#I’m not usually into self help books but let’s be honest Dan could shit on a carpet and I’d still enjoy his work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

Thoughts on Aaron and Matt’s relationship as the become roommates and definitely after the extra content on Aaron and Matt’s mom.

Couldn’t track down said extra content but their post-canon roomsharing is tragically unexplored so here we go

Moving out of the monster’s dorm is Aaron’s first cold, sharp lungful of freedom after years of having his head held underwater. Freedom, it transpires, tastes like gummy bears and leftover pizza and whatever other crap Matt likes to clog his arteries with. Aaron elects to ignore the smell; the important part is the long-awaited independence. If only he could ignore his new roommate so easily.

Aaron hasn’t been there five minutes before Katelyn is cheering on the other end of his phone, and ten minutes later she’s helping him unpack his books and arrange his desk the way he likes it. The prospect of being able to come over to Aaron’s dorm whenever she likes without fear of being sliced open by his psychotic twin is clearly an enticing one for Katelyn. Regular access to a bedroom shared with only one other student is equally appealing, for obvious reasons.

They don’t waste much time on that front; Katelyn hops up on Aaron’s desk and pulls him in, first with her eyes and then with her arms, and Aaron is happy to follow. Finally, finally, finally, he is allowed to have something good in his life.

The key part now is to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

Aaron is interrupted from nervously fidgeting his way towards the clasp on Katelyn’s bra by the sound of Matt walking into the locked door with a thud. Aaron swears and pats his hair back down into its usual shape while Katelyn buttons up her blouse with a sheepish smile.

He stumbles over and unhooks the latch before Matt can start complaining. Judging by the blinding grin he’s met with, Matt hasn’t been fooled. “Settling in okay?”

“Great,” Aaron grunts. Katelyn smiles at Matt, and Aaron fights down a flare of jealousy. Katelyn can smile at whoever she wants to, and Aaron refuses to become an angry, possessive psycho like his brother.

“I’ll leave you guys to get to know each other. Well, you already know each other, but, you know.” Katelyn stoops to press a kiss to Aaron’s cheek, which goes some way to soothing the sting of her departure. “Catch you later, babe.”

“Yeah,” says Aaron faintly, hating how fucking pleased Boyd looks at the display. His new roommate needs to learn a serious lesson in minding his own damn business.

Aaron spent his first years at Palmetto steadfastly ignoring every team member outside his family, and despite the Foxes’ newfound unity, he still has little interest in building bridges. Too much effort, far too late. For their first weeks sharing the apartment, Aaron avoids Matt, keeping his head in his books and spending his nights in Katelyn’s dorm.

Eventually Katelyn broaches the topic, not because she wants to spend more time in Aaron’s dorm and less time inconveniencing her roommate, but because that’s the kind of person Katelyn is. She believes in people, believes in Aaron. So much so that she makes him want to believe in himself. She suggests – not in a preachy or demanding way, but kindly – that he might find his living situation a lot more bearable if he made at least some effort with his roommate.

And because it’s Katelyn, who Aaron will never be good at saying no to, Aaron throws Matt a bone.

“We’re going to Columbia tonight. Dress nice,” Aaron says without slowing on his way to his bedroom.

“Oh. Oh, cool, who else is coming?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Aaron shuts the door behind him. It’s the thought that counts, not the delivery.

Aaron means to make an effort when the night comes, but soon he’s floating on a cloud of alcohol and cracker dust, and it’s hard to concentrate on things like bonding and conversation when Eden’s bassline is calling him. Matt spends most of his time on the dancefloor with Dan and Renee, and the night passes in a hazy, unremarkable way.

The next day, Matt won’t look him in the eye. Aaron casts his mind back for something particularly embarrassing he did the night before and draws a blank. It’s only when he sees the nervous way Matt rakes his fingernails over track marks dotting his inner arms that Aaron realises they have a real problem on their hands. The gesture is uncomfortably familiar, and not just because Aaron has seen Matt doing it before.

Aaron drops his PlayStation controller to the floor with a deliberate thud. “What,” he says, barely a question.

Matt lets out a huff of air. “I didn’t realise… I didn’t know you still used.”

“It’s dust, it’s nothing,” says Aaron dismissively. “Why do you care?”

Matt slumps into the beanbag beside him, clenching and unclenching his fists. It takes Aaron a beat to realise that he’s angry. “Everything your brother did to me during your first year,” he says, “was to make sure you stayed clean. And you’re not. I started caring when you made it my business.”

“Not my problem,” says Aaron. It comes out harsher than he means it to. “If you don’t like it, you can go running to Flamer Paradise next door, see what they have to say.”

Matt’s jaw clenches. “Really? Flamer? Are you still hung up on this?”

“I don’t give a shit. Take a page from my book and fuck off.”

Matt climbs back to his feet, his face like thunder. “You’re going to make a shitty doctor, you know?”

Aaron is on his feet in an instant, barely reaching Matt’s chest. “Fuck you. Cracker dust isn’t even dangerous, it just-”

“Not because of the dust.” Matt steps forward, and it takes everything Aaron has not to flinch. “Because you don’t give a shit. About yourself or anyone else, and god help any gay patients who might have to rely on you to help them. Have some goddamn self-respect.” His piece said, Matt stalks from the room before the argument can descend into a fistfight.

Aaron stands alone in the living room with his fists clenched for longer than he can count, wishing he had someone’s face on hand to put his fist through.

Katelyn is, as always, his reprieve. She listens to his venting sympathetically and without judgement, even though Aaron suspects that she may privately disagree with him. Aaron can respect that; it’s the support that she shows him regardless that leads him down from the cliff-edge of his anger. And, if Aaron is being completely, brutally honest with himself, Matt might have had a point or two.

It takes him some time to be ready to return to his dorm, and even longer before he’s ready to look Matt in the eye again.

“I’m sorry,” says Matt after one day too many of awkward silence. Aaron pauses his game, trying to arrange his features to hide his surprise; when his mother lost her temper, she would spend days clattering around the house in silent fury while refusing to acknowledge that anything had happened. Matt’s direct approach is unsettling, and it takes Aaron a moment to accept it for what it is – an olive branch. “Look, we have our differences. That’s obvious. I know you don’t want to be here. But this year the team came together in a way I could never have imagined. Maybe we can too?”

Aaron stares for a long moment. Finally, he nudges the second PlayStation controller in Matt’s direction. “This game works better as a multiplayer, so…”

Matt drops into the beanbag beside him, relief washing over his features. Aaron waits until the game has loaded to add under his breath, “I never said I didn’t want to be here.”

Matt lowers the controller to look at him. “You never spend much time here. I just figured…”

“No. It’s fine.” Aaron clears his throat. He sees Katelyn in his mind’s eye, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He has to do better. “You’re fine.”

Matt snorts, and his attention slides back to the TV screen as the game begins.

“Anyone’s better than Nicky,” Aaron adds.

Matt snorts and kicks at his leg.

Maybe it isn’t too late to build that bridge after all.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! I was not planning on writing an *actual* fic for this but there was too much unresolved tension between these two worth exploring.

Side note: I’ve read so much fanfic I no longer remember if the monsters gave up cracker dust in canon or if that was something I read in a fic. My canon now, fuckers.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #aaron minyard #matt boyd #my fic #my asks #anon #ask game

19 notes · View notes

amcnh · 6 years

Text

Cub Sport

If their story was a film, it would forever be my favorite. It has all my ideal elements: slow burn romance, music, travel and gay leads. Tim Nelson and Sam “Bolan” Netterfield met at school. Bolan’s mother recalls her son coming home one day and telling her he met a boy who played the piano really well and that he wanted to learn to play like him. Tim and Bolan became fast friends. They started spending more and more time together and eventually playing music together. The group – since 2013, called Cub Sport – took off. Buzzy EPs turned into hit singles turned into a highly anticipated debut album. Cub Sport, made up of, yes, Tim and Bolan but also bassist Zoe Davis and drummer Dan Puusaari, was officially a successful project. The band was together a lot, recording and touring and promoting, and Tim and Bolan were spending pretty much all their time together. Both admit now that, at the level they could have clocked or allowed it, they realized quite early on in their friendship that they were in love with each other, but, both raised in super religious environments, were not willing or ready to address that let alone their gayness. While on tour in America during 2016, however, things unsaid finally were spoken. They describe it all much better, and it makes me swoon, so here are some quotes:

Tim to OUT Magazine:

“I went on a writing trip in the middle of 2015 for about a month and I missed Bolan (Sam) so much. I started to recognise that I was in love with him, but I had a lot of fear and denial to work through. In the middle of 2016, we went on a two-month overseas tour. Being away from the reminders and restrictions of normal life back home was really instrumental in us feeling like we had the freedom to explore and pursue what had been building between us.

The Orlando attack happened while we were on tour in the U.S. and it was not only a reminder of how fleeting our time on earth can be, but a big wakeup call that if we just embraced who we really were we could also try to help inspire and encourage young queer people facing the same internal battles we were both experiencing. We went to Pride festival in Denver around the same time and the atmosphere was really supportive and beautiful.”

Bolan to The Guardian, discussing the impact Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life had on his relationship with Tim:

“I think I had buried so deeply within me what I really wanted that it took me seeing it play out in fiction to actually have the clarity and perspective to look at my own situation and give me strength to realise that life is too short not to follow… I think I realised early in the book I was drawing direct correlation with those characters and with myself, then seeing one character die really shook me. I was suddenly hit with the notion that if Tim was to die, how could I have not said something. I realised I had to put everything on the line and I was willing to potentially jeopardise and lose our friendship to get everything that I suddenly realised I wanted and needed.”

On the final night of their American tour in that summer of 2016, after a long night of partying and celebrating, Bolan, as told to The Guardian, finally addressed his feelings to Tim. He recalled saying, “’I don’t want this to ruin our friendship but I want to be with you, I love you and I want to be with you forever,’ and then Tim started to cry and said, ‘So do I.’” It’s adorable and happy and lovely. Bolan, in an interview with triple j about their relationship, said, “We fell in love over the course of about eight years.” That’s some fucking cinematic shit.

They’ve been so generous in sharing the personal details of their story. It influences their sophomore record BATS that they self-released this year (we’re getting to that), but it also is a generous, helpful decision to be so open. This year in Australia’s clusterfuck of a marriage equality “debate,” a lot of queer kids were left confused and isolated and scared. To see Bolan and Tim happy and proud, as they’ve said, meant a lot to their young fans. Beyond the adorable story of it all, it’s been for good.

Now, the record. BATS, sonically, is a shift from Cub Sport’s previous work. Tim, the lyricist and vocalist for the group, cites A Seat At The Table and Blonde as huge inspiration for the project. Content wise, the record documents their romance. To Notion, Tim said, “It more-or-less follows my personal journey from the moment I admitted to myself that I was gay, to coming to terms with being in love with my best friend/bandmate Bolan (Sam), finally acknowledging the situation a year later and to then coming out and getting together.” He further told Music-News, “Bolan’s and my story rolls out over this list of songs, more-or-less in this order – ‘Chasin’,’ ‘Look After Me’, ‘Crush,’ ‘Solo III,’ ‘Bats,’ ‘Give It To Me (Like You Mean It),’ ‘O Lord’ and ‘Banyo Blue.’” And if you read the lyrics to those tracks, the details – starkly honest and evocative – are all there.

“Chasin’” was the song Tim wrote after returning from his trips to Los Angeles and London to write, when he realized his feelings for Bolan. He said he wrote it without fully understanding what it was saying at the time. Now, it’s clear. It’s a song about fear and confusion. “I’m trying to be honest and live deliberately. Is it delusional to think that I can do this? Time always makes me doubt what’s coming out me.” To Notion, Tim said, “Sam had heard ‘Chasin’’ in its original demo form for about nine months before we actually had the conversation. He said he already knew what it was about so I guess that helped inform him that what he was feeling was reciprocated, even though I hadn’t had the courage to say it out loud in words.”

On “Look After Me,” Tim is sensing something. “There’s something in the way you look at me like I’ve never done wrong.” It’s visceral – that, “I think maybe he feels this way because I see this look in his eyes, but am I just seeing things because I want to see things or am I seeing the truth?” It’s a rhythmic, interior processing.

“Crush” sees that post-tour, mid-celebration conversation when they first opened up to each other. “And you whisper to me 'Why are you crying?’ I think it's from the years of trying to try and push you from me. I didn't know who I was meant to be. Did I crush you with the things I wouldn't say? Did I hurt you on the way? How am I so lucky that you waited for me.” We’re there, hearing and seeing this moment. It’s a lot.

“Solo III” is, indeed, inspired by Frank Ocean’s songs on Blonde. “We keep blazin', playing ‘Solo,’ and now we've got our song. And I believe in me and you. We make each other strong. And here it is, my first love song. It didn't even take that long. Now I'm not laying solo.” This marks a first – them, honest and together, celebrating their love and its newness. To Junkee, Tim shared the importance Blonde and “Solo” played in their relationship: “That album came out pretty soon after [we got together] and for the first few times, every time we got to ‘Solo’ I would cry. I was like, ‘I can’t believe I get to have what we’ve got.’ It immediately became our song, but the lyrics didn’t match up with our situation at all, and so I wanted to take from that and make it out own. And I think the melody’s just different enough that we could get away with using it.” Tim asks, “Oh, what did I do, do I deserve you?” This line’s a reminder that, yeah, we’re getting the timeline of their relationship, but Tim is writing these songs. We’re getting his feelings on what’s going on here – the disbelief, the joy.

“Bats,” if you’re a fan of the pair’s Snapchats, makes total sense. For the unacquainted, Tim clarified to Music-News: “The house we were living in when I recorded BATS was just up the hill from a creek that had a huge colony of bats living along its banks. Bolan and I would walk our dogs down there each evening and watch the bats fill the sky (usually soundtracked by Frank Ocean – ‘White Ferrari’ playing off my phone). I’d often put it on my Snapchat story and one day someone from Texas replied and said that they’d see the same thing there. It inspired the opening lyrics of the song ‘Bats.’ ‘Bats in the sky, it looks like Texas. I like this time because it reminds us we can be anywhere, that doesn’t change us, nothing can change us now.’ ‘Bats’ the song felt like it really represented the vibe/story of the album which is why we decided to make it the title track. There was always something exciting and emotive about seeing thousands of bats fill the sky and I wanted that visual to represent the collection of songs.” The lyrics refer to “Solo” and Tim’s overseas writing trips again, saying, “I've been on flights. I've seen some sights, but I didn't feel it. Just there to write. If I fly again, it won't be solo 'cause that got me so low.” “Bats” is a quiet, peaceful celebration of their togetherness and inseparability. He says, “You’re the reason that I keep on tryin.”

The next song on their timeline is the record’s most chilled track. Co-written and featuring vocals from Sarah Blasko (an eternal favorite of mine), “Give It To Me (Like You Mean It)” is a flat-out love song. An adoration song, even. “I like that light on your face. You are my favourite place.” “I could just watch you move. Everything you do just makes me…” It could be cringe, but, fuck, it isn’t. It’s really rather beautiful.

“O Lord” is the first single they chose to bring out ahead of BATS. It was a brave choice seeing as the first thirty-seven seconds are Tim and Bolan harmonizing without any instruments, but it was also a way of announcing, “Hey, things are a bit different now.” The visuals for the track are as stunning as the song, showing Tim and Bolan embracing in some muted neony, pastelish colors. This is their “radical softness.” This is the Solange influence. Tim told The FADER, “This video challenges everything I grew up believing about masculinity, beauty and homosexuality — it's super liberating to create this video and feel free from judgment, both internally and externally.” Lyrically, this marks a step away from the portrayal of the new, intense love. Tim says, “I was free to be my true self, I was finally in a relationship with the love of my life and I had full love and support from my friends and family, but what I didn’t expect was the realisation that when you get everything you’ve ever wanted you suddenly have everything to lose. This song ended up being my way of grappling with those feelings.” To the world, as a return, as an inviting in, as a reinvention of sound and style, “O Lord” really fucking works.

“Banyo Blue,” the final track on the standard version of BATS, leaves us with the most updated glimpse into their relationship. This is them settled. This is, “Yeah, the world is really intense and not wonderful, but, here, with each other and choosing each other, we’re gonna be good.” Tim asks, “Can we be a story throughout the ages?” He says, “I write about you. I could go on for pages,” and “I just kind of feel like I have found my light. The rest’s not perfect, but it’s fine when you’re tight.” Here, this love that they have so damn graciously shared with us and painstakingly and beautifully documented for us, is good. It’s ongoing and it’s committed. The confusion and shame of the past is gone, and shit’s still bad elsewhere, but in this honesty and in this sharing, they’re gonna be okay. (Since the recording of BATS, Tim and Bolan got engaged and are getting married next year, a thing they can now legally do because Australia just legalized marriage equality [s/o to queer Australians dragged through that dehumanizing process, btw]) I’m emotional.

Now, I gush. The details of Tim and Bolan’s story make the record a living, immersive, gripping experience. It’s truly the shit great films and novels are made of. If you don’t know what every song’s about, it’s still a moving work. In an essay he penned for The Line Of Best Fit, Tim said, “For me, getting to a place where I could really connect with myself and write, unguarded, from the heart has been a journey that has taken me over a decade.” I truly love their past material. Their first full-length album This Is Our Vice is a record I still listen to every week, without skipping a song. The songwriting is clever and the lyrics are insightful. But, here with BATS and (again) the brave decision to share their story and illuminate the details of each song, there’s something else happening. It’s, as they dubbed, truly some “radical softness.” Tim said, “BATS is a product of queer love and I hope it can be a comfort and encouragement for the LGBTQI community and our allies during this time.” It is.

youtube

@anaserhall

73 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 7 years

Note

Prompt alert: Lucifer getting used to flying again and ends up taking Chloe for a flight

“Wait,” Ella says. “Are you serious? He has wings? Wingy-wings?”

“Yeah.” Chloe rubs the bridge of her nose. “I know I sound a little cracked, but… I kind of figured that you were the only person I could talk to who might get it.”

“Aw, man. That is so sweet. But.” Ella is not going to be distracted. “He has, you know – ” She does an improvised Funky Chicken in the middle of the forensics lab. “Can he fly? Because I’m sorry, that would be awesome.”

Chloe eyes her narrowly. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“Why not?” Ella shrugs. “I’ve always known there was something different about him. Weird. I mean, not weird – well, yes, weird, a lot weird, but more than just that. Him being an angel, I can’t say I’m all that shocked, you know? It’s not like it’s something that I think can’t happen. I believe in a book where it happens a lot. Hey, has he announced anything? Like the two of you are meant to be and having a miracle baby?”

Chloe’s look turns cold. “No.”

“Darn.” Ella sighs. “Anyway. Wow. I have so many questions. I’m not gonna ask them, because he’ll do that thing where he spooks and runs away like a startled turtle. If turtles ran, but you know what I mean. Is he here?”

“Yeah. In the break room.” At the other woman’s look of barely restrained curiosity, Chloe sighs and decides that since the cat, or rather the angel, is out of the bag, they might as well at least allow Ella a chance to peek. Not that Lucifer is going to be strutting around the station with his wings (or any other part of him, hopefully) hanging out, but still. “Fine. Come on.”

They leave Ella’s lab and start down the corridor to the break room. Just before they enter, however, they hear a familiar voice complaining, “Lucifer, did you eat my pudding again?”

“I did not.”

“It was right there!” Trust Dan’s dessert-related tribulations to be ongoing. “Look, I might not mind letting you have it if you asked, but you can’t just grab it and – ”

“Fine, if it’s that big of a deal, I’ll just fly down to the corner store and act as your personal messenger angel, shall I? More of Gabby’s gig than mine, but if you insist – ”

“Lucifer, can you not say crazy shit for two seconds and just – how’d you fly, anyway – ”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Daniel! WITH THESE!”

There is a rush of air, a whoosh, a sudden light that does not come from the dismal fluorescents, and papers swirl off down the hall in a miniature cyclone. Chloe stops, stares, and then rushes forward, Ella on her heels, to wrench the door open and find Dan flattened across the far wall looking as if he is about to have a heart attack. This is understandable, due to the fact that Lucifer is standing with wings unfolded, bursting from the back of his usual smart suit jacket, tips almost touching the workplace safety poster on one wall and the coffee machine on the other. At the sight of her, he folds them tidily against his shoulders and smiles brightly. “Ah! Detective!”

“Lucif – ” Chloe shakes her head almost in slow motion. “What are you doing –?”

“I’m trying to get better about being honest about myself, what’s it look like?” Lucifer regards Dan critically. “Though that might have been a bit much, I admit.”

“Have you always had those?” Dan keeps staring, then whirls on Chloe, wild-eyed, as she is obviously more familiar with Lucifer’s bits and bobs than he is. “Has he always had those?”

“I was born with them, yes,” Lucifer says, rather impatiently. “However, they are a recent and unfortunate re-acquisition, so no. I haven’t always had them.”

“Dude!” Ella exclaims. “Those are awesome!”

Lucifer looks slightly mollified – and also touched, even if he glances down quickly to hide it. “Terrible bother, trust me. And Daniel, I didn’t eat your pudding, but as I said, I’ll flap off and get some more if it’ll help.” He seems suddenly uncertain. “Daniel, say something.”

“What the hell.” Dan wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I knew you were weird, but I didn’t know that involved feathers.”

Lucifer flashes a small, slightly strained smile. “Oh yes. Fuzzy handcuffs, too.”

“I do not need to know about your kinks, man.”

With that, some of the tension eases, and everyone seems to draw a breath as the wings fold out of the visible plane with a soft flutter – which, after all, is quite a remarkable thing to be happening in a suburban police station. Chloe hopes nobody is watching the break room cameras right now. Nobody seems entirely certain what to say, until Ella steps over and – clearly to Lucifer’s shock – hugs him. “Yeah. Be your true self, buddy. We gotcha.”

Lucifer swallows visibly, eyes rather bright, as he puts a hand on Ella’s shoulder and gingerly disentangles her. “Well,” he says, and coughs. “Thank you, Miss Lopez.”

“And here I always thought you were a method actor.” Ella shakes her head. “This is way cooler.”

————–

Chloe still is not entirely sure how she is processing this. It’s been a few weeks since the wing bombshell, and she and Lucifer have tried to go back to their usual work, but all the unanswered questions hang thickly in the air. He’s been parceling out bits of information, dribs and drabs, but he still avoids coming clean in any great rush, and she can tell he’s still on edge and distracted about the whole situation, about what it means for them, about how they can possibly be anything like what they were before. It’s hard, admittedly, to go about your day-to-day life, to question suspects and fill out paperwork, knowing that the guy next to you is – well, who he is. It hasn’t changed anything, really. He’s still Lucifer. But yet it has, and neither of them are entirely sure how or why. Lucifer seems, if such a thing is possible, shy.

As Chloe is leaving the station that evening, having sent their latest case on to the prosecutor’s office and hoping she can get home, take a long bath, and drink a lot of wine, she finds Lucifer leaning against the Corvette in the staff parking lot, having a pensive smoke and listening to the distant sound of traffic. He glances up at the sound of her footsteps. “Detective.”

“Lucifer.” It sounds awkward, almost formal. “So… just. Flashing the station now, huh?”

It’s a mark of how off his footing he is these days that he doesn’t go for the golden opportunity to make some crack about the other kind of flashing he could do, if she’s interested. He blows out a meditative cloud of smoke. “Daniel will probably recover from the shock.”

“Probably, but…” Chloe hesitates. “All this secrecy and evasion, and now you’re just… okay with everyone knowing?”

“It’s not everyone,” Lucifer points out, with some asperity. “You, Daniel, and Miss Lopez. Oh, and Dr. Linda. I showed her at our session this morning.”

“So you’re seeing her again?” Chloe nods encouragingly. “That’s good.”

Lucifer sucks the last drag out of his cigarette and tosses the butt in the air, where it vanishes with a small puff. Chloe has never seen him like this in any number of ways, with this casual and unconscious use of what must be considerable power, and she wonders if she still affects him in the same way. He’s always said she makes him vulnerable, that he’s more human when she’s around, susceptible to injury, but as she can’t cancel out something that’s physically part of him, that does not seem to include the wings. Furthermore, as is evident by their very presence, the rules are changing, and she wonders suddenly if that’s played into some of his standoffishness around her. At least they more or less knew how it worked when he was Lucifer Morningstar, her eccentric but lovable coworker. Trying to navigate the dangerous waters of Lucifer Morningstar, apparently no-longer-fallen-angel and Devil in the flesh, is… different.

“If you’re here to have a go at me for showing them,” Lucifer says after a moment, tiredly, “then why not just get it over with?”

“No. I mean, they’re your wings, it’s your choice who you show them to.” Chloe sucks in a breath, attempting to steady herself. “I just… was going to say that I… well, that I miss you.”

He glances up, startled and wary. “I’ve been back, Detective. Haven’t I?”

“Yes, but… things have just been off with us for a long time, and I understand why they have been, and I know both of us are working through some things, but…” Now that she’s said it, it’s hard to hold back the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. She can’t quite look at his face, just in case. “I miss you, all right? I miss how we used to be, and… I don’t know who this new Lucifer is either. But I wouldn’t mind having my Lucifer back for a bit.”

Both of them catch that, how easily it slipped out – my Lucifer – and it remains hanging in the air for an uncomfortable moment. They cough, neither of them certain if they should acknowledge or ignore it. Then Lucifer blows out a slow sigh. “Come by Lux later,” he says. “Maybe we’ll see what we can sort out.”

“Okay.” Chloe smiles at him, small but genuine, and heads for her car. Drives home, makes dinner, asks if Maze would mind staying home with Trixie tonight (the demon doth protest too much, usually, as she is clearly content to sit and play whatever Trixe thinks up) and then wonders if Lucifer meant something special, or just, you know, drinks with friends. Chloe changes out of her usual jacket and jeans, lets her hair down, but doesn’t want to overdo it. Once it is late enough that most of the rush hour traffic has subsided (though this is L.A., so of course there is still some traffic), she gets back in the car and drives to Hollywood Boulevard.

She parks and goes inside the club. It’s a fairly quiet weekday night, no major events or parties, and the place is only about half-full, mellow jazz, low conversation. Lucifer is sitting by his piano, looking as if he’s spent the last several hours questioning his better judgment (though that would imply that he had better judgment), but he stands up nervously when he sees her. “Ah. Detective.”

“Hey.” Chloe smiles awkwardly, ducking her head, as she follows him to the elevator and up to the penthouse. He isn’t acting like he’s intending to swoop her away (in any sense of the word) and ravish her, though an admittedly thirsty part of her might not mind if he was. But they reach the apartment and step out, and Lucifer hesitates, then pulls off his jacket, leaving Chloe suddenly wondering if a hot night is on the agenda after all. She might have spent more time on her hair if so. “Lucifer – ”

He turns around – white shirt, suspenders, suit slacks, shined shoes. His usual ensemble.Then, with the soft rustle and faint glow that announces their arrival, the wings. It’s somewhat less shocking each time, a bit more normal, as much as this could ever be. He stands there, clearly hideously uncomfortable, as if he’s a museum artifact on display. “I… ah. There they are. If you had, well. Questions.”

Chloe has many, probably more than Ella, but she also doesn’t want to stand there and just interrogate him. What comes to mind is, “Why don’t they tear your clothes?”

“I’m not the Incredible Hulk, Detective.” Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “And besides, they’re angel wings. They don’t obey the laws of human physics.”

Chloe moves closer, circling around behind to look. She can’t help brushing her fingers lightly over them, and sees him shudder. “Do they weigh much?”

“No. Nothing, really.” Lucifer attempts a shrug. “Or perhaps I was just used to them before. They do seem heavier now.”

Chloe makes a small noise in her throat, still unable to believe that anything could be so soft. The question she really wants to know, of course, is the same as Ella’s. “Have you flown yet?”

“I tried. The other night.”

“Did it … not work?”

“Oh no. It worked.” Lucifer’s expression is odd. “But I’m not sure it’s a wise idea to get into the habit. The bloody things appeared, they could disappear again. Besides, I’m still planning to hack them off again myself if not.”

Chloe does not in the least believe him, but decides not to say so. She can tell that Lucifer is refusing to get into the habit again because he misses it too much to let himself think that he could have it on a consistent basis, or what it would mean to accept the wings rather than rejecting them again. She doesn’t get half of it, but there’s plenty mixed up with them, something that Lucifer cannot take without reservations, or possibly even at all. But be that all as it may, she will kick herself forever if she doesn’t ask at least once. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “Can you fly me?”

Lucifer looks as startled as if she just turned blue. “Fl – ?”

“Not for long,” Chloe says, feeling herself blush like a volcano. “Just, you know. Around the block or something.”

Lucifer continues to look stunned.

“I’m sorry, is that a huge angel faux pas or something?”

“I – no. It’s just, I… don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Certainly not to a human. Maybe a very long time ago, when I was a wee young devil, but – ”

Chloe takes a moment to consider the totally adorable mental image of a bunch of baby angels having piggyback races around heaven, and has to cough hard. “I’m sorry. You can forget I asked. I just – ”

“I mean.” Lucifer seems rather taken aback. “I suppose I could try. It will likely be horrible and cold and disappointing, though.”

“I’ll get over the shock.” Chloe musters up a smile, trying not to show how much she wants it. Even if, nothing else, just to touch him properly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Lucifer mutters something under his breath, then strides to the balcony and steps out, as Chloe hesitates, then follows him. He holds out his arms, and she steps over, linking her own arms around his neck, as he takes a firm grip on her waist. It feels a bit like Tarzan and Jane, really, but they make it work. Then he takes a deep breath, clearly cannot believe he is doing this, and says, “Ready, Detective?”

“Yeah. Don’t, uh. Don’t drop me.”

Lucifer gives her an indignant look, as it is clearly a personal insult to think he would ever be so clumsy. Then he backs up, takes a running start, and hurtles at the edge of the balcony, as Chloe has just enough time to think that she really hopes he’s practiced more than once. She does not particularly feel like being Failed Test Run #2.

The railing rushes toward them, Chloe squeals despite herself, and then they launch upwards in a whirl of white feathers, twenty stories above the ground. The small glowing dots of cars beetle past below, as they gain altitude with a few quick, effortless strokes, rising upward as Chloe likewise hopes that no helicopters are passing through. Her hair whips to every side, her eyes watering, as she tightens her death grip on him and tries not to look down. They are high. She doesn’t know how high, exactly, and probably would prefer not to. It’s definitely high. Very, very high. “Okay,” she squeaks, hoping her dangling shoe won’t fall off. “Got it!”

He glances at her with a distinctly devilish aspect. “Not afraid of heights, are you, Detective?”

“No, not really, just – ” She did, after all, ask for this. The view is also, to say the least, stupendous. Dark mountains to one side, dark sea to the other, and the endless, glittering city that is Southern California between. “But Lucifffff — ahhh!”

The reason for her sudden exercise in new high octaves is due to him plunging headfirst into a nearby fogbank like a kamikaze pilot. However fast she thought angels could go – she wasn’t sure – it is clearly much faster, and she gives an excellent full-throated scream, fingers going numb as she clings onto him for all her life is worth, as he barrel-races through it and emerges higher on the other side, as Chloe thinks she can practically reach up and snatch a star from the sky like a fat jewel. She has never seen the stars in Los Angeles before, and, it goes without saying, certainly never like this. She and Lucifer, damp from the mist and shivering in the wind, hug each other close, her feet dangling several thousand feet above I-10. The wings are still unearthly warm, and Lucifer spreads them to ride an updraft like a hawk, not flapping, just gliding. Chloe is never going to forget this moment as long as she lives.

Neither of them say anything, lost in a trance, as they lazily bank and soar. Chloe hitches her legs up around his waist, clinging to him like a sloth to a log, as he wraps his arms with reassuring firmness around her back. She is still half convinced that he’ll fake-drop her just to be a dick, but the only person more horrified than her at the possibility is him. And she does. Trust him.

After a few more broad swoops, as Lucifer can clearly hear her teeth starting to chatter like a nutcracker, he turns back and propels them the way they came. It is astounding how much power is in even half a beat of the wings, how far it sends them, as they glide through the dark air and back under the fog to the glow of L.A. Chloe is sure she sees someone goggling at them out the window of an office building, and then Lucifer’s own balcony is rushing up at them, he decelerates hard, and comes to an only slightly skidding landing. “Well, Detective?” he says, breathless but pleased with himself. “How was that?”

“That was – ” Chloe is still catching her own breath, which may take several years. “That. Was. Okay. Okay, then. I. Well. Wow. Okay.”

It takes them a moment to work out how to let go of each other, which they do with a slight cough. Her hands linger on him, as do his on her, until he reaches up to tidy a strand of wet hair out of her face. “I’m,” he says, and hesitates, oddly diffident. “I’m glad you liked it, Chloe.”

She has never been so close as she is then to leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing him, kissing him properly, the way she wants to and then some. They seem drawn to each other by some strange gravity nonetheless, leaning in, foreheads touching. In that moment, in that stillness, everything seems restored again. Not the way they were before, not quite, because it cannot be. But something new. And it is then, so simply, that Chloe realizes – not that she’s falling in love, as that would imply that it was half-done, that it could be reversed. No. That she already is. Long since, and long gone. That he is her world and heart and soul.

Rattled, she pulls back. “I – thanks, Lucifer. It’s late, I should get going.”

His eyes hold hers for a moment. If he senses what she just understood, he doesn’t say. Then he nods once, and steps away. “Good night, Detective,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

Barely catching her breath, knowing it’s cowardly, that she’s doing what he does, that she can hardly stand the magnitude of what is rising in her, the heat that is not from the wings – she runs.

#lightbringersamael #ask #deckerstar #deckerstar ff #welp i am having too much fun #lucifer

185 notes · View notes

nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 11 – Orange Sportsball Gets The Fuck Real

In which the Foxes play their first match of the season, I have questions about American college sports, my Percy Jackson obsession has a brief cameo, and I’m sadly less excited about Actual Sportsball Games than I should be.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

Thursday’s excitement had nothing on Friday’s. The whole school got decked out overnight with vibrant orange and white streamers. Ribbons and banners hung off every sidewalk lamp. Live student bands took over the amphitheater for short concerts and the student newspaper released that morning gave details for the afternoon parade.

Is that, like…………. Normal behavior on game days?? Actual American high school/college students, please confirm. Is this an actual thing???

I mean, I know y’all are big on sports and school spirit, but this big??

Please understand my confusion: At my school, no one fucking gave a shit about the sports teams. I didn’t even know when anyone had games/competitions unless we got told afterwards who won what brilliant award now, and even then like 5% of us cared. And I can’t speak for my uni yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same there as well. Do German unis even have sports teams?

I always liked to make fun of High School Musical 3 for having those giant ass banners displaying the athletes hanging in the halls. I am now starting to realize that might be perfectly normal for American schools.

What the fuck.

Also, Neil officially came out now – as a member of the Foxes, that is, of course.

Neil wanted to cut class and hide at Fox Tower until game time, but athletes weren’t allowed to call out without a legitimate medical excuse. Someone from the athletics committee went around all day counting heads through classroom windows, and Wymack would be the first to hear Neil was absent.

They seriously stalk their students all day in fear they might be skipping class? And these students are in college, they are grown adults, not 14-year-olds. Again, is this a thing, what the fuck??

Then again, we’re talking about the country who invented hall passes. This is probably not the craziest thing around.

Fortunately, the Foxes decide to display their first sign of group solidarity in these trying times and guide Neil from class to class. This is a really small detail, but I love it.

I’m imagining Neil as a lil baby duck who obediently follows a big spikey-haired Matt duck, a small white-pastel-y Renee duck or a glamorous blonde Allison duck, wagging behind them in a tiny duck-sized jersey.

Although, when you think about it, they’re all just lil baby ducks following a big Wymack momma duck.

(Someone draw me fanart, I’m BEGGING YOU.)

I’m getting off track. Back to the plot.

Andrew hadn’t lied to Neil back in May. In almost every article that talked of Neil’s pathetic experience Kevin was quoted as having high hopes for him. Kevin really had said that Neil would one day be Court.

Because this is the second time this has come up: What exactly does “being Court” mean?? Like, being Captain? Being MVP? Also, is this a regular sports expression or is is Exy-exclusive? Exyclusive?? Help.

A small silver lining of future hilariousness appears on the horizon: An Exy kickoff banquet is going to happen sometime in the next few chapter, and I am HYPED. This chaotic mess of a team + all their rivals + dates + drinks can only equal a Massive Fun Time™.

Fun for us, not for them, might I add. I am dying to see this.

“[Renee] hasn’t asked [Andrew] yet, but it’s inevitable. (…) Money’s on the table as to whether or not he says yes. Pot’s getting pretty big, so get your bet in fast.”

The only thing the Foxes had in common besides Exy and hardship was their strange obsession with betting on the stupidest things. Neil had figured that out only two weeks into practice. A week didn’t go by when there wasn’t money on something or another.

A team after my own heart <3 Can I join? I can never find anyone to bet on dumb things in my own circle of friends.

Will I throw this piece of paper in the bin on my first shot? Will the bus be late? Will Friend A and B hook up tonight? Will I lose my (nonexistent) emotional sanity to this series before the last book is over?

I don’t know about the others, but the last one is 100% happening.

“There’s something we haven’t told you yet,” Dan said. (…) “So Andrew’s technically legally required to take his medication, right? (…) He struck a bargain of his own with Coach. The only reason he signed with us is because Coach agreed to let him come off his drugs for game nights.”

Is this supposed to come as a big plot twist? Because I kind of saw that coming. 10 bucks says Andrew comes off his meds for all Important Moments.

*insert yet another rant about the negative portrayal of mental health meds as barbaric mind-numbing, mania-inducing ~happy pills~ here*

Anyways, back to game day!! Our beloved foxy nutcases are playing against the Breckenridge Jackals, which is shaping up to be a Fun Time™ as they are apparently the biggest bullies around (second only to the Edgar Allan Murder Mob Clique, of course).

However, when faced with his impending wipe-out on the court, our favourite Sassmaster McSavage reaches new levels of Hell Fuckin Yeah:

“[Gorilla] will break every bone in your body if you give him the chance.”

“Don’t worry, though,” Matt said. “He’ll probably be too busy killing Kevin and Seth to notice you.”

“This is my reassured face,” Neil said, pointing up at his blank expression.

SAVAGE.

I actually laughed so hard at that. This is some Percy Jackson level of sass right there.

Come to think about it, I want the entire AFTG series narrated by Percy Jackson, especially the chapter titles.

“I Am Offered A Foxy Deal”

“My Troubled Past Comes Back To Haunt My Ass”

“I Get Dragged Into Some Gay Shit”

“We Kick Serious Jackal Butt, Sort Of”

Remind me to make a full post of that once I’ve finished the series.

Off topic again. Sorry.

Before we finally begin the actual match (and wow, it’s 1.1k words already), Nicky seems to finally get the mental slaps I’ve been sending him since a few chapters ago:

Nicky looked at Neil. “Hey,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk after… Well. I wanted to say sorry, but I kept chickening out. Are we okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” Neil said.

Nicky weighed that for a minute, then sighed and said, “Fair enough.”

Deep sigh. Who are we kidding, I can never resist a self-aware comic relief, Nicky, you’re still one of my faves. At least he knows he fucked up.

And now, finally: It’s Orange Sportsball time!!

Time for fast-paced sports action, balls flying, racquets hitting, body-checks left and right, a flurry of energy and emotion… that I simply can’t get behind.

I’m sorry, you guys, but I found myself having to double- and triple-read passages here in order to keep up with who is standing where, who is passing to whom and just generally what exactly is going on. Maybe it has to do with my own lack of interest for any sports involving balls (or actually any sports that isn’t dance, cheer, or anything involving performance), but I’m not really excited about this whole game part, to put it mildly.

Don’t get me wrong: I am loving the emotions attached to it. Solidarity, passion, group dynamics and character development shown on the field, give me all that good shit. I just couldn’t care less about who’s passing to who. Forgive me.

Did someone say passion and group dynamics?

Neil’d watched his teammates fall apart to in-fighting all summer long, but now he finally saw them as a whole. As much as the Foxes disliked each other at times, they disliked their opponents more. They were still too fractured to be truly great, but they were good enough to give him chills.

This is shaping up to be good, you guys.

I can only imagine the sheer gloriousness in the upcoming books when Kandreil finally get their shit together and play on the field as a beautiful unstoppable three-way killing machine. I WILL DIE.

Twenty minutes into the game, Seth is crushed against a wall by three hundred pounds of pure douchebaggery – and I actually do feel sorry for him, not gonna lie – which means it’s time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for:

“Going on for Seth Gordon is freshman Neil Josten, number ten, of Millport, Arizona.”

Neil wondered if casket lids sounded like court doors being shut.

Ah yes, thank you for reminding me, even in the face of impending doom, how incredibly extra our boy Josten is.

“A national champion and an amateur? South Carolina’s gotten even crazier than usual.”

“An amateur and a cripple, you mean,” the dealer said.

Andrew slammed his racquet against the goal, making several athletes jump and drawing more than a few wary looks his way.

This is such a small detail but it’s the /best/. Nobody insults my boyfriends in front of me, fuckface.

Bla bla bla more sports bla bla, I’m putting everything remotely interesting that’s happening in a bullet list because let’s be honest, it’s not fucking much.

Neil scores! Twice! Good boy.

Matt takes a card for the team by punching the fuck out of Gorilla, what a babe.

Also, his mom is a professional boxer? When can we meet her. I’m always a sucker for strong women who could kick my ass.

Gorilla has been hitting Kevin’s hand on purpose all the time, which is not cool, yet not surprising, ain’t no honour in Exy injuries, apparently.

That is it, my dudes.

Writing the next chapter on a coach (yet again) as I’ll be visiting some friends in NRW, so I’ll be coming to you live from my Prime Flixbus Office Space, let’s see how that works out. Till next time, ily all. <3

#tfc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #would you look at that!!! I'm on time!!!!#amazing #don't get used to it

95 notes · View notes