Now the problem with the presence of other people in that room, other than Feyre (if Elain didn’t wish to attend and preferred to have some space between her and and Nesta, it’s her choice) anyway, only Feyre’s presence was required. Everyone else there was just an accessory, only adding stress to the atmosphere, forcing Nesta to get on the defensive with the way they slut shamed her, shamed her for drinking, shamed her for not being able to take a bath even though she told Feyre how the water still scares her, etc. I can see Sarah wanted it to look like a “family” intervening. Like some tough love sort of thing. But she failed. Simply because, the IC might be Feyre’s found family and she might take such a talk from them because it would really be tough love. As for Nesta, she doesn’t view them as family. She barely knows them. So for a group of strangers, or let’s say newly acquainted people, to sit around her and point out her every flaw and shame her for every misstep, who wouldn’t lash out at that? It’s enough she’s forced to spend time among them, on holidays she doesn’t really believe in, where they force her to attend but actively ignore her presence and treat her like a ghost. Why make her come if they don’t enjoy her company? It’s just ridiculous. Then when she gets angry from all the pushing and lashes out and it’s entirely her fault. they’re all like “come to our gatherings where we will insult you, nitpick all your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but don’t be offended and seclude yourself, we all took decades to deal with our trauma and killed people while doing it but your coping mechanisms are unhealthy. And your actions are unforgivable because you lash out at us when we shove ourselves down your throat. How can you not like us? Everyone has to like us.” Then she gets thrown away to a war camp, a FUCKING WAR CAMP, while a big part of her trauma is because of war. And instead of dealing with her face-to-face, while being gentle and showing her they’re on her side WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, WITHOUT WINCING AND GLANCES AT EACH OTHER AND INNER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HER WHERE SHE’S EXCLUDED, they’re like “we’re tired of your shit so here’s a house you can stay in while you sort this out away from our merry little circle, which has its nose up your business anyway. But still, sort it out away from us.” And in that house she became more and more closed off and her healing - and I will die on this hill - her healing DID NOT start until the house came into play which was her own doing. And it kicked off because of Emerie and Gwyn, who both didn’t judge her, didn’t demonize her, didn’t only see the bad in her, but accepted her as she was and loved every part of her. Showed her that she was not a waste of life and there are things to live for. As for the beloved inner circle? Beyond insulting her and her coping mechanisms, They don’t tell her about the weapons SHE made, because pro-colonization Amren doesn’t think it’s wise, that Nesta would use it against the world. (Amren do you hear how stupid you sound?) they always villianize her, assuming she’d be out to take the world and take revenge on everyone who ever glanced her way. They assumed she was bad, they assumed because she was angry, that she would use her power for killing and terrorizing and building an Empire like they all do. When all she wanted to do was listen to music and be around good company who passed her no judgement.
Anyway, getting into some details with each character:
Feyre: I hated Feyre’s “crying over scrambled eggs because my image is destroyed my sister spent so much money on drinking”. And the fact that when telling Nesta she was doing this for her own good, she told her she was embarrassed for her own image in the same breath. But beyond that I was fine with her. I loved her reconcilation with Nesta. I loved that she was one who wanted to give Nesta more time, recognized that she needed her own time. I love them together. I think without everyone’s interference, their reconcilation would’ve happened much faster. They were already making progress before ~some people~ ruined everything and caused Nesta to be closed off again. I don’t hate that Nesta sacrificed her power to save Feyre in the end. She’s her sister and she loves her and this is not the first time she proved this. She would do anything to protect her sisters and she hates herself for the times she misstepped. Even though it wasn’t her fault and there was a full grown man sitting there who conveniently got a redemption arc. What angers me though, is that it was only after this, that the inner circle viewed her as someone who is worth their respect. And made the sacrifice materialistic by drowning Nesta with gifts. She didn’t do it for their acceptance or for their love, or for payment. She did it because her sister needed help. Period. (Sidenote: I’m writing a post where I delve deep into their relationship, which I will eventually post, because I think I reached an understanding about their relationship)
Elain: let me get something out of the way, she has power. She has free will, she’s not a baby. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need coddling. I hate how the fandom views her as a baby. And she’s constantly infantilized, preventing her from reaching her full potential. Now that that’s out of the way, here are my 2 cents on her, since she wasn’t in this book much: Nesta’s wording was very clear, yet I’ve seen this scene misread all over the timeline. Nesta said “I sat by your side for weeks. Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die. No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.” Nesta’s problem is NOT that Elain wasn’t “there” as in “by her side”. She explicitly stated she needed space. Nesta’s problem was that she stood between Elain and anyone who might tell her to snap out of it and lock her trauma in some dark room in the back of her head. She made sure Elain had her time. While Elain agreed to pack her bags and didn’t prevent them from shipping her away, deciding her time was up. All she wants is time, and Elain didn’t have her back on this. Then we have the fact that Elain slut-shamed Nesta. And then when Nesta comes to the party this time, Elain meets her at the door and her reaction instead of saying hi and leaving it at that or simply ignoring her, is “did Feyre pay you this time?” I’m torn on where to stand on the Elain-Nesta situation, a part of me is disappointed in Elain. I think she should’ve handled this better than anyone else because she was there, she witnessed the trauma happen, Nesta was there for her, they grew up being inseparable the entire time. If anyone should understand her better than anyone else, it’s Elain. So why did she abandon her to everyone’s judgement? And a part of me is like maybe she knew whatever she voted wouldn’t matter because the IC were taking the step anyway, and didn’t want to be there when it happened. Or maybe she’s still dealing with her own trauma in her own way and doesn’t want a confrontation. But I always circle back to the sl*t-shaming and the shaming about the drinking, and then I think about the Solstice scene where as soon as she saw her she was like “did Feyre pay you this time?” And a part of me is angry about the shaming undertone of that too, while some part of me thinks that maybe Elain felt unwanted along with everyone else and that in order for Nesta to meet them, she has to be paid, but we will never know unless we hear it from her.
Rhysand: that piece of shit, misogynist, who used his powers to compel Nesta to obey his orders, pulled rank on her, taunted and threatened her every step of the way and utilized her for his own agenda, and was *surprised* to learn the woman has trauma. Took him being inside her head and unable to wake her up from the nightmare, because the behavior she was exhibiting wasn’t enough. [insert shocked pickatchu meme]. I also would like to add that him playing the protective love interest from his mate’s own sister, WHO COULD’VE HARMED HER IF SHE WANTED TO, but never wanted to because she’s not a bad person, is so cheap. Like- you, the guy who drugged her and made her give you lap dances, are afraid for her sake… from her sister? Who only ever used words as jabs and is generally rude? Or do you feel like you’re overpowered and are trying to fill the void in your toxic masculinity and reassert dominance ?
Cassian: He was patient with her, and probably the healthiest person in the inner circle who dealt with her until she was okay, but he still silently agreed with all the shit that was said about her. Shit she didn’t deserve to be said about her as someone going through trauma. He mocked whatever progress she made on the stairs calling it pathetic in the beginning. He stayed silent when Nesta was stripped of her will, when she was told she belongs in the Court of Nightmares, when her fate was decided for her, when she was being lied to, when she was threatened to be thrown to the humans who would kill her. He made some progress and understood her better with time, but it doesn’t excuse how he stayed silent when she was being mistreated. Specially since he claims her loves her. He also stayed silent as the Inner Circle despised her presence but still used her to reach what they’re plotting for. He progressed, and he got better, I’ll give him that. But still, as someone who claims he loves her the way he does, he shouldn’t have allowed his friends to manipulate and use her in their schemes but then exclude her from everything else, even knowledge about her own power. But I love that he was patient, that he worked to understand her, that he grew to stand up for her. I would argue that they are the healthiest ship written by SJM this far.
Mor: fucking Mor, who experienced trauma, told Nesta she belongs in the court of Nightmares. Where she was abused herself. Knowing women are viewed as objects there, knowing Nesta would recieve abuse there. She said that, wishing abuse on someone who she simply didn’t like and had some quarrels with. They never saw eye to eye and that’s fine. They always had sharp tongues when talking to each other and that’s fine. What’s not fine though, is that THIS of all things, seemed so out of character for Mor. Now, she never knew Nesta was a survivor of SA. But as someone who helps SA victims, she’s the last person I expected such a comment from. It felt very out of character. I hate that this is the Bi character in all of this mess. Of all people, a hypocrite is the Bi person. The LGBTQ community deserves better. I thought about it, and maybe Mor, being like a stranger to Nesta, and seeing her ignore Cassian in front of the Illyrians who already look down on him, made her angry to the point where she just wanted to land a jab and didn’t think her words would mean anything. Maybe all she wanted to do was stand up for Cassian, but what she said was definitely not true and not okay. I wanted her and Nesta to have a talk about it, but also she grew to have decent conversations with her and she helped her when she and Cassian had that fight. So I don’t know, maybe it’s a silent progress between them.
Amren: this one told her she was a waste of life. What a great way to deal with someone who’s suffering from PTSD and depression and having suicidal thoughts, Amren. Tell them they’re a waste of life, enforce every thought they are having as fact, push them to the point where they doubt they should be breathing, and when they’re told they could tumble down a mountain and break their bones while hiking, their first thought would be “good”. Amren deserves a medal, a badge of honor for being the 500+ old woman who has healthy ways of dealing with traumatized people telling them they don’t deserve to live because the thoughts of their power and dealing with controlling that power right now is so overwhelming. Amren, who decided that because Nesta was always angry, she had no right to know that she used her power unknowingly and forged powerful weapons. Amren, who was pushing for colonization throughout this book, was afraid of Nesta misusing her power. Villainizing Nesta’s every thought, as if Nesta wasn’t overwhelmed from the thought of possessing so much power, as if Nesta doesn’t refuse to use her powers and train. As if Nesta is out there hiding as she masters her power to reemerge and turn the world upside down. You’re the one who’s pushing Rhys to colonize other territories and become high king, Amren. Maybe *you* should be locked up in the house of wind for therapy. What hurts most in this is Amren was her friend. She trusted Amren. Amren said that shitty line to her and then lied to her and manipulated her and used her to further Rhys’s agenda. She flopped from telling Feyre that Nesta is immortal and a few years are nothing, and she should be given time. She would not betray her trust, to whatever she turned into in ACOSF. And everyone give SJM a round of pats on the back and an applause for making Amren the wise one here and making Nesta, the traumatized one who was wronged, get on her knees and apologize. I mean- if you thought this apology scene was necessary, then clarification about the fight between them was just as necessary. Or you include neither scene. But deeming the apology important and not the incident? This is some victim blaming on a whole other level.
The House of Wind: The house of wind was honestly one of the best parts of this book. It was Nesta, “Lady Death” as they call her, breathing life into something, and it was gentle, and it was patient, and it was understanding, and it pushed her to be healthier without judging, without throwing insults or slut-shaming. It hated that she didn’t eat? It kept waiting for her until her body gave out and she had to eat. It didn’t like her drinking? It gave her water when she asked for wine. It showed her its darkest part where she found the greatest warmth as well, as if saying don’t be ashamed of your darkness because in it you’ll find light, and it didn’t abandon her or stop responding to her when she was angry. It was actively by her side, without any judgement, only support and pushing her to fix the behaviours without dissing her. and it was everything those people around her weren’t. It was family.
Gwyn: their first meeting wasn’t at all what you would call “friendly”, to a fault by Nesta. Gwyn didn’t even know anything about Nesta, yet she didn’t react with even more anger as ~others~ did, she didn’t fear Nesta, or give a retort, or get angry and lash out at her. She took the blow and was, with all the calm in the world, like fine, you want to tell on me, go tell. And Nesta did go tell on her, then realized by herself how she acted rashly. And later helped Gwyn without being asked to, by swapping the book so Merrill doesn’t scold her. And their friendship grew to the point where Gwyn, a traumatized person who couldn’t dare leave the library, started training with her, was her friend and had conversations with her that didn’t center her trauma or her coping mechanisms being analyzed. She went out of the library for the first time in 2 years when she knew Nesta needed her by her side. She occupied her mind with stories of Valkyries, women being strong and unyielding in a society which didn’t allow it. She took her hand and gave her a purpose in life to work for. Gave her a friend who didn’t judge, a kind face in the maelstorm of judgemental faces. Until she felt like a safe space to Nesta to the point where she spilled all her thoughts, the ones she could only admit to herself, to Gwyn, letting her inside those walls. And when she braced for judgement, she didn’t receive it. Gwyn dealing with someone’s trauma, as someone who’s been through trauma herself, is one of the beautiful corners of this book
Emerie: Another woman with trauma. She sees Nesta enter her store, of course she knows who she is, yet she doesn’t judge her. Nesta asks about making the fatigues warmer, Emerie says she’ll ask, but it’s costly. Nesta says then she can’t afford it, admits that she was cut off, Emerie, as a stranger, doesn’t judge her. She says she could make them anyway and she can pay her as she can. Because no one should feel cold. It’s simple, irrelevant. Nesta wouldn’t freeze to death, she as a stranger has no obligation to help, it’s a simple reasoning. “You shouldn’t feel cold”. It’s enough for her to help Nesta. Something as mundane as feeling cold. She asks her to join her for a meal. And Nesta asks her if she would join the training, which Emerie refuses. and Nesta blurts out that she didn’t take her for a coward. And later, Nesta sends her the herbs she wishes to get which she can’t get often because of her location, and it’s a message of “you too deserve to see what’s best in the world, to go out and experience the beautiful parts and live, not just exist”. So Emerie goes to training with her as well, and they bond over romance novels. Emerie also reaches a point where she opens up about her own trauma, and tells the truth about what she faced and her survival. This girl who is 50-something at least, who has never had friends, living a lonely secluded life, finally found someone who was trustworthy enough to be around and form a bond with. As for the fact that she is a PoC, and the illyrians are portrayed as this group of savages who abuse their women and their women have no say in their lives and futures and how they clip their women’s wings, when wings, wingspan and wingplay heavily imply that wings are erogenous parts of the body and wing clipping seems to be the equivalent of Circumcision, which again so happens to be done by the “PoC savages who abuse their women”, hits a whole lot as fucking racist and xenophobic. PoC deserve a storyline where they’re not viewed as the villains.
Azriel: I loved his relationship with Nesta. He was the best chaperon™️, he never spoke in judgement toward her. There was a silent understanding between them. However, I’m not against him showing his feelings toward Elain or her toward him. It’s fine, if that’s what they both want. I don’t think Lucien is the type to call for a blood duel. He simply brings her presents and attends when invited, he doesn’t force himself on her and keeps his distance. However I did hate that Azriel took the necklace and gave it to Gwyn, as a secondhand. I know his only intention was to make her smile but the necklace wasn’t meant for her. It’s not a trial by error, he can’t just keep trying out with different women every time he fails with one. And I’ll just leave this here.
The elephant in the room: the entire IC is involved in this, them all blaming Nesta, framing her as the wrong person, when she told Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy? I don’t care if she did it while she was angry, her heart was in the right place. She got hurt from them deciding her fate without her involvement, voting on her, not once, but twice, about her fate because she wasn’t fast enough to deal with her trauma, then again when deciding if she should know about what she did with her own power and the weapons. and she showed Feyre what was really at play. Protecting her from what she faced with the Inner Circle. Just because she was angry while doing it does not mean she did it out of spite. She did it to expose them, specially Amren at that point. But I don’t get how it was twisted to “because she wanted to hurt Feyre”. She wasn’t even angry at Feyre. But you all would rather suck up to the Inner Circle than confront the fact that they’re hypocrites and liars with a propaganda. They’re evil. They fear Nesta using her power to seize control of everyone because it’s how THEY are. With all this High King crap. Basically colonization dreams. With how they press rank whenever it suits them, and lie about the law to win arguments. It’s because those who are inherently bad think everyone is bad just like them.
Other Elephants in the room which have been here a long time: the thing with blaming Nesta for not being the breadwinner… I could never get it. Some have money-earning skills, others don’t. She, at the point of her life when she was human, was only trained in dancing and appealing to men socially so she could uplift the family’s social status. She couldn’t hunt. Feyre could. And NEITHER, should’ve been the breadwinner. Nesta was willing to starve to death if it would push her father to do something. Feyre wasn’t willing to wait and starve or watch anyone starve. But it doesn’t mean Nesta was at fault. She was only 3 years older than Feyre. Let’s leave the “the oldest child has to step in for the parents when the parents fail” mentality in the past. It’s ridiculous. Nesta was under no obligation to be the breadwinner. And she suffered self-flagellation regularly for letting Feyre walk out there and hunt. But she literally had no skills that when she thought of something to do, she could only think of selling herself on the streets. The parents were abusive, both of them. Favoring one child over the other and planting rivalry between the siblings. “i love you” means nothing. NOTHING, when there is no action to prove it. And if anything, this book made me realize that Nesta was never okay. She was never in a good place mentally. I mean, I knew, but this book just proved it. Her mother favored her alright, but it was not in a loving way. She simply exploited her to climb the social ladder. She didn’t give her love, she gave her instructions. She enabled the grandmother to beat her, and instill some “harsher punishments” one of which Nesta still holds the scars for. She was called worthless, as a child. Why? Because she made a wrong step in a dance. She was physically and verbally abused, and her mother let it happen. Yet she was the only one who would give Nesta the time of day so Nesta still loved her. As a child, her mother was the only person who showed interest in her and she clung to. However twisted it was, it’s the only love she ever got. The only love she knew. Then she lost her. and later the family also lost their wealth. So all she was taught to do her entire life suddenly became meaningless because she can’t achieve what her mother “trained” her to do. And we know the rest of the story. She never felt at home, not even when her mother lived and she still had that wealth. She admitted as much. She was never fine. She might’ve appeared the part, but it was never true. And since she was so good at masking her emotions, nobody was the wiser.
side note: As for her power being the “bare minimum” now, there better not be a plothole, since Rhysand couldn’t contain merely the “surface of her power” because it was too much. and if that’s all she retained, then it’s good enough for me.
#acosf#a court of silver flames#a court of silver flames spoilers#acosf spoilers#nesta archeron#nesta acosf#feyre archeron#elain archeron#cassian#anti rhys#anti rhysand#azriel#gwyn berdara#emerie acosf#emerie of illyria#mor#the morrigan#sjm#sarah j maas#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of thorns and roses#a court of wings and ruin#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acofas#anti amren#nessian#pro nesta
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A Well Loved Copy (PART 1: Magical Places)
Kakashi x Reader
Story Summary: Your cozy life as a bookseller is disturbed when a box of the worst books you could ever imagine arrives at your store, and with them a certain silver haired ninja to whom you are definitely not attracted.
Relationship: Kakashi x Reader
Warnings: None
A/N: I wrote this first part a few days ago, but it still had a few things missing and I finally finished it today. I’m thinking it’s going to be at least 3 parts long (depending on how much my brain allows me to write) and that it’s going to be mostly fluff and romance, but I also want to add some angst. Hopefully you’ll all like it <3 Be kind and enjoy.
Magical Places
“God who even reads this crap” you tell yourself as you arrange the 20th copy of the latest Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition on the hot new arrivals shelf in the bookstore. “It’s unbelievable how they keep making new editions of the same trash and people actually buy them”
Last night, your boss had explicitly told you that he wanted the books in the most visible part of the store, because they were always a massive hit, unlike the beautiful short story books you had been forced to stash in a less noticeable shelf almost at the back of the store.
You spent hours admiring the graceful prose and the magical places they took you to, wishing your own writing was half as good. You knew most of those books by heart, and every time one of your favorite authors published one, you read it so many times until you could almost recite it word by word. That’s why your personal collection of books was small, but very well loved. Whenever you got the chance, you recommended them to customers, though almost none listened to you. However, those who did, always came back to thank you for it.
“It’s better to know one book intimately, than a thousand superficially” your mother told you when you were little, and to this day, the phrase stuck with you.
When your boss, the shop owner, told you to remove your favorite stories, the ones you knew intimately, from the best shelves to make space for what was basically porn disguised as a romantic thriller, it felt personal.
“I’m sorry, I know they’re good, but we need to give up the space for the best selling authors” your boss had told you yesterday night when he saw your frown as you removed them from sight. You ignored him for the rest of the time you were there while going through the new inventory together, and left the new arrivals unopened
“I’ll arrange them in the morning. If you don’t need anything else I’m leaving” you slipped your very worn book in your pocket, grabbed your keys and left.
That’s why people don’t read real literature, because it keeps getting hidden from sight and replaced with trash, you sigh.
Now you look towards the remaining boxes, the publisher sent way too many for your judgement, and decide to put them away in storage until more copies are needed, so you can still keep a few other not so crappy books on the star shelf.
When you’re returning from the storage room, you hear the door chime, signaling that a new customer is here. You check the time, barely 8:00am.
God, who’s here this early?
“IT’S HERE!” A silver haired man acting like a 6 year old in a candy store rushes in, and grabs 3, no, 4 copies of Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition without noticing he’s messing up your perfectly arranged shelf. “I literally waited a month for it! I need to read it now, it’s gonna be so good”
Is he talking to himself? Or to me?
The guy is bubbling with excitement, running his long fingers across the cover of the book on top. You don’t know why, but seeing the motion sends shivers down your very tired spine. You shrug, and start the computer to enter the day log into the system.
He walks to the counter, feeling giddy with the books and you get tense at the realization of who the guy you’ve been gaping at is.
The signature mask, the covered left eye and the nonchalant but confident walk give it all away.
He’s kinda hot in person, but his awful taste in books ruins it, you think.
“Would you like me to wrap those for you?” you manage to ask, pointing to the four copies he dropped on the counter. “Or would you rather do it yourself at home?” If I were his friend I’d kill him if he gave me that as a gift.
“Huh?”
“We offer a gift wrapping service.”
“Oh no, thank you, they’re not gifts. All four of them are mine”
“All four?” You ask, confused.
“Yeah, one’s my mission copy, another is my house copy, then the back up one, and the last goes on my shelves untouched”
“You must really like the series.” You say sarcastically, emphasizing on the word really.
“They are really good, contrary to popular belief. I know a lot of people judge them, but I swear if they actually read the series, they’d know it’s not just porn” he says with a chuckle, clearly aware you’re judging him.
“Ummm I don’t know” you say scratching the back of your head “I’d rather stick to real literature”
“Wait, you’ve never read them?”
“Nope”
“Not even one?”
“No no, wouldn’t want to waste my time”
“No wonder you’re staring at me like that” he says under his breath, and you pretend not to hear him. “What do you read, then? If you’re only into real literature”
You nod towards the last shelves in the room and then gesture to your own battered copy of The Cursed Beauties and Other Stories.
“They made me hide them away so I could make space for your special edition.”
“I’m sorry about that, maybe they can share a shelf next time.” Did he just smirk? Is he hitting on me? No, it must be me reading too much into things. “I’m Kakashi, anyway”
“I know, you’re kinda notorious amongst us booksellers, as the guy who buys too many copies of Icha Icha”
“Really?”
“No”
“Oh”
“You’re an important ninja okay?” He’s barely aware of it apparently “I have a few modern leaf history books here that mention you. And I think there might be a biography on you too, you’re definitely in the Yondaime’s. I had to read it for school, though I’m not very sure of how much truth is in it. Non ninja writers tend to exaggerate things huh? Not because I’m a ninja myself, becau-well, ummm I’m not, but I have read a lot, on ninjas I mean.” You get flustered when you catch yourself speaking a lot. He makes you nervous, alright? Even though he has bad taste in books and is a bit of an asshole, you can’t help but feel attracted overwhelmed by him.
You get an embarrassed smile from him too.
“I can’t imagine what in my life would be interesting enough to write about” he says, gently tapping his fingers to his temple “but I’ll tell you something, Icha Icha is interesting, way more fun to read than my life. I’d leave one of these copies here for you, but this isn’t the first book in the series, so you really wouldn’t understand it. But you should give the first one a shot, if you don’t like it, you’re allowed to hate me forever and judge my poor taste in books.” He heads for the door and makes his departure, but not before turning around and flashing you a big smile that you swore his whole face was glowing beneath all those coverings.
Something about him lingers with you for the rest of the day, as if he’d never really left the store.
The next morning when you come in, you notice there’s something inside the mailbox which catches your attention, only for the simple fact that you never get mailed anything small enough to fit in the mailbox. It’s always boxes upon boxes of books and gadgets related to literature.
You open it and take out a well worn copy that has definitely seen better days, of Icha Icha Paradise. There’s a small post it note stuck on the back cover scribbled with messy handwriting
Give it a shot, I promise you’ll like it.
-K
P.S. Take care of it, it’s my favorite copy. Hopefully by entrusting you with it, you’ll decide to entrust me later with your own book ;)
Despite all your judgements and aversions to the series and the author, you make yourself a strong cup of coffee, sit back on your familiar spot, and open the book to the first page.
#naruto#naruto fic#naruto imagines#kakashi#kakashi hatake#kakashi imagines#kakashi x y/n#kakashi fanfiction#kakashi x reader#kakashi headcanons#kakashi fluff#naruto fanfiction#hatakenosharingan#magical places
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The Mistletoe
Author: @eiramrelyat
Prompt: Hey! I have an everlark prompt: kissing under the mistletoe. Do with it what you will :) [submitted by @askclato]
Rating: T
Author’s Notes: Thank you for the prompt @askclato, and I’d also like to thank my husband and @mandelion82 for helping me create the finishing touches. Enjoy!
_________
Katniss hated parties, specifically Gale’s. They were always loud and crowded to the point where you couldn’t move or think. And she knew this one would be worse considering college students were out on Christmas break.
She’d made every excuse not to go, even as Madge pulled her onto her pink vanity chair and started curling her hair. Madge quickly pointed out that college boys would be attending. Not that Katniss really cared about what percentage of Panem’s male population would be there.
Except, she kind of did care, but only about one boy in particular.
“Peeta will be there,” Madge had suggested, making eye contact with her in the mirror.
Of course, her friend would use this as leverage.
But Peeta would never actually notice her. He was a college sophomore and popular. And unlike all of the other girls she typically saw flocked around him, Katniss felt too plain…and she clammed up in large social settings. They were more like Madge⎯pretty, outgoing, and most likely on the cheer squad. He probably didn’t even know her name, even though they had shared the same homeroom period for three years.
So, the extra attention Madge took to Katniss’s hair and outfit almost felt like a waste.
She parked her car in front of Gale’s house and waited as Madge applied a second coat of shiny gloss to her lips in the small visor mirror. It made her lips look overly wet to the point that it almost looked like they were covered in drool. And when Katniss told her this, Madge merely rolled her eyes and said it was part of her look⎯whatever that meant. She wasn’t dressed any differently than usual, aside from the low-cut cashmere sweater clinging to her upper half like a second skin.
Madge never did things in halves.
“Don’t you think this is a bit… excessive?” she asked while Madge touched up her blush. “You already know that half of the football team at school likes you.”
“I think you are over-exaggerating,” Madge said, snapping the visor closed before tossing her makeup into her purse. “Okay, ready?”
“We can still go back and watch Christmas movies like we’ve been doing for the past six years,” Katniss said as a last-ditch effort.
Madge turned in her seat to give Katniss an incredulous expression. “This will be our first college party! Don’t you want to know what they’re like?”
“Yeah, when we’re in college,” she grumbled. “We’re still seniors in high school. Surely, five months isn’t that long of a wait.”
“C'mon, Katniss,” Madge pouted. “Please, just this once?”
She hated when Madge used that face on her.
“Fine, but I don’t want to be there too long,” Katniss relented, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door.
She tugged on the sleeves of her sweater as they walked up the front porch steps of Gale’s house. The bass from the music inside thrummed under her boots, stirring something sour in her stomach. Gale greeted them at the door, his booming voice echoing through the front yard. He stepped aside for them to step into the entryway, and Katniss froze slightly when she saw who was standing behind him.
Peeta smiled at them, a simple flash of perfect white teeth that made her breath stutter. And if his beautiful smile wasn’t enough, the dark green button-up stretching across the broad expanse of his chest rendered her mute.
Katniss pretended to be busy, herself, tapping the snow off her boots to distract herself from gawking at him.
“I can’t believe you managed to pull Katniss away from her books and reindeer slippers,” Gale told Madge with a laugh. Her friend giggled, shrugging her shoulders, and Katniss felt her face growing hot.
“Shut up, you two,” she snapped, inadvertently making eye contact with Peeta, who gave her a small smile.
“Reindeer slippers?” he asked with interest, and Katniss couldn’t tell if he was teasing her. Furthermore, she couldn’t believe he was even talking to her.
“They were a gift,” she mumbled.
The smile on Peeta’s lips grew. “That’s cute.”
Katniss smiled nervously, unable to hold his gaze. “Uh, thank you.”
“Let’s get you ladies something to drink,” Gale said, then tossed his arms across her and Madge’s shoulders, leading them toward his cramped kitchen, Peeta trailing not far behind.
“Gale, you’re squishing my hair,” Madge grumbled and swatted at his hand to get him to remove his arm.
“What? I think it still looks great,” he told her, and Katniss didn’t miss the light hint of pink that colored Madge’s cheeks. Her friends’ relationship with each other always managed to confuse her.
They dated when Gale was still in high school, and then they had a mutual break-up when he left for college because Madge didn’t want a long-distance relationship. But ever since he moved back home last year, Katniss noticed that Madge seemed to spend a lot of time with him again. For a while, she thought they were back together. Then she saw Gale posting cringey photos with a girl on Instagram a few weeks ago⎯she hadn’t been able to erase the image of Gale’s tongue in that girl’s mouth from her brain since. Katniss wouldn’t be shocked if Madge’s whole college boy thing was just a ruse to make Gale jealous. In fact, it seemed exactly like the type of thing her friend would do.
Truthfully, though, it sounded like a lot of work to go through to get someone to notice you, but who was she to judge? She curled her hair⎯which she never did⎯and actually tried wearing something other than her tattered denim jacket and black jeans just so Peeta might talk to her.
Still, she thought her friends were acting like idiots.
In the kitchen, stacks of pizza boxes lined the counter, along with bottles and cans of alcohol in multiple varieties. You would never know that Gale was hosting a holiday-themed party if it wasn’t for the pitiful-looking mistletoe hanging above the sink by a piece of duct tape. Katniss couldn’t say that she was surprised, to say the least.
And leave it to Gale to showcase his lack of decorating skills.
Peeta opened the fridge, flicking his eyes toward them. “We have Coke or water. Pick your poison.”
“That’s okay. I’m having whatever is in the punch bowl.” Madge nodded toward a bowl on the counter filled with a green concoction, and Gale reached up into a cupboard to grab a red solo cup.
“Your parents will kill me if they find out I gave you alcohol,” Gale muttered to her.
Then Peeta looked over at Katniss. “And you?” Under his stare, Katniss flushed, fumbling over her words when she asked for the Coke. Peeta crouched down to pull open the bottom fridge drawer for a can, then he held it out to her. “Here you go.” Katniss stepped away from Gale’s side, grabbing it from him and blushing when their finger touched.
She tried not to make a big show out of it, even if it made her heart rate spike. “Thank you,” she told him, pushing her hair behind her ear. This earned her another one of his beautiful smiles. God, she was so pathetic.
Forty minutes went by, and Katniss found it easier to talk to Peeta⎯not that she gave more than a few one-syllable answers. Still, her heart no longer leaped in her throat when he’d turn and ask her a question, nor did she clam up when he decided to stand next to her. But, of course, Madge had to ruin the moment.
“Oh, look, you’re both under the mistletoe,” she said, words slightly slurred as she tilted her cup toward the dainty thing above their heads.
Peeta looked up in the direction Madge was pointing, blond curls sliding off his forehead from the angle. Katniss took that moment to glare at her friend, who knew all too well about her crush on Peeta, then glanced over at him. “Uh, it’s just a plant. You don’t have to do anything,” she told him shyly.
He regarded her with amusement, his mouth tilting up. “Did you know refusing a kiss under the mistletoe is bad luck?”
“Oh?” She wanted to cringe when her voice broke from nerves, though she wasn’t quite expecting him to play along with Madge.
Peeta leaned against the counter. “Yeah, but it might only be a superstition. Like when Gale wears polka dot underwear to help his football team win,” he said, shrugging. “Who knows.”
“Hey,” Gale said, frowning.
As if Peeta didn’t already think she was daft, she said, “Oh. I, um…Oh.” It made it worse that Madge and Gale were watching her make a fool of herself, and she really wanted to tell them to go away.
The look of embarrassment on her face made Peeta shake his head, chuckling to himself. “You don’t have to kiss me. I was only joking, Katniss.”
“Mellark! Hawthorne! We’re starting a game of flip cup⎯if you want to join?”
They all looked toward the threshold to the kitchen where a stocky redhead with a plastic cup stood. He tilted back whatever was inside and tossed it in a garbage bag that hung off of a kitchen drawer, then waved at them.
“I’m in,” Gale called back, pulling Madge along behind him. “Come on, Peet!”
Peeta turned, nodding at Gale. “I’ll be right there. Give me a sec.”
Her friends were gone; now was her chance. “Okay,” she told him, pushing her bangs out of her face. “I’ll kiss you.”
He smiled down at her. “Katniss, really, you don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt.
He raised an eyebrow, studying her face for any hesitation. When he found none, his hand came up and gently caressed her jaw. “Okay,” Peeta finally agreed and tilted her face to the side.
But Katniss was disappointed once she realized he wasn’t going to give her a real kiss like she’d anticipated…and the bold part of her didn’t want to settle with anything less. So when Peeta started to lean in, she turned her head before he could reach her cheek and pressed her lips against his. She closed her eyes tightly when she heard him gasp⎯too scared to look at his face at that moment.
It felt like they were like that forever; her heart fluttering wildly in her chest as Peeta didn’t move to initiate anything further. Embarrassed, she pulled away, but his fingers held her fast, and then his lips moved beneath hers. She managed a soft, quick inhale while her stomach rippled in excitement. Oh god, Peeta Mellark was kissing her back. She’d probably squeal if her mouth wasn’t otherwise preoccupied.
His hand came up and ran through her hair, causing her to squeak in surprise. It wasn’t her first kiss (the first time was with a boy from eighth grade who she couldn’t remember the name of at the moment), but it was the first that made her light-headed and had her toes curling in her boots.
When he pulled away, she bit the inside of her cheek at the sight of how dark and swollen his lips were. She released a shaky breath, knowing she was the one who did that.
He flashed her a crooked smile. “You know, I like it when you wear your hair down.”
Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. “I…um, thank you.”
“I better go before Gale comes back,” he said, and Katniss nodded her head dumbly. She watched him walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Katniss wasn’t sure what shocked her more⎯that Peeta had actually noticed her during homeroom, or that she could still faintly feel his soft lips against hers.
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The Spirit of Christmas
Jaebum x Reader
holiday!au, roommate!au
words: 2.8k
Plot: You are sugar and spice and everything nice and your roommate, Jaebum is coal—at least, that’s how it seems at first glance. With the pandemic and Christmas Eve coming to an end, maybe it’s not just Jaebum that needs a little Christmas spirit.
a/n – guess whose household got covid in time for Christmas? 2020 hates me lol anyways, I said I was going to post a Jackson holiday au but that was taking too long, I’ll post it next Christmas lmao here is jb and his kitties in the meantime <3 happy holidays folks, stay safe and merry and I’ll meet you in the new year
“What is that?” Jaebum looks at you incredulously as you carry an armful of green into his living room. You let it fall onto the floor, much to his annoyance and his cats’ pleasure. Nora flops onto her belly, rubbing against the green sticks.
“It’s our Christmas tree!” you grin, running your fingers through the fur of her belly and earning a nip to your fingers. You giggle at the tickle of her teeth on your thumb. Despite her feisty disposition, Nora very rarely ever bites for real.
“That’s a pile of plastic,” your roommate plops himself on the couch, feet thrown over the coffee table.
Your mouth twists as you push the ottoman closer to him with a gentle push of your fuzzy sock-clad feet. Jaebum glances at the bright yellow ottoman you brought into the apartment when he told you about a million times that the thing was a waste of money (and a neon eyesore). He then looks over at your feet looking awfully like a red stocking, and he truly does mean the awful part. He keeps his feet on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, arms behind his head.
“It’s a Christmas tree,” you emphasize, lifting his legs with a huff onto the ottoman. You dust your hands before placing them onto your hips. “And you’re going to help me put it up!”
He frowns, looking into your eager eyes. “Remind me why I moved in with you again?”
“Because I had a spare room and you needed someone willing to live with five cats,” you answer easily like you always do. You throw one of the plastic limbs at him. “Now come on, let’s get festive!”
“Your festive and my festive are very different,” Jaebum sighs, but he gets up anyways.
“Noted,” you chuckle, clearing a space on the floor for him to sit beside you.
You grab your phone to turn on your playlist, lovingly titled “HO! HO! HO!iday Cheer” and immediately you can see Jaebum’s face sour at the familiar jingle as Mariah Carey’s voice echoes through the room.
“Oh, we’re going with my festive, just so you know,” you warn him belatedly. He blows at his bangs, shoulders slumping in surrender.
“Let’s just get this over with before my ears start bleeding,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of a couple plastic limbs.
“That’s the spirit!” you cheer, slapping him on the back. You don’t miss the small twitch of his lips.
You had a lot of hopes for this year, all of which pretty much went down the drain. That was life though, you rolled with the punches. But you certainly did not expect that when you opened your home to Jaebum and his five cats, that just two weeks after, he would be your only social life for the next nine months (if you didn’t count your biweekly grocery outings).
And while you have nothing against Jaebum—in fact, you absolutely love his five cats—it doesn’t take a genius to tell that the two of you are very different. Jaebum’s black on black fashion, motorcycle riding, sterling silver face piercing-self, next to your pastel, soft knit cardigan-wearing, always smelling like bread and daisies…the two of you are a walking metaphorical neon sign flashing “opposites!”
“Why does that matter? He’s going to be my roommate, not my husband!” you had shrugged Jinyoung’s warning without a second thought.
That memory would come back to bite you during the first three months of shared living, for every time he woke you up from his random 3am showers or played horror movies in the living room right before your bedtime, and especially whenever he responded to your silly jokes with a deadpan face or worse, his unrelenting despondency.
Over time though, you learned how to read him—like how he was nicer after a cup of coffee or how he has trouble sleeping but always manages to fall asleep on the living room couch when you’re baking bread in the open kitchen. You’ve learned that when Jaebum scowls, it’s mostly just a reflex and actually, if you can catch a reflection whenever he’s looking away, usually he’s smiling. And although he will grumble about it the entire way through, if you ask for help, he will always be there (even when he tells you he won’t).
Maybe you both express yourselves differently. You say “I love you” and he will ask “Did you eat yet?” You bake cupcakes and have teatime on the porch with the older neighbors, Jaebum installs cameras and buys extra essentials whenever you go grocery shopping together. You fill the windowsills with abandoned plants and bring them back to life, Jaebum leaves cat food and old blankets in your backyard for the strays.
No one else understands when you tell them you think you and Jaebum might be the same person, but they haven’t seen him the way you have over the last nine months. Beneath his hardboiled exterior is a sensitive soul who loves quietly and cares a lot.
“There’s no point in putting this up,” Jaebum grumbles as he fits another limb into the trunk of the tree. “No one’s even gonna see it, it’s already Christmas Eve. Anyways, the Christmas party is canceled.”
“You will see it. I will see it,” you hand him another part. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“It’s a waste of electricity,” he adds, not even glancing at you.
“The lights I bought have a timer!”
“And then it’ll be more work taking it down again.”
With a pout, you stand up and Jaebum turns his head in surprise.
“Where are you going, it almost done?”
Your frown easily twists back into a smile, seeing the way he hurries to put the last limb into the tree. “Time for the decorations!”
Jaebum rolls his eyes and looks down again and you can just tell he’s hiding another smile. You hurry off into your bedroom to grab the supplies.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” you sing as you reenter the living room and Michael Bublé’s voice rings from your phone. Twirling in an oversized pajama pullover (which might be Jaebum’s that got lost in your laundry three months back), you settle the box of ornaments on the floor. “I’m so excited to show you!”
He looks at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.
You squeeze your shoulders together, excitement barely contained as you reach into the box and pull out an emerald velvet pouch.
“It came in the mail just in time!” you grin, clutching the bag to your chest.
He lifts his brow at you, but the rise of his cheekbones gives him away.
“Ta da!” you squeal, pulling round orbs out of the bag. “One of my co-workers has a side business making custom ornaments and I got one for each of the cats!”
“Woah,” Jaebum takes one of the ornaments into his palms, eyeing it closely.
You bite your lip, holding in a satisfied giggle lest you ruin the moment. He sits quietly, admiring each ornament of the cats. When he gets to the last one, you pull out one more orb from the bag, holding it up by its gold, glittering string.
“And I got one of us too,” you say quietly, showing it off to him.
He slides closer, nose practically touching the ornament. It’s a simple, clear bulb and inside are your figurine versions, dusted with glittering snow around a Christmas tree.
Finally, Jaebum breaks into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents. You find yourself letting out a breath you had been holding.
“They even got my cheek piercings,” he chuckles, pointing to the tiny orb. “And your derpy smile too!”
“Hey, my smile isn’t derpy!” you whine, smiling.
“It’s cute,” he adds and you falter, wondering if he means the ornament or your smile. But in true Jaebum fashion, he doesn’t explain himself and turns back to the cat ornaments. “This is really well made.”
You ignore the pulsing in your chest, nodding your head. “Yeah, I told her she should raise her prices.”
He gets up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Let’s put them up.”
Cheeks flushing, you let him help you up.
“Do you think it’s okay though? The cats might knock them down,” his brows furrow with worry.
You chuckle, grabbing the ornament from his hand and hang it off the tree. “Pretty things are meant to be shown and if it breaks…then we’ll get new ones!”
Jaebum rolls his eyes at your optimism but a small smile stretches across his face. “I think your co-worker would be offended to hear how you treat her work.”
You shrug, crouching down to Nora and Odd as both cats swat at the ornament hanging precariously off your finger. “Art should not belong behind glass walls. They’re meant to be seen and enjoyed, like your music!”
You giggle as Odd jumps into your lap, pawing at the shiny orb as you lift it out of reach each time. You miss the way Jaebum looks at you.
“Okay, less playing and more decorating,” he replies, throwing a string of gold tinsel at your head, much to the cats’ delight. You laugh at their excitement, glancing at Jaebum’s reddened ears.
Humming to the Christmas jingles, you stand alongside Jaebum, dressing the plastic tree in glittering ornaments and lights. Once in a while, you even catch Jaebum swaying to the music when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.
“Aaand,” Jaebum lifts the shining star from the box to you and you rise onto your tiptoes.
“Done!” You cheer, placing the star on the top of the tree. You clap gleefully, elbowing Jaebum to follow. He gives you three limp claps before you give up and crouch down to Odd instead, forcing the kitty to clap paws.
“Okay, can I go to my room now?”
“Not yet!”
He groans, plopping onto the couch. “What else is there left to put up?”
You pout, hands on your hip. “We can’t have a Christmas tree without the Christmas tree lighting ceremony!”
He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “There’s a ceremony?”
“Of course there is!” you laugh, rushing towards the light switch. You flick the switch without warning, covering the living room in darkness.
With only the light from the streetlamp peeking through the windows, the falling snow is even more visible. The sight fills you with childlike excitement.
“Are you ready?” you whisper, walking over to the switch for the Christmas lights.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“We need to count down,” Your lips jut out at his indifference as you eye his dark figure. In the darkness, you can just barely see his features, but you imagine he is rolling his eyes at you.
Just as you are about to give in, you hear him sigh loudly, “Five,”
You break into a smile, “Four, three, two,”
“One…”
“Merry Christmas!” you sing, twisting the knob and flooding the room with small twinkling lights.
But you don’t look at the tree. Instead, your gaze remains in Jaebum’s direction and you watch as the lights illuminate his face. And you are pleased to see he is smiling. You know it’s just the reflection of the lights, but he looks like he has stars in his eyes.
Sensing your gaze, Jaebum looks at you and frowns, embarrassed. “What?”
You smile, cheeks warming. “Your cheek piercing looks like it’s twinkling from here.”
“Don’t be weird,” he scowls. “Are we done now?”
“Do you want hot chocolate?” you offer, moving over to sit next to him on the couch.
He shakes his head, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”
Chuckling, you let him leave, watching as the cats follow behind him. “Merry Christmas, Jaebum!”
“It’s not Christmas yet!” he yells back before you hear the sound of his bedroom door closing shut.
With a quiet sigh, you grab your phone from the coffee table and turn off the music. The silence feels even quieter with only the lights from the Christmas tree flickering around the room. Without anyone else in the room, your energy quickly depletes.
Outside, the snow whips by in flurries.
This is not how you imagined you’d be spending your favorite holiday, although the festive lights do make you feel a little bit better.
You wanted the Christmas gatherings though.
You were a family person through and through.
You missed it all—the packed house, cooking dinner with the aunties, playing board games with the little cousins, throwing said boardgame across the room when you rage quit, making up for it with freshly baked cookies that you’d nibble on at midnight while opening gifts by the Christmas tree. You even missed the nagging from your parents, asking when you’ll get a boyfriend and settle down.
Snuggling closer into the arm of the couch, you hug yourself.
It’s colder this year.
Emptier.
“So, you turn off the Christmas music after I leave?” You jump in surprise at Jaebum’s voice entering the room again. He takes a seat next to you on the couch. “You listen to it just to annoy me, don’t you?”
You blink back, wondering why he returned. “Did you forget something?”
He shrugs, leaning back into the couch and gazes at the Christmas tree. “It’s my first Christmas tree, I thought I should look at it a little longer.”
“This is your first Christmas tree?” you look at him in surprise.
He nods nonchalantly. “Never really celebrated Christmas.”
You sink into your seat, thigh touching his. “What a year to start celebrating.”
“Only because you have me hostage.”
You chuckle softly. “Well, I’m glad you had no choice but to be stuck with me. Would’ve been a lonely year without you here.”
“Hmm,” he looks at you thoughtfully. “Never pegged you as the lonely type.”
“The holidays can do that.”
“Then just think like me, pretend it’s any other day.”
You sigh, leaning into Jaebum. He doesn’t scoot away like he normally does. Instead, you find his arm resting around your shoulder.
“I don’t want this to be any other day though. This whole year has been a blur of any other days.” Your lips jut out in a pout as you look up at your roommate. “I know I must sound like a child, but I want Christmas.”
Jaebum laughs softly. You can feel the rumble of his chest.
“Cute,” he mutters, and you flush. His arm around you pulls you tighter. “Then, do you want to open your present at midnight or in the morning?”
Your eyes widen and he laughs at your expression once more. “You got me a present?”
“Well, yeah,”
“But…you said you don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“But you do,” he answers easily, looking at the tree again. “And anyways, if you’re gonna make me do all the work, I might as well celebrate the whole thing, right?”
You grin, poking his chest. “Admit you had fun tonight, Jaebum.”
He shrugs, smiling. “The ornaments were cool. I’ll be the DJ next time though.”
“Deal,” you beam, holding out your pinky. You giggle when he looks at your outstretched pinky with an arched brow. You keep your hand raised though. “Come on!”
He lets out a loud breath but eventually curls his pinky around yours.
Your heart warms, seeing how big his pinky measures around yours. It’s why when he moves to let go, you keep your pinky curled.
Laughing at his confused frown, you show him your thumb. “You have to seal the promise, Jaebum!”
“You’re an actual five-year-old,” he groans.
“Yes, I am,” you grin, eyes curling into crescents. His tone doesn’t faze you. From up close, you can confirm that there are indeed, stars in his eyes. They twinkle in amusement at your gesture and his lips lift once more when his thumb presses against yours.
And this time, he doesn’t pull away.
Pursing your lips shyly, you let your hand fall to his lap.
Looking back up at him, his gaze is soft on you. You pretend not to notice the way his fingers thread around yours.
“To answer your question, I’d like my present at midnight.”
“As you wish. Then shall we make hot chocolate and watch a movie until then?”
“Sounds like the perfect Christmas,” you tell him softly.
“Okay, Joker or The Dark Knight? You can pick.”
You grin, squeezing his hand. “We’re gonna watch Home Alone, Jaebum.”
“You’re terrible,” he feigns.
Chuckling, you let go of his hand and rise from the couch. “I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”
Jaebum grabs your hand again and you turn back curiously.
“Hm?”
His thumb brushes the back of your hand gently.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Jaebum.”
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Kindness is Overrated
Year 7 - Chapter 63
Summary: You spend Christmas morning with Connor and Severus exchanging gifts.
Word count: 3876
Warnings: A bit of naughty touching
A/N: Wow this update is so long overdue. I should have come back to this story a long time ago, but I at the very least wanted to post a chapter before I started posting my Snape Bang entry. As I mentioned before in a previous ask, I’ll be alternating between writing a chapter for this story and fulfilling my request todo list. I’ll also be posting my Snape Bang soon so stay tuned for that. Writing this chapter, I realized it’ll take me a bit of time to get back into this story and I’m so sad I missed the opportunity to post this chapter on Christmas. There’s even a chapter coming up focused on Severus’ birthday and I know I won’t be able to post that any time soon, but that’s okay. It’ll just be a delayed celebration. I hope you enjoy and I hope my posting rate will increase this year (low key new years resolution?) compared to the last.
Previous Chapter - Chapter 1
~
Severus was so insistent yesterday on spending the night in his dorm despite the fact you’d done just that every day for the past week. You’d begun to cherish your mornings together and couldn’t imagine any reason why last night would be any different, but you had to admit, waking up today felt nothing like it had this past week. The warmth of Christmas morning enveloped your body as you felt the gentle brush of slow, sensual kisses trailing across your neck and collarbone. It was nothing like the last few mornings you’d spent together, and you understood why Severus was so persistent yesterday, constantly making sure you were planning to sleep beside him.
“Happy Christmas,” you mumble through your sleepy state, your eyes open just enough to catch the light of the morning, your fingers twirling around strands of Severus’ hair as he continued to press his lips to your skin. This holiday was always meant to bring people such joy and year after year you’d see families gathering, friends exchanging gifts, an overall feeling of love and joy passed from one person to the next. But it was never a holiday you’d found yourself caring for. Last year you thought the Yule Ball was your one chance to experience what everyone else felt this time of year, but it wasn’t until this morning that you’d understood why Christmas was such a special holiday.
“Happy Christmas,” Severus whispered into your ear before lightly grazing his teeth against your earlobe, teasing you as he let one of his hands travel up from your hip to your waist, resting against the side of your breast. Pressing his knee between your legs, he moved to press as much of himself to you as he could. With your chest against his, your hands in his hair and his lips finally meeting yours, he felt his heart swelling with such glee. He’d been looking forward to Christmas all year, needing it to be perfect to make up for what he’d done last Christmas. He wanted to please you, to show you how much you meant to him as best he could tonight, starting with the passion he put into your morning kiss.
You blinked away your sleep as you parted, your eyes finally meeting his, your hand slipping from his hair to rest on his jaw. You smiled as you felt yourself floating in bliss, feeling guilty about having to ruin this wonderful morning by telling Severus you’d have to meet Connor for breakfast in the Great Hall. the idea of bringing it up to Severus these past few days had loomed over you, saddening you when you saw how happy he was to be spending so much free time together over the holidays, you didn’t want to ruin it.
“What’s wrong?” Severus saw the burden in your eyes, worried he’d already done something to ruin such an amazing day. He propped himself up on his elbows and peered down at you, studying your face as he waited for an answer.
“It’s nothing-”
“No,” he interrupted you before you could even try and come up with an excuse, anything to explain your sudden shift in mood without upsetting him. “I know that look, something is troubling you. Tell me (Y/N), you know I’m here for anything you need.”
Your lips stretched into the widest of smiles, elated by his words. He’d been so supportive this year, your rock to lean on, someone you knew you could go to with anything and you loved him more for that. It was hard to tell him the truth now, knowing he’d do anything to protect your happiness only to have you turn around and snatch his away from him.
“Okay, don’t get upset but-” you pushed him from over you and sat up against the wall. “I told Connor we would spend Christmas morning with him.”
“(Y/N)!” You could already see his anger bubbling to the surface as he sat opposite to you, his fingers running quickly through his hair like they always had whenever he was stressed. Your heartbeat fastened as you so desperately hoped to salvage the moment, your hand finding his, squeezing it tightly.
“I’m sorry! I know how much you wanted to spend the holidays together, but we couldn’t avoid him forever Sev.” You leaned into him and let one hand slowly rub up and down his bare arm, trying to assure him the day was not lost. “Please don’t be mad at me, it’ll only be a couple of hours.”
Severus took a deep breath before looking up at you, the corner of his lips twitching into a subtle smile. He couldn’t believe you’d asked that of him when he knew very well there was nothing you could do to make him mad at you. Of course he was upset this day wouldn’t be absolutely perfect, but he would never hold it against you, nor would he blame you for wanting to brighten the day of everyone around you with the privilege of your company.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” you offered with a sly smile as you crawled out from under the covers and over his lap. You settled atop him, wrapping your arms around his neck, his hands slipping from your legs and over your pants, resting on your waist under the shirt you wore. Pressing your lips to his, you sealed your promise with a kiss, happy to see your morning plans hadn’t ruined his mood.
“We should get dressed,” you whispered as you trailed kisses down his jaw, one hand gripping his hair. You felt his own hands slither to your back and press you against him, lifting your shirt up as they rested between your shoulder blades. You loved the feeling of his skin against yours, especially with the contrast of the cold dungeon air, but you knew if you didn’t get going now, Connor would start to suspect there was something between you and Severus. There were times where you thought telling Connor the truth would make life much easier, but every time you thought of saying something, you could only imagine the abandonment he’d feel knowing two of his friends were dating and you couldn’t do that to him, especially on Christmas day.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I cannot wait to spend our next Christmas away from Hogwarts.” You chuckled, taken back by his words, never thinking you’d see the day that Severus Snape would prefer spending his time away from Hogwarts. Slipping off his lap, you took his hand and smiled knowing you were the reason he was happy enough to find a home outside of Hogwarts. You stood in front of the bed, Severus joining you before he reached into his trunk and handed you your uniform.
You both got dressed, Severus taking his time, knowing now there was absolutely no rush to start the day since he’d be forced to waste hours of it in the company of others. You watched him lean back on the bed when he was done tying his shoes, smiling at you as if you’d just returned from class, ready to call it a night and cuddle with him. Shaking your head, you grasped his hand and pulled him off the bed, dragging him out of the dorm until he finally stopped resisting, trying to enjoy the last few moments he’d get to hold your hand before you both found yourself in the Great Hall.
It wasn’t until you’d stepped through the large doors you realized you’d spent longer than usual in the Slytherin dorm this morning, everyone else already present, seated at the table. Two empty seats stood waiting for you beside Connor and without a second thought, you sat next to him, placing yourself between Severus and Connor. The feast began and you enthralled at the food appearing before you. You’d always loved Christmas at Hogwarts, but nothing could ever compare to this year’s Christmas, the feeling of love, care and acceptance flowing from one side of the table to the next. House rivalry was forgotten, and all sat at the same table as equals.
Severus did his best to engage in conversation with you and Connor. He wanted to see you happy, glad you were smiling all throughout breakfast, but he felt envious. He wanted to be the sole reason for the smile you wore, to be your happiness like you were his. It was selfish of him to think like this, he knew that, but he was at least glad this Christmas was going a lot better than last years. At least with Connor here, Severus was more inclined to keep himself grounded, letting you take the lead instead of jumping the gun like last year. He even felt himself enjoying a conversation with Connor, less resentful towards the fact he was stealing alone time with you until owls interrupted the feast, one landing in front of Connor.
The box it was carrying weighed down the poor creature, struggling to keep itself upright when it finally landed. You offered the owl all the food you could grab and filled your empty goblet with water, hoping it hadn’t travelled too far to deliver whatever it was Connor’s parents had sent him. You were surprised to see Connor push aside the gift as if it wasn’t important, always assuming Christmas would mean a lot more to those with caring families. His attention instead lay on the gifts he pulled from his robes, handing one to you, the other to Severus.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any. Merry Christmas,” he told you both as he handed you your gifts. You smiled in return and reached into your own robes to hand Connor and Severus their gifts. Connor’s face lit up, happily opening the gift you gave him, Severus feeling much less elated than him. His lips stretched into a frown as envy took him over once more. He felt humiliated for being the only one without gifts to give at breakfast and enraged that you and Connor had thought of each other when shopping for Christmas this year. He watched the boy sitting on the other side of you tear apart the wrapping paper you’d so neatly folded over the present, holding out a Herbology starter pack that you’d taken the time to buy for him. He held his breath as Connor thanked you, watching you open his gift to reveal a broomstick polishing kit. He’d been so busy drowning in his own fury, he’d neglected to open his own present, your voice the only thing reminding him of the fact that you’d taken the time to buy and wrap his gift too.
“Sev, open it!” You pushed, unable to take the anticipation any longer. You’d put so much thought into his gift, looked everywhere for the perfect item to give him, you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he unwrapped it. Severus’ lips twitched into a smile, his shoulders dropping as he felt himself let go of the resentment he’d felt towards this holiday and very delicately began to reveal your gift to him. “Come on Sev, the new year will arrive before you finish unwrapping it!”
Severus scoffed at your comment, but didn’t let it affect his speed, wanting to cherish this moment as much as he could and salvage every piece of care you’d put into this gift. Finally he pulled back the wrapping and his eyes were met with the most beautiful dragon scale notebooks he’d ever seen, a quill set placed atop them. His nimble fingers hovered over the items feeling completely unworthy to touch them as you smiled with satisfaction. You were overjoyed at his reaction, knowing he would love the delicacy of the items, the rich cover of the two notebooks and the intricate metal casing holding the most stunning quill you’d ever seen.
“(Y/N), this is-” Severus was at a loss for words, wanting so badly to kiss you and spend the rest of the day simply staring at the quill and notebooks you’d bought for him. “They’re remarkable. Thank you.”
You took his hand, smiling in response as he grasped your hand and ran his thumb over your knuckles a moment before letting go. He picked up the quill set and opened it to reveal a beautiful flaming red phoenix feather quill, accompanied by four detachable tips and a self-filling inkwell. He grazed his fingers over the feather, deciding it was too perfect to ever be used. He wanted to keep this quill and the notebooks that came along with it forever, never to be tarnished, never to be ruined. The notebooks were made with the same high-quality craftsmanship as the quill, the spine carefully pressed, the covers beautifully made. They were absolutely perfect and he couldn’t have wished for a better gift.
“Well, now I’m not sure you should open my gift Severus. It’ll never compare to something like that,” Connor gestured to his gift, Severus almost forgetting he had one more present to unwrap.
“I’m sure whatever it is, Severus will appreciate it,” you lied to Connor, knowing full well it didn’t matter what either of you gave him. Severus would cherish any present from you over anything anyone else would give him. That of course didn’t stop your curiosity as you watched Severus tear open Connor’s gift to reveal a small set of potion ingredients.
“Thanks,” Severus mumbled to Connor with as much of a smile as he could muster. The ingredients Connor had given him weren’t cheap and he was thankful for them, but his thoughts still lingered on your gift. He couldn’t take it anymore. He’d entertained the idea of sharing Christmas morning with Connor long enough. He needed to spend the rest of the day with you alone, needing to show his appreciation and hope you’d like his gift half as much as he loved yours. “I think I’ll go drop these off at my dorm.”
Severus wasted no time gathering his belongings and jumping to his feet, his eyes briefly meeting yours as he walked out of the Great Hall. You could barely keep from reacting before you found yourself standing up as well, excusing yourself and thanking Connor one last time. You ran off before he could ask to meet in the evening and left the Great Hall after Severus. You caught up with him as he was making his way to the dungeons, seeing him stare down so intently at your gift in his hands.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad was it?” You chuckled, thinking back to his disappointment when you’d mentioned spending the morning with Connor. You were glad to see Severus making conversation during breakfast and knew your gift would help lift his mood. You could only look forward to whatever the rest of the day had in store for you, ready to properly celebrate Christmas with Severus.
“I suppose not.” Severus pushed his gifts to one hand and held yours with the other. He gave you a soft smile as you walked down the stairs to the dungeons feeling grateful to have you in his life. He couldn’t have been more thankful than he was in this moment, but his growing love for you kept him afraid. He worried over losing you, over ruining things to the point of no return or have someone else take you away from him. He worried over Connor’s intentions and couldn’t help but nitpick on every move he made towards you.
“You know, I think Connor fancies you,” he commented casually, feeling unsettled by his thoughts. He already knew you’d think it was ludicrous and your laugh confirmed just that, but jumping to the worst case scenario in his mind was something he couldn’t help but do. He knew you loved him, he knew what you shared was real, but that didn’t stop him from assuming the worst.
“Why because he’s nice to me?” Your laughter died down, but the absurdity of his comment kept your smile from fading. “Severus, just because a friend is kind to me, doesn’t mean they fancy me.”
He was being paranoid, and you weren’t surprised. Connor hadn’t done anything to warrant these accusations, but Severus didn’t have the best track record with the people he cared about, and you understood his hesitation to trust others. You didn’t expect him to trust Connor or to open up to him when it had taken years for you to reach that point in your relationship with him, but you hoped that he at the very least had faith in you and trusted you to do the right thing if what he claimed was true.
“Don’t be so sure. We started off as friends,” Severus agued, thinking back to how kind you’d been to him when you’d first met. He hadn’t done a thing to deserve your kindness, yet you’d blessed him with it and continued to do so until you became the one person in his life he couldn’t live without. He remembered you standing by his side when everyone else turned against him after the Whomping Willow incident, not even questioning why he was there or what happened. You’d just sat there with him, comforting him while the rest of the school put Potter up on a pedestal. He remembered every kind gesture you’d ever given him, the job he’d received over the summer, the happy memories he’d gotten to build at Cokeworth because of you. He could never repay the happiness you’d given him, and he worried that Connor was now giving you what he couldn’t; a show of appreciation.
“That’s different!” you protested, dismissing his worries, finding them completely ridiculous. “Besides, even if it were true, it wouldn’t matter. You’re the one I want to be with.”
You smiled as you stepped into the Slytherin common room, making your way to the boy’s dorm. Severus immediately walked over to his trunk to put away his gifts, taking special care of your notebooks and quill as you threw yourself on his bed.
“So, where’s my gift?” You leaned back on the bed and looked down at him, smiling in anticipation. You knew Severus would only want to give you your gift in private despite the fact you’d already given him his. Even if you’d told him ahead of time, you knew he wouldn’t want to buy Connor a gift, so you decided it was best to hand him his gift with Connor’s and ambush him for your gift later.
“Gift?” Severus questioned like he had no clue what you were talking about.
“My Christmas gift!” you leaned towards him at the edge of the bed, offended he would dare forget your gift after all the thought you put into his. Your eyes widened as you waited for him to apologize and give you your gift. You weren’t at all materialistic, nor did you care for expensive gifts, but the idea of someone shopping for you, of wrapping a gift with you in mind was something you’d always cherished. You wanted to feel loved and you wanted him to take advantage of one of the only excuses he had to show his love for you.
“I don’t recall agreeing to exchanging gifts this year.” Severus smirked as you pouted, half believing his lies, acting like a child who’d received a chunk of coal for Christmas. He chuckled and gave up his ruse, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift from his trunk. He closed his trunk and walked around the bed to sit beside you before handing you your gift, watching as you smiled. You placed the gift on your lap and took care when unwrapping the paper, just as he did with yours. Severus held onto every moment that passed, watching you intently as your eyes sparkled with wonder, your heart filled with love and your smile proudly displaying your glee for him.
Pulling back the wrapping paper, you revealed a large brown photo album with gold braces on each corner. In the centre was one word, letters partially faded, written in cursive gold lettering: Memories. Inside were three photographs, pinned to the first page. The first was a Muggle picture, a still image of you standing with Severus in the middle of the bookshop on your last day of work. Mr. Davis had insisted on taking the image, knowing you wouldn’t come back to work for him again, but you had no idea Severus had asked for a copy, never seeing him as the type to enjoy photographs. The second was a picture of you flying on your broom, waving as you went in and out of frame. It was your first game as Captain, you knew because of the nervous look on your face, the lack of confidence that you had now. The final image was a polaroid of Severus, one he’d taken himself. You smiled as the figure in the photo waved at you, his eyes filled with love.
“Oh Severus,” you whispered as your fingers traced the border of the last image. “It’s beautiful.”
Severus smiled, delighted with the warmth in your eyes as you stared at his gift. It really wasn’t much of a present, nowhere near as expensive as yours, but when he saw the album in the window of the antique shop he passed by on his way to work over the summer, his mind going back to it all day, he knew he had to buy it for you. He knew that you’d soon start your lives together and he wanted you to keep all your memories of the life you’d build together all in one place.
“Do you really like it?” he whispered back, a small bit of nervousness in his voice. Despite your words, he really wanted to be sure you liked his gift as much as he did yours. You tore your eyes from the album and took your hand in his, smiling from ear to ear.
“I love it,” you assured him, tucking his hair behind his ear with your free hand. You cupped his jaw and watched a look of content wash over his face, the joy of Christmas and the love shared in your gifts enveloping you as you leaned in. Severus returned your motions, pressing his hand against yours as he tilted his head and closed his eyes. Your lips brushed against one another, his soft touch sending sparks jolting through your veins as you kissed.
You set aside the album for now and leaned forward as Severus lay on the bed, accepting what you’d consider your second Christmas gift. He hummed in delight as he pressed you to him, wrapping his arms around you. He couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas and it seemed that all those years of wishing for a holiday where he wouldn’t have to spend it alone was all worth it in the end. He never would have pictured his wishes coming to life in such a simple way, but he was glad they had, and he was glad that they’d all been fulfilled by you.
~
Next Chapter
~
@dracos-mudblood @bush-viper-cutie @wanderingtrails @sleepysnapesnake @fluffymadamina
#Severus Snape#Severus x reader#Severus Snape x reader#Snape x reader#young Severus Snape#young Snape x reader#my fanfic#my writing#pro Snape#snapedom#female reader
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The Tattoo (Part Nine)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven - Bit 1| Bit 2 | Part Eight - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Part Nine
Apologies for the delay with this. Muse got hit by illness and I’m only now coming right (on the last day of my holiday ::grinds teeth:: ).
Not sure about this bit. Been staring at it all day so I’m going to drop it here and run.
Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for the read throughs and support. You guys are amazing.
Warnings: One swear word, but it was needed. Buckets of angst, sorry.
-o-o-o-
Virgil woke early the next morning. Woken by pain and worn off meds, he was forced out of bed by the sheer ache in his shoulder, arm and wrist.
Movement was hell.
He desperately needed a shower, coffee and, he had to admit it, painkillers.
Today was going to suck.
He was still in his damn jeans and ruined shirt. He considered attempting to remove the clothing, but was far from confident that he would be able to replace them. Wandering about the villa naked wasn’t preferred.
So first priority was to dig up some meds so he could move and get himself showered and mobile.
He sucked in a breath and headed to the door in socked feet.
He made it to the infirmary undetected, but that should have given him a clue. It may be five am, but he had brothers up before the sun every morning.
And a grandmother who refused to waste a single day.
“Virgil?”
He had his head in the medicine cabinet and he hadn’t heard her enter. Caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he had no excuses.
Just an aching body.
He turned slowly, his one working shoulder slumping. “Grandma.”
She approached and gently nudged him aside, reaching into the cabinet and snagging a bottle. Turning, she cupped his hand in hers and nestled the medication into his palm with her other hand. “These should do the job.”
She held his eyes for a moment before pulling away and turning to leave.
His heart lurched.
“Grandma?”
Her hand landed on his bicep again and gently squeezed, but she stepped away without a word, heading towards the door.
“Grandma, please.”
She stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“Please let me explain.” His voice broke on the last word and he found his heart in his throat. “I’m sorry, Grandma. Please, I’m sorry.”
He could blame it on the early hour, the pain, the post injury weariness, but honestly, it was simply because he loved his grandmother and couldn’t bear to think he had broken her trust irrevocably.
There was a tension in her shoulders that suddenly released and she slumped where she stood, her whole posture going limp.
When she turned there were once again tears in her eyes.
The sight broke his heart and he was moving. “Grandma, don’t...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped her in his one good arm and cursed the arm that caused all this to begin with. Cursed himself for being the source of so much pain.
But she was suddenly clinging to him, sobbing on his shoulder.
Oh god.
Grandma.
His eyes pricked with their own tears and he was blinking madly. “Grandma, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” The words were soft and muffled by flannel. A rough breath and his grandmother pulled away a little, watery blue eyes looking up at him with such love and sadness, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it.
The pain in his chest out shone that in his arm.
“Virgil, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
He blinked and stared at her, ignoring the single tear that escaped and tracked down his cheek. “What?” It was dumb and stupid and yet another sign that he needed coffee, but... “Grandma, you’ve always been there. Always.”
She reached up and wiped away the tear with her fingertip. “Not enough, honey.” Her eyes drifted to his shoulder before closing again. She dropped her forehead onto his chest.
He found his hand stroking her hair automatically.
-o-o-o-
Sally Tracy considered herself a strong woman. She had seen much in her relatively long life. She’d seen death and injury, lost those she loved, oh, so many she loved. But she had clung to her tenets of strength and stubbornness and the Tracy maxim of never giving up. She weathered it all.
She would never have thought that simple ink on the scarred shoulder of her grandson could disassemble her so easily.
The sight of those dates, several of which were etched into her own mind, the symbolism and the pain behind elegance...it had knifed straight into her heart and broken it.
To her absolute shame, she had not only fled her patient, but her beloved grandson. Left him in pain and anguish, and god, failed both herself and her family.
The anger had been at herself. At fate and its cruelty in scarring a man who could not be kinder, who made the world a better place simply by being himself.
The injustice screamed at her.
But most of all, it was the shock, the absolute shame of her not knowing. The knowledge that Virgil had been suffering with this FOR YEARS and she hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t seen.
Her doctorate, her experience, her love. It had all failed him and her.
It was crushing.
So she had struck out, struggling to reassert her strength and determination amongst grief and denial.
And only hurt him more.
Fuck.
And now, where she should be showing strength, should be supporting and reassuring him, he was forced to care for her as she failed yet again.
His strong hand in her hair and her tears on his ruined shirt, she was little more than the farm girl she started out as, so long ago, wishing Grant was there to tell her everything was going to be alright.
“Grandma?” His voice cracked.
It was enough. She straightened and stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”
The worry in his dark eyes as he held her arm. “No, no, don’t apologise. Grandma-“
“You need to take your medication, Virgil.”
Her words stopped him short and those eyes flinched just a little.
She cursed herself again.
She was the parent. She was the caregiver. For goodness sake!
“Honey, you’re in pain. Let’s get that fixed and then we can talk.” She held back a flinch herself. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to face what was on his shoulder and what it meant. It scared her. Its existence and the concept it was a ‘compromise’ absolutely terrified her that despite doing everything she could for her boys, she hadn’t done enough.
The possibility that her beloved grandson had almost been lost due to her own neglect.
He was still staring at her.
Her hand was shaking as she took his, fingers still clasped around the pill bottle. “Take your medication, honey.”
He looked down at their hands and back up at her before stepping aside and placing the pills on the table. He paused staring and she realised her stupidity.
He only had one hand.
She blinked. Grabbing the bottle, she opened it and shook two of the tablets into his hand. Cap back on, she went to the sink and acquiring a glass, filled it with water. The familiar motions were a little reassuring. She was being useful.
His eyes never left her a moment.
She returned to him and held out the glass.
He shoved the pills in his mouth and took the water, throwing it back to down the medication.
She stared as his larynx bounced in his throat.
The glass landed quietly on the counter as he swallowed the last of the water.
She waited.
He exhaled.
“Grandma-“
“I need to see it.” The words fell from her lips without thought and she regretted them immediately.
He stared at her, eyes widening.
Her heart twisted.
And he retreated, stepping back and turning away. He grabbed the pill bottle and made himself busy putting it back in the cupboard.
She stared at the back of his ruined shirt, the plaid wrinkled as he moved.
Then he ran out of busy work.
He kept his back turned to her, stiff and so...hurting, her throat closed up again.
“Grandma, I don’t want to hurt you...any more.” His voice was parched and slightly muffled by the fact he refused to look at her. Her only clue to his expression was what little she could see of his reflection in the glass of the cabinet door.
Dark hair, dark eyes, one of her grandbabies...
Her hand touched his back and his muscles tensed under her fingertips. “You haven’t hurt me, Virgil.”
He spun around at that, grabbing at his arm as the movement obviously aggravated it. “I made you cry, Grandma. Twice.” His crumpled brow illustrated exactly the pain she had caused him with her reactions.
She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Because I failed you. I’m your grandmother-“
But he was shaking his head and her hand slipped away. “You can’t fix this, Grandma. I...” He let out a frustrated breath before catching her eyes. “This is on me. This is my issue and I’m handling it the best I can.”
And he turned away again.
Perhaps she was a failure because she couldn’t leave it there. “Please talk to me, Virgil.”
“What do you want me to say?” It was desolate.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Perhaps that was the core of it. He always came to her for advice and assistance, yet, in the moment of his direst need, he hadn’t.
He sighed. “Grandma, we’d just lost Dad. You were grieving. Everyone was grieving. I thought I could handle it.” He was staring at the countertop. “And when I realised I couldn’t, it was too late.”
She took a step closer, once again unable to resist placing a hand on his back. “It is never too late. You can come to me with anything at anytime.”
“Not this.” Another sigh. “Never this.” He closed his eyes and hunched in on himself and she wanted nothing more than to hold him like she had as a toddler and make everything better.
She was his grandmother, it was her job.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He didn’t even verbalise his reply, only shaking his head, still staring at the counter.
“Are you seeing someone?”
He nodded.
At least that was something.
“Has it helped?”
“I’m okay, Grandma.”
Her fingers tangled in flannel. He didn’t look okay. Every alarm both medical and parental were screaming in her head. “Promise me?”
Dark, bloodshot eyes darted in her direction. He couldn’t lie to her, she knew that. At least not to her face. Perhaps that was the hardest part of this - the fact he had managed to hide this from her despite that.
He held her gaze a moment longer and she saw a decision made as he closed his eyes for just a second before reaching for the buttons on his shirt and undoing them one by one.
She dared not say anything to interrupt him. Dared not assist him. This was his decision, despite her request. The wrecked shirt was shucked from his shoulders and discarded on a chair.
He began picking at his bandages.
“Virgil?”
“You want to see? You’re going to have to help me.” It was sharp, but she wasn’t arguing, quick fingers unwrapping the bandaging that both held his injured arm and wrist to his body and hid the tattoo on his shoulder.
As the limb came loose, he hissed between his teeth and she almost called the entire thing to a halt. He must have sensed her hesitancy because he took over pulling the bandaging off willy nilly.
“Virgil.”
“You want to see it. I want you to understand.”
“Not if it is going to hurt you further.”
“It’s going to hurt, no matter what, so I’d rather get it over and done with.”
Damnit. “Well, at least sit down. Here.” She nudged him toward one of the beds.
He shuffled backwards and planted himself on the edge. She grabbed the control and lowered it further so he could slide on comfortably.
His sigh was more of a groan and her guilt was a physical thing.
But she had to know.
The bandages came away revealing the expected swelling around his shoulder. Her medical eye did an assessment and was happy with its state, but it was the creep of black ink, the curl of a stylised leaf and the white of old scars that marred the apex of his scapula that churned her stomach.
As he settled into a slump on the side of the bed, he let his eyes close. “Look. Ask. I will answer what I can.”
“I’m sorry, Virgil.”
“Grandma, just do it, please.”
Her lips tightened, but she moved around the end of the bed and approached him from behind.
It was an axe. A great Celtic axe adorned with knotted ribbon and stylised ivy. The handle of the axe was clutched in the talons of a great bird of prey. Whether it was a real bird or mythical, she had no idea. The whole adornment covered his entire shoulder and bled towards his lower back.
For the most part it was a normal tattoo, an impressive one, even, but the blade of the axe had a date etched into it, literally etched in relief. Her grandson’s skin rose tight and puckered red. The date of his mother’s death.
Next to it was another date. The date of his father’s disappearance.
Woven amongst the Celtic knots a ghastly red ribbon wrapped around and around the handle of the axe, looping around an ankle of the bird and curling outside the extent of the tattoo and heading down towards his lumbar spine.
The ribbon had dates. So many dates.
The occasional name appeared on the knots. She even recognised a few. The last date was Cassandra McCready and her name was calligraphied on the handle.
There was so much information, she wasn’t sure where to look and it took her a moment to realise the worst of it all.
As she stepped closer to her grandson the light cast shadows. Each date rose in scar, but underneath it all, underneath every inked line there were a series of deeper scars hidden, dimpling dark skin.
As if a claw had torn at her grandson’s shoulder, attempting to rip the skin off his body.
The ink glittered dully in the overhead lighting.
Sally swallowed and tried to get her heart and breathing under control.
“It is done by a professional, Grandma. Safe and sterile. Confidentiality is in place. The artist can be trusted.”
She didn’t say anything. Her eyes following the scars, catching dates she could connect in her head with disasters. At the very top of the axe a moniker caught her eye.
Oh, god.
Grandpa.
Grant Tracy.
It was tiny, beautifully scripted, and in that moment she had an inkling of exactly why her grandson did this. This memorial. This honour to those he had lost.
And why those dates were raised. Unthinking, she reached out and touched her fingertip gently to her husband’s name. Virgil’s skin was warm and the scar rough.
“Grandpa was one of the first.”
She snatched her hand away and his shoulder flexed. A hiss and Virgil clutched at his arm again.
“Honey?”
“It has grown over the years. Never expected it to get this big.” It was said through gritted teeth.
“Does it have everyone?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“No. Only those I failed.”
“You have never failed anyone, Virgil.”
“I...” His head dipped. “I wish that were true.” A ragged breath. “I’ve held so many last moments, Grandma. Been unable to reach. Missed at the last second. They scream. They always scream. Their eyes cry out and I’m just not enough. Not fast enough. Not close enough. Not smart enough. They deserve more, but I can’t give it to them.” Another breath, this one shaking. “So I give them this at least. Memory. I can remember them and try harder next time.”
Sally’s hand was shaking as she laid her palm against his back. A moment and her cheek followed, her arms wrapping around him the best she could. His good shoulder flexed under her temple as he captured her hands in his single one. “I’m okay, Grandma. I promise.”
-o-o-o-
End Part Nine
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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 9
Catch up on Chapter 8 here
You grin, your heart light. “So, why are you calling me today, Van McCann?” You tease. “Are you looking to get off, or pressure me to run away with you again?”
Van chuckles. “You said your hometown was in Michigan?”
“It is,” You confirm.
“Is Detroit somewhere close to it?”
You sit very still. “Um. Really close, actually.” Your brain knows where this is headed but you can’t get your hopes up. Especially after how harshly you’d scolded yourself for your impulsive Phoenix trip. “Why?”
“We have a show there on Wednesday. So I’m calling about the latter.”
or
You’re going home.
Word count: ~12.3k
Chapter Nine
June 2019
The rush of realizing you’re in love with someone felt so foreign yet so achingly familiar all at once. It completely consumed you. You watched the rest of the show in complete euphoria, eager for that moment when Van would finally be off stage.
And when he finally burst through the door, high on post-show adrenaline and dripping with sweat you leap up from your seat, so happy to see him. If he thinks your excitement is out of place he doesn’t mention it, glowing with the satisfaction of putting on a great show.
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” He pants, grabbing for one of the provided towels and vigorously rubbing at his hair.
“Don’t you shower here?”
“Didn’t bring my stuff. Figured you wouldn’t wanna sit here and wait for traffic to die down anyway.”
He’s gathering his things up quickly, stuffing them into the backpack he’d brought with him. He grins over his shoulder. “Think you can stand the smell?”
It’s easy to hide your smile as you hunch over your bag, gathering your own things. “Might be hard, but I’ll try.”
The other boys flit in and out of the room, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, eager to return to the hotel. It’s not long before you find yourself crammed in an SUV with four extremely foul-smelling men as the driver attempts to navigate the short drive to the hotel, eventually pulling up to the back entrance so the boys can avoid the small crowd of fans milling around in front.
It’s a relief to return to your hotel room after a long day, to finally be alone with Van.
He seems surprised that you ask to shower with him. It is completely out of character for you, but you’re too happy tonight to care.
The shower is all business, but afterwards you’re laid out on the bed, hair dripping all over the sheets as Van fucks you, hard. Sex is the only time you get the opportunity to kiss him, and you don’t let it go to waste. Even as his thrusts jar your body and creak the bedframe, you try your hardest to keep your lips connected. Maybe you go overboard, but Van’s noises suggest it’s a good thing.
You’re so pent up that when you come you practically scream, muffling your noises with one of the hotel pillows. The sexual tension in the room is so suffocating that coming feels like it amplifies it rather than releases it. Rather than tense up with oversensitivity your body relaxes, pliant for Van as he continues to break a sweat, grunting with each movement. Instead of dissolving into his usual sloppy thrusts he stays painstakingly consistent, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. When he comes he doesn’t moan so much as gulp for air.
Even when he’s finished he keeps fucking you, gritting his teeth against his own tenderness. You don’t understand what he’s going for until you feel his calloused fingertips return between your legs, stimulating your clit roughly. This orgasm comes easier, floods over you with more intensity, and leaves you helplessly whimpering, scratching up his back in the process.
He’s barely gotten the condom off before he’s climbing off of the bed and stuffing his legs into a pair of boxers. “Smoke with me.”
You scramble after him, tossing a shirt over your head and slinging on the pair of pajama shorts you’d packed before stumbling out onto the balcony.
He’s slumped over in one of the chairs, cigarette already lit.
Your cheeks burn against the cool night air, and you know your hair’s a mess. Van looks as wrecked as you. Without a shirt on you can see the scarlet flush on his chest.
You shift around in your seat as the nicotine relaxes you, trying to get comfortable. No matter how you sit, the throbbing between your legs is prominent.
“You sore?” Van asks.
When you widen your eyes, confused at how he’d know that, he laughs. He rests his elbows on the arms of his chair, imitating your position. “You look like you’re trying to hold yourself up,” He explains.
“Oh. Yeah. It’ll fade, though.”
“Sorry if it was too much.”
You shake your head vigorously as you suck in a hit. “Don’t be.”
“So much adrenaline from the show,” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And looking at you in the shower afterwards, I was just like… Holy shit.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s telling you this.
You shake your head at his compliment to hide the way your cheeks burn hotter and your heartbeat skips.
“I felt the same,” You tell him. If he’s worried he fucked you too hard he must not have seen the way you were sneaking glances at him any chance you had. “Sorry I tore your back up.”
Van laughs. “You can do whatever you want to me, woman.”
“Oh my god. Shut up,” You giggle.
Van throws his hands up. “I’m being honest!”
He’s finished his cigarette, dropping the butt on the ground. “I gotta have another. You?”
For once, you take him up on it.
\\
The next day consists of a terrible emotional hangover. Nothing brings you down from cloud nine faster than time away with the person you love coming to an end. Even worse, tour was kicking off with a bang, and Van didn’t know when he could expect to be back in town again. He was jetting off tomorrow to the next city, and from there the band would finally have a bus and be traveling by road.
Knowing your time was limited should make you appreciate it more, but it has an opposite effect. You’re in a bitter mood the entire drive home. Van notices but keeps pretending not to, a fact that irks you more. You brush it off as dread at returning to work, just to throw him off your scent. As much as your new feelings demanded to be declared to the world, you knew nothing would scare Van away faster than you ruining this casual arrangement.
He drives himself home so that you can drive the Range Rover back to your place. You help him get his bags inside, your chest aching at this time coming to an end.
“Alright,” Van sighs when he’s sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, clapping his hands together. “I’ll see you when I’m back, yeah?”
You try not to flinch at the uncertainty in that sentence and try your best to seem cheerful. You know you fall flat. “Of course, duh.”
Before you know it Van’s wrapped you up in a warm hug, holding you tight.
“Keep your head up, alright?” He says quietly into your hair, rocking you back and forth. “Don’t let work get you down.”
You nod into his chest, and he lets you go. He presses the car keys into your palm.
“And take a nap when you get home,” He tells you, his eyes still locked with yours. You wish you could kiss him goodbye so bad it makes your throat ache. “You’ll feel so much better.”
“I will,” You croak. He gives you a nod, and with that you turn away, your feet feeling like lead as you force yourself down the porch steps and into the car. He gives you a wave as you head for the gates, and you return it with a grimace and one of your own.
And when you get home, you keep your promise to Van. You don’t even bother to unload the car before marching inside, diving into your bed, and bawling your eyes out into your pillow until your heart feels empty and you fall asleep.
\\
It takes every ounce of strength you have in every bone in your body to drag yourself into work the next morning. And the morning after that. And then the weekend arrives, two days of pure emptiness.
You hated being alone but you also couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant than being around other people right now. You spend the weekend consuming vodka at an alarming rate and scrubbing any surface you can spot in your house before falling into bed at night physically exhausted.
By Monday, you’ve decided you’re angry. First it’s at Mary. She knows how you are with relationships. You two have always joked that you dated to marry. As soon as you realize you can’t envision a future with someone your desire for them fizzles out, inevitably souring your connection. Why did she force something between you and Van knowing that it would be temporary? She’s out of line meddling in your love life, and now there’s a price to pay. When she asks about Arizona you practically one-word her, seething about what she’s done.
And then it’s yourself. What Mary did was unforgivable, but you’re the one who went along with it. You’re just as much to blame. You had your fun in San Diego, but of course that wasn’t enough. You kept going back for more. How stupid of you! You knew there was no way things could work out with Van, so you’re an absolute idiot for sleeping with him again, and again, and again. You were playing with fire this entire time. Like, really, taking time off work for a six hour road trip to hang around your ‘friend’? It was so childish. You needed to save your vacation hours for the holidays to spend time with your family.
And Van. He had to be some sort of sociopath, texting you months after your first meeting to take you out to dinner. Why would he take someone out if he wasn’t planning to date them? It had clearly been a ploy to get in your pants, and you’d been so gullible. Now he was off having the time of his life and you were the one suffering in silence.
But as mad as you want to be at Van, you miss him so much it hurts. Having no sure future to look forward to means every day without him is agony. And while you might get angry, it never sticks. How could he have predicted you’d be stupid enough to fall in love? Surely he couldn’t have known you’d do this to yourself. He was too sweet to do something so malicious.
You flip flop between these moods. In the back of your mind you know you’re not being the slightest bit rational, but the hurricane ripping through your heart is not to be reasoned with.
You find a pack of Van’s cigarettes at the bottom of your purse on Wednesday. You’d thrown them in your bag at the venue in Phoenix so he didn’t forget them, but apparently you’d forgotten about them too. For the first time in years you smoke alone. It calms the ache in your heart while you do it, recalling all the conversations you two have shared during your smoke breaks. In that small moment of clarity you know that no matter how much you’re hurting, every moment you spend with Van is worth it all. And when you’re done with the first cigarette you light another, just like he does.
By Saturday you’ve leveled out, embarrassed about your week-long tantrum. You start texting Mary again, spinning a lie about getting over a nasty cold. Everything in your house is spotless, so you’ve started on those untouched books. They help keep you distracted, even if you picture every romantic lead as Van in your mind.
You’re curled up in one of the chairs on your porch, smoking a cigarette and reading when your phone buzzes with a call in your pocket.
Seeing Van’s name on the caller ID pumps pure joy through your veins. Swiping to accept feels like you’re swiping away the awful heartache that’s been plaguing you all week.
“Where are you?” You ask excitedly as your greeting. You enjoy living vicariously though Van’s travels, even if it stings that you can’t be there with him.
“The lovely city of Chicago,” Van replies. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Where are you?”
“On the porch.” You fold the corner of your book, setting it aside and taking a hit of your cigarette.
“Are you having a smoke?”
“I am.”
“Me too,” Van says. “We’re in sync.”
You grin, your heart light. “So, why are you calling me today, Van McCann?” You tease. “Are you looking to get off, or pressure me to run away with you again?”
Van chuckles. “You said your hometown was in Michigan?”
“It is,” You confirm.
“Is Detroit somewhere close to it?”
You sit very still. “Um. Really close, actually.” Your brain knows where this is headed but you can’t get your hopes up. Especially after how harshly you’d scolded yourself for your impulsive Phoenix trip. “Why?”
“We have a show there on Wednesday. So I’m calling about the latter.”
You make a noise into the phone. It’s overjoyed and exasperated all at once. “Ugh, Van! Why do you always put me on the spot like this? I hate you!”
Van’s laughing. “Let’s save the argument, then. See you Wednesday.”
“No, no, no,” You chant, but you’re already grinning. He’s already won. “I can’t fucking roadtrip to Michigan!”
“You’re not gonna. You’re gonna fly. I’ll get you a ticket.”
Of course you’re going. The one loophole in your vacation time was that you’d promised yourself you’d use it for family time, and if Van’s offering to pay for the flight there’s no way you could turn down the chance to surprise everyone at home. It’s a win-win, family time and Van time. Your heart is already bursting with excitement.
You don’t know what to say. Van’s right, you might as well save the argument.
“You don’t have to do that, Van,” You still insist out of guilt.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m being selfish, actually. I’m glad you’ll get to see your parents, but promise you’ll save some time for me.”
“I promise.” It’s the easiest promise you’ve ever made. “Where are you playing?”
“Saint Andrew’s Hall. Seen anyone there?”
“I have!” You exclaim, thinking back to your teenaged days. “But always with my ex-boyfriend,” You confess.
“Christ. So I’ve got competition, then.”
“Guess so,” You taunt.
“I’ll have to make it extra memorable, then.” He doesn’t lose an ounce of smugness through the phone.
“Can’t wait,” You gush.
“Me either.” There’s a happy silence as you two have sealed your plans. Then: “What have you been watching lately?”
“I’m burned out of everything,” You sigh. “I’ve been reading, actually.”
“Reading what?”
“Um.” You pluck the book up from the seat next to you, reading out the title. “It’s some mushy romance thing I bought forever ago, I dunno.”
“What’s it about?”
You hesitate. “Um… I mean… romance?”
“I get that,” Van laughs. “I mean, I’m going mental with nothing to do. Tell me about the book. What happens in it?”
“Oh, um.” His interest shocks you. “Well…”
\\
Without fail, summers had always been a dreadful time for your workload. It was when most of your coworkers wanted to take advantage of their company-provided vacation days, days that you preferred to save for the fall and winter holidays when you could fly home. That meant that their projects had to be distributed among the handful of employees that were in the office reliably, and you knew that your boss directed more of the burden to you than your coworkers. Not as punishment, but simply because she felt she could trust you with the more important work.
The boss in question, Denise, had been who you’d worked under since you’d been hired at the company fresh out of college. She’d even been who you’d conducted your interviews with, save the final one where she’d been joined by a few other directors. And although coworkers had come and gone over the last couple of years, you two had remained a staple in your department, leading to a pretty solid professional relationship between you. That’s how every summer Denise managed to treat each extra project like praise until you’d accepted too many and were drowning in paperwork and emails.
But for the first time ever you were reaping the rewards of your hard work. There had been no raises (considering you were still pretty young and inexperienced), no promotions, only good comments on your performance reviews (which meant very little, really). Instead, your rewards came in the form of emails approving your time-off requests, even on the ridiculously short notice that Van was forcing on you. There was hardly any uncertainty hanging in the air; you’d send the request first thing in the morning, and usually by the time you got back from lunch you’d have the approval sitting in your inbox. And because now you were one of the employees sporadically missing from the office during these summer months, the requests to take on more work were dwindling.
You made Van wait until you’d gotten your approval email before he booked the your flight, and he’d been texting you most of Monday morning pestering you about it. Once you let him know you’ve gotten the green light, there’s only a short half hour of silence from him before he’s sending over screenshots with ticket information and departure times. He’s booked you a flight bright and early, departing at 7 am tomorrow morning. Considering his eagerness, you’re surprised he doesn’t have you taking a red-eye after work.
\\
What surprises you even more is that on Tuesday afternoon, stumbling off of your five hour flight into the familiar airport of your hometown, Van is standing at the gate waiting for you.
As soon as he catches your eye he grins, rushing towards you while you blink at him in shock.
“What are you doing here?” Are your first words to him. He pries the handle of your rolling carry-on suitcase from your fingers, wrapping his own palm around it as he tucks you under his arm, giving you a squeeze as he starts to direct you towards the doors that lead outside.
“Picking you up!” He responds, as chipper as ever.
“I thought I was gonna take an Uber!” That had been the plan, according to the numerous texts you two had exchanged over the weekend.
“I ended up having some free time,” He shrugs. He’s in the same dark jacket he’d been wearing the night you met him, unbuttoned to expose his usual dark button up. You notice this one isn’t black, though.
“A navy button up?” You gasp in faux dramatics, giving the fabric a playful tug. Van’s arm has fallen from your back, you two walking side by side.
He grins as he peeks down at his shirt. “Look at that. All dressed up for you.”
“You are,” You agree. “How are you even in this jacket?” You hadn’t stepped outdoors yet, but you knew without a doubt it was sweltering outside.
“It’s cold in here.”
His words make you realize the crisp, air-conditioned breeze blowing over your arms, and you shiver, clutching the hoodie you’d taken off on the plane tighter to your chest.
You still can’t wrap your head around the experience of Van pacing around the airport, waiting for you. “How did you even get here?” You ask as he directs you towards a set of doors. You can see the waves of summer heat radiating off of all the cars parked on the pavement through the glass.
“Dave drove,” He explains, pressing his palm into the metal push bar to swing the door open for you. A scorching burst of heat instantly greets your body, and it’s so humid it’s hard to breathe as you step out. “He lemme borrow his car.”
You’re quiet for the rest of the walk to the car, trying to process everything through your jet-lag. You’d boarded the plane at seven, been in the air for almost six hours after the delays, and yet when you glance at your phone it’s minutes away from 4 pm here, hours evaporated with the time difference. Van leads the way, dutifully rolling your suitcase to the parking spot where he had parked Dave’s car before popping your carry-on into the trunk and helping you into the passenger seat. The interior of the car has you sweating in the short time it takes Van to round the vehicle to the driver’s side, and you realize he’s been waiting inside for you longer than you’d thought.
There’s not much catching up necessary during the drive, considering you and Van had been texting consistently. You tell him about the toddler that threw a tantrum on the plane, and a woman in the row in front of you that spilled her drink all over the person sitting next to her during turbulence.
Although evening was descending upon Michigan, in typical June fashion the sun was refusing to go down, and therefore the heat simmered just as violently as it did during the early afternoon. That’s why when Van maneuvers the car to the parking lot behind the hotel, you’re shocked to see all of the boys lounging about in the heat, the only slight shade provided by the towering tour bus that was parked back here as well.
As Van pulls Dave’s car into a parking spot, everyone perks up.
“Look who it is!” Bondy calls from where he’s shading his eyes from the sun as he smokes.
You think he’s talking about Van, but Bob stops kicking the soccer ball against the building and gives you a polite wave. Benji gives you a nod in greeting, pacing around with his phone pressed to his ear. You return the wave and the nod, lagging behind Van as he makes his way towards the side of the bus.
“How are you?” Bondy asks, reaching one of his arms out for his usual half hug. He always treats you like you’re one of his own friends, and your heart swells in gratitude.
“I’m good,” You tell him. “Excited to be home.”
“That’s what Van said. We’re in your territory, huh?”
Van was distracted for a moment by Benji, but before you can respond he claps Bondy on the shoulder. “Bondy’s just been to L.A. pride,” He announces before promptly turning back to Benji, pleading to speak on the phone. His sudden interruption leaves Bondy clearly confused.
“Were you also at pride?” He asks, head tilted.
“No,” You laugh. “I think he’s saying that because I’m bi.”
Bondy laughs, the confusion clearing. “Right. Well, cheers.”
You shake your head in amusement, watching Van stalk Benji over the blacktop. Benji is dedicated to keeping the phone for himself, walking backwards away from him, but Van is undeterred.
“Who’s he trying to talk to?”
“Benji’s mum. She adores Van.”
That doesn’t come as any surprise to you.
“He’s already in a better mood.” Bondy speaks so quietly it sounds like he’s musing to himself.
You turn to look at him instead of watching Van’s antics. “I couldn’t imagine Van in a bad mood.”
“Yeah,” Bondy snickers. “Because he’s always in a good one around you.”
You blink at him, unable to think of a response. As you open your mouth to change the topic, Van flounces back towards you two.
“Let’s get your bags,” He chirps. “I’ll show you the room.”
You’re still contemplating what Bondy’s said as Van unlocks the car, helping you take your things up to the hotel room. It’s the same as any other, but it doesn’t have a balcony like the one in Phoenix.
“Where have you been smoking?” You ask, grinning when Van rolls his eyes in frustration.
“Outside. I’ve already gotten locked out of the side door on accident.”
“Aw. That sucks.”
“It does, actually,” Van scoffs at your giggle.
You get your phone plugged in, checking any notifications that have come in since you landed.
Van plops down on the bed. “What are your plans?”
“Um…” You’re distracted while you respond to your mom’s multiple messages. “I’m going to spend today at home, and then my parents can drop me off back here for the night, and tomorrow I’m all yours.”
Van seems pleased with that arrangement. “How are you getting over there?”
You shrug. “I can Uber.”
“I can drive you, if you want.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever works.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.
\\
“Turn where?”
“There!” You try to gesture to the intersection Van has clearly passed through.
“Fuck,” Van sighs, immediately having to reroute.
It’s always trippy being back home. As Van struggles to navigate you gaze out the window, looking wistfully at the homes, businesses, and parks that have shaped your childhood.
“This is my old elementary school,” You tell Van when he pulls into the parking lot as part of redirecting.
“Yeah?” He squints at the playground in the distance. It seems like it snaps him out of his frustration as he absorbs that information.
“Could you imagine living in the same area you grew up in?” You ponder aloud as you think about it. “Like, most people at least move a city over, you know what I mean? But imagine being in the exact same place. Like, if I sent my kids to that exact school.”
You watch the school become a blur as Van drives away from it.
“That’s what Llandudno is like, actually. We’ve got, like, one of everything nearby. So if you stay there, then yeah, you’re going to that same school and shopping at that same shop all your life. Which is fucking weird, like you said. You have kids and they live an exact repeat of your life.”
You go silent as you’re lost in thoughts about creating a family of your own, interjecting only to direct Van.
When he’s pulled up to your house you feel your heart start pounding.
“Did you want to come in and say hi?” You ask him as you gather your things.
Van is quiet for a moment. You hope he’s considering it. “Oh, that’s alright,” He says. “This is your time with them.”
Your heart sinks, but you press on with the rest of your pitch that you’d been mentally rehearsing. “Are you sure? They’re gonna ask about you anyway. You can stay for dinner if you’re hungry.”
Van’s expression is unreadable, but then he shakes his head. “I’m okay. Go catch up with them!”
“Okay,” You try to shrug it off. “See you later.”
“Text me when you’re ready!” Van says cheerfully as you exit the car and close the door. You give him a small wave as a final goodbye before turning to head up to your house.
Your family has already been alerted of your arrival, standing in the doorway excitedly. They wave eagerly to Van, who you catch out of your peripheral vision waving back as he pulls away.
You have less than a minute to try and swallow down the lump in your throat before you make it to the porch. The embarrassment over his rejection burns at your cheeks and makes it hard to breathe. You were stupid to even ask. Why would he want to meet your family? That’s not something you do with casual friends.
It’s easy to push it out of your mind once you’re in the front door, surrounded by people who loved you and were overjoyed to see you.
“Y/N, my God,” Your mom immediately pulls you into a hug. “Who was that who just dropped you off?”
“That’s Van.” When your mom releases you you’re immediately pulled into a hug from your dad. “He’s the friend in the band.”
“He’s good looking!” Your mom exclaims, eliciting a laugh from you. Your older brother had cleared his schedule to see you, and you hug him as well. It’s weird how much closer you’ve become to him as you two have aged. You were always at each other’s throats as children.
“He’s the lead singer,” You explain when you’re finally not in the middle of a hug. “So he’s the one everyone goes crazy for, yeah.”
“You should have invited him inside!” Your dad chimes in.
The lump in your throat is back with a vengeance, and you have to swallow it down quickly to speak. “I did. He’s got something to do with the band,” You lie.
“Probably made him nervous with mom and dad standing there,” Your brother laughs.
You laugh weakly. “Yeah… So, dinner?”
The food’s not quite ready yet, so you spend the first part of your time with everyone helping to prepare it. It’s always chaotic trying to cook with your mom watching you like a hawk making sure you’re doing everything exactly right, but with your dad and brother also crowded into the kitchen so as not to miss a second of catching up you feel suffocated almost immediately upon arriving.
For once, you notice you’ve got things to talk about. You’ve usually got very little to say no matter how many questions your family asks; There’s only so many ways to tell them that work is going good, you’re still single, and disperse an entertaining story about a night out here or there before the conversation runs dry. But tonight you find yourself suddenly remembering so many moments you’ve had with Van that you excitedly relay to everyone. Your mom asks what’s good on Netflix, and you find yourself talking about the show you and Van have watched. Your brother asks about a photo you’d posted on Instagram of a desert landscape and you tell them about road tripping to Arizona and hanging out backstage.
When dinner is done and everyone has migrated to the living room, your brother’s shoes resting at the door suddenly remind you of Sam Fender’s. You introduce your family to his music and describe how funny he was when you met him at the party.
“His album is coming out in the fall,” You gush to everyone when they seem impressed with his voice playing through your phone speakers.
“Jesus, sis, you sound like you’re living it up,” Your brother laughs. “Going to celebrity birthday parties? Backstage at shows? Who are you?”
“I thought the same thing!” Your mom agrees, gesturing wildly with her hands. “What have you done with my daughter?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” You sigh, exasperated. “You guys act like I was the most boring person in the world!”
“Oh stop,” Your mom scoffs. “We’re only kidding, honey. We don’t think you’re boring. I just think you seem really happy! I’m glad to hear you’re having a lot of fun!”
“You are absolutely the most boring person in the world,” Your brother assures you solemnly. “But at this rate I would encourage you to keep doing whatever drugs you’re on.”
Your mom’s face goes serious. “Are you on drugs, Y/N?”
You give your mom an expression that you hope conveys how crazy she sounds. “No, I’m not on drugs! He’s making a joke!”
“You do smell like cigarettes,” Your dad interjects. “Don’t tell me you’re smoking.”
“That’s from Van.” It’s only a half lie, really.
“Is Van an addict?” Your mom sounds alarmed.
You roll your eyes. “He is about the farthest thing from an addict, mom.”
“Okay, okay,” She throws her hands up in surrender. “I only worry with the whole rockstar thing. I don’t want you dating some junkie.”
You cringe at the word rockstar. “He’s not a rockstar, ew, he’s in a band,” You correct her. “And we’re not dating. Not even close.”
Your mom doesn’t look like she believes it. “Right. Well, if he makes you this happy and he’s as nice a boy as you say he is, maybe you should think about it.”
“We like being friends,” You insist, and it’s the truth. If being friends with Van was the closest you could get to him, you’ll take it in a heartbeat.
\\
By the time Van arrives to pick you up, you’re all talked out. Time had slipped by unnoticed, and it’s past midnight by the time everyone is dispersing with goodbye hugs and promises to be together for the holidays.
You slump into the front passenger seat, exhausted from your long day.
“How was it?”
“It was nice. Dinner was good. Lots and lots and lots of catching up.”
“Yeah? Did they say anything about me?”
You grin. “Of course they did. My mom said you were good-looking, for starters.”
“She couldn’t see me properly,” Van grins. “She didn’t know what she was saying.”
You filter through your mind for anything else you can tell him. You choose to keep talk of how he should’ve joined you and how you two should date to yourself. “She also asked if you were an addict.”
“Christ. What’d you say?”
“I said no. But then I told them about all the weed and your cocaine benders and the molly and actually, I think they’re right.”
There’s a terse moment of silence in the car. You watch Van grip the steering wheel tighter. “You’re taking the piss.”
“Uh, yeah!” You scoff, watching him relax. “Holy fuck, you really think I’d tell them all of that? What the fuck?”
“I dunno what you talk about with your family!” He argues, accidentally turning a corner too fast.
“Not your personal business,” You mumble, crossing your arms. It started out as a joke, but his apparent lack of faith in your ability to keep his secrets actually made you angry. “Nice to know you trust me.”
“I do trust you!” Van insists. “I wouldn’t tell you things in the first place if I didn’t trust you, so stop. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Mad. Don’t be mad at me.”
The atmosphere in the car relaxes, but you’re still tense. Between your flight, the long conversations, Van’s refusal to have dinner with you and now his lack of trust in you, your muscles were aching from the stress and you were ready for bed. You stay quiet the rest of the way to the hotel.
Van sighs as he puts the car in park. “C’mon,” he urges you quietly.
“I’m not mad,” You tell him, your voice strained. “It’s not a big deal. It’s whatever. I had a really long flight, and a really long day. I’m just really overwhelmed.” You can feel the tears prickling behind your eyes.
Van turns the car off, the space cloaked in silence. You’re both quiet while all of the lights fade until you’re in darkness.
Van looks at you. “I’m sorry.”
Your eyes water. “I said I’m not mad. It was a stupid joke to make.”
“It was pretty fucking good, actually,” Van snorts. “You got me. But I should’ve known better, you’re right.”
His attempts to calm the situation only make everything worse. Of course he’s being sweet after a disagreement. As if you couldn’t love him any more than you already thought you did. And you’re full blown crying now, probably having the opposite effect on him.
“Sorry,” You sniffle pathetically.
“Don’t be. I get it. Jet lag really fucks you up.”
You nod into your hands, wiping your tears away.
“I’m gonna smoke before we head up,” Van starts the car in order to crack the window.
“Crack mine,” You tell him, and he does before he shuts the car off.
It’s only after the first hit of your borrowed cigarette that you break out into a watery laugh.
“My mom and dad said I smell like cigarettes,” You explain to Van, who’s looking at you curiously. “They asked me if I smoked and I lied and said no.”
Van thinks that’s hilarious judging by his fit of laughter. “Your parents don’t know you smoke?”
“Fuck, no! All my life they warned me about cigarettes. They weren’t a big fan of the few times they caught me with weed, but the thought of me smoking sends them through the roof. They’d fucking kill me.”
“So how’d you explain the smell?”
“I blamed it on you,” You admit sheepishly. “And that’s not a lie. I’m sorry.” You try to give Van your best puppy dog face in hopes he’ll take pity on you.
Thankfully, he finds the situation funny. “You’re spineless,” He teases. “I’m kidding. That’s fine. I’ll be your scapegoat.”
\\
You’re getting to the point where waking up in hotel rooms doesn’t confuse your brain. What does confuse you is the position you wake up in, much different from how you’d fallen asleep on Van’s chest last night. He’d offered the cuddle as a consolation for your jet-lagged tears, and you’d never been so happy to accept a consolation prize in your life. But somehow you two must have untangled in your sleep, because now you’re on your side facing away from him.
The whole room is still dark and you can hear Van snoring. For once you’ve woken up before him.
As you stretch out to grab your phone off of the nightstand your body brushes Van’s, who you’re suddenly aware is right next to you. Without meaning to you stop breathing, nervous to wake him up. You retract your arm slowly, momentarily forgetting about your phone.
You crane your neck carefully, trying to see exactly how you two were laying. He was on his stomach, the curve of his ass and legs the only thing you can make out beneath the comforter. You flip over to face him as carefully as you can.
His head is resting against the edge of your pillow, and whatever isn’t supported by the pillow is resting in the crook of his bent arm. His mouth is ajar but he’s breathing out of his nose, evident by the snoring that’s intensified by the way the fabric of the pillow is blocking one of his nostrils.
You’ve been as physically close to him as two human bodies can get, but the opportunity to gaze at him can not be wasted. You’re studying the features of his face carefully, your eyes tracing over the contours of his lips when suddenly his phone alarm goes off, startling you.
It doesn’t disturb Van, who only shifts slightly before dozing back off. The phone is too far away for you to do anything about it. You sigh.
“Van?” You’re hesitant when you speak.
“Hmph?”
“Your alarm is going off.”
At that Van starts to shuffle underneath the blankets. One of his arms unfolds so that he can wipe the hair out of his face before he uses his other elbow to support his weight, grasping for his phone.
In his stretch to grab his phone he causes the blankets to slip down, leaving you both mostly uncovered. Instantly your skin protests at the cold hotel room air, and you grasp for the edge of the comforter to haul it back up. It’s slipped just below Van’s thighs, exposing the boxers he’d slept in. As you grip the fabric Van’s finished shutting the alarm off, putting his phone back on the bedside table and flopping onto his back. His readjustment means that you clearly see the way he’s tenting in his boxers.
You tug the blankets up quickly, eyes wide. Van looks like he’s already in the process of drifting back off, eyes closed where he’s laying, oblivious to what you’ve seen. You rest your head back down on the pillow.
“Are you falling back asleep?” You ask after he’s been still for a bit.
“No,” He croaks, but you’re not convinced. He only further proves your point when he gets back on his stomach, curling up into the position he had been in minutes before.
One moment you’re admiring the way his t-shirt stretches across his back, the next your hand has moved of its own accord, your fingers gently scratching him through the fabric. You truly hadn’t meant to do it. But he’s in a white shirt instead of his usual black, and his skin is visible against the cotton, and you’ve been yearning to touch him any chance you get. The fact he was hard only made you crave it more, knowing that he wanted you to touch him as bad as you wanted to touch him.
At the first graze of your fingertips against his shirt you freeze, realizing what you’re doing. You pull your hand away.
Van makes a noise of distaste against the pillow. It sounds like he says something, but you can’t make his words out.
“What?”
“Tease,” He huffs.
You frown. “How?”
“Because,” He mumbles sleepily, shifting against the pillow so that he’s looking at you. “Scratch my back.”
“We gotta get up.”
“After you scratch my back.”
You reach out and run your nails over his shirt as if you’d done it a million times. He smiles, closing his eyes in bliss as you humor him, loosely guiding your hand up and down his spine and over his shoulders.
“Ready to get up yet?” You ask in amusement when Van relaxes into the mattress even more.
“No,” He groans. “I’m so fucking tired.”
Without thinking about it your fingers slide under the hem of Van’s shirt, so that now you’re scratching his skin. You can feel his muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.
“You’re never tired,” You point out.
“I am when I’ve been jet-lagged for a week straight. Fuck.”
Even while he’s huffing about waking up he’s preening under your touch, clearly enjoying himself.
“I’ll get coffee going,” You tell him before slipping your hand out of his shirt, earning yourself a dirty look.
When you head for the coffee machine is when Van realizes you’re not coming back, finally yawning and forcing himself to sit up.
“I gotta get in the shower.”
He’s rubbing his eyes as he finally emerges from bed, stumbling to grab his toiletries from his luggage. You chance a peek at him when he stands up straight, but he’s strategically carrying a pouch with stuff for his morning shave so that his hard on’s concealed.
You busy yourself preparing both of your coffees, filling two disposable cups. He finally makes it into the bathroom, flicking the lights on and getting the water running before shutting the door, the knob clicking as he locks it. You’d been hoping he’d invite you to shower with him, but apparently he was serious about being exhausted.
You start to go through your own things, getting yourself ready. Jet lag had caused you both to sleep well into the afternoon, and it wouldn’t be long before the ride to the venue was here. As long as you try to avoid it, eventually you need to use the bathroom sink, tapping nervously at the locked door.
“Are you knocking?” Van’s voice echoes from the shower.
“Yeah!” You yell against the heavy wooden door. “I need to use the sink!”
There’s the wet slap of footsteps before the knob rattles and the door opens.
Van’s already disappeared behind the curtain by the time you’re in the bathroom. You focus on getting ready through the steam that’s forming on the glass. In perfect timing, once you’re about to complain that it’s too hard to see the spray cuts off, Van stepping out.
He’s dripping water all over the floor, his skin pink from the heat. He doesn’t have a towel immediately in reach, causing him to meander around looking for one, leaving the room for a moment. The steam escapes through the door, helping to clear the mirror.
When he comes back in he’s got one towel wrapped around his waist, another slung over his shoulders, and a hairbrush in hand. When he turns to brush his hair you can tell that he’s soft now.
You suppress a smile at what that implies.
\\
The whole route to the venue you’re engrossed in the familiar sights. The landmarks, the major streets, a restaurant here or there that you’d eaten at after concerts at the very venue you were headed to.
Saint Andrew’s hasn’t changed much, although you can tell there’s been some renovations. The walkthrough with the band feels like deja vu, your body familiar with the layout of the building even though you haven’t been there since high school. Bondy asks where a restroom is, and before one of the staff can answer you point him towards the door without thinking about it. Only once you’re actually backstage, where your brain doesn’t have any material to push memories to the forefront of your mind, do you feel more normal.
You’re good about staying away from the public areas until soundcheck, which you don’t intend to miss. Watching everyone perform as friends rather than professionals in such a laid-back atmosphere has become one of your favorite perks of being a guest. You’re comfortable enough to stray from the wings this time around, instead choosing to venture on stage with the boys. You sit down in the corner, your legs dangling off of the edge, as out of the way and as far from the amps as you can get.
“Eh, didn’t sound right to me,” Bondy jokes after they’ve checked Sidetrack. “Felt a bit flat.”
“Aw, fuck you,” Van tells him, his footsteps vibrating the stage as he makes it back to his microphone. “Focus on yourself. Pretty sure I heard you play the chorus wrong.”
“That was you, actually.”
They do this all rehearsal, all of them poking at each other with no real malice. But you can tell the boys are having an extra dose of fun today with you around.
“Did that sound right to you, Y/N?” Bondy asks. “Maybe it’s just me, I dunno.”
“Yeah, let’s ask Y/N, our true impartial listener,” Van says into the microphone. It reverberates around the empty hall.
“Stop asking me!” You whine, looking over at them. “Everyone sounds great. Grow up.”
Everyone seems to find your irritation funnier than picking on Van.
“What about the drums?” Bondy continues. “I think Bob missed a beat there.”
You shake your head, not justifying him with a reply. Everyone snickers.
They go through their next song in fits and starts as adjustments are made, and your mind drifts away as they talk quietly amongst themselves. You gaze at the polished wooden floor the audience will be standing on later tonight, and your eyes travel up to the high, detailed ceilings of the room. It’s impossible not to remember all the times you’ve been under this ceiling, standing atop this exact floor, watching a band perform on this very stage with your then-boyfriend. You were always here with him because these had been his favorite bands, his group of friends that you two met up with. Looking around the room now feels like being somewhere haunted, like if you close your eyes you can see your life exactly the way it used to be. The way it was when you thought you were content where you were, when you felt your whole future was laid out in front of you and you didn’t have a problem following that path. When you didn’t know what else was out there for you.
You’re startled out of your thoughts by Van plopping down next to you, chugging a waterbottle. You realize they’ve finished soundcheck, everyone starting to quietly disperse.
“You okay?” He asks, gazing out into the space with you.
“Yeah,” You say, distracted.
“We’re only teasing, you know that, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” You brush his concern off. “I know that.”
“You seem upset.”
You shake your head. “I’m not upset. It feels weird being here.”
“Wanna smoke?”
You nod, hopping up to go follow him outside.
Once you’re out of the back door, greeted by a stifling wave of heat and humidity, Van meanders away from the venue. You follow along, looking at what’s changed on the block since the last time you’ve been. The building directly next to the hall is clearly abandoned now, and there’s a lone tree growing in a patch of grass in the narrow strip between that building and the store next to it. Van gravitates toward it, and you’re happy to be in the shade.
“What used to be here?” Van asks, nodding towards the abandoned lot. It’s evident that concert goers seem to know about this little space, considering there’s graffiti etched into the bricks. People’s names, random dates, mysterious phone numbers. There’s some actual tags spraypainted in various spots on the wall, but you’re more interested in the smaller messages.
“A bar. It was cool. Right after the concert everyone would go directly here. I wonder why they closed down. No doubt they made a ton of money.”
“You went?”
“Eh, occasionally. They’d be so packed right after a show you could weasel your way past the person checking IDs sometimes.” Your brain provides you with more memories of your past from the seemingly endless supply it has today.
“Why’d you break up with your last ex?” You blurt out. It’s so nosey and off topic you immediately want to kick yourself, but Van is unfazed, finishing his hit of his cigarette.
“I thought you hated talking about exes,” He points out.
“I do. Guess I’m just feeling really… reflective today.”
Once you were outside Van had slipped on the pair of sunglasses he’s kept dangling from the collar of his button up, so his expression is unreadable. His lenses just reflect you smoking back at yourself, so you look away.
“We were a bad match,” He says. “Always at each other’s throats. I didn’t see as much of a problem with it as the boys did. She did not like them and they did not fucking like her. They had to talk some real sense into me. But I’m glad they did.”
“Why were you with her? If she didn’t get along with anyone?”
“You know, this is gonna sound like such bullshit, but I really think I just forgot what love felt like. When you’re younger, and going to school and what have you, you know who you’re into, you know? Does that makes sense? If you’re in a class with thirty people, it’s easy to pick out who you’ve got a thing for.”
You nod, following along.
“So I met my first love in school. The thing is, though, nothing feels like your first love. Right? So when that’s said and done, you’re trying to find that feeling again, but it’s never the same, whatever. So for a while I would date girls and we would either be intensely in love or have no spark whatsoever. But then you’re an adult, and you’re working, and I’m not in one place very long. If I meet someone I like they’re not someone I see regularly because I’m always doing band stuff. So before you know it you’ve been single forever. Then it’s kinda… alright, our connection isn’t crazy, but it works. I started settling, I guess.”
You nod enthusiastically, his dating history resonating with your own.
“Anyway, when I met her, we had a lot of passion. So to me, I’m like, fuck, okay, I’m in love again. And when we got along, things were-” He gestures smoothly with his hand. “But we never got along. I swear we actually fucking hated each other most of the time. But at least I was feeling something for someone, so I figured we could work things out. Um, but we didn’t. And the fighting was unbearable. Interrupting rehearsals, nights out. We were always leaving early and always screaming in front of people. Bondy and Bob and Benji just got sick of it. Told me to cut it out. So, eventually I did.”
“That was pretty deep,” You remark, and Van laughs. “When’d you break up?”
“Right before Christmas,” Van tells you. “She absolutely freaked. But I got home and my mum and dad were so fucking relieved she wasn’t with me. That’s when I knew everyone had been right.”
“She met your parents?”
“They actually came to see us at a show while she was with me. She was starting shit with me all day, holy shit. They met her that one time and then avoided anything having to do with her like the plague.”
“That sounds genuinely awful.”
Van shrugs. “It is what it is. Learned a valuable lesson. Got some good songs out of it.”
You suppose relationships gone bad do probably hurt less when you make your living off of them.
“Let’s hear yours.”
“My last ex?” You ask, and Van nods.
“Eh. He was cheating on me.”
Van winces. “That’s shit.”
You shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal, honestly. I know that sounds crazy. I didn’t have any real spark with him, I didn’t really care. What I hated the most was how he thought he was so fucking clever and I knew the entire time.”
Van snorts. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Ugh,” You roll your eyes, “It was so easy! He was so stupid! First, when we became official his profile was still up on Tinder. Mine was still up too, okay, whatever-” You hold your hands up in joking guilt, “-But I would catch him actually on the app. And he had previews turned on for his notifications! I would literally catch girls texting him!”
Van chuckles along at your animated storytelling.
“And that’s it, really. I let it go on for a little bit because I was lonely at the time, but then it wasn’t funny anymore and it was over.”
“And when was this?”
“Psh. Long, long time ago. A year ago, at least. Year and a half, maybe.”
Both of your cigarettes are long burnt out. You add them to the collection of the other butts lying in the dirt around the tree.
“Have you ever cheated?” You decide to ask Van. Maybe if he has, you can convince yourself not to be in love with him. You’d have a sensible reason why it’d never work.
“Christ. I have, don’t judge me.”
At his words you perk up, eager to find a flaw.
“I was fifteen,” Van groans when he sees how intently you’re watching him. “It was nothing. I was technically dating a girl in my maths class but I kissed another girl under the bleachers after football practice.”
You laugh so hard your stomach hurts because of course, of course that’s Van McCann’s story of cheating. He tries to keep a straight face, looking rather remorseful, but eventually he cracks too, laughing along.
When you’re here with Van, sweating to death and laughing about innocent heartbreak, you forget all about the ghosts that follow you around this place. It occurs to you then that what’s most important is now. It’s nice to know about Van’s crazy ex, but it’s even nicer that he’s here with you instead of arguing with her. And it’s nice to remember times when you were younger, when things were simpler, but you realize that during your friendship with Van you’re probably happier than you ever were in the past. And it’s wishful thinking, but you can’t help but hope that maybe he feels the same way.
\\
“So, do you actually ever use the bus?” You call to Van in the bathroom. He’s got the door open, fresh out of his post-show shower. You’re kicked back on the bed, texting about the show with Mary.
“Uh, we do,” Van laughs like it was a stupid question. “We’re practically on it twenty-four seven. We’d usually be on it tonight heading to the next place.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I asked to stay the extra night because I was meeting up with you.”
At this your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? We can’t get driving to the next place when you need to be at the airport in the morning. I said I had a friend coming in and could we stay an extra night because she has to fly. And they said that was fine with the schedule.”
You immediately shoot a text to Mary relaying your conversation. Just found out Van asked to adjust the schedule for me???
Mary’s reply pings back immediately: EXPLAIN?!?!
You’re typing a summary of what Van’s just said when you hear him speak from the bathroom. You don’t catch what he said.
“I can’t hear you!” You call to him.
“I said,” Van appears in the doorway, shirtless with a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. “Have you ever seen a tour bus?”
“No. Aren’t they like an RV?”
“A what?”
“An RV?”
“What the fuck is an RV?”
You look up at him in exasperation. “You know-” You gesture with your hands, “Giant things, you drive them, you take them camping. They have a kitchen and a bed and stuff? Like a house on wheels?”
Van cocks his head. “A motorhome?”
“Yes! A motorhome, sure.”
“Right. No, they’re nothing like that.”
“Okay, then I have no clue what they’re like.”
Van speaks again while he’s tugging on his t-shirt, successfully muffling his words. Yet when he pops his head through the collar, he’s looking at you for a response.
“I did not hear a word you just said,” You tell him with raised eyebrows.
Van rolls his eyes. “I said, do you wanna see ours?”
You do, but you hesitate. “Are we going to be bugging anyone?”
“Nah. Everyone’s in rooms tonight.”
“Then yeah, I do wanna see.”
Van stuffs his feet into a pair of slippers. “Then c’mon, get some shoes on.”
You hadn’t realized he’d meant right this second, but you get up from the bed, tucking your phone in your pocket and slipping on the flip-flops you’d brought for the shower. He pockets one of the room keys as you follow him out of the suite and down to the parking lot.
There’s nobody around considering the late hour of the night.
“Do you have a key?” You ask curiously when Van approaches the bus empty handed.
“No. You use a code.” He hits a combination of numbers on a small keypad, and with a beep he’s able to slide the door aside, letting you head up the stairs before him.
It looks like a regular coach bus when you look around, like the ones schools rent for long field trips. There’s two pairs of leather seats that face each other, and a small table dividing them.
Van appears behind you, stepping around so that he can lead the tour.
You couldn’t see it from where you were standing, but once you follow Van you see a narrow countertop nestled on one side. There’s a minifridge, a coffee pot, and a microwave nearby in the small space, and a small restaurant-booth seat where you presume people eat.
“Here’s the little kitchen,” Van says, gesturing to the countertop and booth.
Although it’s clear that the space is lived in, given the various foods lined up on the surfaces, there’s no trash or mess to be seen. “It’s really clean.”
Van snorts. “We’re slobs. It’s all thanks to the team.”
“They clean up after you?”
“They take care of the trash. Throw out the old food, get us some new stuff, that kind of thing.”
Van clicks open a door, showing you the inside of a new room. “Bathroom,” He explains, and you peek your head in, surprised to see a sink. You didn’t really consider there was running water in these things.
You’re almost at the end of the bus, and you haven’t seen any bunks. “So, do you, like, recline those seats to sleep? Like a plane?”
Van glances over his shoulder at you. “No. The bunks are upstairs.”
“How do you-” You start to ask, but before you can finish your sentence Van has started climbing up to the second level using a staircase in the corner.
You struggle to keep up with him, amazed as you climb up the steps to a whole new area. Lined against the walls are the actual bunks.
This area hasn’t been cleaned, considering each mattress is piled with rumpled bedding and various belongings. Some bunks were clearly being used as storage instead of a place to sleep, suitcases resting on them instead of blankets.
Van leads you to one of the top beds on the left side. It’s been messily made.
Van pats the colorful quilt resting on top of his sheets. “Here’s mine.”
“It’s made,” You remark, also reaching out to feel his blanket. “This quilt is really nice.”
“I try to at least throw it together in the morning.” He shrugs. “And my mum made me this, actually.”
“What?” You lean in closer to try and examine his quilt. Van messes with something before a light in the bunk comes on, illuminating the small space. “This looks amazing! Like it’s from a store.”
“Yeah. She’s handy with a sewing machine. She made it for me when I was leaving for New York. Now it’s my official touring blanket.”
His story makes your heart swell. You’re quiet as you continue to admire Mary’s work.
“Wanna hop in?” Van interrupts your thoughts.
It takes some maneuvering, but you managed to wriggle your body onto Van’s mattress. It’s about the same size as a twin bed, but the walls on three sides of you mean there’s no luxury of sprawling out.
“How do you fit in here?” You ask him. When you stretch out all the way, your toes bump the opposite end of the bed. You can’t imagine Van fits in here comfortably considering how tall he is.
“Eh, bend your knees a little. I’m used to it.”
You were already short on space, but things start to feel a bit claustrophobic when Van hops into bed with you. You’re stuffed between him and the wall.
“This is a squeeze,” You point out. Van’s pressed so close to you that when he exhales you can smell the toothpaste on his breath.
“You’re telling me.” You can feel his voice rumble through his chest.
There’s a moment of quiet when a thought suddenly pops into your head. “Oh my God, have you ever had sex in here?”
Van exhales a quiet laugh, and you feel his fingertips fussing with the hem of your shirt. “What, hoping to be the first?”
It’s hard to keep your train of thought straight when you feel his fingertips brush over your hipbone. “I’m only asking!” You manage to say.
“Ha. Yes I’ve had sex on a bunk,” He admits. “But, like, a long time ago. This might surprise you, but it’s not the most comfortable experience.”
In retaliation for his sarcasm you slip your own fingers underneath his shirt, pinching his side.
“Oi!” Van cries out in surprise. The space is so small that it sounds like he just shouted at full volume. You cringe.
“Don’t be so fucking loud,” You complain, pinching him again for good measure. “Right in my ear!”
“Well don’t pinch me!” Van scoffs.
“Fine, I won’t,” You hiss before tickling him.
“Cut it out,” Van pleads, twitching helplessly under your fingers. Before you know it he’s pushed your shirt up, tickling you roughly in retaliation.
One second you’re both squirming around, commanding each other to stop, and the next second Van’s lips are on yours. You freeze in surprise.
When he catches you by surprise he kisses you harder, his body shifting so that he’s hovering over you. When your brain catches up you relent on your attack, your arms wrapping around his shoulders instead.
“What are you doing?” You ask when he pulls back.
He grins. “Getting you to stop.”
He’s got a satisfied smirk like he’s won. If only he knew that losing felt like winning first prize to you.
“Well you better keep going,” You taunt him, teasingly tickling at the back of his neck. “Or else.”
You feel his smile as he kisses you again, pressing your lips open with his own so he can deepen it.
When it’s your turn to smile through the kiss he slowly pulls away, eyebrows raised. “What?”
You don’t answer him for a second, happily taking in the features of his face. You move one of your hands away from his shoulder to cup his jaw, running your thumb along the prominent line of it. His morning shave means his skin is silky smooth, no scratch of stubble against your skin. He’s still waiting for a response.
“I missed you,” You tell him. It’s the closest words to ‘I love you’ that you two exchange. “I missed you, like, a lot.”
Van grins, his body shifting so his face is inches away from yours. The feeling of his stomach rubbing against yours, even through your layers of clothes, sends a spark up your spine.
“Miss me?” He chuckles quietly. “I’m right here.”
“Now,” You argue, running your fingers through his hair. It’s still wet from the shower, making your knuckles damp.
Van laughs, kissing you again. This one is lacking heat, just a sweet, quick press of his mouth to yours. “Aw. I missed you too.”
“I’m right here,” You mock him, playfully poking one of the darker freckles on his cheek.
“Oh, I’m aware,” Van teases, leaning forward for another kiss. “And if you don’t mind, I’m prepared to take full advantage of that fact.”
You hate to crack the mood, but at his line you let out a laugh that’s too loud considering your proximity. “Oh, that was smooth, that was smooth,” You praise him, ruffling his hair.
Van looks proud of himself, lowering his chin to your chest and beaming up at you.
“But yeah,” You tell him, sliding your hands over his back, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t.”
With your approval Van starts to heave himself out of the bunk, a tangle of limbs too long to be confined into this space.
“Are we going back to the room?” You ask as Van helps you down.
“No. Somewhere where there’s more space.”
His fingertips are cold as he loosely tangles them with yours, gently tugging you away from the bunks, in the opposite direction of the staircase. It’s not quite hand-holding, but it’s close enough to stun you, gazing down at your entwined hands as Van leads you the short distance to a door. He releases you so that he can swing it open, and by now you’re used to being ushered in first.
He’s led you to a tiny room that only contains a couch, a television in the wall, and a PlayStation surrounded in a tangle of wires on the floor.
“Of course,” Van sighs under his breath as you two take in the couch. It’s covered in clutter, mostly dirty clothes and the PlayStation remotes. Within the blink of an eye he’s crossed the room, starting to toss whatever clothes have been abandoned here onto the floor. You help too, taking care of the remotes, beer bottles, and cigarette boxes. The end result is a clean couch and a messy floor.
“Yeah,” You say to nobody in particular as you relax into the couch, which is long enough to stretch out on. “There’s a lot more space.”
Van tugs his t-shirt off, tossing it onto the floor with the mess. You follow suit.
Only once your shirt is off do you notice the lighting. The small lamp in the bunk had been cozy, but this room is shrouded in the sort of lighting public bathrooms had; it was fluorescent yet dim, casting a yellow glow, and doing everything in its power to illuminate any flaws. Immediately after looking down at your exposed body you wish you could pull your shirt back on.
“I hate these lights,” You declare to Van.
“Hold on,” Van grunts, wriggling around as he searches for something. “We’ve got something better.”
After some commotion the wall the couch is pressed against is suddenly illuminated with a soft glow. It looks as if there’s lighting installed into the back of the couch, but when Van crosses the room and flicks the lightswitch off you realize that the boys have a string of fairy lights resting against the edge of the seats. The atmosphere of the room is suddenly much more welcoming.
You hadn’t realized your shoulders were tense until you feel them sag in relief. At the sight of Van approaching the couch again, however, you tense up again.
“Condom?” You check, terrified of an Arizona repeat.
“Right, right,” Van clicks his tongue, heading for the door again. “I’ll be right back.”
With nobody else on the bus, you can clearly hear the shuffle of Van looking around. Thankfully he returns with a foil packet in hand, locking the door behind him.
When he sits down on the couch, he holds the packet close to the string of fairy lights, squinting at it.
“What?” You ask as Van struggles to read the text on it. You notice it’s an orange color, not the blue of Van’s usual trojans.
“It’s ribbed. Will that work?”
“Sure,” You nod. Truthfully, you’ve never tried them, but you will tonight if it means getting the show on the road. “Whose is that?”
“Bondy’s.” Van sets the condom aside on the floor, proceeding to strip away his sweatpants. “I’ll have to remember I owe him one.”
He says this so casually, as if they borrow condoms from each other regularly. You shake your head at how odd men are as you finish stripping your clothes away.
Once the clothes are off and you two gravitate into the same position you were in on the bunk, the mood starts to come back. It hadn’t gone far, considering Van was still hard. He busies himself with your foreplay, his fingertips gingerly searching for a good spot against your clit.
“There,” You say quickly, when he’s gotten it right. But he’s already moved, the sensation lost.
“Where?” Van tries to move back into his previous place. He’s almost got it right, but it’s slightly off. “Here?”
You reach down between your legs, Van’s fingers going pliant as he allows you to readjust him. “There.”
He adds pressure, moving in his usual wide circle. Your nerves light up with it, your hips twitching up instinctually. He knows he’s gotten it right by your reaction.
In reward you reach down to work on him. The back of your hand brushes his dick. It’s swollen and radiating heat, and a smear of precome brushes over your skin. Van practically jumps out of his skin. You don’t want to bring him any closer to the edge than he already is, so you decide to slide your hand lower instead, gently cupping his balls.
“Shit,” Van hisses, flinching.
You freeze. “Do you hate it?”
“No, no,” He breathes, and you feel him relax.
“How do you like it?”
Van shakes his head. “Never had it. Go easy on ‘em.”
You don’t have the mental space to process what he’s said, too consumed by the way he’s touching you. With his request you keep your touch gentle. You’re both hypnotized, the foreplay going on for longer than usual, and you’re almost tempted to call off the sex and come only from his fingers. You can tell he’s becoming more familiar with your body, his hand keeping the right rhythm as he kisses the spot on your neck that always makes you moan. But he’s not the only one that’s been studying, and instead of your usual breathy moan you let his name slip just to rile him up more.
That seems to snap him out of his daze, and with a playful nip to that spot on your neck he pulls away, stretching down to grab for the condom. You let your hand fall away from his balls, rubbing his inner thigh instead while he slides his foreskin back and gets the condom over himself.
“Any special requests?” He asks as his way of checking in, and you feel the gentle pressure of him nestling into position.
“Yeah,” You reply as you shuffle to make sure your hips are at the right angle. “You better not pretend I’m the girlfriend you fucked in the bunk once.”
Van gives a loud scoff, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks down at you like you’ve just grown a second head.
“Are you kidding?” He asks, cocking his head. “Have you looked at yourself? Why would I fucking want to?”
It had mostly been a joke, but there was always a small part of you that wondered if Van used your arrangement to relive past experiences. It always hurt to consider, especially since he was the clear winner out of everyone you’d ever physically been with. At his sincerity you gulp, giving a small nod.
He shakes his head at you in exasperation. “Christ, Y/N. You know, I’ve never met anyone like you.”
You eye him wearily. “Okay, that sounds like an insult, but to be fair, I’ve never met anyone like you, either!”
Van chuckles as he starts his first slow thrust inside of you, effectively shutting you up. “Deffo not an insult.”
Something about his response makes you unexpectedly emotional. You chalk it up to a heady mix of love hormones and the relaxation that sweeps over you at your anxieties being assuaged. It was in the way he responded enthusiastically, rather than brushing you off. As you two get started it still takes you a minute to shake off the memory of his face peering down at you like you were absolutely insane for even insinuating such a thing. Even then, his words linger.
You know, I’ve never met anyone like you.
\\
#summer's a knife#catfish and the bottlemen#catb#van mccann#van mccann fic#van mccann fanfiction#vanfic#catb fic#please enjoy me waxing poetic about saint andrew's hall
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11 please! Need me some tooth hurting fluff
11. “I can’t believe you did all this, for me”
* * * * *
Unpopular opinion, Eddie was aware, but he absolutely detested Christmas. All the lights, the songs, the cheerfulness made him want to roll his eyes, lock his door and throw away the key. People at work called him Scrooge because he never attended any of the parties, or even put a little tree up in his office. It wasn’t that he was a Scrooge as he never judged anyone on liking Christmas themselves, he just didn’t particularly enjoy the holiday.
Then he met Richie Tozier. Richie who was very much Christmas’ biggest fan, someone that Eddie would never have imagined himself falling in love with. Except he did fall in love with him, head over heels in love. Richie never questioned Eddie’s distain for Christmas, and always kept talk about the holiday to a minimum when they were together. He never even mentioned the fact that Eddie didn’t own a single Christmas Decoration.
It wasn’t until the following year, when they had been dating for a while and Eddie practically lived at Richie’s place that Richie finally brought up the Christmas thing. They were lying in bed, sweaty and spent, Richie’s hand making light patterned with his fingertips along the expanse of Eddie’s back when he brought it up. “Eds…why do you hate Christmas so much?”
Eddie blinked and looked up at Richie, resting his chin on his chest as his eyes went a little sad, “Why has it taken you so long to ask me?” He asked in response and Richie shook his head. Eddie sighed, Richie wanted a real answer this time. “It’s nothing exciting, Richie. No-one in my family died and Christmas and I wasn’t a poor kid who never got anything from Saint Nick.”
“Then why?” Richie asked. “And I know it’s not just a preference, because you turn your nose up at the lights that decorate shop windows, and it’s like you are personally offended by anything Christmas. Please Eds, I love you and I really want to know why you hate the holiday so much. I promise never to bring it up again if you tell me.”
With a sigh, Eddie nodded and sat up, running a hand through his post sex- curls, “I don’t like it because I’ve never celebrated it…” Eddie finally admitted. “I never had a tree, or decorations, or stockings full of treats. I never went out Christmas Carolling or baked cookies or made a star to put at the top of the tree. I never did any of that stuff growing up and when…when you don’t get to participate the feeling of being left out just turns into one of resentment I guess.”
Richie blinked back at Eddie, shock clear over his face and he swallowed, “You- you never celebrated Christmas? Like…ever? Why? Is it your religion?”
“No, no I don’t really have a religion… obviously as I am the definition of a sinner.” Eddie managed to let out a laugh at his own joke. “My mother thought it was a waste of time and money, and it was also a way for kids to put on weight due to all the sugary treats. She also believed that getting a whole bunch of presents on one day of the year was a bit silly as it would make children spoiled. If you wanted to get your children a present, do it on their birthday. She thought tree’s would bring in diseases and the lights would make my eyes hurt. As for the snow and the carolling, I never went outside because she was scared I’d get sick, so I never did any of that either.” Eddie stopped. “By the time I finally broke free from her I just…didn’t see the point as I was too old and the magic was well…gone.”
Arms were wrapped around Eddie’s waist as Richie sat up, pulling him into his lap, “Eds that…that is fucking awful. I just- I am so sorry your mother did that to you. I know you told me about her making you believe you were sick and all but…ruining Christmas? That’s a whole new level of fucked up.”
Eddie shrugged a little, running his hands through Richie’s nest of curls, “Don’t worry about it Rich… okay? It’s done with, it’s over. I’m a grown man now and the last thing I want is to ruin this mood because of my traumatic childhood past.”
He could see that Richie was still shocked over the reveal, but he let it go with a nod, rolling Eddie onto his back and moving on to round two of that night, all thoughts of Christmas long forgotten.
* * * * *
With a shiver, Eddie shoved his way into Richie’s apartment, using the key they had gotten cut a few months before. It had only just started snowing, but it was bitter cold outside and Eddie much preferred the heat over the cold. As he closed the door and let the heat of the place consume him, a few things hit Eddie’s senses. First, the apartment was rather dark, a low light coming from below the door of the living room. Second there was a sweet smell coming from the kitchen, close to the smell of cookies or gingerbread and third, he could hear music, soft but very much there.
He frowned and toed off his shoes, making his way down the corridor and towards the living room. As Eddie pushed the door open, the sight that befell him was the last thing he ever expected to see…and it sort of took his breath away. Right by the window stood a Christmas tree, decorated with lights and tinsel galore, topped with a star on the top. The fireplace was covered in face snow and ornaments, with two stockings on either side; one with Richie’s name on it and the other with Eddie’s. On the coffee table sat some baked Christmas Cookies and there was some festive music playing from the stereo in the corner.
Richie was standing by the door that would lead to the kitchen, a nervous look on his face as he tried to figure out what Eddie was thinking. Before Eddie even had the chance to respond, Richie threw himself into an explanation. “Okay I know this is a lot but I have been thinking about it ever since you told me and I…I got this idea. You said you hated Christmas because you never got to do any of this stuff so…I thought maybe we could do some of it and if you still hated it then that was find but…would you humour me?”
Eddie swallowed, taking another look around the room as tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought that someone would ever go through this much trouble for him…especially when they didn’t know how he would even react. He looked back at Richie, biting down on his lip, “I can’t believe you did all this, for me,” he breathed.
“Of course I did,” Richie replied immediately, stepping closer and resting his hands on Eddie’s waist. “Eds I love you, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I want you to be happy and I am hoping that this will make you happy.” He leaned down and kissed Eddie’s head. “Also…I was wondering if you did like it, then would you like to celebrate Christmas Day with my family and I?”
With a hitch in his breath, Eddie nodded his head, pushing up on his toes and kissing Richie softly on the lips. “With you? I’d love to.”
Maybe there was still a place for Christmas in Eddie’s heart after all.
* * * * *
@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-trashmouth @bitchbrak @sloppybitchreddie @its-stranger-than-you-think @maximusfraker @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @thejadeazalea @halfway-happy353 @tinyarmedtrex @inthebreadbinwrites @kat-ships-everything @takeourpure @lo-v-ers @that-weird-girls-blog @studpuffin @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything @trashmouthtozierr @richietoizer @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @mars-14 @reddiesetandgo @marsisaplanetyall @xandertheundead @sedanleystanley @hawkinsbabe @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones @stanleuyris @eduardoandale @purplepoisonedgem @reddie-to-cryy @pink-psychic @violetreddie @toziesque @queen-sock @appojoos @moonlightrichie @rreddies @disneyfan567 @annxmatron @lifesucksheres20bucks @anellope @roobarrtrashmouth @are-you-reddie-for-it @callmechee @nancynwheeler @reddieforlove @twoidiotsinl0ve @madi-artist @tozierking @s-onora @atownofeggs @wilding-throught-thehallways @no-she-wasnt-reddie @dadbodrichie @thorn-harvester-ven @eddiekasbpark @sparklingrainbowdragon @ransonelovebot @gloire-celeste @derrylosers @3tothe1
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DANGANRONPA AUTUMN WEEK 2020
DAY 2 : HOLIDAY AND TOGETHER
AU: Post Game Simulation V3
lmao i rushed this because i wanted to add so much so its messy and im sorry
It had been a couple of months since a small group of school kids with extraordinary talents had been forced to endure a traumatic life changing event. Slaughtering each other left and right and having to kick start survival senses just to make it through. Even if it was all virtual, the pain of dying and the pain of betrayal was all real for each of them. Although through the misery of a killing game, these kids found a bond between them all, having learned all of the best and worst parts of each other.
After they woke up, they had made an oath to always keep in touch and check in on each other no matter where their future paths may take them. So far, that vow had stood strong. As the seasons changed and the healing continued, they made time for each other.
The air outside grew colder and colder until dew from the day began to frost as the sun disappeared in the horizon. Kaede Akamatsu and Shuichi Saihara walked down a long asphalt paved driveway towards a large white home that reminded the both of them of a mansion from movies. Complete with carved pillars and a green garden outside with flowers that popped against the white and cream of the structure. The grass around the property looked like it was just as green as golf fields.
Kaede held a tub of cookies in her mittened hands while Shuichi carefully walked a pitcher of apple cider he had homemade with Kaede not too long before their departure.
“I knew Kirumi was well off with her talent but jeez!” Kaede’s bright voice cut through the cold.
“I’m not r-really surprised.” Shuichi responded, shivering and stuttering.
Kirumi Tojo had decided that they should meet up for the holidays and have themselves a “Friendsgiving.” She informed everyone that she would be making the main dishes but if anyone had anything else they specifically wanted, she would welcome the aid.
“I’m so excited to see everyone! They’re all getting a big hug whether they like it or not!” Kaede always spoke with such determination and confidence and luckily that same attitude had slowly begun to rub off on Shuichi.
“I’m s-sure they’d l-love that.” Shuichi turned to look at her and smile before glancing back towards the front door.
As they had gotten closer, they noticed a fall wreath hanging on the front door. Yellows, browns, and oranges littered the leaves and flowers that circled it. As they stepped on to the small stairs that lead to the porch, they saw a couple of the flower picks had fallen off; hot glue bubbles still on the ends. Shuichi determined that this must be a homemade wreath.
Kirumi would not have let her creations fall apart like that. So they wondered just who would have taken part in the decorations.
Kaede reached out her hand and softly knocked on the wooden door. It only took a moment before an excited Angie swung the door open.
“Ah! Atua told me that it was you two!” She tilted her head from side to side.
“Don’t listen to her. She looked outside the window and noticed Kaede walking up!” Tenko shouted behind her. In her hands was a banner with many fall colors.
“Nyehh…” A small voice beside Tenko mumbled. “Tenko, I can’t put that above the window. I’m too short. I have to save my magic for dinner.”
“Don’t worry Himiko! I will get it and all you have to do is hold the end and look pretty!” Tenko grabbed Himiko’s hand and pulled her off towards a grand window facing the front of the house.
Angie bounced on the soles of her feet before moving out of the way to let Shuichi and Kaede through. “Now we are just waiting on Gonta! I hope he did not get lost! Atua would be very upset if he did not make it in time for the turkey!”
“Oh I’m sure he will get here! We just have to be patient.” Kaede nodded and then walked further into the house to find the dining room. Shuichi shut the front door behind him and trailed after her.
As they passed through the living room, more and more familiar faces appeared. On the large sectional sat Tsumugi, Hoshi, and Korekiyo. The three of them were facing towards the TV that was mounted on top of the fireplace in the middle of the wall. Korekiyo, sat criss cross on an arm rest of the sofa, kept his attention on a small book that he had brought with him. Tsumugi and Hoshi sat on the cushions, their attention on the TV that had the Netflix menu on it.
“Tsumugi. It’s Thanksgiving. Can we not use my account to watch your trashy cartoons please?” Hoshi’s calm deep voice questioned her. He leaned back and adjusted the candy cigarette in his mouth, something he always kept to curb his previous addiction.
“Not all of it is trashy! I can find some very sweet slice of life animes! Like Ouran! Or Fruits Basket!”
“I don’t care what’s in the basket. I just don’t want it in my watch history.” Hoshi pulled his beanie over his eyes and sighed.
Shuichi had to bite his lip so that he didn’t outwardly laugh at the quick witted response. Kaede didn’t want to get involved in that argument and moved forward into the hallway.
“You little fucker!” A shrill voice stopped them in their tracks.
“Get your short ass back here!”
A small figure zoomed out of a room and into the hallway. Of course Kokichi had gotten himself into trouble already.
“It’s your fault your hair is so long! Maybe you should cut it or something? I hear being bald is totally in right now!” Kokichi giggled and raised a finger to his lips, a signature move as he teased.
Iruma followed into the hallway, holding strands of her hair. “You better open your tiny little mouth and get to eating this shit out. I am not about to let it dry and ruin my beautiful blonde hair!”
“Don’t you know how to use a hairbrush? Or do you not know hygiene either?”
“That’s it. Say you’re fucking prayers!” Iruma lunged forward but a hand covered with rings wrapped around her forearm.
“Iruma. It’s just jello. It won’t ruin anything.” Rantaro came into view. He let go of her and folded his arms across his chest. “And Kokichi. This is a special time. Don’t waste food by throwing it at people. We’re literally trying to celebrate being thankful.”
Kokichi sighed loudly and slumped his shoulders. “Fine.” He drug the word out in annoyance. “I’ll just go steal the remote from the weeb or something then.” He turned on his heel and pushed past Shuichi and Kaede down into the living room.
“Hey guys. Sorry about that.” Rantaro’s previous firm attitude fell and the normal carefree one appeared. “Guess I gotta keep a better eye on him while we are here.” He put a hand behind his neck and looked down at their hands. “Oh yeah Kirumi is in the dining room now looking to place the food. So go right ahead.” He moved out of the way and followed Kokichi’s path.
Iruma had been messing with the strands of hair, trying to pick the food out. “He’s lucky that Rantaro was here to protect him. Again. One day I’m gunna beat the shit out of that little twink.”
“Ah I think he’s just, just trying to g-get a rise out of you.” Shuichi offered.
“I don’t want that kind of rise for me!” Iruma smarted off, making Shuichi shut his mouth quickly.
“Okay!” Kaede interrupted. “We’re going to go set these down then!” She wanted to cut it off before it got anymore vulgar. Shuichi nodded and the two of them started towards the kitchen.
“I’d close my eyes before walking through there.” Iruma warned.
“Why? Is the food cooking in there just that appetizing? Will we want to eat it the minute we see it?” Kaede’s eyes widened with joy.
Iruma blushed brightly. “Uh. No!” She struggled to find words. “Worse! Actually just go see for yourself. Embarrass him more while you’re at it!” She let out a boisterous laugh before turning her heel to another room down the hallway that had to be a bathroom.
Shuichi and Kaede exchanged looks before walking into the kitchen, slightly afraid of what they might find. What they didn’t expect was the see Kaito and Maki in the middle of the room. Kaito leaning on a cabinet with something in his hand in front of Maki, keeping her in place.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Wrong holiday.”
“Isn’t it close enough though?” Kaito’s voice pleaded. “Come on. It’s tradition.”
“Yes. For Christmas.” Maki sounded like she was way past done with the conversation.
“So you admit that you’ll kiss me under the mistletoe at Christmas.” Kaito smirked and looked down at her with his “famous smolder.”
“I am not admitting anything. I am stating a fact Kaito.” Maki’s face flushed and she reached up to play with the hair that had fallen in front of her shoulders.
That’s why Iruma had mentioned embarrassing someone. Kaito had mistletoe and had been trying to get Maki under it.
“Sidekick help me out.” Shuichi didn’t think Kaito had noticed him.
“I uh, uhm. Well.” Shuichi stumbled on his words.
“See? He agrees with me!” Kaito said matter of factly.
“He just stuttered like always.” Maki glared.
“Yeah and I can understand his language!” Kaito leaned back offended. “Don’t hurt his feelings like that!”
“Why don’t you get him under that first then.” Maki challenged.
“I will! Get over here sidekick!” Kaito stomped his foot down and motioned for Shuichi to come forward.
Shuichi panicked slightly and shook his head. “Actually Kaito uh, actually I n-need to take this to Kirumi. You just, uhm, just keep trying.” He struggled to appease the taller male in front of him. He ducked his head nervously and turned into the grandiose dining room, Kaede giggling behind him.
The room had a yellow mood lighting with a large table in the middle. A white lace table runner down the middle with some plates already sat at the chairs. At the end of the table they found that they had finally met their goal. Kirumi and Kiibo stood down at the end. In Kiibo’s hands were two sets of plates that Kirumi would reach for as she set the table.
“Oh hello Kaede. Shuichi. It’s so wonderful to see you.” Kirumi’s pleasant tone was a nice change from the chaos they had just previously endured.
“Kirumi is letting me learn how to properly set tables!” Kiibo seemed genuinely excited to be able to help out.
“That’s wonderful Kiibo!” Kaede looked for a place to set her tin of cookies and gestured for Shuichi to do the same with the pitcher.
“We just have a couple of plates left to set and then everyone can come and eat.” Kirumi gently placed some utensils down into a designed napkin.
“I do not believe Gonta has arrived yet. I am hoping he will be here soon.” Kiibo pointed out and frowned in concern.
“Gonta will make it in time. It’s part of being a gentleman.” Kirumi pointed out and placed her hands in front of her on her skirt. Kiibo took the last set of plates and placed them on the placemat along with the proper utensils.
“I think we are ready now.” Kiibo nodded.
“Alright. Well why don’t the three of you pick your seats while I go and inform the others.” Kirumi seemed to glide as she exited the dining room.
It wasn’t long before the empty spaces were filled with bodies chattering with each other. Kirumi was back and forth putting the main courses on the table. Angie sprung into the dining room with a large figure behind her.
“Look everyone! Gonta made it! Atua helped guide him to us! How divine!” She collapsed her hands together before sitting down next to Himiko. Everyone lifted their heads and greeted him with delight.
“Gonta very sorry everyone! Gonta not sure what to bring as gift but finally found amazing thing!” Gonta held up a wrapped present and smiled wide.
“Gonta why did you bring a gift?” Kokichi questioned.
“Well Gonta just do what Miss Kirumi tell him. It Friendsgiving. So Gonta bring something to give friends!”
Kokichi began to laugh loudly. “Gonta you are so gullible! It’s a play on Thanksgiving! It doesn't mean giving to friends!”
“Oh!” Gonta’s face fell. “Gonta so sorry everyone! Just wanted to do the gentlemanly thing.”
“You did.” Kirumi walked back in for the final time and took the gift from Gonta. “I will go ahead and open it. Alright?” She peeled the wrapping paper away to reveal a diorama of different beetle types. Something used for educational purposes in the classroom. “This is wonderful, Gonta. I am sure we will learn a lot from this. Go ahead and have a seat.”
Gonta nodded before sitting down next to Kokichi and unfolding a napkin to put in his lap.
With such varying personalities, the chances of them all being friends under normal circumstances was low. However, they were all grateful for the friendships they had gained and found within each other. Kirumi cut into the turkey and served a piece to each person. Everyone was just happy to forget about their lives for a while. Despite everything that happened, this holiday was panning out to be one of the best ones they’ve had.
#i dont re read anything either#you get what you get#danganronpa autumn week 2020#dr autumn week 2020#drv3
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2019′s Animation Hidden Gems
So, another year has come and gone. And, in regards to animated content, we had a sizable smorgasboard of offerings both on the mainstream end and the Indie scene.
I figured I would go over some of the ones that caught my eye that I don’t see many people talking about or, if they are talking about them, they’re focusing on shitty e-drama rather than the content in of itself.
So, let’s begin!
... Just going to use a ‘Read More’ break due to the length of this post as well as spoilers for certain things within.
Tuca and Bertie
So, we’re just going to acknowledge the fact that Netflix’s cancellation of this show before it even had the chance to hit its stride (which coincidentally timed in with the team behind it, the same team behind Bojack Horseman, getting the rights to unionize -- but I’m sure that’s just a coincidence~) was one of the shittiest things they did this year, right? Right.
Anyway, Tuca and Bertie was one of those shows that, while it took me a good few days to finally watch it (due mostly to Netflix burying this show underneath those damn Ted Bundy movies and that fucking Beyonce concert/documentary/what-the-fuck-ever), was definitely a front-runner for adult-centered animation this year.
While the wacky animation styles can sometimes throw initial viewers off, by the time the series is halfway through you’re fully engrossed in how it helps to tell the stories this show wants to focus on.
While, yes, the show was a little heavy-handed in one of the early episodes about women in the workplace (that whole scene of Tuca screaming obnoxiously in the board-meeting to signal that no woman had spoken in 30 minutes was kind of grating even though the message is sound), the series as a whole is a great change of pace in regards to having adult animation centered on/aimed towards women. The characters work great together, the sound design works wonders, and Netflix cancelling this show despite they themselves not promoting it is such a damn crime.
My personal favorite part/episode: While the episode “The Jelly Lakes” was a great, poignant display of showing Bertie opening up about her past trauma and sexual abuse, the episode that I always resonate with during rewatches of this series is “Plumage”. The way that it tackles not only reconciling with addiction but emotional/psychological abuse and how it often comes from sources that are on the outside beneficial hits so close to home. The fact that it was handled with tact and respect while still being in this wacky world of talking bird-people was amazing.
Sound and Fury
I... am just going to come out and admit it, my brain still hasn’t 100% wrapped around the ‘what does it MEAN?!?!’ aspect of this animated album but, damn it all, is it a feast for the ears and eyes.
I honestly can’t talk about it too much because half the enjoyment comes from watching it for yourself.
My personal favorite part/episode: I can’t quite remember what the song’s name was, but visually it was the section that focused on the homeless veteran basically being left outside to die while the city is about to be decimated by a nuclear bomb. The fact that the segment shows everything, right down to how the cat he tries to rescue agonizingly burns to death when the bomb hits, has stuck with me.
Love, Death + Robots
Well, you guys didn’t think I was going to let 2019 pass without me gushing about one of my favorite animation anthologies of the year, did you?
Seriously, I am so glad that Netflix has greenlit a second volume for this project because it really is the type of stuff I like to see: collections of vastly different stories using different mediums and styles.
While two of the entries aren’t as strong as the others (”The Witness” and “Ice Age” freaking suck, don’t @ me), the bulk of the anthology is immensely strong and well-executed and no amount of people whinging about ‘myeh, it’s too sex-filled and violent~’ is going to ruin that.
My personal favorite part/episode: The segment “Suits” still takes my award for best in show, but I still like the series potential of “Shapeshifters” and the attempt at cosmic horror in “Beyond the Aquila Rift”.
Satellite City
I hate, hate, HATE that my initial exposure to Sam Fennah’s creative world, much like other people’s first exposure, was via that DAMN Nostalgia Critic review for The Wall!
But, in all seriousness, Fennah’s web-series as well as the book that he’s been working on are so excellently crafted.
The character design: I’ve gushed so much about the character design that doing so again here would be a crime. But it really is wonderful seeing monster designs that think ‘monstrous’ first and ‘marketability’ second.
The voice acting: everyone in here does an exceptional job with their performances and giving life to not only the characters but the world surrounding them. Seriously, they’re all amazing and I can only hope that their talents are showcased in other projects.
The animation: the fact that it’s all done and rigged by one person is awe-inspiring enough but the way that Fennah works to make sure that the characters don’t stick out too much from their real-world sets is incredible.
The writing: It would be so easy for a series like this to stick to wacky hijinks, violence, and toilet-humor, but no. We have excellently crafted, mature dialogue, we have incorporated world-building that doesn’t rely on exposition dumps, we have diction that rivals some of the commercial hyper-hits of the current year.
Seriously, I wish that more people watched this series; it’s so good..!
My personal favorite part/episode: This relies on some spoilers, but I have to talk about what I think the highlight of the series. While the episode “Slice of Life” gives a good display of the core cast in a day-to-day setting with Lucy Lacemaker giving an incredible monologue about the nature of life and immortality at the end, no where else does the work behind the craft of Satellite City shine more...
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Than in Episode 20 - “The Order of Things”. Satellite City centers around the Kivouachians, a species of unworldly creatures who have been around for billions of years but, due to war and betrayal, lost their homeland and have been scattered across the Earth.
During this war, many died, many were punished, many were tortured, and many were left to deal with horrific trauma and PTSD.
While this episode has the connecting tissue of informing others that the series’ antagonist has escaped her prison, it also centers upon the heavy issue of destructive, toxic relationships and how people can let themselves waste away and decay just because they can’t find it in themselves to let go of something that may ‘make them happy’.
We also get a dialogue from Lucy Lacemaker about the nature of art and imitation, but it’s simply the cherry on top of the sundae that the prior themes build up.
... Seriously, j-just go watch the show; put has-been critics out of your minds and just go appreciate this series for what it is.
Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss/Holidaze
God, I can only be in awe of and respect Vivienne for getting to the point that she has gotten to. Two well-received animated pilots, an adorable holiday special, industry ties, and a portfolio that surely can fill two phone books at this point.
Seriously, though, Hazbin Hotel is great: an adult animated show with an interesting art style, engaging characters, and a world that I really want to see more of.
Helluva Boss is great too! That show has a more intimate cast and less insanity so if the barrage of visuals in the prior turned you off, then the latter would probably be more your cup of tea.
Finally, Holidaze is fucking adorable. It boggles my mind that people were getting upset at this special for coming out and doing something different when most complaints against HH and HB were ‘ugh, she really can’t do anything aside from “offensive people in hell are offensive because HELL, lol”’. Well, here you go! Something wholesome and cute and heartwarming!
Some people just want to bitch and moan, I swear...
My personal favorite part/episode: See, here’s where it gets tricky. I love the feeling I get from Holidaze. I love the characters from Hazbin Hotel. I love the setting/premise of Helluva Boss.
But I wouldn’t want all of those things crammed together.
So, all in all, VivziePop and her colleagues have done an amazing job with these shorts and I can’t wait to see what 2020 has in store for them.
Dororo (2019)
Look, man! I get it, okay?! When it comes to anime where the main character in a feudal-era Japan setting goes around killing demons, everyone and their grandma was gushing over Demon Slayer.
And, you know what? Demon Slayer is a good show; it has really good animation and Nezuko is best girl.
... But fuck ALL OF YOU who slept on Dororo (2019), man! I get it, Amazon having the streaming rights to it made it all sorts of awful to try and keep up with, but even so this show was way too ignored by people.
Which is a damn shame because in regards to revamping classic anime IPs, this is right up there in ‘damn, they actually did a good job’ along with Casshern Sins and Devilman Crybaby.
My personal favorite part/episode:
... Have I mentioned that the theme song for this show is an absolute BANGER?!
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That’s all I have for now. I still have yet to watch things like Klaus and I Lost My Body, and I was unfortunately unable to watch Promare due to not having the funds for it when it was in theaters, and -- Oh my fucking GOD, I’m just now finding out that Netflix has Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie after trying to find a way to legally watch it for ages.
But I hope that I was able to introduce some of you to some animated pieces that got a little overshadowed this year.
Here’s hoping for more amazing stuff to grace our eyes in 2020!
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#personal
I’ve been making coffee for myself for years. I thought about it for awhile yesterday about what the allure is. Consistency. It’s that simple. What you are doomed to wake up to every morning is your lot in life? Being consigned to fate by the heavens to wait requires much thought, planning and consistency. Especially when there isn’t much communication, goal posts or progress. Life is always going to be that way. And yet, I’ve found things that I rely on for emotional strength. Music is one of those things. Somewhere in the middle of the night somebody from Japan bought an EP. Somewhere in my mind the abacus shifts to which checking account I need to transfer it all to. The two things I’ve always been good at have been English and Math. I’m the son of an accountant and a Russian linguistics major. When you fully actualize your potential in your DNA it makes for a lonely experience. Which is why we seek out beauty, art and culture. About a year ago was the very last time I went to New York by myself on vacation to seek out such culture. Being a person obsessed with being consistent in a chaotic world I chose a ritual. I would get coffee at the World Trade Center looking out the window at the ruins of 9/11. It is such a quiet, lonely experience that it comes back vividly sometimes with the right cup. If you can match the right experience in present time. I’ve always known how to make that coffee. I’ve subscribed to that very coffee for years now. I remember the day I decided to. I was getting coffee at another store in the city. The baristas were angry and not attentive. They spent more time badmouthing all the other coffee roasters in the city than asking me what I wanted to drink. I walked out of there thinking. What was my favorite coffee? Years later, I know that with consistency. And within that magic of consistency comes growth. Yesterday, during a quiet moment I noticed a different ratio on another roaster’s bag. I had bought a swing bag because my subscription was delayed a week due to the holiday. I drink my coffee black. It’s something about the notes and the complexity of the taste. Something that just tastes like coffee to some people is a whole different experience for me. Mostly because it’s the only thing I can rely on to keep me going. Just like in New York City. A reliable hour of reflection over a taste that only changes fractionally. A single origin tends to taste better for longer. The other bag was a blend. It tasted better with the heavier ratio I was used to but it was roasted back in November. 330ml of water, 23 grams of ground coffee, a hario cone filter, and three minutes of your time with a temperature sensitive gooseneck kettle at 96 c. It’s a heavy cup. It turns out to be around 11 ounces of coffee. The new recipe calls for 8 ounces with 14 grams of ground coffee and 220 ml’s of water. By the time you are finished with the cup, the coffee has climbed down to a reasonable room temperature. The consistent taste brings you back to moments in time when you knew you could do better. And that moment is every morning for me because I plan it that way. There are enough fluctuations to let people know I’m frosty and still alive. But for me it’s a cozy enough grind I hide in solace in. Yesterday was the first day I decided to tweak the recipe. This morning is the first day waking up to that contemplation as dumb as it sounds. It remains something nobody questions about me. A consistency and a matter of taste that people understand to be unmovable.
I’m sure people have questioned my credibility for years at this point. It gets annoying to think about. Which is why these days I’ve shut most of the world out. It’s been the perfect time to do such things. I’m sure I come across as icy cool. I don’t think any of it is forced. Like making coffee, there are some choices I have made for my life that I build upon. The last six months were torture. I made it through by staying thoughtful and real. I’ve always been that at the core. How it executes in real life gets better with time. I think you have to admit to yourself that you can do better. Better is a sort of the moment thing for me. I know one day it will all work out. And yet it doesn’t. People aren’t capable of reaching out. People can’t understand why you’d waste your time doing the things you do. Why coffee matters so much? Nobody ever listened to me about anything when I talked. So much so that I’ve been largely forgotten by my professional network of twenty years. It is a weird realization. It is also freeing. A network that isn’t consistent in a life that is practically the definition is a sure sign I wasn’t in the right place. So what is the right place for me? Staying put. Staying predictable. Staying safe. And in that situation, it’s largely just me making the coffee day after day. I move money into the right accounts. I pay attention to my investments. I stay out of debt. I stare at the wall and wonder if this loneliness is what the rest of my life would become. And then I go out to shop in the neighborhood and nobody can leave me alone. At some point you just roll with it all. It’s a journey I guess. The cost of the emotional weight is just the price of admission. Everybody having an opinion about what you should be doing but won’t actually say it to your face. The secret is everybody always has an opinion. It might not be about you but if it applies it serves the purpose of the opinionated. Most of the time what people are arguing about doesn’t really matter other than for the performance of it all. And in America, people find their own value by fucking with others. Self esteem is constantly negged. The age old make you feel like shit so you can treat yourself. It’s a constant predatory cycle of economics and it runs deeper than simple shopping habits. It’s ingrained in the patriarchal mentality of the very fabric of society subconsciously at this point. I read most of the jobs lost in December were held by women. I lost mine back in July. It was surreal to have to speak with my ex employer about the lapse in my health insurance. But the job was done thoroughly by a woman I remember speaking with. I had the law on my side. The COBRA lasts as long as I pay it. So I’m good until next February if need be. My self esteem is about the only thing I’m trying to salvage as well as my personal health and good dentistry. It’s been a nightmare that I don’t show. My dad constantly tells me he doesn’t envy me having to go through it alone. My dad divorced and remarried a long time ago. I don’t really go into it with him about the details. But I never feel alone in all of this. That’s been consistent for years. A feeling that’s grown over time. Sort of like the credible fact that I’ll survive how many ever scenes want to abandon me. One bandcamp sale in my sleep at a time I guess.
I don’t think anybody grows up hating themselves. Being alone runs the risk of falling into an echo chamber. If you tune out everything it gets easier. But many people don’t have the kind of life I have. This isn’t to say I’m exactly privileged to be here. You can ask around my hood and they have. So much so that people just keep following me around fishing for reads on how I am feeling. The easiest read is here. Every week. I’ve been consistent enough to keep in contact with the most genuine and thoughtful people. I’ve felt emotionally satiated enough to focus on positives through a sea of negatives. And I’ve largely had to coach myself out of oblivion. Hurray for me. That’s what America has been asking for right? Men to stand up. Enough of them invading the capitol building and stealing podiums. We pay attention and edify the car wrecks in life to make ourselves look better. But you cannot distract yourself from yourself. And the ratio of bullshit you have to accept versus the remnants of your past you jettison to stay afloat is staggering. Some people crumble. Other people cut loose and survive. For the record, I’ve hated myself for years because I was conditioned to think I wasn’t good enough. To this day I still feel the worst kind of invisibility. A feeling that no matter how hard I try I’m trapped and stuck. And yet I live. I’m free to do whatever it is the fuck I want with my day. I’m free to make more music and have people from around the world buy it and have it taxed by the US government as income. I’m free to book a flight back to New York in May at twenty five percent off and have coffee at the World Trade Center again to test my adjusted ratio. I’m free to focus totally on friendships that are little more than a touch on the shoulder. The same relationships I tried to explain to friends in real life that have long since abandoned me. The touch is still there. Consistent. Graceful. Confident and shy. It connects in so many different invisible ways through a network of trust. An organic block chain of human capital that offers no real value to the uninitiated. A movement of people in a golden ratio that orbit each other in such a gossamer way. That consistency is what I’ve grown to love about my life. That the things I am are consistent and easily explainable. That the real performance is that most people don’t care enough to listen. And for years people here have cared enough to read. How is it I can be so alone but feel so free and connected? I’m connected to myself first and foremost. And I take care of myself and stay credible because of all the beautiful things I am connected to that I will not betray. A true magician never tells you how they performed the trick. There’s no magic in making good coffee. There’s also no magic in being a good person other than loving yourself and caring for others. I’ve been that way for years. And I love you all for supporting me in that adventure. <3 Tim
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Episode 159
So apparently “later in the week” means ‘literally next week’ for me digiudgg
Also, I won’t be able to post the day the comic comes out because christmas and all that and family idk so I just want to say HAPPY HOLIDAYS :DD hope you guys have a nice time :))
Honorable mentions:
Very happy that the theory is thriving
I love Arlo with all of my heart and soul there i’ve finally said it
Do we know yet if Arlo knows that Cecile is working with John? I can remember the superhero posse knowing it, but did the info ever reach arlo? Comment if i forgot something lol
I’ve talked about all of the possibilities of a joker impersonator in recent posts, so I won’t go into all of that again here. You see, it’s laziness. I’m sure you guys understand lol.
I literally don’t know how to write this in a detailed way which is why it’s in the honorable mentions, but I just feel that Cecile has to just snap soon right? I’ve been hyped about her character as a whole for so long ugh, I just need some developments
I say “anyways” a lot. Is it too much? lol
Okay, first of all: Elaine:
Elaine, elaine, elaine, elaine, elaine, you’ve finally done it. You’ve interested me.
Harsh, I know, but honestly, she hasn’t really been doing much. I thought her character was cool to read a couple of times when she was literally terrified to death of Joker, but now I feel that her intrigue is actually due to her own self if that makes sense? Anyways-
Moving past the obvious difference in her hair (only because I’ve already pointed that out lol), In this episode, WE GET TO SEE ELAINE IN OFFENSE MODE OEIRHGIWUHIWUH
I’ve been hungry for some good developments on people’s powers ugh. It’s been dry ever since we saw Isen fight like forever ago. Or maybe Cecile. I don’t know. I just like to see people fighting oof. Anyway, we don’t even get much of Elaine fighting, all we see is like a block and a punch, but that’s not even really the only thing I’m excited about seeing.
More so than other characters, Elaine has always been this docile type, you know? She’s just there whenever anyone needs healing and whenever someone needs someone to yell at them for being stupid. All Elaine ever is is worried, scared, and submissive. Well, not counting the beginning of the comic because I’m still not over that loss. Her character at the beginning of UnOrdinary? Superb. She was bitchy and yet weak at the same time. Classic combo. Anyways~ ;-;
Elaine is usually terrified of something and rarely stands up for herself or anything else, so seeing her stand up for herself, kind of, in this episode was really something to see. It wasn’t something big but, it was just a breath of fresh air to see a defiant side of Elaine. I wonder, is she growing more and more fed up of being weak? Is she done being scared? I don’t even know if she has the power to stop being scared, but, I don’t know. I’m kind of intrigued by the possibility of Elaine just snapping, aren’t you?
My main man: Arlo:
It’s got to be so weird going back to school after everything that went down, huh? Yet, the way that the safety of the school is still on Arlo’s mind? Even after he was publicly dethroned and now that everyone is staring at him wherever he goes? That’s the real evidence of what a true leader Arlo was. The best king we’ve seen in the UnOrdinary world I said what i said. And now he’s not even king anymore? Sidfhsiufhsiguh
And the fact that Elaine went straight to him when she found a problem? It’s obvious that everyone still thinks of Arlo as the king.
I’m just in awe that Arlo’s first priority seems to be the school. It really… just helps paint Arlo in this different light. I’ve made countless posts talking about how he is obsessed with order because of the influence left on him by Rei and Rei’s failure, but now that his hierarchy has fallen apart, he hasn’t exactly reacted in the way I always used to think he would. And, yes, this is very late considering how long ago John ruined the hierarchy, but I haven’t talked about it yet I think so I’m here now.
I used to think that Arlo loved order so much. That maintaining it was his ultimate goal. I’m positive I’ve said that a few times before at least. But, it’s easy to see now that it goes deeper than that. Arlo really loves his school or at least he feels he owes it something, something that runs deeper than the surface hierarchy. And I’m not even sure if he’s always been like that or if it’s changed over the course of the story. I can’t ever seem to tell, no matter what, if Arlo’s character really has developed, or if I just never saw an aspect of him. It’s infuriating and yet so interesting at the same time…
Anyway.
Arlo’s rage is also something I want to touch on. It’s not exactly something new, but compared to the beginning of the story, it’s definitely something much more common recently, even though he usually is able to maintain a cool now as well. In this episode, Arlo punched a wall hard out of anger, which wouldn’t exactly be news for characters like Blyke or John, and maybe wouldn’t be for Arlo either, but I can’t help thinking about how out of character it would be for the Arlo of the comic’s beginning, at the beginning of season one. I feel that anger is something that we’re only being introduced to in regards to Arlo, like easing yourself into cold water, you know? Yeah sure, it doesn’t feel too out of character for Arlo to get so angry he literally decimates a wall, but it feels like every time he loses his cool, it either gets more over the top or it is incited by smaller and smaller things. His tendency to turn to anger is getting bigger. Arlo is angrier now than he’s ever been.
But, Just as I just said. I can’t tell if this is a totally new thing for Arlo, the anger, or if it’s been inside of him all along, just brewing beneath the surface, repressed in a way, similar to John. Except John knows what he’s running from. I don’t really know what I’m saying I just really love that uru-chan is tapping into Arlo’s emotions more and more as the story goes on because I can’t tell if they really are new things for Arlo or if they’re finally getting the best of him.
Wording is hard so I have no idea if that last section makes sense.
So: summary: I’m currently waiting for some sort of enlightenment on Arlo’s emotional state and character growth because damn
We love our dark king John:
So, um. John.
He’s really something, isn’t he.
I can never just hate him… no matter what he does… because everything he does is just so interesting.
Anyway back on topic. John’s current motives are actually really interesting. I’m not sure if I’ve talked about this yet because to be honest every time I write one of these, I rarely ever go back to see what I’ve already written in previous weeks and I never just remember because once I post one of these, you can bet that it’s out of mind. I know that John really just wants to create chaos. That’s clear enough. He stated basically that Arlo when he said he was taking down the hierarchy. But the thing is, I really don’t get why John is so for chaos? Like? I understand taking down the hierarchy because everything John hates about life, about his life, it really has stemmed from this system, the hierarchy. And finally after Arlo proved once again that the hierarchy could do nothing but hurt him, John vows to destroy it. Makes sense. And when the hierarchy is destroyed, obviously chaos is going to occur. That’s inevitable. We saw something similar with Rei and just basic sense seems to suggest that people do not not know how to function when there aren’t rules to follow. That’s chaos. Got that. But while John’s hate for the hierarchy and motive to destroy it make sense and the natural path that follows that leads to chaos, it’s John’s particular want for this chaos that keeps throwing me off.
I don’t get why John wants chaos. I don’t get it. I don’t, okay? You know, he was a lot easier to understand when the only things he had going on were a. Lie to sera and b. Take down the hierarchy. But, yay, he’s achieved those things (some more successfully than others), and now..?? Why would John want chaos?
I’m just repeating myself in hopes of making sense of my own thoughts but I can’t. I really don’t know why John seems so keen for Wellston running itself into the ground.
So I’m deadass going to leave this here until I can think properly or something iuwfisuhg. I don’t know. It’s kind of late and I have to be up early tomorrow.
Some developments on the imposter Joker theory:
Yeah, so, this isn’t really a theory aymore. It’s kind of proven now, but still it’s an easy way to refer to the whole situation. Anyway, on my longer post before specifically on this, I pointed out that because it used to be a common belief among low-tiers that Tuesday (back when he still was Tuesday) was Arlo, even though Arlo’s eyes glow blue and John’s glow orange. So: I said that it was likely that students can’t see the color of the eye glow or whatever through the mask.
This was only supported by this episode because not once does Elaine mention the color of the imposter’s eyes when determining that it is indeed an imposter. She thinks, “Wait a minute…! Something isn’t right here! That’s not John! …. This imposter’s ability level is nothing compared to the real Joker!” And that’s about it. So. Yeah. I think I was right about the eye thing. Not much else to say lol.
Something else I want to say about the Joker imposter thing is that it really doesn’t matter who each imposter is. We wasted breath trying to think of who the first imposter was and if they don’t keep the same one, it doesn’t really matter. So because this imposter was not the same as the last, I think we can move on from this particular guessing game.
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Lockdown Diary Part 9
A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.
23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.
Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.
Day 241: Shit day at work. To cut a long story short, I could complete a task Sueanne gave to me and then I got it in the ear, including a snotty email ay 5:40pm. Pissed off.
Day 242: Had a meeting with Sueanne (our weekly 1-2-1 actually) and she was alright. I feel much better tonight. Last night I didn’t even have an appetitie - unheard of! Going to make up for that tonight, pie and loads of veg! A much better day. Ridiculously, I believe yesterday was all my own fault - I take work for granted sometimes and I let myself down by ignoring the urgency of a task just because it was Sueanne asking me to do it and she was a peer. She is now my boss, and I should respect that.
Day 243: So-so day at work. It’s strange how used to work I am after over six months on furlough. It’s been less than two months back but all the highs and lows amd frustrations are commonplace. Most importantly, it being Thursday, I cannot wait for tomorrow eveninga dn to kick back, drink and smoke.
Spoke to dad this morning, he’s same as...that’s always good to know.
Sugar levels have been a fucking roller coaster today, and it has really fucked me off! No salad at lunch due to them being so fucking high when I got back from my walk. It ended up being my tea.
Sarted watching The Undoing...it’s OK.
Day 244: Glad it is Friday. Just cooking a (very hot) chicken madras, cracked open my first beer. Gonna eat, drink, smoke and watch a good film.
Day 245: Gold was the film I watched last night, with Matthew McConaughey and it was a good choice. I then watch a Kevin Hart stand up show on Netflix...very Eddie Murphy, very funny.
I did a 12 km walk today...fucking felt it in my legs. Walked the footpath from Stoke Doyle road to Benefield road for the first time. I liked it and it comes out between Lytham Park and Wakerley Close....I posted on FB about the fact that when I move to Oundle, Clifton Drive was the last street heading out of town.
Saw Becks on the walk down Benefield road, She mentioned she’s tired of lockdown. I replied that I’m tired of the virus!
Day 246: Up at 1pm, nice long walk, ordered new slippers and waterproof jacket (my Craghopper is bust again).
Day 247: I screwed up at work today, went for a (ridiculously) late lunch right when I was meant to be at an online meeting that Sueanne had reminded me about in the morning. There’s mitigation but, when push comes to shove, I fucked up and now Sueanne’s on the warpath - one more slip up and it’ll be an offical disciplinary matter.
Day 248: Suzanne wants me to troubleshoot a ticket she has in her queue, some database request for a Cork guy. It’s a test and it’s fucking me off.
I did testing for a network change tonight...8 till 11:15pm.
Elliot and Aaron cleaned the windows today. It was nice to see them.
Rita sent a couple of emails recently. Dad’s ear is all clear but Paul has got testicular cancer.
Day 249: New waterproof jacket arrived today. It’s very nice, bargain for £25 odd. Also picked up slippers from M&S food hall in Corby so, while over their, did a shop at Tesco’s...£109 mainly booze.
By the time I was back, I ended up doing my evening walk at 9.30pm!
Day 250: Leigh from Oundle Chronicle has got back to me. She (he?) has selected the photos that are going to be in the article and wants me to write a sentence on each - where they were taken and what inspited me to do so. Whether that means the stuff I wrote before is not going to be used, or not, I dunno!
New slippers are OK and the new jacket is still impressing me.
Day 251: Typing on Day 252. Usual Friday, beers, meatballs, pizza, long chat with Fog. I should mention that, as we approach the end of Lockdown2 in England, Boris and his government have laid out a three tier structure for how the second lockdown will be eased. It’s caused confusion and consternation across the board. None of it affects me, still isolating like I was on day 1.
Day 252: Totally forgot about my diary entry yesterday! Up at 1pm, nice long walk, nipped rong Elliots to pay for my windows, had a chat with him, Artron and Camilla - it’s so nice to socialise! Gonna make fish pie and supp a few ales.
Day 253: The weekend is over way too quickly. It’s 7.30pm on Sunday as I type and I wish it wasn’t. I wish it was 7.30pm on Friday.
Day 254: In a meeting, a working Zoom, with Andy Ashler in the US re: qfiniti, which Sueanne pissed me off about earlier in te day (RCI diary updated), but the meeting went well. I am desparately trying to buy an iPad on Black Monday. As usual with tech, I cannot make my mind up which to buy!
Day 255: I haven’t bought an iPad....I’ll wait for the 10.2″ iPad to come down in price. I had more involvement with Andy Ashler and in the US with the Qfiniti project at work. I’m really enjoying it, it’s very technical...although I didn’t finish ‘til 6pm because of it.
The Oundle Chronicle is out and an article about me and my pics is on the back page. Leigh, the editor, sent it to me electronically. It’s good. I am chuffed!
Day 256: I booked some holidays today, making sure that I didn’t include any days off in the week December 14-18 (SB’s off). So, this coming Friday (4th Dec), Next Weds-Fri and Monday 21st. I know I have only been back from Furlough a couple of months but I am more than ready for some kick-back time.
1-2-1 with SB today, it was a relaxed affair, most espcially becaus eof my success thus far with the Qfiniti project - that being said, I got pretty much nowhere with it today.
Ordered a couple of long sleeved Ts and a fleeced hoody from a shop called Doubletwo today, well cheap in the sale.
I saw half a dozen joggers on the Milton Road blind bend tonight, oblivious to any other potential path user. I posted about it (in my own, sarcastic way) on the Oundle Chatter FB group. It was met how I’d expected plus some direct digs so I deleted it. Cowardly but, I figure, I don’t get my point across, the vast majority of joggers really don’t think they are doing anything wrong by bulldozing there way around town and, lastly, I couldn’t be bothered with the flak, and its tennis like back-and-forth!
Day 257: Got tomorrow off so worked late tying up loose ends, including the qfiniti project - fucking nuts really, making sure no one asks any questions of SB or the team, in terms of my work load, for just one day off! Still, just had tea, cracked open a beer and am watching Shaun of the Dead. Nice.
Day 258: The main thing I did today is walk. It was about 12km but felt much longer ‘cos it was wintry, pissing down, windy and slippery as fuck. And I really enjoyed it! Badge messaged me today to ask how I am and, in replying, I mentioned that I think I am becoming addicted to walking...it wasn’t a throwaway comment.
Just cooked up a chilli (which I think I have ruined with a Knorr beef stock pot), and will tuck in with beers, smokes and telly. While it’s been a day off, this Friday evening will be as all others are at the moment, late, drunken and solitary fun - no doubt.
Day 259: Typing on day 260. That chilli last night was actually OK. Plus I ‘invented’ a meatball wrap - moving on from the TikTok ham and cheese wrap you fold into the toaster, I tried the same with meatballs but no fucking way could I fold it into the toaster slot (pissed up kitchen shenanigans), so I wrapped it in tin foil and heated it in the oven, Fucking delicious. I watched Shaun of the Dead. I think it’s the first time since its release and I couldn’t help thinking “zombies just aren’t like that [in real life]” Wtf?
Day 260: I was quite sensible (for a Saturday) last night, in bed by 2am, up at my alarm this morning, 10:30am. Nice long walk, taking in a new path up by Biggin Grange and took plenty of pics that turned out really good.
Btw, posh lost yesterday at Portsmouth (with 2000 fans there) and they lost midweek and last weekend in the FA Cup to Chorley, at home.
Day 261: It’s freezing today...actually 0 degrees. This house is so fucking cold, even with the heating on.
Day 262: Typing on day 263. Last day of work for 5 days. Beers are in order. And a sausage casserole.
Day 263: I completely forgot to do a diary entry yesterday....concentrating on starting my work break off on the right foot, which I did. As a result, I didn’t get up until 1pm. So, to stop that sort of day wasting, no beers tonight. Just got back from a shop (£90 in Tesco’s), trying to sort out Romiley’s Christmas present, then something to eat (more sausage casserole) and a early, sober night.
Day 264: So, after abstinence last night, I was up before 11am and did a walk that included the track from Benefield Road to Monson Way past Park Wood. It was fucking hard work due to mud. I have lost coumd the amount of times I nearly slipped right over. Throw into that a hypo, the 12-13km walk was tough. Sorted out Romiley’s present (guitar stand, music stand and guitar exercises book). Took soime nice photos today as well which I’ve prepared and shared. No booze today/tonight either. Some break, a younger me would say!
Day 265: Friday, and I am typing with a beer, balti on the hob and I am just gonna choose a film and roll a single skinner.
I am knackered. Up at 10am, cleaned the hall and stairs after a 10km walk. Also, I spoke with dad who is, as always, fine.
Time to make up for the last two sober nights.
Day 266: I am typing this on day 267. So drunk last night I left nearll a full can of beer and went to bed in my jogging bottoms and t-shirt. I have had a day off from any exercise at all which felt very odd. A few beers and watched Snatch.
Day 267: While I was nowhere near drunk last night, due to sleeping in late (2pm) I was up ‘til 3am watching TikTok so today I struggled out of bed at just before 1pm. Watch the start of the season’s final GP (Verstappen won from pole and it was boring af), back on the exercising including a 9km walk. Back to work tomorrow which I feel totally conflicted about!
Posh won yesterday at home to Rochdale (with the allowed 2000 fans) 4-1 including a 17 minute first half hatrick from Jonson Clarke-Harris.
Day 268: Back to work - Sueanne’s off and it’s the first day I’ve been at work with Jon in charge which involves a daily ‘SUMO’ (whatever that acronym stands for?) at 9.30am every day. I am still involved with te qfiniti upgrade project which seems to have taken a step backwards in the 3 days I had off, so I was working until gone 9.30pm!
I have decided to do a quiz, hopefully for Christmas, whereby I don’t want the actual answers (to 25 particular questions, all with a common theme in the answer), merely an omitted question!
Day 269: Stand Up Meeting Online. SUMO. Ian Bird told me. I might struggle with double Y for my quiz. Work was OK, more Qfiniti stuff. Posh drew away to MK 1-1. Posh were 0-1 up but Lincs lost at home. I can’t undertsand why that pleases me so....oh, yeah I can Steve Dee.
Day 270: Struggling to order Dad and Rita booze for Christmas without it being a Morrison’s delivery that I can do through Amazon Prime. That would be OK but it’s just a bit clinical! Meanwhile, now I am paying for Prime, and they are showing some Premiership games (for example, tonight I watched Liverpool v. Spurs (2-1), I really have to contact Sky - I am paying £71pm atm!
Sam posted pic of her Christmas tree but mentioned how she’s finding it hard to get in the spirit - Paul has testicular cancer and the outlook is bleak - fuck know’s what she’s going through with all that, trying to shield Romiley from the worst without lying!
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The Entire Folklore Storyline Pieced Together
so I’ve given it some thought and I think this is how the Folklore story comes together.
Disclaimers: obviously this is my interpretation I could be 100% wrong and am open to suggestions
also some fragments of this have come from twitter/instagram/other tumblr posts ive read over the past few days but I put the pieces together on my own (if this has been said already by someone else im so sorry and full credit to you but i havent read a full theory anywhere else yet <3)
our story starts with seven: betty is young and completely naive. the summer she is seven years old she meets Inez, who has an abusive father, hence the part
“And I've been meaning to tell you
I think your house is haunted
Your dad is always mad and that must be why
And I think you should come live with me
And we can be pirates
Then you won't have to cry”
they become incredibly close that summer because inez spends a ton of time at betty’s house to escape her father. they cease to be friends at some point after the end of this song due to the fact that they developed feelings for each other but were too scared to be public with a relationship (”hide in the closet” line). betty starts to date james in high school.
cardigan: we pretty much already know that this is betty’s POV of the love triangle situation and the heartbreak she feels about the breakup and being cheated on. however i have a theory that betty was in love with inez and james was there to fill that void she felt after losing her friendship with inez and hence the hope that it would become more. hear me out. references to “heels” and “black lipstick” which are associated more with girls. “playing hide of seek” seems childlike, which is a reference to the time betty and inez spent together in “seven”. finally, “when you are young they assume you know nothing” could reference the fact that adults often tell kids they’re too young to know their sexuality. the song is also about james though, the song in its entirety symbolizes how the people betty thinks she can trust the most and who love her the most (james, inez) both betray her. hence the mingled references to both james and inez
august: the POV of Inez. she develops stronger feelings for james than she intended. however she also has feelings for betty but never told her. the song is a double reference to the summers she would spend with betty when she was young and they were exploring their sexualities with one another and her being with james. i think that maybe she only got with james at first because she wanted to ruin his relationship with betty out of jealousy but fell for james accidentally in the process
betty: the POV of james, who has no idea about the history between inez and betty. the reason why betty doesn’t “believe a word [Inez] says” is because they have fractured trust after the end of their friendship. however inez feels guilty about betraying betty and tells her about her and james. james is trying to win her forgiveness in this song by showing up at a party betty is having at her house. betty tentatively forgives james but does not get back together with him and permanently terminates her friendship with inez. james is heartbroken that betty wont get back with him.
this is me trying: james continues to try and win betty over again. he starts drinking to make himself feel better and begins to do badly in school (”i got wasted like all my potential”). however he really puts in effort to get betty back
mirrorball: inez reflects on her life. living with her abusive father made her desperate to be loved/cared for. so she “change[s] everything about [her] to fit in” just so she can get that affection. essentially she becomes who she thinks people want her to be to get the love she never got from her father. betty and james were both people who she felt like she could be herself around (”you are not like the regulars”). at the end when she talks about performing to keep them looking at her it is about how she desperately wanted to keep them both. unfortunately she lost both of them
between songs betty decides to get back with james and they get married. they genuinely love each other. inez moves to st louis.
invisible string: the honeymoon phase of james and bettys relationship after marriage. they think they are meant to be together and everything that happened was meant to happen. also addresses how james and betty met when they were young (betty would read at the park and james worked across the street from the park in a yogurt shop and they would run into one another)
peace: their relationship hits a rough patch. their “coming of age has come and gone”. the honeymoon period is over. james says he “never had strength in his convictions as long as dangers near” meaning he has a hard time staying faithful. he does love her but makes a lot of mistakes (including talking shit with his friends about her) basically this song is a warning but solidifies that he loves her regardless of what happens
illicit affairs: james cheats again. also could be inez reflecting on her affair with james from a more mature lens now that shes older. she feels a lot of regret about it
mad woman: betty finds out about james cheating a second time and is obviously pissed. james tries to spin it so she forgives him but she’s done.
exile: same time as mad woman: talks about how they both feel loss at the end of their relationship
james marries the woman he cheated on betty with but he still loves betty and the marriage is short lived
hoax: betty is completely heartbroken over everything that has happened to her. she feels really alone and still wants to cling to the love james felt for her. she looks for signs and reasons to go back to him but finds none.
james joins the military after his second divorce with the woman he cheated with. betty moves to st louis (yes the city inez lives in)
the 1: betty heals from her past and becomes confident in herself again. the line “i thought i saw you at the bus stop i didn’t though is her seeing inez but thinking its impossible. she reflects on her past feelings for both james and inez. eventually her and inez run into each other and rekindle their friendship. they discuss their past together (” it wouldve been fun if you wouldve been the one”) they are happy being friends. they are each others “chosen family”
epiphany: james dies in battle while in the army, but thinks of betty for the rest of his life and regrets what happened
my tears ricochet: betty finds out about james’ death in combat and is completely heartbroken even though she thought she was over him (”if im dead to you why are you at the wake cursing my name wishing id stayed” = betty mourning him despite saying she didnt care anymore and wishing theyd stayed together). betty feels haunted by james now and regrets a lot that happened
the last great american dynasty: after this event betty needs a change. she begins to go by her full name (rebekah) and moves to rhode island. she meets the heir to standard oil and marries him. the marriage is loveless but they have fun together. he dies leaving her with a lot of money and holiday house. she is done living for other people and starts to do literally whatever tf she wants. one of the “bitch pack friends from the city” she brings in is inez. they were never romantic after their youth but their friendship is just as amazing and fulfilling.
feel free to leave comments saying what you agree/disagree with or to add stuff. i might just be crazy and reading into this wayyyyy to much tbh. regardless the album is incredible and im so grateful for it :)
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