holdvns

[holdvns]

dcrbyalbright​:

Darby always found emotions fleeting. “I love you,” her mother would coo, pressing kisses to her forehead in a drunken haze, only to lock herself in her room the next day, shouting when Darby tried to enter. Everything felt ephemeral to her. Fading quickly, like a fogged up shower mirror. Not worth it to indulge in anything above the surface level, constantly treading water. But with Holden she had once dove in. Now found herself constantly pulled under his tide, despite her own protests. It felt more right, touching his hand, than it had when someone else’s tongue had been shoved down her throat. It was more intimate, somehow. “Thanks,” she told him, blurting the word out, cheeks growing red at the relief that he would still let her join. Sometimes around him, she still felt like the flustered girl she had once been. Trotting towards the boundaries of the smoking area as he spoke, she hopped the low fence, stepping over, cigarettes perched in her hand precariously. She grinned at his recitation, wondering about his choice of poem. She often took people’s memorized poems as an indication of their innermost self. “Do you know Mary Oliver?” she asked, almost growing bashful as she prepared. her intelligence still managed to embarrass her sometimes, like a long held secret. “You might see an angel anytime and anywhere. Of course you have to open your eyes to a kind of second level, but it’s not really hard. The whole business of what’s reality and what isn’t has never been solved and probably never will be. So I don’t care to be too definite about anything. I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call certainty,” she recited to him, stopping in her tracks afterwards, offering him another drag of her cigarette, almost smoked down to the nub. “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, without warning, thinking of how he had seen her earlier. Kissing someone else. Her eyes searched his, blinking rapidly, flashing a cat eye lined in golden eyeliner rather than black. “I mean, for kind of ditching you. Are we okay?”

“Think so,” Holden told her, nodding as he followed her example and hopped the fence. Though much less gracefully than she did, almost tripping and having to steady himself with a laugh. The name sounded familiar, but then again he couldn’t be sure. His memory oftentimes feeling like only a collection of hazy experiences that were sometimes undecipherable from each other. Static noise drowning out the bad parts. And sometimes the good ones too. Perhaps it was sad to live life that way. Almost numbed, not paying attention and missing things. But he’d always felt it was better that way. It avoided attachment. But maybe he hadn’t done such a good job of that, after all. Darby being the one thing he could never seem to kick. But it was moments like these, watching her recite poetry while everything else seemed to fade around them, that he was reminded of why that was. She would always seem to be a very real thing in what seemed to be a very false world to him. “I like it. Feels very... I don’t know, you.” He shrugged, offering her a small smile as he gladly accepted the cigarette back for one final drag. Not really sure how else to put it, despite feeling like that was an incredibly lame response to such a moment. He meant it, though, sincerely and in a good way. “Sure you didn’t write it and not this Mary chick?” He asked her, scratching the back of his head as he pretended to be skeptical in an attempt to make her smile. Grinning stupidly at his own bad joke as he gazed over at her, the air around them seeming to change with her apology, which he wasn’t expecting and didn’t exactly know what do with. Suddenly feeling the need to be calculated in his response in a way he didn’t inherently possess. “Oh that? No yeah, it’s cool...” The moment seeming to test him as he flicked what remained of the cigarette to the ground and smothered it with the toe of his boot. Almost calculating the odd of what would happen if he showed some kind of hurt or jealousy or anything, but ultimately deciding against it. Like he always did. “Life happens. No need for a guilty conscience. Promise I won’t hold a grudge. Couldn’t keep up with it anyway.” He assured her with a shrug, avoiding her eyes as he began to walk forward again. Then, turning around to face her when he thought of something. “What was the line in that poem, again? I don’t care to be too definite about anything... something about nothing having certainty. Yeah, I liked that part.”

[holdvns]

dcrbyalbright​:

“Think getting you out of an Italian prison sounds complicated. I haven’t been keeping up with my DuoLingo. All I remember how to say is “mangia”,” she joked nervously, his lack of a reaction increasing her anxiety more than if he had greeted her with an expression of disdain. It would have been easy for her to fall back into their routine of quips volleyed back and forth. She wanted to reach her handed out, toy with his hair, cheekily check it for any grays. But she knew he had seen her, the look in her eyes at they caught onto his both embarrassed and regretful. Not that he held any claim over her. but he did more than most, even when they weren’t together. He was like an animal that had burrowed itself deep into the recesses of her mind like it was finding a den. Her thoughts always seemed to come back to him. Briefly, her hand reached forward to steady his shaking one after he had taken a drag of the cigarette, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Shame. You’ll never become a brain surgeon. And here I was about to start calling you McDreamy,” she joked, blue eyes examining his face for any hint of a reaction. Maybe she had kissed someone else because she wanted it. To see him squirm with jealousy, affirmation that he wanted her too. “No, I, um… she started, shaking her head, shutting her eyes as if to clear her vision when she opened them again. “Would you mind if I came? I mean… I don’t know. The crowd here’s kind of sweaty. And you smell nice. Would rather be with you,” she told him, clearing her throat, feeling utterly exposed from her statement. She took the cigarette back from him, barely awaiting an answer as she headed towards the exit, looping her pinky around his index finger as a means of tugging him away. “You know any poetry, Holden?” She asked him suddenly, drawing him away from the crowd, whipping her head back to look at him. “Seems like the perfect kind of night to recite poetry.”

Maybe he should’ve been angry. Shown some kind of emotion at least, because there was something there and he knew it. But what did it matter? In that moment, he just couldn’t bring himself to. It wasn’t like the owned each other, even if he felt like out of anyone Darby did have considerable pull over him. He also knew when it came down to it, he couldn’t exactly expect the same of himself. Had he been the one to get there first, it could’ve easily been him who was kissing someone else. Regardless, the thing about Holden was that he could never seem to be able to express his feelings when it really mattered. Always too afraid of what it meant, of something or someone really meaning something to him. For it was always safer to be lukewarm about things. Even if he knew deep down, that Darby did mean something to him and that she had for a long time. However, thinking it and saying it seemed to be two considerably different things. “Huh?” He asked her, far too distracted by her hand on his that it took him a moment to get the joke. “Oh, right. You can still hear my father’s disappointed cries in the distance.” He laughed, as he waved his hand behind him. Figuring, hypothetically, even that would somehow have become a disappointment to him too. Everything he did seemed to be. His thoughts then drifting to how, as uncomfortable as it might have been, he didn’t want this moment to end. How he didn’t want to walk off without her, didn’t want to be alone. Relief flooding his chest when she suggested coming with. “Yeah, of course. I mean, whatever you want to do.” He told her, shrugging nonchalantly. He had to admit he was a bit taken aback at her words, half-expecting her to want to continue on with the night, but not wanting to show it. Perhaps his way of getting back at her a little. “Does it? Alright, let’s see...” He grinned at the idea as he followed her. Thinking for a moment before coming up with something. He was no expert on poetry, but he had read some in his day. “Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire... But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate. To say that for destruction ice is also great. And would suffice...” He surprised himself in reciting Robert Frost from memory, knocking his shoulder against hers playfully at the last word. “Your turn.”

[holdvns]

lanajvmeson​:

Lana was mounted on the shoulders of a stranger, his arms in the air in order for her to conduct them like reigns. Whenever she wanted to go left, she pulled on the according hand. Same for right. She’d even somehow convinced him to let out the odd neigh like she was a member of the queen’s cavalry, riding into battle, something he was just in the process of really putting his heart into when they ambled upon Holden in the smoking area of the bar. Lana cracked a grin, signalling that he halt in front of him. Apparently, the man was oblivious to their company. The neigh had quite the intense climax. “Ugh… Wow,” she let out when a silence settled, eyeing Holden as she slapped lazily at the palms of the stranger, conducting a mindless game of pat-a-cake. “Chills. God, just… Goosebumps. Aren’t you gonna applaud him, Holden? No standing ovation?” She ignored the fact he was already standing up. “That’s, like, kinda sick, honestly. Really sick. Some world we live in.” Man gone mute, merely staring Holden out as Lana slapped his palms, it was easily one of the more bizarre exchanges to be had on a cobbled Tuscan street. Lana didn’t seem to notice. She delighted in the absurd. Collected stories of the genre like trinkets to line her mantelpiece. “You know, Holden,” she began, red lips pressed into a faintly tweaked line. “It’s sorta dangerous to be standing out here, alone. Me and my horse might rob you. I mean, I could rob you, like, right now. What happens if I tell you to put your hands up?”” @holdvns​

Holden didn’t know what it was, but it seemed like Lana always caught him at his worst moments. Tonight being no exception. Boredom setting in as he stood in the smoking section of the bar, searching for something interesting between each drag of his cigarette and finding nothing. A couple fighting in the corner, some guy drunkenly ranting about a sports team he’d never heard of. Lana herself, he guessed, hoisted up in the air on the shoulders of some Neanderthal. Weird, but not entirely surprising. Definitely not something he wanted to get mixed up in, but alas here he was. Eyebrows knitting as he made eye contact with the guy, ignoring her comments as he spoke to him instead. “Hey man, blink twice if you’re being held captive,” he told him only to get nothing in return but his pure, piercing eyes. No wavering eye movements in sight. “Think something’s wrong with your horse, Lana. He’s looking at me funny.” Holden looked up at her, pretending to act puzzled. Gesturing towards the guy with the cigarette still burning between his fingers, partly on the account of trying to provoke him. But still, nothing. It was on all accounts bizarre, but he remained unfazed. “No, I get it. I see what’s going on here. Not only is he an aspiring method actor, but he’s also some kind of like world-renowned staring content champion or something. I see why he’s so good, you know. Can really stare straight into your soul. God, if only we could all be so talented.” He rambled sarcastically, placing his hands over his heart for dramatic effect as if he were truly wounded by his own lack of such skills. His eyes floating briefly towards the door before his attention was caught by the mention of robbery. A dry laugh leaving his lips as he shook his head. “You know me, like to live on the edge. What happens if I don’t?”

[holdvns]

dcrbyalbright​:

Careening out of the man’s embrace in search of Holden, Darby had a cigarette clutched in her hand like a lifeline, taking quick drags in between stomping through the bar’s cordoned off smoking area. She trotted through a tangle of bodies, twist of guilt in her her stomach after she had seen his eyes catching her, pulling away from the lips of someone else. Wrapping her furry coat around her shoulders tighter, eyes darting about wildly, she felt a chill run through her that the gauzy blanketing of alcohol couldn’t help. She wondered how much he had seen, wiping sweating hands off on her leather skirt. “Hey,” she said softly, touching his arm with her hand, attempting to give him a small smile as she finally neared him. “You good? Peeing out here or something? Keep in mind, public urination is a criminal offense.” The joke fell flatly, awkward, slurred out with her drunken speech, cheeks growing red from the cold. Part of her had wished when she was kissing the random man that it had been him instead, her feelings for him still stirring in her, waking from what she had assumed would be a longer slumber. It felt like falling into a reoccurring dream, ever since the night in the manor, one that she hadn’t been able to shake for as long as she had known Holden. She smiled at him gently with smudged lipstick, offering him her cigarette like a handshake greeting, But she didn’t know what to do with them, where to place them now since they had broken up. “It’s kinda cold out here. Don’t freeze a toe off or anything. Or if you’re gonna lose a limb go arm or go nothing, like that guy in 127 Hours.” @holdvns​

Music still pounded in his ears like a heartbeat, sped up and almost menacing, as Holden finally made his way outside through the sea of bodies all crammed together in the dimly lit club. He’d barely even finished his first drink when he suddenly felt restless and wanting out. A familiar feeling of being out of place washing over him. He pretended to be confused by the feeling, telling himself he didn’t have enough to drink or that the club was shitty or that he just needed some air. But in reality, it was the sight of that fur coat, arms draped around someone else. Kissing someone else. His eyes catching it, catching hers, for a moment before looking away. As if he could blink and the memory would be gone forever. And maybe it was for a second as he was far too distracted by getting out of there, by the girl cursing at him when he failed to apologize for stepping on her foot, by the pack of cigarettes that were seemingly missing from his pockets when he reached for it. His mind wandering off, imagining them laying spilled out in the bottom of his suitcase or worse littered on somewhere on the street. All dirty and crumbled from being stepped on. But it wasn’t long before he was called back, when no one other than Darby appeared. Her hand on his arm a reminder of what had just happened in the club, of what was now a hazy memory of what had happened the other night at the manor. Though he retained his composure, a small smirk apparent on his lips at her joke. “Getting arrested on the school trip? Sounds like me,” Holden laughed before shrugging. “Just needed some fresh air. Place seems smaller than I remember. Or maybe I’m losing touch. Can’t keep up like I used to. Finally growing up. See any gray hairs on my head?” He joked as he accepted the cigarette between shaky fingers, taking a drag before handing it back. Blowing smoke up towards the night sky absent of stars as he avoided her eyes. “It is, isn’t it? Maybe I should invest in some furs.” He laughed, eyebrows knitting as he gestured to her coat. Suddenly aware of the temperature after being lost in thought this whole time. “Well, don’t let me spoil your fun. You should go back inside. I’m gonna go... take a walk or something. Reminisce. Buy some more cigarettes.”

[holdvns]

saffiealbright​:

it was safe to say that saffie could drive—she just couldn’t drive drive. not for lack of skill, but simply for lack of effort. she’d grown up surrounded by car services, public transit, and—once at yates and far from the city—the reliable and often strange uber or lyft. there was no reason for her to get behind the wheel, her license purely existing as a form of identification. all of that aside, however, she stood just outside of the villa, one hand resting on the handlebar of a sleek little vespa scooter. she studied it with a casual eye, gaze moving over the bits and pieces as she ventured to guess how to drive it. it couldn’t be that difficult. it definitely wasn’t as intimidating as a car—two handles, two break levers, no pedals. still, she’d hesitated to hop right on, as badly as she wanted to get out of the villa. hearing someone exit the front doors, her head turned, legs following and bringing her to shift on the heels of her white ankle boots. “hey,” saf called out, head tilting to one side a touch, “let’s say i didn’t know how to drive one of these, but really needed to get out of the house. hypothetically. would you happen to know? hypothetically.” @yatesstarters​

Holden hadn’t been in Tuscany for very long, but it had already felt good to be back in Europe. He felt more at ease, part of him not being able to help it but to think maybe he never should’ve have left. That he was only fooling himself with the whole college thing. But he guessed he had the week to think on it. Cigarette clenched between his teeth, Holden strolled outside of the villa, fully prepared to let the day take him with no real plan in mind. His eyebrows knitting as he stumbled upon Saffie, shocked she’d even said more than two words to him since he was pretty sure at this point she was purposefully avoiding him. Which he was certain he deserved, he just couldn’t exactly remember what it was for. "Hypothetically, yes. I do possess the knowledge,” Holden answered her question, a small smirk arising on his lips. Though was he very skilled at it? That was questionable, as was his regular driving. “It’s not that hard. I mean, I could show you or drive you somewhere, if you want. I’m not really doing anything. Or... you could wait for someone else. Won’t wound my pride or anything.”

[holdvns]

me (an adult): yeah I’m thinking about running away

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

She kept finding herself pulled back to Holden, unable to let go of him, despite all evidence that she should. He reminded her of a better time in her life, one that felt both painful and euphoric to remember. Trapped. That was hw she felt sometimes, like they were destined to relive the same moments again, come back to each other. But she wouldn’t fight it if she could. Her head swam with the closeness of him as her lips grazed his neck, leaning back to take in his reaction, feeling lightheaded from the alcohol. Grateful for his hand on her waist, if at least to pull her into the moment, steady her. Teeth dragged along her lower lip, feeling where this was heading. But she wouldn’t stop it if she could. It would be like trying to press on the brakes after you’d already careened into a tree, head on. Her head tilted, shaking her hair out of her face to look up at him, hand resting on his chest. “So far, so good. I’ll allow to you live. Nor now,” she repeated, practically tasting the alcohol on his breath, she had drawn so close to him. Hesitantly, she closed the distance between them, her lips hovering in front of his, barely a sliver of air between them. “Is this a bad idea?” She questioned, although it was more of a statement. Yes. It was, But here she was anyways. 

Holden had already known the answer to her question before she even asked it. Of course it was a bad idea. Things could never be simple between them, despite how much he may have tried to fool himself into thinking they could be. There was too much there. Happy memories mostly, but he had a tendency to block out the sad ones.��And it was no use trying to think of them now for there was little he could concentrate on being this close to her. It was like everything around him was in slow motion, and Darby was the only thing moving in real time. Wasn’t the present moment what they should be focusing on? Clearly, there was something between them that he couldn’t get away from. Maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough. Or maybe he just wanted to feel something. To feel real. Anchored. Was that so terrible? "I like bad ideas,” he told her, smirking as he leaned down. Brushing his lips lightly against hers, almost curious to see if she’d pull away. “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

[holdvns]

delilahastor​:

What kind of a question is that? She’d heard the same from her father, once, at the dinner table, when she could’ve been ten. Poking her peas around her plate, lukewarm and scarcely touched, Delilah had hacked through the silence with the equivalent of a butcher’s knife. Where do people go when they die? Her mother was quick to interject, to dismiss it as childish curiosity, but nothing felt particularly childish about the way that blank space lingered, how her mind wandered towards the possibilities whenever she was supposed to be sleeping at night. Over the years, Delilah had started to suspect that her parents were scared of her. She didn’t fit their cookie cutter mould, batter overflowing and jagged at the edges, always burnt to a crisp. Sometimes, she suspected she was scared of herself, too, of all the questions she contained that she’d never understood her inclination to ask. She’d never quite made a home in her own brain. Instead, she was a tourist. Only passing through. Her lips pulled up like a tick in one corner, hardly there. She smiled more, on Oxy. The world swayed, coddled inside it like a baby in a cradle. It was difficult not to feel impossibly comfortable, at all times, like she could melt right through the car seat. “That’s a cop out, Holden. I don’t like cop outs unless it’s a cop that’s locked out of his car while he’s on patrol. You might want to jot that down. An amendment to your Delilah guidelines.” Barely conscious of the smoke chasing her syllables, her thumb etched her Sobranie’s filter at the pace of a snail on dry tarmac. Holden felt oddly far away, despite their close proximity – even as he lit her cigarette, she felt as though she was gazing down at him from a tall turret, features out of focus. “I’d never frame you for murder,” she vowed with a voice limp of conviction, though the aftertaste lingered in her throat like a cough drop, honey and lemon and something. The urge to laugh. Maybe that was the joke, if you read between the lines. Delilah, something sweet. Delilah, someone who would never do such a thing. Once his eyes met hers, they didn’t veer. She had the attitude of a car driving headfirst into traffic, that way. Never the first to swerve. She’d always win in a game of chicken. “Umbrellas are for pussies. I flirt with pneumonia like a real man,” she dismissed, cherry winking amber as she pulled another drag. “Besides, you never used to mind when I was wet.” No shift in tone. Casual as reading a mundane headline in the paper over breakfast. Man Saves Dog. Turning to grab her seatbelt, she pulled it over and listened for the click. “How fast can this thing go?”

"I think being dead is a cop out. Seems easier, doesn’t it? Depending on the circumstances,” Holden admitted suddenly, unsure why he’d really said it and regretting it slightly. Given their history and his involvement with what happened to her sister. It was like his mouth was moving too quickly before his mind had a chance to think it through, revealing a bit of truth even he didn’t know about himself. Something buried deep down in the catacombs of his subconscious. He guessed when he thought about death, he thought about his mother. But it wasn’t really her. For any memory he still had of her felt like watching the worn out negatives of a film. Blurry and discolored, stopping and fading to black at certain parts. It was what his father said about her, her selfishness. How she’d left them and chosen to do so. He’d go on and on until there was nothing left for Holden to do but nod his head and agree. He might never have whole-heartedly accepted his version of things, but there was something there. An unfairness, maybe. That she got to escape, and he was stuck here to keep living this life he wasn’t sure was all it was cracked up to be. It was also that day, her funeral. A dreary day not unlike the one today. Six year old Holden in his suit that was too big for him, peeking around the corner. A voice, the one of one of his father’s business associates who’d become no less of an enemy in a few years: You know they say Gene’s the one who did it. Got someone to... I don’t know, sell her a lethal dose? I wanna say there’s no way, but you know the guy’s got connections with the mob. You just call up one of those guys and they do it. No questions asked. I guess he just couldn’t stand thought of being without her. Pretty sick, isn’t it? It wasn’t the only time he’d heard the rumors. He wanted to say he didn’t believe it, but every time he looked into his father’s eyes for an answer he didn’t like what he saw. So he guessed he’d stopped looking and stopped caring. Deep down, afraid of the thought of loving someone so much you’d be willing to kill. “Umbrellas are for pussies, and you’re buckling your seatbelt?” Holden gestured to her, waving around the cigarette clutched between his pointer and middle fingers. Feeling a familiar feeling of being almost puzzled over Delilah, but nonetheless intrigued and wanting to figure her... something, anything out. Knowing deep down that it probably impossible, that there would always be pieces missing. “Don’t tell me you’re on the market for a joyride. ‘Cause if that’s the case, then you’ve come to the right man. And if you’re lucky, might even let you drive.”

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

“Fuck Edward Cullen. Little bitch,” Darby said simply, with a shocking amount of vitriol, closing her mouth after and hiding her teeth. Her offer was a bold one, with a specific idea of where she wanted it to go. she wanted to be closer to him, even if it hurt, like twisting herself around a knife he had buried in her long ago. “Think I saw some whiskey over there,” she offered, tugging on his sleeve, pulling him away towards somewhere more private, cat-eyed lined eyes flicking over is face, smallest smile on her lips. “A trap door? Trying to trap me in a room with you? I don’t know if that’s a good idea. In case I do get bloodthirsty,” she joked. impulsively, she leaned in, pressing s lightly kiss to his neck, as if to test herself, lips lingering there for longer than they should have. “Hmm. No urge to sink my teeth in. I think you’re safe for now,” she said softly, mouth against his ear, before she leaned back, watching his face for a reaction.

Even if there was a hint of hesitation, which there didn’t seem to be in his drunken state, Holden knew deep down he’d probably follow Darby anywhere. He couldn’t explain it, but there was always something drawing him near to her. A history, maybe. A wildness they shared. It seemed like even if he tried, he’d never be fully unentangled from her and maybe he didn’t want to be. It probably wasn’t right, maybe history had proven that it had never had been between them, but he didn’t care. Much preferring to put blinders on and go after what he wanted in the moment. “Trap you? Not sure if that’s possible. Knowing you, you’d find some way to escape. I’d have better luck with someone else. Someone more... unsuspecting. But it wouldn’t be —” he paused, a bit taken aback as her lips grazed his neck. Not that he was objecting in the slightest. It was quite the opposite judging by the almost mischievous grin that took over his expression. “Half as fun.” He told her, his hand finding itself sneakily onto her waist. A familiarity to it like he’d done it a hundred times before. “Must be my lucky night. Well, for now, that is.” He repeated her words with a smirk, drawing nearer and nearer. “Guess that means I need to keep an eye on you. Charm you into having mercy on me.”

[holdvns]

delilahastor​:

Rain hit the roof of the parked van like grains of uncooked rice. It might’ve shocked anyone else but Delilah was a hot air balloon, up, up and away, floating somewhere north of the hemisphere. Sliding the side door let out a whoosh of smoke she hadn’t even registered, curses of discontent from various men slammed shut behind her. It was a strange sight, Delilah Astor emerging from that beat up vehicle, all cream blazer and sheer pull-up socks, Prada logo emblazoned near the trim. Even stranger that she didn’t seem to realise it was raining as she walked, steps leisurely, extracting her white Sobranies as if they wouldn’t soak through. She only noticed when one drooped in her mouth, which might’ve prompted a sigh if something hadn’t caught her eye – Holden, parked up, only a few spots away. Tossing the wet cigarette, she was opening a door and slipping inside in what felt like a blacked out flash, intruding on his liminal space of fogged up windows without apology. Eyes drifted along the interior rather than providing explanation, eventually finding him like the tide did the shore. “If you had to kill me,” she began, reaching to open the glovebox with no shame over the intrusion, poking idly for a lighter to spark the Sobranie she’d already propped between her lips in replacement, “how would you do it?” @holdvns​

If there was one thing Holden hated, it was feeling stuck. Even as a kid, he’d been restless and felt smothered by the most innocent of things. He always wanted to be going places, never stopping, because if he wasn’t he’d be forced to see what he was always running away from. A lack. An emptiness. A fear of behind left behind. That’s why when he agreed to go to college, his one request had been a car. For after a year of gallivanting across Europe, the thought of being trapped in a sleepy Vermont town seemed like torture, and thankfully for him his father obliged. He’d never been one to care much about his possessions, but the slightly beat-up vintage sports car he had picked out was something to be treasured. Sure, it may be more likely to be crashed due to the fact that it seemed like his Manhattan upbringing had prevented him from ever learning how to properly drive. Or sold to pay off some drug or gambling debt so he didn’t have to ask his father for the money. Or exchanged for a motorcycle on a whim, but he did love it in his way. With its worn leather seats and ancient radio that only took CDs. A mix that was burned by his old hippie girlfriend playing now as he drove back from a trip to the liquor store, because what else was there to do on a rainy day than drink? It was full of classic rock songs from the 60s and 70s. The last time music had soul, she’d told him. He wasn’t so sure about that, but the mix was good and he’d always been too lazy to figure out how to make a new one. Pausing for a moment after he parked, he lit up a cigarette as he waited for the rain to let up. Thinking he was seeing things as he saw her coming towards the car. He had to blink a few times, half-expecting her to just vanish out of thin air. But she was real and before he knew it in his car, searching through the glovebox for what he assumed was a light for her cigarette. “How would I kill you?” He asked seemingly unfazed by the question as he leaned over and produced his lighter, though her presence alone was quite jarring let alone the question. His hand cupping around her cigarette to make sure the flame caught before leaning back to his side of the car as if an imaginary line was drawn. "Hm, let me see. You really want to know?” His eyes met hers as he took a drag of his own cigarette, smoke momentarily fogging his vision before he laughed. “What kind of question is that? Let me guess, trying to frame me for murder? Getting me on tape, recording me with your phone or something. I’ve seen Gone Girl, Delilah... I think the better question is what are you doing out in the rain? You’re soaked. Don’t you own an umbrella?"

[holdvns]

hugorafferty​:

@holdvns​

He’d had Holden in three or four of his classes – he’d lost count. The first time, Hugo had asked what his major is. The second, he’d apologized for forgetting it, but when Holden explained his major, it didn’t ring any bells in his head. He was confused, but it was possible he had misremembered. The third time, he knew something was off. So when he finally saw Holden again, the first thing he did was ask his major. It had been a variety of classes they had together, so it didn’t tip him off as to what he was studying. “Have you always been doing philosophy or did you switch your major?” He had to ask him outright as his curiosity got the best of him. 

“Philosophy?” Holden asked in momentary confusion as the question was posed. His eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses in an attempt to hide his lack of sleep and the events of last night, which he’d kept on for the majority of his morning class despite his professor’s insistence that he take them off for the sake of professionalism. He had to keep himself from laughing at the thought of his name and the word professionalism being used in the same sentence. Him being professional? An idea too powerful to be put in practice, he would’ve argued if he cared enough to do so. “Oh no. Just switched into it a few weeks ago. It was either that or photography, but I figured it might be a bit more intellectually stimulating. Come to find out, it’s really just a bunch of arguing over abstract concepts. Kinda fun, kinda goes over my head half the time. Perhaps I’ll switch again, who knows?” What would that be? His sixth switch? He’d honestly lost count. And that would only be if his advisor would even hold another meeting with him. “What are you doing again?”

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

“In case of the FBI, Holden. I don’t know what crimes we’re going to commit but better safe than sorry,” Darby quipped, looking around as if an agent might be listening in at that moment. It shocked her how easily they could fall back into their familiar routine. Long apart, still somehow fitting together, the way he slid towards her like a magnet. It caused a slight shiver to run through her, their proximity, looking up at him, the boy beneath their feet long forgotten. running a finger along his collar, she fixed it slightly, placing it back into the perfect spot, a technique she had polished before with the many boys instructed to ferry her about New York society. Not one of them had stuck until Holden, the boy like a fresh bruise she kept pressing her fingers into to keep it from fading. A soft laugh left her lips, red color parting to release it. “No, I think I’m safe for now. I’ll let you know if I start lusting over people’s neck. Hey, am I growing any fangs,” she said, showing him her teeth, as if he could check for vampiric canines. “Right? It’s like, turn a light on if it’s dark…. I like the idea of chaotic academia. Seems more fitting for Yates,” she retorted, taking her fingers off his collar. nodding her head towards a darkened corner of the room, she flashed him a grin, brushing hair off her shoulders. “You want to move out of here? I have a feeling he’s listening to every word we say. Best to give him plausible deniability,” she joked, gesturing towards the boy. 

“Shh,” Holden laughed. Head dipping towards her as he held his pointer finger to his lips and then for a brief moment, as if on instinct, reached out and brushed hers. "You’re going to blow our cover, Albright. And to think we almost didn’t get away last time...” He attempted to whisper to her, his hand retracting so quickly it was hard to tell, in his inebriated state, if it’d actually happened. It was scary to him how easy it was to be near her and seemingly forget decades worth of history that probably should have kept them apart. Well, at least the last few years worth. But that’s just how they were, falling together just as easily as they fell apart. “Hmm... Right one’s looking a little sharp.” His eyes narrowed as he pretended to inspect her teeth. “But it’s hard to tell in this light. Could be a false alarm or the next Twilight movie in a few seconds. But I guess I’m willing to take my chances.” He couldn’t help but smirk. His gaze falling on her fingers on his collar then down to the boy as he pretended to contemplate her offer. Not sure if it was the best idea, but not necessarily caring if it wasn’t. When something clicked, it clicked for him, and he usually never had the will to talk himself out of it. “Yeah, seems like the right thing to do. He did give us quite the performance. And I could use a refill on this drink,” he told her, holding us his near empty glass. “Or to locate one of those trap doors I heard someone talking about earlier. Might just be a myth but feels worth a try.”

[holdvns]

[Such memories] only emerge throughout one’s life as specks of light, as it were, against the darkness, as a corner torn from a huge picture, which has all faded and disappeared except for that little corner. That is exactly how it was with him: he remembered a quiet summer evening, an open window, the slanting rays of the setting sun (these slanting rays he remembered most of all),

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, tr. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

Blue eyes flicking up to watch him trip over the boy, Darby stifled a laugh, the tail end of it spilling out of her mouth, eyes sparkling. Her face grew serious as she considered his conclusion, tilting her head to look back at the boy. “I don’t know. You hear that?” she asked, nudging the boy again with her foot, eliciting an annoyed groan from him, shooting one eye open at her. “That groan totally says I was murdered with the candlestick. Disappointed in you, Holden. Sherlock Holmes will never respect you now,” she joked, tutting, shaking her head at him. Bringing her champagne to her lips, some of it dribbled down he chin, running onto the tight leather dress she had selected for the party. Black gloved-hand cupped her face, narrowing her eyes to examine him, as if trying to pry a name from the depths of his eyes. “I’m thinking…The Renegade. Or maybe even the Eagle? Although that was George Bush’s secret codename. Maybe best not to be associated with him,” she offered, sighing as she settled on Renegade. “Everyone seems to be getting a little too into this theme. Think someone will actually commit a murder tonight? The obsession with dark academia has gone too far.” 

A grin drew at his lips as he watched Darby nudge the boy with the toe of her shoe. Though he was far too distracted to pay much attention to him, barely even hearing the boy’s groan for his eyes were fixated on her. A still point in an otherwise hazy room. “He wouldn’t be the first. But let me tell you, what I lack in... concentration and attention to detail, I assure you I make up for in charm,” Holden teased, mindlessly sliding closer to her as he took another sip of his drink. Caught off guard for a moment, the grip of her gloved hand on his chin seemed to momentarily jolt him awake, unable to hide his smirked expression. “Then the Renegade it is. I like it. But why do we need secret code names again?” He knit his eyebrows, unsurprisingly confused. "Oh what, like the night ends with the discovery of a real dead body?” He asked her. His voice dramatic as he feigned shock before he looked down at the boy, who was still very seemingly committed to playing dead. “No offense.” He told him, looking down but the boy simply shrugged and rolled over on his other side. Sighing in relief, he turned back to Darby. “With this group... you never know. There’s always a crazy one among the bunch, isn’t there? What about you? You feeling alright? Any bloodlust?” He raised his eyebrows jokingly at her. “Truth be told, I don’t get the whole dark academia thing. I mean, it’s okay. But you think there’d be something more fun, like, I don’t know... light academia? Chaotic academia? No academia at all...”

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

Tinny jazz music piping through the study, Darby was leaning over a particularly enthusiastic theatre student who was taking his role as “the dead body” very seriously. The boy laid on the floor, occasionally grunting out a moan, his white t-shirt stained with fake blood. She reached out a boot to nudge his side slightly, which only earned her a peak from between his eyelids with a begrudging look. “What do you think?” she asked a passerby, tossing hair over her shoulder to look at them, lips twitching upwards. “Was it Colonel Mustard in the study with a pipe?” She joked, red lips staining the brim of her champagne flute as she took a sip. “Hey, what do you think your secret codename would be? I’m partial to something like The Nightingale. Or the Thot.” @yatesstarters​

Holden hadn’t been paying much attention when he entered the study, clearly a bit dazed from how much he’d had to drink that night, and nearly tripped over some kid he assumed was pretending to be the dead body. The boy barely even flinched or maybe he was too drunk to notice. Laughing as he steadied himself, Holden shrugged mischievously, thankfully unspilled drink still in hand, as he turned to find a familiar face. “Man, he’s good. My bet’s on Mrs. White. She’s got all the motive, if you ask me. As for the murder weapon...” Holden theorized, knitting his eyebrows as he pretended to study the boy. “I’m thinking the revolver. Looks like a lot of blood.” He made a face at the mass amount of fake blood, some of which had dripped onto the floor, before looking back at Darby. “The Thot? That’s going to be your secret code name?” He teased her as he shook his head. “Hm, I don’t know. Maverick? Mustang? Raging bull? Perhaps it’s more fun if you come up with it.”

[holdvns]

adaliddel​:

the sound of thick boot heels clacked against the ground as ada stepped away from the bar. in one hand was a pretty little stemmed shot glass, filled to the brim with gleaming amber liquid. in the other was a bone white handled magnifying glass, which she delicately and repeatedly twirled over one finger. ada knew all about playing a character—borrowing voices, languages, stories, riddles, even names. this party was but a walk in the park compared to many of her past charades. she’d slipped into the part of an english aristocrat, french marchioness, and connecticut-born rich girl in the past with frightening ease. tonight, however, she took on a role considered obscure even by her standards. cue the drumroll—an amateur sleuth straight out of film noir—or perhaps a nancy drew novel. a mystery magnet, much like her real self. no regard for or affiliation with legitimate law enforcement, entirely like herself. perhaps she so seamlessly blended into the part because, under the guise of a character, she could reveal little pieces of herself. she’d even slipped into her slovak accent when delivering particularly delicious lines, the familiar yet long unheard sound rolling off of her tongue to meet eager ears. “—hold,” it demanded of a passerby, hand extending the magnifying glass towards them and examining. “you must be the murderer,” she added in a low, steady voice, hand and gaze moving upward until they reached their eyes. “because your looks can kill.”

There were few things in life Holden enjoyed more than a good costume party. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but there was something about pretending to be someone else for a moment that excited him. Perhaps he should’ve been an actor, if he had the dedication for something like that. But that would probably take the fun out of everything, he reasoned, as being serious about something always seemed to for him. Still, his chosen role for the night? The defective detective, whatever that meant, who’d been battling a substance abuse problem after his girlfriend had been tragically killed in attempt to keep him from working on a case. It was a fairly easy look to pull off: dark circles from a lack of sleep, his tie loose around his neck, a hat he’d already managed to lose early in the night, and one too many trips to the bar. He was just walking away with another glass of scotch when he’d suddenly been stopped, a laugh leaving his lips. Shaking his head, he complied and raised his arms, drink in one hand, as his eyes traced over the girl in front of him. “Nice try, sweetheart. But you’ve got the wrong guy. Might want to try him,” Holden told her as he gestured to a random passerby in a trench coat. “Looks suspicious if you ask me.”

[holdvns]

darbyalbright​:

Barely concealing the smug grin on her face, Darby ducked her head, concealing the twist of her mouth with her red solo cup. The boy’s disgruntled look reminded her of the way her father looked every time he greeted Darby. Slight disgust quickly concealed by a plastic smile. her head tilted after he retreated with his tail between her legs to look at Holden, directing her gaze towards him. “Oh yeah. They made me look a pictures of Peyton Manning until I found meaty thighs and brain damage hot. I’m a new woman, Holden. I like simpler things now,” she retorted, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her grin. Impulsively, she reached her fingers up to lift off his sunglasses, propping them up on her own head. “What happen to your eye? You get in a fight with someone over who could brood the most? Hate to break it to you but you’ll never beat Edward Cullen,” she told him, voice almost regretful to share the information. The shoulder of her jacket slipped down to reveal a Ophelia-esque lace slip dress, low-cut over her chest. “You look good with a black eye. Maybe it should become a permanent part of your look.” The sunglasses nearly tipped off her head, fingertips reaching up to touch the bruise slightly. ‘Does that hurt?”

“Simple?” Holden scoffed with the shake of his head. His eyes drifting between Darby and the sullen football player as he walked off. “That man —” he started, pointing a ringed finger over in his direction despite the fact that he had disappeared into the crowd by then. “Is anything but simple, Darby. Don’t even let him hear you say that, because his ego? Totally fragile. And before you know it, he’ll be back here giving us a lecture on the epic highs and lows of high school football.” He emphasized dramatically as he teased her. Eyes narrowing as she snatched the sunglasses from his face, too swift for him to stop her. Though if he felt any hint of annoyance by it, he wasn’t aware of it. Then again, it also debatable if he really felt any way about anything or anyone these days. It seemed as time went on, he’d gotten tempering his emotions down to a science. Knowing which things worked and what didn’t. But there was something there for Darby, though, lurking. Given their history, he guessed there always would be. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly what it was anymore. “If only it were over something that complex. No, it was stupid, really. Wouldn’t want to bore you with the details...” He shrugged. Really, he didn’t want to bring up the topic of owing drug money to someone who’d just gotten back from rehab. Nor did he even want to think about the idea that he had his own problem most likely worth ending up there himself, though thankfully his father hadn’t tried that yet. Truth be told, it made him feel sad to think about her in a place like that, if he let himself think about it long enough. No surprise given his only connection to rehab was visions of his mother being carried off, kicking and screaming, by his father’s staff to this treatment center and that, which were now buried deep in the back of his subconscious. Each time supposed to fix her, restore her to this idea that never was. He’d always tried to imagine her in those places, when he hadn’t been able to see her or talk to her sometimes for months on end. But all he could come up with was something blank, empty, miserable. And really, what good did that ever do her? “Do I? Perhaps I’ll have to get hit more often. Really feed into that whole bad boy persona. Wouldn’t be too hard, I’m sure. Though too many hits and I’ll end up just like your meathead friend. No thoughts, head empty kinda thing.” But who knew, maybe life was easier that way. Before he could think on it, he was wincing as her fingers trailed his bruise and the small burst of pain that followed. “God, ow. You always know how to get me where it hurts, don’t you?”