#the catcher in the rye summary

[readbooksummary]

the catcher in the rye summary, The Catcher in the Rye is an American novel by J. D. Salinger that was partially published in serial form 1945–46 before being novelized in 1951. Originally intended for adults, it is often read by adolescents for its themes of angst and alienation, and as a critique of superficiality in society.

[ivandoingsomeart]

Holden caulfield

[st4rfckerz]

2:37 am | stepbro!anakin x reader (pt. 1)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: MDNI 18+, dubcon, stepcest, dry humping, slight aftercare, dead dove do not eat.

summary: during a sleepless night, your stepbrother, anakin comes to your aid.

a/n: this is inspired by a video i saw on twitter AND a dream i had, so i just had to write about it.

pt. 2 here

you never expected your father to remarry after your parents' divorce. but much to your surprise, your father did just that. not only did he remarry, but he also brought a new family into your life - a stepbrother named anakin.

you quickly learned that anakin had a troubled past. he's always got some new story about a friend getting arrested, an incident involving drugs or something else. despite his antics, you couldn't help but find him attractive, his messy hair, constant teasing, and his intense gaze all got you feeling hot under the collar. but you knew he was off-limits as he was your stepbrother, and your feelings for him were something you tried hard to suppress.

it was another sleepless night. you were reading a book in bed, trying to get your mind off the fact that sleeping is just not something your body wants to do. you were wide awake.

you set the book down and looked at the clock that stayed on your nightstand.

2:37 am.

you let out a heavy sigh, then you set the book down and leaned back in your bed, trying your best to focus back on the book. but, as always, your mind was elsewhere.

your thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you heard a few light knocks at your bedroom door.

"who else could be awake this late?" you thought to yourself. after placing your book on your bed, you went to open the door. you slowly open it and raise your head to see anakin.

"you're still up." anakin says in a whisper, his voice quiet and deep. the faint glow of your lamp's warm light illuminated his face, displaying a small grin pulling at his lips. anakin crosses his arms and leans against your doorframe.

"couldn't sleep," you respond softly, trying to keep your voice quiet. "what about you?" you try not to feel intimated as anakin's eyes carefully scanned yours. although his body was slumped slightly against the wall, he still appeared to be towering over you.

"couldn't sleep either, can i come in?" he asks. you stepped to the side, out of his way, and watched as he walked slowly into your room. anakin glanced around your room as you silently closed your door. his gaze lands on the book lying on your bed.

"catcher and the rye?" anakin asked curiously. smirk on his face and his eyebrow raised. he flips through a few pages before taking a seat on the side of your bed.

"i've read about five chapters tonight," you sigh, taking a seat next to him. "still not tired."

anakin snickered quietly before sitting down next to you. he gave you a look that was difficult to interpret until he spoke again.

"it's your little boyfriend again, isn't it?" anakin said as he shifted in his seat. it was as if he was trying to find a more comfortable position to be in. his knee accidentally knocked yours, making your body tense up slightly. he knew exactly what he was doing.

"yeah," you huff defeatedly. "there's just been a lack of communication i guess." you look down at your fingers that rest on your lap, avoiding anakin's lingering gaze.

you often complained to anakin about your boyfriend and how you felt he was treating you unfairly. anakin didn't like your boyfriend and he would often tease you, hinting at how he felt about him. anakin secretly wished that he could have your attention instead.

a small chuckle erupts from anakin's throat. "he doesn't fuck you." he says bluntly. you quickly snap your head up, your wide eyes meeting his. your silence speaks volumes, your attempt to find words faltering before they even leave your lips. the room fills with a charged tension as your face turns hot and pink, a flush of embarrassment spreading across your cheeks.

"maybe." you reply quietly as you look back down at your lap. as embarrassing as it was, you knew anakin wasn't wrong. your boyfriend never made you cum. ever.

anakin knew immediately what he was doing to you. in fact, anakin knew exactly what was really going on in your mind and it was a bit too obvious. he could tell you were sexually frustrated by the way you always avoided his intense eye contact and how you blushed nearly everytime he'd speak to you.

"when was the last time you came?" anakin asks. he drops his head down lower, you could feel his breath on your neck as he spoke.

"i-i don't know." you stutter. your heart begins to race as anakin interrogated you. anakin's eyes moved up and down your body. he saw how nervous you were starting to get and he liked it.

"poor girl, must be really frustrating, hm?" his lips come even closer to your ear, so close that they're almost brushing against your skin. "i can fix that..." he whispers.

"anakin, what are you talking about?" you lean your body away from his.

anakin saw that you tried to lean away but he stopped you. with a firmer grip, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him. he lowered his lips to your ear again and spoke.

"you know what i'm talking about, and you know exactly what i can help you with." he purred with a sly smile. "i've seen the way you look at me." you feel his hand slowly traveled towards your exposed thighs.

"anakin sto-" anakin was relentless. you tried to push him away and he fought back. anakin's hand tightened on the side of your face, gripping your chin with force. his lips pressed firmly against yours. your mind went blank and for a moment and you felt a certain excitement building up inside you, despite the fact that you felt guilty about what you were doing. you tried to think of your boyfriend and how this would only make things worse, but those thoughts slowly faded away. you wanted this.

anakin's firm hold on your jaw started to relax as his lips devoured yours. as the kiss continued, his arm that was tightly wrapped around your waist was released and his hand traveled towards your thigh once again, his fingers gently rubbing the skin.

"just let me help." anakin spoke in a slightly deeper, more enticing tone than before. you felt his warm breath on your skin as he softly kissed down your neck, his tongue slowly making its way up your neck. his hand moved to your hair, gently rubbing the back of your head as you felt his fingers slowly creep towards your inner thigh. your veins are filled with an increased level of arousal, and you can feel it pooling in your panties.

the sound of your heart pumping and adrenaline coursing through your body overwhelmed your thoughts. the need to become as close to anakin as possible overtook everything else.

anakin brought you both higher up on your bed and you lay on top of him, his hands wrapping around your arms as he pulled you closer. his lips tasted so sweet and as soon as your tongues met, you felt a rush of sensations, like never before. your breath was taken and your heart pounded in your chest. he moaned softly and you felt him grasp at your hips, pulling you closer to him.

anakin's hands slowly slide down your waist. with a firm and assertive touch, he begins to skillfully remove your shorts, his fingers deftly unfastening the garment and sliding it down your legs.

the sensation of cool air against your exposed skin only intensifies the heat that envelopes them. the tingling anticipation courses through your veins as you remain seated on anakin's lap, your kiss unbroken.

anakin's touch is both possessive and tender, his hands trailing up your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

he pulls away from the kiss before speaking again, "lift yourself up." he said in a soft and low voice, a slight smile forming on his face. you did as he asked and he quickly removed his black, plaid pajama pants. anakin's boxer-clad erection protruded against the fabric, stealing your attention.

"eyes up here, angel." he teases with a knowing smile playing on his lips. anakin's gaze held yours captive, his dark eyes filled with an irrepressible hunger. he pulls you back over towards him, his body against yours.

as you settle back down against anakin's bulge, a soft, involuntary moan escapes your lips.  the sensation of his throbbing length pressing against your drooling cunt sends a jolt of arousal through your body, a sweet ache of desire stirs your senses.

a smug grin dances upon anakin's lips as he observes your reaction, relishing in the control he holds over you.

"just follow me." he whispers. you had no words to say and did as he instructed. you nodded your head to let him know that you heard and understood him. with a firm but gentle touch, anakin's hands find their way to the small of your back, guiding your movements and synchronizing your rhythm. a low, throaty moan escapes his lips.

"fuck." anakin breathes out.

with each rut of your hips, the pleasure builds, your bodies moving in sync. the friction between you and anakin heightens the sensations pulsing through your bodies. a wet patch grows on your panties, a clear sign of your arousal.

anakin's eyes beam with amusement as he grazes his fingertips along the damp fabric.

"god, look at that," he purrs. his touch is feather-light, tracing the outline of the wet patch, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "you're killing me." anakin lulls his head back against your headboard, catching his bottom lip in between his teeth. his eyes were glued to the way your hot pussy rocked so deliciously against his throbbing cock.

your head hangs low, and your breaths become shallow and little whimpers escape your parted lips.

"feel good?" anakin asks. you nod your head in response. "use your words baby." his words send a spark of electricity down to your core.

"y-yes, feels s'good ani." you pant. anakin groans quietly when he hears you refer to him by his nickname.

"that's my girl." he coos. with a sudden flick of his wrist, anakin lifts up your small shirt, exposing your breasts to him. anakin's lips latch onto one of your exposed nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. he alternates between gentle sucks and flicks of his tongue, coaxing the sweetest moans from your lips. simultaneously, his free hand palms the other breast, squeezing and massaging it with a firm grip. your back arches instinctively, pushing your chest further into his mouth as you drown in the sensations he evokes.

"ani, i'm close," you whimper as you feel that long forgotten coil begin to form in the pit of your stomach.

anakin removes his big hand from your nipple and returns it to the fat of your thigh. your bodies move in sync, the rhythm building with a fervent need. anakin's grip on your thighs remain unyielding, his strength displaying the control he holds over the both of you.

"let it go angel, cum for me." anakin mewls. you could tell he was close to his own orgasm by the way his stomach repeatedly flexed under your hands.

the knot in your stomach finally snaps, releasing a wave of pleasure that courses through your body. a loud, unrestrained moan escapes your lips, but before the sound can fully escape into the air, anakin's hand swiftly clamps across your mouth, muffling the sound.

"shhh, we don't need anyone hearing us." anakin whispers. as the sound is stifled, anakin's own release crashes over him. his body tenses, muscles contracting as he spills his seed into his boxers.

"s-shit," a string of filthy whimpers escape anakin's lips. you take in deep, ragged breaths, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

anakin gently brushes a strand of your sweaty hair away from your forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. he can feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you breathe heavily, your body slowly coming down from the intensity of your shared orgasm. anakin's arms instinctively tighten around your waist as you rest your forehead against his shoulder.

"you feel better?" anakin's voice, quiet and breathy, breaks through the silence that envelops the room.

"so much better." you respond with a light chuckle. anakin gently tugs you away from his shoulder. his eyes locking onto the dampness spreading across your underwear. the sight of the wet spot elicits a mischievous smirk from his lips.

"yeah i can tell." he jokes. his fingers trail along the edges of the wet patch, the fabric damp and clinging to your sensitive skin.

"here, let me help you with these." after easing you off of him and onto your feet, anakin sits on the side of the bed. he helps you take off your stained panties, his touch gentle and considerate, his fingers sliding under the fabric to ease it down.

anakin's gaze lingers for a moment, taking in the sight of your glistening folds. with a shaking breath, he quickly turns around, his heart pounding as he retrieves his pajama pants. facing away from you, he slips them back on, his movements slightly hurried as he tries to regain his composure. anakin's pants hang loosely on his hips, the fabric draping casually over his slender frame.

you change into clean underwear and pull on your discarded shorts that resided on the ground. the soft fabric glides against your skin, providing a gentle caress that contrasts with the electric tension that still lingers in the air.

as you turn back around, you see anakin holding your soaked underwear in his hands. you felt embarrassed and awkward at this moment yet anakin's face was filled with a slight smile.

"i'll put these in the laundry room for you." he smiles as he makes his way towards you. a wave of comfort sweeps over you as anakin pulls the cozy comforter over your body after you climb into bed. you feel safe in anakin's presence, his protective nature always made your chest feel fuzzy.

leaning down, anakin's lips press against your forehead. the weight of his lips against your skin sends a jolt of warmth through your body, a sweet sensation that lingers even after his touch is gone.

"thank you, ani." your voice was soft, and almost innocent, considering what had just occurred in your room. anakin turns on his heel, making his way towards the door. the sight of his retreating figure stirs a whirlwind of emotions within you.

anakin steps into the hallway, he glances back, his eyes meeting yours displaying a glint of affection.

"sleep well sis." anakin smiles and closes the door behind him, leaving you snuggled comfortably in your bed.

he locked the door after leaving you to sleep and walked straight into his room, not even taking a look at the laundry room.

as you fell asleep, you wondered how this would affect your relationship and you hoped that anakin wouldn't tell anyone. you thought back on the event, still flushed with guilt, yet something about it felt different. something felt good about it, despite its wrong-ness.

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ c.bg; six nights ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: six nights of emo boy gyu sneaking into your room without your daddy knowing. aberrational catholic guilt ridden catcher in the rye wannabe porn document. afab reader x softdom!beomgyu. warnings: everything, unfortunately. minors dni. heavy smut ahead. lots of pretentious writing, too. catholic guilt and imagery. abusive behaviour, parental neglect. drug use. violence. everyone is sad. i’ll keep on updating part-specific tags. index: prologue: the house of god, first night, second night, third night, fourth night, fifth night, sixth night, dawn of the seventh.

prologue: the house of god

when daddy wanted to hide something from you, he would turn to his beloved bible. and ever since you turned fourteen, he had been holding on to a passage that he would repeat to you every night before going to sleep: 

"let no one say when tempted, "i am being tempted by god," for god tempts no one. but each person is tempted when lured by his own desire. then desire gives birth to sin, and sin brings forth death."

that is the only sex talk your daddy ever gave you. it was more of a sex mantra than a talk, or a warning, or even a prohibition. just a rule of nature that he wanted you to have engraved in your mind: desire is sin, and sin is death.

when daddy didn't want you to do something, he'd blame the rule on god. and there's little you could say against that. 

as you grew up, you realised that god might not be real, but daddy most certainly was. a punitive, disciplinary god. and one feels much more compelled to obey divine rule when god lives under your roof. when you can touch him, and he can touch you.

when god lives in your house and his wrath can tear your flesh apart not in hell, not in heaven, but in this life; you become more cautious than the most devoted of christians. so even when everyone in your grade started drinking, dating, having sex; you had it very clear that the priority was to protect yourself. not from the dangers of drinking, dating, or sex; but from daddy, that is to say, from god.

none of your friends from school understood it, that the fear of god was not irrational. you had scars and bruises that god had given you which you could perfectly show them. but then daddy would get in trouble. besides, he wouldn't like you showing your body around. 

none of them could ever understand what living with god was like, so they were the kind of people who would ask that stupid question; if god loves us, why does he hurt us? 

the first person to understand god was a boy called choi soobin. 

daddy had remarried choi soobin’s mom the year before you started college. she was a beautiful woman, lively and hopeful to start a second life after becoming a widow. it must be thrilling to get a chance at a second life when your first one has gone wrong. soobin’s mom could have been very happy in another universe. you felt sorry that she had stepped into daddy‘s trap. 

you had always wondered how daddy had managed to get a woman like her. bright, cultured and affectionate. but then you figured that maybe, as he was god, he didn't necessarily need to be yahweh, or elohim. he could also be zeus and disguise himself as a swan to kidnap and rape leda. 

you found out later that soobin‘s mom had never fully recovered from the passing of her first husband, and she often suffered from major depressive episodes. daddy saw that void in her, and her urgency to fill it. he forced himself into the hollowness of the void, and obstructed her veins, bones, and heart with the word of god.

soon enough, soobin’s mom had no limb or internal organ she controlled herself. she had once had colours, you remembered; rosy cheeks, a hazel head of hair, lips tinted with vibrant red. but daddy had turned her grey. 

soobin’s mom had been kind enough to see the good sides of daddy, you had liked her for that. but you regretted that she hadn't learned to hide her colors so that daddy couldn't steal them away, like you did. 

she became a shadow of herself, an almost non-verbal phantom trapped between the real world –that is, the confines of daddy's house– and the world of hopeful prayers and the salvation of soul.

the boy called choi soobin would never forgive daddy for that. but it was alright. you understood. in a sense, he had killed his mom. you had to love daddy because he had created you, but you didn't think choi soobin was obliged to. 

people said choi soobin had changed, too. that he used to be a gentle kid, polite and sweet, but he had turned hostile. that, like most teens, he had become self-absorbed and belligerent without a cause or that he had gotten those adolescent mood changes so late in his life because he was an attention seeker. people say things like that when they don't understand what living with god is like.

you were the only one who didn't believe daddy when he said that soobin had a demon inside. you knew better than that, you knew that daddy saw demons everywhere. but soobin’s own mom believed it. when daddy tried to exorcise the demon away from soobin with fist and blood, she looked away.

all that soobin had wanted by acting up against daddy was to save his mom. to bring her back from the dead. but after that betrayal, he stopped trying. 

soobin had never been violent towards you, though. not once. not even mean. you were the only one who understood him, the only one who told him he wasn't evil. you knew that god's tyrannical rule could break a person, fill them with hate. and so soobin and you became close, often talking against god. every whispered defamation, every blasphemy, the danger of it felt so exciting. not because of the mischievous sin, or because of the disobedience, but because you felt like you could speak your mind at last.

your first kiss was soobin. you felt loved when it happened, something you realised you weren't used to. the feeling bloomed throughout the following week as you hid from god's watchful eye to be together.

soobin told you a hundred times that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, kissing all over your face, clasping you as close to him as he humanly could. he would sneak his hand under your skirt and whisper, "don't think about him right now. it's just you and me." and though his touch never went very far in the magnitude scale of sin and punishment, it was enough to breathe a new life into you.

you sensed that a big part of why soobin wanted you so bad was because he got turned on at the idea of defying daddy, and groping his holy daughter was the greatest offence he could commit. but that was alright. you felt the same way. and you hoped that that hate-induced lust would turn into love, in time. you could then be happier, even in the house of god. 

or you could have been happier. because god is omnipresent. and he would soon act to see you separated. the blossoming flower was brutally ripped from the soil.

when daddy found out, he locked himself into the master bedroom with soobin one morning and didn't let him go until the sun began to hide. soobin left that room broken and dead in life, just like his mom, but he didn't have one single bruise. maybe daddy really was god, after all.

soobin never talked to you again. spoken, yes, but it was hollow. you never felt loved again. you learned a lesson that day: your pleasure brings pain to everyone around. the mantra became true. desire is sin, and sin is death.

so if there was any need left in your body to touch, to kiss, to lick, to possess or be possessed; you confined it to the darkest pit of your ribcage, way past your heart, never to be accessed again. 

until choi beomgyu came around.

he was the second person to understand god. but he had brought his lesson learned from home. he knew god’s ways even before he met daddy. he had a god of his own. you called yours daddy, he called his ‘that narcissistic sadist’. but strangely enough, you felt like they meant the same thing. 

choi beomgyu was sort of soobin's friend, if you could even call it that. they never labeled each other as such, never sought out each other's company for the sake of friendship. they just wanted to live through their loneliness while sitting in the same room.

beomgyu’s dad was a dealer. he made a living out of ruining people's lives, as beomgyu saw it. growing up, he had promised himself that he would never be like that, the kind of person who doesn't care about poisoning someone's body if that meant keeping the cash flowing. but as he grew up, he learned that it wasn't all black or white. that all of those fools kept showing at his father’s doorstep, like they had no other choice. like they enjoyed hurting themselves. 

beomgyu, like soobin, had become hateful. one of the things that bothered him the most was the "why me?" question. how unlucky he could have been to be born of such a father. but then again, he could run away. he could sort his shit out, get a job, never see his father again. but he kept going back. like he had no choice. like he, too, enjoyed hurting himself.

his dad barely knew he existed, and if beomgyu ever tried to make himself heard, he would silence him in cold blood. so any semblance of love or validation beomgyu could aspire to, he sought out with mathematically strategised plans. he craved the drug of attention and knew exactly where to get it.

he'd linger around fancy schools and church events, scoping out a certain type of girl. there was always a few of them going through a rebellious phase, desperate to go out with a bad boy and piss off their high-official dad. 

it didn't take much effort for him to get what he wanted. he was handsome enough to make it easy, and even though he was a spiteful nihilist, he could be charming on command. just a smirk, a tousle of the hair, and some cheesy lines like, "i'm messed up, but with you, i feel like maybe i could be better," or "you're too beautiful for a screw-up like me." and he would have them wrapped around his finger. 

he would bring them over to his place and fuck them rough on his drug-money-bought mattress. if there was shouting, or a gunshot coming from another part of the house, he'd fuck into them harder, muffling their fear with a rough kiss, using their panic to fuel his own twisted thrill. you fucking scared? i've gone through this crap every day since i was a kid. 

if he could crack the shell of a privileged princess, dragging someone along with him down to his mud, his pain would slightly numb out.

for just a little, but never enough.

that pattern of behavior didn't lead to happiness. not even to satisfaction. it was a vindictive way of muffling his pain with the aching moans of someone who had it easier. but in reality, it only pierced what was left of his soul, making him even more hollow. it was soobin who made him realize that.

until that day, beomgyu saw soobin as almost a kid—pitifully weak and too sheltered. but when he told him about his exploits of going after posh girls, soobin didn't applaud in shared bitterness as he often did.

beomgyu explained to him how hard he got seeing the fear in their eyes as they realised that the life he led, that freedom of the rebel, wasn't as cute and bohemian as they had romanticised.

soobin responded curtly. "and then what? you cum, the spell wears off and you stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking of how miserable you are." he said. "and then you feel guilty for being a piece of shit and using that girl as a blow-up doll. and because of that you feel even worse about yourself, which means becoming more hateful and ruining more people. its not a you thing, you're not that special. that loop has been said and done. probably how your dad feels after beating on you."

beomgyu was taken aback. he didn’t even find it in himself to get offended. he remained pensive for a while before saying, "hyung. do you think i'm a bad person?"

soobin replied; "i think you can choose not to be."

and beomgyu took the advice. he put an end to the hunter-gathering of rich girls. he respected soobin from then on, too. soobin had therefore been a good influence, one could say. or at least an influence beomgyu was willing to accept. he started hanging around your house more, to the point of almost never leaving.

you learned about him as if he were a mythological figure—someone everyone talked about but whose existence you couldn't confirm. as a friend of soobin, beomgyu was bound from the start by an unspoken rule to maintain the least possible contact with you.

beomgyu was made aware of that rule very early on. what he didn't know, because he had been misled, was your age. that's why he didn't think much of it at first; he thought you were a kid. so, whatever—he couldn't talk to soobin’s annoying little stepsister. big deal. he didn't care about kids anyway.

this, combined with the prison-like structure of daily life in that house—minimal time in common areas and endless hours rotting in your own cell—fulfilled daddy's command to keep your life and soobin's, and therefore boemgyu’s, completely separate.

but even though you hadn't seen choi beomgyu in person, you had been able to construct a fairly accurate forensic portrait of him, pieced together from your father's warnings about people like him.

about the piercings, daddy believed that the body is holy, and anyone capable of mutilating within sin. about the music they played when locked up for whole afternoons in soobin’s room, he believed that god is serene, and disturbing that peace is a sign of the devil. he considered long hair on a man an abomination, and much like the eccentric clothes, a mark of a sodomite.

daddy didn't approve of him, and saw him as no more than a threat to the sanctity of his home. but beomgyu was quick to remedy the situation.

beomgyu was most acquainted to the ways of gods. he knew they were capricious, proud and pathologically narcissistic. so he made sure daddy could see he was a troubled young man and played the role of the lamb seeking guidance. he convinced daddy that he could abduct him, like he had done with soobin and his mother.

when soobin recounted the scene to you, his voice had sounded more hopeful, more full of admiration than you had ever heard. "he went to your dad and talked to him as if he was the buddha. said that he was lost and needed someone to guide him on the right path." soobin said. "he had some quotes from the prodigal son parabole learned, and he just delivered so naturally. not a trace of shame because when he lied to his face like that. it was like watching a play. your dad bought everything."

from then on, beomgyu became an unsung hero in your eyes. the boy who had outmanipulated daddy into having it his way. the boy who had defeated god.

around halloween that year, beomgyu and his dad had a terminal fight. it ended on a threat so destructive that beomgyu thought it was for the better if he stayed away from his father's place for a couple days. maybe a week. soobin, knower of the impotence and humiliation of having to sleep under the roof of the one who lacerated you and torn you to pieces, offered him shelter.

daddy's eyes lit up with greed. he saw the definitive chance to welcome a prodigal son into the fold. for beomgyu it was almost a joke. he was amused at how fast daddy allowed him in. so clueless and hasty, like one of the girls he used to charm into his bed.

in truth, beomgyu wasn't even to blame when he inevitably bumped into you. it had been daddy's mistake, he had let him in himself. you thought maybe that made daddy more human, somehow. that he forgot to close the back door to the prison and the devil strolled in.

but it wasn't really a matter of having let his guard down. daddy was still as stern, still as disciplinary, still as paranoid as he had always been. choi beomgyu was just much smarter than daddy.

he was a demigod, he was a promise. he was soon to make you his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross (i'm doing market research)

[reingkings]

I like to khnow what do u think about in ho s character ?

I’m just going to say how I feel about him personally but if I misinterpreted this question feel free to clarify again.

So on the serious side I think In-ho is a fascinating character. I really appreciate the HDH never really spoonfeeds us what we should think of anyone, he just gives us information and lets us form our own conclusion.

So you know, there’s the negative side of thing where In-ho is a cop/class-traitor turned Frontman. And you have to wonder where the splinter of cruelty grew in him. Has he always been this way? Did the games kill all the softness in him or did it just reveal what was underneath? We can never really know.

I also like the hints that he’s really into the arts and literature. They say that to know someone’s library is to know their mind. You can know so much about him just by knowing he has Catcher in the Rye on his shelf or that he hangs Margritte on his walls. It actually shows so much consciousness, that I wonder about him sometimes. Especially when he has Sins by Judith Gould on his shelf.

I found two summaries of this book that are so interesting and seemingly unrelated.

One is from the paperback and one is from goodreads. I haven’t read this book yet (it’s on my list but I’ve been busy). I mean there’s just various ways to feel about this one. I haven’t made up my mind.

It drives me a little insane actually because In-ho’s so hard to read. I love seeing how people interpret him.

On the other less serious side In-ho is also the biggest mood. I did not expect to laugh that much when analyzing his little actions.

Shoot someone because you feel rejected

Yeah totally get it bro u_u he’ll walk it off in two years.

His tunnel vision when it comes to Gi-hun? (And like everything else when it comes to Gi-hun).

Yeah bro can’t even judge. and it doesn’t even end well for him in this scene 😂 Gi-hun gets mad.

Or the glare he sends his employees in this scene:

That’s real. A man can’t even take a 7 day vacation after eight years without everything falling apart 🙄

How is he so evil but silly at the same time 😭

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Hi for the Halloween event can I please request yandere slasher trio (Zoro , Nami and Luffy please ) where Reader decided to stay with Nami since all their friends are dropping like flies ; turns out Luffy and Zoro have been doing it and Nami is the mastermind of it all please . (I’ve been watching to much scream lately XD ) 

I really love how you make reader interact with this trio in the lucky fic and the one where reader has a crush on Buggy ; honestly fair enough Buggy has got it going on 😔👌

If possible can reader be female please ; if not no worries , gn is fine ❤️

Platonic maybe please ❤️💛🧡

Okay so... remember how I mentioned that I didn't want these fics being too long because I want to get to as many as I can? Yeah... y'all probably aren't going to be surprised that I have immediately failed at that. This story is going to be split into two maybe three parts because it's getting really long and I have accepted that I will not be finishing it tonight.

Also I hope you don't mind, but the rest of the East Blue gang managed to worm their way into this fic, though they won't appear until part two. This part is Romance Dawn Trio centric. Also, I really leaned into the Scream angle, so this takes place in the 90's and everyone is in high school.

East Blue Ripper(s)

Yandere East Blue Gang x Fem Reader

4.5k words

Summary: A night home alone turns spooky when you hear screaming coming from the neighbor's house, but fortunately your friends are there to comfort you.

Warnings: light drug mentions, gendered (female presenting) reader, talk of teenage angst, pretty tame chapter but it gets more intense in the next one so stay with me

“Did you finish the reading assignment?”

The question makes you snort out a laugh. You twirl the phone cord around your finger while kicking your feet up in the air as they’re resting over the back of the couch, “Nope! I’ll skim through the chapters during lunch or something.”

“Aw, come on! I was counting on you being able to sum it up for me!” Nami’s voice crackled through the phone as she whined over your answer, “You’re usually on top of this stuff, how could you fail me like this? You know that I’m busy helping my mom with the orchard, especially with Nojiko being away at college now.”

“Hey, don’t pin that on me! You know that I’ve been stressing over the calculus test, I needed to study for it. Failing that test would be way worse than bombing some reading comprehension quiz for Catcher in the Rye.” Briefly, your eyes glance towards the backpack leaning against the couch. The book is in there, and you contemplate taking it out to at least try to read it, but you shake your head and skim your fingers over the calculus notebook propped up on your lap.

“Hey!”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll forgive you this time, but you’re on thin ice.”

Another voice comes through the phone, slightly muffled from being further away, “Be nice, Nami. It’s not (Y/N)’s fault that you were too lazy to read it yourself.”

You chuckle as Nami starts bickering with her mom. You rest the phone on the couch cushion and decide to refocus on your notes while they argue. You’re a couple of equations in when you hear something. The notebook is tossed aside, and you cover the earpiece of the phone to hear better.

It sounds like screaming.

For a moment, you stay on the couch. Yelling and screaming coming from the house next door was hardly a new thing. Bellamy, an upperclassman who graduated a couple of years ago, rented it with his gaggle of followers. If the rumors were true, it was a trap house, and you had little reason to doubt that based on all the people coming and going from it in rapid succession. It was all shockingly blatant, and it was beyond you how they haven’t been caught yet.

Just when you’re about to go back to studying, you hear more screams. These screams sound different from the usual noise you hear over there. This doesn’t sound like a party or a fight between them breaking out. Whoever just screamed sounded terrified. You set down the phone and toss your notebook aside before rolling off the couch and onto your feet.

Hesitantly, you make your way to a window facing the house and lift up one of the slats of the blinds and peer through. It’s pitch black outside, with only dim lights coming from the neighboring home. You stare harder, but you don’t see anything weird. The strangest thing is that the house seems quieter than usual, but that isn’t exactly enough for you to get worried. You sigh and drop the slat back into place. It was probably nothing. Just some stupid fight between the delinquents you live next to.

You walk back over to the couch and sit on it, properly this time, and pick the phone up to see if Nami and Bellemere are still bickering.

“-llo?! (Y/N)?! If you don’t answer me I’m going to call the police!”

“I’m here! Calm down!”

A loud, exasperated sigh comes through the phone, then the scolding begins, “What is wrong with you?! I was worried when you wouldn’t answer me! I was still holding the phone, you could have at least said that you were going to the bathroom or whatever instead of scaring me like that!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you. I just thought I heard something and had to go check it out.”

There is a pause, then Nami’s dumbfounded voice comes through the phone, “You heard a weird noise and went to investigate? What are you? The first person that dies in a horror movie?”

Your face felt hot at her pointing out how much of a horror movie faux pas you just committed, and you scramble to defend yourself, “It’s not like I went outside! I just peeked through the blinds!”

Nami sighs and you just know that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “What did you even hear?”

“I… I could have sworn that I heard screaming coming from next door. Where Bellamy and his cronies live.”

Once again, Nami pauses. You’re about to ask if she heard you when she finally speaks up, “... Did you see anything?”

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t see anyone through the windows, and I haven’t heard anything else since I went to go look.”

“They were probably just fighting about something stupid like usual, or maybe a drug deal went south. Don’t worry about them.” The previous hesitancy in her voice vanished and she was now very quick to dismiss the noises you had heard as nothing, much like you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” You heave a sigh and rub your eyes. Perhaps you’ve had a few too many late nights and it’s making you paranoid. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call it a night here? “It’s been fun chatting with you tonight, but I think I’m going to-”

Another noise came from outside, but not from next door. It’s coming from one of the windows in your living room. Heavy footsteps approached the window, followed by a scraping noise. You’re paralyzed on the couch, all words caught in your throat. This would be a scary experience on its own, but after hearing screaming coming from next door, it was bone-chilling.

“Going to what? Did you cut out on me?” 

Nami’s voice instantly snaps you out of your terror-induced stupor. The phone is clutched tightly in your hands as you whisper yell into the receiver, “Someone is outside my window!”

“What?!” Any nonchalance she had previously was wiped away in an instant as she all but shrieked into the phone.

“I can hear someone trying to open the window! I don’t know what to-” 

The lock on the window clicked open.

Your mind is screaming at you to run, to scream for help, to find a weapon, literally anything but what you’re doing right now. Yet all your body can do is cower on the sofa while gripping the phone for dear life as if it will save you. Tears sting at your eyes and you can distantly register that Nami is shouting something at you, but you’ll be damned if you can understand any of it over the pounding of your heart.

The window is slid open, rattling loudly and catching on the sides repeatedly as it’s pushed up. Glimpses of an arm can be spotted through the billowing sea foam green curtains, but the rest of the intruder is obscured from view.

Both arms come through the curtains and push them aside so that the person can grab both sides of the window to pull themself through. As this person pulls themself through, you can finally see the face of your soon to be attacker and-

“Oh, god damnit! Zoro! You scared the shit out of me!”

Zoro, your classmate and friend, finishes climbing through your window and looks around your home, not once acknowledging you yelling at him. “This isn’t the dojo…”

The adrenaline leaves your system and you slump back against the couch as a wave of relief competes with the burst of irritation you’re feeling. Are you glad that a serial killer didn’t just climb through your window? Yes. Are you still mad that Zoro just scared you like that? Absolutely. You lift your head up to glower at him.

In the time that it took for you to calm your raising heart, Zoro had wandered over from the window to the couch and plopped down next to you. He was entirely unbothered. He looked over at you and nodded his head, “Hey, (Y/N).”

You want to yell at him, or hit him over the head with the phone, but you choose a different tactic. Your voice is cold as you speak, “Nami. Yell at Zoro for me.” With that, you prop up the phone at his ear and stand up, leaving him to the wrath of Nami while you go to the bathroom to refresh yourself after that ordeal.

As a lecture of epic proportions takes place behind you, you can’t help but chuckle at being able to hear Nami even from here. You step into the bathroom and close the door behind you while flicking the lights on. They flicker briefly before shining down on and illuminating the small bathroom. You only need to take one step before you’re face to face with the sink and staring at your own reflection in the mirror. The faucet knob for cold water is twisted, and you quickly splash your face with it and rub at your eye.

The water is turned off, and you return to your full height to look at your reflection again. While you dry your face and fix your hair, your mind drifts to the unexpected guest in your living room. Zoro was a friend of yours, but a very new one. You would be lying if you said that you felt particularly close to him, especially when compared to your lifelong friendship with Nami.

Both of your moms were friends, so you have pretty much been friends since birth. Well, birth for you, adoption for her. She’s been a consistent part of your life for as long as you can remember. There isn’t anyone that you feel closer to than her.

That’s why it hurt so bad when she started pulling away from you a few years ago. You two grew up being thick as thieves, only for her to suddenly stop hanging out with you and barely speak to you at school. It was around the same time when she started working at some shady restaurant that everyone knew was a front. The “restaurant” was run by a man named Arlong, someone with a horrendous reputation thanks to his short temper and the rumors that he was part of a gang.

It was beyond you why she would choose to work there, and it was even more confusing as to why that seemingly meant that you two couldn’t be friends anymore. It was a massive blow to you, especially when any attempt at confronting her on it led to her shutting down and not saying anything, which later escalated into her snapping at you to just leave her the hell alone and to go bother someone else for once in your life… You aren’t proud to admit that those words completely broke you and led to your own flurry of unkind words that you would spend years deeply regretting. It also led to your friendship officially ending.

This was, of course, a very painful point in your life, though you had at least one good thing come out of it. While you were mourning the death of your friendship with Nami, a new one had developed in its place. After the explosive fight with Nami, you accepted that you needed a new table to sit at during lunch. A part of you wanted to hide away in a bathroom stall, but even while in the throes of teenage angst, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat on a toilet. That led you to finding the quietest, most empty table and sitting at it. There was only one other person on it, and she immediately took you sitting with her as a proposition for friendship and surprised you by dragging you to the mall after school to hang out. At the time, you had been annoyed to have your solitude forcibly intruded upon like that, but you quickly realized how nice it felt to finally have someone to spend time with again. 

That friend you made was a girl named Perona. You had only ever seen her in passing before, and while you never had a problem with her, you never went out of your way to get to know her either. She was something of an outcast at the school. Not for any good reason, though the reasons usually never are, she was merely a victim of circumstance. Her father ran the Moria Funeral Home, and that was enough to make everyone else deem her weird and creepy. The labels never seemed to bother her. If anything, she leaned into it. Perona fully embraced the weird girl aesthetic and by all accounts had fun with it. It was a trait that you really came to admire in her as you two grew closer. Perona became a rock for you when you were at your lowest and helped to make you feel like you could move on from Nami and leave all that friend drama in the past.

So imagine your surprise when at the beginning of this school year, Nami approached you to make amends and to “pick up where you left off”. At first, you were rightfully dubious of this abrupt change of heart. You thought that she was fucking with you. That concern was only intensified when you saw that she had a whole entourage of new friends. You thought for sure that she was going to mock and make a fool out of you again for the sake of looking cool in front of them. You had every intention of brushing her off like she had done to you all those years ago.

But, obviously, that isn’t how it went. Not only was Nami persistent, so were all of her new friends. They were all aggressively trying to befriend you and vouch for Nami. Zoro, tonight’s intruder, was by far the most aloof about it. He just kinda… started following you around. It was mostly creepy to begin with, but it did come with the pleasant side effect of all of the school bullies leaving you alone thanks to how intimidating he was.

Sanji’s approach was the polar opposite. You had been aware of him in passing before, and even caught a handful of stray compliments from him on occasion, but now you are pretty sure that he has deluded himself into believing that he’s your boyfriend. The second you come into view, your ears are greeted by him all but screaming “(Y/N), my love!” through the crowded hallway. A more than mortifying experience that had unfortunately become a daily occurrence. At least he made up for it by bringing you admittedly delicious lunches for school.

Usopp had inserted himself into your life as if you had been best friends for years, including by sharing stories of past moments together that literally never happened. He had a reputation for being a liar, and while that was accurate, he’s also a funny and genuinely nice guy now that you’ve gotten to know him. He even helps you out with your homework if you ask. Out of all of the new people introduced to you through Nami’s return, he was probably the one you got along with the best.

And then there was Luffy. He was an interesting character to say the least. Much like Usopp, he was also acting like you two were best friends right off the bat. He’s always slinging an arm around your shoulders and trying to drag you off to whatever adventure he’s concocted that day, or inviting himself over to your house. Sometimes during the day like a normal person, or sometimes he scares the hell out of you by crawling through your window in the middle of the night like some sort of sleep paralysis demon so he can recruit you into whatever late night scheme he came up with.

Perhaps it was a testament to how much you missed Nami, but in the end they managed to get through to you and become people you considered friends. More importantly, they helped to bridge the gap between you and Nami so you two could finally make up and be friends again. Having Nami’s friendship back was all that you had ever wanted in your years apart, and words could not describe the relief that you felt when you could finally put all of that pain and misery behind you.

But, now really wasn’t the time to be dwelling on the past. You still had to deal with Zoro, didn’t you? You slap your cheeks a few times to get yourself back into the present moment, then exit the bathroom. Nami’s voice can no longer be heard echoing down the halls, so you guess she either calmed down, or -more likely- Zoro hung up on her. You step into the living room only to be greeted by a whole other problem grinning at you.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

There, sitting cross-legged in front of the shelf containing your family’s collection of VHS tapes, was Luffy. He smiled and waved at you, completely carefree and offering zero explanation as to what he’s doing in your house.

“When did you get here?”

Luffy went back to going through the tapes. “A few minutes ago. You left the window open, so I let myself in.” He started humming to himself while pulling out tapes to examine them.

Actually, Zoro left the window open, but you decided not to harp on the details. God knows that Luffy wouldn’t care. The much more important thing to get to the bottom of was why Luffy and Zoro were even here. You glance back at the couch to see that Zoro is still there. He’s sprawled out with his arms crossed behind his head. The landline had been tossed haphazardly onto the side table, and had indeed been hung up. You’re sure that Nami is going to have a word or two to say about that in person when she sees Zoro at school tomorrow.

“Okay, why are you two here at,” you look up at the clock on the wall, “almost 11 at night?”

Luffy was quick to pipe up with an answer, “We were walking back home after hanging out with Usopp.” 

That made no sense, and you quickly point that out, “He lives on the other side of town. How the hell did you end up over here?”

“Zoro said he knew a shortcut, so I let him lead the way. That was pretty dumb of me, huh?” Luffy chuckled after his explanation, which evolved into full on laughter when Zoro threw a pillow at him from across the room.

While you were still annoyed, you had to admit that his story made sense. Zoro could get lost in a paper bag, so it isn’t at all shocking that he could have wandered over to your place while trying to get back to the kendo dojo he lived out of. 

“It’s cool if we crash here for the night, right? I don’t want Zoro getting us even more lost.”

The question surprised you. Shocked you even. While you’ve had them over to hang out before, typically with everyone else, the only people you’ve ever had stay overnight were Nami and Perona for obvious reasons, ones that you’re quick to voice, “No way! My mom will freak out if she finds out that I let boys spend the night!”

Luffy pouts at your answer, but it’s Zoro who speaks up this time, “Her shift doesn’t end until 8, right? We’ll already be at school by the time she gets home. She’ll have no way of knowing that we were ever here.”

What Zoro said was true. Your mom worked overnight shifts as an ER nurse at the local hospital. She probably won’t know so long as you all clean up and neither of them leave any evidence behind. Still… it feels risky, and you really don’t want to risk pissing off your mom by surprising her with two unexpected guests if she comes home early for whatever reason.

Sensing your unease at the idea, Luffy springs up and hurries over to you. He takes both of your hands into his own and stares into your eyes with a pleading gaze. “Come on, please! We’ve never gotten to have a sleepover before! It’ll be fun! We can watch a movie or something! Please!” Luffy is begging you as if you’re Sanji and he’s trying to get more Baratie leftovers. 

You don’t really want to say yes… but you know that Luffy isn’t the kind of person to take no for an answer. This would probably be fine. Your mom basically never came home early. You should be able to keep them having been here a secret. You take a deep breath, then relent, “Fine. You guys can spend the night.”

Before you can even blink, Luffy is scooping you up into a hug. Your feet are lifted off the ground as he spins you around and cheers victoriously. You’re dropped back onto your feet, and Luffy wastes absolutely no time before sprinting over to the shelf to grab a movie to watch. 

“Hey, wait. It’s really late. Shouldn’t we just go to sleep now?” Your protest was weak, and you could practically hear the answer before Luffy even said it.

“I thought you’ve had sleepovers before. You know that you aren’t supposed to sleep at sleepovers!” Luffy pulled a VHS case off the shelf and hurried over to the TV to put it in. It would seem that his mind was made up. Looks like you’re having an impromptu movie night. Luffy turned on the VHS player and cracked open the case. As he pushes the tape into the player, he looks over his shoulder at you with another one of his infectious smiles, “Do you have any popcorn?”

“Yeah… I’ll go make some.” With a sigh, you straighten up and wander into the kitchen to get started on the popcorn. Sock clad feet pad across the linoleum floor as you make your way to the pantry to grab a stovetop popcorn pan. Typically, you would only make one of these if Nami or Perona was over, or if you and your mom were having a movie night on one of her rare nights home, but it wasn’t unheard of for you to knock back one of these on your own. It shouldn’t raise any suspicion from your mom when she comes back home in the morning.

The pan is dropped onto the front right burner and you grab the temperature control knob, turning on the gas, then quickly igniting it into a controlled fire to heat the popcorn. From here, you can faintly hear the distinct sound of the tape being rewound. Ah, yeah, you and your mom do have a tendency to forget to do that when the movie is over. 

You can’t help but wonder which movie Luffy picked out. He was partial to action movies. Stuff like Jurassic Park, the Terminator movies, Star Wars, that kind of thing. Though with it being October, he was on a bit of a horror movie kick. Last week, you guys watched both Predator movies and made it through the first two Alien movies while hanging out at Usopp’s place. None of you were particularly big fans of the third one, so Usopp didn’t even bother renting it from Blockbuster. 

Popping kernels snap you out of your pondering and you glance down to see the aluminum top rapidly expanding. You quickly start shaking the pan to help circulate the kernels to keep them from heating unevenly and burning. Before long, the popping subsides and you know that the popcorn is ready. You cut the gas and move the pan to another burner, then crouch down to dig the large popcorn bowl out from its place in the cabinet. 

As soon as the popcorn is dumped in, you pick up the bowl to bring it to the living room and find the lights already off and the movie playing. Luffy and Zoro are seated on either side of the couch, leaving only the space between them open. You sit down, and your ass has barely hit the cushion before Luffy is grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

You look up at the screen, and it takes you a minute to clock which movie is playing. A man is getting into a car in a snow covered setting and speeding down the road. Realization dawns on you as the driver begins losing control of the car.

“Is this Misery?”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, “I heard Nami talking about it. She said it was really good!” He turns his head away from the screen to look at you properly. “Why? Do you not like it?”

“I like it well enough, I’m just not sure you will. I think you’ll find it a bit boring compared to what you usually watch, that’s all.” You quickly toss some popcorn into your mouth, eyes flicking back to the screen as the door to famed writer Paul Sheldon’s car is pried open by his obsessed fan, Annie Wilkes. The first time you watched this movie was when you were spending the night at Perona’s house. She was something of a horror movie buff and would watch them year round. Naturally, your friendship with her meant partaking in her interest. You’d seen a handful before, but she really got you into the genre and would bring you with her to the theater every time there was a new one.

Your reminiscing is cut short by Luffy. “But it’s a horror movie. How can it be boring?”

“I mean, it’s not boring boring, it’s just more of a psychological thriller rather than the gorey action horror movies you tend to gravitate towards.” You eat another handful of popcorn and spare a glance at Zoro, only to find that he has already fallen asleep. Whatever. You’re sure that Luffy will happily eat Zoro’s share of popcorn and most of yours.

“If it’s a thriller, it has to be fun, right?” Luffy throws his legs over your lap and you have to act fast to lift the popcorn bowl and prevent it from getting spilled everywhere. You move it to rest in the gap between yours and Luffy’s laps since it’s just going to be you two eating it.

“I guess so. Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll like it.” You sink further into the back of the couch, eyes already feeling heavy. It’s pretty unlikely that you’ll make it through the entire movie, and knowing Luffy, he will probably get bored and be out not long after you.

While you may have gone into this forced hangout a little annoyed by the whole situation, all in all, this wasn’t a terrible way to spend the night. If it weren’t for these two showing up, you likely would have spent the night being paranoid about the screaming you thought you heard earlier that was now little more than a distant memory.

You felt safe. You could trust them. There is absolutely nothing to fear.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [1]

Cecil Dennis x AFAB!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• masterlist • ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: Cecil forgets he invited you over.

A/N: The biggest thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading this and fixing some of my British-isms <3 I owe you my life!

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, weed use, fleshlights, Cecil talking about 'Catcher In The Rye', fingering, Cecil coming in his pants, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3404

You Sit and Talk to Me on the Floor

You lean back against the sofa, getting comfortable as your high pleasantly buzzes in the back of your head.

You’d been pretty pissed when you’d got here and Harry was nowhere to be found. (You, him and Cecil and Harry’s new girlfriend Mary-Ann, who you hadn’t met yet, had plans to hang out and watch a film. Or at least that’s what Cecil had told you.) He’d grinned when he’d opened the door, “What are you doing here?”

Turns out he’d been high (unsurprising) when he’d messaged and asked you. And had promptly forgotten all about it without letting Harry or Mary-Ann know. 

And now Harry was ‘working’. Or something. Cecil wasn’t exactly clear. 

Ever since he’d been dumped by his girlfriend Cecil had been staying with his cousin to ‘get back on his feet’, or more correctly, ‘make a mess, panic, tidy the house in a crazy rush to a standard that would put a professional kitchen to shame and then repeat’. 

He’d apologised for a good fifteen minutes when he realised his mistake, and had offered you a brownie as he ushered you inside. 

“Is there weed in this?” 

He stared at you like you’d grown an extra head. “It’s a brownie.”

“You know pot isn’t a standard ingredient, right?”

He’d pulled a face that made you laugh. “What’s the point in that?” 

.

Cecil sits on the floor, leaning against the sofa and lolling his head back as he talks to you, “I’m really glad you came actually, sorry again,” he smiles shyly, “I was kinda lonely.”

“You can hire people for that.” You tease and he snorts.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Besides,” he shrugs, “I’m broke.” 

You giggle, finding it far funnier than you normally would. 

He grins and takes a swig of his beer before another hit from his bong. 

“How many brownies did you have?” You ask, interested, you’d only had one. 

“Two… and a half.” 

“And you’re smoking too?” 

“Yeah? I mean,” he puffs up his chest proudly, “I got a high tolerance.”

“If there were an olympics in getting high you’d probably get a gold.” 

“I definitely would get a gold, I bet they used to have that, weed consuming, in the olympics I mean. They used to have poetry and people competing naked and everything, and then it got ruined.” 

“With clothes or lack of poems?” You smile.

“Both.” He nods confidently. “Though maybe some clothes is a good idea…” He ponders for a moment, “I bet if you run and you got no pants on your dick just,” he flops his hand around like crazy and you giggle, “I mean, that would hurt. And boobs!”

“Boobs?” You wheeze out. 

“Yeah, I bet some boobs would hurt too, you need those high impact bras and all that.”

“How do you know about that?” You run your hand through his hair absentmindedly, he always did have such soft, rich curls. 

“I’m a guy of knowledge, you know. I know many things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Like what then?” 

He leans a little into your touch, smiling as you stroke his hair. “Erm, I know that this,” he taps the part of the sofa he’s leaning against, “is called a sofa skirt.” 

“Is not.”

“Is too.” He grins at you when you poke out your tongue. “I know the sky’s blue because of Rayleigh scattering-”

“What’s Rayleigh scattering?” 

“Why the sky is blue.”

“Cecil…” You roll your eyes playfully and he giggles. 

“Okay, okay, it’s to do with light particles and how they,” he waves his hand to the side making a buzzing noise, “move about when they’re in a wavelength.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs, “I dunno. Just do. Something stuck once I guess.”

You nod, “Pretty impressive skill.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, “I don’t control what sticks, I’ve literally read every single math book I ever could on how to do algebra when I was in high school and nothing.” He pauses and then smiles, “I can quote Catcher in the Rye to you though.” 

“What?” You shift a little, leaning closer. “Like the whole thing?”

“Mostly,” he shrugs again but he puffs his chest out, obviously pleased at your interest. “But I guess I could just be making it up if you don’t know it word for word and don’t have a copy in front of you.” 

“I trust you.” You say kindly and he beams. 

“Well, okay, look, first paragraph, because it’s easy,” he swallows and clears his throat. 

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” He puts on a voice as he speaks, at first it’s jokey as he tries to poke a little fun at himself, but as he continues it relaxes, becomes more like he’s inhabiting the voice of the character. 

“That’s very, very cool.” You grin and he smiles shyly, looking down at his hands before taking another hit. “Yeah, well, doesn’t help much.”

“You like Catcher in the Rye?” 

He nods. “Got an A+ on that report.” He grins, “I always thought it was sad, you know? The story I mean. Just a kid trying to be an adult because that’s what society implies, when really he just wants to be… you know… enjoy his childhood.” He nods a little. “I like that his little sister is more mature than him, that he has this innocence to him. That even though the story is about a loss of that, in the end, I dunno, I don’t think it fully happened.” 

You incline your head, staying quiet so he’ll continue.

“I mean, I think he’s still innocent. Still playing at being an adult. Like everyone is.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “But whatever.” 

You give his shoulder a light shove, “But whatever? Cec,” you lean forward, your hand still in his hair, “that’s so good, like insightful.” You say sincerely. 

He gives you a bashful smile, his eyelashes fluttering a little as you compliment him. “Yeah, you know, thanks.” There’s the smallest flush to his cheeks. “You’re so smart and everything so that means a lot.” 

“Cec,” you say softly, shaking your head, “you gotta think better of yourself.”

He nods halfheartedly.

“Really, you got to, you…” You pause, trailing off as something catches the light and inadvertently, your eye. It’s shoved to the side, on the floor between the right hand side of the sofa and the wall. 

Cecil looks around to where you’re staring, mildly interested for a moment before his eyes widen. “Oh, shit, sorry!” He goes to push it further under the couch and out of sight but doesn’t reach far enough and ends up falling onto his side and flailing about. 

“Is that what I think it is?” You giggle, unable to stop yourself. 

“Erm…” He looks up at you, trying his best to give you a winning smile from the floor. “That depends on what you think it is?” His voice is hopeful. 

“A flesh light?” 

He groans and puts his hand dramatically over his face. 

You laugh harder. 

“Ugh.”

“It is?” You ask excitedly, unsure why this is amusing you quite so much. 

“Mhmmm.” 

“Yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh my goooooood,” you lean down and ruffle his hair until he has to take his hand off his face to bat you away and starts laughing, “Cecil getting it on in the living rooooooom.” 

“No!” He lies.

“Ohhhhh, is that what you were doing before I got here?” The glee in your voice is palpable. “Is that why it took you so long to answer the door?” 

“Stop.” He tries to pout but keeps laughing. “I hadn’t got that far yet.”

“Yet?” 

“You came over! That’s more important than jacking off.” 

You snort loudly. “I’m honoured.” 

He pulls a playful face and lightly smacks your calf. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped having a wank just because you came over.” You joke and Cecil bursts into hysterics. 

He manages to calm down long enough to spit out his next words, “I wouldn’t ask you to stop.” 

“What?” 

“If you wanted to get down and whatever, that’s fine, I’d just hang in the kitchen.” 

It’s your turn to have a laughing fit. “Oh, you’re so slimy.” You tease, adjusting your skirt as you move.

“No, no,” he sits up, still giggling, his cheeks flush. “I wouldn’t watch or listen, I’m not being a perv.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“Hey! I don’t need to spy on people, I can, you know.”

“What?” You grin.

“See it on the TV whenever.” 

You start laughing again. You had been expecting a bit of macho, ‘I can pick up willing partners whenever I want to’, not ‘I’ll watch some porn’. 

“Yeah?” You prod him in the arm playfully. 

“Yeah.” He nods, “that’s what I was doing before you came over.” 

“Oh, good to know.” You chuckle. Part of you knows it’s the weed that’s making you a little less guarded than you usually were, but you can’t help yourself. “What were you watching then?”

“Well, I hadn’t decided yet.” He shrugs, but he’s grinning, obviously quite happy to talk with you about this. “I was having a look.” 

“On what?” 

“PornHub,” he shuffles towards the TV on his knees and grabs the remote and then his phone. “I cast it, see,” the screen mirrors his phone as he scrolls through. “I was just browsing.” 

“You say that so casually.” You goad him playfully. 

“Yeah, well, I mean why not? Most people look at porn.” 

You nod.

“Don’t you?” He asks, quite innocently as he cocks his head to the side. 

Heat rushes under your skin. “Well, erm, yeah, I mean.” 

He grins, but not in a gloating way, more pleased that you’re both sharing something. 

“What, erm,” you squirm a little, feeling foolish and trying to push the focus back to him. “What do you normally watch?” 

“Like porn wise?” 

“Mmhmmm.” 

He grins, “lots actually, my tastes are very varied.” He says like he’s talking about wine. “Sometimes two girls, sometimes a guy and a girl, sometimes two guys, sometimes a group. Sometimes just someone by themselves.” He shrugs and looks up at you, when he sees you’re still listening he swallows and continues, “I got a favourite.” 

You nod, your mouth dry. 

“It’s two girls, erm, it’s not even like, that,” he waves his hands, “it’s just, it’s quieter, I guess? They sound more… natural. Like it’s not being put on for show, and they got like, these suits. It’s not like latex or anything, not that there’s a problem with that, it’s sort of like body suits, skin tight, but hands are free, and boobs, and,” he motions to his crotch, “down there, and… they sort of… like just…” his face reddens a little more. “They, rub together in like missionary and come and… and it just sounds so nice. They look like they’re really enjoying it.” 

He looks up at you again and fidgets, his eyes dark. 

The nervous expression, the flush to his cheeks shouldn’t be endearing, shouldn’t make you feel a twist of heat in your stomach. 

“I could… show you?” He says quietly, like he’s trying to tiptoe around something else. 

You find yourself nodding once, saying, “Okay.” before you even realise it. 

He finds it quickly on his phone and sits down next to you on the sofa, a hands width away. 

You stare at the TV while looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

“This reminds me of high school.” He says quietly, biting his lips together. “A group of us used to, when porn was harder to get hold of, used to like, watch it together and smoke.” 

You nod, a quick reply simply not coming. 

The video starts, the two women posing for the camera before they make their way to the bed.

“I used to worry,” he continues, “because sometimes weed makes me really horny.” He shrugs, flinching inwardly at why he said that. 

“I get that.” You swallow. 

One woman climbs on top of the other. 

“You do?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” why are you speaking, why can’t you just shut up? “The horny thing.” 

“From smoking or watching porn?” He asks innocently. 

“Both, I guess.” 

He hums, nodding. “Me too.” 

You both continue to watch for a moment in an odd silence, the air is thick with an oppressive weight. You want to look at him again, want to see his soft eyes and plump lips. 

Cecil shifts a little, fidgeting once before he pushes the heel of his hand against his leg and… wait… not his leg. 

His erection is straining against his jeans.

You can’t help but look, going over the shape and outline and- You freeze. He’s looking right at you.

“Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as if he was the one that had been caught perving. “Guess it’s a bit more obvious on me.” He jokes, but the tips of his ears still flush. 

“No, yeah, I mean…” you stumble over your words, trying to fill the gaps as the moans from the TV grow louder and… they did sound like they were having fun. “I mean,” you swallow and start again, “I, if I had a dick, you’d see it,” you motion your hand upright. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. 

“Not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, gently nudging you in the shoulder.

“No… I would.” 

He gives you a sweet look, but it’s still disbelieving. 

“Cecil, I’m not lying.” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re too nice all the time, it’s not lying it’s ‘sparing my feelings’.” He motions with his hands.

“Well, I’m not,” you fold your arms. “I’m being truthful.”

“Okay.”

“Cecil.”

“I said okay,” he teases. “I’m agreeing with you.”

“But you don’t believe me.” 

He nods. “That’s true.”

You huff air through your nose, exasperated. “I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

“There’s no point to me lying.” Your voice raises a little at the end, which only makes it sound more like you are lying. 

“Okay.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

He laughs, “just because you’re a dirty and bad liar, doesn’t mean-”

You don’t know why you do it, but you grab a hold of his hand and press it forcefully between your legs. “See?” Your voice sounds sure of itself, like a gloat. But your mind is just only catching up with your actions. And the sensation of Cecil’s warm, thick fingers against your core. 

You’re wearing a skirt, the only thing separating your skin from his is the thin material of your panties which are undoubtedly damp. 

“Oh,” he breathes, his cock twitches. “Yeah, you’re…” 

You freeze, still holding his hand against you. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

His fingers brush a little against the cotton. The action takes you by surprise and much to your dismay a weak gasp leaves your lips.

He glances up to your face as you keep your eyes closed, screwing them shut to avoid his gaze. But seemingly he finds what he was looking for. 

He moves his fingers again, a little firmer this time, tracing a soft circle against your clit and you shudder. 

There’s a pause, a fraction of a second as he waits for you to stop him, to tell him no. 

You don’t. 

So he does it again, and again, and again until you’re squirming. Your breath is coming out fast as your hips shallowly move in time with his fingers. 

He inches closer to you, pressing his chest against your shoulder and resting his forehead on your temple. 

Cecil moans softly in your ear as you whine, your lip between your bottom teeth as you watch the two women fuck on screen without really seeing. 

He slowly presses on the damp patch, rubs along your core before he slips your underwear to the side and touches you lightly. 

You jolt, gasping, turning your head to press your forehead to his. 

He groans as he traces his forefinger along your slit, marvelling at the slick that coats the tip of his finger before he lightly pinches your clit. 

“Cecil,” you breathe. 

“It’s okay,” he mutters, kissing your cheek and then your lips gently, “it’s okay, it’s just a friend helping another one out. Just helping…” He drapes his free arm around your shoulders, his fingers mirroring the pattern of his other hand on your arm. 

He kisses you again, soft and sweet as he lightly teases you with the tip of his tongue. 

The second you part your lips he inhales deeply, angling his hand and pushing two fingers deep inside while flicking your clit with his thumb. 

You gasp, your moans music to his ears as he kisses you wantonly as he curls and strokes your walls. 

“Oh, god, you’re really wet,” he bites his lip, grunting as he presses closer, curls deeper until you’re bucking and practically sobbing. “Really tight, mmm, feel so nice inside.” He mumbles, not really registering what he’s saying as he pants in your ear. “Thank you for letting me, oh,” he shivers as you whine, grabbing hold of any part of him you can reach and clinging on, silently begging him to continue.

“Is that good? Is that where it’s nice?” He swallows, stroking the same spongy spot again and groaning when your thighs quiver. 

You nod rapidly and he coos, “oh good, good, mmm,” he kisses your neck, breathing deeply to fill his lungs with your scent. “God, so nice and warm, bet you got the cutest little pussy? Fuck.” He groans, moving so he can rub his crotch against your thigh, “you’ll let me look sometime? I would love to see it, bet it’s so sweet.” 

Your eyes roll back, your muscles tensing as he keeps moving, keeps pulling you closer to that edge. Your moans are overshadowing the sounds of the TV, the squelch of his fingers fucking you relentlessly bouncing around the room. 

You can hardly think, hardly form words, your mind obsessed with the reaction that all consuming pleasure that is so, so near. 

“Bet it’s the prettiest pussy I’ll ever see,” he groans, the friction of his jeans burning deliciously against his cock as he rubs himself over your thigh, making him lightheaded. Being near you is making him lightheaded. The fact that you’ve let him touch you, and be in you is dizzying and those sounds you’re making are enough to make him come on the spot. Right now, so close. Just a tiny little more friction and-

You clench around his fingers, crying out as your orgasm is pulled expertly from you. Cecil whines, keeps moving his thick fingers in that blinding pattern and pressure, as he follows you instantly. Your blissed out expression driving him clean over the edge. 

You shiver, your thighs shaking as you come, as the pleasure seems to stretch onwards and as Cecil moans softly in your ear. 

You both breathe, Cecil’s fingers still inside you as you stroke a hand through his hair. A wet patch starts to bleed into his boxers, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re so close and he feels so happy.

He opens his mouth to speak and-

There’s a key in the lock, and the front door opens. You both jump, moving away from each other to the opposite ends of the sofa as Harry comes back. 

You feel oddly empty without his touch, without his fingers buried inside. 

Harry pokes his head around before he comes into the room, he looks at the bong and beer and porn still playing on the TV. “You guys started the party without me?” He kids. 

You laugh, not entirely convincing. 

“Cecil, man, what’re you doing showing off your porn playlist huh?” Harry jokes and Cecil shrugs. 

He’s using his forearm to cover any signs of his softening erection and wet patch, while he dangles his other hand off the arm of the sofa, out of Harry’s sight. Where his cousin can’t see how he rubs his slick covered fingers together.

Thank you for reading!

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@novarosewood @pygmi-cygni

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[theoats99]

New Girl at Bayview

Summary- Being in a new school is always stressful, more so when you've been there for a month and haven't made a single friend. What you do learn is that a boy in school is hated, Simon Kelleher. When you agree to become his partner for a class project what will happen?

No warnings for this story, just fluff and friendly bickering. I also post on AO3! Link on my page if your interested.

Most people thought Simon Kelleher was scum, a loser. And I choose to believe them, being a new student here beginning my junior year. I did though have a class with him, we shared English class, and he fascinated me. I just couldn’t fathom how it could all be true, he didn't look dangerous, the complete opposite actually.

It’s October by the time I talk to him for the first time. Our English teacher gives us a project, find a partner, and pick a book from the list presented to us and then by the end of semester we present a project together. I’m watching everyone form into pairs, that's the crappy thing about being new, no one knows you yet, so no one picks you.

But a tap on my desk alerts me to him, it’s Simon. And for a second I don’t know what to say, so I dumbly stare a second too long.

“Hi.” Is what I muster out. 

“Hi, I don’t think we've properly met yet, my name is Simon. You're new here right?” He’s smiling at me, and for a moment I can’t imagine how someone so pretty could be so hated.

“Yeah, I just moved here in July, my name is Y/N” He’s still smiling when he puts his hand out for a shake, and I extend mine to meet him. His hand is warm, and his shake is firm.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Y/N, so would you happen to want to be my partner for this? I think we might just be the only two people who don’t have one.” A look around the room confirms it, everyone else is already at their desks and tables chatting away.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I say back to him, but really what choice do I have now? 

“Perfect.” He sits down next to me, and brings his chair a little closer. “So, what book do you think we should cover?” He’s close, so much so I can clearly see how blue his eyes are. So I look away and back at the sheet in front of us.

“Well, I’ve read some of these already. What about you, if we can pinpoint what we both have and haven’t read that could help us find one.” He reads the sheet over again.

“I haven’t read even half of these, not much of a reader. Are you?” I look back at him and nod.

“Yeah I am, I like reading. It’s a good escape, you said you haven’t read half of these. Well which ones have you?” 

“Uh, Catcher in the Rye and Frankenstein. That’s it.” He looks a little sheepish about this confession, I smile at him.

“That’s okay, if you ask me we should do The Scarlet Letter. It’s a timeless book, and I’ve always wanted to read it, so this is the perfect chance.” He nods along and we take the sheet, write both our names on it, the book we picked, and he goes to take it to the teachers desk. I watch the teacher take it and look at it, before looking right back at him with a raised brow.

I pay it little mind, and he’s back sitting next to me in seconds.I notice for the first time his hands, more like the rings that adorn his fingers, as he taps his fingers on the table. 

“What lunch do you have?” He asks, and it draws me away from my thoughts of his fingers.

“Uh, I have lunch fifth period, why?” He just nods.

“No reason, that’s when I have lunch too. I just don’t think I’ve seen you in the cafeteria.” I flush a little.

“Yeah, it’s kinda embarrassing. I sit all the way in the corner, the worst thing about new schools is not having any friends right away.” He nods.

“If you want you could sit with me and my friend.” I can’t help the little smile that forms.

“That would be lovely, thank you Simon.” He smiles at me, and I feel the fluttering feeling in my stomach, and promptly ignore it. The bell rings and I wave bye to him and head towards my next class.

Fourth period feels like it takes hours, when finally free of math class I bound towards the cafeteria. And while waiting in line it strikes me, Simon never told me where he sat. Was he playing some trick on me? With my tray in hand I scan the room and cannot see him, so I make my way to my usual lonely seat, away from everyone else. 

That’s when I see a girl sitting there, and I freeze in my tracks. She’s blonde, with some colored streaks. I take a deep breath and decided to sit, maybe she won’t be that bad? She looks up from her phone when she hears my tray on the table.

“Hi.” I say, and immediately feel stupid. I avert my eyes to my tray.

“Hi, I’m Janae.” Her voice is kind, when I look back up she's smiling. 

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” 

“Oh, your Simon’s partner.” She says and points at me. 

“Yeah, in English class. You know him?” She laughs.

“Yeah, I’m his best friend. He was telling me about you last period. Anyway, how are you liking Bayview.?” I don’t know how to answer when she drops something like that. Simon had been talking about me? So I just shrug, as I go to open my mouth to answer her question Simon himself comes and sits down next to me, giving me a jump.

“I know I’m late, but I ran into someone I had to talk to.” He’s grinning at Janae and she just rolls her eyes at him shaking her head. He looks at me “So, what have I missed?” 

“I was just asking our new friend how she's liking our school.” This time he laughs, and then both of them are looking at me.

“I don’t know, it’s been okay, It’s only been a month.” I shrug again, and neither of them seem satisfied with my answer. “I mean, I don’t have any friends. And classes are okay, this school is definitely grander than my last one.”

“Yeah it’s because of all the higher class parents dumping money into sports. It keeps all of our athletes very well taken care of.” Janae practically spits out. I nod, it makes sense, from what I’ve seen the school absolutely cherishes their football team. I’ve seen one of them, a blonde boy with dimples, always smiling and laughing with others all around him.

“Don’t all schools though? I mean cmon this is America, football is practically the new religion, in my old school they doted on the hockey team more.” They both chuckle.

“So where are you from then?” It’s Simon this time asking.

“Wisconsin, hence why hockey was the hot thing. We deal with winter so damn long we make the best out of the ice.” They nod. 

“You're a long way from home then here, why such a big move?” Janae asks “Or if you don’t wanna say that's cool, no pressure.”

“No,it’s all good. My brother works out here, and over the summer he proposed to me living with him here. And I agreed, so yeah.” I feel awkward now, it’s only a fraction of the reason why I’m with my brother here. But they don’t need to know all that, right now at least. “Can I ask you guys something?”

They both look at me and nod. “I’m trying to wrap my head around why everyone I guess dislikes you Simon. I mean, it just doesn’t seem to make sense to me.” Simon just laughs.

“They don’t dislike me, they hate me. And you can say that, but they hate me because I expose people. All the fake, popular, nice kids and secretly horrid. And I let the world know that.” He looks proud of himself, and I feel conflicted. “I’m doing a service, really.”

I stare into his eyes for a second, they're so pretty, and I’m reminded of nature. How things so beautiful in nature are the most dangerous. 

“Okay.” Is all I say back to him, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly. I watch Janae and Simon jest with each other, It goes by way too quickly and when the bell rings I feel dread. I finally made friends and my time with them is cut short.

Janae waves to us as she goes to her next class, Simon stops me as I go towards mine. 

“What are you doing after school?” He almost seems nervous.

“Nothing, I’m gonna go home and do my homework. It’ll be so riveting.” He laughs.

“Do you want to go get the book instead? We can start reading it now, and then be ahead on the project.” I smile at him and agree.

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll meet you in the library then?” He shakes his head.

“No, I was thinking we could get new copies. So if that’s okay we can meet in the cafeteria after school?” I nod again, then I’m off scurrying to my class just in time. 

The entire rest of the day I’m thinking about Simon, mostly how I’ll be alone with him. I feel worried at the thought, what if he was a secret creep? I have pepper spray, and while I’ve never used it, my brother also taught me how to and how to defend myself.

So I find myself in the cafeteria waiting for him, ten minutes after school let out I saw him walking in, and with a wave I got up and met him by the doors. I follow him to the parking lot, and his car is nice, a blue bug. 

“Have you lived here your whole life?” I’m trying to make conversation, anything to break the tension.

“Yeah, my mom is the Mayor actually. She’s been in the politics of this place since before I was born.” It makes some sense now, the nice car, how his clothes were always nice, always new looking. 

“What’s that like? Like I mean my brother is a cop, and that’s already weird. His hours are so weird, I’m practically living by myself.” I laugh, and he looks over at me once were at a stoplight.

“It’s whatever, she's always busy. Always some dinner or party she needs to attend, always trying to make everything perfect.” He shrugs and we're moving again.

“I can’t imagine that, perfect all the time, literally no one is perfect.” I scoff it out, and he laughs this time.

“I would have to agree.” We're at a bookstore now, I’d seen it every now and again while driving in town. “Well, here we are.” He announces.

“Here we are.” I say back with a grin, in the store we both try to locate the book. Simon finds it first, and comes over to me with two copies.

“Found them, the last two they had.” 

“Great!” I grab the one copy and turn it over, I look at the price and decide I should have enough on me for the purchase. I dig into my bag looking for the cash my brother had given me while waiting in line with Simon.

“Everything okay?” He’s attempting to look over my shoulder, to possibly see what I’m rummaging for.

“Uh, yeah, just looking for my cash.”

“You don’t need to pay for yours.” My face must convey my pure confusion, because he chuckles at me. “Trust me, two books isn’t a big deal, I’ve got you on this, partner.” 

His teasing tone gives me a flush I can feel resting on my cheeks. I reluctantly hand him the book back and watch him pay for them both.

“I can pay you back, it’s really not a problem Simon.” I feel guilty about it, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by it.

“It’s seriously not a problem. Trust me.” He pats me on the shoulder as walks out the door as I follow.

“Only if you're certain, okay? Cause I'll pay you back.” He laughs again as we reach his car, he leans his elbows on the car's hood and looks at me. “What?” I huff out.

“You worry too much, that’s all.” Then he’s getting into the car, I feel a little defensive as I get into the passenger seat.

“I don’t worry that much” I bawk at him, he raises his brows at me with the same little smile “Really, it’s not that I’m worrying, it's just rude. To like have someone buy something for you, and I literally just formally met you today.”

“Sure, if you say so.” He says back as he starts the car. “So what now then? I can drop you off at your place, unless you're gonna worry about that too.” He’s laying the teasing on thick, and I can’t help the laugh that comes out.

“Yeah, I’m gonna totally agonize over your gas mileage tonight in bed. It’ll have me up all night.” I turn my head to him, and he’s just looking at me. I can’t read the look on his face, he looks like he’s trying to make a decision.

“I think we’ll be fast friends Y/N.” He starts driving then, after of course I give him my address. The drive home is lighter than the drive to the bookstore, they chat about some things here and there. I find out he enjoys playing online games, and that the site he runs with Janae is called About That. I tell him some things in return, some of my favorite books, how me and my brother live with our two cats, and also that neither me or my brother talk to our parents. He seems intrigued by the last one.

“You don’t talk to them at all?” His voice is lighter when he asks.

“No, we don’t. It’s kinda personal, ya know. It’s our choice.” I smile back at him, I notice we're getting close to my apartment and in minutes he’s parked the car outside the front door of the building.

“Home sweet home.” He says to me, I laugh. 

“Okay, well. Thanks for the book, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” I unbuckle my seat belt, but he takes my copy of the book from my hands. “What?” I ask, worried maybe he’d changed his mind.

“Just wanna do something quick.” I watch him open the book, grab a pen from his bag and scribble something down on the book's first page. Once he’s done he hands it back to me. “It’s my number, and since we’re partners we should communicate about the project.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” I agree, and then I’m out of the car in the building. My whole body feels light as I enter the apartment. I pull my phone out after feeding the cats and type his number in and shoot him a text. He replies in a couple minutes.

‘I hope you know I’m putting you in my phone as ‘worrisome girl.’ I laugh at it.

‘Uh huh, what should I put you in as then?’ 

‘I’ll leave that entirely up to you.’ I just smile down at my phone and decided to start reading.

[linkspooky]

What ongoing manga series are you reading currently? Any book recs besides the ten you share often?

Every year at the end of the year I do a summary of every single manga I'm reading in Jump Currently. However, I can give you a brief one:

DanDanDan

Sakamoto Days

Kagurabachi

Hunter x Hunter

Ichi the Witch

Undead Unluck

Ultimate Exorcist Kiyoshi (please don't get cancelled)

Astro Royale

Witch Watch

Bungo Stray Dogs

Choujin X

My current favorite manga to read on a week to week basis is Undead Unluck, my favorite to read on a monthly basis is Bungo Stray Dogs.

If you want more book recs I'll just give a list because I'm too feverish to write out full paragraph long reccomendations.

Goth by Otsuichi

Black Fairy Tale by Otsuichi

Confessions

Girl Interrupted

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostevsky

Three Days of Happiness by Sugaru Miaki

Stephen King the Shining

Hakata Tonkatsu Ramens Light novel Series

Snow Crash

The Catcher in the Rye

A hero of Our Time by Mikahil Lermontov

Sekai series by Nisioisin

Fate Strange Fake because I'm rereading it for like the 4th time

Any detective novel by Seishi Yokomizo

Kokoro by Natsume Soseki

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

Robin Hobb's Realm of the Elderlings Series that's like 15 books long

In the Miso Soup by Ryu Murakami

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie

Grotesque Natsuno Kirino

Journey Under the Midnight Sun Keigo Higashino

I've read all these within the past 11 months and I reccomend all of them.

[nylqnder]

earth to sofia? sparks fly au

✭ — summary: sofia realizes how she feels about rutger

✭ — warnings: none

✭ — a/n: he is so boyfriend

✭ — word count: 0.73k

A few weeks go by, and Sofia and Rutger continue their "tutor" sessions. They begin to switch up locations, frequenting coffee shops, the library and Sofia's dorm when she knows Brynn won’t be there.

This time they were meeting at a Starbucks. Sofia spotted Rutger at a table, reading their newest required book, The Catcher in the Rye. However, when Sofia looked back at the book, checking on Rutger's progress, she realized it wasn’t actually The Catcher in the Rye.

“What’re you reading?” Sofia asks him. He flips the book cover over, showing it to Sofia.

“Are you reading Little Women?” Sofia asks, a grin tugging on her lips.

“Yeah.” He says. “Listen, can you tell me if Laurie and Jo end up together? Because they get along really well.”

Sofia — albeit still confused as to why Rutger is reading a book that’s not for their course — is grinning ear to ear now, glad to tell Rutger about the book.

“I’m not telling, you’ll have to read Good Wives to see if they get together.” Sofia says.

“There’s a second book?” Rutger asks.

“Yeah, it’s the sequel. It’s set when they’re older.” Sofia explains.

Rutger nods, opening up his book and continuing to read.

“Sorry, wait.” Sofia interrupts. “Why are you reading Little Women?”

“Well you talk about it all the time so I wanted to actually be able to talk to you when you talk about Laurie and Jo's complicated relationship.” Rutger explains.

Sofia feels as though her heart literally swells at his explanation.

He is reading my favourite book just so he can talk to me about it.

“Okay,” Sofia says. “You’ll have to tell me what you think about it when you finish.”

Sofia pulls out her book and notebook, fighting back the urge to squeal.

“I’m going to go get a coffee, want anything?” Sofia asks.

“No need. I got you one already.” Rutger says, sliding her the cup next to him.

Sofia takes it, reluctantly, reading the order on the sticker. He ordered her normal order of a blonde hazelnut latte. “How’d you know what to order?” Sofia asked.

“I just remembered what you’ve ordered in the past.” Rutger shrugged.

The combination of Rutger reading her favourite book, as well as him remembering her coffee order, made Sofia’s palms sweat.

Sofia couldn’t figure out why he and his actions were making her so nervous.

And this wasn’t the first time he’s made her feel this way since they met.

Last week, when they were studying at Rutgers, they had ordered dinner while Sofia proofread his paper. Sofia had the sleeves of her shirt pulled over her fingers and had her arms wrapped around her torso, trying to keep herself warm. The boys liked to keep the house frigid for some reason, even as the weather was starting to turn.

“You cold?” Rutger asked.

“Just a little,” Sofia said. “What temperature do you guys keep this house at anyway, like 40 degrees?”

Rutger laughs, getting up and going into his closet, pulling out a dark green hoodie. “Catch.” He says, launching the hoodie at you.

“Rutger, I’m fine.” Sofia says, throwing it back to him.

“You’re not fine, you’re practically shivering.” He says, this time standing in front of her and handing her the hoodie. “Take it.”

Sofia takes the hoodie from Rutger, slipping it over her head. Rutger looks at her, a small smile on his lips.

“What?” Sofia asks.

“Nothing you just…you’re…greens your colour.” Rutger shrugs. Sofia’s heart fluttered at the light blush that came upon his cheeks. Sofia lets out a soft chuckle.

“Thank you, Rut.” Sofia says.

“How about we order dinner?” Rutger offers, changing the subject.

Sofia couldn’t help but think about the last time she’d felt this way around a boy. Colby.

It suddenly clicks in Sofia’s head and she starts to panic internally.

She was falling for another one of her brother's teammates.

“Hello? Earth to Sofia?”

Sofia is snapped from her internal thoughts looking at Rutger who is waving a hand in the air. “You alright? You’ve been staring at your computer screen for like a minute now.” He says

“Sorry.” Sofia chuckles. “Just kind of got lost there for a second.”

“You’re good.” Rutger smiles. “So I’m debating which essay prompt I should do for Catcher in the Rye.”

Sofia nods, tucking her thoughts away and helping Rutger with his essay prompt.

[ivandoingsomeart]

Holden caulfield

((Theres a typo nooo)

[triflesandparsnips]

Good Omens Book Club

So I have, in other fandoms, talked about the importance of what an audience can actually see on the screen. Specifically: When a constrained format (like, say, between 45 to 56 minutes of a single visual/audio input) is telling a constrained story (like, say, something that must start, climax, and resolve within some kind of structure), it's useful for the audience to pay attention to what gets given the valuable real estate of camera/story time.

So when time is given and effort made to show the actual titles of actual books... well.

Figure 1. Local bookshelf weighted down by an over-abundance of literary allusions.

This is a screenshot from episode 3 of Good Omens's second season, as Jim is reshelving all the books in Aziraphale's book shop by the first letter of their first sentences. He's about to shelve Jane Austens's Pride and Prejudice ("It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.") and the red sideways book, that he is about to pick up, is Good Omens itself ("It was a nice day.").

But, unusually, we can see the title of almost every other book on the shelf. Several of them appeared in the advertising poster, too, as I outlined previously (if you click that link, be advised that I am very proud of several bits of that essay and also let's not talk about how my go-to for musical references is Middle English folk rather than, say, Buddy Holly). Anyway-- with this in mind, and the understanding that time, effort, and celluloid have been spent on getting this shot to the audience, it would behoove us, I think, to actually look at these books.

Figure 2. A pair of showrunners providing not-so-subtle ancillary notation suggesting the same thing, so really, this is a no-brainer in terms of meta fodder.

Okay, Trifles, so what about the book club

Technically, this isn't my idea. It's Neil's and Douglas's, so jot that down.

What I figure is, I can provide a list of the books shown, their first lines, and a VERY brief summary of each. Those are below. And as I rewatch the show, I may reblog this post with additions, but also...

I've read some of these, but not all of them, and not recently -- with at least one of them, though, I remember enough to know that the first line and summary do nothing to showcase the heartrending possibilities the book may be alluding to for the overall Good Omens narrative.

And further-- as I collected these summaries and first lines, I started noticing some compelling commonalities. Which I, for one, would like to confirm and dig into more deeply.

So while I'm going to start reading these, it might be a Nice Idea for other folks to do so as well. The more write-ups we can get, the greater the concordance of Interesting Insights might be available. (And if you tag me in your write up, or otherwise draw my attention, I will gladly link your essay up here for the edification of others omfg.)

ANYWAY

The "Jim Shelving" Book List

From right to left (which feels odd, but it's the actual alphabetical-by-letter arrangement), and summaries from various internet sources:

Herzog, by Saul Bellows

"If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog."

"Herzog is a 1964 novel by Saul Bellow, composed in part of letters from the protagonist [...] The novel follows five days in the life of Moses E. Herzog who, at the age of forty-seven, is having a midlife crisis following his second divorce."

A Series of Unfortunate Events, (series) by Lemony Snicket

"If you are interested in happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book."

The first book in the series, The Bad Beginning, "tells the story of three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, who become orphans following a fire and are sent to live with Count Olaf, who attempts to steal their inheritance."

The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

"The novel details two days in the life of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield after he has been expelled from prep school. [...] From what is implied to be a sanatorium, Holden, the narrator and protagonist, tells the story of his adventures before the previous Christmas."

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since."

"Set in the Jazz Age on Long Island, near New York City, the novel depicts first-person narrator Nick Carraway's interactions with mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and Gatsby's obsession to reunite with his former lover, Daisy Buchanan."

The Bible, (anthology) by God et al.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."

"25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?'

26 And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.'

27 And the Lord did not ask him again."

The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler

"It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills."

"Private investigator Philip Marlowe is hired by wealthy General Sternwood to stop a blackmailer. Marlowe suspects that the old General is merely testing his caliber before trusting him with a bigger job, one involving Sternwood's two amoral daughters."

Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

"In George Orwell's iconic and prophetic masterpiece, 1984, a haunting vision of a dystopian future unfolds. Set in a world dominated by the all-seeing eye of Big Brother, the story follows Winston Smith, a lowly Party member whose very thoughts are scrutinized. As the Party manipulates history and suppresses truth, Winston's yearning for individuality and connection pushes him into a daring dance on the edge of rebellion."

[A title I cannot, unfortunately, read-- if anyone who HAPPENS to be familiar with the show and HAPPENS to perhaps also be on tumblr just HAPPENS to say what this book might be, that would be Very Much Appreciated]

"????"

[WOW I WISH I WAS A SUMMARY OH WELL]

Catch-22, by Joseph Heller

"It was love at first sight."

"Set in the closing months of World War II in an American bomber squadron off the coast of Italy, Catch-22 is the story of a bombardier named Yossarian who is frantic and furious because thousands of people he has never even met keep trying to kill him. Joseph Heller's bestselling novel is a hilarious and tragic satire on military madness, and the tale of one man's efforts to survive it."

Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."

"The story, which treats the themes of love, aging, and death, takes place between the late 1870s and the early 1930s in a South American community troubled by wars and outbreaks of cholera. It is a tale of two lovers, artistic Florentino Ariza and wealthy Fermina Daza, who reunite after a lifetime apart."

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon

"It was seven minutes after midnight."

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a 2003 mystery novel by British writer Mark Haddon. [...] The novel is narrated in the first-person perspective by Christopher John Francis Boone, a 15-year-old boy who is described as "a mathematician with some behavioural difficulties" living in Swindon, Wiltshire. [...] Christopher sets out to solve the murder [of a neighbor's dog] in the style of his favourite (logical) detective, Sherlock Holmes."

The Crow Road, by Iain Banks

"It was the day my grandmother exploded."

A Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. "This Bildungsroman is set in the fictional Argyll town of Gallanach, the real village of Lochgair, and in Glasgow, where the adult Prentice McHoan lives. Prentice's uncle Rory disappeared eight years previously while writing a book called The Crow Road. Prentice becomes obsessed with papers his uncle left behind and sets out to solve the mystery. Along the way he must cope with estrangement from his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, and failure at his studies."

No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley, by Rita Marley with Hettie James

"I was an ambitious girl child."

"Fans of reggae legend Bob Marley will welcome this no-nonsense biography from his wife, Rita, who was also his band member, business partner, musical collaborator and the only person to have witnessed firsthand his development from local Jamaican singer to international superstar."

I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith

"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink."

"I Capture the Castle tells the story of seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, who live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills. She fills three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries. Her journals candidly chronicle the great changes that take place within the castle's walls, and her own first descent into love."

...and because I happen to know and love this book, I'm aware of the devastating last lines...

"Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you."

[minsu-the-cowardly-human]

*sighs dreamily* oh you, summary of The Catcher in the Rye from a 70s' talk book...

[ineffable-endearments]

No Woman No Cry by Rita Marley with Hettie Jones

What could a memoir by Rita Marley, widow of Bob Marley, one of the most internationally renowned musicians of all time, possibly have to do with Good Omens? This is what I was wondering when I saw it on the "book club" list in Amazon's X-Ray feature, and what I was determined to find out by requesting it from the library.

[ID: A screen capture from Good Omens Season 2 Episode 2: several books on Aziraphale's bookshop shelf. From left to right, the legible titles are: I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith; No Woman, No Cry by Rita Marley; The Crow Road by Iain Banks; The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon; Catch-22 by Joseph Heller; Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez; Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell; The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler; The Bible; The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald; The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger; A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket; Herzog by Saul Bellow. There are a few other books, but their titles can't be seen in the screen capture. At the bottom of the frame are Gabriel's blurred fingers as he removes another book from the shelf. End ID]

Screen capture is from cap-that.com.

As a nonfiction narrative about real people, some of whom are still alive, No Woman No Cry is different from all the other books on the list. It's got intimate details about real people's lives and major historical events, and that is why I'm not going to make one-to-one comparisons to my favorite fictional story.

But I will write a summary and a reflection on it.

Warning for the summary and essay below about racism, colonialism, rape, and spousal abuse. Do feel free to chat or ask me about more specifics, if you're concerned about reading those subjects. Also, though it's a memoir rather than fiction, there are, of course, many spoilers.

So, first of all: I am in so very far over my head when it comes to discussing the deeper themes of this book. I grew up a middle-class white girl in Connecticut, USA in the 1990s and 2000s and experienced neither abuse nor fame in early adulthood; this memoir is written by a woman who grew up a dark-skinned black girl in deep poverty in Jamaica in the middle of the twentieth century, then experienced a dizzying combination of fame and abuse almost all at once. I can empathize with Rita's story as she tells it, but to analyze and extrapolate in any sort of insightful way? No, I don't think I can do that. No Woman No Cry deserves reflection, though. Please kindly bear with a little clumsiness.

I can see from online discussion that a lot of people come out of this book feeling shocked and dismayed to discover that Bob Marley did, indeed, abuse his wife, including an instance she described as "almost rape" when he simply would not accept a sexual rejection. After writing about all this and more, though, Rita Marley continues to miss, love, and admire Bob; per the online comments, many readers seem to have decided that she is misguided, afflicted, or outright delusional for feeling this way. Although I could not forgive Bob's abuses, I also cannot dismiss the positive meanings that Rita has taken from her time with Bob. It's her story, not mine, and she already has her own way of synthesizing the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Summary

No Woman No Cry starts with Rita Marley recalling Bob Marley's death.

But then I started to cry and said, "Bob, please, don't leave me." And he looked up and said, "Leave you, go where? What are you crying for? Forget crying, Rita. Just keep singing. Sing! Sing!" So I kept singing, and then I realized, wow, that's exactly what the song was saying: "I will never leave you, wherever you are I will be..."

Rita Marley's full maiden name was Alfarita Constantia Anderson, but she went by Rita her whole life. Her parents separated, as was common, and she lived with her beloved Aunty Viola for much of her youth. Rita was bullied by her classmates for her dark skin; though most Jamaicans are people of color, eurocentric beauty standards brought in by colonialism still led to a strong bias toward lighter skin.

Rita met Bob Marley in Trench Town when they were both getting into music; Rita was in a group called The Soulettes, and Bob was in a group called The Wailers with his friends Peter and Bunny. They bonded over music. They also bonded over Bob's generosity with Aunty and taking care of Rita's child, as Rita was a single mother at the time and Bob was nurturing toward her baby daughter, Sharon. Interestingly, Rita stated she initially got involved in Bob's personal life because she felt she wanted to take care of him, as he didn't have anywhere comfortable to live.

Bob got Rita interested in Rastafari, which connected with her spiritually and helped her gain confidence in her beauty and worth as a black woman. Rita gives Bob a great deal of credit throughout the narrative for helping her discover herself.

Rita and Bob had very little income for the early part of their marriage. They had to stay in a single room at Aunty's house, and although they loved Aunty, it was just too crowded, especially since Aunty and Rita's brother did not approve of all of their decisions. They were judgmental of Rastafari, for example, which had no respect in Jamaica. (Although there is still bias against Rastafarians today, things are a bit better.)

Over the next several years, Rita and Bob moved a few times while continuing to work on Bob's music; they had homes in Nine Mile and then again in Kingston. Rita describes the two of them getting into "love fights" and then making up; they would fight "like children," as she put it, although she was left with physical injuries at times. Aunty warned Rita against staying with a spouse who would hit her. Rita, however, didn't want to leave, partly out of love and partly because she felt that maintaining the marriage was a duty. She also believed she and Bob would always actively choose to be friends, no matter what happened. Bob made up with both Rita and Aunty.

Rita considered different career paths, which included some music, but also the possibility of nursing. On the other hand, Bob devoted himself entirely to music, except for a short time working in the United States. Both Bob and Rita worked in the United States at different times. Neither of them liked it. During Rita's stay in the US, she hated being away from home and felt like she was growing apart from Bob. When Rita got back to Jamaica, she discovered that two other women were pregnant with Bob's children. Though she was angry, Rita decided that because of her spirituality and her continued love, she would remain married to Bob, but would focus on taking care of herself and the children. By now, the family had three children: Shannon (who Rita had before meeting Bob and who Bob formally adopted), Cedella, and David Nesta (better known as Ziggy).

This whole time, Bob had been working on music, with Rita helping when she wasn't away in the US. They had been establishing relationships with studios and selling records, and were seeing some success.

Bob and the Wailers' new producer gave them a house as a space to work and make music. That house was at 56 Hope Road in Kingston, and it's still a famous site today. By the time they got that house, Bob was entirely the one performing with the Wailers, while Rita was mostly taking care of the children. Because of the constant activity from strangers, business dealings, and womanizing that went on at Hope Road, Rita did not want to raise her children there, and she decided to get a government-sponsored house in Bull Bay, another city.

Bob ultimately bought the house in Bull Bay at Rita's request. Rita worked hard on developing her independence while she was raising the children there; she learned to drive and garden, and the garden yielded many fruits and vegetables. Aunty and other friends helped out, too.

Bob financially supported Rita and the children. He divided his time between the house in Bull Bay, the house at 56 Hope Road in Kingston, and tours. Rita and Bob's relationship seemed to be somewhat fluid here; on one hand, Rita describes herself as a "friend" or "sister," and she strongly contemplated divorce. But she also describes how she got a basement studio at the Bull Bay home, and how she and Bob would go down there to make out sometimes, or, more often, to make music. Sometimes, they'd even have little family "events" in that basement studio wherein the children, who were now a bit older and had strong interests in music themselves, could put on imaginary little shows for fun.

Although Bob constantly had girlfriends, he got inordinately jealous of Rita's friend and neighbor, Owen Stewart, known as Tacky. Tacky was not initially a romantic interest. However, Bob assumed he was. One night, Rita informed Bob that she didn't want to have sex anymore because of his constant philandering; she wanted to take a stand. But he was absolutely insistent, arguing that he should be able to have sex with her because she was his wife, until she finally went along with him. Rita comments, "I was almost raped that night."

It sounds like it was rape to me. And Rita got pregnant from it. She and Bob now had another son, Stephen.

Rita and Tacky had by then started having a sexual relationship, which Bob tried to confront Tacky about. One of Bob's girlfriends just happened to appear right while he was talking to Tacky, which was a massive embarrassment and which Tacky correctly used to point out Bob's hypocrisy. Bob stopped arguing, and Rita continued her relationship with Tacky. Rita also had a child with Tacky, a daughter named Stephanie, who Bob adopted.

Life, incredibly, moved on, and Rita suggested to Bob that she should start a juice bar with some of her produce at his Hope Road studio location. Bob agreed, and Rita started the stand that eventually became the Queen of Sheba restaurant. Everyone loved her organic food; Rita comments that Bob was her best customer and PR man.

While running the Queen of Sheba restaurant, Rita reconnected with some friends: Minnie, Judy, and Marcia. Minnie helped a great deal with the restaurant. Rita, Minnie, and Judy wanted to start a Rastafarian women's organization and school for Rastafarian children, while Rita, Judy, and Marcia agreed to sing together at a club. It was Rita's first public performance in a long time.

Right after this, The Wailers broke up. Specifically, Bob signed on again with the same record label and would still work with new singers as "Bob Marley and the Wailers," but the other Wailers, Peter and Bunny, left. They weren't happy with the way the label was headlining Bob. Bob felt deeply hurt by the group's dissolution, but he asked Rita, Marcia, and Judy to come sing backup with him in the studio and on tour.

Bob was paying Rita, as well as Marcia and Judy. But at the same time, Rita got to make music with Bob again, and she loved that. She was very happy to go on tour with him, partly out of a desire to spend time together again - through all the horrible things that had happened, they still loved each other and wanted to spend time together. Rita was also happy to be working on her own musical career. Rita, Marcia, and Judy had named their trio the I-Three, and this would be solid work for all of them.

Rita insisted on getting to be her own separate person on tour, a member of the I-Three instead of Mrs. Marley. She writes about wanting to continue looking after Bob on the road - ensuring his laundry was done and meals were eaten, for example. But otherwise, she stated, she was free to do whatever she wanted on the road in a way she couldn't be at home and wouldn't have been if she were expected to be acting as Mrs. Marley the whole entire time. She also, however, writes about missing her children and her home dearly.

Again, Bob and Rita's relationship continued to seem very fluid. Bob would get jealous if he thought other men were involved with Rita; there was even an incident when he came into her hotel room, started shouting when he saw a male friend in there, lifted Rita up off the bed, and dropped her back on the bed. But he also continued to have affairs and children with other women. Rita writes that she wasn't threatened by many of these women because there were so many of them and they didn't represent serious relationships. Rita also felt it was easier to just take Bob's children by other women into her home, and she often had friendships with their mothers. There were a few women who seemed serious enough for Rita to be hurt by their presence, but over and over again, she chose not to worry about it, because she viewed her role as more important.

Despite the difficulties of dealing with Bob's womanizing and being away from home, Rita chose to stay on tour for all those years because she was instrumental in holding together "such a good thing" - Bob's musical tours with the I-Three - and she sensed it was important to people all over the world. She also loved the sense of individual development she got from that time. Rita comments:

Take your troubles to the Lord and not to the people, I'd tell myself. So I did just that---I prayed. And I gave my part, I gave it honestly. I gave my part, from the heart, and I was paid for it. Paid every week, just like everybody else. So I could maintain myself, not just physically, but with a lot of spirit. And on good days, even though I wasn't altogether happy, I felt so independent, thinking, well, now I can do whatever I want, now I can buy clothes and shoes that I like, I can be---whew---just what I wanna be!

During the seven years they were touring (interspersed with time at home in Jamaica), Bob and Rita did have their arguments and fights, but they overall got along well and were still in love, so they solidified their relationship "as man and wife" again.

However, Rita still didn't feel individuated in the way she wanted to, so she signed with a record company named Hansa Music. Bob did not like this because he wanted to be the one to give Rita her big break; he wanted to keep the music in the family. He felt like white people (Hansa Music was a French company) were taking Rita away. But Rita and the record company were persistent, and he finally agreed to cooperate. Rita started working on her own individual music.

Bob had a political presence - people had come to think of him as "the voice of the people," and youth from the ghetto tended to look to him for help. People would come to Hope Road looking for favors and financial help, with which Bob was generous. But a lot of the people looking for help were mixed up with crime. He became anxious, even paranoid, as people sought help with matters that could endanger Bob and the family - people asking to stay at Hope Road to avoid gang violence, for example.

Eventually, the government asked Bob to do a peace concert called "Smile Jamaica" to encourage peace in the population before an election. Bob agreed, because he believed in peace.

Just after a rehearsal shortly before the concert, Bob and Rita were shot in an assassination attempt; Rita was shot in the head but the bullet didn't cause a fatal wound because of her thick dreadlocks, and Bob was grazed across the chest and shot in the elbow, where the bullet remained for the rest of his life.

Bob insisted on doing the concert anyway, with the bullet in his arm. Rita was up there with him, even though they hadn't been able to remove the bullet from her head yet, either.

After the assassination attempt, the shaken family spent some time in the Bahamas, in Nassau. Bob then went "into exile" in England, where he reconnected with one of his girlfriends. Rita and the children went back to Jamaica for school, but no longer felt safe in their Bull Bay home, so Bob bought a three-sister (three-family) house for them in Kingston. Rita and Bob continued to talk almost every day by telephone.

The political situation didn't lighten up - Bob's influence was being tracked in the United States, and this included intelligence agencies monitoring his mail - but he decided to return to Jamaica after about half a year because he missed his home. However, Bob returned to increased political activity, including more people asking for dangerous favors; again, gang members asked to stay in his home and wanted to act as his personal security.

Before what would be their last tour, Rita wanted to get a different house for the children. She and Bob disagreed on the house; Rita wanted a smaller but beautiful house on a hill overlooking Kingston, while Bob had plans to build a mansion he could settle into with all of his children and work on his music. Rita realized Bob was planning much more for himself and the children than for her, even though he also made a bunch of promises about being a better father, friend, and husband after this tour. He was planning to settle down. Rita told him that was nice, but still decided to put her advance from the tour toward the house on the hill.

During this next tour, Bob injured one of his big toes twice, first in 1975 - after which point it never fully healed because Bob would not give it a rest - and then again in 1977, after which the nail fell out and he developed malignant melanoma. He was advised to have the toe amputated. However, he refused, believing he couldn't perform without his big toe, that audiences wouldn't want to see that, and he was told the doctors were lying. He believed the doctors were lying.

They proceeded with the tour. Bob was extremely famous at this point, and Rita felt she was losing him; other people controlled all his time and influenced his every decision, and Bob felt obligated to keep up with all the demands, even at the expense of his own health. Eventually, Bob collapsed and was taken to the hospital, at which point he discovered his cancer had spread to his brain and he had only months to live. Because the diagnosis was terminal, Bob's managers were planning to keep him touring until he died, but Rita was outraged about this and called everyone she knew to insist on bringing the tour to a stop.

Bob did get cancer treatment, first in the US and then with a specialist in Germany. The German doctor, Dr. Josef Issels, managed to keep Bob alive six months longer than the other doctors believed was possible; however, he soon died very young, at the age of 36.

Rita was devastated. As they were both young, Bob's death was the first major loss Rita had experienced.

Moreover, Rita was immediately thrown into managing a ton of issues that had never been planned for. Rita was betrayed and taken advantage of by people who had been involved in managing Bob's finances, and she even ended up on trial because they accused her of misusing Bob's money after his death. However, everything Rita had used the estate's money for was legitimate. She acted according to the financial advice of his manager, and took care of the children, and paid for his funeral, and paid legal fees. Bob also simply was not as wealthy as people believed; his legacy has generated a lot of money over decades, indeed, but at the time of his death, he wasn't inordinately wealthy, or he wouldn't have felt so much pressure to do all that touring.

Summing up their relationship after Bob's death, Rita writes:

I thought Bob did the greatest thing by leading me to find myself. ... 'You are what you are, you are black and you are beautiful.' And I know there are many, many others who learned that same lesson from him.

Rita went on to carry Bob's legacy forward, keeping his music alive. In 2000, Time magazine awarded the "Song of the Century" title to Bob's song "One Love" and the "Album of the Century" title to Bob's album "Exodus." Bob's children now have musical careers, which Rita has nurtured.

Rita was able to set Aunty up, eventually, with everything she wanted, and Rita's father came home to spend time with his many grandchildren. Eventually they both passed away, and as keenly as she felt the losses, Rita was able to lean on her friends. Rita also had one more daughter named Serita with Tacky.

Over the past few decades, Rita has continued to pursue her dreams and live an incredibly active life. She has continued to promote Bob's music, but also moved to Ghana and started a nonprofit called The Rita Marley Foundation, caring for infants and the elderly. She has done a great deal of humanitarian work.

Worth noting that Rita structured this book so it ended with the same idea with which it started:

So I started to sing, as he told me to do, and just as he said it would be, everything was all right. Rastafari!

The Big Picture

The way I see it, a big part of No Woman No Cry is about identity and individual will. The concept of identity is in the ways we're defined by our connections, from intimate connections to large-scale social contexts, and in the ways we're defined by our own choices. It hit me with almost every chapter how strong Rita's individual will was while at the same time being interconnected and interdependent with so many other people in her life, and, of course, being shaped by her race and Jamaica's status as a colonized nation until 1962.

This book is also a study in the complexity of human connections - particularly, in how it is possible to meld hopes and dreams with another person's, and to unreservedly lean on other people, without losing one's sense of self. Rita and Bob chose to marry because they had mutual dreams; Rita chose to stay with Bob, though, because of the way she personally wanted to live. And she simultaneously pushed for her independence, which in the end was the thing that allowed her to do so much of her own humanitarian work and carry on Bob's legacy, too.

This pattern, wherein individual will and relationship connections mutually strengthened each other, carried out with all of Rita's close friends and loved ones. I'm thinking especially of Aunty - Rita and Aunty clashed a great deal in Rita's youth, and yet, each valued their family connection as much as their own individual will. They stuck together despite the friction; Aunty helped raise the children, and later, Rita was able to provide Aunty with a comfortable life. That in turn was possible only because of Rita's insistence on making her own choices while Aunty insisted on continuing to provide support.

Hand-in-hand with the concept of identity is memory. This is, after all, a memoir. Its very purpose is to solidify memories, to put them in the form of a book and to help other people understand Rita's life with Bob. When Rita explains her motivations in writing, she's giving her individual will, her choices, a material presence in the world. Although I don't believe Rita comments on this in the book, I'm imagining that the act of putting her memoir in writing helps solidify her power over the narrative of her life; by writing out our stories and the thoughts that inform them, we can illuminate the power our own choices have.

Another theme running strong throughout No Woman No Cry is faith. In high contrast to the themes of The Crow Road, Rita Marley's faith doesn't hold her back; it gives her strength and connects her to others. "Faith" for Rita means Rastafari. It helped her connect with her inherent worth as a black woman, and it helped her see her own success as part of a better world overall. Rita shores up her faith against the oppressive, authoritarian nature of colonialism. For Rita, faith isn't something that subdues her with dreams of another world; it's something that moves her to act in this one.

The book opens and closes with assurances that Rita should just keep moving forward (singing, in her case) and everything will be all right. That's also faith - the belief that she will succeed if she just presses forward, even if she's not sure how that can happen. Her spirituality allows her to tap into this, but it isn't specific to a particular belief system. It's just about being willing to believe, time and time again, that one foot in front of the other will ultimately lead somewhere good.

Altogether, I believe No Woman No Cry was on the Good Omens book club list because No Woman No Cry centers the depth of the human experience: the things that make us who we are, the ways we connect with other people, and how we can figure out where we belong.

[jolimoone]

Reading Journal #1 - Norwegian Wood

*SPOILERS AHEAD

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami was very…. Interesting. Well, for me at least, ‘cause I love classic books, and on a fever for the Bildungsroman genre (think catcher in the rye, Jane eyre, Demian), I started Norwegian Wood thinking I’d get a good story about the life of a university student but was instead, left feeling a bit perturbed. Reading the summary itself, it’s just the book I was looking for as a 19 year old university student, and I’m working on a story where the main protagonist is a male 20 year old university student so the perspective was perfect to study. But, by the end of this novel, I had these three thoughts.

- this book is clearly written by a man.

- I should’ve read Kafka on the shore first.

- I’m concerned with people that find this book relatable and phenomenal.

Now let me elaborate, because these are strong opinions. I’m going to try my best to speak objectively, but this review is coming from a female 20 year old university student. There is nothing wrong with books written by men, I typically don’t care for the author’s gender AT ALL, but this particular book was a pretty hard read for me.

Toru Watanabe presents himself as this niche character that loves “unique” literature, speaks uniquely (apparently), and judging from what other character’s say about him, is pretty personable. But those traits, just as many that are said about him, like when Nagasawa said Toru was not interested in anything but himself (and that’s why they’re so similar), doesn’t hold true (Toru actually cares a lot about the people around him). Murakami does a lot of tell and not show, and I don’t know if it was purposeful, but a lot of the bare characterization were just not accurate so the Storm trooper, funnily enough, was the best character for me. I found that Toru is actually the most ordinary, dry, and inconsistent protagonist ever. He just goes with whatever. For example, the characters can say the most absurd, most unrealistic statement, and he’d be like, “sounds like it,” “wow,” or “I see, tell me more,” and it’s just frustrating to sit in such a dead perspective. This kind of persona worked for Nick Caraway in Great Gatsby because he was infatuated by Gatsby, a very very interesting character. But for Toru, by the end, he didn’t even have an apparent character development besides “growing up” (whatever that is, Murakami didn’t describe it). Nagasawa, his friend was objectively horrible and if you don’t think so, I think you’re terrible too. He sleeps around with 70 girls while dating a girl, and his words are severely entitled. The fact that Toru seems to respect this guy in some ways irks me. Now, the most difficult thing for me were the girl characters. All of them (Naoko, Midori, and Reiko), should’ve existed to show different ways the protagonist either grew or was effected, but since the protagonist is so dry and stagnant, they just showed up to be kind of… weird. Naoko was decent, but her relationship with Toru was really odd, to the point of being unrealistic. She was broken because of Kizuki’s suicide, and naturally a friend like Toru would respect that if they truly loved her, but he kept using Kizuki as some kind of connection with Naoko to get with her and have sex. I know it’s deeper than that, since Naoko is unable to love (but she still seems to string everyone along). Yet Naoko remained confused pretty much the whole book and just died at the end. I get that that can be the reality, but this is a written story, making such an outcome a one dimensional one. Instead of talking about sex, why couldn’t they elaborate more on why she struggled to love? As for Midori, I was so sick of her showing up just to talk about periods and sex and rape jokes. And I mean, every time. When she wears a short skirt it’s mentioned at least 10 times. She showed her naked body to her dead father as if that added anything to her character? I just had to skip the scenes with her in it and the story didn’t lose anything. And Reiko? She’s okay, but again, a sane person would see her as mentally disturbed even though she claims she’s “healed”. She got sexually harassed by a kid and claims that she doesn’t have to return to her family, and sleeps with Toru at the end. Tell me, why do all characters get sexually involved with Toru? Is that what all women exist for? The objectification goes crazy. Toru hangs around every girl ‘cause they like him for some reason, but he’s really got nothing going for him. For god’s sake, Reiko was some old woman that seemed to have some kind of mature-ness and then she sleeps with a 20 year old boy to mourn Naoko? Mourning in this book equates to sex. All I can say by the end is that these people (and I mean all, even Midori) need to seek mental help or Jesus, not sex, masturbation, or anything like that, ‘cause it’s just sad to think about life that way.

All these characters are just terrible. It’s totally fine to write books with terrible characters, we need those books to exist (I know several people hate catcher in the rye because the main character is insufferable but I personally loved the commentary on the superficiality of society). But I do not know if Murakami wrote these characters with the intention of making them unlikable, because it just seems to me that he wrote it as if this is the reality. Bildungsroman books are supposed to portray the realities of growing up, Norwegian Wood is supposedly relatable, but, if this book is relatable I am again, super perturbed. If the intent was to write about mentally troubled people, then I get it (again, I love books like perks of being a wallflower and catcher in the rye, protagonists that both have mental struggles), but again, Murakami seemed to write this as if these out-of-pocket thoughts/scenarios were normal. Is it normal? Am I just not getting it because I’m a girl? I’m not sure what Murakami’s intent was in writing this book at all, because if it is about grief, it’s sending the wrong message. I didn’t go into this book expecting all the characters to just talk about sex, periods, blowjobs, and getting wet every three pages, had I known, I wouldn’t have picked it up.

The prose is decent, and I’m sure it’s more beautiful in it’s original language. There were dreamy moments and thoughtful quotes. The parallels of Toru’s present situations and his past and the way he handled him differently this time was nice to see. However, these moments to me are overshadowed by the flaws I just mentioned above. I swear, I started getting scared whenever a new girl appeared because I was worried she was going to sleep with him. Murakami kept referencing books, such as The Magic Mountain and Light in August, but why? I know Toru is a literary nerd, but mentioning these books in a single sentence with no connection to anything is useless. Great Gatsby was largely influencing the novel and I can see it. Toru was like Nick Caraway, but a cheap Walmart version. In fact, the whole cast was like a cheap Walmart version of all the Gatsby characters. Toru isn’t as introspective as I expected him to be, and this book is mostly dialogue and communicating with other characters which is fine. But just when you think that the character’s are full of depth, we get hit with sex, reducing them back to being shallow. I did not care at all what happened to these characters, and no offense, Naoko’s death didn’t even surprise me.

I should’ve read Kafka on the Shore first because I just do not want to read anything by Murakami anymore and I heard people like that book much better. But in my opinion, Murakami is overrated and I’m probably not going to touch another book by him unless someone convinces me real good. I guess, I was expecting too much? “Murakami is a literary master”, “this book is so poetic”, “It’s an artful love story” and all I can say is how? If we think about the characters in that they were broken, frozen in time, suffering with melancholia, then, sure, it’s beautiful, but the people who say this book is good is ignoring the written execution. It’s not a definite love story. The poeticism is ruined by vile, useless dialogue. Are we reading the same thing? I’m not asking this to be a hater, I’m just genuinely curious.

I see arguments defending this book, that this honest depiction of the male perspective is necessary and Murakami isn’t even bad compared to other male authors, but I find that problematic. How is this a respected work? Why are we normalizing this kind of perspective in literature? This depiction of women in books? Holden Caulfield, Charlie, and Jane Eyre are so deeply and intricately characterized enough for readers to understand their values, struggles, and views on the world even if they are a little strange. They’re relatable in one if not all those ways. If characters were unfavorable, in that they were possibly insufferable, ignorant, entitled, or misogynistic, there would be thorough development to explain so (characters like Patrick Bateman), but Toru, he just vibes through everything with sex as if that’s all he knows. Was it right for him to sleep with Naoko that night? No. The answer is no and this shouldn’t even be a question Toru should ask or readers to discuss. Don’t say that I’m being blind to the narrative value of this scenario because objectively, it’s wrong to sleep with someone who is at a vulnerable broken unstable state even if they consented.

Anyways, all of the above was my experience with this book. I’m currently reading Demian and East of Eden, and hopefully I’ll be back with a review of those as well :)

[thechildrendontlaugh]

The Audacity to Hope

I never read “The Catcher in the Rye” in school. It was never assigned to me, and I never had any desire, until recently, to pick it up. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to get from it—I deliberately avoided any summaries or reflections on it, had a vague understanding of who the main character might be and modern “controversy” around it, but went in pretty blind to anything substantial about it. It was brought up, off-handedly, in conversation, forgotten later on by the one who mentioned it. But it stuck with me.

The story was off-putting. Low on conflict, or plot. A character study of a young man who felt deliberately hard to connect to. I found myself bored, and confused as to what made this book one of the “classics”. It didn’t feel compelling, and I was confused about what its “purpose” was. The story it was trying to tell.

I had a friend a few weeks back talk about “the audacity to hope” that humans have. The constant struggle we have of convincing ourselves, that tomorrow, will be better, even if it’s not true. But how we lean on this anyway—devote ourselves to this belief. How it becomes the sustaining mantra we lie ourselves into. And we do this again, and again. Each day, for the rest of our lives. That stuck with me too.

It wasn’t until the end, that the story began to form itself for me. That I began to see Holden. I could feel where the tension within him arose. Where it remained rearing its head, struggling to be seen, to understand its own self. A clash of traditional masculinity that could not articulate the non-traditional emotional intelligence he was plagued by. An earnestness of hope, which struggled against a cruel reality that invited in and encouraged an inauthenticity of being. Where he did not have the words, but he had the feelings, and he had his own internal conflict which was squeezed tight by the assumptions of everyone else. Of who Holden was supposed to be, needed to be. And how this deeply troubled, and sweet boy, was wilting beneath it. Had wilted beneath it. Been crushed by this audacity of hope that could not stand up to every bullhorned message he received from the world around him.

I wonder if this was inevitable. If this is, more or less, the same wilting we all, at some point in time, will be faced with. This existential struggle where it seems as though we are perhaps struggling against the forces of life itself, challenging its assumptions that a striving for more—for an almost coveted realness—means being mistaken as odd, or not quite right, and ostracized away from ourselves. The purity of ourselves. Of our hope.

I think about the weight of burdens which we force ourselves to carry. The difficulty in putting some of that down. The seeming impossibility of it. The urgency in holding and containing, and understanding it all. Molding our sensitivities around it, and how this shaping so often breaks us where we only meant to remain soft, pliable. How it is so hard, finding a line between the two. A hardness, and a softness. A clear-eyed sharpness towards reality…and an ethereal, ever-lasting hope which can sustain us through the embittering, devastating realities that can leave one at war with themselves. When did hope mean picking up? Why is it so hard to set down? Why is there a seeming obligation to continue moving forward, to persist, to ache after? Can the ache ever die down, or does it remain compelling, because it is the only force that can truly bring us to the place where we were shaped and created to be…