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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

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Freedom (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Freedom Rating: PG-13 Length: 3000 Warnings: None Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. This is a Javier-less chapter, which is why I noted that this would be a very different type of update. This chapter is set in September of 1977, when Reader is 16. If you don’t know her backstory you can find info at the link above. If you want to know who I see as Mitch and Darla click on their names. Summary: Reader finally escapes her situation.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou@yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110

“You’ll have your own room,” Mitch explained, glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes. “That’ll be nice, right?”

You nodded your head slowly, rubbing at your forehead as you watched the outskirts of the city bleed into the towering office buildings and quaint streets lined with brownstones and historic homes. You had never been out of your hometown and Philadelphia seemed like a daunting change of pace.

Your life up until this point had been confined to a perimeter that contained your house and school.

“And you’ll never have to live through another one of those floods.” Mitch rambled — he’d rambled a lot since he had picked you up nearly four hours ago. “That had to be scary.”

You shrugged, picking at the hem of your tee. “Not the worst thing to happen to me.” You admitted, glancing out the window again. “My mom acted like the world was going to end because she couldn’t get out of the house. Like goddamn mom, people are dead.”

Mitch cleared his throat, “I’m not looking to parent you, but you know Darla and I have a Tate—“

“Shit.” You laughed quietly, covering your mouth. “I’ll try to curb the cussing.”

“Thanks.” He nodded his head. “And you know Darla and I are here for you, if you ever need anything.”

“I’m not looking to be a burden, promise.” You told him, winding your finger through a lock of hair as you watched out the window. “You don’t even have to feed me.”

“I’m not going to let you go hungry.” Mitch gave you a look. “Come on now, kid.”

“I can cook!” You scrunched up your nose. “I just don’t want you or Darla to feel like I’m taking advantage of your hospitality.” The last thing you wanted was to become your mother. Leeching off other people.

“You’re my sister.”

“We share a father,” You pointed out. “Be glad you don’t share my mother.”

“Dad told me plenty of stories.” Mitch grimaced, “I don’t know how you made it out of there in one piece, kid.”

“I might have nine toes. I haven’t counted lately.” You snorted, “Think there’s a black market in toes for coke?”

“Jesus Christ.” He grimaced, before quickly changing the subject. “That’s the school you’ll be going to.”

You peered out the window at the school, “Better than Richland.”

“It’s where Darla went. It’s a great preparatory school for girls.”

“An all-girls school?” You groaned, crossing your arms across your chest.

“You're more likely to get a scholarship there.”

“Fine.” You couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that. You still had the two and a half years of school to finish before you could think about college — but a scholarship would help. “I don’t need any distractions anyways.”

Mitch gave you a curious look, “Kid, you’re allowed to be a teen, you know. Don’t hold back from living just because you’re staying with us.”

“It’s not that,” You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “I’ve never really been a kid or whatever. I don’t plan on regressing just because I don’t have to deal with the witch.”

“Dad always said you were wise beyond your years,” Mitch remarked, turning down Chestnut Street and parking the car in front of a gorgeous brick townhome.

“You live here?”

“Darla’s folks gifted it to her when they moved out west,” Mitch explained to you as he put the car in park.

“Oh so, rich-rich.” You gave him an amused look. “Looking at you, pitching out of your league.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mitch rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car and shutting the car door behind him.

You climbed out of the car, moving around to the trunk as he unlocked it. “I really do appreciate this, Mitch. I’ll do whatever you guys need me to do. Vacuuming, dishes, I’ll even babysit — I can’t promise I’m good.”

“Kid, you’re family not the new nanny.”

“New?”

“We’re in-between currently.”

“Jesus.” You whistled. “Well, I promise not to bring the property value down. It’ll be like I’m not even there. Promise.”

Mitch shook his head, “I look forward to you warming up to us. This can be your home, kid. You don’t have to act like a visitor.”

You shrugged your shoulders as you slung your duffel bag over your shoulder. “I tried the ‘home’ thing, but dad’s dead... so.”

“I’m just saying, you can put down roots.” Mitch pulled the cardboard box out of the trunk, before he started up the stairs to the townhouse. Darla must’ve been waiting just behind the door, because she swung it open the second your feet hit the stop.

“Look at you!” Darla grinned broadly at you, “You’ve shot up like a weed since the wedding.”

“We saw each other at the funeral,” You reminded her with an awkward laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear as you warily looked around their house. “But thanks.”

Mitch was about thirteen years older than you. You had seen him only a handful of times over the course of your life. His mother, Patrice, had always been kind to you — your father and Patrice were the type of divorced parents you’d wished your own mother had been. They were still friends, up until his death.

Before the funeral, the last time you had seen Mitch was at his wedding. He’d wanted you to actually be part of the wedding, but someone had gone postal at the thought of someone else’s family liking you. You were also only ten — what could you do about anything?

“Tate, sweetheart, this is your aunt.” Darla crouched down beside the little boy. “Say hello.”

“Hello!”

“Hi, Tate.” You smiled at him. “And how old are you?”

“Almost six.” He beamed, “Do you like cars?”

You shrugged, “They get you from point a to point b.”

“He’s been collecting Hot Wheels.” Mitch explained to you, “I’m sure he’ll show you his collection.”

Tate nodded excitedly. “Do you wanna see them now?”

“Oh—“

Mitch ruffled Tate’s hair, “Actually buddy, I’m sure your aunt would love to see them, but we need to get her unpacked. Alright?”

You glanced at Mitch before looking back to Tate, “You can show me after dinner.”

“Why don’t you go play out back?” Darla suggested, sending Tate down the hallway. “He’s been so excited about having someone to play with.”

“I see.” You nodded, your eyes flickering around the entryway, back towards the living room area. It was different to see a house that was put together. They had nice pieces of furniture and none of them were broken or unusually stained.

Mitch cleared his throat, “If you want to, of course. Six-year-old boys can be quite rambunctious.”

You offered a strained smile, “I’m happy to help, like I said.”

“Do you need help with anything from the car?” Darla questioned, clasping her hands together. “That can’t be all you broug—“

Mitch made a gesture to silence her, which you caught out of the corner of your eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is all I have,” You gestured between your duffel bag and the box he held. “I promised I wouldn’t take up too much room.”

“Speaking of your room,” Darla grinned at you. “I hope you don’t hate purple. I went a little overboard once Mitch brought up you moving in.”

She led you up a flight of stairs lined with family pictures, which led to a hallway of bedrooms.

“Ours is at the end of the hall, beside Tate’s. You’re over here.” Mitch explained, pushing open the doorway that led to a bedroom that was at least double what your room had been before.

“Wow.” You breathed out as you stepped inside, holding your duffel bag close to you as you looked around. “Guys, I told you I didn’t need much, this feels…”

“Homey?” Darla questioned. “That’s what I was going for.”

You put on a smile as you nodded your head. You knew you had to be grateful. Mitch didn’t have to give you a place to live. Sure, your dad had wanted it, but that didn’t mean he had to.

You were emancipated from your mother now, you could go anywhere — live…. anywhere. Realistically, you had three options; your mother’s, Mitch’s, or the street.

“Homey… is a great word.” You threw your duffle bag down on the foot of the bed, watching as Mitch sat the cardboard box with your few personal items down on the floor.

“You’ll be starting at Girls’ High next week.” Darla explained. “We can go shopping for your uniform this weekend. That’ll give you a few days to settle into your new life here.”

“Thank you,” You told her with a slightly more sincere smile. “Thank you both.”

Mitch scratched at the back of his neck, “Yeah, well, it’s what dad would’ve wanted.”

“I miss him.”

“Me too.” He nodded. “Alright, well we will give you a chance to settle in. Dinner is usually around six.”

Darla smiled at you, “No pressure. You can join us or I can bring a plate up. I know things have been a bit chaotic for you.”

You tucked your hair behind your ears and nodded, “You don’t have to make dinner for me. I would be happy with a cheese sandwich.”

She shook her head, “I won’t hear of that. I’ll bring it up to you. How’s that sound?”

“Good.” You kicked off your shoes and sank down on the side of your bed. It was a real bed. Matching sheets, a mattress topper, and nice metal headboard.

It looked new, which really was a novelty.

You waited until Mitch and Darla could be heard walking down the steps, before you sank back on the bed and finally relaxed.

You didn’t know how long it would take you to really be relaxed. Being on edge had kept you alive this long. But it was a feat not to give into the urge to grab the chair that sat at the vanity and wedge it under the doorknob.

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a heavy sigh as you let the reality of your new life settle in.

Next week would mark a new beginning. A new school, a new chance to be someone. You weren’t beholden to anyone but yourself now. If you failed, it was your own fault. You weren’t trapped under the shadow of your mother.

Though, the thought of having to wear a uniform until you graduated sounded like bullshit.

You pushed yourself back upright, looking around the room for the folder you’d spotted sitting on the vanity. You climbed off the bed to retrieve the fold. It was white and yellow, with the school seal set in the center. Darla had clearly gone to great lengths filling everything out for you — the forms were mostly filled in, save for your name and signature where it was necessary.

Apparently, you had just missed the father-daughter dance.

You closed the folder and sat it back on the vanity, before you retreated back to the bed to collect the cardboard box. You didn’t have much to unpack.

A framed picture of you and your father that had spent the better part of its existence hidden from your mother’s sight; the trophy you won freshman year for the science fair; three of your favorite books; and bedside alarm clock.

Aside from that, you had only taken the clothes you wore most often, not even bothering to worry about other seasons. You had enough money to buy new clothes in the winter.

And with uniforms for school — you didn’t have to worry about other classmates judging you for repeating outfits.

School was just a means to an end. Get good grades, get a scholarship, and do something worthwhile. Something that would actually help someone.

Your mother had screamed at you that you were worthless — that you would never amount to anything because you were ungrateful — more times than you cared to recall. You had to prove her wrong. One day, she’d see that her daughter had amounted to something. Not because of her, but in spite of her.

——

“How did you sleep last night?” Darla questioned as you joined her in the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table across from Tate.

“The bed was super comfortable,” You offered, preferring not to tell her that you hadn’t slept at all. Though there were bags under your eyes that told a different story.

You had slept for an hour — maybe two. You couldn’t relax, despite how hard you had tried. You had gone to sleep on a comfortable bed, with clean sheets, and a full stomach, but sleep just didn’t come to you.

The only reason you slept at all was because you had gotten up and put the chair in front of the door. The house was quiet — there were no addicts down the hall getting high, no yelling, no chaos, but your mind told you there could be.

Darla sat a glass of juice down in front of you, “Do you drink coffee?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, taking a sip of the juice. “Cream and sugar if you don’t mind.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t mind at all. I know you think you’re a burden to us, but I’m happy to have you here. Really.”

“I don’t want to be a charity case.” You told her, taking another sip of your juice as Mitch walked down the stairs and joined all of you in the kitchen.

“Well, you’re not one. So don’t worry.”

“Hey, kid.” Mitch gave your shoulder a pat as he walked past the table. “Didn’t know if you’d come down.”

You shrugged, “The smell of coffee was too strong of a temptation.”

“Do you have plans for the day?” He questioned as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Tate rolled one of his model cars across the table to you and you turned it around and rolled it back.

“I thought I might check out a book shop we passed yesterday. What does a normal Monday look like for you?”

“I’ve got work,” Mitch explained before gesturing to Darla. “She’s got her committees.”

“Committees?”

“I’m on the board of the Philadelphia Museum of Art,” Darla offered. “And the Daughters of the American Revolution.”

“Don’t forget the Trocadero,” Mitch supplied, pressing a kiss to Darla’s cheek, before he circled back around to the table. “She’s very connected to the art scene here in the city. If you have any interest in the arts, I’m sure she can find you a job or an internship.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” You admitted, playing with the end of your braid as you stared down at the glass of juice in front of you. “I never thought I’d get out of Johnstown.”

“Hopefully you can figure that out,” Darla said as she handed you your cup of coffee. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do,” She told you, “But I found a passion for art in high school.”

“Does it pay well?”

“Oh,” Darla exchanged a look with Mitch. “Technically I’m a volunteer.”

“Ah.” You frowned. Given the house you were eating breakfast in and what Mitch had said last night — Darla had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. “As nice as that sounds, I really need something somewhat lucrative.”

Mitch day down beside Tate, across from you, “You’ve got plenty of time to figure out what you want to be. Don’t grow up too fast.”

You smiled a little, “I’ll try not to.” You drummed your fingers against the side of your mug, “What do you do again, Mitch?”

“I’m a real estate broker.”

Your brows furrowed together, “I have no idea what that is.”

“I work for a real estate agency as a manager.” Mitch clarified, sipping at his coffee. “If you wanted to work in real estate, I could get you an internship.”

“I don’t know if I could sell houses,” You made a face. “I’m just going to focus on high school right now. Work on getting a scholarship.”

Tate rolled his car across the table again, “Do you like my car?”

You picked the car up and examined it, “I do. It’s very cool.” You rolled it back to him, glancing at Mitch. “I’m pretty self-sufficient. I'm sure I’ll figure out what my life’s calling is.”

“Philadelphia has so much going on. It’s very up-and-coming in areas.” Darla told you. “You could make a whole life for yourself here in the city.”

“Maybe.” You took a sip of coffee then. Now that you were free — there was a whole world of possibilities. You didn’t have to stay in Pennsylvania for the rest of your life.

You could go anywhere, be anything, make a name for yourself.

Mitch and his little family were great, but you didn’t feel any attachment to them. You didn’t feel any attachment to much of anything, frankly. Maybe you were broken. Maybe you’d been through so much shit with your mother, that you’d just shut down emotionally.

You knew what love was; you even knew what home and family was supposed to feel like, but you weren’t sure you had it in you to feel those things. It was like falling asleep on your hand — you could feel touch, but it didn’t feel real.

Maybe that’s what your mother felt. Maybe Rebecca was the way she was because there was a big black hole where her heart was supposed to be.

But you weren’t going to let yourself become her. Maybe one day you could feel something.

Wouldn’t that be something?

#javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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zen3to5 · 4 years

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J/H 7-25: That ‘70s Finale

FF.Net AO3

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SHOW TITLE TITLE CARD CARD 1: Eric Forman’s house CARD 2: December 31, 1979 CARD 3: 8:45 p.m. INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT It’s New Year’s Eve - the end of the ‘70s. The Forman kitchen isn’t decorated, but it is filled with trays of crackers, cheese, carrots, celery sticks, peanut butter, raisins – any number of snacks and party foods. RED and KITTY, dressed in warm but semi-formal clothes, are in the kitchen. Kitty works on the icing of a chocolate cake at the stovetop, while Red stands next to her, eyeing one of the snack trays. He reaches for a miniature sausage, but Kitty, without looking up, smacks his hand away. RED: Kitty, for God’s sake, this food’s been sitting here for almost an hour. Do you want me to just go hungry until 1980 gets here? KITTY: No, just until our guests come. She finishes icing the cake, sets down the knife, and clasps her hands together. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, I’m so excited! Everyone, together again! You know, we haven’t seen any of the kids since Eric went off to college. Donna’s with him, Steven and Jackie are so busy in Chicago, and Michael and Fez stopped coming by after you caught them trying Michael’s skeleton key on the basement door. Red nods with pride. KITTY (cont’d): And, with the snowstorm, the only one who made it home for Christmas was Laurie, who stuck around just long enough to get her cash present before running on back to - RED: College. KITTY: Red, that girl is living with a French-Canadian - RED: College. He refuses to meet Kitty’s frown; he has his story, and he’s sticking to it. Kitty shrugs it off, picks up a tray of snacks, and exits into... INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Kitty, with Red right behind her, sets the tray down on the coffee table. KITTY: Admit, Red Forman. You’re excited to see the kids again too. RED: I was excited when they left. Their visits, I tolerate. Before Kitty can reply to that, the doorbell rings. She and Red both hurry to the door. KITTY: Oh, that must be them. She throws the door open and finds KELSO and FEZ, bundled up for the December chill. Kelso throws his arms wide while Fez readies a noisemaker. KELSO: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Fez gives the noisemaker a toot. He and Kelso grin broadly while Red rolls his eyes and Kitty manages a smile.

MAIN CREDITS BUMPER INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The initial disappointment that they aren’t Eric having passed, Kitty warmly beckons Kelso and Fez into her home, giving each boy a hug in turn. KITTY: Oh, boys! It is so nice to see you again! KELSO: It’s great to see you, Mrs. Forman. We’ve missed you. FEZ: Yes. I am around a lot of old ladies at the salon, but none with your kindness, your way with bridge, or your foxy good looks. He gives Kitty a would-be seductive glance. She smiles uncomfortably; Red scowls. RED: And I’ll be none of them have a foot ready to go up your ass. KELSO: Ah, there’s our Red! C’mere, you! He and Fez open their arms and advance, as if to hug Red. RED: Don’t touch me. The boys back off. Instead, they shed their coats and stroll into the living room and sit down on the couch, helping themselves to the snack tray. KELSO: All right, New Year’s 1980! That’s, like, a new century! Are we the first ones here? I figured Donna at least would’ve shown up by now. KITTY: You mean Eric and Donna. FEZ: Oh, I’m not sure about that. The last time we called them, Donna answered, and when we asked to talk to Eric, she said that Eric was in his new apartment. Red and Kitty’s jaws drop; they haven’t heard a thing about this. KELSO: Then she said, “oops,” and we asked, “what’s up with you two,” and she said “nothing,” but it was the kind of “nothing” we always used to say when we broke something around here and you caught us but we tried to cover it up. FEZ: Then we offered to drive to Madison to console her – sexually. That’s when she hung up. They turn back to the snack tray as Red and Kitty share stunned looks. KITTY: Eric’s in a new apartment? RED: Don’t tell me that dumbass screwed things up with Donna again! He’s had half the damn decade to get it right! KITTY: (to Kelso, Fez) Are they broken up? Are they moving? FEZ: We don’t know. We haven’t talked to them in a while. KELSO: We’ve been pretty busy. KITTY: Oh – yes. I’m sorry, boys. Michael, is watching your daughter on weekends working out? And how are things with you boys, sharing an apartment? KELSO/FEZ: Awesome./It’s magical. They both look up with matching dopey grins. Track in on their faces, and we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “It’s a Sunshine Day” by the Brady Bunch. A) Kelso and Fez, looking straight into the camera and walking in exaggerated jaunts in time to the music in front of an obvious green screen of a town street on a bright sunny day. B) CONVIENIENCE STORE, run down and poorly stocked. A MASKED ROBBER is holding up the CLERK with a knife. Two cops burst through the door, one of them Kelso. The robber keeps his knife pointed at the clerk as he backs up. The cops draw their mace. Kelso is holding his backwards – something he only realizes when he shoots. He hurls back, his can of mace flying. Kelso crashes into the outside shelf and sets off the dominos, knocking every shelf in the building down even as he rolls over them, kicking in pain and grasping at his eyes. C) SALON. On a busy day where every stylist is taken, a long line still forms for Fez. We track along the line until we reach Fez, hard at work on an ATTRACTIVE GINGER WOMAN. Fez is on the final stage – drying and styling. He sits the woman all the way up, revealing soft waves. The ginger pats her hair in stunned ecstasy. Fez holds up a mirror so she can have a better look. The ginger stands and offers him her hand. He goes in for a kiss instead. She slaps him, sending his face crashing into the still-full sink. D) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. It is late at night, and the place appears empty. The door swings open and Kelso enters, wrapped around a BUXOM BLONDE. The two of them make out furiously all the way to the bedroom door, which Kelso manages to open without disentangling himself. They start to make their way into the room, but what’s inside causes the blonde to shriek. Kelso, when he gets a look, averts his eyes. The blonde flees from the apartment. Kelso tries to beckon her back, but fails. He turns the lights on and charges into the bedroom. Fez emerges, his fly and his belt open, and he runs around the apartment, chased by Kelso. E) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The boys on the couch, a trashed apartment all around them. They each have a keg of beer and a tap. They link arms and spray into their mouths. F) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. MUSIC CHANGE: a music box rendition of “Hush, Little Baby.” The weekend is here, and the apartment is immaculately clean. BROOKE is in the doorway with BETSY. She hands Betsy off to Kelso, and her baby carrier to Fez, then exits. Kelso rocks Betsy gently in his arms as he and Fez both lean in to make goo-goo faces at her. G) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kelso, on the couch, feeds Betsy her bottle as Fez watches from behind. H) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kitchen area. Fez burps Betsy while Kelso plays with a teddy bear. I) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Bedroom. A baby crib is set up, with Betsy inside. Kelso and Fez look in on the crib. Kelso strums a guitar as he and Fez sing Betsy a lullaby. J) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The weekend is over. Brooke is back in the doorway. She collects Betsy from Kelso’s arms. With a smile, she exits, and Kelso and Fez smile and wave her goodbye. Once she’s gone, and the door is shut, there is a MUSIC CHANGE back to “It’s a Sunshine Day,” and Kelso and Fez both pull out beer cans. They shake them up, crack them open, and spray the foam at each other. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. Kelso and Fez both nod contentedly at the picture of their life. Red and Kitty seem much less pleased. RED: You two aren’t getting back in here once we’re in the ‘80s. BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Last Dance” by Donna Summer. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT A short time later. The music continues, as a song over the radio. The party is properly underway, and it’s a bigger crowd than just the kids. W.B. and ANGIE stand on the stairs, chatting with Brooke. LEO sifts through a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar with his fingers while Kitty stands behind the bar, making herself a drink. CASEY KELSO walks the floor while nursing a rum and coke, and MR. AND MRS. KELSO, along with several burly boys who can only be KELSO’S OTHER BROTHERS, mingle with FEZ’S OLD HOST PARENTS and PASTOR DAVE. Red and BOB stand off by the kitchen door, drinking beer. Kelso and Fez, standing by couch, happily take in the scene. KELSO: This is so great. It’s just like old times. We’ve got Leo, we’ve got Bob, we’ve got Mrs. Forman getting drunk and flirting with my brother. Sure enough, Casey has made it to the bar, and is chatting up Kitty while she mixes her drink. CASEY: So I says to the guy, “for that kind of money, what the hell?” And now I’m dancing at the club. Kitty, breathless, leans on the bar and gazes up at Casey’s face. KITTY: (swooning) Oh, yes. Over by the kitchen door, Bob smiles as he looks over the party. Red scowls, but an unusually peaceful scowl. RED: Look at all these freeloaders. Just when I was getting used to having my house back, too. BOB: You seem pretty relaxed about it, Red. Usually by now, you’re threatening to call the cops on your own party and tell ‘em the guests are trespassing. RED: (shrugs) Yeah, well... we’re closing out a decade, after all, and it makes Kitty happy, seeing everybody again. He nods his wife’s way; Kitty and Leo are happily chatting. RED (cont’d): And I’ll admit – it’s not so bad, having a little break from all the peace and quiet. But I tell ya, Bob – having the kids out of the house is everything I dreamed it would be. He gives a small smile, sighs, and looks up. Slow zoom in on his face as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to an orchestral arrangement of “Anchors Aweigh.” A) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. The middle of the day. A clearly unhappy Red is slumped in his chair, clicker in hand. He mindlessly clicks his way through the TV channels, while occasionally looking around the room with a deep frown. B) FORMAN AND SON. A dead day for business. Red stands at the counter, leaning on the countertop with his head in his hands; he’s bored out of his skull. He looks around his empty shop before fiddling with a wrench on the countertop. C) FORMAN BASEMENT. Some work has been done to redecorate the basement into a gentleman’s retreat, as Red once envisioned, but that work is limited and halfhearted; a few hunting trophies and Packers merchandise left scattered around the room. Red sits on the couch, punching one hand into a catcher’s mitt, as he looks around the basement. D) FORMAN KITCHEN. Red, dressed for work, reads the newspaper at the kitchen table while Kitty cleans the stovetop. An empty water glass is by Red’s elbow. As he turns the page, he knocks the glass to the floor, where it shatters. Red immediately jumps to his feet and flies into an exaggerated fit of yelling, shaking his fists, and glaring up at the ceiling. Kitty nonchalantly collects the glass pieces as Red keeps going. E) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. Red is in his chair again, this time with a bottle of beer. SCHATZI sleeps at his feet. Red takes a covert glance, makes sure Schatzi is sleeping. He tips his beer so that a small amount splashes onto the carpet by Schatzi’s rear. As soon as a spot is visible, Red jumps up, shakes his fist at a still-sleeping Schatzi, and scolds him as if he had an accident. F) FORMAN MASTER BEDROOM. Red paces back and forth, ranting at raving and shaking his finger directly into the camera. A reverse shot reveals his real target - a PHOTO OF ERIC. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, and back to the party. Red shakes off his mental recap of the last few months and turns back to Bob. RED: You know, Bob, we haven’t seen you over here much lately. How about we keep it that way? BOB: (chuckles) Hey, I’ve got no wife, no daughter – I’m free to do whatever I want. It’s a busy time for Bob. CUT TO: INT. PINCIOTTI LIVING ROOM – DAY A day in the life of “busy time” Bob. He sits in front of the TV with a tray of lasagna. THE LOVE BOAT is on the tube. Bob shovels what’s left of the lasagna into his face with a fork and sets the tray down. He belches and opens his belt. Patting his stomach, he lets out a long sigh. A flicker of discomfort crosses his face; matters are afoot down below. Bob stands and crosses to the bathroom, disappearing inside. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. BOB: (to Red) So, when are the kids getting here? RED: Ya got me. Say – you haven’t heard from Donna lately, have you? Because Kelso said something about Eric moving into a new apartment. BOB: New apartment? What’s going on? Kitty, walking the floor, overhears and rushes to join in on the conversation. KITTY: (to Bob) You didn’t know either? BOB: It’s the first I’m hearing about it. Did your bastard run off on my little girl again? KITTY: Well, how do you know your harlot didn’t dump my baby boy again? BOB: Don’t you call my Donna a harlot, Kitty! KITTY: Don’t you call my Eric a bastard! Bob looks ready to retort, but Red steps between them. RED: All right, let’s not spoil the new year. Let’s just agree that they’re both morons and give ‘em hell when they show up. The doorbell rings and the door opens, but it isn’t Eric or Donna. It’s JACKIE and HYDE, both snazzily dressed for the party and for the winter weather. Jackie has an enormous bag slung over her arm.�� JACKIE: Happy New Year! Kitty hurries over to them, Red right behind her. She immediately snatches Hyde up into a crushing hug. Jackie does the same with Red. KITTY/JACKIE: Steven! My second son! Oh, I’ve missed you./Mr. Forman! Oh! HYDE: (cringing in her hug) No, that’s all right, Mrs. Forman... no, you don’t have to... ugh, okay, I missed you too! He gives her a light hug back, which is enough to get her to release him. Red, meanwhile, cringes in Jackie’s hug. RED: (to Jackie) You couldn’t have outgrown this in Chicago? She lets him go, just in time for Kelso and Fez to come running up. She meets them in a big group hug. JACKIE: Michael! Fezzie! KELSO/FEZ: Jackie!/We missed you! JACKIE: Oh, I missed you too – (stern) Get your hands off of there. They let go, but don’t get back in time to avoid Hyde slugging them both in the arm. KELSO: (to Hyde) And we missed that too. C’mere, Hyde! The boys have a quick group hug of their own. Kelso and Fez give Hyde a once-over, Kelso fiddling with Hyde’s jacket. KELSO (cont’d): Man, look at you – new jacket, new shirt, new watch, new boots... the only thing old about you is your face. HYDE: Well, man, somethin’ told me that ringing in a new decade was a time to break out the nice duds. And that something kept telling me, hour after hour after hour, ‘til I finally said, “would you shut up, Jackie? I’ll do it already.” JACKIE: (teasing) Well, what’s the point of buying my man nice outfits if I don’t get to show ‘em off once in a while? She plays with Hyde’s collar. FEZ: Jackie, you paid for Hyde’s fancy threads? JACKIE: Fez, do you know how much money I make, working on TV? I pay for everything. I said a lot of things about those feminists growing up, and they’re still totally wrong about hair and lipstick and how men are supposed to carry you over puddles and everything – but making the most money kind of kicks ass. HYDE: Works out for me, too. She always leaves her purse lying around. I’ve never had an easier time picking someone’s pocket. He and Jackie smile at each other, she “awws.” She leans against his chest as he puts his arm around her shoulders. JACKIE: Oh! I almost forgot – She stands up straight, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a brandy bottle. JACKIE (cont’d): Mrs. Forman, we got you something for Christmas. My mom took off for Tijuana, and she left the cabinet where she keeps her good brandy unlocked. She presents Kitty with the bottle. KITTY: Ooh, honey, let’s you and me mosey on over to the bottle opener. Laughing, she leads Jackie to the bar. Hyde pulls a small envelope from his jacket, hands it to Red. HYDE: Here you go, Red. A little late Christmas present. Red takes the envelope, opens it up. He nearly drops the contents as his eyes bug out. RED: (breathless) Season Packers tickets. (looks up at Hyde) You know I don’t usually do this. He throws himself at Hyde in a tight hug. Hyde smirks, pats Red on the back, and gently eases him back. HYDE: Yeah, they’re from me and Forman. He knew he was gonna be late, so he asked me to bring ‘em. RED: (pockets tickets) Say, when was the last time you spoke to Eric? What’s going on with this new apartment he’s got? Jackie looks over from the bar as Kitty pours two glasses of brandy. JACKIE: You don’t know? We were gonna ask you. KITTY: (to Jackie) No, we don’t know anything. Have you heard from Donna at all? JACKIE: Well, we were over at their apartment for Thanksgiving, and everything seemed fine. Then, a few weeks ago, they said they were going to be gone for the weekend and asked us to housesit, and that’s when we noticed all of Eric’s stuff was gone. But when we asked them about it, all they said was, “we’re moving.” Red, Hyde, Kelso, and Fez step down to the bar, and Bob crosses the room to join them. BOB: “We?” As in both of ‘em? KITTY: But only Eric’s things were gone? JACKIE: (nods) And then, when Eric and Steven went to get the Packers tickets, Donna asked me to help her with her hair. She was taking forever to dry it out, so I started going through her mail, and it turns out she has a passport. BOB: A passport? KITTY: Oh, my God. RED: What the hell is going on with those two? Everyone shifts on their feet as worry crosses their faces. HYDE: This is an unsettling and awkward situation. It calls for beer. He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen. The tension broken, Kelso, Fez, and Bob disperse into the party while Jackie goes behind the bar to sip her brandy. Kitty takes hers in hand, moves to Red’s side. KITTY: (pained) Oh, Red. RED: (embraces her) Look, Kitty, I know this all sounds bad. But Steven said Eric’s on his way, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll make him. He knows I still can. Kitty leans into his hug, wraps her arms around his waist. Her eyes flicker over to the coffee table, where the tray of snacks is now empty. KITTY: (softly) Do you think you could get the other tray from the kitchen? RED: Sure. He kisses her forehead, lets her go. He crosses into... INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT ... And is greeted by the sight of Hyde standing at the open fridge, SCHATZI in his arms. Hyde is feeding Schatzi an uncooked hot dog when he looks up, sees Red. HYDE: (beat) Schatzi’s upset about Forman and Donna too. Red frowns, crosses his arms. FADE TO BLACK COMMERCIAL BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” by The 5th Dimension. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The party goes on. Hyde, having shed his jacket, is now talking with W.B., Angie, and Leo on the stairs while petting Schatzi. Fez, his host parents, and Brooke chat by the organ. Red and Pastor Dave stand together near the kitchen door. Bob and most of the Kelso clan have the bar. Kitty sits in Red’s chair, with Jackie (also sans jacket) and Kelso on the couch. They all have glasses of brandy, but Kitty is the farthest along on hers. KITTY: Why? Why would my son do this? Why is he keeping so many secrets? Is he worried what we’ll think of him? Because mothers don’t judge – they love. And sometimes get very, very disappointed. JACKIE: Okay, Mrs. Forman, I know all this stuff with Eric and Donna has upset you. But, on the bright side – Steven and I set a date for our wedding! She produces invitations from her bag – large scrolls with sealed ribbons. She gives one each to Kitty and Kelso, who wastes no time opening his up. KELSO: (reading) “Steven and Jaqueline Burkhart-Hyde cordially request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their union – March 21, 1980, St. James Cathedral, Chicago.” (to Jackie) Isn’t that, like, one of the biggest churches in the city? JACKIE: Yep. That was the deal we made – a big, fancy wedding for me, a “special” honeymoon in Amsterdam for Steven. KITTY: Well, honey, all honeymoons are special. She doesn’t get it, and Jackie and Kelso don’t enlighten her. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, this does sound lovely, Jackie. And of course, we’ll be there. And maybe, while we’re in Chicago, we’ll even get a chance to see you on TV again. We don’t get your show here in Wisconsin. KELSO: Yeah, how’s that going, being entertainment anchor? JACKIE: Michael, it’s me. I’m fabulous. She looks up, a proud glint in her eye. Slow zoom in as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles. A) ANCHOR DESK. The entertainment desk for Chicago’s WSNS station, with all the lights down except for a background light creating a silhouette of the anchor. As the lights rise and the camera tracks in, we see Jackie, with perfect hair and stylish suit. She is just a little too aware of the camera as she delivers her segment. JACKIE: Good evening, Chicago. I’m Jackie Burkhart, and this is Jackie’s Corner. B) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another outfit. We join Jackie in the middle of a film review. JACKIE (cont’d): Okay, so – my fiancé loves Monty Python, and their first movie is funny and all, but I have a question: what was with the coconuts? Could they not afford a horse? Newsflash, England – ladies want to see men on horseback. Even if they’re doughy, bad-teeth Englishmen. C) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s still playing to the camera. Michael Jackson’s album OFF THE WALL is in her hands. JACKIE (cont’d): Off the Wall: it’s hip, it’s hot, it’s flying off the shelves – but who thought a bow tie this big was a good idea? She points at the tie of Jackson’s tuxedo on the album and shakes her head. D) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s hair is a preview of the coming decade: the Whale Spout hairstyle, with some crimps for good measure. Jackie’s eyes roll up, as if she could see her hair that way. JACKIE (cont’d): (scoffs) Like this will ever catch on. E) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. JACKIE (cont’d): So Star Trek gets a movie but Charlie’s Angels have to stay on the small screen? She holds up two photos – an unflattering one of William Shatner, and a glam shot of Jaclyn Smith. JACKIE (cont’d): Look at these pictures and tell me who’s going to move the most tickets. F) ANCHOR DESK. Jackie is sitting on her desk this time, spread out across it. She is modelling the quintessential 1980s look – big hair, big shoulders, neon colors, and leg warmers. She looks down at those leg warmers, gives her right leg a shake, and looks into the camera. JACKIE (cont’d): Call me crazy, but I think leg warmers might be here to stay. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, as Jackie gives a contended sigh and leans back into the couch. A clearly unhappy Brooke and an apologetic Fez march to the couch and stand over Kelso. BROOKE: Michael, Fez just let it slip that you two have been having crazy beer parties when you aren’t watching Betsy. KELSO: Uh? Oh, no. Fez is just confused, since he’s foreign. See, in his language, “beer” means... No lie comes to mind. Instead, Kelso slaps Fez hard in the hand. Fez slaps his face back. Kelso stands, and the two of them get into a rapid-fire slap fight. Over by the kitchen door, Bob joins Red and Pastor Dave as Red pulls out his gift from Hyde and Eric. BOB: (whistles) Season tickets? That’s nice. Pastor Dave, trembling, lets out a high, girlish squeal of delight, one that cuts off as soon as he sees the way Red and Bob are looking at him. RED: You know I can’t take you to a game if you do that, Dave. Dave, contrite, nods and looks down at his feet. On the stairs, Hyde shifts Schatzi under one arm so he can put the other around Leo. HYDE: Leo, man, how’s Grooves? LEO: Great, man. The Wall? Pink Floyd? It sounded awesome, man. HYDE: No, Leo, I meant Grooves, the record store. (beat) That we hired you to run when I moved to Chicago. LEO: I run a record store? Wow, I’m really moving up in the world. ANGIE: (laughing) He’s actually been doing an okay job. We’ve only had one complaint about a hippy orgy. HYDE: (nods) W.B., how’re things in Milwaukee, man? W.B.: Are you kidding? It’s great! Having Angie there in the corporate office is the best decision I ever made. (Angie beams) See, right before I gave her that promotion, I got into this snooty country club. They didn’t think I’d be there much. But now that I’ve got Angie running things, I’m there all day, every day – with friends. And there’s nothing those brothers love more than making white people uncomfortable. HYDE: Nice. W.B.: And what about you, Steven? How’s business in Chicago? HYDE: Flying. He flashes a cheeky grin. Slow zoom in as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to the instrumental track of “Nobody’s Fault But Mine” covered by Led Zeppelin. A) GROOVES, CHICAGO. THE CIRCLE. Hyde sits behind the counter, a diffuse cloud of smoke all around him. He coughs, waves some of the smoke away, and flashes a grin at the camera. HYDE: Welcome to Grooves. B) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – SPIRITS HAVING FLOWN by the Bee Gees. Hyde looks up with utter contempt. HYDE (cont’d): The Bee Gees? You know there’s a 20% tax on crap in this store, right? C) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – BACKLESS by Eric Clapton. Hye looks up and nods approvingly. HYDE (cont’d): Nice. And you know there’s a 20% discount on rock n’ roll in this store, right? D) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. This time, Hyde is busy with a lighter: he very casually sets a sleeve for ABBA’s VOULEZ-VOUS on fire. E) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde leans back and tips a bag of potato chips. The entire bag showers down over his face, and some of them even make into his mouth. He happily munches down. F) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another – particularly intense – Circle. Hyde leans in to speak to an unseen customer off-camera. HYDE (cont’d): Hey, did you hear about that car that runs on water? It’s got a fiberglass, air-cooled engine, and it runs on water, man! G) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde performs air guitar to the montage music. H) JACKIE AND HYDE’S APARTMENT, clearly decorated by Jackie but currently filled with dim lighting and a smoky haze. (MUSIC NOTE: song cuts out.) Jackie and Hyde sit together, their heads leaned against each other and matching spaced-out smiles on their faces. JACKIE: Baby, I think you’re late for work. HYDE: I thought you were late for work. They both sit up slightly, puzzling the answer. JACKIE: Huh. HYDE: Maybe we’re both late for work. JACKIE: Or – is work late for us? She wiggles her eyebrows, “think about it.” Hyde gives her a short stare, then leans down for a kiss. They fall out of frame as they make out as the montage music resumes for a final sting. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Back to the present. Jackie has joined Hyde, who has his arm around her shoulders. Leo, W.B., and Angie disperse into the party. Red and Kitty cross to Jackie and Hyde. KITTY: Steven, do you have any idea when Eric is coming? It’s almost midnight. Bob, Kelso, and Fez join them. BOB: And what about Donna? No one knows if she’s coming to this party? A lot of shaking heads answer. BOB (cont’d): Come on, I’m her dad. I deserve some answers. What’s going on with that passport? What’s going on with her and Eric? KITTY: Red, I’m getting worried. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be here by now. HYDE: You want us to go look for ‘em, Mrs. Forman? KITTY: Oh, honey, would you? KELSO: Yeah, that’s a good idea. (pulls out cop badge) Okay, everybody, line up! We’re turning this New Year’s party into a search party! He draws focus from everyone in the party, but only for a second; most of the guests turn back to their conversations. Hyde, Jackie, and Fez disperse, searching for their coats, ignoring Kelso’s hand signals to form a line. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT A thick layer of snow covers the hedges and the yard, but the driveway is clear. The VISTA CRUISER, with suitcases packed and tied on top, slowly backs up into the driveway and parks. ERIC, bundled up for the cold, steps out. He gives a long look around his old home before climbing up on the hood of his car to sit back and look at the stars. DONNA, also bundled up, and with red hair and a short haircut, comes up the driveway. A knapsack is slung over her shoulder. She taps Eric on the foot to get his attention. DONNA: Hey. ERIC: (sits up) Hey. You made it. DONNA: (nods) Snuck the last of my stuff out of my dad’s house. I’m just here to say goodbye to everybody, then it’s off to the airport. ERIC: Good. (sits back) You know, I still remember the night you first kissed me on the Vista Cruiser. It was warmer then. DONNA: Yeah, well... a lot of things are different now. ERIC: (softly) Yeah. Donna climbs up next to Eric and sits back too. Overhead shot on the two of them slowly pulls out as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Thirteen” by Big Star. A collection of moments Eric and Donna have shared over seven seasons. Included in the montage are: A) The aforementioned first kiss. B) Eric and Donna moving to hold hands over the scented candle of Eric’s 17th birthday. C) Their dance at junior prom. D) Cuddling in the back of Kelso’s van. E) The “Fernando” dance. F) Their wrestling greatest hits. G) Shoving each other’s heads. H) Eric’s proposal, and his slipping the engagement ring on Donna’s finger. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT Back to the present, and an extreme close-up on Eric and Donna’s intertwined hands. We see for the first time that Donna has a wedding band on her left ring finger. Slow zoom out as Eric and Donna turn in to face each other. ERIC: So – how pissed do you think everyone’ll be when we tell them that you’re leaving tonight to study abroad in London, I’m working on moving my pilot program there so I can follow you next semester, and – just to put a cherry on this stupid sundae – we went and eloped right before Christmas? DONNA: (laughs) Pretty pissed. I think Red might finally put his foot up your ass. ERIC: You know, he actually did that once. DONNA: Really? ERIC: (nods) Iwo Jima. He doesn’t like to talk about it. They laugh again, then scoot together and kiss. And kiss again. And keep kissing, so passionately that they fail to notice Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and Fez standing by the patio door. Donna finally opens her eyes, sees them. She sits up, alerting Eric, who flips around and sees all his scowling friends. ERIC (cont’d): Oh – hey, guys! They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): So, um – how – how much of that did you hear? They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): Well, this is awkward. (beat) Boy, I wish there was some way to take the edge off all this. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT THE CIRCLE. Eric and Donna sit together. Eric takes a deep breath. ERIC: Edge, you are officially off. DONNA: (to the gang) I’m really glad I got to see you all before I left for London. And I’m even happier that we didn’t trust any of you bozos with the fact we’re married. Pan to Hyde, with Jackie in his lap. JACKIE: Donna, I think it’s so romantic that you and Eric eloped. Plus, this way, there’s no chance your wedding can upstage mine. And you’re my maid of honor, so you’d better be back here for it! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: (to Eric, Donna) London, huh? Hey, Eric, you know what you should do when you get over there? You should find one of those guards with the big hats, and you should see if you can make him laugh. And Donna, you should have a camera, so you can take pictures when the guard starts beating Eric up. That way, I’ll laugh. Pan to Fez. FEZ: (to Eric, Donna) And while you’re there, you can spit on the palace from me. The British hate my country. That is why the Beatles can kiss my ass! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: You know, Fez, you’ve never told us what country you’re from. How about letting us know before the year’s over? Pan to Fez. FEZ: Isn’t it obvious? (scoffs) Fine. It’s – Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: Hold that thought, Fez. You know, guys – this might be the last Circle we ever have together. Pan to Hyde and Jackie. JACKIE: Aww... that’s kind of sad. HYDE: It’s a time for reflection. Like on how many of our brain cells survived the ‘70s. Despite our best efforts, some of those bastards pulled through. But tonight – they’re going down. Pan to Kelso. KELSO: Way ahead of you, Hyde. He pops open a can of beer and takes a chug. Pan to Fez, who also has a beer. FEZ: Die, brain cells, die! And you’re next, liver. He takes a sip. Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: It’s like – we always have to remember this moment. Unnoticed by Eric or Donna, Red appears behind them. Pan to Jackie and Hyde, in stunned shock. Pan to Kelso, giggling silently. Pan to Fez, in fear for his life. Pan to Eric and Donna, confused. DONNA: What? Red bends down so that his head is over Eric’s shoulder, giving Eric and Donna a jump. RED: (to Eric) UPSTAIRS! Your mother’s pouring the champagne for the countdown, and then you’re all gonna get it! He storms off. Eric and Donna, stunned, share a look. ERIC: We’re dead. He and Donna break up laughing. The Circle is broken. Everyone is laughing now. They all stand and make for the stairs. ERIC (cont’d): Oh, hey, guys – last one upstairs has to call Red a dumbass! The dare set, everyone breaks for the stairs. The girls, Fez, and Eric make it up safely, leaving Hyde and Kelso to wrestle it out. Hyde gets a good hold on Kelso and tosses him back before racing upstairs. Kelso recovers, looks around, realizes he’s lost. KELSO: Aww, man! He grabs the stupid helmet and starts a slow, reluctant, petulant march up the stairs as everyone in the party begins the countdown. COUNTDOWN (v.o.): TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! TITLE CARD The THAT ‘70S SHOW license plate, now marked with a 1980 sticker. FADE TO BLACK END CREDTIS INT. VISTA CRUISER – NIGHT The gang, driving to the airport together in the Vista Cruiser. Eric drives, with Donna next to him and Hyde in the passenger’s seat with Jackie in his lap. Behind them is Donna’s knapsack, then Kelso, then Fez. They all sing along to the radio – “In the Street” by Big Star. GANG: Past the street light Out past midnight... JACKIE: Boy, we’re good! FEZ: We’re really good! Hyde seems skeptical of that claim, but he, and the rest of the gang, continue to jam to the music. END.

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inyournightmares97 · 5 years

Text

My Youth (Chapter 5)

Broken and miserable, Park Jinyoung returns to his hometown to learn that no matter how hard he falls, there are still people who think he’s a hero.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/depression, angst, slow build, maybe some language.(Please don’t ask when I’ll update. Wait until the series is finished to read if you’re impatient.)

Word Count: 5.3k+

(Can’t put links to the other parts here, please check my Masterlist/the reblog for the Prologue and Chapters 1, 2, 3 and 4)

“-thank you so much for taking care of her. I really don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t around. I don’t know how to make it up to you-”

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about it. She’s a perfect angel and she’s never caused the slightest trouble. I know you’re working hard. Are you sure you don’t want me to pack up some dinner for you both?”

“I’m sure, Mrs. Park. I bought some groceries tonight so I can cook. Thank you again-”

“Don’t mention it, darling.”

You combed the hair of your little Barbie doll while you listened to your mother and Mrs. Park converse on the front porch of the Parks’ house. Ever since your father had passed away, Mrs. Park had been the one to pick both you and Jinyoung up from school. Your mother then collected you from the Parks’ house once she got off work at night. You didn’t mind the arrangement too much. It meant that you and Jinyoung could spend all evening playing together, and Mrs. Park always had yummy snacks for both of you.

Jinyoung came running over to you with a big plastic box in his hand. “I found the dominoes!” he told you excitedly. “We can make a huge trail of them and push them over so they topple in a line like in that video we saw!”

You pointed towards the living room. “My Mom is here to pick me up.”

Jinyoung’s shoulders drooped. “Oh. She’s earlier than usual.”

“We can make the trail of dominoes tomorrow?”

Jinyoung nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You waved goodbye to Jinyoung and went running over to your mother, who smiled softly when she saw you. She looked tired but patted your head gently and then turned you to face Mrs. Park. “Let’s go home, sweetie. Did you thank Mrs. Park for looking after you?”

You turned obediently to Jinyoung’s mother. “Thank you for looking after me, Mrs. Park!”

Mrs. Park smiled at you. “You’re welcome, dear.”

Your mother took your hand and you followed her down the street to the bus stop happily. It had been a while since your mother had come home from work before dinnertime and you were glad to see her. You tugged at her hand eagerly.

“Mom, what are we having for dinner?” you wondered.

“I thought we could make some pasta tonight, and we could even bake some cookies for dessert. How do you like the sound of that?”

You beamed. “Can we save a few cookies for Jinyoung and Mrs. Park? They’re always sharing their cookies with me.”

“Of course we can, sweetie.”

----

Jinyoung was sitting on the curb at the corner of his block, still wearing his awful black hoodie.

You paused in your tracks when you spotted him. It was about 6pm; Mrs. Park’s birthday barbecue was scheduled to begin at 5:30 and the elderly people in this town were never late. You were in charge of making the salad and the side dishes while Mr. Park handled the meat and the drinks. The older man had already called you up twice to check on how long it would take you to arrive. The buses had been running late, causing your delay.

But Jinyoung was sitting out here. Alone.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

Jinyoung looked up. His eyes widened when he saw the number of tupperware boxes and bags you were struggling to carry. A classic gentleman even in his misery, he jumped up and took some of the boxes from you quickly.

“What’s all this? Why are you carrying this alone?” he demanded, groaning as he took some of the load.

“It’s food for your Mom’s party,” you explained.

Jinyoung stared down at the boxes in his arms in disbelief. “You made all this? It must have taken you hours.”

“It’s fine, I do it every year. The cake is still on it’s way, though. I asked someone to deliver it at quarter past six,” you explained lightly. Jinyoung was barely listening to you. He was staring down at the food in his arms with a slightly dazed gaze and you sighed.

No wonder he wasn’t himself. The news of his dismissal had already taken the internet by storm.

“I… uh, I saw the articles online,” you admitted quietly.

Jinyoung let out a dry laugh and shifted his gaze to the ground to avoid your eyes. “You and the rest of this country. Did you know one of the news channels is doing a one-hour special on me tonight? It’s going to be on at the same time as the football game. They seriously think a tv special on my life will convince people to switch over from the football game.”

The pain in Jinyoung’s tired eyes was unmistakable. You could tell that he was struggling to keep himself together. You bit your lip and shifted the boxes to one arm, using the other hand to tug on his sleeve so that he would look at you. “Jinyoung. Did you get a chance to talk to your parents about it? Please don’t tell me you let them hear about it from someone else.”

Jinyoung frowned. “I’m not that stupid.”

“So you told them?”

“I sat them down and told them about it last night,” Jinyoung muttered. His hands were turning white as he clutched your boxes, and he let out a shaky sigh. “Mom started crying. It was a mess. I can’t… I can’t deal with all of this,” he admitted to you. His dark brown eyes pierced into yours with a sense of desperation. “I can’t go to that party. Every single person there has probably seen the news already. They’re all… they’re all going to be talking about it, I can’t…”

“Jinyoung.”

“What?” he snapped.

“Jinyoung, it’s your mother’s birthday.”

“I know, but-”

“But nothing. It’s your mother’s birthday. You’re thirty years old. How many birthdays do you think she has left? Trust me. When the time comes, you’re going to regret not spending every last second you had with her,” you told him firmly. “It’s just the neighbours and a few people from around town. What’s the worst they can do?”

Jinyoung hesitated. “I mean-”

“No, seriously. What’s the worst they can do?” you demanded. “Make snarky comments about how you got fired? Did you reach this age and position in life without knowing how to handle a few mean remarks or loose-tongued old people?”

Jinyoung bit his pink lip and sighed. “You’re making me feel like a child.”

“Then don’t act like one. Toughen up.”

Before Jinyoung had time to react, you stepped up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. You saw him freeze out of the corner of your eye but he didn’t have enough time to run away before the door swung open. Mrs. Park was standing on the other side. Her eyes widened in delight at the sight of you and all the food you were carrying.

“Oh, darling! What’s all this you’ve brought? Why did you make so much?” Mrs. Park asked you kindly, although you could see how pleased she was. She tried to take the tupperware boxes from you but you smiled and held them away from her.

“Nope! No carrying for the birthday girl!” you teased her playfully. “I brought salad, side dishes and your gentleman son to help me carry everything,” you sang. Mrs. Park glanced behind you and her eyes widened at the sight of Jinyoung standing there awkwardly. Her expression suddenly became worried.

“Jinyoung, sweetheart, you don’t have to be here when there are so many people in the house-”

“He wants to be here,” you reassured her firmly. You glanced at Jinyoung and gave him a pointed look. “Come on, help me carry these into the kitchen so I can plate them. There are plenty of hungry people waiting out back and we don’t have a lot of time to waste. Mrs. Park, you should go sit down.”

Mrs. Park hesitated. “But Jinyoung…”

“I’m fine, Mom. Just go ahead and enjoy the party” Jinyoung mumbled. He followed you into the kitchen with his lips pressed together tightly. Once Mrs. Park was out of sight, you grabbed his arm and tugged on it quickly.

“This is a party. Can you please change out of that awful hoodie?” you hissed.

Jinyoung glared at you and yanked his arm out of your grasp. “Fine, relax, I’m not an idiot,” he muttered as he handed you the boxes of food and then turned to go to his room. You couldn’t help but smile as you saw his reluctant figure trudge up the stairs.

All he needed was a little push.

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

You wondered why you couldn’t take your eyes off Jinyoung all evening.

Perhaps it was because with the black hoodie finally discarded and in a smart pair of jeans and a dress shirt, Jinyoung looked just like the handsome and eligible bachelor he was. His dark hair flopping carelessly into his eyes and the gentle smile on his plush lips was enough to make any woman swoon.

“Jinyoung! Oh, our dear Jinyoung-ie! Mrs. Park, you must be so glad to finally have your son home!” one of Mrs. Park’s friends cooed as she pinched Jinyoung’s cheeks. Jinyoung froze and stared at the woman helplessly. “Look at this handsome boy! It seems like just yesterday you were in diapers!”

“Uh…. thank you, Mrs. Lee…”

“They must be giving you a hard time in Seoul. Look how thin you are!” another older lady cried, swatting Jinyoung’s arm fondly. “You need to fatten up on your mother’s cooking quickly. You were so much chubbier as a child! How could they treat our dear boy so badly?”

Jinyoung had to struggle to extricate himself from the older women who were fawning over him. He tried to push them away but he noticed the proud look in his mother’s eyes and resigned himself to their pinching and tugging.

You decided to rescue him.

“All right! Time for the birthday girl to cut the cake!” you announced loudly, bringing in the large birthday cake and setting it on the table. Everyone clapped and cheered as Mrs. Park was gently pushed to the front. She smiled at you when you lit the single candle on top of the cake.

“Don’t forget to make a wish, Mrs. Park!”

The woman blushed and leaned closer to the cake. Her eyes briefly flickered towards Jinyoung, standing a few feet away from her, before she gently closed them and blew out the candle.

The entire party began a delighted chorus of Happy Birthday. You joined the loud singing, noticing how Mrs. Park’s soft gaze was locked on her son with a fond smile. There were few moments in your life when you had seen the old woman’s eyes truly light up and this was one of them.

Nothing can make a mother happier than her son.

Mr. Park soon set about grilling the meat and you busied yourself with pouring drinks and making sure everyone’s plates were full. It wasn’t until you were handing a mug of beer to Mr. Kang that you finally heard the elephant in the room mentioned out loud.

“So, what’s wrong with those people in your company, eh?” old Mr. Kang demanded, clapping Jinyoung on the back after his fourth beer. You froze and noticed how Jinyoung stiffened. “Letting you go like that and then saying it was because you weren’t working hard enough? Do those imbeciles even know what they’re talking about?”

Jinyoung cleared his throat nervously and his eyes darted around nervously. “Uhh…”

“What was the phrase they used in that article, Mr. Cha? Oh yeah! Lack of dedication!” Mr. Kang roared with laughter as Jinyoung flinched. “My friend from the next town was asking about it and I said to him-I said listen here Yoon, that’s a pack of dirty lies because there is nobody who’s more dedicated than Park fucking Jinyoung, you hear me?”

Mr. Cha laughed. “If that isn't the truth. You remember the time these kids found a litter of kittens out in the alley? And Mr. Park here told them that they couldn’t keep them all so they’d either have to find homes for them or give them to the animal shelter in the next town?”

Mr. Kang roared with drunken laughter and suddenly, he clapped you on the back as well. You tried to catch Jinyoung’s eye but he was staring at the ground silently. You couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

“How could I forget? They went around knocking at every single door in this bloody town asking people to adopt the kittens!” Mr. Kang bellowed. He wrapped an arm around Jinyoung’s shoulder heartily. “This one came and knocked on my door five times that day until I finally took the bloody kitten just to be rid of him. And those stuffy white collars are trying to tell me our Jinyoung’s not dedicated?”

Mr. Cha chuckled and handed Jinyoung a glass of beer. Jinyoung took it silently, not even flinching when some of it sloshed over his hands. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down awkwardly.

“Don’t you worry about those stuck-up Seoul men, Jinyoung. There’s plenty of business opportunities here. In fact, I have this smashing investment idea I meant to run by you!”

“You and your stupid ideas, Cha-”

“This friend of mine works for this big construction company, you see, and they’re about to sign a huge deal. Their stock prices are pretty cheap right now so if we buy a bunch of them and then sell them after the prices rise after the announcement of the deal-”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened in alarm. “Mr. Cha, that’s extremely illegal-”

“No, no, it’s just a little tip-off between friends, that’s all!”

“Yes, that’s called insider trading and it’s a criminal offense that could get you and your friend arrested. Please don’t touch any of the stocks in your friend’s company!” Jinyoung cried, looking shocked.

You didn’t have time to listen to Mr. Kang scold Mr. Cha for being an idiot because somebody was calling your name. You whirled around with the tray and spotted Mrs. Park waving at you hopefully.

“Mrs. Park!” you quickly put the empty tray down on a table and smiled at the older woman. “Is everything all right? Are you tired?”

Mrs. Park waved your concerns off with a forced smile. “I’m perfectly fine, dear.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded and then took your arm, gently pulling you aside. She lowered her voice nervously. “Do you think… do you think Jinyoung is all right, dear? He didn’t seem to want to attend the party earlier. He was worried about facing all the neighbours considering, well, considering the news that came out earlier today. It’s all so sensitive.”

You placed your hand over her gently. “Mrs. Park, he’s fine.”

“But are you sure-”

“Yes, I’m sure. I promise you, what Jinyoung needs right now is to be around other people,” you insisted. You both glanced towards Jinyoung on the other side of the backyard. He was squished in between Mr. Kang and Mr. Cha with a slightly alarmed look on his face while the two men talked in obnoxiously loud voices. You turned back to the older woman. “You know better than me that Jinyoung has been living alone in Seoul for a long time. He needs something to take his mind off the old life he lost. Who better than Mr. Kang, who speaks so loudly that you can barely hear yourself think when he’s a few feet away?”

Mrs. Park giggled. “You shouldn’t talk about your elders like that.”

You smiled at her mischievously. “Are you going to tell on me, Mrs. Park?”

“It’ll be our secret,” she promised. You waited as the older woman let out a soft sigh and then turned to look at you, her eyes gentle. “I’ve been so worried about Jinyoung. He doesn’t normally tell me things. You know how he keeps his troubles to himself. My only comfort is that he has you in his life.”

You blinked at her, startled. “Mrs. Park…”

“I thought… he’s been acting so cold towards you since he came back that I thought perhaps something was wrong,” Mrs. Park admitted. You bit your lip. Of course she noticed. She’s a mother, she has eyes like a hawk. “But then he mentioned that you were the first person he told about getting fired. Jinyoung trusts you. He always has. And you’re such a wonderful, caring person that I know simply being around you will help him.”

“Mrs. Park-”

“You’re not angry with him, are you? I know Jinyoung has barely contacted you all these years. But you’re still his only friend here,” she muttered. She squeezed your hand desperately. “I’m sorry, darling. I know that sometimes I ask too much of you. But please, please help me take care of Jinyoung. Please be a friend to him. He needs someone like you to guide him during this difficult time.”

Your throat closed up as you looked down at Mrs. Park. This woman had been like a mother to you for your entire life. She had fed you and taken excellent care of you for years after your father died. She had been a shoulder to cry on and a pillar to help you stand. You had never met anyone with a kinder soul.

You couldn’t say no to a woman like that.

You simply couldn’t.

Whatever Jinyoung had or hadn’t done in the past, you simply owed his mother far too much to refuse such a pure and heartfelt request.

“Of course I’ll be a friend to him,” you promised her, taking her hand. “You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Park. Your son is going to be absolutely fine. And I’ll… I’ll always be there for him.”

Mrs. Park beamed at you. “Thank you, dear.”

“How about another slice of birthday cake?”

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

Once everyone had had their fill of the barbecue, they hurried indoors to watch the football game.

You were so busy arranging the seats in the living room to fit everyone in front of the modest television, and finding cushions for the older guests with backaches, that you forgot to keep an eye on Jinyoung. It was only once the match had begun and Mr. Kang was busy speaking with his booming voice over the official commentator that you realized Jinyoung had disappeared.

Where was he?

You slowly snuck out of the living room and checked the backyard. You scanned the dining room and the bathroom before finally retreating to the kitchen, where you found the man in question.

Jinyoung was leaning against the counter, arms folded loosely across his chest. His dress shirt was crumpled and his hair messy. The slightly unfocused manner in which he stared at a tile on the floor tipped you off that he was drunk. Evidently, Mr. Cha had forced Jinyoung to drink a few too many beers.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

Jinyoung stared at the floor silently.

“Not going to watch the football game?” you wondered casually. “South Korea is playing today so even the oldies are excited. Whether we win or lose, Mr. Kang is going to get outrageously drunk for sure.”

Jinyoung didn’t respond. The blank look in his eyes began to scare you and you waved a hand in front of his face to make sure that he was still alive. “Jinyoung? Are you okay? I can make you a cup of coffee to help you sober up, if you want-”

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“What don’t you understand?”

Jinyoung finally looked up at you and you were startled by the emotion in his dark and bloodshot eyes. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Why are they all so happy to see me? I’ve never done anything for any of them.”

Your hand dropped to your side.

“I haven’t even thought about most of these people in ten years,” Jinyoung continued shakily. You watched him swallow and struggle to continue. “I owned a million-dollar company but I never gave any of them a penny. I never called them on their birthdays or anniversaries. I can barely remember them but they’re all so… so happy to see me. Why? Why should they be glad to see someone like me? Why should they greet me with such open arms? What have I ever done?”

You took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say. They’re not glad to see you because you’ve done anything for them, Jinyoung. I don’t think they even expect anything. They’re just proud of you.”

Jinyoung closed his eyes. “Why? I’m a failure. Every single person at that party knows I’m a failure.”

“I don’t think they see you that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because they watched you grow up. Because their memories of you aren’t of you as a CEO or a rich businessman. Their memories of you are you stealing peaches from their front yards and begging them to adopt kittens,” you replied. “They don’t care about your failures and your successes. They care about you because of who you are.”

Jinyoung frowned. “And who am I?”

“You’re Park Jinyoung,” you told him softly. “Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not, you’re from this town. You’re one of us. No matter how far you go, you’ll always be one of us. And simply for that reason everybody here will always take pride in your achievements and share the pain of your losses.”

“Shouldn’t they be disappointed in me?” he demanded.

You opened your mouth to respond but you were cut off by a loud and uproarious cheering coming from the living room. By the sound of it, South Korea had scored a goal. You smiled at Jinyoung and gave him a small nudge.

“See that? See how they’re cheering for the national team? If South Korea wins tonight then they’re going to scream and celebrate like they’ve gone mad. If South Korea loses… they’re not going to be angry. A little disappointed, maybe. But that doesn’t mean they stop supporting South Korea and switch to some other country. They’ll just wait and cheer again next time. The next match, the next tournament. Your loyalties don’t change because of one or two losses. They become even stronger.”

The corner of Jinyoung’s lips turned up in a dry smile. “You’re saying I’m like their national football team?”

“I’m saying these people have been wishing you well all your life,” you told him softly. “They’re not going to stop because you’re facing a setback in your career. Your victories are their victories. Your losses are their losses. There’s no other condition or expectation that you have to meet. That’s what home is, Jinyoung. Where the people always love you.”

Jinyoung was silent. His head hung downwards, messy hair flopping into his dark eyes. You watched as he took a deep and shuddering breath.

“What about you?’ he whispered.

You froze. “Me?”

“Are you still cheering for me? Even after the way I’ve treated you?” his voice became softer as he clenched his fists. “I cut you off for nearly a decade, there’s no point in pretending it didn’t happen. Can you still cheer for me after that?”

You felt your own throat close up. Could you? Could you still cheer for him wholeheartedly and welcome him with open arms, the way all the other neighbours had? Could you look yourself in the eye with complete honesty and tell yourself that Jinyoung was still your best friend?

You couldn’t. Deep down, you didn’t know whether Park Jinyoung was still your friend.

But right now, he needed you to be his.

“Time and distance just weren’t on our side, Jinyoung,” you told him carefully. The words were heavy on your tongue and you felt naked under the sharp look of disbelief in Jinyoung’s eyes. Yet you had to say them. You had to say them because the man in front of you needed you to say them. “But we never stopped being friends. I’ll always be here for you. There’s no point in blaming you for something you couldn’t control.”

Jinyoung’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we first saw each other, I… I was ashamed. I was afraid you’d find out why I returned and I was afraid you would laugh at me for returning with my tail tucked in between my legs.”

You nodded. “That’s okay, Jinyoung.”

“Is it really?”

“Of course.”

You were shocked when Jinyoung suddenly took a step towards you and wrapped his arms around you in a gentle, yet firm hug. You could feel his warm breath on your shoulder and his messy hair tickled your cheek. Your cheeks flushed in surprise but you forced yourself to wrap your arms around him in return and gently pat his back.

“Jinyoung…” you whispered.

“I don’t feel as alone when I’m here,” he admitted to you softly. He pulled you closer to his chest and you found yourself melting into his embrace. Being in Jinyoung’s arms felt so new, yet so familiar. For a moment you were taken back to the last time you’d hugged Jinyoung like this. The last time you’d hugged him goodbye at the train station as he left for Seoul.

The last time Park Jinyoung had felt like your friend.

“You’re not alone,” you reassured him softly.

Jinyoung reluctantly pulled back and bowed his head. His eyes were shining with tears and he cleared his throat, quickly wiping them away with the back of his sleeve before you could see them clearly.

“Sorry, I uh…”

“You just needed a hug,” you told him softly. So did I. So many times. But you weren’t here for any of them. “It’s no big deal, Jinyoung. I’m glad I can be here for you.”

Jinyoung cleared his throat and when he looked up, for the first time since he had arrived, you saw the soft hint of a genuine smile on his beautiful lips. He bit his lip shyly, just as the sound of more cheering erupted from the living room. He ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly.

“We should probably go see what’s happening with that game.”

You nodded quietly. “Yeah, we should.”

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

You and Jinyoung settled down on the floor of the living room, backs leaning against the sofa where Mr. Cha and Mr. Kang were sitting. Jinyoung had tried to avoid the overly-energetic old men but there had been no other space left in the crowded room.

“You two were an awfully long time in the kitchen,” Mr. Cha pointed out with a smile.

You raised an eyebrow at the older man playfully. “And what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Cha?”

“I was just saying. It’s been a while since we had a nice wedding in town, is all, and we wouldn’t mind some more little kids running around here and there to keep us older people entertained…” he chuckled to himself, before his wife swatted him and shushed him. You grinned as the smile promptly dropped from the old man’s face.

“All right, all right,” he snapped at her. “I was just saying her mother would have liked to see her have grandkids, that’s all…”

Mrs. Cha glared at her husband. “Don’t make things awkward for these poor kids! Jinyoung’s only just come back now, do you want to tell Mrs. Park that you sent her boy running back to Seoul?”

“Now, why would Jinyoung go running back because of some good-natured teasing, eh?”

The couple began to bicker lightly and you rolled your eyes, making eye contact with Jinyoung. He had a small smile on his face and his dark eyes widened happily. Jinyoung leaned closer to you. “Oh, that’s right! Your mother! How is she doing? Couldn’t she make it to the party tonight?”

Your stomach lurched sharply.

“W-what?”

Jinyoung blinked at you in confusion. “Your mother. I haven’t seen her at the party. Is she working or something?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded, as though somebody had hit you in the back of the head. The room plunged into a heavy and awkward silence, with the exception of the soft television noises. Jinyoung’s dark eyes were fixed on you with concern.

When someone finally spoke, it was Mr. Cha, his voice hushed. It was a soft whisper but you heard it as loudly as if someone had screamed it in your ear.

“Jinyoung… her mother passed away. It’s been three years now.”

----------

“Jinyoung! Jinyoung, dear, do you have a minute?”

Jinyoung paused and turned around. He had just been leaving your home after a gruelling study-session. Being in your senior year of high school meant a lot of late-night studying and it was often done at your house. Your mother refused to let you stay over at Jinyoung’s too late at night since the walk back home wasn’t very safe, so Jinyoung came over to your place instead.

Jinyoung smiled at your mother as he tied his shoelaces. “Of course.”

Your mother stepped outside and closed the door behind her, casting a furtive glance behind her to make sure you weren’t listening. “You kids have been… discussing your career plans with your teachers these days, haven’t you? Since your college entrance exams are nearing.”

Jinyoung nodded.

“I heard that you’re, uh, you’re applying for Seoul University and a couple of other colleges in Seoul. Your mother was telling me about that,” she began slowly.

Jinyoung straightened up and hitched his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m applying to a lot of places in Seoul, just in case. It’s kind of a mess trying to balance all the applications and the studying these days. Is everything okay, Mrs. (L/N)?”

Your mother smiled forcefully. “Of course, of course. Have you heard about (Y/N)? And what her plans for college are?”

“She said that she doesn’t want to apply for colleges in Seoul and that she’d much rather apply for local colleges and then study for a professional qualification exam later,” Jinyoung replied in surprise. He had heard you talk about that many times; it had been your plan for the last two or three months now. “Haven’t you discussed this already?”

“I know, it’s just… I want to be sure that’s what she really wants,” your mother admitted. “You’re a smart boy, Jinyoung. You would know if she wasn’t going on the path she really wanted to be going, wouldn’t you? She doesn’t always share her feelings with me honestly. That’s why I’m asking you…”

Jinyoung smiled. “She’s been pretty adamant about this for a while now.”

“But you would tell me if she was hiding something?”

“Of course… if that’s what you want,” Jinyoung replied, confused. He gave your mother a small but charming smile. “Don’t worry so much, Mrs. (L/N). I promise I’ll make sure she’s doing what she wants to be doing. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“I suppose so,” your mother looked a little relieved. “Thank you for always being there for her, especially when I couldn’t be, Jinyoung. It gives me a lot of comfort to know she has you.”

“Of course. I promise I’ll always take care of her,” Jinyoung told your mother solemnly. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll always be there.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #got7 fanfiction #got7 fluff #got7 angst #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #jinyoung scenario #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung angst #got7 drabble #got7 imagine #jinyoung my youth

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hcrris · 5 years

Text

can ….. i come in ????? have been watching unbreakable kimmy schmidt for 3 hours pretending time isnt passing , life isnt real and in fact.. i am dreaming (-: lajdfksl hey <3 im jay im 21 and i love those instagram profiles of hamsters in little clothes ( when they got little purses? ???? dont talk to me im cryin. ) below u will find info about jane harris aka literally the vine of the little kid scribbling hard like his life depended on it. shes a mess ?? but a semi enjoyable mess. a mess with good intentions. if u want to establish some connections, LIKE THIS and i will come annoy u <3 alternatively u can ease my social anxiety and msg me here or through my discord sencha tea#4035 (و ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و♡

( lily collins, cis female, she/her. ) — jane harris has been a medina complex resident for three years, now. they’re twenty-three years old, and they tend to avoid making eye contact. sometimes when i walk by B06, i hear cherry-coloured funk by cocteau twins playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty effervescent, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re neurotic. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here.

repeatedly fixing the apartment number on the door when it swings down to a nine, a split moment of shadow after the radiance of laughter, carl sagan’s pale blue dot, a life of frequent minor accidents, constant hunger for balance overshadowed by emotional turbulence.

🇧🇦🇨🇰🇬🇷🇴🇺🇳🇩

TW ALCOHOLISM EMOTIONAL ABUSE DEPRESSION & ANXIETY !!!!! ok moving on

her parents met in art school in paris.. her mom is french and studied art history while her dad was an exchange student from california with a skewed artist mentality. it was that saccharine, toxic sort of love. her mom always felt like she needed to be the guardian angel in the relationship who would always hold him up when he was feeling down and he was feeling down….. a lot. because she was putting all that energy to save her relationship, she was drowning too but never enough to walk away. there was a lot of love there but it was twisted and uncomfortable at times

when they found out jane was on the way, it felt like they needed to suddenly grow up. her mom was ready to make changes, adapt to the new lifestyle. her dad, on the other hand, urged they rethink if this is what they want but he didn’t push for abortion.. he understood it was jane’s mothers choice to make and reassured that he would be there for the both of them no. matter. what.

but ??? the reality was he felt trapped by the idea of a child and he struggled to acknowledge and accept how quickly his life was flipping upside down and how he lost all control of it. he wanted to travel around europe ???? soak in nature, daydream and make art . but jane’s mom wanted to settle. instead of embarking on adventures after graduating, they decided to move to california.

things just seemed to fall apart like domino from then on. janes mom was lead astray.. thinking that what california would bring them was stability but instead, it was all chaos. they rushed to get married .. turned out janes father wasnt on good terms with his parents. he was irresponsible financially, put both his parents in huge debt, was blinded by his ego to ever realise his mistakes. lied constantly .. convincing janes mom that there’s light going forward. that once he finds a sponsor for his art .... once he sells his first piece ... once they see in him what he always saw in himself , he was going to make it right. and he reassured he would make it right for jane.

janes mom was so pathetically in love that she pushed through .. living in a sort of imagined world, believing that things were better than they actually were. and her dad was good at persuading that narrative. he would come home with a pocketful of cash and the bills paid. oftentimes, it was all an act. his art wasn’t selling and a lot of what he bragged about was borrowed or stolen. behind the curtain, he was absent and unmotivated. he would come home in the evening claiming that the whisky breath was celebratory but in reality, he was complaining to the barman two blocks away about how his life feels monotone .. like a french black and white movie.

the day of jane’s birth was a whole mess. her father decided to drive her mother to the hospital, knowing he had one too many. they were caught for speeding and while janes dad spent the night at a nearby station for driving under influence, her mom was at the back of a cop car, crying for one too many reasons .. jane decided to hang on for a little while longer and was born at 3am the following night. cradled in her mothers arms and her dads voice humming on the line

jane would only ever hear the romanticised version of this story from her mother. this ??? fucked up sense of security that no matter what, love conquers all. that love means supporting each other, loving each other extra when everything else falls apart. but truth is.. her mother was forced to give up her own dreams, lost all connections to her past, worked days and nights at a nursing home to support her family and pitch in to her husbands alcoholism while she’s at it. making excuses that jane was too young to contradict. all while the only source of happiness for her father was the haziness of his evenings, when he felt like floating and he could barely hold onto to his paintbrush. he was a stranger living in their basement .. more than he was ever a father

growing up, jane watched her mother mask her depression. carry empty bottles out from the basement, trying to hide it from jane .. it brought her shame. she was doing the same thing to jane that he was doing to her for all these years .. consistently expressing a certain attitude, this unwavering satisfaction for the life they are living and so ... it hardens. you start to believe it. except unlike her mother, jane was observant.. she had other lives around her to compare to her own, voices of reason that pierced through the skewed perception her mother drilled into her skull. when jane grew into her skin, she felt so ... disgusted and angry. she tried to pull her mother out of her fantasy but nothing worked.

through her high school years, she felt helpless .. her home life was a nightmare and she made every possible attempt to stay out of it for as long as possible. she took on jobs and extracurriculars .. stayed at her friends’ house until she couldn’t. and she would think.. think so hard, she would start crying. pushing her own problems away .. in her head, she would imagine herself in a different skin, a different place. it was the only way she could calm her breathing. only to have to battle the same thoughts the following morning

after graduating high school, jane went to community college for product management got a job offering after her placement at a big company and moved out shortly after ( and MOVED IN to medina... can i get a yee yee ) .. she got insurance for the first time in her life and eats too many of free pizza slices at work to save up on groceries every week <3

she doesn’t visit her parents bc she no longer feels like her mother is on her team. she’s lived a maddening and terribly draining life and living alone has brought her deserving peace.. although she’d rather keep contact with her mother to a minimum, its obvious that jane is her mothers anchor. if she feels as though her daughter is not fighting for her, she breaks down.. as much as jane wants to run away from her past, it always seems to catch up

if ur still reading literally who are u lafjdkl. ill be done schoon ..... oof

🇨🇭🇦🇷🇦🇨🇹🇪🇷 🇹🇷🇦🇮🇹🇸

if they are friends ... jane. will. talk. ur. ear. off. but probably not for the right reasons lol .. she has never been assessed by a professional, isn’t taking any treatment but she definitely needs it :( shes a chronic overthinker.. the voice in her head keeps chattering away most of the time which gets a little nauseating. she hates silence and feels like she needs to fill it with words. she often says the wrong things .. to the wrong people ... at the WRONG time and she is very aware of it. its the culprit for her self doubt and struggle to open up emotionally to the people shes close to. shes very critical towards herself, she micro analyses everything from the way she acts, the way she looks and what she says. shes also not a fan of confrontation !!!!!!!BUT!!!!!!!!!!!

she is a FIREBALL when she stands up for others. i dont know how she hasnt gotten into a physical fight yet. she would literally rip ur side mirror off ur car if u didnt wait for an old lady to cross the street. is intense in every possible way. if shes angry, shes angry and impulsive and out of control, when she is in love, she feels it in her bones and simultaneously wants to rip her hair out, when she’s passionate about something, she is persistent until she isn’t and when she loses motivation, everything feels bleak .. theres never any emotional balance, even though she fights so hard for it every day

likes sci fi movies .. literally when they are Floating in space ???? SIGN! JANE! THE! FUCK! UP! letterboxd is probably her favorite app. sometimes she will post a review, read it over and over, find something wrong with what she said and then delete it. shes very neurotic. she either has good days where she can comfortably be herself or bad days, when it feels like everyone is judging her every move when in reality. ... it is always .. all in her head.

and she is mostly in her head. she creates fantasies of her life, relationships platonic and romantic and as a result, nothing ever seems to measure up. she feels secure in her fantasies but oftentimes when it hits her that they are just that, fantasies, she ... feels really alone.

will trip over her own feet . has like 5 bruises from washing the dishes </3

she works as a part of a product design team in a big company.. probably has the knowledge to move up the tier but does not have the courage to stand up for herself . she doesnt believe in herself and is kind of a pessimist .......

got high one night and decided she wants to start an uber ....... only for women. but doesnt think its a good ide a (its a good idea. id like to think in 10 years time ... bitch made it)

really weird. likes eating broad beans and frozen strawberries .. will literally eat a lemon.

she will have different interests every week but never seems to be any good at anything ???????????? makes her sad.

claims tidying up with marie kondo changed her life LAKJDSKLDJ

*draws curtains* anybody else tired?

#mediocre.intro #»-.-°-ỽ-⸰-ｓｈｕｔ-ｕｒ-ｔｒａｐ-⸰-ỽ-°-.-«#4 hrs ago : yea ...... i could finish this intro in like 2 hours :) why not. whats gonna stop me ???? writing doesnt take that long.#it takes literally ?? 2 miliseconds. lol .......#im shtupid !!!!! have to take a shower. this is longer than all shakespeare plays combined.#if u read this im manifasting a good year for u.

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n0ttinghamshad0w · 6 years

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It's not like I'm falling in love, I just want you to do me no good And you look like you could

ROBIN OLIVER HUNT (Name at birth: Robin Huang; Alias: Robert Oliver Gardner)

Birthday: March 12 1990 (Pisces) Hogwarts House (Primary): Gryffindor Hogwarts House (Secondary): Slytherin Myers-Briggs: ENFP Enneagram: Type 8 Height: 5’9

Overview:

Mother:

1. Unknown—Linda Huang, still alive, forced to give up her child by her conservative parents who did not want her raising a child out of wedlock, has not tried to make contact with her son.

2. Mother Florence—the head nun at Nottingham Orphanage, firm, but kind; strict, but genuinely wanted the best for the children; had a soft spot for Robin, since he’d been there for like all his life.

3. Barbara Economides—Robin’s first foster mom, had six kids of her own, but room in her heart for a dozen more

Father:

1. Unknown—Ernesto Rosetti

2. George Economides—Robin’s first foster dad, loving and hard-working man, who unfortunately did not have a very hard-working cardiovascular system. Died of a heart attack when Robin was ~12

Mother’s Occupation: he doesn’t care about his birth mom, but Barbara owned a bakery

Father’s Occupation: he doesn’t care about his birth dad, but George owned a bakery

Family Finances: well, none of the homes he was in were great financially

Birth Order: only child as far as he’s concerned

Siblings: N/A--(Stefan, Petros, Elek, Idola, Eileen, Karena...the Economides kids)

Other Close Family: None

Best Friend: Joan Woode (28)

Other Friends: Tuck Frere (26), Martin Maddon (18), Fakhir Azhar (27)

Enemies: all those who neglect/abuse their children

Pets: none, would love a bird or a fox tho

Home Life During Childhood: He was in an orphanage till he was nine, and it was not a bad orphanage at all, just massively under-funded. At nine, he was placed in a foster home, a large Greek family, and he was very well-loved and well-taken care of, but the father dropped dead of a heart attack when Robin was 12 and the Economides family had to move and they couldn’t take care of Robin. He shuffled through like four other foster homes, at least one of which he was badly abused in, till at seventeen, he just didn’t come home one day and the family never reported it and that was that.

Town or City Name(s): Nottingham, England

What Did His Bedroom Look Like: Never had a steady room, or one of his own. Always shared with someone else, always a small bed.

Any Sports or Clubs: Nah, he was the type of kid who hung out under bridges and threw stuff.

Favorite Toy or Game: Had a toy archery kit back at the Economides house

Schooling: left school at seventeen

Favorite Subject: History and English, loved old stories of Robin Hood

Popular or Loner: loner---’cept he was real popular with the “troubled” kids, the freak in freaks and geeks

Important Experiences or Events: When George died, the abuse at the other foster homes

Health Problems: None

Culture: English?? He’s actually Italian and Chinese, but wouldn’t know at all. Considers himself Greek, if anything

Religion and beliefs: The only time in his life when he was religious was when he lived with the Economides family and went to church on the reg, since then, he’s convinced that if a God does exist, he’s a shitty God and only people can really help each other

Your Character’s Character:

Bad Habits: smoking, drinking, commitment issues, def has ghosted girls before...oh yeah, uh, stealing things??? He’s also a pickpocket

Good Habits: very good with children, when he wants to be he’s very kindhearted, very charismatic, very charming, good sweet-talker

Best Characteristic: intense--has his set of beliefs and morals and will stick by them

Worst Characteristic: intense--to the point where he isolates himself

Worst Memory: The moment the Economides family left him at the social services office (also George’s death lbr)

Best Memory: His first Christmas with the Economides family

Proud of: the money he’s been able to give back to the orphanage

Embarrassed by: his lack of formal education

Driving Style: erratically, I don’t think he has a license but he definitely knows how to drive--does not get into accidents, but is hella reckless

Strong Points: passionate, believes in a cause, dedicated friend, charming, charismatic, quick-learner, good with his hands

Temperament: sanguine

Attitude: passionate, intense

Weakness: has a very specific mission, keeps people at a distance unless you’ve proved yourself to him, you can know him but never really know him

Fears: man, uh, not being able to make a difference

Phobias: abandonment issues~~~

Secrets: the fact that he’s a master thief

Regrets: not finishing secondary, not being like a better person or whatever

Feels Vulnerable When: talking about his past

Pet Peeves: tourists (but they make good bait), people who hate on people who use subtitles, americans, mac copmputers

Conflicts: his very idealistic moral code vs reality, his very idealistic moral code and mission vs caring about his own life/needs

Motivation: justice for children

Short Term Goals and Hopes: find Tuck’s family, steal from Tuck’s family, find Martin, find enough money to get Fakhir a good lawyer

Long Term Goals and Hopes: well shit, making a difference in the lives of people somehow

Sexuality: heterosexual, but could be convinced to fuck a bloke

Exercise Routine: just generally active, runs a fair bit, likes to play sports with friends

Day or Night Person — Night

Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert

Optimist or Pessimist — Optimist

Likes and Styles:

Music: alt-rock, classic rock, rock in general, also some punk

Books: he likes old stories and folktales (ie; Robin Hood whom he modeled himself after), but does have a soft spot for some high fantasy books (he’s a big fan of Lloyd Alexander’s work--wait, I guess that doesn’t exist since The Black Cauldron is disney but IM SURE HE HAD SOME SORTA EQUIVALENT...The Beige Cauldron) and adventure novels

Magazines: GQ probs let’s be real. Never bought one, always knicked ‘em out of newstands. ALso probably playboy……...Recently has been into tech mags.

Foods: Greek food---reminds him of his time with the Economides family. Loves him a good lamb gyro with a big side of chips.

Drinks: Whiskey--straight up. Not a huge tea drinker, but likes a strong Turkish coffee. Also Gin and Tonics

Animals: Foxes and birds of prey. Tbh, kinda hates that the name the orphanage gave him is ROBIN for crying out loud it sounds so fuckin’ wimpy

Sports: big football fan, also into rugby, probably out of all my characters the one who follows sports the most jeez

Social Issues: def def a huge proponent for children’s rights, especially within the foster system; that’s his biggest thing, but he’s also really for Magick-Rights and against the pressing xenophobia and nationalism that’s rising in a lot of Western European nations

Favorite Saying: Faint heart never won fair lady; As you wish

Color: Dark forest green

Clothing: enough to maintain his image as a #rebel, but def does not invest toooo much in fashion. Lots of cool jackets, mostly darker colors

Jewelry: nah, mate that’s excessive (has this pendent that Barbara gave him that used to be George’s but that’s it)

Games: loves dominoes a lot actually

Websites: uhh reddit probably

TV Shows: probs into Game of Thrones and #epic period dramas

Movies: his absolute favorite movie is The Princess Bride, he loves good action flicks with a dash of epic romance--something with a real hero. Also probs a Star Wars fan. V for Vendetta

Greatest Want: to make a difference in the world, to make sure no child is ever hurt

Greatest Need: to let people in

Where and How Does Your Character Live Now:

Home: small studio apartment in Benbow

Household furnishings: sparse, probs just sleeps on a mattress let’s be real, has a hot plate and a mini fridge, uses a crate for a coffee table

Favorite Possession: his trusty pocket knife, one of the first things he bought with his own money

Most Cherished Possession: necklace that Barbara Economides gave to him that used to belong to George, it is a Greek Cross

Married Before: Nope.

Significant Other Before: the only serious one was this rather posh girl when he was 21. She ended up getting pregnant, but got an abortion and the relationship sorta derailed after that.

Children: nah

Relationship with Family: lol

Car: n/a

Career: no “career”--has worked service jobs and manual labor, was a bartender for a bit but quit bc of the Fakhir thing

Dream Career: god, he doesn’t know--maybe a social worker, tbh, or owning some sort of afterschool program for kids

Dream Life: he wouldn’t tell you, but being married to a beautiful girl, having a buncha kids, adopting a bunch too

Love Life: a string of one-night stands and brief dramatic love affairs that ended like smoke in the night

Hobbies : knife-throwing, wood-carving

Guilty Pleasure : women?

Sports or Clubs: not at the moment

Talents or Skills : wood-carving, bartending, bit of an amateur hacker, decent dancer and football player, decent at like climbing things lol, lock-picking, stealth talents

Intelligence Level: Never did well in school, but is quite very streetsmart and can read people very well, knowledgable on random things, courtsey of Tuck

Finances: not as bad as you’d think, but still def the poorest out of my characters. He’s the type of dude who gives everything he gets back--always drops in coins for street musicians, always

#character sheet #about

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

Text

My Not-So-Secret Recipe for Cultivating Adult Friendships

http://fashion-trendin.com/my-not-so-secret-recipe-for-cultivating-adult-friendships/

My Not-So-Secret Recipe for Cultivating Adult Friendships

t’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night and my husband is cursing at a pot of pasta. A few feet away, perched on a sagging IKEA couch, my ex-roommate’s ex-lover is planning a backpacking trip with my high school theater camp buddy’s husband’s college friend. Behind them, a drag king comes in late from “genderqueer jiu jitsu” and hugs a 10th grade English teacher, returning her copy of The Body is Not an Apology. An ex-coworker from who-knows-how-many-jobs-ago is pouring more wine for the previously mentioned high school theater camp buddy while asking to join her blacksmithing class, while another ex-coworker is snuggled up in an armchair with an actor I once directed in a touring production of Romeo and Juliet. I am setting the table with my grandmother’s good silver and all is right with the world. Welcome to Frambly Dinner.

“Frambly” is the term we came up with to describe our family of chosen friends and the brambly way we all ended up entwined, but trust me, this shorthand is the only formality. I’ve been hosting this dinner party with my husband for nearly three years now, and what started as a “writers group” (guess how much writing we did?) has morphed into something I think many people, millennials especially, find as elusive as the rest of the American Dream: warm, reliable community.

My grandparents — all four of them — were friends for years before they got married and started having kids (two of which would eventually marry each other and have me). When you look at pictures of my mother’s Bat Mitzvah, my dad’s parents are there, dancing in the background. I remember one of my grandfathers giving me a hug at the other’s funeral and saying, “You lost a good friend, Kiddo,” which struck me as odd, even at 10 years old, since they had known each other far longer than I’d been alive. He was the one who had lost a good friend.

When I moved across the country after college graduation, I took many of my grandparents’ things with me — things that belonged in other kitchens, in other eras. Even though I knew almost no one in California, table service for 10 still felt like a necessity. It was a way of carrying their legacy with me, even though I didn’t yet know how to bring it to life. When I met a red-headed bartender who loved to cook as much as I did, I decided to stay. We cooked our favorite recipes for each other, and many of mine (the desserts, mostly) came out of inherited old cookbooks that were peppered with advice to the wife, the hostess, for whom every meal is an opportunity for social graces and tabletop diplomacy.

Now, if you ever happen to move to a new city and worry about making friends, I can promise you this: If you date a bartender, move in with a burlesque performer, and get a job at a Shakespeare theater, you will quite suddenly be surrounded by a wealth of interesting people. And if you feed those people regularly and well, you will sit down to dinner one day and notice that not only do you now have actual friends, but they feel a bit like family, too. And although this wild assembly of bohemian roustabouts is hardly the stuff of a Rockwell Thanksgiving, you might realize what I did: those pearls-in-the-kitchen Bettys from the cookbooks were on to something.

The friendships that buoyed my grandparents’ lives were founded at their synagogue. By the time my brother and I came along, they’d been known as “The Card Club” for several decades. The group was eight couples in total, that got together once a month and had dinner before the husbands played poker and the ladies played dominos. The hosting rotated from house to house, but both my mother and I have strong memories of ironing napkins, polishing the good silverware, and arranging trays of nuts and candies for when The Card Club was coming over.

But much as I admire The Card Club, I worry that it’s not a replicable model for modern friendships. In fact, millennials report feeling lonelier than older generations and, if the myriad essays on the topic are to be believed, making and keeping adult friendships hasn’t come as easily as many of us expected. Perhaps because an economy reliant on freelancing, gigs and side hustles doesn’t exactly encourage workplace friendships; or because we’re less likely than any previous generation to belong to a formal religious organization. And since we’re waiting longer to have kids, if we have them at all, we’re not making PTA alliances or bonding over a shared flask at the elementary school rendition of “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown,” either.

To put it bluntly: No one is going to make our friendships for us. But if we’re as anxious, broke and lonely as the internet suggests, battling our imposter syndrome in increasingly tiny apartments (as the stats say we are), then maybe that’s exactly why we need to resurrect and reform an oft-forgotten social relic: the dinner party. It’s time to stop letting an antiquated idea of “the perfect host” get in the way of our ability to create space for our community and nurture lifelong friendships.

When asked what brought me to California, I often quip that moving across the country for no reason seemed like the kind of thing one should do in their twenties, but the truth is, I was grieving. The price paid for such a close loving family (my dad’s parents lived two miles in one direction, my mom’s two miles in the other) was that after burying six people in ten years, there wasn’t a street I could drive down or a place I could go that didn’t remind me of someone I had lost. I had grown up with a minimum of 13 people around my grandmother’s table for Shabbat Dinner every Friday night, and I didn’t have any faith at the time that I would ever feel that same sense of joy and peace as those nights brought.

The first few times hosting were stressful. I worried that the food wasn’t good enough. I worried that the apartment wasn’t big enough. I worried that my goal of being a good host wasn’t feminist enough. The first time felt like I was playing dress up in someone else’s heels, but this weekly time set aside for sharing food with friends is something I now cherish beyond measure, and I slowly realized that the feeling I was missing from Shabbat dinners and that I envied from The Card Club nights was something I could create for myself, but not by myself. So I invited people in. And even if it sounds cheesy, I want to invite you in too. I want to invite you to create your own Frambly Dinner, and I’ve outlined my best tips below to help get you started. You don’t need matching napkins or a spotless house or even a dining room. All you need is a few people you’d like to spend more time with, and a willingness to invite them in.

Just Try It Out

You don’t have to commit to hosting a weekly or even monthly dinner party. Just try one and see how it goes. Think of it less like a “dinner party” and more like just having some friends over. If you can get over this first fear, everything will come easier.

If You Plan It, They Will Come

I work three jobs and so does my husband. But Friday nights are sacrosanct. The beauty of hosting regularly is that we never have to worry about when we’re going to make time to see our friends. Celebrating birthdays, promotions, holidays, etc., are all simple and genuine: just add a toast or a cake. No one has to stress about FOMO because if you miss it this week, there’s always next week. But I’ve found that the people who value this like we do continue to block out their Fridays for the Frambly.

You Don’t Need a Table

Our apartment features one room to serve as kitchen, living room and dining room. It’s not big. Most of the time, we set out platters of food on the kitchen counter and everyone helps themselves to a plate before perching on the couch, armchairs, footstools or on pillows around the coffee table. If you wait until you have a proper dining room table to try your hand at hosting, you will miss out on years of friendship.

Keep It Simple

Give a half hour window for when folks should arrive and then forget about the clock. Serve everything family style. Pad your menu with lots of veggies — they’re inexpensive, colorful and hardly anyone is allergic. Don’t let the last minute cancellation or additional guest ruffle your feathers. Don’t make a seating chart. Don’t plan dessert if you don’t want to — you can always just offer tea or send someone to the corner store for Ben and Jerry’s.

Let People Help

Ask them to bring drinks, or something to contribute to a cheese plate in case dinner is a bit late. Or to pick up some cookies on their way over. Let them come early and help cook if they want. Let them tackle some the dishes. Let them pitch in. Remember, you’re building a family, not running a restaurant.

Just Clean the Bathroom

You can fake everything else and no one cares anyway.

But here’s the biggest secret:

It’s Not Actually About the Food

I’m a good cook. My husband is incredible. But what I’m reminded of on nights when we tell the Frambly that we just can’t handle the cooking that Friday and we all pitch in for some pizza instead, is that the food is just the excuse for getting together. The real nourishment comes from knowing that there is a time and a place where we will be welcomed and loved no matter what. And carving that space out in this world is the true art of hosting.

Molly Conway is a playwright and writer living in Oakland, California. You can follow her on Instagram @moxiequinn for periodic updates about her garden and Frambly Dinner. She has yet to finish a cup of tea while it is still hot.

Illustrations by Alec Doherty.

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