#trying my damndest to be happy about celebration song actually

[aenthroppe]

Ough birdwatchers guide to atrocity is literally still so good

I love the song progression the most.

"the fates" as the Opening statement. Atrocity is imminent. There's nothing you can do to stop it. So how do you cope?

You "Go Small". With the fast and steady backing drum beat to accentuate that even though fate is coming; so are you.

The ego-favorable perspective is emphasized in "Someday Lily". Remove yourself further from the world, the atrocities around you. If they want to see you dead you gotta keep living. But remember there's kindness, most of all within you.

For without kindness - "The Flood Comes For You". And god I love the anger in this song. It's a contrast to Someday Lily but in the way that it's the other side to the same coin.

'I will gladly gladly drown' says the flood, but the response of the next song is clear – "Remember To Breathe". You won't be the one to single handedly end the world in one fell swoop. You're in this for the long haul. Through the pins and needles of the mundane.

And after that last breath is taken we get right back to the entropical hubris of "End Studies"!! Top 3 songs of the album imo. It's even more proactive than "The Flood Comes For You" in its strive for an End.

And as it fizzles out we get to "Permanent". The only thing that's permanent is irrevocable change. Loss. Destruction. BUT it also clearly states there's always another way out. And we can leverage these.

the way "Permanent" ends with 'No need to be good now' to lead into "Reality is afraid" is so beautiful to me. It's such a triumphant song. Declaring that yes, you are powerful, even after everything that has happened to you. Every atrocity. Every death. You're still here. And you can shape reality as you like. Fuck what everyone else is saying. I care about me and my and I can manifest that care even if reality would deem it ridiculous.

This, taken to the extreme leads us to the conclusion that is "Learn to Vanish". Listing a bunch of "[verb] a [noun]" groups to illustrate just what it is we fill our lives with. But there's absolutely no connective tissue between them. It feels unreal. As if those things never really happened. It closes with the Titular "learn to Vanish" as the last action one has supposedly done. And after vanishing - you gotta celebrate

"Celebration Song" is the album's closer. And goes on a tour from outside reality, where you're powerful enough to bring back life from extinction, to a forceful reintegration to reality. But this isn't framed as damnation. You're still powerful. You have control over yourself.

And the birds will still fly.

So come on, won't you celebrate with me?

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You: Part Seven

A/N: I’m obsessed with flashbacks. Sue me, okay? Lots of background here. i promise that we swan dive head first back into the talk in the next part...but this is some important stuff. 

Word Count: 4,037 

“Don’t you know that I loved you, Billy?”

Shit. You hadn’t meant for those words to come out, but they had. Even if you could take them back, though, you wouldn’t. Your biggest regret, the one you carried with you every day since your last conversation with Billy, was that you’d never told him that you loved him. It should be in person, I’ll wait until after this next tour, I don't want to do this over the phone or in an email. They were all sound excuses, but that’s all they were- excuses. I don’t want to ruin the friendship, what we have is already so great, he knows that I’m here, that I care… that’s enough. But it wasn’t and you couldn’t fool yourself or him into thinking that it was anymore. You loved him, and that love eclipsed everything and anything he could possibly tell you, any reason he could possibly come up with for why he wasn’t worthy of you. You loved Billy Russo, and you had for years. The fact that it was out in the open now changed nothing. You were glad, tired of keeping it in. You thought you’d lost your chance to tell him, but you hadn’t. You heard his breath catch, and then the world went silent as your mind found the memory of the first time you realized it...the moment that you knew that your heart would always belong to him.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

You were halfway up the second flight of steps when you felt a vibration coming from the front pocket of your bag. Suddenly, the dim lighting and drab, peeling taupe paint of the stairwell brightened as you dug out your phone and read the name on the caller I.D. Russo. The extremely disappointing lunch date you’d just escaped melted away as you swiped your thumb across the screen, smile spreading wide. Forgoing a normal greeting, your excitement bubbled through the speaker. “Did it get there?” You took the rest of the steps two at a time, bright green flats slapping the crumbling tiles of the ancient staircase, hurrying back to the seclusion of your apartment.

Billy laughed in response. “Yeah, it got here.” Your grin spread wide across your lips and you imagined the way that laugh would look on his face; how his cheeks would rise up towards his eyes, how that little shine would be there in those onyx depths, how his nose would crinkle and his tongue would be visible just behind a perfect set of white teeth.

“Did you open it yet?” You reached your floor and practically ran to your door, jingling keys already in hand. Shoving the main one into the lock and giving a quick turn, you threw the door open and closed it behind you.

He laughed again, and the deep sound travelled down into your chest, making it swell. You loved hearing Billy laugh, mostly because you knew that it wasn’t a common occurrence. But, if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you also loved knowing that you had an easier time coaxing that laugh out of him than anyone else in the world. “Of course not. I know better than that. You told me to wait until I called you, so that’s what I did. You home?”

“Just got in. Okay, Russo,” you tossed your bag onto the loveseat and flopped into the overstuffed chair by the window. Your shoes slipped from your feet as you pulled them up beneath you, leaning back into the warmth of the sunlight coming through the glass. The date had all but left your mind, completely forgetting about how Jack had called you by the wrong name, droned on extensively about the ins and outs of his job at the Sam Adams brewery- he was a tour guide, but he was trying his damndest to glorify that position and you weren’t having it- and asked you absolutely zero questions about yourself nor showed much interest in you at all. I’ll have to remember to thank Ant for setting me up with this paper thin excuse for a man, you had mused, leaving the cafe as quickly as you could. But even the carefully and colorfully worded “thank you” you were planning to deliver to Anthony had evaporated completely as you could hear the sound of a blade opening on Billy’s end of the line. “Open ‘er up.”

You heard a zip as he dragged the sharp point across the packing tape, slicing your package open. You’d only sent it three days ago, thrilled that this year you wouldn’t have to wait the extra time for it to make it overseas, through all the security checkpoints, and then for him to actually have time to open it while there was an available phone line that he could call you from. Last year you’d had to wait a full week after your tracking number showed that the package had arrived at the APO in Mosul before Billy was able to call you for the unboxing, and the anticipation- along with the worry for his safety- had driven you slightly nuts. It was much better when he was in New York for his birthday, for a lot of reasons. Boston to New York isn’t that far, he’s safe, I can hear his voice today and not a week from now…

Not that you actually knew when his birthday was. You’d gotten the story on Billy’s birthday early on in your friendship, only a few months after you’d invited him to stay when he’d been stood up by Lexi. It had been your birthday, and you were going out with some friends- Lexi, of course, her sister Drea, Anthony was coming up from New York, and a few others that you no longer kept in touch with- when he sent you an out-of-the-blue text as was his M.O. You’d texted back and forth for a while, telling him that you’d really rather be home in sweatpants with a beer and a good movie, and he’d teased you a little for being a homebody, prompting you to ask the question that had started this gift-giving tradition: Okay then Russo, if you’re the expert on Birthdays, what do you do for yours?

Lexi and Drea were bickering about who would get the next round, the current round still sitting on the bar top before you, bright pink and nowhere near the type of alcoholic beverage you would have chosen for yourself, but you were preoccupied with the three little dots at the bottom of your phone screen indicating that Billy was typing a response. Nothing. I don’t celebrate. I hate my birthday.

The short, hard, punctuated sentences carried hurt and bad memories. Even though you were out with your friends, and the atmosphere was light and jovial, you suddenly felt a frown form on your lips. It wasn’t the response you’d expected, and it bothered you to think of why he would feel that way. You chewed your lower lip as you thought about how to respond, but the little dots were back on the bottom of the screen so you waited to see what his next message said. But don’t let me rain on your parade. You takin’ shots? Take one for me...and Happy Birthday.

You looked at the vibrantly colored drink in front of you and slid it down to Lexi before raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a double Maker’s, please?” You ordered a replacement shot, the bartender pouring with a very heavy hand. Thanking him, you ignored the lingering look and the brush of his fingers on yours as he passed you the glass at no charge. You wasted no time in snapping a photo of yourself and your shot, and sending it to Billy. Cheers, Russo. You clinked your glass to Lexi’s as she took both unnaturally magenta drinks in one gulp, before throwing back the amber liquid. You sent one more text, before the girls pulled you out onto the dance floor: Can I call you when I get home?

The response was immediate, the dots barely even registering this time. Of course. Be safe, have fun. Talk to you later, birthday girl.

With that, you let Lexi and Drea pull you out to where Ant was already making a fool of himself with his moves. You danced to a few songs, snapped a few pictures, and then made a pitiful excuse to turn in, claiming that your feet were killing you. Drea seemed drunk enough to buy it, but Lexi shot you a questioning look before flicking her eyes down to your shoes- bright green flats that she knew for a fact were your comfiest pair of “going out” shoes, as she’d borrowed them plenty of times before. She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head questioningly in the direction of the bartender that had been flirting with you before. You made a disapproving face, explaining that you were in no way trying to leave with the bartender, you were just tired, it had been a long week, and that you really were looking forward to your sweats. “Fine, guess you really are an ‘ol lady now,” she rolled her eyes but gave you a hug as you pulled your phone out to call a cab. You thanked Lexi and Drea, hugged Ant and a few others goodbye, and climbed into the cab.

Trudging up the three flights of steps, you pulled your phone out and dialed Billy’s number. It rang three times, and just as you reached your door, debating whether or not to leave a message, he picked up, greeting you by name. “You home?” he asked. “Or you still out?”

“Hey, no, I just got in. Are you free? I don’t mean to bother-” You suddenly realized that it was Friday night, and though you had turned in early, the rest of your age bracket most likely hadn’t, Billy certainly included. You wondered if he was out at a bar looking for someone to leave with, or maybe he’d already found the lucky winner and was on his way to the next location. You didn’t have too much time to wonder, though, because he cut you off as you opened the door to your apartment and flicked the lights on.

“You’re not botherin’ me. I’m just payin’ my tab and headin’ home.” You could hear the distinct sounds of bar noise in the background- glasses clinking and music playing, people talking and laughing, the crack of billiards balls as someone broke them up. You could also hear a female voice sounding a bit miffed to hear that Billy was leaving.

“You sure, Russo? I don’t wanna interfere with any plans you might be in the middle of making.” You couldn’t help but tease a little. Afterall, you only knew Billy, only had this friendship with him because he’d picked Lexi up at a bar.

“Yeah, I’m sure. So tell me how your birthday went. S’kinda early to be gettin’ back, isn’t it?” You heard the background noise diminish and figured that he must have been heading away from the crowded bar. A jingling bell told you that you were correct as he stepped out into the street.

“Yeah, but  you know, I’m an old lady now so I can’t be out with the young whippersnappers until all hours of the night. Plus, one greasy bartender hitting on me was enough. The quality of the dudes that show interest goes down as the night goes on, so I figured I would quit while I was not at all ahead.” You laughed and plucked at a loose thread in the arm of the overstuffed chair you’d just dropped into. “Partying like that isn’t really my scene, anyway. Lexi and our friends...I really went just for them. Like I told you, if I had it my way, we’d all be in our PJs drinking cheap beer and eating pizza.”

“You really are an old lady, you know that?” You could hear the shit-eating grin on his perfect face. If he were there you’d throw a pillow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you said, and he did. It felt good to hear him laugh, made you smile. Even though you hadn’t known each other for very long, his friendship was important to you and you found yourself wanting to know everything you could about him. Even the parts that he hid away. Like what he’d said earlier about his birthday. “Hey...Billy? Can I ask you something?”

You heard him clear his throat as his laughter died down. “Yeah, birthday girl, shoot.”

You bit your bottom lip before asking. “Why did you say you hate your birthday?” Your heart rate picked up and pounded dizzily against your ribs. “I just...You said you hate it, and...nevermind, you don't have to…”

He sniffed, and again cut you off. “Nah, it’s okay. I brought it up...it’s just not, you know the happiest story, but...I just...growin’ up for me...things were…” he sighed and you imagined those long fingers running through his glossy, dark hair. “I didn’t have the best childhood, ya know? I...I grew up in this state run home. And my birthday… it was always a reminder that no one really cared about me. They’d always have a gift you know? Like a matchbox car or some shit. And one of those flimsy blank cards you get as a thank you for donating to like the SPCA or Easter Seals or whatever...you know with some hack painting of a red truck or a city skyline? I guess that was somethin’. But it was always just… I dunno it always just kinda rubbed it in for me that no one cared. I didn’t even like matchbox cars, ya know? But they didn’t care. Givin’ the kids gifts there...it was just like checkin’ a box so they could feel like they did all they could to give us normal lives.” His voice didn’t waver, just carried evenly as he delivered this heartbreaking detail as though it were a fact of life. You didn’t breathe, afraid to shatter the moment as he continued.  “And I still don’t really have anyone to...to celebrate with or...so yeah, I just...don’t.”

“I care about your birthday, Billy. I’d celebrate with you.” A friend could say that, right?

There was a slight pause on the other end, and you worried that you’d overstepped. Oh shit...maybe I can claim that I'm drunk and rambling and not making sense and- “Well, thanks,” he said, silencing your thoughts. “It, uh...it passed already this year anyway though, so...don’t give it another thought, okay?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Okay.” No way I’m not giving it another thought. In fact, you already gave it all the thought it needed, and you smiled to yourself as you continued on with your conversation with Billy, telling him about your night- about the bartender that had struck out miserably, about the neon hue of the drinks Lexi and Drea insisted on ordering, about Anthony’s horrible seizure-like dance moves. But it the back of your mind, you were already orchestrating what would become one of your favorite traditions with Billy- the celebration of his birthday on random, surprise dates each year, by sending him small, personal gifts that only someone who knew him, really knew him, and cared for him, could possibly know that he’d want.

The first gift you’d sent had gotten to him only a few weeks before he and Frank were set to ship out, and you were glad he’d received it before leaving the States. He’d mentioned once in passing that on his first deployment it had shocked him how chilly it got in the desert at night, and how his freshly buzzed head was cold for a whole month before his hair grew in. An endearing image of a shivering Billy with nothing but military grade peach fuzz covering his head filled your mind as you dragged Lexi to a knitting class at your local craft store one afternoon. She’d complained and rolled her eyes, but by the end she had a purple and black scarf that she’d wear for several winters to come, and you had a burnt orange skull cap to keep Billy’s head warm on those frigid desert nights.

He’d called you when it arrived, a curious lift to his voice as he asked “Why is there a box on my doorstep with your address as the return?”

“Just open it, Russo,” you’d answered, nervous excitement rising in your chest as you bit your thumbnail and listened to the rustling sound coming through the phone. You’d tucked a card in the package, right on top so he’d have to open it first. Paper tearing told you that he’d found the bright blue envelope, his name written on it in big looping letters with balloons drawn on either side.

“A birthday card? But it’s not...I told you it passed already...what is…”

Happy Birthday, Billy. I know it’s not your real birthday, but I thought maybe this could be a way to celebrate it anyway. Just thought maybe you’d want to know that I care. You’d signed it with your name, simple, no need to wax poetic, but you hoped he felt the meaning behind your few words.

“A hat?” there was a smile in his voice, replacing the confusion. “You...did you make this...for me?”

“I did, Marine, so keep your criticism to yourself because I’m very new to knitting and my fragile constitution can’t take harsh comments about the uneven stitches or-”

“Why did you do this for me?” he was quiet, and it hurt you to know that he was so shocked by such a small gesture...to know that he really must not have had anyone show him even the smallest inclination that they cared, that they listened.

“Because you’re my friend, Billy. And I don’t want your noggin to freeze next month when you’re shivering in a tent somewhere. Now put it on and tell me how perfectly it fits. And if it doesn’t fit, lie to me.”

“No it’s...it’s perfect...it’s…” he chuckled and you thought it sounded a little choked. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten. New favorite hat. Comin’ everywhere with me...Thank you, I...I don’t… thanks.”

You’d never forget the warmth you felt as your lips turned upwards and you swallowed the lump brought on by his gratitude for something so small. “You’re welcome, Billy. Wear it well.”

And just like that, Operation: Billy’s Birthday began. But sitting in your armchair as he opened your gift that third year, you could hardly contain your excitement. The hat had been good, and the second year you’d given him a pair of reflective aviators because he’d told you that Top Gun was one of his favorite movies, but the box he was currently opening contained a piece of his childhood...one of the only happy pieces you’d ever heard him talk about. You’d been trading stories about the “best day of your lives” one afternoon on the phone, and he told you about the time he’d ditched school with some friends and caught a train from Albany to NYC for a Yankees game that they’d been saving for. He was 15 and obsessed with baseball, but had never gone to a game.

“No adults tellin’ us what to do, nobody makin’ us feel like we didn’t belong there. I ate my weight in peanuts I think, and caught a pretty bad sunburn...but the Yanks won and Williams made some great plays...the guys and I, we couldn’t shut up the whole train ride back. Got in some deep shit when we got back to the home but...it was well worth it. Only regret is that I don’t have a picture or anything, not even my ticket stub.”

You’d tracked down the scorecard from that game- April 13, 1999, New York Yankees over the Baltimore Orioles- online, and stuck it in a frame. Simple. Easy. But part of the best day of Billy Russo’s life. So there was nothing simple about it. And hearing him gasp when he opened it, imagining his mouth dropping open and his fingers running over the little boxes on the sheet of paper beneath the glass...there was nothing at all simple about that either. In that moment, eyes closed and listening to Billy open his birthday gift, listening to the absolute joy in his voice as he thanked you...in that moment, you knew that you wanted to hear that joy for the rest of your life. You wanted to be the one that made him happy, that made him realize that he was worth caring about. You wanted to listen to him and learn about him and show him that you…

That you loved him. That you still loved him. That you always would.  

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

“Don’t you know that I loved you, Billy?”

His mouth went dry and his eyes went wide and wild. She… she loved me… how… he looked at you, leaning forward, tears shining on your cheeks. He’d just told you about the pile of dogshit he’d gotten himself into. About how he lied to you, about the dirty money he’d used to start Anvil, and how he betrayed his brothers...betrayed Frank. You’d held his hand and listened. You’d told him that you’d always cared about him...told him that you’d accepted him- all of him, even the broken parts and the ugly bits. Billy ran a hand over his face, feeling the jagged skin beneath his palm. How could she love me? I’m a fucking monster.

But he wasn’t always. And maybe he didn’t have to be anymore. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, fingers curling around the soft, well worn material of the burnt orange hat you’d made him all those years ago. “Comin’ with me everywhere,” he’d said. And it had. He pulled it from his pocket and ran his hands around the folded brim, thinking for the millionth time about how you’d made it from scratch, thinking of your hands holding the knitting needles, probably getting frustrated and yanking stitches out before re-doing them. She did this...she did so much...for me...because she loved me and… He pulled the hat over his short hair, despite the warm temperature.

“I…”

He thought about the time he’d spent the night at your place, about how you hadn’t wanted anything from him, only wanted to be there for him. He thought about your cards and notes, your emails and the pictures you’d sent him through the years. He thought about that one picture in particular, the one he’d deleted when he deleted your number. He thought about the moment that he knew he loved you- when you’d threatened to send him a romance novel with Fabio on the cover, joking freely only minutes after you’d told him that he deserved more than what he allowed himself to have. He loved you for the way that you cared. He loved you for the sound of your voice. He loved you, but he was too afraid of losing you to say anything.

But now you were here. You were here in front of him and you weren’t running away. And he wasn’t going to miss another chance. He still had things to tell you, and you still had a lot to share. But even if the rest of the conversation lead to you telling him that you wanted nothing more to do with him, he wasn’t going to let the moment pass again.

“I should have told you this a long time ago…” he wet his lips with his tongue, reaching out to take your hand in his again. You jumped, but only slightly, and allowed him to mold his palm around yours, to slip his knobby knuckled fingers in between your own.

“I...I loved you, too. I love you...I always will.”

 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire  @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @agent-bossypants @zaffrenotes @songforhema @thesumofmychoices  @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!