#especially since its christmas eve it was not a good combination

[talkfastcal]

,

[stageyrebecca]

Review: RENT at New Theatre Peterborough ★★★★

Written by guest reviewer Liam. Gifted in exchange for honest review.

Landmark Theatres’ new production of RENT, directed by Paul Jepson, has started its short tour at Peterborough New Theatre. RENT is a rock opera, adapted loosely from Puccini's La Boheme by Jonathan Larson and Billy Aronson, begins at Christmas Eve 1991 and shows us snapshots of a year in the lives of a group of friends in Manhattan's Alphabet City in the early 1990s.

The ensemble piece is led by Jack Reitman (Mark Cohen), Luke Friend (Roger), Evita Khrime (Mimi), Cameron Bernard Jones (Tom Collins), Kyle Richardson (Angel), Alicia Corrales (Maureen), Athena Collins (Joanne) and Myles Hart (Benny), who make up the eclectic mix of friends from filmmakers to drag queens and lawyers. With its anthemic score, RENT shows us the AIDS epidemic and social conflicts go on to impact the lives of this group through New Year and up to Christmas of the next year. The cast is rounded out by a star ensemble consisting of Kelliana Jay, Alex Okoampa, Edward Bullingham, Alexandra Brighouse, Max Mirza, Dylan Andrews and Olivia-Faith Kamau.

The work of the creative team, with direction by Paul Jepson, movement and choreography by Lucie Pankhurst, musical direction by Mark Crossland, set & costume design by award-winning Amanda Stooley, lighting by Andy Purves and sound by Alistair Penman, all combined very effectively into what felt like a fresh and exciting production of the widely loved show.

The standout on the production side was Susan Luciani’s film direction, which at various points throughout was used to accentuate already highly emotional points in the show. In particular, this hit me hard during the reprise of I’ll Cover You, which reduced me to tears, and was led by both Richardson as Angel, and Bernard Jones as Collins.

Speaking more of performances, in what is a very strong cast, additional standouts were Athena Collins (Joanne), Alicia Corrales (Maureen), and Jack Reitman (Mark).

Collins brought a remarkable amount of frustration and caring and humour to her role as Joanne; her voice was so beautiful and rich, which I was impressed by given the rigour of a role like Joanne. A particular highlight of the show was Collins’ work with Alicia Corrales as Maureen in Take Me or Leave Me, which showcased both performers emotionally and vocally. Collins’ chemistry continued to shine throughout the show as her work alongside Reitman in Tango Maureen. Both actors were terrifically funny, and did a great job of conveying the exasperation and irritation they each felt with their relationships with Maureen.

I was a huge fan of Corrales’ performance of Maureen’s Over the Moon, which featured a terrific piece of costuming from Amanda Stooley, combined fantastically with some really precise and comedic movement that had me in stitches laughing.

There were terrific performances across the board from the ensemble, particularly Dylan Andrews’ heartwrenching singing in Will I, where he expresses the fears of his character, a man living with HIV, of the disease robbing him of his dignity before he passes away. Some other particularly good moments for me from the ensemble included Max Mirza’s repeated, deeply “Noo Yawk” accented renditions of “Christmas bells are ringing” across the show and Alexandra Brighouse’s many moments popping up in voicemails.

Though I have highlighted individual moments, the level of quality from every single performance was so high. The moment that best showcased the strength of the ensemble in this show was, probably unsurprisingly, Rent's show-stopping number, Seasons of Love. This beautiful song really drives home the importance of centring the people you love in your life during your time with them, especially as sung by this absolutely stellar cast.

Previously, I’ve overlooked RENT, but I’m thrilled to say that since walking out of the auditorium, I now definitely consider myself a “Rent-Head”! It finally struck me watching it this time that RENT is a truly vital piece of theatre, and that even though certain aspects of its plot may have aged out of relevance (thanks to miraculous advances in the treatments available for people living with HIV and/or AIDS) the underlying message of valuing those close to you and making sure they know how loved they are is as timeless as any message I’ve ever experienced with a show.

Landmark Theatres’ RENT is a wonderful production of the modern classic musical, and given how fresh of a take it feels on the material, and to allow more people to see this astounding collection of performances, I would love to see this production get some further life following its short tour.

You can catch RENT here at New Theatre Peterborough until Saturday 29 June and at the Queen’s Theatre in Barnstaple, from 3 to 7 July 2024. It will be thrilling to see what show Landmark might consider tackling next.

Photo credit to Louise Waldron.

[augustghosts]

1988 - Eddie Munson

A few more looks into my stupid lil take on Eddie surviving and escaping Hawkins. The sequel to 1987.

Word count: 8k (lol)

Warnings: Minors DNI. 18+, gets a lil spicy multiple times. There isn’t any full detailed smut in this one, but lots of allusions to sex, basically in every month hehe. Slight mention of knife play and Eddie’s famous handcuffs. Gets pretty angsty as well. Eddie crying multiple times is defo its own warning. Smoking and alcohol are mentioned throughout. Talk of alcoholism and addiction. Weed is used, but only in one month. Talk of nightmares. Talk of therapy and ptsd. Jealousy. But also some disgustingly sweet fluffy stuff too! Just a bit of everything really. only lightly proofread so if there’s any mistakes just pretend they aren’t there…

January, 1988. Rain pounding the pavement. Earth saturated. Eddie, running from his car to their apartment block entrance. The ground is slippery, winter - old ice and new rain. Terrible combination. Especially for a clumsy man wearing boots. He’s fumbling in his pockets, where the fuck were his keys? Shit. Did he leave them in the car? He looks up, their front facing apartment visible. Kat is perched at the double doors which lead to the balcony. Peering through the glass, almost mocking him. He sighs, making his way back to his car. 

20 minutes later he’s sitting in the car, but this time outside of her work. A quiet bookstore, her shift doesn’t finish for another half an hour. They had just got back last week. New Year's eve. December 1987 had been spent apart. Christmas, back in Hawkins. Him and Wayne tucked away in Wayne’s new house. One bedroom - small, but good enough for Wayne. Her with her family on the other side of town, just like back in Highschool. They had met up once during this month long ‘break’ in their relationship and fucked in a motel room. 

��I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”  “Fuck, you feel so good, Ed’s. I love you.” 

Apologies, whispered praises and promises. The cruel game of love that they had been playing since they were teenagers. Sneaking back to their families after ‘running errands’. Just like old times. He had felt mad without her. Although, sometimes, Eddie thought that he was never sane to begin with. They had been doing well since they got back. Happy to be out of Hawkins again, back home. Together. Belonging. 

When he walks in, she’s at the counter, hunched over a book. The store is empty, dimly lit. She jumps as the bell above the door rings. Slamming the book shut, ready to greet a customer. Her tight customer service smile fading and being replaced by a genuine grin when she sees her boyfriend sheepishly standing in the doorway. Water dripping from his hair and clothes. 

“Did you walk here?” She jokes. Walking to the other side of the counter to greet him. He takes a few steps towards her, stopping when he notices the droplets from his boots are leaving footprints on the carpet. 

“No, i uh - i think i lost my keys.” He chuckles, his teeth slightly chattering. January weather. He looks around. “Are you here alone? Is that safe?” 

She frowns, watching him shiver, rain dripping from his bangs. She walks around him, locking the doors. How many customers are going to come in half an hour before closing during a storm? 

“Come here,” She says. Reaching for his shoulders, slipping his wet coat off. Throwing it to the floor. The store is warm, and so is she. Always warm. She hugs him tightly, pulling back to wipe the wet hair out of his face before pulling him down for a kiss. Cold lips meet warm. He groans against her mouth. Trying to pull her closer. 

“I’m gonna close up now. Then we can get you home, get you in the shower.” 

He scoops his jacket up from the floor as she walks away. A smirk -  “Are you going to come in with me?” 

February. Cookies. A new hobby for her, baking. Truly domestic bliss. For her at least. Eddie would complain the whole time, it takes too long, it looks boring, I miss you, come cuddle. She had heard them all. He would complain, up until he got to taste whatever she had made. Today was no different, he was waiting. Leaning on the counter, elbows on the marble and his head resting in his hands. Brown eyes watching. You can’t eat them when they’re hot, Ed’s. She had told him. 

“Do I need to wait for these to cool down?” He mumbled, eyes fixed on the treats. Kat was beside him on the counter, almost mimicking his expression. 

“Yes, honey.” She laughed, moving to untie the apron she had on. She was dressed in the apron one of Eddie’s shirts and her panties. Fuck, she looked good. He leaned further over the counter to look her up and down. 

“Wait,” He said. Her hands paused on the strings. “That is very cute.” 

She giggled as he approached her. His strong arms wrapped around her waist. “You like it?” She asked. 

“Mhm.” He hummed, hungrily taking in her form one more time. One of his hands slid around her back, pulling the strings. Apron now on the floor. His hands under her ass, hoisting her up into his arms. 

“Ed’s!” She squealed as he lifted her up onto the counter. His large hands squeezed her thighs. She was the luckiest woman alive. As much as Eddie wanted to deny it. Lips joined as he leaned against the counter between her legs, his arms on either side of her, caging her in. His weight on top of her is familiar and welcome. As they kissed, she felt Eddie grabbing something on the counter behind her. When she pulled away to look he was holding a small knife she had used earlier to open the packet of sugar she had been struggling with. 

“Do you remember how much fun we used to have with these?” He smirked, his mouth inches away from hers. She grinned back at him. Memories flashing through her mind, Eddie’s trailer in high school. His handcuffs and the switchblade he used to carry with him. Nothing dangerous, always fun.

“Yeah,” She mumbled against his jawline, a groan rumbling in his chest as she pressed her lips to his ear. “It’s a shame you didn’t keep those handcuffs, baby.” 

“I can always get us some more.” He whispered, his voice low. Bringing the knife up higher towards her cheek. Pressing the cold metal against her warm skin, not hard enough to leave any marks. Trailing it down to her throat. Eyes dilating. 

“From where?” She laughed, watching his face as he dragged the blunt edge of the knife over her skin. 

“I don’t know. Sex shops are like, in right now. We didn’t have one in Hawkins, we can get you some fluffy ones.” He teases. Dropping the knife to kiss her again. 

“We can get fluffy ones,” She agreed. Arms wrapping around his neck, legs around his hips. “Only if you let me tie you up with them.” 

March. Still cold, not quite wedding season yet. Yet here they were. Almost 1am, in a crowded hall, surrounded by mostly strangers. One of her colleagues is getting married in March. Stupid, she had thought. Sitting at a round table, glasses and confetti littering the cloth. Eddie, leaning back in his chair with a sigh, hand absentmindedly stroking her knee. Wearing all black, jeans and a button up. “You know we’re going to a wedding, not a funeral. Right?”  She had joked before they left. He looked beautiful. As usual. 

 He reaches for the pack of cigarettes, leaning into her ear. “Lets go outside.” 

She nods, downs her drink and follows him outdoors. A deep sigh, the fresh night air a welcome change. Eddie passes her a cigarette, he leans down to light it for her when she places it between her lips. A stir inside of him as she looks up at him. She looks amazing. He can’t help but wish it was their wedding instead. He pushes the thought aside, lighting his own cigarette and leaning back against the brick wall. Cold. She leans into him, head on his shoulders. 

“When we get married, I don't want a wedding like this.” Her voice surprises him. 

“When?” He smiles. Sometimes he thought that she could read his mind. 

“Yeah.” She says, still leaning on his shoulder. “When. We’ll invite Wayne. Dustin maybe. Head down to a courthouse or something and do it there. I don’t need all this, unless you want that?” 

“Fuck no,” He laughs. “We could go to vegas.” 

“Wayne would hate that. 

“Yeah he would.” Eddie confirms. They both laugh. A rare conversation between them. Eddie usually isn’t the type, it scares him. Maybe it’s the alcohol, he thinks. He’s wanted to marry her since the day they met. When he found her in the Hawkins High parking lot in the rain yelling at her car for breaking down. When she had hopped into his van and stolen his cigarettes and waved at him from her front door after he’d taken her home. 

“I haven’t asked you, though. Like, properly.” He mumbles. Finishing his cigarette and stomping it into the dirt. 

“You don’t really need to.” She says. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

“No?” He smiles. Thank fuck for that, he’s never been able to imagine himself doing the down on one knee and big wedding thing. He’s always on his knees for herself anyway. He just wants her as his wife. He wants her forever. 

“I want a ring though.” She smirks, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He hums in agreement, his hand moving up her arm to softly grasp her throat, pulling her into a kiss. He kisses her deeply, full of love. Her fingers grasp his hair, tugging lightly. Almost as if trying to pull him closer, they were already impossibly close. His knee sliding between her thighs. His hand is still around her neck protectively, squeezing a little harder now. 

Her hands drift down from his neck, stroking his chest on their way to the front of his jeans. Her fingers grasp the cold belt buckle, undoing it hastily before going for the zipper. 

“Are you sure?” He mumbles into the side of her neck. The skin on her neck is hot from his mouth, but her hands feel cold as they brush his stomach. He wishes he had brought his jacket out to drape around her shoulders like in some romantic movie. 

“Yeah. No ones gonna come out here looking for us, we hardly know any of em’” She giggles breathless as her hand dips into the front of his jeans, stroking him over the fabric of his boxers. 

“Fuck, okay.” He groans as she finally wraps her hand around his semi hard cock.

“Your hands fucking cold though.” He laughs as she begins to work him just the way he likes. He latches back onto her neck to quiet himself, just in case. 

“You’ll have to warm them up then, baby.” 

April. It’s late, the apartment is dark. He’s stressed, She’s stressed, Kat is also stressed - watching his parents fight. Eddie knows what would cure him instantly. He longs for it. The exact cause of the rift happening right now. 

“Will you stop that?” She snaps at him. He’s pacing, jittery and frantic. He’s tired, she’s angry. She’s so fucking angry at him and he hates it. 

“Eddie!” She calls his name again. Stern. He swings around, the tears running down her cheeks makes his chest hurt. Or was it something else doing that? He wasn’t sure anymore. 

“We need to talk about this. I can’t do it again.” She sighs.

“It-it’s not that bad.” He stutters, he feels sick. He sits down and puts his head in his hands. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.” She has her arms crossed. Staring at him, he doesn’t respond. She makes her way over to him, he’s on the couch, she sits on the coffee table in front of him. “Eddie, please.” 

He needs a cigarette. They’re arguing about him, about his drinking and about those fuckin pain killers again. They help, he’d said. The drinking helps him sleep. Stops the nightmares. The pills help his head, it always hurts when he doesn’t sleep enough. He looks exhausted, she thinks.

“I’m trying to help.” She whispers.

“I know,” He practically sobs.. The dam finally breaks, the tears brimming  his lashes start  falling freely. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

He leans into her lap, his forehead resting on her knees as he cries. Repeating apologies. She rubs his back, runs her fingers through his hair - anything to calm him down. He’s shaking, but he mumbles something. 

“Huh?” She cups his face, wiping his tears when he lifts up his head. 

“I’m scared.” He whispers. “The nightmares, they scare me so fucking much. I’m scared that they won’t ever end.” He paused, sniffling. He feels pathetic. She waits for him to continue- “I just - I’m so tired. I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” She takes his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I love you too. So fucking much, Ed’s. There’s steps we can take, help you can get. People you can talk to-“ 

“I'll talk to you.” He cuts her off. “I do talk to you.”

The thought of telling anyone else about his problems makes his headache worse. What was he supposed to tell them anyway? 

“I know but I mean someone else, professionals.” She smiles. Ugh, he sighs. She continues: “I need you in top shape for when we get married.” 

This makes him smile. He rests his head back on her lap, he’s desperate to sleep. She hugs him close. 

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to get tired and realise you deserve better.” He says. Still in her lap. He could never say this while  looking into her beautiful eyes. “The nightmares scare the hell outta me but you leaving, that scares me more.” 

She doesn��t respond for a few seconds. She’s delighted that he’s opening up, telling her the truth. Eddie had always been so reserved when it came to anything other than happiness. He never wanted to burden people with his problems. From a young age he had decided that if he was always the happiest person in the room, people would like him more. People would want him there.

“I’m not going anywhere,” She says softly. “This is okay. Rough patches like this, it’s all okay. We can get through it. You can get through it.” He wraps his arms around her waist, head on her chest. Heartbeat. “It’s gonna be okay, Ed’s.” 

“I know.” He whispers. “We’ll be okay.” 

May. Eddie’s birthday. He had been working so hard recently. Familiar for him, around this time of year. He never liked to celebrate. He needed this, she knew. As much as he didn’t want to admit it. He had been doing well mentaly, as well.  He’d been sleeping well mostly, and when he didn’t, he would actually talk to her about it. She wanted to show him she was proud. She told him all the time, but Eddie was no good at accepting genuine praise. Not outside of the bedroom, anyways.  She wasn’t much of a cook, but his favourite meal was take out anyway. So, a win for her. Kat had been following her around the apartment. Like he could feel the energy coming off of her. Sniffing around the gifts in the living room. 

When the sound of his keys jingling on the other side of the front door drifts through the apartment. Both she and Kat jump to attention. He opens the door slowly, almost as if he’s awaiting something. He knows her too well to think that she doesn’t have something waiting for him on the other side of the door. But boy, did he have a surprise for her instead. 

When he finally enters, she's waiting. She opens her mouth ready to say something, probably a Happy birthday baby! Or a Surprise! But when she sees what he’s holding in his arms she stops, Kat freezes beside her as well. She covers her mouth with her hands, a whispered what the fuck? As she approaches him. 

The small cat in his arms watches her before it looks back up at him. It’s claws digging into his leather jacket as it tries to bury itself further into his arms.

 “I uh, i found him.” He smiles, sheepishly. “Well, actually he’s been hanging around the shop for a few days. He’s so skinny, look. I’ve been feeding him and it's raining tonight so..”  He trails off, watching her smile as she reaches for the animal. It shys away, moving closer to Eddie. Kat is at his feet, trying to join in and see what everyone’s looking at. 

“He’s shy.” Eddie says quietly. “But I think he’ll like it here.” 

“I think so too.” She beams, taking the cat from his arms. It stiffens for a moment, nervous as it looks back at Eddie with pleading eyes. “Did you name it?” 

“No,” He says, watching as it relaxes in her arms as she scratches its head. Something he knows all too well. “You know how bad we are with names. He’ll probably end up being Kat number two or something.” He jokes. They both laugh, quietly so as to not disturb the nervous cat. 

“I know,” She agrees. “What are we gonna do when we need to name children?”

Her words cause a stir inside of him. He’s grinning as he leans down to greet his first child. She walks into the lounge still cradling their new one. “These are for you!” She gestures to his gifts. Putting the cat down on the couch and approaching him. Before he can protest with a You didn’t have too, she takes his arm, hugging it tightly, leading him into the living room. The cats surround them as he opens them. A new guitar, only an acoustic one. She knew nothing about all the electric ones, too complicated. Plus, his acoustic guitar had gotten broken when they had moved in over a year ago, when he kept dropping all the boxes. He still hadn't bought a new one. A new vinyl player. The one he had now was the same one they had danced too in high school in his trailer bedroom. And a few of his favourite albums. 

“Baby, i-” He starts. He doesn’t know how to finish. So he practically crawls over to the couch instead. He climbs on top of her on the couch and kisses her with as much love as he can. 

“You’re welcome.” She smiles against his lips. He tells her he loves her, whispered into his mouth. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He says, fingers squeezing her waist - finding her thigh to hook her leg over his hips. “At work on my fucking birthday when all i wanted was to be here with you.” 

“And them.” She points to the cats who are inquisitively sniffing around each other. The new addition already a part of the family. 

“And them.” He confirms with a smile. 

“Anyway,” He continued, grasping her jaw to look her in the eyes. “Are you gonna make me wait any longer?”

She would never deny him. Never could. Especially not on his birthday. She slides out from underneath him with one last kiss. Taking his hand and leading him to their bedroom, his other gift lay in wait on the bed. He laughed loudly as he laid his eyes upon the pair of pink fluffy handcuffs lying on the sheets. 

“Oh, fuck yes!” He exclaimed. Giggling with her as he grasped her thighs, hoisting her up into his arms to lay her down on the bed. Best birthday ever, he thinks. 

June. Eddie, awake early. As usual. In High School, he used to sleep late and wake up late. The opposite now. Funny how things change. 6:30, the clock says. He’s sitting on the balcony. Kat on his lap. The new cat, they’d been calling Two for a month now, was asleep with her in bed. Always cuddled up under her chin. Eddie was convinced that they had to give him a silly name like that, exactly like they had done with Kat. Because what kind of parents were they if they only bothered coming up with a cool name for their second one? ‘Babe, we literally named our first cat, cat! We can’t give number two a cool name. How will Kat feel?” 

His notebook in front of him, his guitar next to him which he’d put down when Kat joined him. Taking the place of his guitar on his lap. He didn’t mind. He sipped his coffee, smoke from his cigarette floating into the bedroom. He secretly hoped it would wake her up, he missed her every second they were apart. Even when they slept. He just didn’t have the heart to wake her. She had work soon anyway, so did he. Maybe he would have too. He sat out there watching and listening to the city for another half an hour, lighting more cigarettes and drinking his cold coffee. 

“Good morning, love of my entire life! Did you sleep well?” Her cheery voice sounded behind him, just as he was thinking of waking her up. He laughed, turning to face her as he leant down to kiss his cheek. 

“What?” She laughed with him. 

“That’s always exciting to hear.” He said. Passing her the cigarette box, watching her lips as she lit one. 

“Why?”

“Because it means you want something.” 

“I can’t tell you that you’re the love of my life without wanting something? I’m hurt.” She asked, sitting in her usual chair opposite him. The city was beginning to awake. More cars, louder. He tutted, shaking his head. Shooing Kat off of his lap and sitting back, patting his thighs. She took the hint, shooting up immediately and perching on his lap. He held her tightly, her arms around his neck. 

“I need a ride to work.” She mumbled into his hair.  He laughed, whispering  I knew it into the skin of her neck. His head resting on her shoulder.

“You are the love of my life, though.” She took his face into her hand, tilting his face up to kiss him. 

“I know.” He said between pecks, “Because you’re mine too.” 

He loved this balcony, and he loved kissing her. Her on his lap, out here the sun rising and the sounds of the city. Her lips on his, her hands in his hair, cupping his face. A life like this was something he thought he would never live. Something he thought he didn’t deserve. 

“You look beautiful.” He whispered into her mouth, his hand kneading her thighs. She pulled away smiling. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, baby.” She said, beginning to stand up. 

“Yeah?” He asked, playfully trying to pull her back down onto his lap. 

“Yeah, everywhere being a shower with me,” She took his hand, tugging him to stand up. “I need to get ready for work, but i want you first” 

“I like everywhere.” He laughed, following her back into the flat. The cats sat side by side on the bed, watching their parents make their way into the bathroom together, instead of making their way into the kitchen to fill up their food bowls. 

July. Almost 2am. Late for them, but they both have a day off tomorrow, so no harm done. It’s a clear starry night. She’s fascinated. They’re both laying out on the balcony - side by side. Their chairs pushed aside, a blanket laid out on the concrete surface underneath them. The blanket is thin - all the thick ones apparently ‘too expensive’ to be put out on the balcony floor. 

“I feel dizzy.” She says, quietly. 

“Gimme’ that then.” Eddie says, his voice slow. Holding out his hand to take the joint from her. 

“I haven’t smoked since before we moved.” She mumbles, still transfixed by the stars above them. Eddie has to admit, they do look nice tonight. Maybe it's just the weed though or maybe it’s that fact that she thinks they’re so amazing that he automatically does as well, he isn’t sure.

“Me neither.” He says, exhaling the smoke towards the sky. 

“I don’t think I like it anymore.” She whispers, turning to look at him. He looks beautiful. She can hardly see him, just the lit end of the joint between his fingertips, the moonlight. The flat is dark behind them, her insisting that the light would interfere with the view of the moon. But still, she knows he looks gorgeous. 

“Me neither, to be honest.” Eddie says, putting it out in the ashtray beside him. He sits up to take a sip of the water bottle beside him, offering it to her. She says she thinks she’ll throw up if she sits up. He laughs, laying back down. 

“We used to make a lot of money from it though, when you used to sell it.” 

“It wasn’t a lot.” Eddie snorts, “Barely enough for gas for that fuckin’ van.” 

“It was a lot for us!” She says, maybe a little too loud. “We could afford pizza almost every night.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” He laughs, reaching for her hand. Holding it tightly. Looking at the rings on her fingers. His eyes fix on the empty space on her left hand. 

“I miss the van.” She says, watching him play with her hand. 

“Me too.” He sighs, “I miss fucking you in the back of it.” 

“Eddie!” She giggles.

“What?” He laughs with her. “I do! You gave me my first blowjob in the back of that van. I’ll never forget it.” 

“Neither will i. Would you get another one?” 

“No,” He says quickly. “That ship has sailed, I think. It would remind me too much of, you know, the past.” 

She nods, staring at him while he stares up at the sky. She whispers: “Sometimes the past can be good.” 

“Not mine. You’re the only good thing about my past. I never wanted anything but this,” He gestures between them. “I don’t wanna go back to it. Not hawkins, not the weed, not the van. None of it. Only you.”  

She registers the tears in his eyes and the way his hand shakes and grasps hers tighter. “Okay.” She says. Simple, but he knows that she's saying she isn’t going to pry anymore. An understanding between them, he appreciates.  She shuffles closer to him, throwing her arm over his waist, nuzzling his neck. Just them and the moon and the stars. All he’d ever wanted. All he’d ever need. 

August. Loud voices and crowds. Two things she hated. The reason she missed so many of Eddie’s shows with his band back in school. Something she regretted now. She clung to Eddie’s hand as they left the cinema building. Beginning the walk home,  not far from their apartment. A warm August evening, Eddie looked gorgeous in the sunlight. His short sleeved band t-shirt, minus his usual leather jacket, his own personal style that he still clung to. 

“I thought that was great!” He smiled, swinging their hands back and forth. She had a different opinion. Horror movies, they’d always been Eddie’s favourite. He had sat her down on the couch and convinced her to watch hundreds during their relationship. How was there so many? Who was making these? 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah it was good.” She agreed - lied. The sun was beginning to set, the streets getting quieter now as they got closer to their building. He felt her squeezing his hand a little tighter. Turning to look over her shoulder every now and then. He smirked, taking his hand out of her grip and throwing his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close into his side. She grasped his hand again as it draped over her shoulder. 

“You scared?” He teased, lowering his voice as his mouth neared her ear. 

“No.” She mumbled. 

“You sure?” 

“I’m not scared. That movie was just… weird. I don’t know how you enjoy those so much.” 

“Don’t worry, baby.” He said, fishing his keys out his pocket as they approached their building. “I’ll protect you.” 

She nodded, looking around again as he unlocked the door. She hated the hallway outside their apartment. During the day it was annoying, a long walk after taking the stairs. But at night, it was terrifying. It wasn’t just long. But dark as well. Eddie paused at the top of the stairs, looking down the hallway. 

“What?” She asked. He didn’t answer, without warning he sprinted down into the darkness towards their apartment. 

“Eddie!” She hissed, running to catch up with him. Hearing his laughter at the end of the hallway. “Don’t do that!” 

He was still laughing as she  joined him at the front door. The cats surrounded their feet when he opened it, making sure she got in first. Even though he had just abandoned her in the terrifying hallway. 

“That’s so not funny.” She whined after he had safely locked the door. Pushing him away when he mumbled an aww and tried to hug her. 

“Fuck off.” She groaned as he wrapped his arms around her, much stronger than her. He attempts to push him away feeble. “Such an idiot.” She mumbled against his chest. 

“Aw, I'm sorry sweetheart. Did I leave you all alone in the big bad hallway?” He practically giggled into her ear. He brought his hand up to her jaw, tilting her face so he could join their lips. “I’m sorry.” He laughed against her mouth. 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Ed’s.” She said as he  moved to kiss her cheek. Suggestively - “You might need to show me how sorry you are.” 

“Oh?” He whispered, their foreheads touching. She nodded. “Oh, I can definitely do that, baby. Come here.” 

He bent down, one of his arms hooking under her knees as he lifted her up into his arms. He crossed the threshold of their bedroom, dropping her onto the bed. Lifting his shirt over his head before climbing on top of her, ready to show her just how sorry he was, a loud meow from the doorway  interrupted them. Both their heads turned to the doorway to see the cats standing next to their empty bowls, the cinema trip meant they had missed dinner time. 

Eddie sighed, getting up from the bed to his feet, “Wait there.” He said sternly, pointing at her lying on the bed. “I want those clothes gone when i get back.”

She laughed as she began to strip the offending garments off of her body. Lying back in wait for her boyfriend who was currently apologising to the cats, the sounds of their food being poured into the metal bowls ringing through the apartment. God, he was fantastic. 

September. A cold evening, a store. The bane of Eddie’s existence - shopping. He was pushing the cart. Full of, frankly, stuff they didn’t need. A weekly occurrence for them. Grocery shopping for ‘essentials’ only, and arriving home with more than they needed.

“You know, I don't think we’ve picked up a single thing on this list, baby,” Eddie sighs. The love of his life was currently making a beeline for the newly put out halloween decorations. Why do stores keep putting this shit out in September?

 “And halloween isn’t for another month!” He calls after her. 

“Yeah, but look!” She laughs, eyes drifting over to the pet Halloween costumes. Eddie couldn’t lie, he didn’t want to step foot in that aisle. He felt stupid, but honestly, the bats made him nervous. Although these ones were all cute and cuddly. He started to take some deep breaths, March 1986 was a long time ago. But he couldn’t stop his heart rate picking up at the sight of the light up bats on a string, the paper bats that hung from the ceiling almost taunting him. He started to back away slightly. She followed his eyes to the ceiling, the bats hanging above her.  She suddenly felt guilty.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly, putting the cat pumpkin costume down. 

“Yeah. Yeah - no, I'd uh, I'd just like to leave.” He mumbled. She nodded, offering to take the cart from him. He let go quickly, shuffling over to the next aisle and taking a few more deep breaths. 

“ I’m sorry, Ed's,” She said, standing a few steps away from him. “Do you wanna go home?” 

“ No! No, it’s okay!” He said softly, walking back over. “It’s okay. It's just, you know, down there.” He pointed to the offending aisle.

 “This list is still pretty long.” He forced a laugh and a smile. Taking the cart back from her. 

“You can wait in the car if you like? I don’t mind.” She offered.

“No, I'm fine! Honestly.” He assured her. His shaky hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked around at the empty aisle they were in, before leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck. Pulling him into a tight hug - full of love. He relaxed, resting his head on her, his own arms squeezing her tightly, 

“I’m proud of you, baby.” She whispered. He smiled against her hair. “I love you.” She cradled his face to look into his eyes. 

“I love you more.” He said, hands travelling up and down her back. 

“I don’t think so.” She jokes, pulling away to look back down at their shopping list. He pulls her back, grasping her waist so his chest is pressed against her back. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck, his lips ghosting over the mark he had already made earlier in the day, before whispering:  “I think I showed you just how much I love you this morning.” 

October. Eddie is locked out of his own bedroom. Sitting with his back against the wall next to the door. Kat beside him, Two on the other side of the door with her. Both cats are equally as confused as Eddie. Well, he shouldn’t be confused, he fucked up. Big time. 

“Honey, I’m sorry.” He knew you could hear him. He was met with silence. “Please. We need to talk about this.’ 

“I don’t want to talk to you. Not right now.” The first words he’d heard from her in almost twenty minutes. 

“Please. Give me five minutes. Let me explain.” More silence. 

“Explain what? Explain why you’re drunk? Explain why your new girlfriend was trying to make out with you in front of me?” 

“She wasn’t! She’s not and she wasn’t! That- that’s not what happened. I’m not drunk either, I promise.” He stuttered. Fuck, maybe he was. He put his head in his hands, his knees pulled to his chest. “Baby, please. I don’t even know who she is. I just met her.” 

“Okay? That doesn’t help. I know what I saw.” He could hear that she was crying. His heart was fucking broken. This was it, wasn’t it? The last straw. She was going to leave him. She was probably going to fuck off back to hawkins and leave him here in this big city all alone. All his fault, like always. 

“I know what it looks like you saw. I promise it wasn’t. I’m gonna explain. ” He whispered, his head resting against the door now. She didn’t respond, he started talking anyway.

Eddie had been out with friends from work, a rare occurrence for  him. He’d become a home body since they had left Hawkins, something he was completely fine with. He was in some dirty bar with his dirty new friends who he honestly didn ‘t like that much. All he wanted was to be home with his girl. One of his new friends had brought his girlfriend who had brought a friend. A friend who had been giving him the eye all night. Eddie had pretended not to notice. He wasn’t very good at turning people down, but turn her down he definitely would. He had the most beautiful girl in the world at home waiting for him. The most gorgeous woman in the city who was probably sitting up on the couch with their two cats. The only place he wanted to be right now. He had been drinking, that was wrong of him. He can admit - he had been doing so well. He was just so nervous and he thought he could handle it. Lesson learned. He had called her, the most gorgeous girl in the city, to come pick him up. 

“Look, baby, I'm so sorry. You gotta come get me.”

“Have you been drinking, Ed’s?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” A sigh had come from the other end. 

“Okay, I'll be there in a sec. Stay safe.” That had made him smile. He told his friends he was leaving which had caused complaints, his girl was coming to pick him up, he’d said. He didn’t miss the pout from the friend who had been eye fucking him all night. He had smirked. His acquaintances had offered to come stand outside with him, to have a smoke and keep him company while he waited. The girls had followed. Just as the love of his life had pulled up in his car, the friend who had suddenly started standing very close to him had twisted her ankle on her heel. Eddie, being ever the gentlemen, obviously didn’t want to let her fall. But now, hours later, he was pretty sure she had done it on purpose. He wished he had picked that up at the time. Actually, now he thinks about it, was she even wearing heels? Anyway, the way she had fallen into him and thrown her arms around his neck could not have been an accident. And that's exactly what his love had seen. He had helped the girl stand up straight, her and her friends giggles had  infuriated him. The car ride home was silent. And here he was. Now locked out of his own bedroom. 

“And that’s it.” He promised. He was crying now too. “Please open the door. I’m sorry for drinking so much, I messed up. I can admit that and I'll make it up to you. I swear.” 

He sniffled, listening as he heard shuffling on the other side. He continued, “But the girl, it was nothing. I promise. I was just trying to be nice. I didn’t know she was gonna do that. I’m sorry you saw it but i would never. Baby, i would never.” He practically sobbed the last part. “Please. You’re it for me. I love you. I love you so much. I would never ruin this, ever. Please.” He pleaded one more time. Tears trailing down his cheeks. His head hurt now, from the crying or the drinking - he wasn’t sure. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted a hug, and he wanted to sleep. In his own bed, with her. Not the couch with Kat. 

The door opened. “Really?” She sniffled. Her face matched his. Sad, tears. He nodded, his big brown eyes full of tears, looking up at her. 

“Yes. I promise. I wish I could prove it to you.” He whispered. He was still on the floor, she crouched down next to him. 

“I’m sorry.” She said, “I-” 

“No, no I am.” He cut her off, taking her hands into his. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ed’s. I’m sorry I didn't let you explain.” She put her arms around his shoulders. He basically curled up into her lap. “I just- I guess I got jealous. There was no need, I trust you Eddie. And I believe you. I’m so sorry. I love you.” 

They stayed like that for a while, on the floor. Whispering apologies and promises of love. She got up to make him a drink. He downed a pint of water and crawled into bed next to her. That was his last night out for a while, he thinks. Hopefully forever, she thought. 

November. Balcony doors open, the curtains rustling. Cold, 9am. Way too cold, now that Eddie was no longer beside her, or inside of her. Her legs are still shaky, hair a mess. Rumpled sheet. The smell of coffee and cigarettes coming from the kitchen. Eddie’s voice, talking to the cats. She smiled. When he reemerged, two mugs in hand, the pack of cigarettes he had been looking for in the draws now in his hand. 

“I told you they were in the kitchen.”

“Whatever.”  He mumbled, muffled by the one in his mouth. He passed her the pack after placing her mug down on her bedside table. He climbed over her to his side, placing his own on the other table. A mumbled come here, gorgeous as he opened his arm, urging her to curl up into his side. Leg thrown over his, his heartbeat in her ear. Happiness. 

“You know, I can’t believe you still  have a ridiculous amount of sugar in your coffee.” He said, taking a sip of his own. “I thought you would have grown out of it or something.” 

“It’s the way I like it.” She scoffed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Dunno.” He looked down at her, the hand around her shoulders coming up to run through her hair. “I think we have cereal.” 

“Mhm.” She hummed at the feeling of his fingers on her scalp. “We like cereal.” 

“Yes, we do.” He whispered. Tilting her head to kiss her. She pulled away too quickly for his liking, but before he could reel her back in she had bounced up and placed herself on his lap. Their lips met again, his hands going straight to her ass, pulling her closer against his chest. Her tits pressed against his skin made him groan into her mouth and knead the skin in his hands. 

“Round two?” She smiled against his skin, her lips travelling to his neck. Marks she had already left, a slight burning sensation as she sucked on them again. He loved it. 

“Damn baby, I thought you were tired?” He gasped as she reached down between them to grasp him in her hand. He went straight for her chest as he worked him slowly, his mouth closing around one of her nipples. Her hands tighten in his curls. Heat in her abdomen spreading, their mouths exploring each other once again when, like clockwork - two high pitched meows. 

“Hey!” Eddie pointed at the offenders, “I’m trying to seduce your mother! Go away!” 

Both of them laughed as he pushed her backwards off his lap, hand cradling the back of her head, his face above hers. Coaxing her to wrap her legs around him as he slid home. 

December. A snow storm. No Hawkins for Christmas this year, something Eddie was secretly pleased about. The glittering tree she had insisted they put up flashed in the corner every time a car drove past. The headlights catching the god awful tinsel. He didn’t hate the tree, he hated the decorations. The cats kept stealing them. They kept waking up to the living room covered in plastic and tinsel. Maybe he just hated cleaning. 

The awfully cheesy Christmas movie was long forgotten after he had convinced her to make out with him on the couch instead. Something that was going well until the words ‘hot chocolate’ had been mentioned on screen. Then suddenly, she had to have one as well. So here he stood - in the kitchen, arms wrapped around her waist, his chest to her back as she stood at the counter. Stirring the drinks that had distracted her from his body. 

“Stop pouting.” She giggled, looking at him from the corner of her eye. 

“I’m not.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before stepping back. 

“You are.” She cooed, bringing a hand up to pinch one of his cheeks. He shooed her hand away, mumbling an ow. 

“Come on!” She laughed, leaving the kitchen - mug in hand. He took a sip of his own drink before following her. He had to admit, it was fucking good. 

“Very well done, my love.” He commented as he joined her on the couch. 

“Thank you.” She giggled as his lips met her forehead. 

“Please don’t put that movie back on.” He whined. 

“What else do you wanna do then? There’s nothing to-” 

She stopped talking as the whole apartment went dark. The only sound, the cats paws as they both ran in, skidding to a stop in front of the couch. 

“Well, I was going to say I had something in mind.” He teased, his hand reaching her thigh. “But now, that seems to be the only thing we can do while we wait for the power to come back on.” 

“I don’t know about you, but I'm gonna finish drinking this.” She brought the mug to her lips. “And I'm gonna go find some candles.” 

He watched as her silhouette left the room. Eddie sipped his own drink again, hearing a commotion in the hallway. Neighbours asking each other “is yours out too?”. He laughed to himself. 

“Do you have your lighter?” Her voice behind him. Her arms are full of candles. Placing some in the kitchen and some of the table in front of him.

“Yeah, here.” He said, reaching for it where it lay next to his cigarette pack. While they were busy lighting candles, they failed to notice their two children eyeing up the presents under the tree. Two made the first move, dragging a small, badly wrapped box out from underneath. Obviously wrapped by Eddie. The corners are thick, and there is too much tape. While their parents kiss and giggle in the kitchen, Eddie whispering things in her ear that made her want to cross her legs, the cats get to work on ripping off the paper. 

“You hear that?” Eddie asked, pulling his mouth away from his girlfriend's chest. 

“No.” She mumbled, sucking on his jaw, trying to pull him back. But the unmistakable sound of rustling paper foiled her plans. 

“Those little shits!” He exclaimed, running to the lounge. Trying not to trip in the dark. The candles gave just enough light to see what they were doing. His eyes widened as he realised which one they had picked up, just enough paper being ripped off to expose the velvet box underneath. 

“Fuck! Not that one!” He gently pushed the cats away, scooping up the box. 

“What did they get?” She asked, coming in behind him. 

“Nothing!” He said, a little too quickly. Stuffing the box into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

“What? Let me see!” She laughed, trying to reach into his pocket. 

“No!” He grabbed her hands, stopping her from grabbing the box. “It’s one I got for you.” 

“Looks tiny,” She joked. She tried to reach for it again, “Let me see it! The cats have spoken, that gift is an early one for me to open now.” 

“No, this one's special. You can’t see it till christmas day.” 

“Oh,” She pouted. “Why do you hate me?”

They both laughed against each other's mouths, him trying to pull her back down onto the couch with him. A distraction. Hate? Well, the ring currently in his pocket would beg to differ. Those damn cats.

[terrm9]

All The World Seems At Ease Tonight

a.k.a. Christmas Fic

Three years of Christmas Eve for Ethan and Chiara.

Warnings: some kissing, some cliché like mistletoes, mutual pining in the first part, other than that just fluff fluff fluff

Words count: 4 300

Author’s note: Here we are, in times when Valentine’s Day fics are being posted, I finished my Christmas Fic. Yay! It was supposed to be made of three equally long parts but I went crazy with the first one (it was my first time writing about Book One and I just truly enjoyed it). However, I hope you enjoy <3

Intern Year

It took longer for Ethan to finally walk the deserted corridor than he expected, but he decided to work on Christmas Eve for a reason – as he did every year – and checking on patients had to be the main priority. Of course it had to.

Yet, his steps carried him more swiftly than usually and he could feel his forehead ache from the constant concerned furrow of his brows. Naveen was feeling especially unwell these past two days and Ethan hated the idea of his older friend left alone and in pain on the day he loved that much.

Not that Ethan understood. Christmas, as every other holidays made no sense to him and if it was up to him, the whole nonsense would be erased and never celebrated again. But Naveen loved the festivities and the ‚merry spirit‘ of them, and so Ethan tried his hardest to keep him company for as long as he could.

Crossing the corridor enough to see the door of Naveen’s room, Ethan’s heart jumped in his chest as he noticed that they were slightly ajar.

Damn the man if he tried to take a walk.

Opening the door to the room fully, a soft breath of relief left Ethan at the sight of Naveen peacefully laying in his bed, his eyes closed but a gentle smile formed on his lips.

And he was not alone.

Ethan’s breath hitched in his throat again.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, he just kept standing in the doorway, devoured by the scene in front of him.

Chiara was sitting at one of the chairs next to Naveen’s bed, her back turned to the door and a small book in her hand.

And she was reading aloud.

„In fact I have no other choice

than, being alive, to live.

And every day,

into its every moment,

I lead this highly destructible body.

And if hope morse-signals: life

while hopelessness outruns possible death,

my decision is made -

I side with hope.

You can find me anytime

near its hidden paths.

Talking or silent.

I guard the human dream.

And I hold out

where I stand.“

Ethan’s throat tightened and he thanked the universe for the fact that the two doctors – the two doctors that meant so much to him – haven’t yet noticed his presence.

He was not sure what exactly made him feel the emotions currently filling his mind, and he could easily blame it on the merry spirit of Christmas, had he believed in it.

Maybe it was the melody of Chiara’s voice as she read the poem, so soft and gentle and beautiful. Or maybe it was a sight of Naveen, sick and weak and dying and yet looking so peaceful.

Perhaps it was the combination of both, the woman that captured his mind more often than he was willing to admit and the man that was like a father to him, spending time together in a perfect harmony, the air around them so serene it made Ethan wonder if his interruption would even be a welcome one.

„This one was my favorite,“ Naveen spoke into the silence, although he didn’t open his eyes.

„You said that after I finished the one before,“ Chiara chuckled softly, closing the book in her hands.

It was a miracle – not that Ethan believed in those – that Naveen managed to laugh at Chiara’s reponse without coughing. They looked almost... normal. As if his life was not ending anytime soon.

„It truly is a pity that there are only so few of his poems translated to English.“

„When you get through this,“ Chiara replied and Ethan hated that he could hear the sad smile in her words, despite not seeing her face at all. He had no right to know her that well. „You should learn the language and translate all of his poems.“

Naveen only hummed in a response, letting them both believe for a blissful moment that he would get through it.

It was the time for Ethan to make them aware of his presence. He coughed politely and stepped inside, doing his best to maintain a stoic mask on his face.

„Ethan!“ Naveen smiled brightly, just as brightly as Chiara did when she noticed Ethan, and for a moment it was easy to forget who they were, where they were.

„What are you doing here, Dr. Ray?“ Ethan asked instead of greeting and almost immediately winced at the choice of his words, knowing that he sounded rather rude.

When truly, he was simply surprised. He was not aware of Chiara working today.

„I am sorry, Dr. Ramsey,“ her bright smile turned into somehow sheepish one and she put the book on her chest, as if it could serve as a shield protecting her from Ethan’s inevitable anger. „All my patients are stable so I stopped by to keep Dr. Banerji company, at least for a while.“

„And what a pleasing company it was!“ Naveen exclaimed, shooting Ethan a reprimanding look, obviously not pleased by his behavior. „Are you finished with your tradition?“

Ethan tensed visibly and only gave away a stiff nod, the last thing he wished to share the tradition with the younger doctor.

„The... tradition?“ Chiara dared to ask despite his less than kind reaction. „I didn’t take you as someone with Christmas traditions.“

„I am not,“ Ethan spoke flatly, sitting on the chair on the other side of Naveen’s bed.

There were seconds of rather awkward silence between them before Chiara stated that she would leave them alone, wished Naveen Merry Christmas while hugging him and left the room.

It was as if warmth of the air went with her.

It didn’t take long for Naveen to chew Ethan out for how he behaved to Chiara – and Ethan noticed the affection, the gentleness lacing Chiara’s name as Naveen said it. He was right, of course. Ethan was hard for no reason and he wasn’t proud of himself, but what was he supposed to do? Ever since getting back from Miami, it was becoming more and more difficult to control his actions with her.

But Naveen was right. He had no right and he should make it all better.

And so after Naveen made it clear he would like to sleep, Ethan checked the schedule to make sure none of Chiara’s friends were working and then with a bated breath clicked on Chiara’s contact.

E: Where are you?

The reply came almost immediately, a sign that there was not emergency – which Ethan wasn’t sure he considered a good sign or not.

C: The on-call room. Why?

It didn’t really make sense to Chiara, why was Ethan texting her, him of all people. If there was an emergency, he could have easily paged her.

The answer to her question came quickly.

E: I am about to grab some take-out. I was wondering if you would care to join me in my office to share a meal.

Saying that Chiara gasped would be an understatement. She had to blink twice to make sure she was not missing a message stating that he sent it to the wrong number. But no.

C: Are you inviting me over for a Christmas dinner?

E: Do not be ridiculous. Do you like Italian kitchen?

C: Sure.

E: 9 PM, my office, then.

And then nothing. Chiara was almost absolutely sure that she was dreaming, because there was no way the same Dr. Ramsey that has been avoiding her ever since the conference would be inviting her for a – definitely Christmas – dinner.

But free food is free food and she would be lying if she said she wouldn’t welcome a distraction. No matter how hard she tried to stay positive, she missed her family terribly today.

And Ethan was a rather pleasant distraction after all.

 At 10 PM, with her risotto eaten, a paper cup filled with an apple juice – the best option for a toast for them -  she managed to get in the cafateria in her hand, Chiara found herself sitting comfortably at the leather couch in Ethan’s office, one of her leg crossed over the another, her white coat shrugged off and hanging over the arm of the couch.

It surprised her to see Ethan next to her, looking almost equally relaxed. One of his arms was draped over the back of the couch and Chiara could feel the warmth radiating from the skin of his hand, on her neck.

"So... is there a point in asking you about the tradition Dr. Banerji mentioned?" Chiara asked after finishing her drink, mischievous sparks dancing in her irises.

"No," Ethan replied immediately, although his voice wasn't nearly as stern as he wanted it to be. The right corner of his mouth twitched slightly, Chiara noticed, as if her question amused him.

Ethan wanted to share it with her, he almost let it slip, but he made a promise in Miami - to her or rather to himself, he didn't know - and damn him if he didn't keep that promise.

Professionals.

That's all they should, all they could, be.

And as if to prove himself wrong in the very next moment, he spoke again, asking a question that professionals shouldn’t want to ask.

"Are you going to share your reason for not visiting your family over Christmas?"

Chiara shrugged, her smile not quite faltering but losing some of its brightness.

He didn’t mean to pry, but he was curious. Chiara mentioned home and family fairly often and back in Miami, he could hear her on the phone with her mother – and it was exactly the kind of call a child and a parent that love each other share.

He found it only logical that Chiara would want to spend Christmas in San Francisco.

“I am not sure I would get that many free days as an intern.”

“All your friends have gotten three free days, so would you. It is not much, but it enough to take a quick trip to San Francisco.”

She laughed softly, her gaze strained with the thought or memories, Ethan didn’t know.

“We don’t celebrate Christmas at home since…” she stopped herself and cleared her throat and it didn’t take a diagnostician to see that she was looking for a way to tell Ethan enough without telling him the whole truth.

“It has been six years since we celebrated in San Francisco. For these last years, me, my mom and my sister travel abroad at the time of Christmas. This year, they are in Singapore,” she chuckled and turned to Ethan, a smile on her face wide, however her gaze still lost in the haze. “I am sure three days wouldn’t be enough for a quick trip to Singapore.”

Ethan laughed shortly at that and shook his head, no that would not, and he fought the urge to ask more, to get to know her more, to tell her about his mother, because professionals.

That is why Chiara hasn’t asked him back, why are you working today?, because he made it clear he wanted to keep things professional and she was not brave enough to push him again.

“I would want to stay in Boston anyway,” she added after a while, looking away again and she was biting her lips nervously.

Ethan didn’t want her to be nervous around him but damn, her teeth sinking into her lower lip and her cheeks flushed slightly and it took the last remnants of his strength to repeat the word in his head, professional, professional, professional.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well I knew that Dr. Banerji would be here and I thought it would be nice to spend some time with him. And I didn’t know if you would be here so,…”

She trailed off, not knowing what else to say and when she turned to Ethan, it surprised her to see how close he has gotten, his whole upper body slouching to her and his face so close she could feel his breath on her face.

And it would be easy to believe that he was only listening intently, that was the reason of his sudden proximity, it would be right to believe so, but Chiara was anything but stupid.

“Ethan,” she exhaled quietly and noticed how his pupils dilated at the sound of his name rolling off her lips.

She raised her hand and rested it on his cheek slowly, waiting for his reaction.

And in that moment, there were many words swirling through Ethan’s mind but professionals was not one of them.

He leaned closer, so close his lips brushed Chiara’s ever so softly and-

-and her pager went off.

Chiara stood up abruptly and took the pager out of her pocket.

“I guess that’s my call,” she smiled and it didn’t go unnoticed by Ethan that she sounded out of breath, that his effect on her was as strong as hers on him and he cursed himself for letting the damn word slip out of his mind.

He also cursed himself for not kissing her earlier, so that he could feel her lips fully before the pager went off.

“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” Chiara smiled at him for the last time and left the office before he could respond.

And Ethan thought that if he could celebrate the Christmas like this, with her, every years, maybe the holiday wouldn’t need to be erased.

 Second Year

“So you already finished this tradition of yours today?” Chiara asked with that sweet, innocent smile on her lips as she stood between Ethan’s legs as he kept sitting on his chair, gently removing his glasses.

Only then she kissed the bridge of his nose softly, caressing his cheek with such care it almost didn’t make sense to Ethan.

“Yes,” he smiled back at her, enjoying their position and the fact that for once, Chiara was above his eye level and he had to raise his head to meet her gaze.

“And you are not going to tell me what it is?”

“No,” now it was Ethan’s turn to smile all-too-innocently and he knew Chiara was burning with curiosity.

He wouldn’t mind telling her now, but he would lie if he said that he was not enjoying seeing his Chiara, usually so composed and calm, freaking out about his secret Christmas tradition.

She leaned down to capture his lips and Ethan wondered if that was a part of her plan because if she’d continue to roll her tongue like that, he would tell her everything she would wish to hear.

And she knew that.

Ethan grabbed the back of her thighs, making her stumble slightly and sit in his lap and soon their kiss turned into proper make out session, his hands roaming her bare torso hungrily while her hands tugged on his hair, leaving them in the disheveled state she adored so much.

Before their Christmas evening could turn into the gala’s sequel – the memory still fresh in Ethan’s mind – Chiara pulled out with a reluctant sigh.

“My mom and Alicia told me to say Merry Christmas from them to you.”

Ethan nodded in thanks, however he couldn’t contain a sigh leaving him. He knew Chiara missed her family.

“Do you regret staying here instead of going with them?”

“Are you crazy?” Chiara laughed and unlike last year, Ethan remembered, her laugh was sincere and full of joy. “I am cold enough here in Boston. I wouldn’t wish to freeze to death in freakin’ Iceland.”

Not able to stop himself from rolling his eyes, Ethan let out a soft laugh too, however he had to agree with Chiara – the woman was cold all the time. He couldn’t imagine her hitchhiking through Iceland – a trip that evolved from what Chiara called ‘her mom’s middle age crisis’ idea’.

“And again, with the time off I took after the senator’s attack and Edenbrook’s closing, I wouldn’t be able to leave for three weeks.”

“You know I would sign off your vacation, three weeks or not,” Ethan mumbled into her neck.

Chiara smacked his arm lightly, an amused grin on her lips.

“And that, Dr. Ramsey, is not at all professional.”

Ethan wanted to argue that he could think of many not at all professional activities that happened in this very office, but sometimes not reminding himself of his terrible failure at staying colleagues was for the best.

Not that this relationship was by any means a failure. Letting himself fail his principles for once in his life turned out to be the best decision he has ever made.

“I knew you would be working,” Chiara added much more seriously and she was, of course, right. There were reasons Ethan was dedicated to work every Christmas Eve, reasons he never talked about but were enough for him to not to break the habit.

“And you would rather spend your Christmas at work with me, than in Europe with your family?”

“Yes,” Chiara stated simply, not a single hint of doubt in her voice. None.

Who knows how much longer we are going to work in this hospital together, she thought but didn’t say it aloud, not wanting to ruin the bright mood.

Checking his watch, Ethan gestured at Chiara to stand up and followed her in her tracks, trying his best to tame the mess his hair has become.

“I am going to pick up the food. Are you going to join me?”

“Nope, I still need to check on some patients. I will accompany you to the nurses’ station.”

They left the office together and Ethan still couldn’t quite comprehend this new reality for them, the life where they walked the corridor freely next to each other, Ethan’s hand put on Chiara’s lower back gently, and he didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing them.

“Dr. Ray, Dr. Ramsey,” Marlene smiled at them from the desk and noticing Ethan’s relaxed shoulders, she dared to go on. “Didn’t you want to spend your Christmas outside of the work?”

Chiara shrugged and smiled widely, not giving Ethan a chance to ruin Marlene’s mood by his sour response – it didn’t matter how relaxed he was, he couldn’t stand people asking him personal questions.

“We like to work. Someone has to do it even today, right?” she smiled at the nurse.

“Maybe you could engage at least in some form of Christmas cheer, hm?” Marlene gestured at the green adornment above their heads and Chiara couldn’t contain her smirk when she noticed what it was.

Mistletoe.

“Absolutely not,” Ethan stated, his arms crossed at his chest. “We are at work. I will not fuel rumors by indulging in such public display of physical affection.”

Chiara raised an eyebrow at him and Ethan was not sure if she was trying to remind him that the office’s walls were still made out of glass and therefore their earlier escapades could be very well considered a public display of physical affection, had anyone come by, or-

“Ah,” Marlene laughed loudly. “You didn’t mind to fuel those rumors at the gala not even three weeks ago, Dr. Ramsey.”

Ethan’s cheeks flushed brightly but it was clear at the moment that those two women would not let him leave that easily.

Sighing reluctantly, he planted a quick – yet gentle – kiss at Chiara’s cheek and muttering ‘food’ left the corridor.

“What are you doing to the poor man, Dr. Ray,” Marlene whispered as she watched his retreating form, winking at the young redhead she came to like very much.

 Third Year

It seemed like it would become their very own tradition, to share their Christmas dinner behind the walls of Ethan’s office.

Chiara was extremely tempted to join her mother and Alicia this year – after all, it is at least warm on Mauritius and Chiara deperately wished to feel warm for a while. But with Leland not that approving of her relationship with Ethan – with her boss, as he reminded them – she wouldn’t dare to ask him for two weeks of vacation.

And maybe she was secretly thankful that he made that decision for her – she missed her family, but she couldn’t imagine sending Ethan beach pictures while he would be working. And she knew he would be working.

It took her by surprise, by the most beautiful surprise, when Ethan asked her if she wouldn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in San Francisco – there was no doubt they would get three or four days off for that – and that he would accompany her, if she would like that.

Only then she found out he exchanged messages with her mother rather regularly and they came up with the idea together, actually.

And so there she was – walking down the long corridor of renewed Bloom Edenbrook’s hospital, a patient chart in one of her hands and a Christmas card she got from one of the patient in the other. Chiara only needed to drop the charts off at the nurses’s station and she was free to enjoy her take-out with Ethan for as long as their pagers would remain silent.

After checking everything twice and making sure she wasn’t needed anywhere, she stepped into the office, smiling at the sight of a single candle glowing in the middle of Ethan’s desk – maybe the idea of this truly being a Christmas dinner was finally getting on him.

„Before we start,“ Chiara spoke first, taking a seat next to Ethan on a couch. „I saw you leaving a paediatrics wing today and I know you have no patient there. Is that your tradition?“

She normally wouldn’t really care about Ethan being somwhere weird, but this was their third Christmas together and there were many, many attempts on Chiara’s side to get the information out of Ethan through the years, only for him to resist.

And it was beginning to be ridiculous.

„Yes,“ Ethan rolled his eyes but he didn’t really seem anyhow bothered. He hugged Chiara’s waist and put a lingering kiss on her temple, her smell intoxicating him even after years of knowing it. Knowing Chiara.

„So what exactly is it what you do there?“

„I read books to the kids that have to stay here and are alone. I am not dressed as Santa,“ he added quickly, noticing Chiara’s curious eyes. „I just come there, bring some books with me, read them for as long as I can. It’s not much, but...“

Chiara turned to him fully now and whispered: „It is more than much,“ before kissing him softly, pouring all the love she felt into the simple act of their lips meeting eagerly.

And she still wondered, how was it that it was her, that she was the privileged one to see this side of Ethan Ramsey, the side that reads book to sick kids and hugs overwhelmed mothers and buys a candle because he knows his girlfriend loves candles on the Christmas table.

„Didn’t you want to spend this Christmas with Alan?“ Chiara asked between the kisses, genuinely curious – the relationship between two Ramsey men was finally good, after all.

„He knows I will come tomorrow. I wanted to work today.“

„You... wanted to work?“ Chiara leaned back and shot him a confused stare.

She knew that it was Ethan’s habit to work on Christmas Eve, but it never occured to her that it was something he truly wanted.

Ethan leaned into the back of the couch, exhaling slowly before responding.

„I never had anyone waiting for me at home on Christmas. And I made sure, every year, that I would be working on Christmas Eve, because me working meant someone else being able to go home. When I work, it might guarantee another doctor to spend his evening with his family, his kids.“

There was a mix of emotions in Ethan’s eyes, even if his voice was steady – a gentlesness mixed with pain and perhaps even anger.

„I believe that parents should be home for Christmas. I am aware of our job being demanding, but no child should feel left behind because their parents have important job. If there is only one of the fellow doctors that is able to play board games with his kids now because I am here – we are here – working, then yes, I want to work.“

He propped his head on the back and closed his eyes for a while and it stunned Chiara how peaceful he looked, how content. She squeezed his hand, however before she could say anything, Ethan spoke again.

„Until that is something we have, I am more than happy to spend my Christmas Eve’s here with a take-out and you.“

It seemed like he didn’t even realize what he just said, his position, his expression not changed.

But Chiara noticed.

Until that is something we have.

They never really talked about family. Future. They loved each other, there were no doubts about that, and they enjoyed planning the upcoming months of their lives. Chiara knew she wanted to spend her life with Ethan. And deep down she knew that he felt the same – that they didn’t go through that much for him to just let her go.

But the statement left her speechless nonetheless.

It wasn’t even that much about him saying that there might be an option for a family in his future – Ethan changed a lot after all.

It was the way he said, with such easiness, such certainity, without a single doubt, until that is somethig we have.

We. Us.

It was his third Christmas with Chiara and Ethan knew that if it hadn’t been for her, he would still wish to erase Christmas from the existence of an universe.

[queermediastudies]

“A Queer Who Cares” : The Intersection of Class and Queerness in Tokyo Godfathers

Tokyo Godfathers is a Japanese animated film, made in 2003, that follows the adventures of three homeless friends on Christmas Eve in Tokyo, Japan. Throughout the movie, we follow Hana, a transwoman and former drag queen, Gin, a middle-aged man with a gambling addiction, and Miyuki, a teenage runaway, as they find a baby in a trash can and spend Christmas Day trying to reunite the child with her mother. A comedic adventure quickly ensues, as the chaotic but loving trio, do their best to take care of their new baby, solve the mystery of her appearance, and all the while combat the dangers and prejudices that come with being homeless. Though predominantly a comedy, the film also strays away from its humorous tone and delves deep into the characters’ complex backstories, emotionally exploring the myriad of reasons why Hana, Gin, and Miyuki are homeless and why getting the baby back to her mother is so important for each of them. Directed by the famous Satoshi Kon and loosely based on the 1913 novel “The Three Godfathers”, the film explores themes of parenthood, found families, classism, transphobia, and addiction, and illuminates the complex ways in which these forces interact and impact daily life. In essence, Tokyo Godfathers effectively explores themes of transphobia and the intersection of classism and queerness, and though not entirely unproblematic, is unique and powerful in its complex characterization of both Hana as a character and the oppressions she faces as a transwoman who is homeless. 

(Hana speaking about her desire to be loved)

Before beginning, it is important to note that the following analysis is of the 2020 English dubbed re-release of Tokyo Godfathers by GKIDS. As of now, there are many fan-subbed versions of the film circulating on the internet that misgender Hana in their subtitles. The GKIDS re-release does not so I will not be addressing that form of transphobia in my analysis. Similarly, in the original Japanese version, Hana is voiced by a man, and the fluctuations of her voice, from high and feminine when she is happy, to low and masculine when she wants to be intimidating, is present and follows a very transphobic trope in comedy. In the GKIDS dubbed version, Hana is voiced by Shakina Nayfack, a transwoman, actress, and activist, and these vocal fluctuations are not present so, once again, I will not be addressing that form of transphobia, as it was not present in the updated version that I watched.

How Shakina Nayfack used her voice to reclaim trans representation in animation

(A short article on Shakina Nayfack, the English voice actress for Hana in the 2020 GKIDS re-release)

Though Tokyo Godfathers does not have the popularity or mainstream attention to be considered a breakout text, it’s humanizing and complex characterization of Hana breaks traditional transphobic tropes, particularly in comedy, that lends itself to “creat[ing] small cracks in the glass ceiling of cultural consciousness and makes room for future breaks” (Cavalcante, 2017, p. 4). Hana is the main protagonist of the film. She is both the center of comedic relief, the leader of her found family and the driver of the plot as a whole. It is through her desire to fulfill her dream of becoming a mother, and her desperate need to understand why parents abandon their children (as her parents did to her), that motivates her, and in turn, her friends, to find the child’s parents themselves, instead of going to the police. It is in this complexity that Hana, “breaks historical representation paradigms” of both trans characters and queer characters as a whole (Cavalcante, 2017, p. 2). In her desperate search to love and be loved, Hana is immediately humanized, her identity centered in love and family, and not in her gender or sexuality, as so many queer characters are. In addition, she is not portrayed as “sexless” as is the norm for queer characters, wherein they can exist in media as long as their love stories and intimate desires do not. Though very subtle, Hana is the only character in the movie that has a love interest, Gin, and she had a boyfriend, who died, but is still a key part of her characterization. Though these love stories are not centered in the film, they are the only ones in the movie, and this exclusive existence, unique to Hana, illustrates their importance to both the themes of the movie and Hana’s character.   

(Miyuki asks Hana about her feelings for Gin)

(A photo of Hana and her ex-boyfriend Ken at the club she once worked at)

That is not to say that the queer representation in this film is by any means perfect. As mentioned, the movie is a comedy and thus falls into the historical “preponderance of these representations occurring in the comedy”, especially given that  Hana is the comedic center (Dow, 2001, p.130). Even more so, there are instances in which Hana’s trans identity is stereotyped and used as the joke itself. In one scene, she flirts with a cab driver knowing that he is uncomfortable by the fact that she is a trans woman, and his transphobia is framed as comedic. She also has a very flamboyant personality, with sharp emotional highs, and equally dramatic lows, that once again plays into stereotypical representations of transwomen as over-the-top and overly dramatized to the point of ridiculousness. In line with this, her previous line of work was as a drag queen, and though scenes of her in the drag community are dominated by a sense of love and community, it still plays into already established tropes of transwoman living as a performance. In these ways, her representation at times leans towards the role of the “clown...putting on a show for The Other” where it is “never quite clear whether we are laughing with or at this figure” (Hall,1995, p. 22).  However, as mentioned above, Hana’s complex and nuanced backstory, combined with her frequent acts of heroism and her leadership role, make it so she is deeply humanized. Though her dramatic personality falls into these stereotypical tropes at times, it does not detract from her character arc of motherhood and finding love, a nuance that is missing from many stories of trans women in media.  

(As pictured, Hana’s emotions are very dramatized and quickly jump from very high to very low)

This nuance is heightened through the intersection of classism and queerness, which is an equally prevalent theme throughout the film. In particular, class struggles are illustrated through medical care. At one point, Hana falls ill, and Gin is forced to give away his life savings in order to pay for her treatment. It is also here where Hana’s gender identity is questioned, as the hospital houses her in the men’s ward, and she explains that she “is not pleased with this”. This particular intersection of class and queerness within a medical setting is impactful given the long and “oppressive role of medicine in trans people’s lives” (Keegan, 2016, p. 607) and the strong tendency of media to tell trans folks stories, about both life and transition, in a way that is medicalized. For Hana, the discrimination she experiences at the hospital, and her inability to pay for her treatment, illustrate the violence of intersecting oppressions of queerness and homelessness in medical systems, while also straying away from the problematic representation of trans folks that are centered around a rhetoric of medicalization. More visually, the family is also a key illustrative example of how class and queerness are explored. The trio is constantly visually contrasted with traditional Japanese families in a variety of settings. This harkens back to ideas of “alternative forms” of families that queer folks create and this difference is visually exasperated by the trio’s homelessness, making them stand out in whatever space they are in (Keegan, 2016, p. 607).

(An angel asks Gin if he would rather have her magic or an ambulance. He chooses the ambulance.)

(Hana in the hospital. The subtitle reads “This ward, it’s the men’s isn't it?”)

(One of many scenes where the trio is set up in  familial positions)

As a queer, white woman living in the United States my subject positionality had a great effect on how I consumed the movie. Most notably, I was born and raised in Western society, and given that this film is Japanese and made for Japanese audiences, there is a variety of cultural norms and perceptions that I did not pick up on because of my lack of familiarity with them. In the same vein, I watched this movie translated into English and, as with every translated work, there are words and subtle, yet important, nuances in the language that were very likely lost to me as a viewer. My identity as a queer woman made it so that I was drawn to Hana as a character and was very moved by her deep desire to be a mother. The movie is steeped in images of Hana and her friends encompassing the idea of a non-traditional family, and since I would love a family of my own one day and I expect that to look different than the dominant nuclear family norm, I really focused my experience on the variety of nontraditional families that this movie shows, all of them as loving as the next.

(Hana and her drag mother reuniting)

(Hana and her family)

As a whole, Tokyo Godfathers, though not without its faults, is a refreshing take on the traditional feel-good Christmas movie trope, delving into class and queerness, and using the two to explore what it really means to be a family that is loving and kind. Spoiler alert, that family looks a little something like one ex-drag queen, one man with a gambling addiction, a teenage runaway who loves cats, and their baby they found in a dumpster.  

Sources

Dow, Bonnie (2001). “Ellen, Television, and the Politics of Gay and Lesbian Visibility.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 18(2), 123-140. 

Cavalcante, Andre (2017). “Breaking into Transgender Life: Transgender Audiences’ Experiences With ‘First of Its Kind’ Visibility in Popular Media.” Communication, Culture & Critique, 1-18. 

Keegan, Cáel (2016). “Tongues without Bodies: The Wachowskis’ Sense8.” Transgender Studies Quarterly 3(3–4), 605-610. 

Hall, Stuart (1995). “The Whites of their Eyes: Racist Ideologies and the Media,” in Gender, Race, and Class in Media 3rd ed., pp. 18-22. 

[amintyworld]

It’s a Wonderful Life, Tommy - Dream SMP Holiday Oneshot

A/N: So this started as an imagine that I wanted to do a bullet fic for, but I got carried away and kind of, sort of, wrote an 11-page fic? So, sorry for the extra setup at the beginning. It’s inspired off two of my favorite Christmas movies: ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘A Christmas Carol’ and I ended up with a pretty good even blend of the two, and I’m pretty proud of this. Here’s my Christmas gift to the fandom, I hope you enjoy! So, grab your hot cocoa and Christmas cookies, settle into a blanket and enjoy this holiday tale. -Minty

Summary: After a nasty fight with Tubbo combined with Tommy’s worsening depression, its Tommy’s final straw as he decides he’s ready to give up. But, it looks like Tommy’s condition and situation has gotten some supernatural attention.

TW: Suicide attempt, talks of suicide, heavy blood and gore, manipulation and blame, major character deaths(?), insanity. (Please tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

-----------------------------------

Imagine it’s Christmas Eve but he didn’t end up going with Technoblade and he’s still alone. He’s still as depressed as ever, and on top of all of that, he had an argument when Tubbo tried to visit that ended worse than anything Tommy ever imagined. 

Tommy’s trying his best to enjoy the holiday and ends up wandering around, stumbling upon Technoblade’s house - where Ghostbur and Techno are both singing carols while decorating a tree. Tommy’s heart aches with loneliness as he quickly leaves before anyone could see him through the window. No one had left him any presents (Dream burned them all secretly) and he kept looking over Dream’s gift - a white porcelain mask with eyes and no mouth, like Dream’s. Dream claimed in his note that things were getting dangerous and it was to keep him safe and hide his identity. Something about it felt off, though. 

He didn’t want to assume the worst of his friend, but it seemed more like a gift Dream wanted him to have instead of something he wanted. That’s why after a while of just holding it and tracing over the details with his fingers he put it away in his chest. He climbed his tower again and was getting ready to aim for the top of a tree, done with everything - with trying to hope when everything he ever had, his friends and family, were gone. He kept searching for a point to his suffering and found none, so he decided to finally end things for good.

A voice called out to him. It was Phil.

“It’s not really the season for giving up hope, now is it?”

Tommy was of course startled, as a floating spirit in the form of what looks like Philza, his dad, flying and floating in front of him... with wings? Tommy is trying to compose himself while trying to discern whether or not his ‘thing’ is real - touching his shoulder only to touch absolutely nothing, yelling at it to see if it’s a demon, while the spirit is nonetheless, unimpressed. “What are you? Are you really Phil, or am i just... hallucinating again?”

“I am quite real - you can call me your guide of sorts. I’ve taken the form of your loved one to make you feel more at ease. Anyway, Tommyinnit, I’m sent here to stop you from jumping from this pillar.”

“Why exactly should I listen to you? For all I know, you’re just another weird vision like Tubbo was. I’m really tired of my messed up mind, just go away.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tommy. It’s my sworn duty to step in here, for your behalf.”

“My behalf?! I assure you, whoever you are, I’d be happier dead than to live without anyone who really cares about me.”

“How about a deal then? I will show you three places, events, and if I can’t change your mind, I’ll leave you alone.”

“No lying?”

“Why would I?”

“Okay, sure.” Tommy still didn’t think any of this was real, but he was honestly curious where this weird dream was going. The Guide took Tommy’s hand and told him to trust him, and they both jumped, Tommy yelling, confused, as he fell, fell, fell, preparing for impact and probably death, instead of falling into... snow?

He shivered and looked around - how is the sun up, it was the night a few seconds ago...? The Guide took his hand with a comforting smile and led him through the trees when Tommy froze in his tracks. A house... he KNEW that house. “Look familiar?”

Shouts nearby made his head whip around as a snowball raced toward him. He braced for impact, but it didn’t hit him. Instead, it hit a tree trunk behind him. Laughter filled the air as he heard a familiar voice behind him yell. “HA, your aim is shit, Tommy!” He saw a young version of Technoblade rush through the bushes, and... that was him... a young version of him in the trees, snowball in hand, angry at his missed shot. 

“Yeah, well I still have the high ground, you arsehole!” He noticed a young Tubbo next to him, a snowball in each hand wearing a green coat that was way too big for him. He laughed, remembering it - Phil didn’t have money for a new coat for Tubbo that year, so he gave him his older one to use, and the poor kid kept falling over and tripping on it. Tubbo handed Tommy another snowball as they both pelted the snowballs down as Techno rushed into some cover behind a rock. 

“This is Christmas by the lake, where Phil grew up. But, how can I see it, that was over six years ago-?” Tommy turned to the guide who showed him who his whole body turned translucent. 

“In order to show you events, we must travel to that point in time, but we’ll only be observers, we can’t interact with them.”

Tommy looked over as Technoblade pelted Tommy with a snowball hard, making him lose his balance and fall to the snowy ground below. “This is unreal, it’s so clear, how can I recall this in a dream...?”

“I told you, I am a spirit Tommy, your Guide.” Looking around at it all, Tommy couldn’t help but to start to believe him. The smell of gingerbread filled his nose from the house as Wilbur walked out, his hands in the air.

“Okay guys, Phil told me to tell you to come inside-” Before his older brother could even finish his sentence, three snowballs hit him square in the face. “Hey, I’m not even playing!”

“You’re in the kill zone, Wil!” Tubbo shouted from the treetops as if that would explain everything.

“Ugh, why are you all so annoying-”

Techno smirked, looking over at his brother from his spot covered by the rock. “Aw, come on, don’t be a buzzkill Wilby.” Wilbur stopped at the nickname and turned with a fire in his eyes.

“I’ll show you buzzkill-!” He shouted as he threw a snowball at Techno, running for his own cover.

“Look at you, surrounded by your family, your best friend - it seems like you all love each other a lot.”

“Well, of course, we’re family.” Tommy paused, realizing what he said and quickly correcting himself. “At least, we were.” He watched the scene unfold - Philza called them in for cookies and cocoa and they all rushed into the house. While running, Tubbo tripped on his coat and fell again, and Tommy saw himself stay back and help Tubbo to his feet with a smile.

“I bet Tubbo appreciated your friendship, especially then.”

“Well, I knew what it was like to be the new kid in the family, you know? It’s awkward and weird at first to settle into. You’re by yourself for so long it’s hard to get used to being around people all the time who give you so much affection.” He walked over toward the window and looked inside - Phil put on some Christmas music that blasted through the player and Techno covered his ears, begging for something different, making everyone laugh. Wilbur pulled out his guitar as Technoblade practically slammed the ‘stop’ button on the player.

“All of you look close.”

“We are- were,” Tommy said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, none of this does - even if they cared for me and loved me then, doesn’t mean they do now.”  

“I thought you said family loved each other no matter what.” The Guide said smoothly. “Why would it make sense for them to stop loving you now?”

“I don’t know...” Tommy breathed, his mind confused and questioning. “Maybe we’re not family. Maybe we... maybe we never were. Anyways, you’ve shown me enough of this to count for the deal, let’s just move on.”

“Hold on, we’re gonna miss my favorite part.” The Guide said as Philza came in with a Santa hat.

“As per tradition in the Sleepy Boys Incorporated Household, me - the Grand Master - shall decide who gets to receive an extra special gift to open before Christmas Day.” Wilbur bounced excitedly on the couch, and Tommy crossed his fingers as they waited. “I have tallied the points-”

“I still think there’s no point system-” Technoblade mumbled as Philza continued.

“And this year, the wearer of the special Santa hat goes to... Tommy!” Phil said as he tossed it over to the boy, who smiled widely. “For your extra help around the house and chores, this year’s for you, buddy.”

“Yay, Tommy!” Wilbur said from the couch as Technoblade smiled and nodded in approval. Tubbo clapped and cheered - this was the first year Tommy had ever been given the hat. Outside the window, Tommy crossed his arms and looked at the snow, knowing what was going to happen next. Young Tommy smiled wide as he clutched the Santa hat in his hands. He looked over to Tubbo for a moment, then to the hat, unknown thoughts in his head. Then, he handed it out to Tubbo. 

“Here. You can have it.”

Tubbo looked confused. “But Tommy, you worked so hard for this - you did extra chores, you helped out Wilbur when his beanie got stuck in the tree... you didn’t curse for an entire week!”

“I know.” He smiled, turning into a smirk. “But, you know, if it was that easy for me to get it this year, I can always get it again. And, since it was harder for you, if I don’t give you the hat now, you probably won’t get it until you’re Phil’s age.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Philza shouted as he carried in a large gift-wrapped box to set on the table.

“But Tommy-” Tubbo tried to interject, but Tommy threw him the hat.

“Come on, I insist,” Tommy said, and the two best friends hugged each other tightly. Outside, Tommy looked at the scene, pressing his hand up against the glass, his heart aching uncomfortably, not being able to tear his eyes away from the tender moment. He turned to the spirit, emotion, and anger on his face.

“Tubbo exiled me, he burned his compass, he didn’t show up to my beach party, he didn’t even come to see me.” His eyes looked cold. “He’s NOT my best friend, let alone my friend!”

The spirit looked calm. “I see.” He slowly turned and began to walk away into the forest swiftly, leaving Tommy scrambling to catch up. 

--------------------------------------

“Spirit... Guide... whatever you are, wait up!” Tommy shouted as he sprinted after the figure through the trees, suddenly being caught by his shirt before he fell into the water. He looked around and noticed he was in L’manburg - the moon just how he left it when the spirit took him to the past. He noticed the Chinese lanterns, the dock, the houses - it wasn’t just L’manburg, it was New L’manburg. The spirit walked up the steps silently and Tommy was quick to follow. “We’re in the present, in L’manburg, but why?”

“I thought you’d be curious to see how your former friend is celebrating tonight - a look without the trouble of trying to hide or break the rules.” The spirit said simply, before holding out his hand for Tommy to take. “Hold on tightly, please.” Tommy gripped the spirit’s hand as he was dragged through a few walls, freaking out a bit until he realized that he was in the same state as a ghost, or like the spirit called it, an observer - so he couldn’t suffocate.

Whatever Tommy was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. A room filled with torn posters of Technoblade pasted along the walls calling him all sorts of bad things, and a wooden table in the center with four people sitting around it, Tubbo among them. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea anymore, Big Q. With what Dream’s done to Tommy, what if he gets caught in all this?”

Quackity looked upset, his eyes narrowed. “Tubbo, this is our one and only chance to get revenge for our country, and you’re saying to stop all of our work for the small chance, chance that Tommy will show up?”

“He’s a L’manburg citizen, Quackity. As president, it’s my job to protect every citizen-”

“You’d sacrifice the country, Mr. President, everything we’ve worked for, for one person?!” Quackity snapped. Tommy looked on with piqued interest, noticing how both Ranboo and Fundy sunk down a bit on their chairs from the building tension in the room. Tubbo got up and leaned in so he and Quackity’s faces were inches apart. 

“Yes, I would. I’m not going to be responsible for anyone becoming a ghost on my account, Quackity.” Tubbo snapped. “I draw the line at risking innocent lives.”

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even after they yelled at each other, screamed at each other, he... he still... cares?

“I’m questioning your true loyalty to your country, Mr. President - it seems your loyalties lie elsewhere. What kind of President wouldn’t be willing to do anything, make any sacrifice, for the betterment of the country?”

“One like Schlatt. Wilbur maybe. But not me.”

“Then, Mr. President, you’re nothing but a traitor.” Quackity said, pulling out his sword and pointing it at Tubbo. “I’m taking you under arrest.” Tubbo slowly put his hands up, looking over to Fundy and Ranboo, who both looked distraught and stayed silent. 

“Quackity, you’re insane. You’re going to destroy L’manburg to kill Techno and Dream, you’re going to destroy everything we’ve worked to save.” Tubbo protested, but his cries fell on deaf ears as Quackity forced him to give him his stuff and armor.

Tommy’s mind whirred. “Tubbo still cares about me. Even after everything, he’s still my friend.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I...I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shame you don’t think the same of him.”

Tommy was quick to respond. “I do, I have, it’s just he’s done so much against me - he burned the compass, he didn’t show up to the beach party-”

Tommy looked over just in time to see Quackity close the jail cell loudly - there was barely enough room for Tubbo to sit or even stand. Tubbo’s hands clutched the bars. “Quackity, don’t do this. Do you even understand what Dream and Techno are capable of?!”

Quackity glared at him. “Of course I do, which is why I need to dispose of them since our leader is too much of a coward to do it himself. Come on guys, we have a festival to prepare for.” Fundy and Ranboo were silent as they passed him, bowing their heads in shame. Tommy walked closer with the spirit to see him pull out...the compass...

The enchanted compass, the matching one to the one Tommy had in his own chest. The one Dream said he burned. That didn’t make any sense, Dream said he- Dream. “Are you tricking me?”

“Why would I do that, Tommy? We made a deal.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense, Tubbo shouldn’t have the compass, it’s supposed to be burned!”

“Ah. Maybe that was the claim that led you astray?”

Tommy silently looked down at Tubbo as he held the compass in his hands, tears welling up in Tubbo’s eyes. “Guess you were right, Tommy. I’m so sorry…” Tommy had no words, thoughts running through his head. This didn’t make any sense. Dream wouldn’t lie to him, he’s his friend. Even so, emotion welled up in his eyes as his stomach formed in knots. 

“Dream wouldn’t lie to me. Stop trying to trick me, I know this isn’t real.”

“But I promised you I’d only show the truth, didn’t I?”

“But this can’t be true - Tubbo’s compass is supposed to be burned, he’s not supposed to cry for me, he's supposed to hate me, they’re all supposed to hate me!”

“What if they don’t, Tommy, and they never have?”

“Even if they didn’t...even if they cared, I’ve caused too much trouble - all of this started because of me. So, wouldn’t it be better if I was gone?” The spirit held out his hand to Tommy.

“Do you want to find out?”

--------------------------------------

After a few moments of hesitation, Tommy took the Spirit’s hand, and quickly was dragged upwards through the wall, into darkness, the spirit’s wings taking them up, up, up, and suddenly… he found himself on the ground. Thunder rolled in his ears as a light shower of rain began to fall toward the ground. He was on a mountain, and his hands gripped the soggy grass between his fingers, feeling the realness of it all. He looked around for his winged spirit but found no one. L’manburg stood around him, and he walked down the dock, noticing a crowd of people gathered around a memorial of sorts.

Curious, he crept closer. Who’s memorial was it? It looked nice too - a small stone cover from the rain, vines and flowers growing all around it. He started to worry - did his death cause someone else’s? He looked over at the crowd - he noticed Skeppy holding Bad close as he cried, and there was Puffy and Ant, who looked dazed by it all, their faces solemn. Oh, over there was Quackity - he crossed his arms and looked to the floor. Fundy sat next to George and Sapnap - his eyebrows furrowed in thought. George held Sapnap’s hand in comfort as tears slid down their cheeks every now and then. Punz and Ponk were in the back.. Oh, there was Ranboo!

His half-enderman friend was shaking, as Ghostbur stood at his side and did his best to comfort him, though even Tommy could tell the ghost was more than distraught over it all. Tommy walked closer… wait, was that Technoblade?! What was he doing here…? Isn’t he wanted in L’manburg? Even more surprising, was the tear staining glisten in his eyes - Technoblade was crying.  It was an odd sight indeed to see his tough friend weep, but Philza was at his side to pull him close, tears rolling down his cheeks as well. 

“He was a hero for L’manburg, and made numerous sacrifices for our country. More than that, he was an uncle, a son, a brother, and a friend to many who knew him.” There was Tubbo, speaking at the podium looking the saddest Tommy had ever seen him. His hands gripped the wood tightly as he shook slightly. “Though he was not with us for long, I think it’s clear to see when I look around this room he touched more lives than he knew. He was brave, strong, and an inspiration to many as someone who encompassed the true values of our nation.. He may be gone, but will always live on in our memories and in our hearts.”

Tommy’s heart dropped as he read the sign: ‘Tommyinnit, joined July 2020, died December 2020. A friend taken too soon.’ This was his memorial, all of them were here… this was HIS funeral! He noticed how Tubbo’s shaking grew more noticable as tears streamed from his eyes that left drops where his speech was prepared. Philza walked up and they both hugged each other tightly, Phil rubbing his back as Tubbo let out a sob and the two walked back to sit with the rest. 

Slowly, one by one people began to walk up to a buried spot on the ground - his green bandana  was tied tightly to the side as it waved in the wind like a flag.  He watched as Ghostbur walked up and left some blue flowers at his grave. “I hope you’re happier, wherever you are. Here’s some blue - I got extra so you won’t run out.” Tommy’s eyes threatened to spill with tears as Ghostbur put a hand on his gravestone. “Both Alivebur and I love you very much, and we’ll miss you a lot, but don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine! I’ll try to take care of Tubbo for you, okay?”

“Okay..” Tommy choked out as a tear slid down his cheek. Ranboo walked up to sit next to Ghostbur, silent. Ghostbur gave him a hug, which he returned before Ghostbur left, walking back into the crowd of people talking. 

“I really should have noticed it sooner, shouldn’t I?” Ranboo said. “I should’ve been there more, did more, did anything… but I… I’m so sorry, Tommy.” His hands were shaking as they reached out toward the gravestone but stopped short of touching it. “You did so much for me, you protected me, and I… I couldn’t even do the same for you. I’m a pretty bad friend, aren’t I?”

“No, no.” Though Ranboo couldn’t hear him or see him, Tommy put his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder as he tried his best not to try, sniffling. “You were the best friend I could ever ask for. You were there for me whenever I needed you. This isn’t your fault.”

Both heard steps behind them and turned to notice Techoblade standing there, no clear emotion in his face. Ranboo quickly left, intimidated by the pig hybrid as he disappeared back into the crowd. Technoblade took his crown off as he approached, kneeling in front of the gravestone, silent for a few moments. “I wish we were closer. I wish I would’ve been there to help you before it was too late. I… I wish you knew how much I loved you, but I guess we’re both too similar when it comes to admitting something like that, huh?” Technoblade smiled a bit before it quickly fell. “I know I didn’t agree with your choices, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t help you, I should’ve let you know that.” Tommy stood, stunned at Technoblade’s words - that he loved him, that he’d miss him. Techno pulled out a folded cloth. “I was going to give you it for Christmas, but Dream had other plans. I’m sorry, it’s the only present I saved from the lava.” Technoblade set it down next to the flowers. “It’s a cape like mine, see? Wilbur kept telling me how cold you were in exile. Partly it was because of that, the other part was because I was too annoyed when you kept trying to steal mine-” Technoblade sniffled, a few tears going down his cheeks that landed in the dirt below. Philza walked up and gave him a tight hug.

“Shh, Techno. It’s okay. I know he would’ve loved it.” Philza said, comforting his eldest. “Now go talk to Ghostbur and make sure he doesn’t wander off with Friend.” Techno just nodded, taking one last look at the grave and placing his hand on the stone, turning and walking off. 

Philza was by far the quietest one of all, running his fingers over the soft green bandana and the top of the gravestone. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he took out a small photo in his pocket. It was an old Christmas photo from so long ago - Technoblade had Tommy up on his shoulders, Wilbur was standing at attention in a salute, holding back a laugh as Tubbo chased his scarf, Philza taking a sort of selfie with the camera, the chaos showing in the background. He wedged it in Technoblade’s cloak. “Here, don’t forget us - the good parts of us.” Philza said softly. “Don’t forget that we’ll always love you, no matter what.” Philza wiped away a few tears from his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever know why you did this, and I don’t think I’ll ever really know. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good father to you, and I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.” Philza took a deep breath getting ready to leave when a loud crash interrupted him. 

Tommy, still trying to compose himself and wipe away his tears from his family and friend’s sentiments, looked up in surprise to see Tubbo pissed off, being held back by Technoblade and Puffy, Ghostbur trying to calm him down. Dream got up from his place on the ground, a large crack forming on his white mask. Tubbo yelled, shouted and kicked. “He doesn’t GET to be here, he’s lucky I don’t kill him right now! He’s the one who killed him, he doesn’t get to go near him again!”

Ghostbur looked nervous when Tubbo smacked the blue he offered out of his hand. “Tubbo calm yourself, please, for Tommy-!”

“I didn’t push him off that tower, did I, Tubbo?” Dream’s words were sharp and calm, traced with anger. Everyone fell silent, as Dream approached the President. “I didn’t do anything, if anything, he died because of all of you - you could have stopped me, you could have visited, and you did nothing-”

Without hesitation, Tubbo decked him across the face, his mask flying toward the ground, and suddenly blonde messy hair and piercing green eyes started down at him. “You told him lies, you manipulated him, you made him think he was alone. We may have not done much, even if we knew what you were doing, but at least we didn’t drive him into that depression, Dream. That’s all on you, and you fucking know it.” Tubbo pointed a finger at his chest. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here after everything you did to him. I don’t want you here and I know that he sure as well wouldn’t either.” Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “So you either leave or we’re settling this right here, right now.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. President?” Dream smirked. “Not a very wise decision - I’ve beaten you before, I’ve taken everything away from you and watched you beg for mercy.”

“That’s what you don’t understand, Dream.” Tubbo said. “You’ve taken so much away from me I have nothing left to lose.” Dream pulled out his sword but a heavy smack from Tubbo sent it to the floor. “You underestimate just how far I’m willing to go, Dream. You think you’ve seen me upset, seen me angry? You haven’t seen even a fraction of it. I will stop at nothing for Tommy - I don’t even care if you kill me, all I care about is that you’re going down with me.” For the first time in his life, fear flew across Dream’s face.

“Tubbo. Leave Dream alone, he’s not worth it.” Philza said as he turned Tubbo away from Dream and glared down at him. “Just get out of here, Dream.”

“Tubbo never really was the same again after you left.” The guiding spirit turned Tommy’s attention to the side, where he sat at the top of the dome memorial. “You mean a lot to him, and losing you after L’manburg fell to Dream, it was the last straw.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dream owns L’manburg?! That’s impossible, Tubbo would never allow that to happen.”

“He didn’t.” The spirit replied. “Quackity led the charge against Dream and failed, nearly destroying the nation again before legally surrendering it to Dream. Ranboo was going to let Tubbo out of his cell to help, but when he didn’t hear from you he decided to check on you instead and found your body. As always, Dream traded Quackity L’manburg for something he wanted more than anything - the power to revive Schlatt.”

“Revive Schlatt?!” Tommy’s eyes widened. “Dream knew how to do it all along. So why didn’t he revive Wilbur…?”

“It wasn’t of use to him.” The spirit said. “When you died, L’manburg died with you. Philza fell into a deep depression after losing two of his sons to his own hands, and Technoblade… he went mad.”

“Technoblade went crazy…?!”

The spirit pointed around the corner as they jumped once again, landing on the dock as screams of agony echoed throughout the country. Tommy looked around in disbelief as red blood splattered the ground. He noticed Niki run past him toward the bridge, terrified. A dark shadow passed overhead and Technoblade landed in front of her with a wide smile and crazy eyes. “Where are you going, Niki…?”

“N-nowhere, I was just going to go fishing…”

“Really…? If I knew any better, I would have thought you were trying to leave.” Techno’s eyes narrowed. “You know how Dream feels about people breaking his rules.”

“Technoblade, I’m sorry, please… I promise, I won’t come near the docks ever again-!” Niki pleaded as Techno’s laugh echoed through the walls, turning into… crying? Technoblade sobbed as he leaned on his trident as a sort of staff. Niki approached, sympathetic.

“I want him back, Niki. I just want him back.” Technoblade said. “I’d do anything for him, any goddamn thing…” The crying stopped as Techno looked up, eyes full of anger. “Even if that means ripping the guts out of some lying two-faced bitch who didn’t care enough to save him. Come here you little-!” He charged at Niki, and she took off again, screaming, crying for help.

“N-no… Technoblade stop-!” Tommy cried, but Techno didn’t hear him as he snatched her up and beheaded her in one rip, sending blood everywhere. Niki’s painful screams filled his ears.

“Tubbo managed to take Dream down, and they both died in one of his death traps. Now, thanks to his manipulation, Technoblade is a bloodthirsty warrior with no master to serve. He clings to the bit of sanity he has left, not being able to deal with the guilt of being responsible for your death, so he blames others.”

“This can’t be true. Surely if I died some good would come from it.” Tommy said.

“The only good that would come of your death would be Dream’s, who thanks to Tubbo died much earlier than he was supposed to, and in turn saved his people from another tyrannical ruler.” The spirit said. “As for Ghostbur, well…”

Tommy turned around to notice Ghostbur flying around, wondering in the bloody mess of L’manburg that was too eerily quiet for Tommy’s liking. The spirit was gone again, Tommy was alone. He followed Ghostbur as he stepped over dead bodies and looked inside houses. “Hey Technoblade?” Ghostbur called, looking around. “Hey Techno, I have a fun idea to prank Tubbo with, where are you?” He opened the door to Philza’s house. “Philza? Philza Minecraft?!” He called. “I can’t find Techno, do you know where he… oh, you’re not here either.” He knocked, door to door, calling out for everyone, but it was dead silent. “Quackity?! Niki…? Fundy, where are you?!”

Tommy reached to grab Ghostbur’s hand. “They’re not here, Wil. They’re dead.” But Ghostbur didn’t notice him in the slightest.

“Tubbo?! Fundy…?”

“Ghostbur, they’re dead. You gotta stop, they’re not here.” Tommy said solemnly. “They’re dead because of me, but you gotta stop looking, they’re gone-”

“Sapnap? Bad…?”

“Wilbur please.” Tommy begged. “They’re dead, you have to move on.”

“George…?”

“They’re dead, WIlbur.” Tommy snapped, beginning to cry. He looked around for his spirit friend. “Spirit, can you hear me? I want to go back, please let me go back. I don’t want this to happen, please! Can I change it? Is there still time?! I want to live!”

-------------------------------------

When he opened his eyes, he was in his bed in the tent, the morning sun just peaking above the horizon. He wiped a few tears off his cheeks. Was it all a dream… was it not real…? He scrambled for his calendar - Christmas Day. There’s still time. He could fix everything! He searched in his chest for the compass and his discs as he packed a bag - he looked over the mask for a second, before rushing outside and in a fit of rage, frisbees it into the ocean and watched it sink to the bottom. “Fuck you, Dream.” He cursed, feeling freer than he had in weeks. 

He grabbed his bag and ran off into the forest toward the snow covered house he knew, picking up some blue cornflowers along the way. His heart felt light as he hummed Christmas carols, running along the path he knew until he saw Technoblade’s house in the distance. Running up to the door, he knocked, smiling. The house was decorated beautifully, and when Ghostbur opened the door he smiled. “Hello, Tommy!”

“Hey Ghostbur!” Tommy smiled. “Sorry it’s a bit early, but I just couldn’t wait to come over and say Merry Christmas!” Technoblade came over to the door, looking extremely confused. 

“Tommy…?” Technoblade yawned before Tommy crashed into him with a hug, only making the older increasingly confused. “Um-”

“Merry Christmas, Technobade.” Tommy said happily, handing out the blue flowers to Ghostbur, his eyes lighting up as he smiled. “This is for you.”

“So much blue!” Ghostbur shook with excitement, taking the flowers in his hands. “They’re so pretty, thanks Tommy!”

“You’re welcome.” Tommy said, feeling a sense of dejia vu from it all. Technoblade smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wanna come inside? I was just about to make breakfast.” Technoblade’s voice was gentle, and for the first time in a long while Tommy felt really happy. Techno ushered him inside by the fire, insisting that he was turning blue out in the snow without a jacket. Ghostbur realized too quickly that Techno didn’t have a vase for the flowers, but with a bit of help from Tommy, he was beginning to weave a flower crown. It was nice to revisit that - he remembered how Philza taught them all how to weave flowercrowns when they were younger, and how to make an acorn whistle, which he quickly regretted. Tommy laughed as he remembered Phil’s face as all three of them whistled all the way home so loud they scared away any animals within a 100 mile radius, for sure.

Techboblade was quiet but content, relaxed, and happy. After a nice breakfast of eggs and toast - the first good breakfast Tommy had in ages, which he finished in record time - Wilbur stood under the tree to open gifts excitedly like he was a child again. As they all settled in, a quick knock on Technoblade’s door interrupted them. “Hello- Oh… hey Phil.”

To his surprise, Tommy and Wilbur couldn’t see their dad at all behind the large pile of wrapped boxes in his hands. His breaths were labored as he spoke. “I hope I’m not late-”

“No, no. In fact, you’re just on time.”

“I was looking for Tommy’s house everywhere and then I realized I went the wrong way, and then he wasn’t there-” Philza began, walking in as he noticed Tommy sitting on the floor. “Well, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Tommy said with a sheepish smile. “Do you need help with that?”

“Please.”

After all of Phil’s gifts were added to the growing collection under the tree, his father pulled Tommy in for a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here. Christmas wouldn’t be the same with you, you know.”

“I’m glad you didn’t forget me.” Tommy admitted softly, and Phil squeezed around his middle a little tighter.

“Never.” Philza whispered in response, making the younger tear up a bit at the words in joy. When they both pulled away Tommy wiped his eyes, not being able to help his bright smile. “Alright, we’ve got some presents to open, don’t we?”

“We may have to do mine first, I didn't have much time to wrap-” Tommy said as he grabbed his bag and searched. Wilbur proudly showed off his Blue flower crown with glee, making the other two smile at his child-like cheer. Technoblade stilled as Tommy held out a diamond for him. “I’m sorry, I was in a bit of a hurry, I know you have netherite, if you don’t want it-”

“I love it, Tommy.” Technoblade said as he took the diamond and held it in his hands. “It means a lot to me you’d give me it. Thank you.” The two shared a smile before Techno’s face turned into a smirk. “Plus, you’re poor, it was the best you could do, anyway-”

And, as Philza admired and thanked Tommy for the stone sword, Tommy couldn’t help but notice a figure in the window, a figure he thought he’d never see again. His Guardian Spirit, looking inside from the window at the scene with a warm smile. As the spirit looked inside the joyful house, Tommy could distinctly recall a voice in his head echoing words that he’d never forget.

“It’s a wonderful life, isn’t it Tommy?”

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

[pynches]

through the years we will be together (if the fates allow)

a/n this is a gift for @mletart for @pynchpromptweek Secret Santa! I hope you like it! summary: The Lynch brothers do Christmas caroling together to uphold the brotherly bond after their parents passed away. It so happens to be that Adam lives at the church they frequent at. The Myth of the Brothers Lynch become a reality when Adam finally meets the middle one.

word count: 2571

ao3 Adam had never seen them, he had tried many times to catch as much as a glimpse but his job at Boyd’s lined up with the mass times and he was always a little too late. Once, he thought he saw the edge of a BMW turn around the corner but he had waved that off. “Good boys” as the attendees had said, didn’t drive cars that were shark-nosed, all edges and brute force.

“They sing like angels,” one old lady told Adam. She attended church often, burning a candle sometimes. Adam wondered who she had lost, if she was the only one left standing. He almost wanted to ask if the angel metaphor was blasphemy but he held it in at the last moment and politely listened instead, the key to his apartment still in hand. “Especially the middle one.”

“Ronan,” Adam said helpfully, nodding his head in recognition. He had been so mystified by the brothers that he had absorbed every bit of information about them like a sponge, trying to piece everything together and create clear images of them.

He never quite succeeded.

“You must come to mass,” the lady said, her watery eyes looking up at Adam hopefully and Adam had politely declined though it cost him great hardship to do so.

“I’m not religious,” Adam said apologetically and stayed to listen to the lady’s story about the grandson she never really saw because he went to study abroad before Adam finally went up the stairs and let himself into his apartment.

The Brother’s Lynch, now a tangible subject in his mind, took residency in his thoughts for the remainder of the day, the week, until it was Sunday again and Adam was home for once.

Boyd had called Adam to him a few days before, telling him that he had to take some vacation days or he would breach the contract he had signed the year before. It so happened that one of those vacation days was that Sunday, since it wouldn’t be too busy at the shop that day anyway.

And thus, Adam was at the window on Sunday, peering through the slightly cracked glass to try and catch the eye of the brothers.

He watched as the shark-nosed BMW appeared again, followed by a much more boring car, parking next to the BMW. The first guy that got out was one that looked like he was the poster child for bad behaviour. Shaved head, tattoos that curled up from his shoulders and around his neck, peeking just above the black suit he was wearing, the tie artfully undone.

Next came another guy out of the more boring car, a displeased frown already set in his eyebrows. He wore a gray suit, everything perfectly in place. Adam wondered if the perfection was compensating for something.

Then, the last guy, which Adam expected was Ronan, the one with the nice voice, the “very kind boy” as one of the old ladies had whispered to him. Golden curls, a sweet smile on his face, an excited jump in his step as he entered the church.

Adam didn’t go down but he snuck out of his apartment and sat on the stairs, hoping to catch one of their voices. He wanted to learn the magic behind the sound, understand why everyone, including him, had been mesmerised by the brothers.

He didn’t hear a single one stand out, all of them combining too much to notice the ‘angelic’ ones the woman had told him about. Adam wished he still had his other ear in use, thinking that perhaps he would be blessed with the heavenly voices of the brothers if his father hadn’t beaten the hearing out of it.

Disappointedly, he stood again and moved upstairs to his little apartment, sitting down to study as he had done a hundred nights before and would continue to do so until the very end.

It wasn’t a half-hour later when he heard a single voice, moving below in the heart of the church, the voice echoing off the wall. Adam quietly tiptoed down and peeked around the corner. He was too entranced by the voice at first to notice the person singing. The musical notes and the quiet timber of it made Adam wonder if the church was built for the sound instead of God. But then he saw the figure and his heart momentarily stopped.

Shaved head, eyes sunken into his head, was he sleeping enough? Perhaps he was an insomniac as Adam was as well, by choice or not was the question. The suit jacket had been shrugged off and laid over one of the benches. His dress shirt had been rolled up his arms, exposing the boy’s pale forearms, scarred and vulnerable looking. Adam could distinctively see two hooks etched into the sides of his neck, the black ink a stark contrast against the whiteness of his skin.

This must be the youngest one Adam thought. He wanted to go up, introduce himself but he was too scared to. The boy was not only taller than him but significantly stronger too. Adam didn’t exactly feel fear but he didn’t want to take any chances either.

He barely noticed the singing had stopped before the boy was in front of him and Adam’s heart stilled in his chest. “Who the fuck are you?” Adam was asked who immediately went into defensive mode.

“I live here,” Adam said with an annoyed pull of his lips. He wondered why the ladies had said they were ‘good boys’. This one seemed anything but.

The boy’s mouth opened and closed, the spell on his hardened eyes momentarily broken and he looked so much younger immediately. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

Adam swallowed and nodded before his everlasting need for approval reared its ugly head. “Adam Parrish,” he said, knowing how ridiculous his name sounded in a church of all things. The boy, Matthew, Adam presumed, seemed to realise as well and smirked a little. Adam wished he didn’t find it as attractive as he did.

“Ronan Lynch,” the boy replied and…

Oh.

Oh.

“You’re not Matthew?” Adam asked and he immediately realised how stupid he sounded. He also realised his hand was still in Ronan’s, pleasantly warm under his soft skin.

“That would be my baby brother,” Ronan answered and cocked his head. Adam didn’t dare to tell him that it made him look like a confused puppy. “Why would you think I was Matthew?”

And here Adam was, standing in front of the most dangerous-looking boy with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, tongue-tied and all. “The ladies who come here told me Ronan was the nicest of the brothers and well…”

“Matthew looks like a golden retriever personified,” Ronan helpfully added. “We’re all aware.”

Adam bit his lip and finally released Ronan’s hand. It took him everything to not immediately start running. He would have if he didn’t also want to tell Ronan how nice his voice was and, more importantly, leave a good impression for whatever reason that might be.

“Your voice…” Adam started and cleared his throat. “It’s really nice.”

He walked away after that, hating himself for coming up with ‘nice’ of all things. As if that wasn’t the lamest thing he could have said to the hottest person he had ever met in his short and sheltered life. You didn’t often find people like him in little Henrietta, Virginia and Adam blew it completely.

Adam could hear the soft laughter of Ronan echo against the walls again, following him up into his room. It was a quiet and surprising thing, fleeting like the birds’ wings on Ronan’s neck.

Adam dreamt about Ronan that night. Perhaps he truly wasn’t real but just a myth his mind had helpfully added a face to. But it couldn’t be, Ronan’s hand had felt so real in his own, warm and soft, the comforting touch of a mystical stranger.

Adam looked out the next day but Ronan was gone. It wasn’t a surprise, he didn’t think people that drove such cars actually slept in churches but he still felt a deep sense of disappointment that nobody was waiting for him downstairs, singing a beautiful song in greeting.

Adam got back to work the next Sunday and though he rushed back to catch a glimpse of the brothers, or, well, Ronan, it was to no avail. They were gone, carrying their voices with them.

The days flew by, the weather got worse. Adam was cold more often than not and in those freezing days where he could only pace up and down his small apartment to gain some warmth, he remembered the touch of Ronan’s hands, their palms pressed together, Ronan’s finger lightly touching his racing pulse.

“They have a habit of Christmas caroling,” one of the ladies, Dorothy, apparently, had told him with a wink as if she knew Adam had been looking out for them. “They do it every year, it keeps the brotherly bond alive.”

Adam thought Christmas caroling only happened in cheesy Christmas movies but he had thanked her and kept Dorothy’s words to heart. He made sure to finish all of his homework before sitting down on his bed on Christmas eve, eyeing the door with nervous anticipation. He belatedly thought of the possibility they would only carol at the door of the church, not of his apartment. Still, he held the hope that Ronan would remember their conversation and attempt to sing for him.

Though Adam had hope, he didn’t actually expect a knock on his door. He turned the doorknob with a shaky hand, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

Before him stood three brothers.

Declan, his expression stoic, his suit black this time with a tie that looked as if it was made by someone artistic, snowflakes and Christmas trees decorating the red and green background. The tie greatly contrasted what Adam had thought was his personality. Maybe he wasn’t as boring as he portrayed himself to be.

Matthew, all golden curls and happy smiles as he sang, his head bobbing a little with every note, his eyes squinted to feel the music more. He was as he seemed, cheerfulness evident in every word he sang.

And then there was Ronan. He was dressed in all black, not quite right for Christmas eve but it fit him, Adam could tell even though he didn’t truly know him. The scar on his lip pulled a little when he sang, the sole focus point of Adam’s sight until he suddenly remembered he had been staring at Ronan’s lips with fascination and looked up again. His eyes met Ronan’s pale blue ones. It reminded him of the ice he always wished he could skate on but never could afford.

Ronan smiled while he sang, he could tell from the crinkles around his eyes. Adam couldn’t help but smile back and applaud a little when they were done.

“You deserve every praise you get,” Adam told the brothers. Declan nodded in appreciation and squeezed Ronan’s shoulder.

“He really is nice,” he said, smirking a little as Ronan’s cheeks turned red, his expression affronted that his brother dared to expose him like that. “Ronan forced us to sing for you.”

This time it was Adam’s time to blush, unable to meet Ronan’s eyes so they fell on Matthew instead who looked ecstatic. “I think you’ll make a lovely brother in law.”

“Matthew!” Ronan yelled and Matthew laughed as he dragged Declan down to ‘give them some privacy’.

Adam finally looked up to Ronan again and tugged a little on the sleeve of his suit jacket so he met his eyes again. “I’m glad you came here.”

“You are?” Ronan asked, sounding as if he expected Adam to slam his door in his face. Adam could sense the hope in Ronan’s eyes and, hell, it was Christmas Eve . This was the night for miracles and taking chances, for spending time with loved ones that Adam didn’t have but if he played it right, he could have exactly that next Christmas.

Adam thus nodded and ran inside to get a pen, writing his phone number on the palm of Ronan’s hand, the light blue almost the colour of the veins that ran underneath his skin. “I want to get to know you better, maybe you become less of a myth in my head.”

Ronan’s laugh sounded like bells and Adam couldn’t help but grin back, strangely proud that he made the boy with the wonderful voice laugh like that.

“I don’t use my phone a lot,” Ronan confessed but protectively curled his fingers around the phone number anyway and Adam knew he was going to call him.

“See it as a Christmas present to me,” Adam replied and Ronan’s lips pulled in a smirk, leaning closer to him as he spoke his next words.

“And what is my present then?”

Adam rolled his eyes, somewhere between exasperated and amused, knowing that he would be walking that fine line more often with Ronan. “A date?”

Ronan’s cheeks flushed a little again and he nodded. Adam cheered inwardly. “Deal,” he replied as if they were in some kind of business meeting. He briefly frowned, having realised that himself too.

Adam wanted to tease that he was more like his brother than he was probably willing to admit but he kept his mouth shut to ensure he would still go on that date.

“Deal,” he replied softly instead and watched as Ronan finally turned to leave, looking back one last time at him before going back into the cold. Adam watched Ronan push Declan and ruffle Matthew’s hair before getting into the shark-nosed BMW and driving off, the pristine snow still lingering to its exterior.

The myth of the Lynch Brothers didn’t end there but next Christmas, Adam was in on it too. He didn’t carol, it was something for the brothers alone. Instead, he comfortably sat on the worn couch of the Barns, sipping hot chocolate with Chainsaw, Ronan’s raven, her beak comfortably pressed into his neck, waiting for the brothers to return.

With them, the Lynches brought warmth and joy, a liveliness that Adam had missed in those years alone. It wasn’t before long that they came barrelling through the door, Ronan curling up next to him, one arm around the back of his shoulders as they retold where they had been caroling, how the old ladies of the church wished Adam a happy Christmas.

And Adam did have a happy Christmas, more so than he ever experienced before. He was surrounded by people he cared for more than anything and finally understood what the true Christmas spirit was about. Love, joy, and most importantly, spending time with your family, be it born or found.

[soyunaagente]

Christmas with Miguel Ángel Felix Gallardo includes

Okay. I'm not going to go into where I've been but I’m back!! 

I hope you all have a safe and happy Christmas and all the best for 2021. As long as it’s better than 2020 we should be okay. 

A few of you liked the idea of Miguel liking Christmas so here you go! 

As one has stated Miguel Ángel loves Christmas. It reminds him of a simpler time when he could relax with his family for longer than five minutes.. 

So every year he always makes a point of spending at least the three days with you.

You want to make the run up to Christmas special too, but he helps with the bigger jobs. 

Miguel always insists on putting up the tree the first week of December-- after slowly putting up decorations since the day after Dia de los Muertos. He also always decorates it with you. 

Just- imagine. The two of you hanging your favourite ornaments on all the branches. Your favourite ones going on the top.

And you balancing, somewhat dangerously, on Miguel to get the angel on the top of the tree- because you know his ass buys some extravenly tall pine tree.

Him moving slightly so you fall back into him- I can’t with myself sometimes. 

He also loves baking with you at Christmas. It distracts him from all the crazy- and gives him a chance to lick the icing he conveniently placed on- stop it-

He has a taste for gingerbread so that is a staple from December 1st in the house. 

With the combination of baking and gingerbread it's common to see him (attempting) to bake gingerbread cookies when he gets a minute. He leaves the icing to you though. But then he eats most of them.

Christmas Eve Miguel likes to keep traditional. But also relaxing. 

Chill clothes, sipping wine from the early afternoon on, loads of Christmas treats. 

Miguel LoVeS to get some hot cocoa and just relax with you on the couch. Chatting and watching a movie. 

He’ll also fuck you in front of the big open fireplace and NoW I will see myself out. 

Esa es para mas tarde jaja

Christmas Eve is all about gifts too. 

We all know Miguel splashes out for you- whatever you want you get

But at Christmas whatever you never even dreamt of you get. The jewellery, the clothes the shoes…..the car etc

‘Qué es esto?’ ‘Pues mi amor, es nada.’

He also gives really thoughtful gifts too. I mentioned it before but he forgets nothing and always gives you something you really wanted at Christmas. 

Miguel will also always insist on bringing you out for Christmas Eve dessert. To your favourite place. 

A mulled wine and your favourite dessert- you know just because. It always brings a smile to his face to see you so happy. 

For Christmas Day- well he keeps that for the both of you. It's his favourite day of the year and he wants to make it extra special. 

All the maids and housekeepers and chef are just buzzing around under his orders to make the day, and dinner, perfect. 

You both enjoy breakfast in your pajamas, just chilling, 

It doesn’t take him long to break out the champagne either. Hey, it's a special day, it’s g.

You two always toast to each other- he just needs you with him and Christmas reminds him of that. SO he toasts to you and utters a quick prayer to the birthday boy to keep you safe and the family priest is going to KiLl ME for that. 

You two both get dressed up properly for dinner. Like, the works. You also wear some of the jewellery Miguel gave you- so he can admire it. 

The chef is under strict orders to make the perfect dinner- all the trimmings all the works

You both are so full afterward all you can do is flop on the couch and watch yet another Christmas movie

He promises to take you to see a white Christmas as it literally never snows in Mexico. 

The evening is for relaxing and well ~relaxing~

He also likes to throw fancy Christmas parties -to show off his secret decorating skills- What?

Like THE works- you know his fortieth birthday party? Yeah that but with Christmas lights, Christmas music, the who’s who. 

You always dress to perfection- its a ballgowns and your best jewels kinda night. 

On the back of the invite where you don’t see is a vague threat to everyone to not be dressed better than you. 

It’s also a little gift exchange so you get even more shit

But as in Mexico there’s never a white Christmas, that’s generally the theme of the party. White clothes, gold and white decorations, artificial snow that you have no idea where it came from 

As with everything with Miguel it’s over the top, fireworks and all

Y’all even have Christmas themed cocktails- like mistletoe martinis (I promise you I’m not an alcoholic I just am a mixologist😭)

Moving away from that before I get carried away. Miguel even loves to take you on walks around the city to look at all the Christmas lights, 

You’ll just walk the streets, stop and get a drink and then continue on your way. 

Especially in the late evenings when the lights are on and theres still an atmosphere. Excited kids, music, laughter

It brings a tear to his eye wishing it could be like this all the time and WhAt Am I DOING

If the kids are involved Santa is going to be very good. 

Miguel lives to see his kids excited and watching them open presents on Christmas day just makes his heart swell. It’s everything to him. 

He just- he needs Christmas with his family and he wants it to be special as he’s not around as much as he’d like. 

Summing it up it’s a time for family, you, relaxing and sugar when it comes to El Jefe de Jefe’s at Christmas

A chance for him to really show you his softer side--- and you’re not allowed to breath a word of this to anyone

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#130-121)

#130: Franco Battiato and Alice -- I Treni di Tozeur (Italy 1984)

“In una vecchia miniera, distese di sale E un ricordo di me, come un incantesimo”

“In an old empty mine, the salt extends And I seem to remember it, like a dream”

Franco Battiato was one of Italy's greatest songwriters, known for his complex songs in a mix of genres. Unfortunately, I haven't listened to most of his discography, but I do know of "Per Elisa", the song he wrote for Alice which won Sanremo 1981 (coincidentially, the first year Italy withdrew from Eurovision, welp). It's thoughtful and its incorporation of Fur Elise is well-done with its synthesizers.

In comparison, I treni di Tozeur is not a song readily caught by first listening, and that’s why it’s not my favorite of its year. This doesn’t mean it’s not a good song, though—it's sounds eerily futuristic even for the synth-based 1980s, and actually timeless. The lyrics seem ambivalent, but I think there’s some philosophical bent towards them. One of the commentaries talk about the train to Tozeur being built in the early twentieth century to satisfy the whims of the King of Tunisia, at a huge cost. Maybe there's some social commentary sneaking in there.

The performance was good, but it seems like Alice had a bit more control of her voice. She did so with style, and I actually liked her outfit.

In addition, the opera singers at the end were the cherry of the cake. A mix of classical and modern, indeed, which earned itself classic status.

Personal ranking: 2nd/19 Actual ranking: =5th/19 (with Belgium) in Luxembourg

#129: Linda Martin -- Terminal 3 (Ireland 1984)

“Staring into a space, searching through every face He's been away too long now, he must have changed”

I feel like there are two types of people in terms of 1984--those who have Alice and Batiatto (#130) as their favorite, and those who have Linda Martin as theirs. As shown by how close they are on my list, I love both, but Linda Martin just eeks it out.

The storytelling aspect of the song is very strong, as Linda waits for her lover to come from an international flight. Ironically, it can't be from Dublin, as no Irish airport has a third terminal. Maybe it's from London's she's waiting for her love? Or the flight is coming to the United States, rather than from it? Mysteries indeed.

(Now my life goal is to be at Terminal 3 at 10:30; one of David Tao's most famous songs is 飞机场的10:30--Airport at 10:30, which deals with the same topic)

The New Wave instrumentation and orchestration add up to the drama too--the brass grabs me from the first beats, and the strings and rock influences remain as the song goes on. It's kind of hard to believe Johnny Logan was behind this, especially considering he's better known for his ballads. If she had to win one Eurovision, Terminal 3 had to be the one.

Personal ranking: 1st/19 Actual ranking: 2nd/19 in Luxembourg

#128: Halla Margrét - Hægt og hljótt (Iceland 1987)

"Kvöldið hefur flogið alltof fljótt Fyrir utan gluggann komin nótt Kertin er’ að brenna upp Glösin orðin miklu meir’en tóm"

"The evening has fled all too fast Outside the window night has come The candles are burning low The glasses have become much more than empty"

As their debut entry was fun and "in-your"face", Iceland’s second entry has an afterparty feeling, but I've heard some comparisons to being a Christmas song. It doesn't sound like it to me, but it's still really serene and beautiful, as if the snow was falling outside (not unlike #213 on this list).

The lyrics are quite gentle and pretty, painting a dainty picture. However, they also contain enough melancholy to add a tinge of darkness to the scene, which is why I don't think it would work as a Christmas song. Halla’s vocals are very pure, and adds enough delicacy to the composition. The piano and orchestration also helps.

What stands out more is the funny notes related to Hægt og hljótt--one refers to the last line of their chorus, which is bufflaxed to "anus in the air" in English, another mentions how Halla's dress is see-through against the white piano, almost as if she was a ghost. Very strange, especially the latter as the lyrics focuses on the upcoming dawn. Or it would make a good fan-fiction, come to think of it.

Personal ranking: 3rd/22 Actual ranking: 16th/22 in Brussels

#127: Raphael -- Yo soy aquél (Spain 1966)

“Yo soy aquél, Que por tenerte da la vida, Yo soy aquél, Que estando lejos, no te olvida,

“I'm that one, Who gives his life to have you I'm that one Who's far away and doesn't forget you”

When I first did this sorter, Yo soy aquel ended up close to being in my top 50. It was a surprise, because despite being one of my favorite songs from Spain, I didn't think about as much in terms of great songs, even though it's a beautiful song.

The opening bars to this song are filled with drama, which gives way to Raphael’s crooning for the one he loves. The lyrics are a bit repetitive, sure, but they still work in how Raphael wants his love to know he will be there. I particularly love the way the song builds, which, combined with his singing, creates a brooding atmosphere. The explosion in the chorus is really effective, which the orchestra compliments and actually amplifies. You could actually feel his passion thanks to those strings.

1966 was an incredible year (especially for a black-and-white contest), and if I could switch one of Spain's wins, I would drop La La La for this in one second (even though there's another song from this year on my top 250). Massiel doesn't hold a candle to Raphael.

Personal ranking: 2nd/18 Actual ranking: =7th/18 (with Yugoslavia) in Luxembourg

#126: Liam Reilly -- Somewhere in Europe (Ireland 1990)

“We should be together, and maybe we just might If you could only meet me somewhere in Europe tonight”

For my European friends, I wish for this lyric to come true! I am sadly ill-traveled, haha.

When I started to consider this top 250, I thought "Somewhere in Europe" would be song #250, because it was pleasant and pretty, but wouldn't trouble the rest of the list. When I was re-arranging the list, this was one of the songs which got a great boost, and now it sits just outside of the top half of this list!

As for this song, I like it a lot. It not only a pretty little ditty, but it also takes the theme of unity and takes one on an adventure. Because of the piano-based instrumental, I keep thinking that it's like a Billy Joel song, as it's quite homebrewed. While I don’t think this would’ve made a better winner than Insieme (or White and Black Blues, for that matter--France winning would bring some new energy to the contest), Liam Reilly proved he was a talented songwriter, and it shines with the orchestration too.

As a result, I keep thinking that it would be a good New Year's Eve song--it's nostalgic yet calming, and seeks out a better future. Unfortunately, Liam Reilly died on New Year's Day this year, which makes it a bit sadder. RIP.

Personal ranking: 8th/22 Actual ranking: =2nd/22 (with France) in Zagreb

#125: Rita -- Shara Bachravot (Israel 1990)

לבוקר הזה יש טעם של חופש זר כמו של מוות או ברכה כי הלכתי ממך”

“This morning, Has the taste of strange freedom Like of death or a blessing Because I went away from you”

(I actually heard of Rita before stumbling on her Eurovision entry--one song I really like is Idan Raichel's Mechake (Waiting), and I searched the web. One of the results was Rita's version of his composition, which compared to Raichel's, is a bit more produced. Still great!)

1990 focuses on freedom in many ways, especially because of the Berlin Wall falling and the end of communism. Shara Barkhovot also talks about freedom, but does so in another way.

It’s basically a tale of a relationship ending, with a woman leaving her partner in the morning. It’s frequently interpreted as running away from abuse, and the imagery involved does a good job in conveying that feeling.

It’s dramatic and passionate, with Rita “emoting” the song rather than merely performing it. Unfortunately, it does go off the rails later on, with her vocals losing out at points. I still like how she played with the microphone stand, though!

Personal ranking: 7th/22 Actual ranking: 18th/22 in Zagreb

#124: Helena Paparizou -- My Number One (Greece 2005)

“You're my lover Undercover You're my sacred passion and I have no other.”

Helena Paparizou was one of those artists that I knew that participated in Eurovision, but didn’t listen to her song until much later. I found out about her with the song “Heroes”, which I played a lot when I was younger (about 11-13 years old), and didn’t think about her in the contest, other than she won and she received a wide ovation when she returned to Greece.

My Number One is all kinds of fun, from the ethnic instrumental to the sometimes silly lyrics. I also love the performance featuring Helena playing a human lyre, which is a definite highlight! A fun and energetic bop (the last of a holy trinity of ethno-influenced dance winners during this time), now I’m a happy fan of hers (I really listened to Kati Skoteino a lot since 2018, for example. Plus her Mambo interval the following year is fantastic.)

On whether this or "Die For You" was the better song, it's hard to tell, especially on how close they are on this list. Whereas 2001 was the weaker year and Die for You had to win it, My Number One was in a stronger year and held its own. And yet it's not my favorite...

Personal ranking: 2nd/39 Actual ranking: 1st/24 GF in Kyiv

#123: Vanilla Ninja -- Cool Vibes (Switzerland 2005)

“Don't want you to come so close to me Don't need you to blow my fantasy But I know that you are livin' far beyond those lies I can see the danger rise in your eyes...”

From my last place in 2004 to my favorite in 2005, what a glow up from Switzerland! Though to be honest, I have a hard time determining why this song in particular is my favorite of its year. I did come in knowing that Switzerland was the only one of the original seven to not win in my timeline, so that may have impacted my thinking.

Cool Vibes a dark rock song, with occasionally dramatic lyrics (though then again, emo rock was getting popular during that time), but an intriguing musical atmosphere. Despite 2005 being known as the "ethno-bop year", there were a number of interesting rock songs (e.g. In My Dreams), and this holds up by its sheer seriousness, versus the occasionally silly vibe of those others.

And with that string motif, it does sound like a song that needs an orchestra to realize its full potential. There's a lot of hidden angst throughout the song, and the multiple key changes actually helps here.

Personal ranking: 1st/39 Actual ranking: 8th/24 GF in Kyiv

Final Impressions on Switzerland: Not one of my favorite countries in the contest, unfortunately. I find most of their entries to be quite non-descript, with some of them being very bad. That said, they do have a number of gems on here, and some great ones that just missed out (Moi, tout simplement; Io senza te; She Got Me especially). And with the track they are now, they could actually win in the next few years. Hopefully with a French-language song. :)

#122: Tanja Ribič - Zbudi se (Slovenia 1997)

“Zbudi se, dobri princ Rada bi ti dala vse Svoje sanje in mladost Da ne bom iz pravljice”

“Wake up, good prince I would like to give you all My dreams and my youth Break the spell of the fairy tale”

Sometimes I forget I love this song. As 1997 is one of the strongest years (if not the strongest year song-wise), there are so many good ones one can't remember all of them. Zbudi se a bit dark and fits in very well with the rest of the 1990s with its mythical character (and might be the first Balkan ballad proper), but Tanja does it so well. And she would later be more known for her acting!

When I do listen to it, it just takes me away. It’s a dark fairytale, with beautiful lyrics and an intriguing atmosphere. The narrator longs for her loved one, filled with magical imagery and dreaminess. I also appreciate the transition between the lyrics and the chorus, which can be very hard to do! And of course, the orchestration, including the harp parts in particular, create a fantastic soundscape.

Personal ranking: 8th/25 Actual ranking: 10th/25 in Dublin

#121: Lúcia Moniz - O meu coração não tem cor (Portugal 1996)

“Dança-se o samba, a marrabenta também, Chora-se o fado, rola-se a coladeira.”

“We dance the samba, the marrabenta too, We weep the fado, and roll the coladeira”

Curiously, for a song which was one twelve away from a top-three finish, O meu coração não tem cor seems a bit less known within Portugal. It even didn't get a studio release, and Lucia is better known for being the love interest in Love Actually. And yet it's still a fan-favorite within Eurovision.

The lyrics call out to everyone in the Portuguese diaspora (or the Lusosphere in general), and welcomes them to engage in their cultural traditions. We have fruit and dance and crying and laughter all at once. All kinds of fun, except when the clips grayscale and I keep thinking of those "in memoriam" scenes.

And it managed impress in another way; it came in 18th in the audio-only pre-qualifer which only appeared in 1996. Thanks to the brazen and fun orchestration, along with Lucia's very sweet voice, it was lifted up in the final to a solid sixth place! Very well-deserved.

Personal ranking: 5th/23 Actual ranking: 6th/23 in Oslo

[whiteappalachianwitch]

The Eight Sabbats

There are eight major holidays Pagans celebrate throughout the year known as Sabbats. These holidays date back to pre-Christianity and are related to the movement of the sun. They are given names relative to the Celtic agricultural festivals. 

Historically we were once farmers and believed the sun moved around the earth. Modern Pagans are far moved from this way of life. However, the Sabbats are still important for connecting to the cycles of the seasons and human life. 

There are four astronomical holidays included in the Pagan Sabbats: the equinoxes and solstices--and the four traditional holidays in between. These eight festivals make the Wheel of the Year, observed in Wicca and Neo-Paganism religions that are Wicca-influenced. 

I Samhain: October 31st 

One of the most well-known Sabbat is Samhain, celebrated on October 31st. This holiday is celebrated as Halloween or All Hallows Eve also. Halloween is the time of the year when everyone participates in spooky activities and ancient superstitions. Culturally, Pagans and Witches are paid the most attention during this time of the year. 

Samhain is a term derived from the Irish Gaelic language meaning “summer’s end.” During this time, the days are short and the darker half of the solar year is near. Farmers will use up the remaining stores of perishable fruit and vegetables, and preserve other food to keep throughout the winter. Livestock is also slaughtered that does not feed through the winter, a reason why Samhain is referred to as the Third Harvest, or Blood Harvest. 

Pagans and superstitious peoples believe the boundary between worlds is at its thinnest during Samhain. This holiday is referred to as Ancestor’s Night or the Feast of the Dead. Many witches believe Samhain is the best time to communicate with ancestors and honored spirits, also known as the beloved dead. Lonely or angry spirits are believed to wander the earth on Samhain night looking to irritate humans. 

Celebrate How To

Samhain is the beginning of the new year for Pagans. Reflection and celebration are the focal points of this holiday. Casting off the old year’s attachments and turning attention to winter and it’s scarcity. Feast on the last of summer’s harvest and contemplate what is worth saving and nurturing during the dark times of winter; make friends with Death. 

It is important to note participating in the celebrations of Halloween and trick or treating. This is a celebration of muggles, but has its roots in old Pagan beliefs anyway. 

Samhain rituals may involve ancestor alters, where participants are invited to place mementos and offerings for the beloved dead. The priest or priestess may invoke a deity ruling over transitions or migration of souls, such as Morrighan, Hecate, or Hermes. Individuals who died during the previous year or long ago may have their names spoken. 

Feasting is important in Samhain rituals. To eat sweets is to acknowledge the sweetness of life and its impermanence. To eat meat is to acknowledge all flesh must die and become nourishment. Food is also an offering to the dead for communication of fond memories, pay of respects, and appease hungry ghosts. Some Pagans will leave a plate out at the Samhain table for spirits that may visit. Dumb supper is a silent meal when Pagans invite their ancestors both known and unknown to come and feast. 

II Yule: ~December 21st

The Winter Solstice, or Yule, is the longest night of the year. If you live in the northern hemisphere Yule falls on or around December 21st. The darkest parts of the year is over and the days begin increasing in length after the winter solstice. 

Christmas falls around this time of year, adopting Yule customs. Christmas is the belief of the birthday of a divine infant who is conceived in the spring. The dark of midwinter is the time of the confinement of the Goddess in labor as she prepares to welcome the solar child. On the longest night, the Sun God is born as the earths creatures praise and thank Him. 

Celebrate How To

Passive, personal magick during Yuletide is the best practice for short days of work and long nights of dreaming. Set your intentions and incubate plans. Mental and spiritual preparation is important during Yule for the light half of the year. Some Pagans keep a midwinter vigil while they wait for the rebirth of the sun at dawn. 

Yule is not usually a time for group ritual gatherings since many are visiting family and traveling. For this reason, the rituals during Yule are more home-y and conventional. 

Decorate with evergreens and holly, exchange gifts, and light a candle to herald the return of the sun on Midwinter Eve. If you are ambitious, set the Yule log blazing. Give thanks for the life-giving energy of the sun. 

III Imbolic: February 1st

Imbolc is a festival of spring and purification. Celebrated on February 1st, the day of not yet spring in most of the world. This is the first of the three Pagan fertility festivals, with the other two Ostara and Beltane. 

Imbolc is an Old Irish term meaning “in the belly” associated with the coming of lambing season. Other festivals that coincide with Imbolc are Candlemas, a Christian festival, and the old farmer’s oracle Groundhog’s Day, both on February 2nd. 

Imbolc is significant for our ancestors because this was the beginning of the ground thaw when planting season preparations were made. The land was surveyed and inventory of tools were made for repairs and modifications that were necessary. Witches would also prepare by cleaning and blessing the altars and making sure tools of practice were attuned with intent for use. 

The mythical side of Imbolc is a celebration of awakening the Goddess after her journey of birth to the young God at Yule. The first stirrings of life after winter are observed. Energies of creativity and imagination are brought about by Imbolc. For this reason, many projects that were put on hold are now being picked back up again. Midwinter dreams resolve into visible shapes. 

Celebrate How To

Brigid holds Imbolc especially sacred as the Celtic Goddess of hearth fire, healing, the bardic arts, and smith work. Brigid can be honored with candlelight, poems, and woven ornaments known as Brigid’s crosses within Imbolc rituals. Cleansing, healing and blessing are appropriate since the first light of spring is evident. 

During Imbolc, it is a time for spiritual dedication and re-dedication. New members are often initiated in covens, especially women’s covens, at Imbolc. Examining and refreshing your practice during Imbolc is appropriate if you are a seasoned Pagan. If you are too relaxed and have not given time to your craft, Imbolc is an opportunity to purify intent and reconnect spiritually. Light candles, open windows, and wash the floors to cast winter gloom out. You may also use Imbolc for divination for the year’s harvest ahead. 

This holiday is not a time for feasting. The first food of the year is dairy, butter, milk, and cream; foods for the Imbolc table. 

IV Ostara: ~March 21st

The spring equinox, also known as Ostara, falls on or about March 21st in the northern hemisphere. This equinox is the time Pagans refer to as Mabon, the opposite of the autumn equinox. 

Ostara is the second of the three fertility festivals, where blessings of spring become more apparent in the natural world. Flowers are blooming, birds and bees are twitter pated, and pastel-colors fill the stores. Eggs and bunnies, ancient fertility symbols, appear everywhere; Ostara is the Sabbat with the rabbit, ha! 

Ostara is the midpoint of the year where the day and night are equal. The Sun God has been growing and gathering his strength since Yule, making his age an adolescent. The Great Goddess is getting younger and in her maiden form. The two are youthful, full of lust, and the same age, which will soon have them conceive a child born at Yule. 

Celebrate How To

The time of Ostara is a great time for love, prosperity, and gains of any kind within your magickal work. Harness the energy of the lengthening days to propel your desires and projects into fruition. The land is beautiful and nourishing, and the earth Goddess is honored. 

Ostara is a good time of reflection on the principle of balance. For this reason, it is a good time to balance work, family, art, spirituality and all your responsibilities. Take time to notice things that have shifted your balance. Reset priorities. 

V Beltane: May 1st

The ancient name for the May Day rite is Beltane. This festival was originally a fire festival and celebrated in Ireland and Scotland before the days of Christianity. The god Bel, or “the bright one,” is responsible for the name of this festival and means “Bel’s fire.” On the Celtic Pagan calendar, Beltane is the second of the two principle festivals, with the other one being Samhain. Samhain and Beltane are the two markers of the magickal year, when the gates of Faery and the spirit world are the most open to travel. 

Within Wicca, Beltane is a festival of sexual activity since it is the last of the three fertility festivals. During this time, the Maiden Goddess takes the young God as her lover. Wiccans will marry as the Great Rite to enact this drama the High Priestess and High Priest; their union will bless the land. 

Celebrate How To

With unbridled sensuality and revelry, Beltane is the time of sexual rites. However, this is a rare occurrence and you’re most likely to witness a symbolic Great Rite with a chalice and athame, or a dance around the maypole rather than an orgy. 

Bonfires, festivals, concerts, and campouts are the social aspects of Beltane season. If you are a solitary witch, you may make an altar to the young god and Goddess, or connect with a lover. Flowers, Honey, sweets, and wine are good things to place on your altar. This is also a good time for illusion, seduction, and Faery tricks. 

Beltane is a popular time for proposals, handfastings, and renewing of vows. The combination of masculine and feminine energy will become a powerful alchemical surge for any spell work. 

VI Litha: ~June 21st

The summer solstice, or Litha, is the time in the northern hemisphere around June 21st. Bonfires to keep the sun’s light alive for long as possible are lit. Blessing of the crops in the fields and banishing evil spirits is common practice.

Litha is the day when the Sun God is his most powerful self. The sun and the element of fire rule Litha. After Litha, the nights will be longer and the sun will move farther away. Within Litha, anticipating crop is evident as the fall harvest is imminent. The Midsummer Night was blessed, according to Medieval people, and whatever a person dreamed on this night will come true.  

Celebrate How To

Rituals are usually outdoors during Litha, as it is the time to take advantage of the long hours of day. This Sabbat is joyous with bonfires and summer games. Decorate the altar with solar symbols and honor the God as Father. 

Any magick ruled by the sun is perfect for Litha. Spells of cleansing, protection, charisma, and truth are especially appropriate. 

VII Lammas:~August 1st

This holiday is the first harvest festival on the Pagan calendar. This celebration is related to an old agricultural holiday of reaping of grain. Lammas most likely comes from the Old English term for “loaf mass.” Loaves of bread would have been prepared from the first grain and blessed by churches. Lammas is also known as Lughnasadh, named after the Celtic sun God, Lugh. 

The days grow shorter in the summer, and the sun God will lose his strength. He will die in the fields to nourish the people in preparation for rebirth at Yule. 

Celebrate How To

During this time, it is appropriate to welcome the harvest. Give thanks to this year’s work and plans as you will soon enjoy the fruits of labor. Grain is the food of tradition for Lammas, in the form of wheat, barley, beers, and ales. 

Lammas/Lughnasadh is celebrated in Celtic Paganism as the feast of Lugh, who is an agricultural god, but also a poet, musician, and craftsman. Showing off skills and trading them for things you need is a common practice. This time is usually a time of craft fairs and local markets. 

VIII Mabon:~ September 21st

The final of the eight Sabbats is Mabon, or the autumn equinox. The days will begin to shorten and winter is coming. Mabon is also known as the Second Harvest because of the reaping of autumn fruits and nuts. This holiday brings with it the time of deep contemplation for what we have worked for in the previous year and the rewards for reaping. Giving thanks to the waning sunlight in preparation for storing bounty away for the scarce season. The shift from active magick to contemplative magick is made in Mabon. This is the final time for prosperity, gratitude, security, and balance work. 

Celebrate How To

The hard work of harvest is done and now we must celebrate! It is sad to watch the growth season’s beauty fade, but the mild weather and rest autumn brings is welcomed. 

With Mabon brings comfort foods that promote fond memories and connection through sharing. Bake, brew, pickle, and can; offer wine, cider, fruits, and boughs upon the Mabon table. The Cornucopia is the centerpiece of most Pagans during Mabon. 

Mabon is the turning point to the dark half of the year on the Pagan religious calendar. The shift away from youthful merriment is made. Honoring the Crone and Sage deities, the cycles of aging and death, and the spirit world are appropriate during Mabon. 

This Sabbat is a popular time for outdoor rituals large in size mostly because of the weather. Gathering to feast and express gratitude for the planet during Mabon is the focal point. Some cities will host public Mabon rituals as a part of their annual Pagan Pride Day. If you are a Pagan in solitary you may celebrate Mabon with offerings at a home altar, or walking in the woods in deep contemplation. 

Reference

Gruben, M. (2017, November 26). The eight Sabbats: Witch's holidays. Retrieved July 19, 2020, from https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/the-eight-sabbats-witchs-holidays

[nohallowroadsau]

So, since it's Christmas Eve, what were the trankils first Christmas' like?

Oh boy, this is going to be a long one (part 1 because Tumblr’s being a jerk right now and I think it’s overloading the system a bit):

Comet’s very confused about all the lights and shinies dotting the apartment. They wrap one of their little hands around one of the light bulbs, and drop it when it gets too hot. How strange! DJSS puts them in a little elf costume, so they can be “Santa’s little helper” for the holiday. They keep trying to pull off the bells, but it’s fine, DJSS gets plenty of photos before they can tear any off. That Christmas, they get a full stocking of smaller goodies, like candies and cookies, and an assortment of smallish gifts beyond that. An immediate smash hit is the little toy rocket that makes like ten different sounds; they keep mashing the buttons to make weird, almost musical combinations. Thank goodness nobody’s around but them and DJSS, or else someone might have seen the big lug cry a bit.

The Sayu team have a little Christmas party/livestream where they talk to their fans while playing video games and sharing presents. It’s the first time Bunny’s ever really publicly recognized as Sayu’s trankil; by this point, the team’s confident enough to let it be known without people getting too nuts about it. The reception was overall quite positive; “What a Q.T.!” “dude they got little rabbit ears. nice” “Are they always that vicious with the Sayu merch? owo;” Bunny’s only vaguely aware that people are watching them from the camera(s) that the team has set up, but besides that they act about the same as usual; tearing into their gifts and sharpening their budding claws on whatever they’re allowed to. They’re much gentler with the marshmallowy foam toys they’re handed, though. Things get a little out of hand when the team introduces the Christmas bell merch through gifting the first one to Bunny; turns out, they’re a little nuts with the audio stimming! It takes a full five minutes of chasing the little stinker down to get them to stop shaking the devil out of the bell, much to the chat’s amusement. That’s definitely going to be circulating through the Internet for a while.

Thorn’s probably one of the calmest during the whole ordeal, given they’re older and more sober minded compared to a lot of the others. Yinu’s mom is pretty good about explaining human holidays to them, plus a few unique dryad traditions mixed in, such as decorating their branches/hair with traditional Christmas decorations (Yinu’s haven’t grown quite enough to support much, but her mom fits some holly on her head). They couldn’t quite get any ornaments to stay put on Thorn’s horns, though. Yinu’s very eager to introduce Thorn to things like toys, hot cocoa, and Christmas cartoons. They don’t have snow in Malaysia, so she can’t really give them much context for why they have all this white stuff everywhere. Thorn doesn’t get how the Christmas legends have anything to do with half the symbols, but they do very much appreciate the carefree day of food and gifts; they understand that much, at least! It’s on Christmas day that Yinu’s mother informs Thorn that they’ve been enrolled in fencing lessons, “To get all that feisty energy out,” she says while smiling. They’re very excited when they learn what fencing is; they had never had proper nail instruction before, but this would prove an excellent opportunity to learn! Hugs are inevitable by that point. Thorn does gift Yinu a little something, after the big Christmas dinner and being sent to bed; a string from the old piano when it was broken, before it got fixed by Bunk Bed Junction. A silent song, a drop of divinity, and a touch of soul magic, and the string transforms; it lengthens and thickens until it is longer than their mother is tall, the thickest part the width of a human thumb with a handle bound in gilded binding, with a gold rose pommel and pretty bright blue tassel at the handle. Letting the whip unravel onto the ground, Thorn shows the awestruck Yinu a hidden switch; they flip it, and dozens of tiny, golden thorns spring out from the length of the whip. Switching them off, Thorn coils up the weapon and lets its magic go dormant, back to its old broken string form, and hands it to her. It is their first gift, and first blessing; never again would they see their little sister defenseless. Yinu accepts it without words, though not without tears.

Scotty picked up on the hectic energy from the moment they woke up on Christmas Eve. The boys were hiding something, they just knew it! They spotted flashes of brightly colored boxes and funny-looking helmets, but they couldn’t for the life of them figure out what was going on. When they asked Neon J, he went into a very longwinded explanation about holidays and the importance of preparedness in case of attack, and while Scotty would never admit they only half listened, they did. They were especially prone to the zoomies and hand flapping to shake off all the excitement they were getting from the others; they couldn’t help it that the band was literally humming with excitement like overheating computers. When Christmas day arrived, they were shocked and horrified to see that their precious brother figures’ heads had been replaced with those of beasts! The poor kid was traumatized, much to the amusement and guilt of the robots involved. They’re caught hiding behind the curtains in the mansion, with poor Rin trying to coax them out. They did calm down, but it took a lot of cookies and hot chocolate to get them to accept their brothers’ new faces. They got back to being excited when presents got involved, because oh boy, 1010 does not know the meaning of subtle. Rin got them their own child sized DDR game set, since their small size makes it hard to play the grown up version just yet. Haym got them a giant plush rabbit, in case they need to snuggle something a little softer than a metal chasse. Eloni got them some Nerf guns, specifically to cause chaos. Zimelu got them a whole crane machine full of usual crane machine toys, because they love those things (even if they try and climb in). Purlhew got them a bicycle, because he’s the cool brother and that is The Coolest Thing a kid can get for Christmas. Neon J tried to give them an air rifle. It took some serious words with the boys to get it through why they stopped making those for kids (”They’ll shoot their eye out!” “They don’t have eyes, though!?!?”).

[indestinatus]

(there is just one thing I need)

inspired by this post from @justkindaoverhereobsessing

He shook the snow out of his boots, kicking them on the wall a couple of times to let the ice crisps from it fall to the ground. They were left out in the hallway, and precariously so, for there was a little girl left alone inside the flat, and this little girl in particular was very much known to be up to no good, especially without him there.

“Tali,” his voice echoed at the empty hallway, a key turning into the lock as his bare hands shivered from the cold. He didn’t take any gloves, thinking this was going to be a quick business, but it was a decision he soon regretted, only because now his fingertips were numb to a non-feeling point.

He wasn’t sure if going out in the deserted french streets only to buy cinnamon was a nice way of teaching his daughter not to be spoiled, but somehow she knew the direct way to his heart - something she must have inherited from her mother - and a small pout and sad eyes could get him anywhere in a second.

He also wasn’t sure about the reason a child would ask for cinnamon to be put in a simple hot chocolate recipe - he always thought it would be the other way around, more and more chocolate - but he had a feeling it had something to do with the text now sitting on his phone.

At the airport, xo

He had read it a thousand times already, and only the act of remembering it made his heart flutter, a burning warmth suddenly spreading under his winter clothes towards his numb fingertips. He’d taken so much time processing it that his reply had only one tick, which made him curse himself for a good while for not wishing her a safe flight in time.

He’d told Tali at noon, and since then she couldn’t stop asking about it and planing the multiple things she thought was necessary for the night to be perfect. The girl practically thought an international flight took mere minutes, checking the door and the windows more times than he could count. He couldn’t deny his excitement was the same, but someone had to take the reins here and not burst with anticipation hours before the doorbell even rang.

And so he walked to the little corner shop still opened at that hour only to buy cinnamon for a hot chocolate recipe he was certain it needed no cinnamon at all. The streets were lonely and gray, and people were probably already dining on their respective homes, for it was Christmas eve, the only day when deserted streets meant a good thing, to be honest.

As he walked back from the shop to the apartment, the snow fell relentlessly and he regretted for the tenth time that day for underestimating European temperatures. Speckles of ice guided his path and made his insides shiver, and he almost couldn’t breathe, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

It had more to do with the Israeli flying towards him, getting closer and closer to home.

“Tali,” he repeated, making sure to keep his snowy boots out on the doorway, “everything okay? I’m back now.”

His eyes were alert, already rethinking if the decision of leaving a child alone for more than five minutes was the right thing to do. But he was a single father, so to speak, and her incisive need of that goddaming cinnamon was beyond him. It was easier just to do what she asked for than contour his way around it, and he had learned that long ago.

When two stubborn parents merge stubborn genes, there’s no chance their child will get away with it. It was in her blood, and it was their fault.

“Tali, sweetheart, where are you?” He left the keys on the kitchen counter, his voice echoing in the empty living room. There was a Christmas tree on its corner and a menorah on top of the mantlepiece.

He heard giggles coming from her bedroom, followed by “Here, Daddy” also merged with soft sweet laughter, like ripples of water. She must be unwrapping her presents, he thought, she was his daughter too after all.

At least she wasn’t asking about the flight anymore, but by the last glance he did at the kitchen clock, it would still take a couple of hours to land. At least he had an answer already, if not for her, then for him. He was having heart palpitations since yesterday.

“Little ninja, you better not be-”

His voice died.

He saw her hair first.

Dark brown curls now frizzy from the snow and wind outside, falling down her back and over her shoulders. Curls he remembered from his dreams, memories long gone and revisited every day.

He saw her smile right after, his heart threatening to stop.

A bright smile, her cheeks pink from the cold but eyes glinting more than the Christmas lights outside.

She must have got here mere moments ago, he thought.

She was sitting on Tali’s bed, a photograph of them in that same city in her hand, taken years ago and cherished as if the most precious treasure in the world since then. Her fingers were shaking, and he wondered if she still felt cold for a second. Then he wondered how, how was she here, how did she get here without him being here, how her flight-

“Whose plane was it?”

She chuckled. “You are clever,” her eyes locked with his again. “Sometimes.”

There was something in her smile that brought such a warm feeling to his chest, a feeling of belonging that had been misplaced for years. He was convinced that that smile was meant just for him, perhaps ever since they met.

He was wrong. If there was someone who would burst from excitement between him and Tali, it was definitely him. The combination of his heart on fire and his fingertips numb was weird, but his face lit up all the same, without him even realizing it.

“I bought cinnamon,” Tony said, laughter dancing in his eyes.

Ziva’s smile was bigger than ever.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

headcanon #036: ash & christmas

word count: 481 words

ash’s relationship with christmas is, more than anything else, awkward. it’s a day after his birthday, meaning that while his parents always made sure his birthday was a thing of its own, friends have often combined birthday and christmas gifts and celebrations into one. it doesn’t really bother him, especially since he’s not a big fan of receiving material gifts or throwing big parties for his birthday anyway, but the awkwardness of people not knowing whether to celebrate both separately or to combine them is kind of inconvenient. his birthday mattered more to him when he was a kid, so it doesn’t matter as much anymore anyway, but the memories of the awkwardness are there.

in a similar vein, as ash grew up, he learned of the religious value of the holiday, and as someone who’s not at all religious and is respectfully Not A Fan of organized religion, it’s something he feels weird celebrating at all at times. if he celebrates it, he doesn’t care at all about any religious aspects of it, and that feels awkward as well.

moving to seoul allowed him to see christmas from a new perspective. for all of the talk he might do at times about hating the greed behind big corporations, he’s a sucker for a good romantic commercial holiday, which is why he loves valentine’s day, white day, and that’s why he found a more clear place for himself in celebrating christmas as he saw that it was often treated more as a couple’s holiday among the youth in his new city.

winter is his favorite season in seoul and he finds the whole white christmas spent inside by the fireplace with a lover an intensely romantic notion. he’s spent quite a few christmas days single, but he’s spent a couple in a relationship or some other kind of romantically fulfilling connection, and he considers christmas his third favorite romantic holiday after white day and christmas.

much as ash isn’t big on receiving gifts, he does sometimes enjoy giving gifts. he doesn’t give a lot of gifts other than the ones he has delivered to his parents because a lot of his friends seem to already have everything they need, but if someone close to him expresses they want something particular for christmas, he’s always happy to buy it for them. he understands some understand receiving love through gifts much more than he does.

he likes christmas decorations too, especially christmastime in a major city when storefronts are decked out with lights and snowy scenes.

christmas music is hit or miss for him, and oftentimes modern tries at christmas songs are too derivate, but ash stands by some of the best christmas songs of all time being good enough to compete with non-holiday songs.

from 2017 to 2019, ash uploaded a cover of a christmas song to his soundcloud every christmas eve.

[elite-guard-hardygal]

Please, consider: Akiren's angst (P5 protag) This guy surely has PSTD (the arrest night, the interrogation room, heck, even the jail time with Solitary confinement too) also, the bullying at Shujin, the mistreats of Sojiro at the beggining, the threathings, the weight of being the leader of the PT and more. Heck, Joker is way to healthy for all the shit he went through. I refuse to believe that he doesn't have anxiety or depression.

I agree with this

Morgana has said it, and I agree with him as well, that the protagonist has been through a lot...

Heck, on top of everything you just listed, I even think that even all that time he spent pretending to be dead got rather old after awhile - it’s not like he couldn’t go out of course, he did that all the time, but I was oddly surprised at the RELIEF and excitement I felt being allowed to go back to school after Shido was dealt with. It had been so long since I had seen the inside of Shujin and it was a routine that I didn’t realize I missed. Now, I could be projecting, but I’d imagine even the protagonist kinda missed being able to go to school like a normal ass kid, as opposed to lurking around Tokyo in a hoodie and hoping nobody would recognize him.

ALL of this crap that Akira/Ren went though made the victory against Yaldaboth feel very... earned. Which thus meant that when Sae asked that he turn himself in, I actually started to cry.

The UNFAIRNESS of it really hit me hard - this kid, who’s been wrongfully arrested, wrongfully shunned by his peers, faced all the pressures of being the leader, arrested AGAIN, tortured, and forced to live the life of a dead man, FINALLY overcame all the ruin that had been hanging over him, on Christmas Eve no less...! He’s planning to celebrate both Christmas and this final victory with his friends the next day, but what does he receive instead?

A request to turn himself in, to be arrested a third time, and face solitary confinement with little hope of freedom.

I UNDERSTOOD Sae’s request. It was for the sake of everyone else in the Phantom Thieves group. It was for their safety. But it still struck me as so, so, so unfair. And when she granted Akira/Ren’s request to wait until Christmas morning before he turned himself in, I just started crying even more because his friends have NO IDEA the sacrifice he is about to make. They’re going to come in expecting to celebrate a victory and Christmas and find that their leader has been arrested again.

I can’t say this enough, but the unfairness of it all CRUSHED me.

Really, I do have to give them props for doing this. It works well with all the themes in the game I think, not to mention it shows the absolute selflessness of the protagonist. And it gives an opportunity for the rest of the Phantom Thieves to help their leader for once, and gives an opportunity for the adults in his life to step up and do what adults ought to do - look after and protect a kid who isn’t even in his graduating year of high school.

All that said, the writers still did gloss over the fact that yes, the protagonist has been through more than anyone (especially a high-schooler) should go through, and there is little sign of the consequences all this stuff should have inflicted on his psyche.

The November incident probably frustrates me the most because Sae and Makoto BOTH mention that he shouldn’t be all right (emotionally) after all that...! And yet it’s never really mentioned again. Like, okay, I can buy that Akira/Ren will have pushed down/suppressed all his feelings about being friggin tortured at least until after the pressing issue with Shido had been dealt with - his quiet, reckless ass would probably do something like that. But that doesn’t excuse him being in perfect physical condition the day after being rescued, and that doesn’t excuse the fact that besides those few comments by Makoto and Sae, the emotional impact this must have had on him is never mentioned again.

A similar thing happens after he’s released from prison at the end of the game, and someone mentions he looks like he’s lost some weight - that alone, combined with the fact that he was just released from solitary confinement, carries some implications, but again, it’s never mentioned again.

Akira/Ren didn’t just help his friends with external troubles, but internal troubles as well. It thus would have been super interesting if his friends not only helped him with his external troubles (him stuck in prison), but also the INTERNAL troubles he must undoubtedly have. It would have really brought the whole idea that it’s his friends helping him this time to its zenith.

I do love this game overall, don’t think I’m complaining about this whole game. It’s just little story moments like this - where we could have further explored the character of the protagonist (who DOES HAVE a distinct personality even if we don’t hear him speak much), or at least acknowledged the very real emotional consequences being tortured or locked in solitary confinement would have inflicted on a teenager, and yet don’t get either of those - that kinda frustrate me.

Do I think that Akira/Ren is coolheaded and good at remaining calm and stoic? Yes. Do I think that the happy ending he finally gets and the closure with which the game ends is pretty much earned? Also yes. Do I ALSO think he’s been messed up by everything that’s happened to him and that we should have had at least a little time for him to at least acknowledge it and for his friends to at least show their support or something? OH. YES.

Okay, now I’m getting a call from the insurance company of the guy who hit my car in the parking lot and have to deal with that. Hope you enjoyed this hour’s worth of ranting 😅

[the-last-rat-standing]

The Scents of Things

For the Slibbs Challenge! :) (If you like my stuff and want to buy me a coffee, feel free to donate! https://ko-fi.com/coolbyrne Thanks to all who have supported in the past.)

<p>As a psychologist, she knew the power of the olfactory memory, was well aware how smells played a part in memories. She only had to smell fresh garlic to be reminded of her mother's kitchen where she would roll out homemade meatballs. The smell of the ocean would forever remind her of California just as sure as diesel oil would never be associated with anything other than Afghanistan. </p>

<p>He had his own scent, too, of course. Mostly soap and wood and strong coffee, though it would be sawdust that she'd connect with him, its smell warm and pervascent and the reward for a job well done. Well, sawdust and- she looked at the small but heavy bottle in her hand and smiled. CHAZ for Men. He wasn't inclined to wear cologne except when they went out, when he was Jethro Gibbs, Husband, not Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. When she had insisted, early on in their relationship, that he dispose of all remnants of at least the last 3 wives, a box of bottles of various emptiness was the first to hit the curb on garbage day. Which was one reason she jokingly gave him the cheapest, 'manliest' cologne she could find. And if the only thing she had gotten out of it was his laugh when he opened it on Christmas Eve, that would have been more than enough. But he did more than that- he wore the goddamn stuff. Even more surprisingly? <em>It smelled damn good on him.</em> Like his skin and his will turned the rankest, nose-wrinkling odour into something that made her want to curl up into his neck. Every damn time. </p>

<p>Tilting up the bottle, she felt a pang of impending loss. When the bottle had gotten below the half line and she realized how attached she had become to the scent, she rushed to the discount perfume store… only to find it was discontinued. ("Ma'am," the lady had told her, "that brand was discontinued <em>ten</em> years ago." The petite salesgirl whispered to her on the way out, "We had an office pool to see how long it would be before we sold it. We were all off by at least 2 years.") The tablespoon of amber reflected in the light and she flopped onto the hotel bed with a sigh. She was Day 5 into a week long conference in Seattle and she could do nothing but pout into the empty room.</p>

<p>At precisely 9pm, her phone rang, as it had done the previous 4 nights, and she muted the TV before answering. </p>

<p>"Hey."</p>

<p>"What's wrong?" was his immediate response. </p>

<p>How could she explain the melancholy that had settled in her heart over something as simple as cheap cologne? "Nothing." Knowing he wouldn't believe her, she clarified, "Just bored. Tired. I was fidgety in the conference today."</p>

<p>"Didn't you bring that fidgety thing I got you?"</p>

<p>"You're my fidgety thing," she all but whined. "It's not the same." Softer, she said, "I miss you."</p>

<p>"I thought that's why you took 3 of my shirts, my red hoodie and my cologne."</p>

<p>"I'm 2 steps away from eating through a container of Ben and Jerry's, and this is the support I get?" His laugh softened her self-pity, until she replayed his words. "Wait. How did you know I took your cologne?" </p>

<p>"Fornell invited me to that new steakhouse in Georgetown. Couldn't find the cologne."</p>

<p>"What'd you need it for?"</p>

<p>"It's a steakhouse. Where else am I gonna wear it?"</p>

<p>She took his teasing in stride, feeling her mood lift. "Shut up. You wear that everywhere with me."</p>

<p>"Because you like it."</p>

<p>"Because you love me."</p>

<p>"Mmm." There was a softness that sanded the edges of an otherwise Gibbsian grunt. </p>

<p>She was having none of his feigned dismissal. "Same reason you call me despite the time difference even though I keep telling you it's not necessary."</p>

<p>He really <em>was</em> sanding, because she heard it get louder, no doubt in an attempt to mask his confession. "Maybe I miss you, Sloane."</p>

<p>The use of her maiden name always sent a warmth through her, like the verbal equivalent of his scent. </p>

<p>"I'm wearing your shirt, your red hoodie and your cologne, if that helps." </p>

<p>"How the hell is that supposed to help?"</p>

<p>Burrowing into the bed and his hoodie and his scent, she mused, "You've got great hands. Put them to use."</p>

<p>Her coy attempt at knocking him off-balance didn't work because all he said was, "Tried last night. Didn't do a damn thing."</p>

<p>His brazen honesty made her laugh even as it sent heat between her legs. "Yeah, I know what you mean."</p>

<p>That attempt worked.</p>

<p>"Shit!" he exclaimed, and she could hear something clatter to the floor. "Godammit, Jack. For that, I'm throwin' out that cologne," he warned. "And the hoodie. And the shirts."</p>

<p>His threats meant nothing, especially when he never completely hid the fact he liked her in any combination of the 3, and his disapproving hum fooled no one.</p>

<p>Still, she felt compelled to say, "You wouldn't. You may have 11 more Marine hoodies and 34 more shirts, but you can't find this cologne anymore. Believe me, I've tried."</p>

<p>"You've counted my shirts."</p>

<p>"And hoodies. How else am I suppose to rank them in order of my favourite?"</p>

<p>"Didn't realize there was list.”</p>

<p>“Oh, there are <em>many</em> lists. Which sweaters are my favourite. Which pants your ass looks best in. Which boxers-” She was sabotaged by her own yawn. “Sorry.”</p>

<p>“You tired yourself out by fidgeting.”</p>

<p>A sleepy smile spread across her face. “I did. See? You should’ve been there.”</p>

<p>The soft scrape-scrape started again. “I’ll be there in 2 days. The airport, anyway.”</p>

<p>She sighed, a touch of melancholy returning. They hadn’t been apart for more than a few days since they’d gotten married and she was finding out how little she liked it. “Promise?” The question was unnecessary but the distance encouraged her small pity party.</p>

<p>“Promise. Whattya want me to wear?”</p>

<p>“Really?” She brought the hoodie’s sleeve up to her nose while she contemplated the offer. “Those blue jeans with the hole in the pocket where your wallet goes. And that grey cable knit sweater with the wool coat?”</p>

<p>“It’s June.” He must’ve heard her little resigned sigh because he said, “Fine. Blue jeans. Hole. Sweater. Coat.”</p>

<p>“I promise you won’t be wearing them long once we get home.” The bounce in her voice brought out his laugh.</p>

<p>“Go to sleep, Sloane.”</p>

<p>“You, too, Cowboy.”</p>

<p>…..</p>

<p>She was right. He didn’t wear the clothes very long. In fact, half of them were gone by the time they’d stumbled to the couch and she had been so focused on getting the rest off (to be fair, he wasn’t taking much time with hers, either) that she had missed the wrapped box on the table. It wasn’t until the air started to cool the sheen of sweat across her back and her heart returned to a less feverish drumbeat that her brain kicked in to the new thing in the familiar room. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she peeked over hers.</p>

<p>“What’s that?”</p>

<p>It was taking his heart a bit longer to slow, and with his head back against the couch, his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. “A box?”</p>

<p>“Smart ass,” she accused, nipping his chin with her teeth.</p>

<p>“Why don’t you go look?”</p>

<p>“You just want to watch my ass as I walk away.”</p>

<p>“Yep.”</p>

<p>His honesty got him another light bite, but also got him what he wanted, because she slid off his lap and sauntered to the table in all her naked glory. </p>

<p>“How’s the six, Gunny?”</p>

<p>“Lookin’ pretty good from here, Lieutenant.”</p>

<p>She picked up the box and weighed it in her hand, tilting it back and forth in an attempt to divine its contents.</p>

<p>“Or you could just open it,” he suggested.</p>

<p>“Did I mention the smart ass thing?” It was a rhetorical question as she sauntered back to the couch.</p>

<p>“I like watchin’ you leave, but I love watchin’ you come back.”</p>

<p>“A sweet smart ass,” she amended, returning to his lap with a sigh when his hands automatically went to her hips. She shook the package again until she saw the impatience narrow his eyes. “Okay, okay.” The paper was barely ripped away when her laughter filled the room. “Where did you find this??”</p>

<p>“Somethin’ called ‘ebay’.”</p>

<p>She scowled at his sarcasm, but held up the bottle much in the same way she had in the hotel room; only this time, the bottle was full. He shook his head at her beatific smile.</p>

<p>“I have no idea what you get outta that.”</p>

<p>“I get you. I get a memory.” </p>

<p>She uncapped the bottle and sprayed a short burst under his upturned chin. Their eyes met, blue on brown, full of promises that were punctuated by his kiss.</p>

<p>“Good," he breathed against her lips, ‘cause I got 4 more bottles in the basement.” </p>

<p>She squealed in delight as he twisted her onto the couch, letting the bottle gently hit the floor.</p>

<p>…..</p>

<p>-end</p>