ratfics-blog

[ratfics-blog]

I love ur fics sm

glad you like them, anon! exam season's on at the minute, but i'm trying to keep them coming as best can. there's a few interesting ones currently in the works, so look out for them. -soph❤️

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Van having a child with learning difficulties? J x

to both you and the anon who requested "hey! can you write something about domestic/husband/father van? 😁", i've just posted a combination of both requests! if you were after something different however, anons, please please let me know. -soph❤️

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THREE: requested by anonymous and anonymous.

“domestic/husband/father van?😁” “van having a child with learning difficulties?”

I’m not entirely sure how this turned out, so if either of you were looking for something different, please message me and i’ll see what i can do. -soph❤️

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It was admittedly very amusing watching your husband Van trying to get Caleb to speak. He tried a different tactic each night; sometimes he’d sit on the tiled kitchen floor with washable colours, writing the words he’d try to teach him. Other times, he’d hold his bottle out of reach and try to convince him to say ‘ta’. It never worked, and Van would always end up giving in to Caleb’s whining.

Overall, it could get quite frustrating. Your mum would always tell you that it wasn’t normal for kids his age to not speak. He’d turn two in a month, and she couldn’t understand why Caleb wasn’t speaking even simple words yet. He was a happy lad, though, and that’s what mattered to you. But with your mum’s constant nagging about him not talking, you were becoming annoyed about it yourself.

But it was funny, watching Van sprawled on the floor, repeating the same words over and over, only to receive Caleb looking up to you and giggling with a cheeky smile on his little face.

“Larry’s coming over in a bit,” Van told you, as your sat on your sofa between his legs, your arms around Caleb who was watching CBeebies, his arms around the both of you.

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I’d rather watch Larry struggle getting him to talk than you.”

Van chuckled, kissing your neck lightly where your oversized Green Day shirt had fallen. Your son had dozed off, and you could feel his weight getting heavy against your chest. Van noticed, “I’ll take him upstairs?”

You nodded, carefully standing and passing him over. You watched Van carry him upstairs, smiling widely. The look of admiration in Van’s eyes every time he looked at Caleb was enough to make your insides goo, and your heart fall in love all over again.

There was a distinctive knock at the door just after Van came back downstairs, and you went over and let Larry in. In one hand, he held a yellow stuffed toy, and in the other, a 24 case of beer.

“Stop bringing us alcohol, Lau. There’s a one year old in this house. Take it to Bondy’s,” you told him, letting him past you. He followed you and Van into the kitchen.

He set the case down by the fridge, and you started to pack them away. “If you insist on bringing us drinks all the time, then you may as well bring us boxes of teabags,” you told him, as Van nodded in agreement.

“Where’s Caleb?” Larry asked. “Asleep,” Van said, “we took him to that reptile place; Reptile Room or something. You know the one I mean?”

After most of the bottles were lined up neatly on the bottom shelf, you stood leaning against the countertop at Van’s side. Larry handed you the yellow stuffed toy he’d held at the door. “Just got this for him the other day. Thought I remembered you sayin’ he liked lions or something.”

“Not anymore, mate. He’s dead set on alligators now,” Van chuckled, thanking him nonetheless. You thanked him, too.

“Better step up your game, uncle Larry.”

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Caleb’s second birthday came quicker than you’d liked. Your entire house was decorated with blue and green helium '2’ balloons, silver banners strung from the most difficult places, neatly wrapped presents placed together in the corner of the sitting room. The kitchen table was covered in rainbow confetti, some of which had fallen onto the floor.

You and Van had been decorating throughout the night, and didn’t have much time to admire your work before you heard a gasp at the top of the stairs and Caleb came rushing down and into your arms. “Happy birthday, Caleb!”

He giggled the morning away as you took hundreds of photos. Some of them were of him opening his presents and running over to hug you after he unwrapped each one. Some of them where of you and Van pulling stupid faces, and Caleb laughing happily at you. But your favourite was one of you all you’d taken on timer. You stood in front of the fireplace, with one of the balloons behind you. Van was covered in confetti with his arm around you, and you were holding a giggly Caleb with a wrapping paper bandana in your hair. You all looked so happy; that’s what made it your favourite.

Everyone came over in the afternoon, and your house was an abundance of presents and smiles. Bondy, Benji and Bob were half sat, half laid on the floor, drawing and colouring with Caleb in between them. Yours and Van’s parents were stood mingling in the kitchen with the patio door open. A few of your neighbours, Caleb’s friends and their parents shared the garden furniture just outside the house. You, Van and a couple of your friends were sat in a dodgy circle on the grass until you heard Larry’s voice yelling over the gate to let him in.

Van got up and did so, a guffaw of laughter eliciting from his throat. “Oh my god, lid.” “What is it?” You called.

Larry stepped into the garden, hauling a massive alligator plush on his back. The head towered above his own, the tail and part of the body trailing behind him. Between the five of you, you managed to move the toy in through the patio’s double doors and onto the floor of the living room after telling the boys to move.

Benji set Caleb at the side of the plushie once it was fully in the room. He looked over the toy in awe, his hand petting the snout and his eyes falling on the thick red ribbon tied around it’s neck.

“G… G….”

Every adult in the room stopped talking, staring straight at Caleb who pointed at the toy ecstatically. “Gator!”

Your eyes went wide, Van taking his hand from yours and placing it over his mouth. Larry stood at your side with a shit eating grin plastered on his stupid face.

“I actually cannot fucking believe that,” you said slowly, completely ignoring Larry who was laughing in triumph right next to you.

“I think you owe-” “Don’t you dare ruin this, Larry.”

[ratfics-blog]

to give you a request can you do van taking a joke too far and hurting your feelings? 👀

just posted this for you now, anon. this was my first request, and I hope you enjoyed it! -soph❤️

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TWO: requested by anonymous.

“van taking a joke too far and hurting your feelings?👀” kinda short (like me), but I hope you like it anyway, anon. -soph❤️

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The drunk girl in the nightclub toilet was so understanding as you cried to her, slightly tipsy yourself. A night filled with copious amounts of alcohol, including mysterious mixed drinks (at one point, you swore you saw Bondy pouring a vodka-red bull into a snakebite, but still drinking it anyway after deciding it was a mistake), had led to Van making a ‘light hearted’ joke about you and taking it too far.

You were usually good at dealing with comments about your body. People, mainly your friends, creepy men and the occasional fuckboy, would often tell you how ‘banging’ your body was. But one negative thing you’d dealt with since being a teenager was how flat-chested you were. Whilst your friends all started growing boobs and shopping together in huddles for bras, you sat at home on your own, trying to stuff your sisters old hand-me-downs with tissues and socks. Eventually you just learned to deal with it.

But tonight, under the influence of one too many of Bondy’s secret cocktails, Van’s little joke got to you much more.

You understood the girl as being Renée, a twentysomething year old who had strayed from her sister’s hen night after becoming increasingly bored. She sat next to you on the grubby tiled floor, rubbing your back with one hand, pulling the skirt of her glittery bodycon down with the other.

“He probably didn’t mean it, babe,” she spoke, her tone slightly mumbling. She raised her forefinger to your cheek and swiped away a tear. “Boys are silly, anyway. My sister’s on her third husband. Plenty more crocodiles in the swamp.”

You chuckled, sniffling a little bit. “Don’t you mean fish in the sea?” “I like crocodiles though, Y/N,” Renée corrected you, laying her head heavily onto your shoulder. “The room’s moving.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pulled your phone from your purse, tissues and chewing gums you’d haphazardly stuffed in falling out too. Van had tried to get a hold of you multiple times via calls, messy voicemails overpowered by loud club music and Larry’s drunken yelling, and texts full of apologies and pleas for you to come out of the toilets.

“He knows I’m insecure though, Renée, that’s the thing. Why would he make a joke of it?” I sighed, looking into the dim hanging light.

“Give me your hand,” she said, not giving me chance to move myself before she grabbed it anyway. She lifted my arm and placed my palm over her boob. “That’s all padding, Y/N. Not every girl has a massive chest, and you’re honestly perfect the way you are. Just go talk to him, tell him he upset you. I don’t know. I’m not good with sentimental shit. Tell him if he doesn’t apologise, Renée will come and get him.”

You didn’t think that a drunk girl’s words could be so motivational, and after laughing loudly, giving her your number and an absolutely massive hug, you left the toilets and told Van to meet you in the alley beside the club.

He stepped out minutes later, and silently stood by your side as you leant against the cold wall. He lit up a smoke, inhaled twice, then offered you a drag. You accepted.

“I’m sorry. You know that I’m so, so fucking sorry,” he apologised, whilst you remained staring up to the stars through the tiny gap between the buildings. “Y/N.”

You closed your eyes slowly, and leant further back into the wall. “Please say something.”

“I’m over it, Van,” you lied, finally turning to look him in the eye. He took your cold hand in his, and laced your fingers together. “I know that’s not true, Y/N,” he objected, small trails of smoke leaving his lips. You huffed quietly, swaying your body into his and staring to the damp floor.

“You upset me. I know it’s stupid, and I know that it shouldn’t bother me, but when your mates are all in D’s and E’s and you’re two sizes smaller, it makes you feel different. Bad different,” you admitted to him. Van used his free fingers to bring your chin up.

“I love you the way you are though, Y/N. I never meant to upset you love. Anyway, I don’t care what size your chest is, yeah? 'Cause I love you regardless.”

You smiled wide, as he wrapped his arm around you and brought you closer into him. “And, you don’t have to deal with backache. I think you win.”

There was a comfortable pause, before you remembered something. “By the way, if you hadn’t have just apologised, a drunk girl called Renée would’ve come and got you.”

“What?”

[ratfics-blog]

LOVE ur url I laughed

my url loves you too, anon. -soph❤️

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ONE: with assistance from my best friend, @politelydeclined.

no prompt, just straight from the brain. <3

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Your brother Aidan was the definition of apologetic when he stepped into your room that evening, scratching his neck like he always did when he felt awkward or nervous. You were all ready to go; clad in your trustiest band shirt and flannel, jeans ripped at the knees as always, and combat boots laced up tight. This, seeing you so excited and happy, made him feel a whole lot worse.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?” He trailed, avoiding eye contact. You pulled a face, and shook you head. “Shit, then. The Killers just released a statement saying that Brandon Flowers has got a nasty throat infection and they’ve had to cancel their gig. Look Y/N I’m honestly so sorry, I really, really am.”

You practically felt your heart shatter. It had been months coming, this gig; a small and ‘intimate’ session in a tiny venue not too far from your house. Blossom had already called not long ago, sounding pretty bad herself. She told how she’d caught a bug in her family, and she wouldn’t make the concert.

But, you assured her there’d be other times. Except for the fact that there’d almost certainly be no other times.

“A band’s just snatched up the opening, though, if you’re interested. They call themselves ‘Catfish and the Bottlemen’. Weird fucking name, but it sounds like they play all like indie bollocks you listen to,” he continued.

You hummed in acknowledgement, suddenly deflated as you sat down on your bed. Sure, it was only one night, but you were both buzzing for it. Couldn’t you just have a break for once?

“How’s someone took the opening so quickly?” You asked. Aidan shrugged. “They must have confirmed it in the morning, and only released it now. I dunno, this Catfish band might have been on the venue’s waiting list or somethin’?”

There was a pause, before Aidan sighed and moved closer, getting you to look up at him.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, Y/N. Just go to the gig, have a good time, then come home in the middle of the night and tell me about it,” he somehow had you convinced.�� With a nod, you checked the time and stood up. Aidan slung his arm around you in a messy hug, and handed you a twenty from his pocket. “Tickets and drinks are on me, yeah?”

Your brother may have been a shithead at times, but he was a hero when you needed him to be.

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The venue was already getting busy by the time Aidan dropped you off there, but maybe this was because it was so small. Upon entering, you noted that the concentration of bodies mainly consisted of those dressed in Killers shirts, and a lot of these people looked just as upset about the circumstances as you. But after your brother’s pep talk, you were more optimistic about having a good time.

‘Catfish and the Bottlemen’ came out onto the tiny stage shortly after, the lights of the room going down. In your hand you held a plastic cup of cheap cider, having remembered getting served the last time you were here. Saying that though, none of the music clubs in your area asked for ID anyway.

The setup consisted of four men - or maybe even boys. The drummer had glasses and frizzy hair. The bassist was pale and lanky, the guitarist in a leather jacket and seemingly older than the rest.

But the singer caught your eye, for a reason other than the singer is normally the one you watch. He was dressed in all black, his little arms showing due to lack of sleeves on his top, his hair brown and unruly.

Their music was half decent, you thought, contradictory to the ideas of the others who left halfway into the second song. The singer threw himself about so vigorously and on such a small stage, that you thought he was going to injure himself. He constantly thanked the few half hearted claps and cheers and the end of each song, and you almost realised how truly thankful he was to just be there.

He kept catching your eye every now and then, sometimes smiling if he could, other times just too enveloped in the lyrics to react. It was something purely magical to watch.

After an hour of people leaving and the band still being no less deterred to perform like rock stars, the gig ended with a kick ass tune called Tyrants and… Something. Or at least, you thought that was the start of what he said. You couldn’t really make out his words over echoing guitar sounds and his breathless panting.

You waited at the edge of the room for the others to leave first, so you didn’t get caught in the onslaught of bodies all heading for the same small exit. But, even if you’d have wanted to leave immediately, you couldn’t; for the singer had hopped the lousy barricade and come over to you.

“Hey, love,” he breathed, catching you off guard as you turned to face him. “Alright?” You smiled. He nodded, and you gave him a minute to catch his breath before he spoke again. “I’ve been dying to talk to you all night, God… I just think you’re dead gorgeous,” the boy sighed, almost looking you with heart eyes.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Famous Singer,” you joked. He carried on beaming at you. “Not quite famous yet,” he admitted, “but you watch. Me and my lads, we’ll be selling out stadiums in a while. Just gotta graft our way there, yeah?”

You understood, as he told you more about where he saw himself in the future whilst fiddling with the crescent moon that hung from his neck. Though you’d met him minutes ago, he’d really grown on you and you felt as though you were old friends. You wondered if he had the same effect on other people, too.

“You say you liked the music?” Van confirmed, after properly introducing himself. With a swig of the cider which was now loosing its fizz, you nodded. “We’ve got another gig in a few nights, if you’re interested. It’s on a school night, and it’s a bit further away, but-”

“I’ll be there,” you told him. “I’ll help you set up if you like.” “The offer’s kind, love, but it’s a warehouse gig. We’re from Wales, you see. My dad drives us lids around in his transit. We’ll be setting up from in the morning, probably,” Van explained, you rolling your eyes in response.

“Like I said, I’ll be there.”

And you kept your promise, as you always did, taking Van’s number and finding out the time and place. You used your bus pass to travel miles south, skipping school and hopping from bus to bus until you arrived. They sounded even better with their tune ringing around a warehouse, you decided.

This occurrence became regular for you. You’d skip school, travel everywhere by bus, help them set up, and sometimes crash in Wales and let Bernard drive you home in the morning. Your parents had always told you to follow your dreams, and you figured out shortly that this was what you wanted to do. They were apprehensive, but after meeting Bernard and the boys, they agreed to let you carry on.

You didn’t finish education, and moved out aged 16, living in the back of a van with five other sweaty lads. It was makeshift, but this was the proper way to do it. Graft.

So now, when you thought about it, nine years later, it was so absurd to you. By a stroke of luck you went to that silver lining concert, and you never thought you’d be more grateful for a cancelled gig in your life.

This was your life now. And as you twirled the crescent moon between your own fingers as Van had done the day you met, proudly watching your boys throw themselves about on the stage of Wembley Stadium, you knew that things couldn’t get any better than this.

[ratfics-blog]

helloooooo!

hey! i’m soph; i guess i’m the new van writer in town. feel free to visit my homeworld to check out anything you need to now (my ‘about me’ my current requests, all that jazz). you should totally hang around here.

cute story, the link doesn’t work in the app. but, i think that maybe if you search ratfics.tumblr.com from google then it should work, but i'm not certain. sorry❤️