#but you can just like go and buy tickets and that never occurred to me for some reason lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rahuratna · 11 months ago

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Ikemen Kaisen

Chapter 1: Step into the Industry

Cross posted!

Summary: A cursed spirit develops a massive crush on the 7:3 sorcerer while he's on a mission. Trapping him in its unique otome game domain, the spirit soon discovers that it's bitten off a lot more than it can chew with this particular jujutsu sorcerer ...

Content: Humour, fluff, crack, otome game satire, Nanami has Rizz with a capital 'R', the first year trio obtaining front row seats to this absolute shitshow.

“Yes, Itadori, you heard me correctly.”

Yuuji’s eyes had widened to impossible proportions, hands clasped together so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re for real, Nanamin? We’re going to -”

“A concert, yes. I don’t like repeating mission details, so listen closely.”

Yuuji snapped to attention, one hand raised to his head in a smart salute.

“Yuuji, reporting for duty, sir!”

Nanami sighed. It was Thursday, a day he didn’t particularly fancy in terms of starting a new mission. Missions that started mid-week invariably ended up incurring overtime, along with eating into his weekend on occasion. He would do his duty diligently, nonetheless, as he was expected to show Yuuji the general procedure for such investigations. Thus, he had occupied this empty classroom for a briefing. He stood before the whiteboard on which he had neatly printed the details in bullet points (a necessity for Yuuji’s attention span). Pointing to the first line, he began.

“We’ve been receiving reports for a few months now about suspicious activity at idol performances all around Tokyo. Fans of certain idols have been going missing. All cases so far showed that the victims disappeared shortly after concerts, fan-meets and other public appearances. Initially, we could not make a direct correlation to curse activity. The disappearances themselves were sporadic and presented no specific pattern, so the case was placed under revision and monitored. Recent events, however, changed things.”

Nanami pointed to a photograph of a young man, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, artfully posed to highlight his muscular torso in a hooded jacket that was unzipped. He wore tight, dark jeans, strategically ripped, and was smiling coyly at the camera. He was undoubtedly very good looking.

“This is Takashima Ryouta, stage name Ryo-ri.”

“Eh? Like RiRi?”

“It’s his concert we’ll be attending. Recent disappearances occurring after his concerts have been far more targeted and blatant. Furthermore, our windows have reported cursed energy levels spiking in the general vicinity of these events.”

Yuuji raised his hand.

“Yes, Itadori?”

“How do we know that these disappearances are even linked to idols specifically? What if it’s something else they all have in common? Like, some kinda shady fan club? Or maybe someone’s just targeting big groups of people?”

Nanami pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, expression carefully blank despite the small surge of pride he felt at Yuuji’s astute observation.

“The latest victims were obviously targeted with intent. You see, Takashima has recently been growing in popularity, thanks to his appearance on a TV show. Some of his fanbase is therefore quite intense.”

Yuuji sighed.

“Yeah, they go rabid for guys who look like that.”

“For this reason, his agency has come up with a strategy to gain interest amongst his fans, but also keep him safe. Our intelligence network has informed us that they put up a lottery for each live event he performs at, allowing one fan to join him on stage for the duration of a song. The lottery is fake, however. Girls are hired from talent agencies affiliated with Takashima’s. They are disguised heavily and every time he makes an appearance, one of these ‘lucky’ girls is the one chosen to join him on stage. This way, his fans will continue to buy tickets in the hopes that they will be chosen by lottery, but will never actually interact with him on stage.”

Yuuji’s mouth dropped open.

“Whoa! That’s … really not cool! Isn’t that kinda like false advertising?”

“We’re not here to judge the insidious marketing strategies employed by a soulless, capitalist-driven entertainment industry that consumers blindly latch onto like tapeworms.”

“Er – “

“Rather, we’re going to be investigating why all the young ladies hired from the talent agency to join Takashima on stage have disappeared shortly after each performance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. As I said, this, along with the more pronounced spikes in cursed energy, make this a case we can no longer afford to leave to regular law enforcement. You and I will be stationed within this area,” and here Nanami pointed to a roughly circular outline on a map of Akihabara. “We have also been provided with special VIP pass tickets to the concert tomorrow and will be closely monitoring the interactions between Takashima and this week’s chosen representative on stage. Afterwards, we will conduct surveillance on the individual in question. Please remember, our presence must be kept discreet at all times and we must blend in to the crowd at the concert as seamlessly as possible.”

Yuuji tapped his chin. “Blend in, huh? That won’t be a problem for me but, uh, Nanamin, not to be weird or anything – “

“Don’t worry on my account, Itadori. I have everything planned out. I have never had trouble with creating a cover.”

Yuuji shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited outside the main entrance of Jujutsu Tech for Nanami to make his appearance. For once, the energetic young student had arrived earlier than his experienced mentor. He had grabbed a hot coffee from the machine in the foyer to pass the time. The caffeine was not calming in the slightest.

There was something about the current mission that both excited him and filled him with nervous anticipation. From the summarized report that Nanami had left for him to read, he knew that the number of disappearances meant that they might be dealing with a tricky opponent this time. The fact that this activity was happening in such a crowded area of Tokyo also indicated that whoever was engineering these vanishings was either unhinged or audacious, neither of which boded well.

A black sedan with tinted windows made its way around the side of the building and Yuuji hopped forward, waving. The car drew to a halt beside him and he opened the passenger door, grinning as he spied Nanami in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa Nanamin, I like the fit!”

Nanami’s immaculate suit had been replaced by jeans, a simple, but expensive-looking grey knit shirt and a long, dark overcoat. His signature shades had been substituted for designer sunglasses and the sleek band of his wristwatch gleamed from beneath his sleeve. The normally swept back hairstyle was a little more relaxed, making him look closer to his age than he usually did.

“Thank you, Yuuji. You’re suitably dressed, I see.”

The student cocked his head and Nanami nodded, anticipating his question.

“I’ll be calling you Yuuji for the duration of this mission. I’ve decided that we’ll present ourselves as uncle and nephew. I am your – “

“For real?”

Yuuji’s eyes were shining in a way that made Nanami cough and turn away. He propped up his glasses and shifted gear, the car gliding away from the main gates of the school.

“Yes. That way I can call you Yuuji and you can continue to call me … Nanamin, I suppose. I am visiting home after some time away and decided to spend some quality time with you, my nephew. And so, I’m taking you to a concert that you’ve been wanting to attend for some time. I trust you did your homework?”

Yuuji nodded proudly before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I downloaded all of Ryo-ri’s songs last night and learned the lyrics. He’s not bad! I can totally jam to this.”

“Good. It’ll be a long drive, so use the time to brush up on the mission details.”

Which is exactly what Yuuji did, to begin with. He pulled the folder from his backpack and opened it out on his lap. Nanami had been kind enough to summarize the numerous reports for him and provided concise profiles of the main players in the case. Eyes running over Takashima’s info page, Yuuji frowned slightly. Something was missing. He glanced out of the window at the passing scenery, trying for a while to figure out what it was, before his eyes widened.

So obvious!

Scrolling rapidly on his phone, Yuuji began to search for Takashima’s Instagram. The information in Nanami’s profile, as succinct and useful as it was, lacked … flavour. Social media would give Yuuji a more accurate idea of the image the idol was trying to put out there. Soon enough, he found what he was looking for.

Uhhh, okay then.

Takashima’s pictures skirted that fine border of what Kugisaki would call ‘spicy’. They were definitely risqué for an idol, but this was what seemed to appeal to his particular audience. Yuuji’s eyebrows shot up at the sheer number of likes one particular photo had. The picture was a mirror selfie, showing Takashima’s glistening torso, presumably after a workout, his face obscured teasingly by the phone. Yuuji nodded sagely. This image fitted in with a lot of the lyrics he had been learning yesterday.

“Ohh, I see. He’s going for playful fuckboy, but like, more tasteful.”

“Pardon?”

“Oops … I said that out loud, huh?”

“Yes, you did. Now explain.”

Yuuji scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sooo, like, how do I explain this? Idols have images they create, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“And those images draw fans and make them more popular. I checked out Ryo-ri’s IG page and … and you know what IG is right?”

“I’m not five centuries old, Yuuji.”

“Fine, fine! Just checking. Wait, do you have – “

“I use it to follow recipe pages and food blogs. Let’s move on.”

“So, from what I’m seeing here, Ryo-ri’s fans are mainly girls who like this image he puts out of being … you know. Like a playboy, a guy who doesn’t take things seriously, but nice at the same time. The persona is … the guy who’ll steal a girl’s heart and move on quickly, but she can’t have bad feelings towards him, because he’s not an asshole? It’s why he also has fans who are guys. They kinda want to be like him and they feel his lyrics. You get what I’m saying?”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully. “I think so. And this is what’s called … a fuckboy?”

Yuuji snorted loudly.

“That word sounds so wrong coming from you. Not exactly. Guys who get called that can be flaky and do dumb stuff, but Ryo-ri’s got the right balance. He’s got the ‘naughty, but chill’ vibe.”

“I see. And do you think this makes him more or less likely to be responsible for the disappearances?”

The words sobered Yuuji, who sat back, a warm feeling filtering into his chest. As much as he had found it difficult to get along with the taciturn ex-salaryman to begin with, his view had changed a lot over time. Nanami was the epitome of a responsible adult, his stern exterior hiding just how kind and patient he was, especially with students. There were times like these, when he would ask for Yuuji’s opinion in such a straightforward manner that it made the boy want to prove himself even more, to show that he could also be an exemplary sorcerer.

“Umm, I think it means we should watch him carefully at the concert. If he is involved, I’m not sure he’d be so … obvious about it? He’s not super high profile, but he’s getting there. If his fans are disappearing, that looks bad for him. I … I think maybe there’s something else to this too.”

Nanami nodded slowly.

“All right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuuji spent the rest of the ride watching some of Ryo-ri’s live performances on YouTube and searching for the specific songs where the girls would join him on stage. In between, he did some other stalking.

“Hey, hey, Nanamin. Guess whose IG I found?”

A small chime sounded from Nanami’s pocket.

“Yuuji – “

“That’s my invite. Don’t ignore your precious nephew!”

“My profile isn’t that interesting. How did you find me, anyway?”

“I checked who Gojo-sensei follows. And, I mean, there’s only one person who’d call himself ‘Gruyère_Ghostbuster’ – “

“Don’t say that out loud.”

“And hey! Your profile is cool! It’s not just food, Nanamin. You’ve got such awesome nature photos and wait … are these videos of yourself cooking? I recognise that watch! Are you making rolled eggs here? And oooh … you’ve got puppy videos?”

The weather was perfect, the sky bright and clear, the normal obscuring fog of the city conspicuously absent. The air still carried a chill and Yuuji wrapped his red scarf closer around his neck. They had parked some distance away from the open-air venue where the concert would take place and were now steadily making their way in that direction, soaking in the sights and sounds of Akihabara.

Yuuji was carrying a bag of manga he had bought at a nearby store and chattered amiably about the recent story arc. Nanami followed a few paces behind, nodding along to Yuuji’s remarks. On the surface, they looked every bit the ordinary uncle and nephew. Only someone who knew exactly what to look for would note the way the boy sometimes shifted his body to observe people better or the way the older man’s eyes would flit sharply back and forth beneath the sunglasses.

Thus far, there had been nothing overtly suspicious in the area, besides the low-grade cursed spirits that showed themselves at intervals. After some time, they found themselves at the venue which adjoined a hotel and conference centre. The centre itself housed quite a variety of functions, with a spa, restaurants and various stores catering to a wealthier clientele. Nanami took the lead, passing through the security checkpoint at the hotel. Yuuji trotted nervously after him, half expecting a security alarm to start blaring because of what he knew was strapped to the older sorcerer’s back.

Nothing happened. Nanami turned his head slightly.

“Cursed energy can also be used to conceal things.”

“Ha. Cool. I guess I gotta learn that sometime. Where are we going, by the way? The concert will be out that way, but I know it’s still early …”

“We have VIP tickets, remember. That means we get access to any of the services here and hotel rooms close to the concert venue. I’m sure you’re hungry, so let’s get something to eat first.”

Nanami began to make his way to the upper levels of the centre. Yuuji followed, sticking close to his mentor. As confident and easy-going as the teen usually was, there was an air of opulence and rarified luxury here that was starting to make him feel small and very out of place. Looking around, he could see executives in expensive suits talking on their phones and people carrying shopping bags with hideously expensive name brands emblazoned on the front. He glanced down at his sneakers and discreetly tried to rub off a scuff mark against the back of his leg before glancing over at Nanami. The tall man showed no sign at all of slowing down, his stride elegant and assured, looking every bit as if he belonged in this setting. People parted ways to allow him to pass.

Eventually, he led them to what looked like a high-end steakhouse. The maître d’ stepped forward, his eyes roving intimidatingly over the two, and Yuuji was tempted for a minute to mutter apologies, scamper off and order a cheap slice of pizza somewhere. A firm hand on his shoulder stilled him and he felt a small sense of reassurance assert itself as Nanami’s deep voice sounded above his head, explaining that they had a reservation.

By the time they reached the table, Yuuji’s excitement was back.

“Wow! Look at the view from up here!”

“Hmm. A good view over the stadium. See that? That’s the stage where Takashima will be performing.”

“Ahh, so that’s why you chose this place.”

“Indeed. Reconnaissance. That, and the steak here is superb. We can see them work on putting up the stage props. That way, we’ll sense if anything deliberate is happening behind the scenes.”

With that, the sorcerer began to study the menu. The meal was, unsurprisingly, a fantastic experience. Nanami ordered them a selection of starters, steak for mains (with a carefully selected wine pairing for himself) and the most delicious chocolate dessert Yuuji had ever tasted. When they were done, the pink-haired boy sat back and sighed.

“How come we get to do all of this? Do the higher-ups really approve all the costs?”

Nanami sipped his wine before replying.

“Depends. If a proper motivation is provided, there’s no reason for them to refuse. Of course, this requires us to fill out a series of detailed documents that most jujutsu sorcerers don’t bother with.”

“But not you?”

“Have you forgotten my previous profession? Form-filling is my speciality. My paperwork is nothing less than exceptional and thorough. There is always solid evidence of what I need. If it is not approved, I log an official query that requires a lengthy board meeting and an extensive review of all documentation.” The corner of Nanami’s mouth crooked up in a small, rare smile. “It’s been some time since any of my requests were denied. Let it never be said that I’m not compliant.”

Yuuji grinned in return and raised his glass of juice.

“Kanpai, Nanamin.”

There had been no sign of anything unusual during their late lunch and by the time they made their way down to the concert, the lower levels were already swarming with people. Looking around, Yuuji saw, unsurprisingly, that most of the crowd consisted of young women. They were chattering and laughing loudly, and everywhere he looked he saw faces alight with excitement. Contrary to the atmosphere that was growing around them, Yuuji’s concern spiked. There was potential danger lurking somewhere, and it would be difficult to detect in such a large mass of people.

Nanami steered him through the crowd to a separate entrance where fewer people had queued. This was the entry-point for those with VIP tickets. They were soon through the checkpoint and were directed by various ushers up a winding staircase to a wide outdoor box that spanned an entire floor. Although sheltered from the elements, the box projected overhead towards the stage, offering a perfect view of where the performance would take place. They took their seats, scanning their surroundings carefully. Thus far, there had still been no sign of elevated cursed energy.

“Yuuji, remember why you’re here.”

“Oh, right!”

Springing up, the youngster made his way around, using the allowance Nanami had given him to buy some merch and snacks from the vendors that were stationed against the back of the VIP box. He began to slowly make a circuit, pausing now and then to start casual conversation with others who were also making purchases. Soon enough, his friendly and open personality had drawn a few others into his orbit, and he compared merch, exchanged contact details, introduced people to his awesome ‘uncle’ and even found himself invited to an online fan-club of Ryo-ri’s. Eventually, he made his way back to Nanami.

The older sorcerer had been casually sipping a coffee, eyes taking in the stage and the members of the audience who had been filling into the main area below. He glanced up as Yuuji took his seat.

“Anything?”

“Nothing so far. Everyone seems pretty normal.”

“All right. When the performance starts, you focus on the stage. I’ll check the audience.”

A lesser-known girl band opened the concert, the energy of their performance doing a lot to hype up the crowd. Yuuji played his part very convincingly, shouting encouragement and applauding loudly. Nanami bit back a smile when he noticed that others were taking their cue from his lively ‘nephew’. The first act was followed by another group and then there was a slight lull, a sense of building anticipation as the main performance drew near.

“There he is,” Nanami muttered, as Ryo-ri bounded onto the stage to a cacophony of high-pitched screams and thunderous applause. The idol hitched up his baggy jeans and swaggered from one end to the other, delivering a series of compliments to his ‘beautiful’ audience and blowing a kiss that made some of the girls in the front row look like they were about to pass out in ecstasy. Ryo-ri started with what Yuuji recognised as the biggest hit from his second album, a high energy dance number that really got the crowd on its feet.

The pink-haired teen threw himself into his own act, starting up a glow-stick dance routine in the front row that the people around them soon joined in. Nanami shifted awkwardly. As much as he had encouraged Yuuji to act the part of the excited nephew, he should have foreseen how it would make him look in comparison. The girls behind them were quick enough to catch on, because they were soon shoving their extra glow-sticks into Nanami’s hands and encouraging him to get on his feet too. Yuuji turned and snorted with laughter.

“Just follow my lead, Nanamin! It’s easy, see?”

As he waved the glow-sticks around his head and turned on the spot, Nanami’s profound sense of existential horror soon settled into detachment as he went through the motions. He was just glad that Gojo wasn’t here to witness this debacle. Soon enough, it was time for the anticipated lottery announcement. Ryo-ri made a show of pulling a piece of paper from a large bowl that had been carried onto the stage and read the number of the winning ticket. One of the women in the front row screamed in excitement and the crowd parted to allow her entry to the stage. Burly security guards did a quick check of her person before showing her through. Yuuji slowed down his routine, pausing to take a sip of water and munch on a handful of popcorn, his eyes glued to the stage. Nanami used this momentary lull to mutter the word “bathroom” and make his way to the end of the VIP box. Here, the sorcerer paused, eyes scanning the crowd carefully through his dark glasses.

The young woman, presumably one of the secretly vetted members of the talent agency, climbed onto the stage. Her hand was placed over her mouth and her eyes shone with glistening disbelief as Ryo-ri took her hand and twirled her around, dropping her softly into a plush seat that someone had brought up at some point. She was certainly a good actor. The idol began to sing a crooning ballad, one of his more popular slow-paced songs, as he danced languidly around her. Nanami frowned as he began to sense a change in the crowd’s mood. On the surface, people were hooting and cheering at the display, but there were undercurrents of negative emotion that had begun to rise like a miasma over some portions of the audience. There could be no mistaking the general feeling.

Jealousy. Resentment. Longing.

What the sorcerer had not expected was the strength of the emotion being exhibited. Was it like this at every performance with an idol in high public demand?

Not quite.

Ryo-ri was pretty avant-garde in his approach to gaining popularity. Nanami recalled what Yuuji had mentioned earlier in the car, about how the idol was not afraid of presenting an image that was quite risky in the Japanese entertainment industry. Inviting a fan on stage was not a common practice and it was understandable, judging from the sensations Nanami was getting from the audience. But then, this was what sold tickets and drew fans into a never-ending circle of unfulfilled desire. The sorcerer allowed his mind to sink into that meditative state that allowed him to spread his senses even further, more receptive to slight changes in cursed energy. As unpleasant as the sensation was, sickly sweet with underlying bitterness brushing against the edge of his mind, he observed the swathe of people below him with unerring focus.

Ryo-ri had upped the ante of his performance, twirling strands of the ‘lucky’ woman’s hair around his finger, gyrating sensually in front of her before dropping to his knees at her feet, one hand brushing gently across her ankle. Nanami felt distaste rise in his throat as the poisonous thrum of envy from the audience grew further. Those happy faces and the applause were so deceptive, considering the hidden depths of emotion some were allowing to fill their hearts, overflowing into the space around them.

And then, he felt it.

The swell of negative emotion grew like a wave, the spike of cursed energy at its peak so sharp and subtle, like a blade honed so fine that it passed painlessly across the skin, leaving blood blooming in its wake. Across the way, Nanami saw Yuuji mask his own reaction admirably, a tiny pause in his energetic waving as he sensed it too. Scanning the crowd, Nanami frowned as the minute trace of cursed energy was lost under the current of emotion once more. With a small signal to Yuuji to stay where he was and observe, the sorcerer made his way quickly and quietly down the stairs to the security check point. Here, people could move between the VIP box and the general area freely, as long as they displayed their pass when they returned.

He emerged into the crowd, the sights, smells and sounds assailing him, tugging at his awareness like a petulant child. Focusing ahead, Nanami began trawling, edging his way slowly and meticulously forward. Glancing up he saw Yuuji take a break from dancing and lean nonchalantly against the railing, sipping an iced drink, alert to what was happening on stage. Shoulders brushed and slid across his, Nanami’s height allowing him a fairly good view over the majority of the people around him.

And so it was that he felt it again, that sharp, tingling touch of poison, dangerous and chemical on the tongue, like the scent of paint-thinner that hung in the air of empty buildings. He turned towards the source, concealed eyes searching through the throng of people. Something was definitely here. Something cunning, something with a sinister awareness that slid away from the edges of one’s perception. Feeling the tension coil within his frame, Nanami pressed on.

Ryooo – riiiiii. Ryoutaaaaa. Ryo. Ryyyyo.

It rolls so nicely off the tongue. So sweet, so sweet. A sticky fruit candy on a hot summer’s day.

He’s up there, for all of us to see. Our eyes are crawling all over him, like many, many spotlights. How precious he is. Precious as a little pearl.

He’s definitely better than all the others. Gino was a looker, oh yes, but … there was something missing. That innocent little boy act? It got old so, so quickly. Yawn. And Kiko was great too, but then he couldn’t handle the fame and went away for a while. Ick. So uncool. But Ryooooo-riiiiii. Oh, Ryo-ri. He’s … different. He owns the stage.

His hair is shiny as tinsel under those lights, and his eyes! Oh, his blue eyes are focused and so, so dreamy. And look, look at his shirt. So translucent with sweat. Delicious.

Ryooutaaaaa. Why won’t he look this way? It’s so unfair. If he could just see me … maybe he’d be the one who wouldn’t be able to look away. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Tiny little trickles of sweat, from his brow and upper lip. How nice if he could wipe it away and smile, right into my eyes, with that look. That look. The one in his photos, the one that makes me feel so … present. So solid. Oh yes, Ryo-ri is perfect. He’ll do.

Last month, his sneakers were orange. Orange! Imagine, such a bright, garish colour. But Ryo-ri makes it work, somehow. He always looks so tasty. Nobody can pull off orange shoes like Ryo-ri.

But, but, what’s this? Who? Who’s here?

Is someone here to stop me? I won’t let that happen. Who is it? They can try, hahahaha! Nobody has stopped me before and they won’t now.

Wait … something’s different. Something is searching. Careful now. This doesn’t feel like anything good. I feel eyes, but different. And a presence. A strong one. Who, who is it? Where? Careful.

There! I see him. He’s coming this way. I can’t let him … who is this anyway? How dare he. I want to crush him like a stupid little bug. Like that bitch on stage, that ugly, lying, cheating, stupid, stupid, stupid little bitch. Both of them.

He’s coming closer. No, no, I can’t let this happen. Careful. Don’t get angry. Don’t let him find us.

He’s here! He’s right here. Something’s not … he’s dangerous! Get away! He’s turning this way! I can see his face! He’s … oh.

Oh.

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stayandot8 · 1 year ago

Text

Heart and Seoul

Genre: tooth-aching fluff

Relationship type: married nonidol!Chan x fem reader

Important Contents: thank you the request friend :) I immediately got an idea when you sent this to me and I'm sorry it took so long to write. I hope you like it.

request can be seen here.

WC: 1.8k

masterlist

Hubby: Guess what I got???

A picture arrived a second later of three plane tickets, all with the same destination: Seoul, South Korea. A flash of shock hit me and my fingers worked faster than my brain could process.

“Isn’t it awesome?! My parents helped pay for them so don’t worry, I didn’t spend too much money. Well, not yet anyways. I’m going to buy a snow suit for Celeste because she’s never seen snow before and she’ll want to play in it because if she’s anything like me but that’s beside the point!” Chris was so excited and when he was excited, he rambled about everything and anything. A change that occurred after he became a dad, but a welcome one at that. Getting him to share his feelings wasn’t too too hard when I came along, but ever since his daughter was born, he was a babbling mess. A good change, really. After five years, he’d really mellowed out with her safety. She had too many clothes to begin with with the overexcitement of her arrival from her uncles, but now she was down to only a few new outfits a week, and now he at least acted like he was thinking about it when he changed his mind from a ‘no’ to a ‘yes’. He couldn’t deny his little girl anything.

“Chris, she has snow clothes. Her grandmother bought some for her the last time we went to Korea in the winter just in case it snowed, which she’s still upset about.”

“I know, the weather app is stupid, they never know anything.”

“Chris! She has enough clothes! We’re going to have to give her our master closet if you keep buying her more things!” He was quiet to this, like he was actually thinking about the logistics of it. “Babe, she’s not getting our closet.”

“I know!”

“You were thinking about it though.”

“...Maybe. Then I was thinking about everything else I could buy her with all that room.”

“Chris…” I said warningly.

“I’m done, I’m done. She’s not getting our closet.”

“Good.”

“But she is getting a snow suit. Okay, love you, bye!” I clutched my phone as he hung up, shaking my head and wondering where in the world he was going to put one more thing she didn’t need. It wasn’t like he was buying nonsense, it was just that he couldn’t tell her no if she really wanted something. He was a good dad like that.

Me: Christmas with the uncles sounds good :)

Hubby: Start packing. We leave in three days :)

Me: Won’t mom be upset we won’t be in Sydney for the holiday?

Hubby: My mom will be fine, she’s used to holidays without me.

Me: Don’t remind me

Hubby: It’s yours we have to worry about.

It was true, I was worried that my mother would be upset about a holiday without her grandchild. She loved them more than anything, cherished her truly. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt about it.

Hubby: We’ll tell her together. We’re adults now, we can choose to spend the holidays wherever we like.

Always reading my mind, my husband.

The front door opened and shut, letting in the Sydney breeze along with it and a head of dark hair waltzed right in. Heading straight for the fridge, she reached for a small bag of apple slices just out of her reach.

“Mommy!”

“Yes, baby, do you need some help?” I was already off my stool at the kitchen island and heading towards her.

“Yes please!” She turned her shining eyes towards me, just as warm and comforting as her father’s. Her smile pushed her round cheeks upwards toward her eyes, just like his. Chan said she had my nose and he was more thankful for that than anything. He hated his nose.

She was still reaching for the bag, knocking a bottle of water to the floor. “Whoops! I’ll get it Mommy.”

“Oh thank you Cece, that was very helpful of you.” She loved hearing these things, loved hearing how she helped someone. Anyone. More of her father’s features shining through, she just loved to help in any way she could. I opened the bag and handed it to her. “There you go, baby .Do you want to watch some TV before your grandmas and grandpas come over for dinner?”

Once in a while, all the grandparents came over for dinner to spend time with the three of us. They wanted to see their Cece before all the holiday craziness came and they had to get busy with everything else that came with the holidays.

With the house smelling like grilled meat and rice, the doorbell rang like chimes in the wind, a touch from Chris when we bought the house. Cece ran to the door, yelling “I got it, I got it!” She opened the door to both sets of grandparents flinging their arms wide open at the sight of her at the door, her red sparkly dress swinging as she lept for them. They hugged her, bags swinging from their arms as all four of them came around her.

I was luckier than most with my in-laws. They had welcomed me with the most open of arms into their family and made me feel like a part of the family, like they had always been there just waiting for me. My parents got along with them, his mother bonding with mine over their love of plants and house decor. Our fathers got along with sports, the only issue ever being who was paying for the wedding (they both wanted to pay for it). They loved me and I loved them. I knew this situation wasn’t common, so I cherished it whenever they all came together.

“Cece, are you going to let them come in?” I laughed while they hugged her, knowing they wouldn't let go until she did.

“Oh, it’s fine, she’s fine.” Chris’s mom said while the others were putting their belongings in the hall closet. She picked up her favorite grandchild and held her until she arrived in the living room with all her toys neatly stacked. Celeste had a habit that she picked up from her father of finding joy in organization. It had to come from him because it definitely did not come from me.

As the other grandparents gathered around Cece on the floor, my dad followed me out the back door to find Chris hard at work grilling. They hugged and we watched Chris grill.

“How’s the producing business, Chris?” Neither took their eyes off the meat.

“It’s good! Keeps me busy, but I get to meet celebrities so it has it’s perks. And the company is still good with letting me off for time with Cece. So I can’t complain.”

“That’s because you still work on your days off. I still haven’t been able to stop him.”

I sighed and gave Chan’s back a reproachful look. My dad chuckled.

“Honey, you haven’t been able to stop him from working since you started dating. Remember Valentine’s Day a couple years ago?”

“Hey!” Chan finally turned around, mouth open in mock shock. “You said you were okay! You know how hard it was to get Tiger JK to actually sit down and work with me.”

“I do! And I’m still proud you managed to get it done in time.” I smiled and took his free hand that wasn’t holding a giant pair of tongs. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be a little salty that you had to miss our second Valentines together.” His eyes squinted.

“And have I made it up to you every year since?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“I need a beer! Anybody else?” My dad quickly jumped up to head back inside for said refreshment. I shot Chan a smirk.

“Was that necessary?”

“Hey, he could’ve done the math. Cece was born in November.” I rolled my eyes. His tone suddenly got serious. “Do you want to tell them now or after we eat?”

“After. Let them enjoy their time with her now.”

“You what?!”

The plates were cleared, Cece was passed out on the couch watching her favorite show, and the news had just come out. My mother, ever the drama queen, was fanning herself from the news. My father was helping her, if only to save himself the pain of a scolding from her later.

“Well, they’re adults now, honey. They can do what they like.”

“But they’re taking her for the holidays too, Richard. Did you think about that?”

“Yes I did. They’ll be fine, they’ll be back afterwards.”

“And besides,” Chan’s mom interjected. “You can spend it with us! We can get wine-drunk and celebrate Christmas ourselves without the kids.”

Chris grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers. My mother just watched us smile at each other.

“We miss Korea, mom. And Christmas is such a wonderful time of year, I just think this year we want to spend it differently. We’ll pick you up some of your favorite face cream while we’re there, too.”

“So the trip won’t be a total waste for you!” Chris tried to placate her, but her face remained unchanged. “Alright Mom, what about this: when we get back, you guys can have Celeste for a whole weekend, just her and you.” She perked up at that.

“Friday to Monday?”

“You can even bring her back Monday night.” Chris, ever the diplomat. A rush of pride went through me. My mom thought about it for a moment.

“Deal.”

Chris’s dad piped in.

“What about us?!”

Celeste did really well for her first plane ride. We arrived at the Incheon Airport around noon, but we didn’t know what awaited us outside until we stepped outside to our car waiting to take us to our hotel. Driven by Hyunjin with a passenger seat occupied by Felix, they waved us over before climbing out of the car to fling their arms open for Celeste, who stopped halfway to them, noticing the white fluff all around.

“Daddy, what’s that?” she asked, her voice dripping in wonder. Her eyes shining with pure curiosity, she ignored her uncle’s waiting arms to hold her arms out to catch the falling flakes. They disappeared as quickly as they had landed in her hand, but that didn’t stop her from trying to catch all of the snowflakes in her immediate vicinity. She jumped and reached, trying to reach the clouds they were falling from. This insanely cute action was met with laughter from all angles, and before she knew it, she was hoisted into the air by her uncle to get a closer look.

Chris and I stood by and let them catch up and enjoy the cold.

“She’s so cute. She takes after you, you know.” I placed a hand on my stomach.

“I dunno. Maybe this one will be just as cute.”

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maeral33n · 1 year ago

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Was it Worth it? (Velvet and Veneer Angst)

Description: What if Brozone couldn't save Floyd in time? How will the twin handle the consequences of their actions? Is a sibling's bond strong enough to forgive murder? Authors Note: Yeah, I was feeling some stuff today, and writing angst is cheaper than therapy. That being said, forgive me if characters seem a bit ooc and feel free to leave feedback.

They did it.

They are officially the most famous Mount Rageons in the past decade.

Velvet and Veneer's rise to fame skyrocketed over night after their award-winning performance at the Rage Dome. Tickets for their performance sold out almost within the hour they were available, and yet people still demanded to buy tickets even if there were no more seats available.

Their beatiful faces were plastered everywhere. In the malls, on the streets, on billboards, and if that wasn't enough, various programs on television were constantly reminding you that these two were the top dogs of the industry.

From the glittering city to the humble suburbs, to the slums of the undercity, everyone knew their names.

And all it took was one troll.

One dead troll.

Veneer stared at him, Floyd, still in his diamond prison. He lay lifeless and colourless. No, not colourless...translucent.

He's heard of discoloured trolls before, he's aware that troll can lose their colours due to trauma, but...it never occurred to him what would happen when a troll died.

Veneer felt life he was going to vomit.

Velvet was practically bouncing with joy as, yet another news anchor showed clips of their two during their performance last night. Her hands fanned her face as she fought back tears of joy, Veneer was trying to hold back his own, but for completely opposite reasons.

Velvet grabbed her brother by the shoulders, shaking him and pointing towards the screen. "Look Ven, we did it! They love us!"

He didn't look at the TV, his eyes were on Velvet in utter disbelief, at no point after their performance did, she even acknowledge that she was practically carrying the small corpse of a troll. Even now, she's pretending like Floyd never existed.

He shoved his sister away, causing her to stumble a bit. She turned to him, brows furrowed in confusion, "What was that for?"

That disgust that churned in his stomach bubbled into something far more ugly than Veneer could have ever possibly imagined as he practically spat. "You killed him."

"What?"

"You killed Floyd!"

Velvet recoiled slightly at her brothers raised voice. Veneer never raised his voice to her, or to anyone really. She rolled her eye and sighed, "Well, maybe if his brothers actually bothered to rescue him, we would have had to kill him."

Veneer groaned into his hand as he rubbed them down his face, he started pacing around the room, an annoying habit of his when he was getting antsy. "Are you even listening to yourself?" He exclaimed, "You don't even CARE!" Now the tears were falling, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Velvet huffed, "Jesus Ven, stop being such a baby." She grabbed his arm, stopping him from pacing, her grip tight. "Look, how about we go on a bit of a hiatus, hm? Y'know, travel a bit, go to Vacay Island or somewhere and relax. And then when we're done with our hiatus, we can find some more trolls and get back to work-"

Veneer practically ripped his arm away from his sisters grip red crescent mark were left where his fingernails dig into him. "Don't fucking touch me!" He snapped, then his eyes widened when her words sank it, "Wait...did you say we'll find some more?"

She scoffed, "Yeah, duh. You didn't think that we'd stop at the Rage Dome, did you?"

He stumbled over his words, trying to form a single coherent thought but failing. His sister spoke up again, "Last night was just the beginning. We may be famous now, but that won't last for long if go into an early retirement. I want us to go global, and to do that, we're gonna need more songs...more trolls."

Veneer was hyperventilating, his shaking steps brought him to Floyd, his tears hitting the diamond surface of cage. Floyd was a person, and Velvet was treating him as a tool, a sacrificial lamb for the offer of fame and prestige. Floyd was someone to somebody, he had a family who loved him, he had a long life ahead of him. And now all of that was gone because of some sick twisted idea some teenagers had one day.

Veneer began to sob.

"Oh god stop being so dramatic Ven," Velvet groaned.

Veneer turned his body around and approached her, his hands balled into fists, his face contorted with anger and contempt, Velvet took a step back. "You're a murderer," he hissed as he now stood face to face with his sister.

Fury flashed in her eyes as she mirrored his stance. "And you're a murderer AND a coward."

He blinked at her, "What?"

She jabbed her finger into his chest, "Don't play dumb. You point the finger at me and call me the murderer, but you forget that you were the one that helped me capture that troll in the first place."

Another jab into his chest, this time, much harder. "You were the one who used his talent first."

She started raised her voice, and jabbed at his chest on last time, this some so painful and Veneer had to grab her wrist and pull it away from him. "And that you had every chance in the world to expose us."

"...What?"

She sneered at him, "Yeah, you could have ended all of this as soon as it started, you could have gone to the police and told them everything we did, and we would be behind bars by now...but you didn't."

His lips quivered as fresh tears fell down his face.

"So that makes you, a murderer and a coward."

Veneer shoved his sister away from him and stormed into his room, Velvet followed him, her heeled boots clicking against the marbled floor. "Where are you going?!"

He didn't answer his, simply grabbed a bag and started shoving anything he could fit into it. Some clothes, shoes, his phone, his wallet...would this even be enough?

"What are you doing?" Velvet growled as she watched her brother walked around his room.

He still didn't answer her, he was crying so hard he could barely see what he was shoving into his bag.

"I said, what are you doing?!"

"I'm leaving!"

Velvet stood still for a moment at the entrance of his bedroom, for once, she had nothing to say. All she could do was watch her brother pace back and forth, growling in frustration as he struggled to shove in another pair of shoes into his back, giving up in the end.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

She felt her face grow hot, her emotions overwhelming her. "You don't mean that."

He turned to her as he shrugged the heavy bag over his shoulder, "Yes I do, Velvet. This has gone too far." He pushed his way passed her and made a beeline to the front door.

"Fine then, leave. You'll be back." She spoke coldly this time; whatever fire had been in her voice before was gone now. And that had always scared Veneer.

His hand was on the doorknob, and he spared a single glance over his shoulder. His sister stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, her face neutral. She was his best friend, his confidant, his partner in crime...literally.

The he flicked his gaze over to the diamond bottle, the one that held Floyd's dead body. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt another sob rack through his body. How did it come to this? They couldn't go to prison; he knew he wouldn't stand a chance...and he didn't want to think of what Velvet would do.

Velvet was right, he was a coward.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at his sister again.

"Don't bother calling me."

SLAM!

Velvet stood in the middle of the room, everything was silent, save for the advertisement on TV for a new car model. Despite the silence, her mind was screaming.

He'll be back...he'll be back.... he'll be back...he always comes back.

They've had arguments before, and they've always made amends. Well...she gives him the silent treatment, and he eventually apologies to her. They'll get through this.

She stepped towards the table where the diamond perfume bottle sat atop of. The translucent body of the troll...of Floyd...lay still.

"He'll be back."

(2 Weeks Later)

She had called him over thirty-six times, all of them went to the same prerecorded message of Veneer's voice that he made years ago.

"Hello, you've reached the voice mail of Veneer. If you're getting this message, it's probably because I'm dead or suuuppperrr busy. Anyway, leave a message after the beep....BEEEEEEP!"

Velvet hasn't had a good night sleep since her brother left, and not once did she sleep in her own bed. She'd spent most of her days moping around the living room, going back and forth between channels on TV that might have anything on Veneer's whereabouts to her social media.

She had been absolutely bombarded with fans praising her for her performance and asking if she plans to make more music. She had even received calls and messages from popular news outlets and interviewers to be featured on their shows.

She had declined them all.

She couldn't do it without her brother.

She let out a quiet sob as she sank to the floor in front of her couch.

"....Come back...."

#trolls band together #trolls 3 #trolls #trolls fandom #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 velvet #trolls 3 veneer #trolls movie #trolls fanfic #velvet and veneer

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lostfirefly · 1 year ago

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Thank you, driver, for getting me here, you'll be an inspector, have no fear, I don't want to cause no fuss, but can I buy your Magic Bus?

I swear this fic came to me in a dream! Even dialogues! I just tweaked them a bit :) English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: You and your sister are taking the bull to the farm. You board the only bus that can transport bulls, the driver of which is Buggy.

Warnings: Buggy and F!Reader. Just a stupid shitty shit.

Words: 2137

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @yujo-nishimura

The title is taken from “Magic Bus” by The Who.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Here! It's coming!” You stood at the bus stop with your sister and watched the bus approaching. “Hanse, stay still.”

“Are you sure this is the bus we need?” Your sister asked you, pointinng at the carriage.

“Yeah, it's the only one that carries bulls.” You pointed to a brown bull with a bell around his neck that you were holding on a rope. “Thank God Freedom Farm has agreed to take him in.”

“God, I never thought we'd be rescuing a bull.” Your sister replied.

A yellow bus pulled up to the stop and you and your sister entered through the back doors.

“Hanse, let's go. Come on in. Good boy! You'll be safe soon.” You got the bull into the bus and put him next to you.

More people came in after you.

“Shit! I realized I only had enough money to pay the bull's fare.” You checked all the pockets of your jacket, pants, and wallet.

“Beautiful, sister! Just beautiful! What are we gonna do?”

“Let's hope that one day the control doesn't get on the bus, and we get to the farm safely.” You shrugged and straightened the leash.

You had traveled about thirty minutes when the bus suddenly stopped and two controllers entered the cabin. They were tall men wearing gold necklaces around their necks. They began to check the tickets of all the passengers. Finally, it was your turn.

“Your tickets, girls.” Asked one of the ticket checkers.

“Look, here's the thing. It's a totally stupid situation. I lost my wallet and I can't pay for a ticket.” You were smiling at the checker.

“Is this one with you, too?” One of the men pointed to the bull.

“Yes. We're taking him to the farm.” You looked from the checker to the bull and then back to the checker.

“Have you bought the ticket for him?” One of the men asked sternly.

“We were just about to do that, sir.” You spoke with worry in your voice.

“All right, but since you only have money for the bull, I must fine you for traveling without a ticket. And you know how we mark people like you.” He took your sister's hand, then grabbed her finger with his fingers and was about to cut the phalanx.

“No, no, please! Wait a minute!” You rushed to the bus driver's cab.

“Sir, sir! Mister!” You knocked on a small window.

The cabin's window lowered, and you saw a man with a big red nose, blue hair and a clown makeup on his face.

“Oh, my God.” Suddenly it came out of your mouth.

“What do you want?” The driver answered rather sharply.

“Sir! You see. I have this situation. My sister and I are taking the bull to the farm. Your bus is the only one that can transport them. But we only have enough money to pay for Hanse.” You took the money out of your pockets and handed it to him. “The controllers want to penalize us, but please, can we ride for free? I'll pay you back later.”

He looked at you without any emotion and lifted the window.

“Hey!” You knocked again. “You didn't answer!”

There was silence in response.

“Asshole!” You mumbled.

You slowly walked back to your sister, with the controllers standing beside you. You shook your head, clearly showing your sister that the negotiation had failed.

“Well, ladies, your hands, please.” The men took your fingers and were already bringing small knives to your phalanges when suddenly the driver's window rolled down.

“Hey, you two.” A clown's head peeked out of the cab and barked at the controllers. “Leave the girls alone. They are with me.”

“With you? Are you sure?” One of the men asked in surprise.

“Why would I say that about people I don't know? I know them. Her.” He pointed his finger at you. “And apparently her.” He pointed his finger at your sister. “Now get off the bus, you're making me lose my schedule.”

The checkers shrugged and left the bus. You exhaled and continued on your way.

“At least go say thank you.” Your sister whispered to you, pushing you in the shoulder.

“Oh, yeah!” You hit yourself lightly on the forehead.

You got up from your seat and walked towards the driver's cab.

“Sir! Mister!” You knocked on the window.

“What?” The answer came back to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” You answered hesitantly.

Suddenly, the bus driver's window slid down, and you saw green eyes staring at you in surprise.

“For what?” He barked.

“Well, you stood up for us. And to be fair, you're the reason we didn't get our fingers cut.”

“Whatever.” He closed the window.

“Thanks anyway.” You were walking towards your seat when you got a call.

“Hey!”

You turned toward the voice. A blue-haired head was looking at you again from the cabin.

“Come back!” He beckoned you with his finger.

You turned around and walked back towards the driver's side.

“Look, since I saved you, if you say so, keep me company.”

“What do you mean?” You asked in surprise.

“Well, let's have a chat or something while I drive you back to the farm with that stupid bull. I'm terribly bored today. Only old people get on the bus today. And I suddenly got a beautiful girl to make up for it. After all, you owe me. Otherwise, I'll drop you off and you'll walk to your farm.”

“All right! Only standing will not be very comfortable.” With a laugh in your voice, you replied.

“That's not a problem.” He opened the door of his cabin and pulled out a small bench.

You sat down on the bench and crossed your legs.

“What is your name?” He asked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Y/N. You?”

“Buggy. Buggy the Clown.”

“The clown? Why do you drive a bus? Did you get fired from the circus?” You laughed slightly.

“Long story. So, Y/N, are you the bull protector or something? Why are you taking him to the farm?”

“I got it from my grandmother, and I promised her to keep Hanse safe.” You glanced at the bull, who was already snoring peacefully on the seat. “Ok. Another question. Why are you so dressed up?” You looked him up and down. “Bandana, leather pants, striped vest and white gloves. Aren't bus drivers supposed to wear ugly, shapeless clothes?”

“Hah, muffin! I'm a flashy clown. And I should look flashy.”

“Well, this cannot be taken away. You are perhaps the most handsome bus driver I have ever met.” You scratched your cheek.

You noticed how he blushed.

“What do you do in your free time from work, Buggy the Clown? What do clowns do in their free time?”

“I do the same things which men do. Drink beer and eat hot dogs. Hold on, there's going to be a sharp turn.” Buggy carefully turned the steering wheel and turned onto another path.

The bus stopped and picked up new passengers. You heard the grumbling of passengers who asked to tell the driver about the places you were driving through.

“The old ladies are nagging you.” You laughed.

“Really?” Buggy looked out of his cabin and glanced at the passengers. “Fuck them, If they want a tour, let them choose another bus. I have more interesting company here. So, Y/N. Tell me more about yourself. Why are you travelling with your sister? Where is your boyfriend, and why did he let you go so far alone?”

“I would also like to know where my boyfriend is.” You nodded and smiled. “In fact, there is none. And you? Do you have a girlfriend? She probably also walks around in all this.. well.. you understand.” You carefully pointed to his face. “Makeup.”

“Ay-ay, Y/N, what kind of questions.” Buggy clucked his tongue.

“Hah, that means there is no girl.” You snapped your fingers. “Gotcha!”

“Who told you that?” He raised one eyebrow and looked at you.

“You, and just now.” You pointed your finger at him.

You noticed your sister looking at you intently. You waved her off and made yourself more comfortable on the bench.

“So, Buggy the Clown. We have already found out that you don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t have a boyfriend. You love beer and hot dogs. And you are flashy.” You curled your fingers with every phrase. “Not a bad start, right?”

“We also found out that you save bulls. Hold on tight, one more turn.” He carefully turned the steering wheel again, and drove along the road between the trees.

“Wow! The forest is so beautiful!” You said, looking through the front window. “Is this the road to the farm?”

“Yes, we're almost there. Another twenty minutes. And I'm glad that I will spend these twenty minutes in the company of a beautiful girl.” Buggy smiled and glanced at you.

You blushed and felt warmth run through your hands.

“Ok, Buggy the Clown. Let's get back to our conversation. Tell me. What was the dumbest thing you did as a child?” You asked, tapping your fingers on your knee.

He tensed a little, then smiled strangely. “I ate some tasteless crap. And you?”

“I almost sent a hamster into space. I tied him to a homemade firecracker and was about to light the fuse. Thank God, mom noticed this in time and freed the unfortunate Coconut.” You chuckled.

“Is that why you save the bull? Are you making amends to the hamster?” He laughed, turning the steering wheel carefully.

“Hah, kind of.” You glanced at him with interest and cleared your throat. “Listen, maybe you can teach me how to drive a bus somehow?” You asked, leaning on the wall near the cabin.

“Why wait for this shitty “somehow”? Get in!” Buggy invited you into the cabin with a movement of his head.

“Seriously?” You asked in surprise.

“Why not? Just don't kill us all.”

He shifted in his seat and gave you some space. You glanced at your sister, who was looking at you questioningly, you smiled at her and climbed into his cabin.

“Hold the steering wheel like this and drive carefully.” He placed your hands on the steering wheel, and put his hands on your hands. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Listen, do you invite all the girls to your cabin?” You asked, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

“I'm deeply offended, muffin. Who do you take me for? Hold the steering wheel.” He held your hands a little tighter and helped you drive the bus. “See! We've been driving for ten whole minutes, and you haven't sent us to another world yet.”

“Asshole!” You laughed. “Overall it's cool. I like it!”

“See? You're doing great, muffin!”

“I'm driving the bus! Yay! Ok! One more question! What are the little things that always make your day better?” You asked, trying not to smile, feeling the warmth of his hands even through his gloves.

“Today it's you!” He replied and blushed a little.

“Liar!” You giggled.

You took three more turns, constantly chatting and reached a large farm.

“Well, we've arrived.” He said, letting go of your hands. “I have to admit, this was the most fun trip I've had in the last couple of weeks.”

“Yes, I liked it too. Thank you!” You didn’t notice how you kissed him on the cheek with joy. You suddenly pulled away. “Sorry. I accidentally.”

You ran out of the cabin and ran to your sister and the bull.

“Let's go Hanse. Everyone is already waiting for you." You took the bull out of the bus and led him to the farm gate.

“Listen, sister. Wait two minutes.” You handed the leash to your sister and ran back to the bus.

“Hey, Buggy the Clown!” You held the handrail with your hand.

“What?” He asked, sipping coffee from a thermos.

“I just had a thought. That one driving lesson is not enough for me. How about we repeat?” You took a piece of paper out of your bag and wrote down your phone number. “Call me if you will need company.”

He carefully took the piece of paper, looked at it, then glanced at you and winked.

You jumped and ran happily to your sister. You brought the bull to the farm, filled out all the necessary documents, said goodbye to him and went back to the bus stop.

“I wonder how long we need to wait for the next bus?” Your sister asked, sitting down on a bench at the bus stop.

“I don't…”

You heard the horn and turned towards the sound. Your eyes widened when you saw the yellow bus.

“Hey, muffin, need a ride?”

#one piece #buggy the clown #buggy live action #one piece live action #buggy one piece #opla buggy the clown #buggy fanfiction #buggy fic #opla buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #buggy x female reader #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x reader

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adelaidedrubman · 2 years ago

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it’s serving absolute wednesday

i was tagged on this particular wednesday by my dears @nightbloodbix @cassietrn @deputyash @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat to share a wip! (and by folks last week too i think but scrolling through notifs hard so apologies for any double tags for those who just posted and obviously no pressure).

unfortunately have not been able to write much this week due to the Week of it all, so fished up (haha) a hl&s chapter 4 excerpt i have already posted a little bit of before (if you saw it pretend i didn’t).

And she wore the wide, toothy grin of a bear with a fresh caught salmon between her paws as she shucked off her shirt, single auburn brow quirked up as she held it out to him as if offering food to a cub. “Think you can get dressed all by yourself like a big boy, too?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she thrust a hand against his chest to push him back flat against the fence again, shoving the collar over his head herself. “I’ve got it from here,” he bit out, elbowing her away. “Thank you for all the unrequested manhandling.”

“Funny way of saying ‘emergency medical care,’” she grunted, crossing her arms over her barely covered chest. “And a fine of job of it, too, you could fucking add. You’ll still need to find a real doctor eventually to pluck out the fishing line and super glue everything back together, but I’m sure you can manage a few more weeks of not buying a new boat to afford the co-pay on glorified Elmer’s. So long as you’re up to date on your tetanus shots, everything’ll heal up just fine. I did good stitchwork.” “Go to a real doctor, you say?” he replied, forcing a hint of condescension back into his tone as he poked shaking arms through sleeves. “Does that mean you fancy yourself something of an amateur? A would-be? Perhaps a failed ambition, before you chose to cast your lot amongst trout and speeding tickets?” She flashed him a sweet, dimple framed smile clearly meant to exaggerate the straining of a patience she’d never actually once exercised. “It means I’m someone who usually has to settle for doing my own first aid,” she chimed brightly, swinging her head away from him. “My fuckin’ condolences. I understand that must be a scary new experience for you.” “So I shouldn’t use the satellite phone I’ve been hiding this entire time to summon the private jet I keep on retainer to fly me straight to the Mayo Clinic over this?” he hummed, sparing a brief, belated glance to the freshly-tended wound as he pulled the borrowed shirt down over his chest. She wasn’t wrong — she did well enough. The skin had the sheen of thorough cleaning, her stitchwork tight but precise in its binding. There had certainly been far worse done by his own immature hand in its day, faded silken webs of scarring memorializing unsteady job of a sewing needle and thread in the dark of his childhood bedroom forking out and framing the fresh set of stitches. Mementos she’d also seen, it occurred to him in retrospect as he tugged the hem of the shirt down, stopping just below his navel to leave a small sliver of stomach exposed above his waistband. And perhaps that was the source of her arrogance about her own work — heartless, smug little thing she was. Yes, he knew the likes of her, knew that every little act of seeming kindness was merely an opportunity to cruelly poke and prod for her own amusement. Right down to the shirt given off her back — still smelling of her, he noted, tilting his head down as he rubbed the fabric of the collar between his fingers to stir up the scent.

sending tags out to @florbelles @josephslittledeputy @afarcryfrommymain @theresaruggedroad @just-another-wasteland-merc @voidika @captastra @confidentandgood @belorage @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @thedeadthree @ladyofedens-blog @miyabilicious @simplegenius042 @henbased @clicheantagonist @firstaidspray @strafethesesinners @nuclearstorms @jackiesarch @v0idbuggy @orionlancasterr @stacispratt @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @corvosattano + opt in here to be tagged + again, no pressure!

#and nobody was projecting anything and everyone had a good day of fishing #wip

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girlreviews · 4 months ago

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Review #20 – Kid A, Radiohead You know, Radiohead have always just been this thing of their own. A different league. Mainstream success (significant in the UK but even in the States) but your average Radiohead fan is typically a very specific kind of person – your literary types, deep thinkers and philosphers… That or, morbidly depressed. Often a combination of the two. I had a good friend in high school that loved them very much, and it was his dedication to them that got me into them in that moment. I can’t say that I’ve kept up with them with the same dedication in my adult years. For a reason that I can’t quite put my finger on, which perhaps I’ll identify by the end of this review – I just sort of have some internal resistance to being even a casual fan. When I hear the music, I like it. And there are even records/songs that I know inside out. But I just never keep them at the front of mind, and it almost feels like it’s out of spite. There are other Radiohead records on this list, so I’ll save some of my thoughts and memories for the appropriate review.

I suppose one thing that I always imagine has been true of Radiohead and is probably annoying for them, is that their mainstream success set them up for people to be like “what the fuck is this?” when they buy the full album, because the majority of their stuff is a lot more out there than Karma Police or The Bends. I tend to like those records, but I can see how a band that is focused on its art would maybe not enjoy the experience of having a string of mainstream hits. They have a dedicated enough deep following that I can’t imagine that’s still going on for them or has impacted them longterm. It definitely impacted when I went to see them, because they played entirely deep cuts.

That wouldn’t really have bothered me, but personally speaking this particular show was a mess and I don’t recall enjoying a single moment of it. That was a lot more to do with the surrounding context and very little to do with Radiohead or their performance, but what I imagine was a life reaffirming experience for other concert-goers was a truly unpleasant evening for me. I had bought these tickets months before, for well over face value, on eBay of all places. I was 18, and so I paid for them by postal order (this is making me feel so old and is so funny, I only had a debit card that would let me get out cash), and I had to settle for a venue that was really not convenient – there would be travel and a hotel involved. I bought tickets for myself and that shitty on/off boyfriend that has been referred to altogether too many times throughout this project, although I will happily report that this truly marked the end of it. Naturally, it was all on my dime – the train tickets, the hotel, and the tickets. By the time the concert actually came around, we had broken up for good and I had even started to see someone else that I was quite serious about. That said, it’s not like the grip on my psyche had just magically vanished overnight, so it wasn’t all that difficult for him to convince me to still go – as friends. Well we did go. It was miserable to be in his company. He was mad that I was dating someone new, and I think by the end of the trip, he admitted he had actually been seeing lots of new people, he just didn’t like that I was. At the show itself, I had a migraine. A really bad one. Honestly all I remember about the show was how much my head hurt. I couldn’t tell you a single song. The hotel we stayed at was gross. It took hours by train. It was in Blackpool. Bleugh.

I mean I’m guessing some of that experience has informed my reluctance to really love Radiohead, but honestly they also have a specific type of (male) fan that is just really… Obnoxious to me. Gatekeepy and pretentious. Not all of them, by any means, I know plenty of dudes that love Radiohead and are totally normal about it. There’s just some odd level of worship that seems to occur that I can’t say I really buy into? You honestly don’t meet a lot of women who are hardcore Radiohead fans and I’d love to know why that is. I really would. I promise you, I’ve never met a woman who loves Radiohead the way the multiple dudes I know who would probably die for them do. I find that so curious.

Anyway, Kid A. It’s a vibe for sure. A lot of ambient noise and discordant stuff, which definitely isn’t intended for the masses or the Top 40. The eyerolling non-music people when I was a teenager would always refer to Radiohead as “music to slit your wrists to”, and to be honest, they aren’t entirely wrong. Case in point, track named How To Disappear Completely, which isn’t exactly the sentiment of a person for whom life is going really great. It’s wallowing in its own misery. But I don’t hate that – that’s valid and I’ve done a good bit of wallowing in my own misery in this lifetime. Making art out of it is cool. Plus, it’s pretty. Everyone could get something different out of it really. It’s not all depressing, there’s nuance. To counter the previous point, there’s also a track titled Optimistic. I don’t think I’d go as far as saying that the song is particularly upbeat or hopeful sonically. It’s… intense? Lyrically it still seems pretty bleak to me, other than the repetition of: “You can try the best you can You can try the best you can The best you can is good enough”

I guess all I’m saying is, if I needed to lighten up, I wouldn’t stick this track on. But, I will concede that for Radiohead it could count as something a bit more positive in tone. It does end with a real nice funky drum beat though which I dig.

Thom Yorke does have a really beautiful voice, I have always thought so. I know plenty of people find it whiny or technically poor, but I have never been one to laud vocalists for their technical abilities. I tend to find a vocalist’s specific quirks to be the reason I like their voice. You don’t get to hear it on Kid A in full force until you reach In Limbo, which is a fine song. I don’t know. It’s a Radiohead song. It’s good.

For me, Idioteque is the standout track for sure. It’s got an up-tempo electronic beat to start and a really interesting set of simple chords with lots of reverb and feedback that is just pleasing. It actually reminds me a lot of The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by the Postal Service in this way (they’re nothing alike overall, and obviously Kid A precedes Give Up, I just note their intros have a similar structure is all). When paired with Yorke’s vocals it’s a very interesting and appealing array of sounds that I would really like to listen to under the influence of psychedelic substances. It just strikes this balance that I like of dark and somber but fast paced. I’ve always liked that. When you’re barely hanging on, it’s not as if life slows down or pulls any punches, it goes at the same speed. That’s what it can feel like anyway, and I always appreciate music that reflects that experience.

I’ll spend more time with Kid A. It’s not a record that you can just listen to on a surface level. People who love it know every little detail about it, and I’m sure if I made the effort I’d appreciate it more. I certainly enjoy it and I can understand why and how it gets included in a list of records such as the Rolling Stone’s Top 500. There’s a lot to unpack. Certainly, I wouldn't put it on at a party. That should clear up my feelings about it? I'd probably more listen to it alone in the tub while holding my breath underwater thinking about the most existential shit I can conjure up.

Speaking of existential shit, most recently at a show in Melbourne, Australia, Yorke has been criticized for having a little tantrum and leaving the stage (he did return, to be fair, and played the final encore track), when someone in the audience shouted out something about Gaza/Palestine. On the one hand, he’s just a musician and isn’t particularly responsible for being the moral voice on every conflict on the planet. Is a Radiohead gig the appropriate venue to reach your target audience? I don’t know. Perhaps they anticipated encountering support or more likeminded people. Sadly, I think that’s giving Radiohead fans too much credit, and I really don’t mean that to be a dick. I just don’t think the majority of people are paying attention to these things, Radiohead fans or not. On the other hand, he wrote a whole album about the Iraq war and his dissatisfaction with the US and UK government, so it’s not totally unreasonable to expect him to be against this occupation and genocide either. Again though, hollering out during a performance isn’t necessarily the time or the place. Regardless of whether it was a good idea or not, his irritated response wasn’t the best look, but most of the fans were just annoyed by the disruption overall. He seems like a pretty cranky type anyhow so perhaps it was just a bad day. Who knows.

#album review #music #music review #rolling stone top 500 #radiohead #kid a

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trivialbob · 2 years ago

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Today was scorching hot and very sunny. I doused myself with suncreen, filled a backpack with water, more sunscreen, and dental floss, and went over to the "Great Minnesota Get-Together," otherwise know as the annual Minnesota State Fair.

When I arrived at 10:00 AM the place was packed. If you do not revel in big crowds, sweaty people, fried food, food on a stick, high food and drink prices, farm animals, or tractors, this place is not for you. I can tolerate this mixture of things if I go to the fair every few years.

Lots of people. Did I already say that?

Getting there is easy if one takes a bus. $5 buys a round trip ticket from one of several park-and-rides around the cities. Both the bus ticket and the admission ticket can be purchased online ahead of time. Very easy.

People watching is excellent. Food smells are delightful. The assortment of eats is interesting. It would never have occurred to me to make deep-fried pickles. I didn't try them but I heard some people raving about how good they were.

French fries and huge tubs of chocolate cookies are popular and available in several stands. I shudder thinking what a nutrition label on those cookies would look like. It likely would indicate a serving size as "one small bite" just so the amounts of sugar, sodium, and fat didn't exceed 200% of the recommended daily allowance.

For my lunch I tried the HotDish-on-a-Stick. Hot Dish is a Minnesota thing, made with a tater tot topping over a mixture of meat, cream of mushroom soup, and maybe some veggies. The stand selling hotdish-on-a-stick didn't have a line of people. That is not a good sign. It did have a sign explaining what you got for $7 (a bargain compared to other food stands).

I liked the concept, but results didn't work for me. It tasted like deep fried batter. The mushroom-hamburger dipping sauce was too salty, and I only dipped into it one time.

Some food stands had enormous lines. There must have been 150 people waiting for a new-this-year doughnut stand. "The Doughnut" was $5. Based on the long line, they easily could charged more. The Peanut Butter Cream doughnut was $10. At that price I would have thought it would be served on a stick. This stand had me curious, but I wasn't going to wait in that line.

On Machinery Hill there were collections of vintage farm and garden tractors. Very cool. There were also lots of trucks, modern lawn equipment, side-by-sides, ATVs, and travel trailers on display. I sat on a swell little John Deer tractors and made revving noises with my mouth, much like I did as a 5-year-old in Sears stores long, long ago. I thought it was funny, but an actual 5-year-old boy today looked at me and backed away.

There are also a lot of the "as seen on TV" displays, selling items you didn't know you had to have!

The 4H people had farm displays. I like those kids. The Miracle of Birth Center had newborn calves, chicks, goats, and lambs.

After several hours of walking around my feet were burning and my back hurt a little. As I made my way back to the gate where the buses were, I stopped to try some deep fried mac and cheese bites and have a beer. Those bites were delicious. The beer, while a little pricey, was extremely refreshing and frankly worth the price in that heat.

I plopped into a seat on the articulated bus. The air conditioning worked very well. I actually started to nod off as we waited to leave.

Four blondes and a brunette get on a bus...

No, this isn't a joke. It really happened. As my bus started to pull away and take us back to our cars, an adorable young woman, the brunette, walked up to the driver.

"Wait, where does this bus go?" She apparently missed the large banners with park-and-ride names and the those same names flashing on the bus LED signs.

The driver explained that we were going to the Bloomington park and ride, next to the Mall of America.

The brunette turned to her similarly cute cohorts, the four blondes with nearly identical haircuts, who sat midway down the bus.

"What bus did we take to get here?"

The other four came up to the front of the bus. They discussed it. I heard one blonde say she was sure they had not parked in Bloomington.

"Ohmygosh, will let us get off this bus?"

We hadn't left the parking area yet so the driver politely said he could do that. The brunette turned to address the rest of the passengers.

"I'm so sorry you guys, to make you wait like that." (It had been under a minute.)

Everyone said it was no problem and wished them well finding the correct bus. I smiled, then dozed off for the ride to Bloomington.

#There was only one stop #So clearly there was no need for anyone to pull the bell cord #A mom told her young daughter she could still pull the bright yellow cord and light up the STOP REQUESTED sign as we got close to the stop #That was adorable too

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jerseymuppet · 2 years ago

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whats up w ur muppets based religion

Dude. That’s such a loaded question I shouldn’t have put that in my bio. Okay so full disclosure this sounds insane BUT i have so many instances of things occurring like its not even coincidences at this point its something else. I believe people born in New Jersey have abilities. Nothing insane like telekinesis or whatever but like theres something going on there. Examples: my grandmother is really good at guessing things and is never wrong, weird coincidences happen to my mother literally almost everyday, i can say things and then they will happen, my brother who was NOT born in NJ and never has any weird shit happen to him is a loser.

Now, i know this sounds absolutely batshit balls to the wall insane BUT. Stay with me. Okay so last summer, after the eu leg of mcrs tour i agonized over whether or not i should buy a ticket and go (for reasons I’m not going to share lol) so i sat back and said okay! nj band! show me a sign! And lo and behold what i see the very next day

Now this is important to me for one specific reason: kermit specifically is like the modem for my weird abilities. I’ve had this one kermit plush for literally as long as i can remember and it’s been with me through everything and somehow it just became important. So obviously i see this and throw my hands up. Like wtf else was i supposed to do? So i messaged my bestie like ‘mcr 👀👀’ and she was offended i even had to ask.

Weeks pass, the show gets closer and closer, snail (my bestie) is starting to panic, because “what if something goes wrong? What if our tickets don’t work or we can’t get there for some reason or something etc” and I’m like babe. Chill. This is the New Jersey Gay Sex band. You are with Jersey Blood. Everything will go fine, believe in me. But snail is a fucking skeptical bitch so i distracted her by asking what her dream setlist was. i got hers and mine and made them into a playlist.

At the top of her list was house of wolves and at the top of mine was just something new that they hadn’t played yet. We go. They play house of wolves, and my ears ring from how loud snail screams next to me. and. and and and. We got the first smeagles of tour and the live debut of burn bright. Absolutely fucking insane.

but no where near as insane as looking up at the monitor and seeing frank and realizing what was on the amp behind him.

Fun fact: did you know he only brought that thing out on stage twice the whole tour? Anyway.

And then weeks after, my beautiful and true mutual Jack (now trickstump, then Scootbian) reaches out to me, because we went to the same show! And we both love the muppets! And we live very close to each other. What are the odds? Anyway yeah this is just one example of many, many, many. I’m aware I look insane don’t even worry about it.

#I also met some other people and roan!!! my sweet cowboy roan!!#it’s so beautiful and true #I’m so normal I promise I’m just from new jersey #also sorry I took so long to answer that you deactivated #also also yes I’m aware that technically isn’t kermit but his evil Russian doppelgänger I have yet to see muppets most wanted #jude.answers

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charlesandmartine · 7 months ago

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Thursday 31st October 2024

Today, we left our glamorous glamping for pastures new. It seems incredible that the week has gone by so quickly in Kakadu. But we have managed to do so much in that time. It was time to pack up shop and head off to Pine Creek and then on to Katherine. Final check to ensure there are no crocodiles hiding in the suitcases.

Now the reason we wanted to call into Pine Creek was that it was the subject a few years ago on our favourite ABC program, Backroads. The presenter Heather Ewart travels around Australia, meeting very small communities and finding out what makes them tick. One such town was Pine Creek. We drove up and down the Main Street looking for signs of life. We thought it would be nice to have a coffee, bit all the possible places appeared shut. There was the old station and museum shut. An exhibition of the old gold mine and subsequent Uranium mine, shut. Not a soul on the streets, and then we came across the Lazy Lizard Tavern. Considering this was the only place with any signs of human habitation at all, it was packed with interest. Firstly, they had a coffee, and they appeared to be serving delicious looking food to a small collection of tourists. Then, at the rear, there was a huge barn filled with restored classic American and Aussie cars and motorcycles. The smell of engine oil and leather was quite beguiling. What an excellent collection. Old metal advertising signs abounded, and a lifetime's collection of registration plates exceeding those of the dvla no doubt. Then, just as you are thinking that the whole place is a little oasis of genius, you notice a small scruffy bloke in the corner playing with a four-foot python which he claims to be perfectly harmless; well at least it's never bitten him he said! He continued to stroke the snake until it becomes apparent something was not right. Hang on, he said, I just have to move his back end slightly. With that, he moved the tail end over the edge of the table just in time for the snake to go about his ablutions. It had never occurred to me that this was an affliction open to our reptile friends, let alone an issue that needs such close attention. However, job done we enquired, as you would after such an event, what he fed said snake with. Oh, rats, he said, I buy frozen ones. It's OK. They only eat one every 3 weeks or so.

Well, moving on, I had to ask about the program. I said Pine Creek appeared on Backroads. Do you remember them making that episode. Oh, I love that show she said. No I didn't know they came here. I'll ask Shannon. She knows everything. She didn't know either. So, there we were with no further leads, and as far as we could tell, the remainder of the town had escaped for the rest of the millennium. The trail was not cold, but dead.

Onwards then to our goal of Katherine. Stopping briefly to admire a buffalo grazing near the roadside we carried on.

Our home for the week is in an apartment on what seems to be a small farm and riding stables. The outlook is very rural and we appear to enjoy unfettered views of a field of cows that enjoy sitting in a small pond to keep cool. We, on the other hand, have air-conditioning to achieve similar aims.

We are still forming an opinion regarding Katherine. First impressions are that it clearly, sadly, has its social problems associated with a high population of indigenous peoples. Once more, we had to be checked before we were allowed to buy a couple of bottles of SB. Small groups of Aboriginies hung around Woolworths and a bit of shouting and lying drunk was occurring, but unfortunately, this can be quite normal behaviour, and it isn't threatening in itself. We made our purchases and returned to our new digs with baramundi and chips. Lovely.

ps. The ABC news showed an article about what they referred to as Pollie Perks. Apparently, politicians, including Prime Minister Albanese, have been accepting gifts, flight upgrades, and pop concert tickets! Shocking. Now, like the UK, there's to be a tightening of rules!

pps Happy 35th Birthday Liam

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dollarbin · 7 months ago

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Sandy Saturdays #25:

Like an Old Fashioned Waltz

I recently chronicled a fairly formative night in my life which occurred in mid-October 31 years ago; the following, mostly true, story happened a week or two before or after that wild night of knavery and knives. It was far less formative... but still awesome!

Thom Moore and I were really hungry. We needed burritos and neither of us had any cash. I don't know if ATM cards even existed in 1993; if so, neither of us had one and no serious bank would have considered issuing us one, let alone a credit card. After all, neither of us had jobs of any kind and Thom usually sported a thrifted workman's shirt that listed his name as Bobo. Meanwhile, my favorite pair of shorts were about six sizes too big and had been cut to jagged knee length from a pair of what were probably Tom Waits' own corduroy pants in 1972. I tied them around my waist with a piece of rope.

So, there we were, tooling around Pasadena in my parents' armadillo cake (silver on the outside, maroon interior) Ford Tempo and brainstorming how to come up with the necessary $6 for two heavenly, warm and luscious veggie burritos.

We had the taqueria all picked out. The place seemed somewhat famous: they proudly displayed recent press clippings about some obscure airline which was currently serving their burritos at 5,000 feet. I kinda think it's the place in the photo above?

"Maybe we could borrow money from someone?" I suggested. We were hopeless teens: "borrow" of course meant "receive in exchange for nothing and never repay." But Thom was a Pasadena local: maybe he knew of such a generous someone. After all, he seemed to know just about everyone we bumped into. But he turned down the suggestion; most of the people he knew nodded appreciatively when they saw my makeshift shorts. They did not have $6.

"Maybe your parents...?" Thom stopped me before I got to the end of that sentence. His parents were adults with priorities. They would not be buying us burritos.

Thom sighed. "We're gonna have to sell something, dude. Let's go through my CD's."

Thom had a zillion CDs - it was, after all, 1993; and his vinyl collection was the best I'd ever seen. But we were out and about, so we just combed through what he had on him: a dozen or so jewel cases rolling around his backpack.

I, Jonathan was in there; but selling that was out of the question. Thom showed that thing to everyone he met; it was his idea of the world's greatest joke.

He also had Surfer Rosa, Queen Elvis and Henry the Human Fly on him: classics, all, and you can't sell a classic, not even for a burrito. Thom acknowledged that Respect was a largely mediocre record but it was still a Robyn Hitchcock album and therefore it was utterly off limits. Our burrito prospects were dwindling.

But then he found a candidate in the depths of his sack. And that's how I first encountered Sandy Denny's Like an Old Fashioned Waltz.

"Here we go: this album is totally bunk," quoth Thom, waiving it about. "But I don't know... you gotta love Sandy."

At that point I was just discovering Denny: I had the Fairport Convention greatest hits collection that has Stonehenge on the cover, and that was it. And Thom was right, the CD did look bunk: Denny's cover shot looked like she was auditioning for a spot on my grandmother's mantelpiece, and waltzing, whatever that was, was surely the opposite of what we did during Space at Dead shows.

"Yeah, that's the ticket," I said. "But do you think we can get six bucks for it?"

"I hope so; I'm so hungry."

We went, hats in hand, to the same place Thom had bought his copy of Like an Old Fashioned Walz for an easy $12 or more; they offered him just $5, which we took. We were still a dollar short. Curses!

What happened next was desperation lathered in genius. We found - this is all at least relatively true - somewhere around 70 cents in spare change on the floor and under the seats of the Tempo and then a miraculous quarter appeared in the gutter outside the burrito place. We begged our way, at the counter, through the missing nickel.

And, oh boy, those burritos sure tasted good. So good, in fact, that I'm not even sure we made the wrong move selling Denny's ridiculously perfect third solo album. After all, it was a CD copy, and CDs suck.

Plus, Sandy's rich, subtle and utterly magnificent songs were way the hell over our teenage heads:

youtube

#Youtube #sandy saturdays #sandy denny #thom moore

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apprenticestanheight · 11 months ago

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Never Again, and Never By Choice - Chainshipping

okay!! two days into july and I'm posting the fic that was supposed to come out in June but didn't bc I also happened to learn how to make hexagon cardigans in june and that pretty much mostly swallowed me whole. I'm taking a break from crocheting, however, until I can find a job and buy loads of yarn ahead of needing to make people christmas gifts and the like, so hopefully this month will genuinely be productive.

Fic type - this is a balance between fluff and hurt/comfort that tilts more in the

Warnings - there are a few mentions of sex and sex related things! Enough are in the fic for me to say that this fic is for an audience of 18+, minors do not interact! Some of (most, if not all) occur in tandem with references to weed, and a lot of the fic deals with weed use, including using weed to self medicate for things like anxiety. There are also depictions of PTSD symptoms and some are talked about in depth or mentioned a few times, like Adams fear of the water being so bad that he can't get himself to shower unless he follows a hyperspecific routine. Adam is v e r y knowledgable about the things he uses to self medicate so there are some specifics about the weed type he usually smokes, and this differs from canon in that gabriela doesn't die and john is at least alive until 2006-ish. strahm also survives, as does lynn, mark, and amanda.

When Amanda rescues Adam from the trap, the initial feelings are confusion and anger. He'd not known it was her until the memory hit him a weeks out from his time in the hospital, and by then, the confusion and the anger had shifted into resentment. Not particularly at his circumstances or at her, but at John Kramer, at life as a whole.

They're stupid things to be angry about, even if one is entirely justified. How he manages to be pissed off at life, at the world, over the actions of another person, mystifies him for a long time.

He keeps his anger at John under wraps even after he's agreed to become one of Johns apprentices, one of Jigsaws disciples. It's boiling, it'll burn you if you touch it and it'll scald you if you dare even think about getting too close, but he lets it dull into a simmer as the years go by.

His anger, his spite, and the money John provides him for the photos he takes are enough to make him let his anger turn into something less than it was initially, and in late December, when he finds himself reeling after taking a photo of a headless body in Mexico, he wonders why he does it.

There's, of course, the obvious answer--each job he does gets him around $500, and the most recent of the lot came for double the price plus the remainder of the cost of Gabrielas plane ticket. The condition was, Adam flew down to Mexico and first talked to Gabriela, tried to convince her to join their mission. When it'd worked, Adam bought her the last available ticket on his flight back to Jersey and was met with $1000 wired to an offshore bank account that Adam would transfer directly to his regular bank a day or two after once again arriving on Jerseys shores.

All in all, taking a few photos and dropping them at the local police station while wearing nondescript clothes, not speaking a word, and shrinking in on himself in a way that made him look like your average Joe to the cameras that were undoubtedly watching had yielded just barely more than $1100.

Thanks to a couple extra sets of hands--namely, Detective Mark Hoffman, Agent Peter Strahm, Amanda Young, Lynn Denlon, and Lawrence fucking Gordon himself--things were quick, and Adam was making a decent amount of money by doing the jobs John had given him every week-ish, if not every three or four days.

John chose the people, Amanda, and Hoffman abducted them, Lynn and Strahm set up the traps, and Lawrence handled the medical side of said traps. Gabriela had started with helping setting traps up initially but had since been the one who recorded the casette tapes of that stupid fucking puppet, and Adam had been the one who took the photos from the beginning.

All in all, Adam didn't totally hate his role in it--it meant, while he'd occasionally brush hairs with Amanda, Hoffman, Strahm or Lynn, he'd never really seen or talked with Lawrence.

He misses Lawrence like hell, if he's being honest with himself, but--it's better they don't talk.

Not until at least a bit of time has passed, even though Adam is a little miffed at the idea of reaching out to Lawrence on the anniversary of one tragedy to be like "hey, old friend! Remember when we spent nine hours in a bathroom together, right before you sawed off your own foot and crawled away, leaving me for dead? Amanda stole my shirt from evidence and even though I've washed it, the bloody handprint you left stained the shirt and I entirely lack the heart to put some peroxide or bleach to an otherwise perfectly good piece of clothing." Which would, in the process, be a direct reminder of another.

He doesn't see Lawrence, and he only acknowledges that he misses him on the nights he chooses to be honest with himself or the days wherein he chooses the same.

Adam just--he does what John needs him to do. He takes the money John gives him after a job, makes sure he has enough to make the rent of the crappy apartment he lives in, and he makes sure he has groceries that will feed him and keep him full.

Gabriela occasionally tags along on the jobs, and all that to say brings him to the very beginning of September 2005. It's the first day of the month, Gabriela has decided to tag along because she's finished setting up the traps for the insurance broker they're going to put through the ringer after the traps have been tested a few times, and she's keeping Adam company because she's one of the four or five people he talks to in his day-to-day, and she's apparently worried.

She's talking about how Lynn needed her to help because Strahm had been busy with Mark cleaning up the messes that they, as the apprentices, left behind. Adam is zoning in and out as he snaps one photo after the next, all of which pertain to the crime scene and all of which will be dropped off at the nearest police precinct once they've developed fully.

He knows he has to visit John today, too--John wants to have a chat, apparently. He's having these little chats with everyone, which is something Adam picks up from Gabriela at a point in their interactions when he's zoned in. He'd started with Amanda, then went to Lawrence, then to Strahm and Lynn and then to Gabriela. She'd joked he was saving the best for last and skipping the worst, like a parent refusing to acknowledge the child they'd silently disowned.

It's when she brings up Lawrence that he brightens up like a goddamned Christmas tree--his ears and cheeks go lightly pink with embarrassment as soon as he's registered the way that his head snaps up when his name falls off her lips.

"Amanda and Lynn were talking about it," she says when she notices his face. "Lynn joked that the two of you needed couples therapy. You two haven't talked since Lawrence left you, and--Amanda thinks it's killing you piece by piece. She's right, isn't she?"

Gabriela is only ten months younger than he is, and while he appreciates having an apprentice in their little group who's about as close in age to him as she can get, it's not always the best thing for his mental health.

"You too?" He asks. "And I thought hearing it from Amanda, Lynn, Hoffman, and Strahm every other damn day was bad enough. Now you're in on it?"

He takes the last photo and pivots on his feet, heading for the exit as Gabriela laughs.

"You two do have something weird going on," she says.

"How can we?" Adam rebuts. "It's been four years, almost, and we haven't spoken at all."

"Thats what it is," Gabriela responds. "It's that--you care about him, clearly, or at least enough to think of him once every week. Lawrence, though, he does care, too. He's apparently more vocal about his caring than you are, but Amanda says he's always been the more open type. She says he's "less apt to have reservations about the people he works with, and he lets his feelings just exist in the open.""

Adam laughs. "That sounds nothing like him," he wonders, for a minute, if he really has the authority to say something like that. He hasn't talked to Lawrence in four years just about, even if he has thought about him multiple times a day, every single day, since they last spoke.

"Well--Amanda wanted me to tell you his new phone number is in the phone book," she says. "If you wanna give him a call, maybe give him a few minutes of your time to ease both your mind and his."

Adam shakes his head. "You headin' back around to your hotel? I gotta pay John a visit and then get these photos printed and developed. How much longer til you get to head back to your place?"

"The hotel stay is for the next two days, while they clear the infestation out of the units. I'm gonna grab some food and then go to the hotel, all this walking has made me hungry."

Adam snorts. "You need a ride? Your hotel is like, ten minutes east of Johns place."

She shakes her head, but hugs him anyway. "Thank you," she says. "But I'm gonna walk the way to the restaurant, build up more of an appetite and then get something good for supper."

He hugs her back, lets himself acknowledge just how much he's needed her friendship these past few years. She's kept him sane for a good bit, and without her, he's half sure he'd have killed himself by now.

They go their separate ways, Adam going to his car and heading to Johns while Gabriela went to grab food and then go home.

Johns place is also, coincidentally, Amandas place. He's living in her apartment and she's taking care of him in the last of his days. Adam suspects Johns not got long left, and he knows that this visit could very well be their last.

John is, surprisingly, well enough to be sat up in his wheelchair. He's got a black jumper on that looks to be a few sizes too big, and what of his hair remains has gone completely white. His eyes are pale, his skin the same color, and generally, John looks like what he is, someone fast-tracking it on the highway to hell.

"I thought it important to have you here to discuss this arrangement," John says. He invites Adam further into the room--he's leaned against the door, while John is sat by his desk and in front of the window, curtains open to a surprisingly sunny day while Jersey rides out the coattails of summer.

Adam steps in, walking until he can sit in the desk chair to Johns left. John tells him to do so, and he does.

"You and I have an arrangement that allows you to be given a certain amount of money for every job you do," he says. "If you weren't lying to me when you told me the time you'd handle doing said job today, you should've just arrived from having finished up there. I have arranged through the correct, most trusted of my channels to ensure that our arrangement can continue for half a decade, at minimum, after my passing, on one condition."

Adam has the decency to fight his grimace, even though he loses.

"Don't worry, Adam," he says. "It doesn't mean you'll be getting any more involved with things than you already are. It, actually, pertains to your trap-mate, Lawrence Gordon."

Adam shakes his head. "Whatever it is, I can always find something different to do other than what I've been doing."

"Adam, I'm not asking for much," John says in that diplomatic tone that used to make Adam punch-a-hole-in-the-wall type angry. It's eased into a scream-into-a-forest level anger, though not by too much as the years have passed them both by. "Just--call him. It's been four years since, almost. Amanda and I have tried time and time again, but he's convinced we're as deluded as he is. He thinks you're dead."

"Almost was," Adam says before he can stop himself. "I mean--could you not have sent Amanda in before I'd been stuck in the dark for a week?"

"We're all entitled to our mistakes from time to time," John shrugs. Adam has the brain to hate that remark--people who've dared make mistakes in his line of sight, even ones so minimal as smoking a cigarette while leaned against an alley wall, have died or been severely maimed for it, but John gives himself the courtesy to make a mistake like it's nothing. Typical. "Call him. I have no method of verifying that you'll have called by the end of my life, but if you lie to Amanda, she'll know and she'll tell me you lied to her."

Adam purses his lips. Of course Amanda would know he's not the greatest liar.

"I'll call," Adam resents how quick he is to give in, but he needs the money. That money has his rent paid off in full within the first two weeks of the month because of how frequently traps are coming and going, how many new victims John has within a week despite only having maybe a hundred survivors in total, less than 1/3rd of that group willing to tell their tales.

John smiles knowingly. "I know you will," he says. "Have you yet moved out of your apartment? The one with the cockroaches?"

Adam sighs. "Workin' on that," he says. "My buddys gonna let me sublet his place starting on the one year anniversary of the trap, he's moving down to LA so that he can try to legitimise his band or something like that--I'm assuming I won't be put back in chains for admitting I hadn't really listened when he offered to sublet his 1000 a month apartment for less than half the cost."

John shakes his head. "You have a good rest of your day, Adam," he says. "The payment for todays job will get to you by the end of this week."

Adam gets up, leaves the apartment and drives back home. One part of him wants to shower the odd feeling off of himself as he gets into his car, but he knows he can't do that without having a breakdown. It's been four fucking years of not being able to do it without losing his mind, why would it be any different that time around?

A few days later, the night before the four year anniversary of their trap, Adam calls. Lawrence picks up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," Adam greets tiredly. It's seven and he's prepping a bowl so that he can smoke, jerk off til the memories blur and it's Lawrence he's thinking about, then eat half of the oreos in the sleeve he'd picked up from the convenience and conk out at around 10:30 only to wake up, still high but reeling from a nightmare at around two in the morning. "Uh--this is Adam Stanheight. I found your number in the phone book."

"Adam," Lawrences voice sounds relieved. Incredibly so. "Hi. It's been a bit."

"Four years, thereabouts," he says. "Look--I was thinking, maybe we could grab dinner or something? I've gotta move into my new place tomorrow and get that stuff sorted, but if you want, there's a couple good spots around ten minutes out from it by foot."

"Yeah," Lawrence nods. "Tomorrow works--give me a place and I'll meet you there for eight?"

"I was thinking Lilahs--it's a great, sit-down style restaurant that has deals on most of their menu all the time. My mom knows the owner and I've eaten there a few times, it's really good food. I dunno if you drive, but I can pick you up if you need me to."

"I drive," Lawrence says. "Lilahs?"

"Lilahs Diner," Adam nods. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow, at eight?"

"You most certainly will."

Adam licks his lips, finishes prepping his bowl and scrounges around his jeans pocket until he finds the lighter as he waits for Lawrence to speak again.

"Adam, are you still there?"

"Don't tell me you've got more to say?" He wants Lawrence to have more to say, but the sarcasm is easier than not these days. "Go ahead, if you do. Spit it out."

Lawrence laughs, and Adam swallows thickly--it sounds like it comes out easy, like he's laughed so much and found so much joy in things since their trap that none of it is difficult for him anymore.

"It just--it's really good to hear your voice, is all. I've missed it, and I've missed you."

"Damn you, Lawrence," he laughs dryly. "It's seven o'clock on a Saturday night and I'm trying to prep a bowl, but you and your sentimental ass are gonna make me cry where I stand in this kitchen."

"Well, I can't help it," Lawrence answers simply. "I'm a sentimental ass from time to time. Are you helping John still? I hear whispers about it from Amanda on occasion."

Adam snorts. "Yeah, lets not talk about that on the phone. I'll have to smoke two bowls if we do, and even though I'm going to have to smoke two anyway, I'd really rather space them out by at least six hours so that I have time for the first high to wear off."

Lawrence laughs again. Adam has a terrifying moment, a terrifying thought, that he could drown in the sound of it and die happily in the process.

"All right," Lawrence says. "Tomorrow night. Lilahs Diner. Eight on the dot."

Adam nods. "Tomorrow night, Lilahs, eight," he says. "Goodbye, Lawrence."

He hangs up before Lawrence has the chance to respond, grabs his bowl and his lighter and heads out onto his fire escape.

He smokes, jerks off until the memories blur and all he can think about is how Lawrences hands would feel draped against his hips, holding them loosely, and falls asleep for half past midnight, after he's eaten the entire oreo sleeve and somehow managed to cook a frozen pizza successfully and subsequently, eaten it in it's entirety.

For the first time in four years, Adam wakes up after getting eight hours of sleep, which does mean eight hours of nightmares, but he decides he's fine with it as he brushes his teeth, narrowly avoiding getting his hands wet because the fear of water is at it's worst when he's fresh off of a night like that one.

He spends his morning getting what little of his life he didn't donate or take to the dump into his car, putting the total of four boxes and two heavy weight garbage bags worth of clothes into the backseat of his car and the trunk.

His mother gives him the couch his father had hated and Scotts left behind a tv, coffee table, rocking chair and all of his bedroom furniture because they weren't his taste, so all Adam has to do is change the sheets on the mattress to his own and wash and donate the other ones.

All in all, Adam is getting way more than he deserves out of that apartment even though he knows Scott probably thinks he'll sell most of it. He has no plans to sell most of it, though, and it's a hell of a lot more than he'd thought he'd be getting for a two bedroom priced at $350 a month.

He runs his only decent pair of black jeans and an appropriately casual button down through the wash once he figures out how the washer works, spends most of his day outside of that tidying up, unpacking the four boxes he'd brought along and making lists of things to grab in the coming weeks.

The list is mostly menial stuff--a few new pots and pans because the last set he'd owned had been older than he was, a few more mugs to compensate for just how lonely the Nespresso Scott had left behind looked sitting on the counter, some new bedding and a few books to fill up the bookshelves Scott had left either half empty or completely bare bones.

Come half-six, Adam goes through the motions of showering--it's a whole step-by-step process he's created over the years, a tried and true method that's been perfected as the time has gone on, though not always successful in the avoiding-a-breakdown part. He's out of the shower for around 7:20, spends the next twenty minutes taking a 1mg edible and waiting for it to kick in.

One milligram is so menial that it almost does nothing, except it does have it's pros--it takes just enough of the edge off for Adam to not loathe social interaction and for him to feel comfortable enough in his skin to not want to crawl out of it at the smallest inconvenience.

It takes the edge off in a way that makes him certain he'll be as close to normal as he was five years beforehand, a little standoffish and more than a little sarcastic, but well meaning and well mannered enough considering his traumas.

He leaves the house at 7:45 and is at Lilahs with five minutes still to spare.

Lilahs is exactly what it sounds like--a family owned, sit-down style restaurant. It caters to the lower-budget families and individuals in the broader Jersey area, and it's been Adams favorite spot to eat since it initially opened when he was sixteen.

It's got a rustic kind of feel to it--the hardwood flooring has been washed to a dark but-not-yet-black kind of brown colour, and the tables and seats match. There's local artwork hung up on the walls, a jukebox that feels so nineties it hurts and has exclusively 90s country and rock to match, and a bar at the back with a smiling bartender behind it.

Adam has a second where he remembers the last happy memory he has with his mother, her taking him to eat dinner there the night before he was kicked out by his father at seventeen.

The memory is quickly soured by the bitterness he'd felt the next day, grabbing everything he could fit into his backpack while his father screamed at him and his mother stood by his door, her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. His father was a shit person, but his mother wasn't the greatest either, even if it's tough to remember as much when there are more positive memories than not. He's low-contact with her now too, something he's only been able to find peace with since she told him of her divorcing her father and mellowing out of her bitterness at him in the past little while.

Everything changes when he spots Lawrence, though--he's sat in a booth near the back, and he looks so good that Adam bounce\s between gobsmacked and jealous like he's sitting on alternating ends of a see-saw depending on the second.

His hair, though less blonde, has grown out just enough to be attractive to a point where Adam, dimly, feels woozy. He's cleaned up good--no stubble lines his face, though Adam knows he'd still be able to pull it off some-fucking-how, and he's dressed as close to casual as a person like him can get.

He's wearing a white button down with the top few buttons unbuttoned just enough to let his neck breathe, and the sleeves have been rolled up relaxedly to his elbows. He hasn't seen Adam yet, and Adam takes in what appears to be a mostly peaceful expression.

Adam makes his way over and slides into the seat across from him, smiling gently. "Hi," he greets.

Lawrences face breaks out into a grin. Adam wishes he'd agreed to meet with Lawrence four years earlier.

"Hello," he greets. "Been a while."

Adam nods. "Too long," he doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out, and fuck it if it isn't how he feels. "I'm sorry--I wanted to reach out, and I've been wanting to reach out for the last four years, but it was just too much. I couldn't deal with it at first. I still have trouble dealing with it."

There's the edible--making him a bit honest, a bit more willing to open up. He knows Lawrence won't pry too much, but is scared that, if he does, Adam will soften up like butter and say everything on his mind. The good, the bad, and the ugly all the same.

Lawrence shakes his head. "You don't owe me an apology," he says. "But--Amanda told me how long you'd been left to rot for, and I'm sorry about that. Nobody should ever be left in the dark that long." It was a week, but it'd felt like a year.

"You didn't leave me in the dark," Adam responds. "John did that, and he pays me so I think he's exempt from feeling guilt-- he probably thinks he is, too."

It makes Lawrence laugh, and Adams heart flutters in a way he chooses to ignore.

"So how've you been?" Adam asks, finally getting to a question that's at least a little easier to answer, a topic that doesn't hurt nearly as much to talk about.

"I've been good," Lawrence responds. "Things have been finalized for a bit, and I see my daughter two weekends a month and on holidays. I've had time to sort my shit out, start in therapy, and I like where things are in my life. You?"

Adam blinks--the last four years of his life have been shit.

"I've--it's--damn it, Lawrence," he laughs. "You sound so put together compared to me. I hit thirty next month and still, my life is shit. I just moved into a new apartment and therapy hasn't even been on my radar because I don't have insurance."

"I've been doing EMDR," Lawrence says. "It's designed to help you recover from trauma, and--I hate to say it because I was skeptical at first, but it's been a really big help."

Adam nods. "I'll keep that option on my radar," he says.

It's at this point that a waitress comes around, passes them menus and brings their odd small talk to a halt.

There comes a point, while they're looking at the menus, wherein Adam starts up with something sarcastic about John. In the end, he's glad for it because making the remark is like breaking a dam and watching the floodgates open, because that's all it takes for them to be like they were in the bathroom--Adam being sarcastic and Lawrence responding in kin.

The rest of the dinner follows that same formula. Adam is quick to settle into an almost abrasive kind of sarcasm and Lawrence is quick to respond in a way that makes Adams heart damn near rise out of his chest.

They're done with dinner at half past nine, and Lawrence offers to drive Adam home but Adam declines, wants to walk himself home so that he can conk out without thinking too much about Lawrence or how the dinner had gone.

And that he does--he gets home for quarter to ten, is out by ten thirty thanks to the edible finally doing what it does best.

A few days go by, and suddenly, it's the end of the week. Lawrence is spending the night at Adams because Adam has convinced him to smoke a joint with him, and Adam is thrilled by the prospect of seeing Lawrence stoned out of his mind.

"These joints are indica dominant," Adam explains. "They'll make you tired--they're like a superpowered melatonin, almost, if melatonin got you so stoned that you genuinely stopped believing time was real. These bad boys help me with nightmares more often than sativa. I'm not usually one for joints, but I figure this is either your first time ever indulging in weed or your first time in more than a decade, so joints would be easiest."

Lawrence smiles in a way that Adam can tell indicates Lawrence didn't expect him to be so knowledgeable about his self medication of choice, and the notion almost makes him laugh.

"A joint also takes longer to smoke, and edibles are torturous if getting high right out the gate is your game," Adam continues. "Edibles take anywhere from fifteen minutes to half an hour before they've kicked in, and I hate the waiting game unless i'm walking somewhere or have something to do. It makes me antsy, and then when the high does hit it doesn't flow naturally. For me, taking an edible without having something to do between here and there is one of the most frustrating things I've ever dealt with because the high just--it smacks me across the face when I've got nothing to do, nowhere to go, and am just sitting in front of my TV waiting."

Lawrence says nothing. Adam continues rolling the joint and rambles all the while.

"Joints, though? I don't really find they hit while I'm smoking 'em, but the second I step off the fire escape and come inside, they hit me whip quick. Bowls tend to have the same effect, but unlike bowls, joints keep me asleep longer. I haven't gotten a full eight hours of sleep without a full eight hours of nightmares in four years, but with a joint, I can sometimes nab eight hours and get two without nightmares when I get lucky."

They head out onto the fire escape, and Adam takes the first puff for the sake of mercy. When Lawrence takes the second, he coughs. Adam laughs, rubs his back and moves to sit with his back leaned against the rickety railing, across from Lawrence, who sits with his back leaned against the window that leads to the fire escape.

"Coughing happens," he says. "And the burn in your throat sucks, but I'll get you some water once we've smoked our way through the joint, and it'll help."

They smoke the joint in it's entirety, which ends with Adam laughing when he burns his fingers taking the last puff. However, Lawrence makes no move to go inside, just stares at the bleary mid-Septembers night sky with his mouth slightly open and his shoulders slumped.

"What's on your mind?" Adam asks.

"When John goes, do you think you're going to keep up with it?"

"I'll keep taking the photos until I either get caught or the money runs out," Adam says. "I've barely started to get my life together and I'm almost thirty, Larry. Unethical as this all might be, I've gotta pay rent for the next few years, and while I've been looking at getting my GED and going to college, college will put me so far in debt that I'm somewhat scared I won't be able to climb out of it."

"But don't you hate it?" Lawrence asks, meeting Adams gaze. His eyes meet Adams with a ferocity, the likes of which Adam has never seen in his life, but craves more of like it's one of the cigarettes he used to hold so dear. "I don't understand how you don't hate any of this."

Adam laughs before he can stop himself, crab-walks closer to Lawrence and rests his feet against Lawrences calves.

"I do," he says. "I hate John, I hate what he does and everything he's stood for since his diagnosis and quite possibly even beforehand, but--it's a job. I hated the stalking, but I still did it because I needed the money. This, for me, is no different. One payment every week-ish, I make rent in half the time it would've taken me to make it this time five years ago, and I still have money for groceries and other expenses. I hate it, but this is the first time I've lived in true comfort since I was a kid with a father that hadn't started hating me yet. I take it where I can get it, Lawrence."

"A person starved will eat anything," Lawrence says. "You've finally gotten a taste of luxury--"

"It's not luxurious by any means," Adam laughs. "Sorry to cut you off, but I've never lived like that. I went from a home with termites and a father owned by his bitterness to a variety of cockroach infested couches, then to an apartment so full of the fuckers you could hear them running through the goddamned walls. This place is the first decent place I've lived in throughout the course of my entire life, and yeah, the buddy whose subletting it to me left a lot of his shit behind, but he's an asshole without much care for me unless I can be of use to him, so it seems a fair trade to me."

Scott was his best friend for a time, had been such since elementary through to when he dropped out of high school and up until the trap. After Adam had escaped, he'd become so riddled by his trauma that it took him over, practically, for those first two years.

Scott had decided he'd not much wanted to deal with all of Adams baggage and had gone pretty low contact up until he'd decided to move, figuring Adam could use his old place after being stuck in the same apartment he'd been taken from.

It'd been one of the only things Scott had been completely and totally right about on a very short list of other victories, and Adam had been grateful for it from the get-go despite knowing his and Scotts conversations wouldn't likely be about more than the rent or random issues with the apartment he couldn't fix on his own, seeing as Scott was pretty much his landlord.

"Well--it's a nice place," Lawrence says.

"Yeah," Adam shrugs. "Back to the topic at hand, why ask? Are you not going to keep up with it? Keep doing it? I thought you'd believed in Johns mission."

Lawrence laughs. "It's complicated," he says. "I mean--the idea of it is understandable, I guess. The morals are questionable at best and despicable at worst, but I just don't know how ethical the execution is."

Adam moves further up, resting his feet against Lawrences thighs while making sure to not put his full weight on Lawrences right leg for the fear of irritating the stump one way or another.

"We get stoned and wind up talkin' about John Kramers ethics, hm? That's quite the interesting turn of events."

Lawrence shrugs. "I'm not going to have this conversation with anyone except for someone I can trust completely," his hands rest limply by Adams calves. Adam can tell by the flash of desire through Lawrences eyes that he wants to tug Adam closer.

Adam gets as close as he thinks Lawrence will be comfortable with--he sits in his lap, bends his knees and plants his feet by Lawrences hips. Lawrence seems entirely too happy to use Adams kneecaps as elbow rests, and he does.

"First off, you sayin' you trust me completely like that is--woah," Adam laughs before he can stop himself. As he laughs, he lets his arms find their resting places on Lawrences broad shoulders. "And secondly, I don't think the execution is ethical whatsoever. Matter of fact, if we're talkin' about how ethical this stuff is, it's the opposite. It's not ethical. I heard Amanda talking about putting a diabetic and a smoker in a trap last weekend. I wouldn't do that to a person just because they smoke cigarettes, but that's just me. To each their own, I guess."

Lawrence smiles. "I've been thinking about this for so long," he says. "Not--not this specifically, but just--oh my God. I've missed you a lot this past little bit."

Adam has to fight every single urge he has to kiss Lawrence. "I've wanted to reach out since I was rescued," he says. "Just couldn't. I couldn't pinpoint why for the longest time, but I realized the night I reached out, over the phone."

Lawrence nods. "I remember," he says. "When we agreed to meet for dinner."

Adam licks his lips, lets his gaze move to Lawrences.

"I realized that that day--hell, the time from the moment I woke up in that bathtub to the moment I was released from the hospital--felt like an open wound. That time of my life has felt like an open wound every single day since I left the hospital, every single day since John asked me to join his cause, and I couldn't bear messing with it. I just wanted to leave it to fester or to heal, deal with the implications until it did on it's own, but that's just not how things like this are meant to be handled," Adam says. "I'm gonna get myself into DSME--"

"EMDR," Lawrence corrects. "Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing."

"I'm gonna look into that," Adam says. "And--I'm gonna keep doing this. Keep talking to you, keep buggin' you whenever I can because it's the only way. I can't do this recovery shit alone, and it's been four years of trying and then failing and then trying again, and I'm sick of it."

Lawrence smiles softly. Adam gives into the urge to press his forehead against Lawrences, lets his hands go to Lawrences neck.

"All that I ask is this," Adam whispers. "Promise me you won't go anywhere?"

Lawrence licks his lips. Adam can feel Lawrences breathing against his mouth, is so close that he can almost taste what it'd feel like to have Lawrences lips against his own.

"I promise," he says. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm not going to abandon you like that. Never again, and never by choice."

Adam doesn't know if it's the weed, or the exhaustion, or his own, unadulterated, unfiltered stupidity, but he leans in.

"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispers, praying to God that he's not.

"You're reading this just fine," Lawrence says.

Then his lips are against Adams, and Adam is so awestruck by it that he almost feels like he's flying. It's the best kiss he's ever had in his life, a statement he can make knowing damn good and well that it's not the weed talking but rather the way that Lawrences lips feel against his own, the sureness of his hands as they find Adams hips and the way he reacts when Adams hands instinctively trail right up Lawrences neck and into his gorgeous hair.

They don't pull away until they're breathless, and Adam wants more but knows better than to be greedy.

Lawrence chortles. "How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Since I walked into the dinner, lightly stoned, and saw you in that white button up," Adam laughs, presses his forehead against Lawrences shoulder. "Oh, my God. You looked so good in that, y'know? Almost lost it. You looked so good it made me woozy."

"That might've been the weed," Lawrence says. "How much did you take?"

"Only one milligram," Adam responds. "Enough to soften me up a little, like when you set butter out on the counter for an hour or two when you're planning to bake and need the butter not to be as hard as a rock."

Lawrence laughs. Adam presses himself as close as he can get, cherishes the feeling of being that close after so long spent being literal miles apart in physicality but feeling an ocean apart in every other aspect.

Time passes. They sit outside, practically moulded together, and in silence. Adam catches himself zoning out just before he starts to doze, wonders briefly if they kept themselves that way until they starved to death, if he'd die happy to have been in Lawrences arms. As he thinks further on it, he realizes he would've died happily in the bathroom that day, if in a little bit of pain, if Lawrence had stayed and died with him.

"I think I'm in love with you," Lawrence whispers. "You're not the only one at fault for us not seeing each other sooner, and I think I was scared to admit it, but I know now that that's the reason why."

Adam smiles. "I love you too," he whispers back. "C'mon--inside. I'm tired, but I am not going to fall asleep with you on my fire escape."

He gets himself out of Lawrences lap and heads back in, Lawrence hot on his heels.

Adam strips, changes into a baggy pair of sweatpants and leaves himself without a shirt. Lawrence changes into a pair of basketball shorts and leaves the button-up he's wearing unbuttoned, and after Adam gawks at the view for a good few minutes, they cuddle up in bed together.

In the end, Adam sleeps for a solid fourteen hours, and for the first time in ages, he doesn't have any nightmares. Part of him thinks it's the high and another part of him thinks it's because of Lawrence, but he chooses, at the end of the day, to believe that it's both.

#adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #adam stanheight x lawrence gordon #lawrence gordon x adam stanheight #saw 2004

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