#reluctant to acknowledge the abuse on screen
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CS AU: Conviction (11/11)
Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.
A/N: We have made it to the conclusions! Thanks y’all for going on this journey with me! Hope you enjoy this final chapter!
Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4 (especially since they interrupted their vacation to look this chapter over. You ladies ROCK!!) Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing Killian for the art.
Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
A laugh gurgled up from Henry’s little chest, his arms and legs flailing wildly in his cradle when Killian’s face came into view. “Good morning, my boy,” Killian cooed as he picked up the lad and nestled him against his chest. “Sleep well?”
“He slept very well,” Emma told him from behind her privacy screen where Elsa was assisting her in getting dressed for the day. “Fourth night in a row that he’s been out from one roll call to the next.”
Killian smiled down at the babe in his arms, Henry’s chubby hand trying to grasp the brass buttons of his uniform. “That’s my good lad,” he praised, placing a kiss to the soft fuzz at Henry’s temple.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?”
Killian turned to find Officer Booth standing at attention in the doorway. The tell-tale signs of fatigue from the night shift were evident in the dark patches beneath his eyes, making Killian reluctant to say, “Aye. I need you to escort the ladies on their walk before returning to the barracks. I shall relieve you as soon as I am finished meeting with the Warden and he departs for the Magistrate.”
Booth acknowledged the order with a dutiful nod, then met Killian’s eyes with a significant gaze. The officer knew what business was to be discussed and the purpose for which the warden would be departing for the Magistrate’s office. They all did. The Board was meeting to rule on Swan’s petitions that morning, and both her solicitor and the warden had been summoned to attend. Although Killian knew he and his brother would likely have the same conversation they’d been having over the past several days, he did not want his brother to leave without speaking to him, especially since neither he nor Emma would be in attendance at the ruling.
“All set.”
Emma and Elsa came out from behind the privacy screen, both looking the picture of perfection with a poise and grace Killian knew only existed on the surface. Beneath their cool and calm facades they were just as anxious as he was about today’s Board meeting, but had clearly determined to meet the day head on with a measure of hope and optimism.
Killian envied them that.
“Here. I’ll take him,” Booth offered, stepping forward to wrestle Henry out of Killian’s arms. The lad fussed a bit, reaching for Killian as he was pulled away, then quickly quieted when Booth pulled funny faces, enthralled by the amusing expressions and accompanying noises.
“You’ll join us soon?” Emma inquired as Killian led her from her cell, the quiver in her voice not escaping his attention.
Taking her hand, Killian gave it a confident squeeze. “Aye. I won’t be but a few minutes. Liam will need to head for the Magistrate’s office soon.” Walking with her, he paused at the top of the side stairs, letting Booth and Elsa go on ahead as he took her other hand and pressed her palms against his chest. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but try and enjoy the beautiful morning. We’ll all hold on to hope while we can, aye?”
A soft smile ticked up the corners of her mouth as she nodded. “Tell the warden again how much I appreciate him advocating for me.”
“I will,” Killian murmured, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her so he might offer her the comfort of his embrace. “You should go. I’ll catch up.”
Acquiescing, Emma turned towards the stairs, but before she began her descent, she turned back and placed a quick peck to his cheek. The hurried sound of her footsteps down the stairs matched the quickened rhythm of his heart.
Ever since their shared moment he had longed to have her in his arms again, to feel the softness of her lips and the warmth of her tongue against his. His nights had been filled with torment as the memory of her touch overwhelmed him, and reminiscence had turned to fantasies fueled by desire and longing he could no longer keep at bay.
Releasing a shaky breath, Killian ran his hand through his hair and made his way to his brother’s office. He had half-expected the warden to go straight to the Magistrate’s office this morning, however, both he and Elsa had arrived shortly after Killian had. He should have known that, like him, his sister-in-law would want to be by Emma’s side as they waited for the ruling to be passed down, and he was grateful that Liam had chosen to escort his wife to the prison first, giving him an opportunity to touch base with his brother one last time.
“Have you everything you’ll need?” Killian asked after being waved into the office.
“I believe so,” Liam replied, reviewing some papers on his desk. “I have your, and the rest of the officers’, statements regarding Miss Swan’s character, and the unanimous consensus amongst the guards that she be released. Hopper will have statements from the community with a similar show of support. The only question is whether the Board will hear such testimony.”
“They have to,” Killian insisted, not for the first time. He and Liam had gone over the hearing a dozen times, approaching it from every angle and discussing every possible argument and outcome. Both brothers, along with Swan’s solicitor, had been incensed at the Board’s denial of Emma’s attendance, leaving it in the hands of Mr. Hopper and Warden Jones to plead her case. Liam had offered to take Killian with him, presuming his captain would warrant admittance into the proceedings, but as much as he would love nothing more than to speak on his Swan’s behalf, there was no guarantee he would be extended that privilege, and he would much rather wait by Emma’s side at the prison than a lonely corridor outside the Boardroom.
Liam checked the time on his watch and sighed. “I best be off.”
As Liam gathered his things, Killian could hear frantic footsteps making their way from the side stairs before the out of breath voice of Mr. Hopper inquired, “Have you received word?”
“What are you d--”
“Have you received word?” Hopper asked again, cutting off Liam’s inquiry.
“Word of what?”
“The Board’s ruling! I was just informed by the Magistrate’s office that they met in secret last night and ruled on the petitions.”
“You cannot be bloody serious!” Killian roared, but Hopper continued, unfazed.
“Apparently, their decision was dispatched to both my office and the prison this morning, but as I went straight to the Magistrate for the meeting, I have not been to my office yet. I came here since the prison is closer to see if you have received the missive.”
“They met in bloody secret?” Killian railed on. “How? How is that even--”
“Sir?” All eyes snapped to Officer Briar, who was hovering at the doorway, holding an official looking envelope in his hand. “This just arrived for you from the Magistrate’s office.”
Philip handed the envelope to his warden, who then dismissed the officer, and Killian watched, his pulse thundering in his ears and his stomach churning with anxiety and rage as his brother opened the letter.
“They cannot do this,” Killian said as Liam read over the contents. “They can’t just rule without any representation on Emma's behalf! We’ll appeal. All the way to the Governor if necessary!”
“Killian,” Liam began attempting to calm him, but he had already whipped himself up into a righteous frenzy.
“I mean it, brother! They cannot do this! We cannot allow this injustice to stand! We--”
“Killian!” Liam shouted, quieting his captain and nodding towards Hopper who was now looking over the letter. “Read it.”
His brother’s expression, coupled with the astonished look on Hopper’s face, prompted Killian to snatch the parchment from the solicitor’s hands, his eyes widening and heart leaping after reading only a few lines of the ruling. Killian’s eyes snapped up, and the two men were staring back at him, each with the same edict in their gaze, though it was Hopper who voiced it.
“Go,” he said. “She’d want to hear it from you.”
Killian needed no further prompting. Rushing from the room with the missive clutched in his hand, he barrelled down the side stairs and sprinted around the exterior of the prison until the moseying party of three came into view.
“Officer Booth!” Killian shouted, gaining their attention. “Would you please escort Mrs. Jones back inside? I’ll take over as Miss Swan’s escort.”
“Of course,” August dutifully replied.
“Oh, and Elsa,” Killian began, spying the baby buggy as he caught up to them, “Would you take Henry back inside with you?”
“Why--”
“Please, Elsa,” he said with firm intent in his voice. His sister-in-law’s eyes dropped to the crumpled parchment in his fist and seemed to deduce the reasoning for herself.
“We’ll see you back inside,” she said to Emma as she steered the carriage back towards the prison, following Officer Booth.
“Killian, what is going on?” Emma inquired as he waited until they were alone.
“I have something to show you,” he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the fortified wall that surrounded the prison yard.
Emma stopped short when they reached the gate, the only access point that led in and out of the prison, and one no prisoner was allowed to pass through without explicit permission from either the Warden or the Magistrate.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “You know I can’t--”
“Actually,” Killian said, cutting off her protest and pressing the letter into her hand. “You can.”
Brow furrowed, Emma opened the crumpled piece of paper and began to look over its contents. As she read, Killian prompted her forward, step by step, until she crossed the line forbidden to inmates, placing herself free of the prison wall when she finally gasped.
“A pardon?” Her eyes darted from the page to Killian’s face. “The Board ruled that I be given a full pardon? How? When?”
“Hopper arrived not long after you left for your walk and told Liam and me that the Board had met in secret last night. This letter came almost immediately after.” Taking her hand, Killian pulled her a step closer. “It’s official and effective immediately, love. You're free.”
“I’m free,” she parroted back to him in shock, then elation burst from her, shimmering in her eyes and reverberating in her tone as threw her arms around his neck and exclaimed, “I’m free!”
Wrapping his arms around her, Killian lifted her off her feet and swung her around in his own exuberance, their laughter, full of joy and relief, echoing off the stone wall and surrounding trees.
Setting her back onto her feet, Killian cupped her face and assured her, “You and Henry won’t have to spend another night here. After today, you won’t ever have to set foot in this place again.”
Uncertainty clouded the delight in her eyes, her worry manifesting as she chewed her lip before asking, “But… where are we to go? How am I to provide for myself? For Henry? I have no plan--”
Reaching up, Killian scratched at the back of his ear and confessed, “Actually, I’ve already taken the liberty to make those arrangements for you, in the hopes of such an outcome. Granny has agreed to give you a room at the boarding house. You’ll have lodging and meals in exchange for domestic help, as well as a fair wage to help you get back on your feet. You can have Henry with you at all times, and will never be far from him whilst you work.”
Swan’s mouth fell open, speechless, until she remembered, “But… Granny has no vacancies. All of her rooms are taken, so how can she--”
“You and Henry will have my room,” he told her, causing her to balk. “It is actually one of the proprietor rooms anyway,” he added. “Located next to the kitchen and removed from the men’s rooms. It was Ruby’s before she married Graham, and will suit you both well.”
“I can’t take your room,” Emma protested. “Where will you go?”
Killian shrugged. “Back to the barracks.” Taking a deep breath, he took her hand in his, brushing his thumb over the backs of her knuckles. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Lowering himself to one knee, he kept hold of her hand and gazed up at her astonished face. “Unless you say yes to this next question. Then we can all stay in my room together until we find a place of our own.”
Emma gasped, her free hand flying first to her chest then up to her mouth as tears formed in her eyes.
“I love you, Emma Swan,” Killian declared, pouring out every ounce of his devotion to her. “You and Henry. I want you to be… I want us to be a family. I want to be your husband, and I want to be Henry’s father, so… What do you say, Swan? Will you marry me?”
“I…I,” she stammered, before a wide grin broke across her face. “Yes!”
Surging up off his knee, Killian’s lips crashed against hers. His hands tangled in her hair and fisted the back of her dress as she clung to him with the same jubilant desperation.
“I love you, too,” she murmured, their foreheads pressed together as they attempted to catch their breath. Her eyes flicked up beneath her lashes, her gaze clear and unburdened for the first time since they’d met. “I want to be your wife, and more than anything, I want you to be Henry’s father.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she released a shuddering exhale. “Though, I suppose, if I’m honest, I already consider you his father. You are his father, in every way that matters.” Locking her gaze with his once more, she reaffirmed, “And we both love you, so yes. Killian Jones, I will marry you.”
Knowing they had people waiting to celebrate Swan’s freedom kept them from losing themselves in one another completely. After a few more moments of exploring the newfound freedom to express their love for one another, they made their way back to the prison. Upon entering through the main door, they spotted an assembly gathered on the catwalk overhead.
“Well?” Elsa called out, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Emma smiled, and shared a brief glance with Killian before she shouted, “I’m free!”
The cheers and exuberant sounds clanging off the prison bars was damn near deafening, but it somehow managed to increase in volume and enthusiasm when Killian pulled Emma into his arms and announced, “And… She said yes!” before kissing her soundly.
~/~
The surf gently lapped against the shore as the setting sun warmed Killian’s face. Breathing in the salty brine, he shuffled his feet in the sand, his toe, still bare, with his shoes hanging off the fingers of his left hand, skimmed against something hard. Glancing down, he could see the iridescent pink of a shell peeking out from the fine particles, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he bent down to pick it up.
Turning the lustrous object over in his hand, he was reminded of the promise he’d given his Swan, his wife, at Christmas, and pocketed it before turning back to see if she was ready to depart. Although, he knew getting her to leave would take some coaxing.
A few of their friends still lingered, perhaps wishing to give the newlyweds some sort of send off, but most had already taken their leave. Although they had wanted a small, quiet affair, neither of them had truly anticipated how many from the community and beyond would insist on witnessing the vows they’d exchanged here on the beach only a few hours ago, and if he had to hazard a guess, Killian would say that at the end of it all, neither he nor his bride would have had it any other way.
That did not mean his sister-in-law was off the hook for arranging the lavish affair behind their backs, even if Killian was impressed that she had managed to do so in only three short weeks.
Three weeks.
Three weeks since Swan’s pardon. Three weeks of watching the transformation that had begun behind stone walls come to fruition as she stepped out of the shame and shadows of her past and into the full confidence of a bright and happy future. And it would be happy, he’d make certain of that. They were already off to a good start.
“Captain! She told me to tell you she is nearly ready,” Belle called out, stepping out from behind a partition and taking hold of Will Scarlet’s hand, pulling him along. “Henry is almost finished with his feeding. She thought you’d want to tell him goodnight before Liam and Elsa--”
“Aye,” Killian said, quickening his pace towards the partition where Emma had excused herself to nurse Henry, giving him his final feeding for the day in the hopes he would sleep through the night in his aunt and uncle’s care, so Killian and his bride could enjoy an uninterrupted wedding night.
“Thank you both so much for coming,” Killian told the pair. Though he meant it, the words were more manners than anything else at the moment, eager as he was for everyone to leave so he could finally have some alone time with his wife.
“It was our pleasure,” Belle responded, smiling up at him. “You both deserve all the happiness.”
One of the women helping to clean up from the reception called out to Belle, and she excused herself to lend a hand, leaving the captain and one of his former inmates standing awkwardly with one another.
“I, uh… I want to thank you for… you know. Letting me be here today,” Scarlett said clumsily.
“It wasn’t my doing,” Killian told him, causing the man to wince. “No, I meant…” Killian sighed. Scarlet was a decent man. He’d proven as much with his steadfast friendship to Emma. Not to mention, his willingness to work hard and become a model prisoner whilst also earning the affections and trust of one of the kindest and cleverest women he knew. “Elsa and Belle, they planned all of this, and it was you who earned your parole in time to be here. So, while I am glad you were able to be here to stand in support of Emma and me, I had nothing to do with either the invite or the ruling.” Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, Killian gave it a squeeze and said, “That’s all I meant.”
Scarlet nodded dubiously, clearly unconvinced. Not by Killian’s assertions that he was glad Scarlet had come to the wedding, but rather, “Nothing to do with the ruling, huh? I suppose the letter of support from the Captain of the Guard was from a different captain, then? Captain o’ the Fairy people, perhaps?”
“All right,” Killian replied in a tone of mock exasperation. “Maybe I had something to do with it.”
Scarlet’s impudence softened in his features, replaced by an expression of gratitude, albeit an awkwardly bashful one. “Yeah, well… thanks, Cap’n. Truly.”
“Just promise me I won’t regret the things I said in that letter,” Killian replied pointedly. “You’ve a second chance. Don’t waste it.”
“Oh, believe me, Cap,” Scarlet said, his eyes cutting towards the object of his affection. “I intend to make the most of my second chance.” Turning his attention back, he stuck out his hand towards Killian. “I won’t let you down.”
Accepting the proffered hand, Killian shook it and mused, “No. I don’t think you will.”
In his periphery, Killian caught sight of Emma making her way out from behind the partition, prepared to hand Henry off to Elsa. Just as it had when he’d watched her walk towards him along the beach, escorted by Mother Superior, and looking utterly ethereal in her ivory colored dress with delicately intricate lace detail, her hair swept up in soft braids and embellished with baby’s breath, Killian’s heart stuttered and his breath caught in his chest. She was stunning, and she was his. Just as he was hers.
Vaguely aware that Scarlet had said his farewells and joined Belle, Killian made his way to his wife who was fussing over Henry.
“He should have everything he needs in the bag,” she said, laying the groggy babe in the buggy. Henry wiggled and settled into place, rubbing his eyes and releasing a yawn. “If he gives you any trouble we’ll only be a few blocks--”
“We’ll be fine,” Elsa assured her, pulling Emma away from the carriage and giving her a tight hug. “You two enjoy your evening, and don’t worry about a thing.”
Giving them both a knowing wink, Elsa steered the buggy towards the main road where Liam was waiting, finishing his hosting duties as he bid farewell to the remaining guests on Killian and Emma’s behalf. Killian gave his brother a wave of thanks, then grabbed his bride’s hand, urging her down the beach and away from well-wishers so they would not be delayed in their escape.
Laughing, Emma followed after him. “In your haste to get me alone, I believe you have taken us the wrong way,” she teased. “The boarding house is the other way.”
“Aye,” he replied, slowing his pace and threading his fingers with hers. “But we aren’t headed to the boarding house.”
“We aren’t?”
“No,” he replied, his eyes full of a mischievous glint as he gave her a lop-sided smile. “I have a surprise for you.”
Another laugh bubbled from her chest. “I’m not sure I can take many more of those today.”
Killian knew the feeling. The entire day had been a wonderful surprise, filled with so much love and joy. Of course, they had known they would be married today, but both had been under the impression the affair would be small and subdued, with only a scant few in attendance. When he’d arrived at the venue, the beach being the one place both he and Emma had immediately agreed upon for the ceremony, Killian had realized that would not be the case.
Naturally, Liam and Elsa were there, each of them standing by Killian and Emma’s side, respectively. On the front row was Granny, holding little Henry in her lap as Ruby and Graham sat beside her, keeping the lad entertained. It was because of Graham that the entire Misthaven guard staff had been able to attend. He had brought a few of his own officers from Glowerhaven to oversee the prison, and it had meant so much to look out among the assembly and see his fellow officers seated in the crowd, many with their own lady loves at their sides. Indeed, the sheer number of attendees had been a bit overwhelming, but every bit of anxiety and nerves had left him when Emma had made her appearance.
They’d promised themselves to one another at the edge of the surf with the early evening horizon as their backdrop. Bishop Merlin - who was filling in for Bishop Spencer while the man took an unexpected sabbatical, mostly likely prompted by the rumors that had emerged from the Board’s investigation of Sydney Glass and their statements regarding Emma’s pardon - officiated the ceremony and had declared them husband and wife even as the cheers and whistles had already begun. It had taken every ounce of Killian’s patience and propriety to endure the reception that had followed, eager as he was to consummate their marriage. Given the glances, tinted with longing and desire, that caused a healthy glow to blush her cheeks, Killian knew his Swan had felt much the same.
“Mother Superior had some intriguing news to share,” Emma said, filling the silence with a slight warble in her tone. Wedding night jitters setting in, perhaps?
“Oh?”
“She said Bishop Merlin plans to reopen the Misthaven Convent in Spencer's absence. She and the other nuns will likely be returning by summer’s end. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Aye,” Killian replied. “I’ll have to let Liam and Robin know so they can reestablish the relationship between the convent and the prison.”
“Why Robin? Was he the liaison before the convent closed?”
“No,” Killian hedged, slowing their steps and bringing them to a stop. “I was. As captain. But, uh… that will be Robin’s duty now.”
“What? Why?”
Gesturing towards the building in front of them, Killian replied, “Because of this.”
Emma’s head snapped towards the structure, a modest yet charming house that sat atop a small bluff overlooking the waves. With furrowed brow, she glanced back at Killian, her question knitted in the tight lines of her forehead.
“It’s the Harbour Master House,” he explained. “The current Harbour Master has no use of it, being an older, single gentleman who prefers to reside in the apartment over his office at the docks, so I negotiated for it when he offered me the position of Wharf Captain.”
“You… You took a new position? You’re leaving the prison?”
Killian gently took both her hands in his and ran his thumbs over the backs of her knuckles. “These past few weeks have made it clear to me,” he began quietly. “I don’t belong there any longer.” A heavy sigh left his chest. “The prison has been an important part of my life for so long, but now I have something of even greater importance. You and Henry. I want to share every part of my life with you both, and I cannot do that if I remain at the prison.”
“Of course you can,” she insisted, squeezing his hands. “You know I would support you no matter--”
“I know that, love,” he said, cutting her off softly. “But I also know how difficult it would be for you, visiting me at work, bringing Henry by to say hello. Especially with your old cell just across the hall from my office, which believe me, is its own brand of torture to me each day I patrol those corridors. Besides,” he murmured, turning her attention back towards the house. “Unless Liam resigns as warden, I could never hope to achieve a benefit such as this in my current position. Plus… I rather fancy the idea of working at the docks. I always did prefer the sea to the country, remember?”
“I remember.” Her quiet smile and nostalgic expression told him she too was thinking back to those midnight talks all those months ago.
Pulling her towards the front of the house, Killian continued to sell her on the idea of it being their home. “It has a lovely parlor, big enough to entertain guests, and the kitchen overlooks a small garden area with the sea just beyond.” Gesturing to the second story, he went on, “Our bedroom also faces the ocean, and across the hall is a decent sized room for Henry to move into once he’s ready to leave ours, and just next to that is a third room for when we…” Pausing, he glanced down at Emma who was adoringly staring up at him, having already ascertained who the third room might be for. “That is… if you’d want another. I would not wish to presume, and you would still be close enough to the boarding house to continue working there, should you choose to. I only--”
She cut off his words with the press of her mouth, the lifting edges of her smile brushing against his lips. “It’s perfect.” Flicking her gaze up at him, she coyly said, “Why don’t you take me inside so I can see these extra rooms for myself. Then we can begin working towards filling them.”
A wide grin broke over Killian’s face, and Emma gave a soft shriek when he picked her up into his arms. “As you wish,” he responded with a growl, carrying her over the threshold of their future. Placing her back on her feet, his arms circled her waist as he murmured, “Welcome home, Mistress Jones.” Crashing his lips to hers, he kicked the door closed behind them, all the while kissing her… with great conviction.
The End
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After the Bridge has Burned (part 14)
Warnings: Language, mentions/implications of substance abuse, depictions of malnourishment
Words: ~3.5k
POV: Ace
“You said what?” Kate yelled into her phone, her face inches away from her screen.
Ace rolled his eyes as he continued to search through his suitcase for a clean pair of sweats. Accepting Kate’s FaceTime was quickly turning out to be a bad idea. Of course Ace knew if he hadn’t, she’d only spam him with more and more requests until he answered. Still, he shouldn’t have told her the truth about the past evening—shouldn’t have brought it up at all.
“Ace!” Kate yelled again, demanding his attention. Instead of giving it to her, Ace reached for his phone propped up on the motel bed’s pillows and tipped it over so the screen faced down.
“Pick me up! I’m not done talkin’!” Kate demanded, quieter now that the phone’s speakers were blasting into the mattress.
“I’m done talking about Felix, Kate,” Ace responded.
He’d spent the last twenty minutes explaining the last two and a half hours to Kate. She already knew that Felix and Élodie were coming—he’d texted her the moment Élodie hung up her video call earlier. But now she insisted on knowing about how things went down. The short and sweet: not good. Ace wasn’t proud of it, but he left Felix in that driveway—didn’t look back either. He’d walked in, grabbed his clothes, changed, and did what he did best; he ran away.
“Plus, I’m changing.” He quickly added as he found a pair of black sweatpants at the bottom of his suitcase.
“Hey! I need to see you too!” Kate reminded him.
“No you don’t,” Ace said as he discarded his jeans, still a little damp from pulling them from Claudette’s dryer early. Did he care that he was changing knowing full well his motel blinds were open behind him? Not at all. The employees here have probably seen horrors worse than his decrepit ass.
“Yes I do,” Kate demanded, putting emphasis on every word. “We had a deal, old man.”
Ace rolled his eyes again, adding a long winded sigh with it. Pulling his sweats up to his hips, Ace grabbed the phone from the bed and propped it up again.
“Keep calling me old and I’m blocking your number,” Ace warned.
“If it upset you that much, you’d ‘ave done it by now,” Kate said, sitting back then drinking from a water bottle. “Let me see.”
Kate could be referring to a couple different areas of Ace; in this context, she wanted to see his torso. His torso was one of the few spots on Ace where he couldn’t hide his weight. When Ace lost weight, it all came out of his stomach first, accentuating his ribs until he looked unhealthy. And, if Ace was being honest with himself, he was unhealthy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He’d tried satisfying the hunger pains by flooding his stomach with water or alcohol, but that only worked for an hour or so. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the headaches he got on the daily.
Anger simmering down into reluctance, Ace grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, exposing his stomach and half his ribs. In a quick sequence, Kate’s eyes went wide followed by her approaching her phone’s screen again. Ace immediately threw his shirt back down, feeling guilty.
“Ace,” Kate complained, her voice harboring both worried tones and angry ones. “You look like you weigh nothin’.”
Ace didn’t say anything. Grabbing his phone, he positioned it leaning against his suitcase so it perfectly faced the other twin bed of the room—the one Ace chose to sit on since he knew this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon now.
“When’s the last time you’ve ate?” Kate questioned, her southern accent she’d inherited becoming more prominent with each question.
Ace shrugged, avoiding looking at his phone like it’d turn him to stone if he gazed at it. Ace leaned over himself, forearms resting on his thighs. This interaction felt oddly similar to being scolded by a disappointed parent; something Ace still remembered all too well.
“Ace,” Kate repeated, now sounding more concerned. “Are you even eatin’?”
“Not really,” Ace managed, unable to lie to Kate. Compulsive liar was a title a lot of people used for Ace, and he embraced it for the most part. However, lying to Kate was something he’d never been able to do.
“Why not?” Kate asked.
“Everything tastes like ash, Kate,” Ace admitted back, a sharp point to his tone. “Ashy dirt with the consistency of sludge. I can’t get anything down.”
“Well…” Kate stopped short, determination in her voice but her face told a different story—she couldn’t find a solution to that problem. Her mouth twisted to the right as she looked away to a different part of her bus. She was alone; she usually was when she called.
Ace sat, silently waiting for Kate to continue. He hated this topic. If talking about Felix was a topic he wanted to avoid, he’d rant all day about the German if it meant attention was taken away from him. Honestly, Ace wanted to know how she was doing. Other than her touring, Ace didn’t know much about her recent home life and what not. He wished she’d take the reins and talk about herself instead; if nothing else, just so Ace could focus on her instead of his current pounding headache.
“Is it…withdrawal related?” Kate asked, sounding like she didn’t want to.
Ace nodded.
Kate was the one person who knew about Ace’s past after they collectively escaped the Entity. From his relationship problems with Felix to what he did to cope with said problems. Kate helped him through all of it. Even now, making sure he was okay and sober with daily check-ins like this.
“How long term are these withdrawals?” Kate asked.
Ace shrugged.
It’d been a long time since he dealt with substance abuse and the affects his body endured during withdrawals. Last time he fell into long term withdrawals, Ace went days without sleeping; it drove him nuts. But this, the lack of an appetite, it was a whole new ballpark. Intrusive thoughts had Ace desperate for a relapse, but he remained seated, focused on Kate. He made her a promise and he intended to keep it.
“I’m so sorry Ace,” Kate said with a thick coat of sympathy in her voice. “There really ain’t nothin’ you can stand? What about smoothies?”
Ace shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of gave up after a while.”
“You need to eat, Ace.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have anything at Claudette’s?”
“I left, remember?”
Kate’s expression hardened a little. Her nostrils flared as she let out an exasperated sigh. “You shouldn’t have to leave. That pompous, inbred snake shouldn’t have come in the first place.”
“Kate—”
“I’m serious! What good has he done? Fucker don’t even know how to give a decent apology.”
“Kate.”
“I otta come up there myself and rip his throat out for—”
Ace cut Kate short by quickly reaching over and hanging up the FaceTime call. Sitting back, Ace waited while biting the inside of his cheek. A few moments later, Ace’s phone screen lit up with a new request for a FaceTime call; he answered it.
“Point taken,” Kate said immediately, her face neutral.
Ace hunched over again, arms on his knees, not wanting to add to the conversation. He stared at the floor, drawing over the patterned motel carpet with his eyes to distract himself.
“Ace.” Kate’s voice gently called out to him. Slowly, Ace lifted his gaze to meet her blue-green eyes, all concern and worry. Her compassion always drenched his senses like a bucket of ice water. She was so wholeheartedly sweet and willing to simply be there for anyone; Ace loved that about her, except for situations like these—in situations where he wanted to be alone.
The longer he stared back at her the worse Ace’s emotions became. He felt like she was burrowing into him, seeing the parts of him he never opened up; the parts that concerned Felix. First, his throat tightened while his tear ducts began to sting just under his eyes. Then, his hands began to shake. Ace had to bite down on the inside of his lip just so he wouldn’t begin to frown. But all of it was for nothing. Kate could see everything he was doing, all the emotions he was fighting.
“Oh Ace, honey,” Kate fretted, drawing close to her phone screen again.
Finally, Ace’s throat broke, relinquishing a pathetic sob. He quickly covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut—it wasn’t enough to keep the tears from flowing over his cheeks though.
What was a fight to keep the tears back quickly turned into a battle of trying to breathe without breaking into violent sobs. He hated crying in front of people, hated it more than anything. Even though she technically wasn’t here, Ace still struggled to even look at his phone, even though Kate was actively trying to pull his attention back to her.
“Ace, I’m so sorry sweetheart. Please, you’re okay, honey. Look at me,” Kate pleaded, her voice thick with emotion like she was nearly about to cry too.
Ace shook his head, gasping in a breath before he used his other hand to cover more of his face. His whole body was shaking now from the attempts to keep himself still (how ironic).
“Ace. Breathe,” Kate ordered gently.
More sobs bellowed out of Ace as he lost his grip on the little control he had left. Before he knew it, Ace was on his knees hunched over himself on the floor between both beds, crying like a child.
How pathetic. Who cries like this over a man who hadn’t cared about him in years?
Ace does, because, deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. Felix had said so, Ace just didn’t want to admit it. Because admitting that he was wrong meant that he was now the proud one. The one that refused to compromise, to make things better. He was the snake.
“He hugged me, Kate,” Ace whimpered into the floor.
“What? Ace sweetie, bring me down there with you.”
Ace’s arm felt like a forty pound weight as he reached up for his phone on the bed. Fishing around for it, Ace eventually found the corner of it and pulled it down to his level. Still sniffling and fighting to find a steady rhythm for his breathing, Ace found Kate’s misty eyes anyway and repeated what he’d said.
“He hugged me.”
“You told me that,” Kate sniffled.
“I didn’t tell you that I didn’t want him to let go.” Ace barely made it through his confession before another sharp sob escaped his throat.
“Ace, sweetie, please take a second to breathe. I don’t care if you start crying like a maniac, please try and calm down a little.”
Ace let his phone fall back onto the floor, screen up, before he did the same, laying on his back. His breathing was nothing short of erratic at first. Short, quick inhales followed by longer exhales. He let the tears pour out of the corners of his eyes as he tried to focus on leveling himself.
“I’m right here, honey,” Kate reminded him after a minute of silence.
“I hate crying,” Ace admitted.
“It’s good for you, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
Ace slowly fought his post-cry exhaustion and forced himself to sit up against the bed. He grabbed his phone again and held it up, finding Kate leaning against her couch's armrest, her eyes still plagued with worry. Regardless, she smiled the second she saw him.
“I know you’re not better,” she said gingerly. “But, it sounds to me like you didn’t want to leave.”
Ace shook his head. “I didn’t.” Ace blinked away quickly rising tears again before continuing. “I wanted to stay right there. I wanted to…”
“Hug him back?” Kate guessed.
Ace nodded, closing his eyes as another tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away with another sniffle.
“Why didn’t you?” Kate asked.
As he thought, Ace’s mind drew a blank. There was nothing in his mind but the emotional fog his crying had left behind. He felt like he was in the kind of mental state experienced just before the body drifted to sleep. Sleep sounded so nice to him right now, especially since his crying only elevated his headache. Ace rubbed at his temple with his free hand for a moment before answering.
“Pride, I guess,” he muttered with a sigh.
Kate remained quiet for a moment, nodding at what he’d said.
“You really never going to give him a second chance?”
“Would you?”
“Yeah, I would.”
Ace’s brow pinched at the immediacy of her answer.
“Ace, I know what I said earlier, and yes I’m mad at him for what he did to you. However, while we may not know Felix out here, we got to know him quite a bit in the Entity. And that man was prone to makin’ some of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever seen.”
Kate ended that sentence with a smile, contagious enough to affect Ace. He tried to fight it, but some of those memories of Felix in trials or around the camp brought a little joy to his face.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about,” Kate teased.
“Unfortunately,” Ace mumbled.
Kate chuckled. “He’d throw himself between you and the killer even though one more hook would kill ‘im. Or he’d be dumb enough to ‘borrow’ a flashlight from one of the girls and not tell ‘em. He’s book smart, he’s not street smart.”
Ace nodded as he reminisced, staring off towards the bathroom of his motel room.
“He doesn’t have any relationship smarts either,” Kate added.
Ace’s eyes drifted back to his phone, one eyebrow lifted as though her statement was obvious.
“Think about it, Ace. We both know ‘im. He said he grew up without a dad. Mom wasn’t too in his life either ‘cause she had to pick up the slack, if she wasn’t grieving the loss of her husband. Now he’s a grown ass man, no people skills, drinks his feelings away, and has never been taught once how to be with someone, let alone communicate with them.”
“That’s probably why I got a business email as a break up text—”
“You need to delete that.”
Ace narrowed his gaze at Kate who was currently shooting him a leveling glare too.
“I know you still have that text. Delete it.”
“Why?”
“Because it is a knife in your chest, Ace,” Kate said slowly, delivering each word like an icy punch. “Yes, Felix may have buried it there by sending it, but you’re only twisting it more each time you see that message in your phone.”
“I—”
“Delete.”
“Kate—”
“It.”
The pair glowered at each other for a long period of time, Ace having to blink constantly, not only from his eyeballs being dried out from crying, but also from his screaming headache. The light from the lamp on the nightstand beside him felt like shards of glass stabbing into the tops of his eyes.
Great. A migraine, just what I need, Ace thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll wait,” Kate insisted, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms.
Ace shook his head as he switched apps. “You are insufferable, you know that?”
“Only when I need to be,” Kate gloated and tossed her curls back behind her shoulder with an all too smug smile on her face.
Ace ignored her as he traversed his multitude of photos (most of which were just pictures sent to him by others) to find the three text screenshots. He paused, heart beating hard in his chest again. He didn’t want to enlarge the pictures. Even though he basically knew those texts word for word, he didn’t want to read them again—read the last, heart wrenching words Felix ever said to him before today.
“Just rip the stitches, hun,” Kate offered gently. She read his expression perfectly, knowing the turmoil he was going through without so much as a word.
Ace pulled in and held onto a deep breath as he selected those three texts and hit delete. A secondary, “Are you sure you want to delete these (3) pictures?” prompt showed up. Another moment and Ace hit that button as well, exhaling as he did.
“Better?” Kate asked.
“No,” Ace answered bitterly, switching back to FaceTime.
“Give it time,” Kate said with a decisive wave of her hand. “While your waitin’.” She leaned in close to her phone’s screen again. “Eat somethin’!”
Ace rolled his eyes. “I don’t have anything here.”
“DoorDash somethin’ then.”
“You think I have money?”
“You got CashApp? I’ll send you some.”
Ace sighed. “I’m not taking money from you Kate.”
“Then I’ll text Claudette. Make her bring you somethin’.”
“Don’t you dare,” Ace hissed.
“Why not? I’m not having you die in your sleep from starvation.”
Ace glared at her for a second before tossing the phone back up onto the bed.
“We ain’t done talking,” Kate immediately protested.
“I know,” Ace combated. “I’m just getting…”
Ace didn’t even make it up onto two feet before the world started spinning around him. Bolts of pain shot up to his head and his vision went black for a moment. Ace fell forward as his limbs gave out, letting his chest hit the thin carpet and knocking the air out of him. Through the ringing in his ears, Ace could hear Kate calling for him, asking something he couldn’t discern right away.
“Ace! What the hell happened!? Are you okay!? Say something!” Kate demanded, shouting each question louder as the previous went unanswered.
“Fine,” Ace wheezed, finding the strength he needed in his arms and propping himself up. “Just tripped.”
“Bullshit! What happened?” Kate yelled, each word spiking more pain into Ace’s head.
Grabbing a hold of the bedding, Ace hoisted himself up onto his knees again. Leaning on the edge of the mattress for support, Ace retrieved his phone to find a very concerned looking Kate now holding hers, pacing the length of her bus.
“Ace!”
“Kate—” Ace squeezed his eyes shut from the discomfort pounding in his head. “Quiet please.”
“What’s wrong? What just happened?” Kate repeated, sounding desperate with her voice just a bit quieter. Ace turned the volume down on his phone as he thought up an excuse.
“Just a bad migraine. Got up too fast and got dizzy.”
“Ace,” Kate pushed.
“I’m fine Kate, really.” Ace maneuvered up onto his feet to further prove his point. The whole endeavor nearly spun his eyes right out of their sockets again, but he managed to stay still enough to be convincing.
Kate shot him a worried, skeptical look though. “I want you to eat something as soon as you get the chance.”
“I will,” Ace answered, not intending on keeping his word.
Kate eyed him for another few seconds before moving to sit back down. “Get some rest though. Drink something.”
“Going to do that right now.” Ace actually planned on doing that. If this truly was a migraine, nothing better than medicine, water, and sleep; unfortunately, he was all out of medicine.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Kate told him with a sympathetic expression, like she didn’t want to have to leave him.
“I look forward to it,” Ace replied.
“Please be safe Ace.”
“I will.”
“Okay…talk to you soon.”
“Have a good night Kate.”
“You too Ace.”
Ace was the one to hang up first, immediately groaning and lowering his head to the mattress. His brain felt like it was pounding against his skull, trying to break free or make room for whatever was causing it so much pain. The world hadn’t stopped spinning. Ace knew if he wanted to drink anything (which he knew he needed to) he’d need to make it to the bathroom, the only source of water in his motel room.
Wanting to be in his bed sooner than later, Ace forced his body to straighten and aim for the bathroom in the corner. Walking felt like he’d just drank the contents of a liquor store. Ace grabbed hold of everything he could get his fingers around, leaning on the wall when he had nothing else to support him. By the time he reached the bathroom door, it felt like an hour had drug by—and he still had more walking to do.
From the door to the sink was a straight shot. After turning on the one light that worked in the bathroom, which only aggravated his sensitive senses further, Ace opted to lean off of the door frame and catch himself on the counter (barely). Turning on the tap and lowering his head to the stream was difficult but oh so worth it. The cold water rushing into his empty stomach relieved at least that one pain. Not surprisingly, his head still throbbed.
Leaning back again, the moment his spine hit the door frame was the moment shit hit the fan. Another flashing pain flooded Ace’s head again and the muscles in his limbs felt like they lost all motor function.
As the world went black again, he could feel his body shift forward. A blinding pain smashed through to the front of his head then another worse crack flooded the side of his skull, followed by nothing at all.
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Vietnam: A Reverse Angle
Call it guilt, or just avoidance, but Americans still seem reluctant to deal with the simple, familiar humanity of the Vietnamese as a people. If we acknowledge their palpable flesh and blood — not to mention recognizable human emotions — how then can we, as a nation, cope with the memory of a war that reduced the Vietnamese to convenient stereotypes, making them all the more easy to kill with impunity? At best, they were to be pitied. At worst, they were to be slaughtered. And millions of them were.
Most American films made about the Vietnam War, including two of my own, have not featured prominent Vietnamese characters. Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July told specific, grunt's-eye-view stories of the hellish misery our foot soldiers went through in that far-off place.
What's been missing from the screen is the reverse angle on the Vietnamese: what the war — or wars — were like from the perspective of the people living in Vietnam, a country with more than a thousand rich years of history and culture. [...]
As an infantryman in Vietnam, I was distrustful of the Vietnamese — all Vietnamese — because they posed a threat to me and my friends. It wasn't until later that I recognized what the American GIs and Vietnamese civilians had in common: fear and the need to survive under any circumstance. We were suspicious of each other, but in fact we shared a common bond of cold sweat and jangled nerves.
All survivors are linked by this mutual agony. In his powerful books about the Holocaust, Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel reminds us that survivors are all charged with a sacred mission: to serve as witnesses and teachers of what they suffered, thereby preventing such catastrophes from occurring again.
Perhaps that's why I keep returning to Vietnam, both actually and cinematically. Some have suggested that Heaven and Earth is the final third of my "Vietnam Trilogy." In fact, I could make twenty more films about the war, so great a role did it play in my life and the soul of our country and the world. [...]
Among other shared experiences on opposite ends of the globe, Le Ly [Hayslip] and I both had to tolerate any number of lies from soldiers and politicians in our respective countries. Their final goal, of course, was to put guns in our hands and ask us to point them at each other. Le Ly was abused by soldiers of both the North and South. [...] The point of Heaven and Earth is neither to vilify the Americans and glorify the Vietnamese nor to create new "politically correct" stereotypes to replace the bad ones. Good and bad people of all backgrounds and persuasions blew through Le Ly's life, and of course she finally did succeed in the United States, as did millions of immigrants before her. She"s now the daughter of two countries, two cultures: and her three sons also share the merged heritage. [...]
I also wanted Heaven and Earth to respond to, in part, the blind militarism and mindless revisionism of the Vietnam War as typified by a certain odious brand of thinking that has snaked its way into our culture over the past decade or so, in which the conflict is re-fought in comic-book style by American superheroes, with a brand new ending . . . we win! Within the moronic context of these ideas, hundreds of nameless, faceless Vietnamese are blithely and casually shot, stabbed, and blown to smithereens, utterly without the benefit of human consideration. Entire villages are triumphantly laid to waste, with not one microsecond of thought or care given to those inside the little bamboo hamlets being napalmed. Who were they? There were names and faces and histories attached to those bodies littering one end of Vietnam to the other between 1963 and 1975. [...]
It is [a] song of peace, rather than war and vengeance, that deserves to be passed down from one generation to the next. Le Ly and I both lived to tell the tale. Let's hope that our children don't have to tell the same one.
-Oliver Stone, "Vietnam: A Reverse Angle," introduction to the narrative screenplay of his film Heaven and Earth (1993), based on the memoirs of Le Ly Hayslip. (From The Making of Heaven and Earth by Michael Singer.)
Oliver Stone is a twice wounded U.S combat veteran of the Vietnam War turned Oscar winning screenwriter and director. Le Ly is a Vietnamese civilian who was imprisoned, tortured and abuse by North Vietnamese, South Vietnamese and U.S. forces during the war. Together, they collaborated on the film Heaven and Earth, based on Le Ly's life and released in 1993. Le Ly also converted Stone to Vietnamese Buddhism. As of 2023, the two still spend Tết together every year.
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Dragon ball z kai the final chapters dub
He has been critically acclaimed for his work Between Clay and Dust and The Story of a Widow. He has translated many Urdu novels and books of poetry including, The Adventures of Amir Hamza, Tilism-e Hoshruba, Numberdar ka Neela, and Selected Poetry of Afzal Ahmed Syed.īorn in Pakistan, Javeri is a graduate of the University of Oxford and has a PhD from the University of Leicester. He has written seven fiction novels in both Urdu and English. Her novels include The End of Innocence, Duty Free, and The Diary of a Social Butterfly.ġ0. Musharraf Ali Farooqi source: īorn in Hyderabad, Pakistan, Farooqi is an author, storyteller, and folklorist, and the founder and editor of the Urdu Thesaurus. She returned to Pakistan years later and founded the country’s first nature magazine. His novel series, Agency Rules, is a journey behind the headlines about Pakistan, questioning everything that has been said about the country, its people, and the challenges it faces.īorn and raised in Lahore, she left Pakistan at the age of 16 to attend boarding school in England and later attended Cambridge University. He’s a business executive running a marketing and brand management company by day and a writer by night. Khalid Muhammad source: īorn in Swat Valley and raised in the US, Muhammad moved back to Pakistan and fell in love with the country. Nadeem Aslam source: īorn in Pakistan in 1966 and moving to the UK as a teenager, Aslam left Biochemistry to become a writer. His first novel, Season of the Rainbirds, won a Betty Trask Award and the Authors’ Club First Novel Award. His second novel, Maps for Lost Lovers, which took 11 years to write, won the 2005 Encore Award and the 2005 Kiriyama Pacific Rim Book Prize. A God in Every Stone was shortlisted for the 2015 Walter Scott Prize and the Baileys Women’s Prize For Fiction. She has also written a non-fiction novel, Offence: The Muslim Case.ħ. Her four novels: My Feudal Lord, A Mirror to the Blind, Blasphemy, and Happy Things in Sorrow Times have gotten international acclaim.īorn in Karachi, Shamsie is the author of eight novels, including Burnt Shadows, which was shortlisted for the Orange Prize and translated into over 20 languages. Her first book, My Feudal Lord, caused controversy in Pakistan’s society by describing her abusive marriage to Ghulam Mustafa Khar. Tehmina Durrani source: ĭurrani is a Pakistani women’s rights activist and author. His short-story collection In Other Rooms, Other Wonders, has been translated into sixteen languages and won The Story Prize, the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize and other honors and critical acclaim.ĥ. Daniyal Mueenuddin source: īorn in Los Angeles and raised in Pakistan, Mueenuddin studied at Dartmouth and Yale Law School. The writer acknowledges the difficulties and injustices and are always set in Pakistan.Ĥ. Hanif has written for the stage and screen. Mohammad Hanif source: īorn in Okara, Hanif is a critically acclaimed author of three novels, A Case of Exploding Mangoes, Our Lady of Alice Bhatti, and The Baloch Who Is Not Missing And Others Who Are. Grown up with polio, she is Pakistan’s leading diasporic writer and has produced four novels in English that reflect her personal experience of the subcontinent’s Partition, abuse against women, immigration to the US, and the Parsi community.ģ. His work has been featured in many different bestseller lists and been translated into over 35 languages.īorn in Karachi, Bapsi Sidhwa is an award-winning Pakistani novelist. Mohsin Hamid source: īorn in Lahore, is the author of four novels, Moth Smoke, The Reluctant Fundamentalist, How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, and Exit West, and a book of essays, Discontent and Its Civilizations. Here are 11 Pakistani authors who have gotten international acclaim for their beautiful work. These Pakistani writers have proved that this nation is filled with treasuring stories that are not just about the war on terror.
With Pakistan Day this weekend, it’s the perfect opportunity to celebrate our literary heroes who have made us proud all around the world with their touching stories and creativity.
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I have a big dislike for the the stories that cast John as this super villainous character. You know, the type of stories where John is this irredeemable monster who relentlessly abuses Dean in all possible ways.
Thing is, there is no need to make John a monster to show the tragedy of Dean’s life. There is no need to add the rampant physical abuse or icky sexual abuse into the mix to portray the horrors of Dean’s childhood. There is no need to imagine any additional abuse to sympathize with Dean, what is in canon, what is on the show, is and should be enough, should make people angry and hurt on behalf of Dean. There is no need to add cheap, easy tricks to generate sympathy.
Having John as this super dark, unquestionably evil character is problematic in a lot of ways. It takes away the morally grey details from the story and presents the entire tale in a stark black and white manner. Above all, this type of storytelling does a big disservice to Dean’s character. The implication here, that what child!Dean went though in canon wasn’t bad enough, or audience can’t empathize with Dean’s struggles unless you add sexual abuse into the mix, is incredibly offensive to the character and practically invalidates the numerous trials Dean had to endure as a child. What’s more, abundance of these type of stories (either with John or Sam as the bad guy) does impact and imbalance the general fandom views and mindset, which is why, a lot of people in this fandom refuse to recognize and acknowledge the real abuse in the show anymore.
#dean winchester#john winchester#i have a lot of thoughts about this#i just dont see why you need to add so many poor dean factors#just to generate fake sympathy#whats in the canon should be enough#and should make you feel for dean#you dont need to have john/sam rape him every day#conversly#i think this is why a lot of ppl are like#reluctant to acknowledge the abuse on screen#i mean as long as John isnt beating and raping dean#its alright#isnt it?
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Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Eight
Prompt: Silver Bells.
Pairing: Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Kenma/Reader (Haikyuu!!).
TW: Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Dehumanization, Slight Marking, and Implied Physical Abuse.
In a certain way, it was easier to be alone with Kozume and Akaashi.
Bokuto was the nicest, undoubtedly, and out of all your kidnappers, you’d be tempted to say Kuroo came the closest to seeing you as a person rather than an unwilling dependent, and although that wasn’t enough to make either of them let you go, but it was enough to make them listen when you tried to talk, enough for Bokuto to hesitate when you started to cry, enough for Kuroo to apologize when he drew blood. Kozume and Akaashi both cared about you, in their own twisted, distorted ways, but they cared about what you were more than how you felt. You were allowed to hate them, as long as you still came when they called. You were allowed to say whatever you wanted to, as long as you said it in that sweet, delicate tone Akaashi preferred or with the smile Kozume claimed to love. It was easier, in a way. Despite everything, it felt easier, not that Bokuto’s infantilization and Kuroo’s power trips provided much competition.
It was easier.
And it was so, so much harder, at the same time.
It might’ve been the pain in your knees, the static-laced pins and needles that prodded at your legs every time you tried to find a more comfortable position. It was a pointless effort, honestly, even if you didn’t have anything else to focus your restlessness on. Regardless of what you tried, you were still sitting on solid wood, planks and panels that’d take every opportunity to scrape at your skin and leave ugly, sore bruises that’d take days to fade. It didn’t help that, in your current position, stuck between Kozume’s legs with your cheek resting on his thigh, there wasn’t much you could do, not beyond imagining you were anywhere else while blocking out the sounds of whatever graphic, grisly game he was playing on the screen behind you. It was mindnumbing, but you didn’t have another opition, not if you wanted to stay out of trouble. If you kept moving, Kozume would--
“You’re squirming.”
Right. Kozume would notice.
You were quick to glance up, an apology already peicing itself together in your mind, but his expression seemed more curious than annoyed. There was a single raised brow, a tilt of his head, a slight smile, one that only grew more apparent as he reached towards you. You stiffened, for a moment, expecting a pinch to your cheek and a reminder to pay attention, but the sting never came. Instead, his target was your neck, and the collar wrapped around it.
Or, more specifically, the bell attached to it, the one currently being rolled between his thumb and his forefinger. Shiny, silver, and so much easier to hate than something so small should’ve been.
It rang, once or twice, the noise muffled by his skin. You tried not to listen, but Kozume must’ve caught the way you pulled back, the hint of a scowl you struggled to suppress. He’d always been good at picking up on little details, even if he didn’t seem particularly bothered by your unease. “It takes a while to get used to, but it shouldn’t be that bad. By the time Kuroo’s gets back from his business trip and Bokuto has another home game, you won’t even know it’s there.” He paused tapping the bell’s side, letting the tiny metal ball inside rattle. The resulting chimes were jarring, too artificial to be pleasant, but Kozume only hummed as you shut your eyes, your hands curling into fists in your lap. “The noise bothers you?”
“I… I don’t like it,” You admitted, reluctantly. If he didn’t want to hear your answer, he wouldn’t have asked. At least Kozume was reliable, like that. “It’s different, when you’re actually wearing it. I feel like I can’t do anything without making noise.”
“I think that’s supposed to be the point.” Reflexively, you snapped towards Akaashi, immediately cringing as your bell jangled with the sudden motion. You hadn’t heard him approach, but he was already there, leaning against the back of the couch and watching you with an idle stare. Kozume didn’t bother glancing over his shoulder, but he clicked his tongue in acknowledgement, letting Akaashi continue uninterrupted. “I mean, I could go without it, but it’s nice to know where you are. Wouldn’t want our angel getting into things they shouldn’t, right?”
“And when you’re trying to mess with your collar,” Kozume confirmed, patting the seat next to him. There was a moment of reluctance, but you swallowed your pride quickly, climbing up and letting him hook a finger around the strip of smooth, black leather. “Kuroo’s afraid you’ll hurt yourself trying to take it off, but we could make an exception. You know, swap it out for something you like a little more.” You hated his tone, how casually he brought up that it’d be his decision, not yours, but you nodded along regardless. Anything to get rid of that bell. “I have a bow we can use, instead, if you’re good for a month.”
You felt your heart drop. “A month is a long--”
“Or,” Akaashi cut in, as if he hadn’t heard you. He leaned forward, tracing his knuckles over the edge of your jaw, your attempts to pull away only earning a breath of a laugh. “We could have a tag made. Kuroo would probably be more open to the idea if we got something with his name on it. Remember how badly he wanted to get (Y/n) tattooed, when we first brought them home?”
It was all you could do not to feel sick as Kozume finally broke into a grin. “And you said you didn’t like it, fucking liar.”
They went on, you were sure they did, talking about new bells and new collars, tags and how big they should be, what kind of shapes they came in, but you stopped trying to listen. It’d only hurt more to hear, and nothing you could’ve said would’ve made a difference. Not with Kozume, and not with Akaashi. Not when Bokuto and Kuroo weren’t home to translate.
Because Bokuto and Kuroo wanted a partner. Bokuto and Kuroo wanted a lover, albeit one who didn’t want them back.
Akaashi and Kozume just wanted a pet.
#yandere#yandere love#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere prompts#yandere oneshots#yandere imagines#yandere scenario#yandere haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyu#haikyuu#haikyu!! imagines#haikyu!!#haikyuu!! imagines#haikyuu imagines#haikyu imagines#yandere haikyu#hq!!#kenma x reader#kenma x you#yandere kenma#yandere kozume kenma#yandere akaashi#akaashi x reader#yandere akaashi keji#yandere fantasy#yanderecore#yancore
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hmm maybe you could just rank them according to your personal preference?? i think it would be a little different from the other one right
Sure! I’m sticking to canon ships.
1. Stelena
I have an entire masterlist dedicated to why Stelena is number 1.
2. Forwood
Oh, Forwood:
Caroline and Tyler were fundamentally altered because of their supernatural conditions and that shift was the basis of their relationship. Becoming a vampire empowered Caroline, she had a sense of strength that she never had, she was confident and centred, she became everything she wasn’t in season 1,
which allowed her to be emotional support for Tyler
who, because of the werewolf curse, became everything he wasn’t in season 1 too: humble and vulnerable and grateful for assistance
and that allowed him to actually take the emotional support from Caroline
so they actually grew together through this time, complementing each other and seeing different sides of their personalities, surprising each other even though they’d known each other since childhood.
And also no one gives Tyler credit for being a loving, whipped boyfriend
and like
and just look at them
I don’t care what anyone says, this is such a cute exchange
3. Stebekah/Steferine
I put them together because which one I prefer more depends on the day. I like Stebekah because they’re dark and there was a lot of potential there:
I think that Katherine unfairly gets credit for the second half of a Dark Stefan ship. Every time Stefan has been rebellious or dark and has had a woman at his side, it’s been Rebekah such as in the 20s:
And such as season 4. When Stefan was just tired of all the Delena and Defan and triangle bullshit and was like fuck it, I’m doing something for me, I don’t care if it’s a bad decision, he went to Rebekah for some crazy sex with a crazy ass vampire:
So I think Rebekah has insight into the depraved, dark, deviant Stefan because she relishes it with him
I like Steferine a) because of Dobsley chemistry b) because I find their dynamic interesting
[Steferine is] the one ship that the show portrays the baggage and the hurt and the sort of inescapability of certain connection quite well although it’s not emphasized so I wonder if they actually portrayed it well on purpose? But anyway.
The reason why I think it’s done well is because I think the relationship contradicts the idea that loving someone is always good, Katherine’s “love”/obsession with Stefan in fact continuously destroys him and hurts him […] She is more in love with the idea of Stefan loving her than she actually is with Stefan. That’s why she hijacks Elena’s body in season 5 and attempts to seduce him because let’s think about that. Katherine hijacked the body of a woman she hates and tries to seduce Stefan as that woman, a woman whose break up with him was a trigger for his PTSD, a woman who was in a relationship with his brother and she doesn’t think or care about how seducing him as this woman would fuck with his head:
It’s also why in season 2 she threatens to kill Elena while Stefan watches because it doesn’t matter if he’s scarred or hurt, what matters is owning him:
And Stefan knows that about Katherine and yet Katherine knows Stefan’s psychology, she knows how his mind works, she knows which ways to get through to him:
and that creates a lot of tension for Stefan and you see it because it’s like, “you legit ruined my life though, like you completely fucked with my head, fucked with my life, I hate you, like I legit hate you”
and yet, AND YET, I can’t help but be of comfort when you’re in need
and as much as I hate you, when you’re around there’s just, there’s this thing (because Stefan always looks like he’s a half-step away from having hate sex with her)
At the same time, Stefan is never able to let Katherine in completely
And he also experiences catharsis by being able to torture her in season 2 then kill her in season 5 and despite dying with her, killing her again in season 8, he gets to continuously avenge himself which other victims on TVD don’t get to do
4. Beremy
Here is the thing about Beremy and my opinion on them is definitely framed by the fact that I now know that the only other relationship Bonnie is really in is with Enzo and I think Bonenzo is bullshit, but the thing about Beremy is that Jeremy goes hard for her (especially in season 2) and I don’t think that’s quite acknowledged.
I definitely think that Kat deserved a better screen partner because Steve didn’t really have much of a presence onscreen
but I do think his lack of presence is also why a lot of good and cute Beremy scenes go unnoticed.
and I don’t think their chemistry was bad, like it’s not Grahamwood chemistry, it’s not Somergraham chemistry but it’s not like Steroline flat or Delena cringey, it’s decent:
like their first kiss is a good first kiss
and I’ve also said that they’re at their best when they do angst, that’s where they live. It’s not Stelena angst or Forwood angst but it’s pretty good angst
The way Enzo is supposed to love Bonnie, I think we actually see with Bonnie and Jeremy
Jeremy is this puny pre-hunter human but he goes into the tomb for the moonstone so Bonnie won’t have to use her magic.
In 2x18 when it was all don’t tell Elena that Bonnie will die trying to take down Klaus, Jeremy essentially chose Bonnie by telling Stefan what was going to happen.
Like look at the way he smiles here:
but the writers really fucked this over: And here’s the thing about that. I can understand the fact that Jeremy never really got closure from Anna and that seeing your girlfriend get dragged out, screaming, by cops and knowing that your uncle killed her would be traumatic. But it’s like JP wanted to humiliate Bonnie with this triangle because first of all, Bonnie is the only character who’s been cheated on and not only are the overall stakes of the show super low for the consequence of Bonnie using her magic to be Jeremy being able to see his ex-girlfriends, it’s a petty way to punish Bonnie. Moreover, it’s not just that Jeremy kissed Anna, it’s not even just that he’d been talking to her and essentially having an emotional affair with her, it’s that he degrades his relationship to Bonnie for Anna and when Bonnie finds out, Jeremy legit couldn’t give a fuck and he does nothing to get her back and he’s just never apologetic about it, not toward Bonnie anyway and then it just gets to the fact that Jeremy has a tendency to only care about the women he dates when they’re about to die and it’s just, I understand why the whole Anna situation keeps people from shipping them or giving Beremy the time of day.
5. Maroline
OK Maroline gets a lot of flack and it’s not that I don’t understand why and it’s not like they didn’t have issues but 1) their coming together was organic and on a show like TVD, having two people come together organically is actually pretty rare, it’s basically Stelena, Forwood and Maroline. I enjoyed the fact that despite being opposites, they found emotional common ground, they bonded over the fact that they were both lonely and they both felt isolated and they were both desperately seeking someone to love them
and their respective stories support this interaction
it’s not just something that’s said to be said, we see Matt’s life, we see him have no parents, we see him to the best of his ability try and keep tabs on Vicki, who is dead but he thinks she bailed, we see Elena fall in love with someone else right in front of him, we see Caroline’s abusive relationship with Damon, we see her insecurities from Day One in the pilot but their bond didn’t just stay at them wanting company, they actually had fun spending time together, they actually liked each other
and I liked that it was no pretense, I liked that it was Family Guy and junk food. You know, Klaroline ha the champagne and the ball gowns, Forwood would just “be” a lot, you know, they were the enjoying each other’s silence kind of ship, Steroline as a couple .... but Matt and Caroline, like, hung out and I liked that.
2) They were super realistic for a teenage relationship and I respect that. Like this is so high school
I remember being 16 and doing things to “test” my boyfriend or the guy that I liked, I remember my guy friends being reluctant to express liking a girl because of what their friends would say, I remember being a teenager and just doing teenage things, which is what Maroline did,
I don’t fault them for that, and yes, in season 1, Matt would be like, we’re not going to last etc.
and I don’t blame people for being put off by that, I wasn’t because it’s pretty 16/17-year old boy but you also see how that doesn’t seem to be what he actually thinks
and we see that expand in season 2
which is why the infamous Mattlena hug scene in 1x17 had me, like, the writing is just contradicting itself now because in 1x16, we have this out where Matt explain being over Elena and seeing her as a friend and at peace with the fact that she loves Stefan because he’s into Caroline so having Caroline look in on them again was like, we’ve already covered this especially since it’s not consistent after 1x17 either.
Like the whole thing is that she can be exasperating --- and people forget that Caroline actually can be exasperating, she made an offhand classist remark about Bonnie liking the bus boy, which Matt overheard, she was dealing with vampirism and Tyler’s transformation but Matt didn’t know anything about that so she just came across to him as hot and cold, he didn’t have context --- but he loved her anyway
With regards to when he finds out she’s a vampire, I like how people are more pressed about Matt being involved in trying to take her down when he has no frame of reference for vampires other than the fact that one killed his sister and they’re not like, wow Liz, that’s your daughter, but I also like how as they ‘grow up’ and become entrenched in the Supernatural, despite the fact that Matt consistently says he wants nothing to do with it, both of them look out for each other
6. Klaroline
I’m pretty indifferent to Klaroline, I don’t have strong feelings about them but I have maintained that they are better than Delena
Even Klaroline does a better job with that dynamic and those kinds of arguments than Delena because you see Caroline be like “I can’t do this, why the fuck am I even here?” every time they’re together
the dynamic DE was supposed to have better, the “fiery” “passionate” thing works for them because they know how to argue and because they play up the conflict
I’ve also maintained they have good chemistry: and yet their chemistry begins winning me over in the scene and I think what really sells it is that Candice reacts to the phone call in a way I’ve only seen Caroline react to Klaus and it’s this sort of… she catches her breath/is stunned
I have a vid that’s basically just of their gazes because they’re always charged, they have a very seductive chemistry and it suits their dynamic because the more Caroline interacts with Klaus, the more she’s drawn to him and that shows with the kind of chemistry they have where, as someone who is quite indifferent to their dynamic, the more they interact onscreen the more I want them to remain onscreen, I start off unimpressed (much like Caroline) and move toward being engaged (again like Caroline) and like I said, they do their dynamic well too, Caroline’s annoyed-but-charmed and Klaus’ arrogant-but-charming
(although their physical chemistry is not great) I just don’t think they have any real narrative.
7. Simara
This is purely about Dobsley chemistry: I have spoken about Silas and Amara quite a bit actually, but honestly, mostly in relation to the chemistry between Paul and Nina because I think that the SIlas and Amara storyline is textually weak and it felt rushed, there isn’t much nuance so I don’t find their story particularly tragic because we didn’t spend enough time on it but I still find them tragic because of how Paul and Nina played the tragedy.
Like it was a storyline that just let Paul and Nina do their magic onscreen,
they didn’t have to try to undercut it with dialogue or anything so I appreciate Simara because I love seeing Nina and Paul working together but in terms of the content, I’m like I don’t really care.
Last: Delena/Bonenzo/Steroline
You can look at the masterlists!
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No one asked for this but I just had a cute thought about sick, grumpy Tony and Steve being both a tease and a total sweetheart. So yeah, this is what happened...
Steve/Tony, first kiss/getting together...
—————————
“Bless you,” Steve said, not looking up from his book when Tony let out a quiet sneeze from the opposite end of the couch.
The brunette didn’t respond, just kept his focus on the StarkPad in his hands, his eyes running down the screen, moving quickly from side to side. His fingers were tapping uncontrollably, the crease between his eyebrow intensifying the longer he went on. His tongue peeked out through his lips, a sign of deep concentration and, to some degree, stress.
It was uncharacteristically quiet in the Avengers Tower this Saturday afternoon; Thor was off-world doing Thor-stuff (Steve had quickly learned not to ask too much — he struggled enough with adapting to the 21st as it was, no need to add the rest of the Universe to Steve’s must-catch-up-on-list. Not yet, at least).
Bruce was somewhere in Asia last time Steve spoke to him. He’d said something about science that Steve hadn’t understood, but he knew how happy it made Bruce to have someone to talk to when Tony wasn’t available, even if Steve didn’t quite follow his rambles with all the scientific terms.
Natasha and Clint were off on a mission, undercover, Steve presumed. He wasn’t told anything else apart from the fact that assistance from the rest of the team wasn’t necessary, so it was probably some sort of stealth-mission (there’s not really anything secretive about the Hulk or Thor or Iron Man, so Steve got why the two super-assassins were chosen for the job).
But that left Steve and Tony. Tony was, as expected, always working regardless of the other Avengers. There was always something with Stark Industries, even on the weekends when he was actually allowed to take some time off. Another idea he just couldn’t put down, another minor imperfection he had to fix, another deadline Tony definitely couldn’t miss if he wanted to stay clear of an angry Pepper. Tonight, the latter seemed to be the case.
And Steve… Well, Steve really hadn’t much to do. He went on his daily run, the running dead as Tony so cheerfully labelled it (Steve got the reference), and he’d even spent a few hours in the gym afterwards. But Steve was after all a grandpa, again dubbed by the Man of Iron himself, who woke up at 6 AM every day, and that left him with a lot of time to work out before any of the other Avengers saw the daylight. When the clock struck 11 AM Steve had usually finished with his daily routine, and on quiet weekends like this he really had nothing better to do than to read one of the many books that had gotten released while he was in the ice.
This one was a suggestion from Clint. Steve had been reluctant at first, because what’s so special about Harry Potter? Isn’t it just a lot of unrealistic and magical nonsense? But he’d given in when Clint had lectured him about how Harry Potter is so much more than just magic; it’s a separate Universe, an escapism, the greatest book-series ever written! And Steve must admit, there was something quite exceptional about it. Not that he’d ever tell Clint that he was right.
“Tschh’uh!”
This time Steve looked up to find Tony with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, pressed into the soft material of his oversized hoodie.
“Bless you,” Steve offered again, trying to catch Tony’s gaze but inevitably failing to do so when Tony not so much as acknowledged Steve’s comment. He just sniffed once and then turned back to the screen.
Steve’s eyes were locked on Tony a few more seconds before returning to part where Harry, Ron and Hermione were brewing the Polyjuice Potion. He didn’t get very far, though, as another set of sneezes commanded his attention.
“eh- eptCH’hh! snfSNF! huh-uhHISH’oo!”
Tony let out two sneezes in rapid succession, his entire body shuddered as he let the release overcome him. The short build-up had warned Steve just in time to see the genius’ face crumble, raising his arm to shield his surroundings.
Tony groaned lowly, obviously trying to avoid Steve noticing, but the blonde just raised an eyebrow at the miserable man in front of him; nose bright red, eyes watery, hair disheveled, and overall a good representation of what Steve thought to be a complete mess.
When Tony sniffed harshly, supposedly to stifle another bout of exasperated sneezes, Steve untangled his and Tony legs — he hadn’t even noticed the fact that their legs had been wrapped in each other’s, touching gently — got up from the couch, and stepped out of the living room.
As soon as Steve was out of sight, Tony quickly wiped his nose with the cuff of his hoodie and scrubbed his face, secretively, so Steve’s wouldn’t think more of it.
A few moments later, Steve re-entered with a glass of water and a box of tissues, dropping the latter into Tony’s lap and setting the glass down on the coffee table. He then leaned back into the softness of the cushions and continued reading.
Not even two minutes after, he heard a muttered for fucks sake and raised his eyes only to see Tony’s eyelids fluttering and his nostrils visibly trembling.
“Huh- Hh! Hdt’shh! Huh’USH!”
Tony sneezed off to the side, once again aiming at his elbow.
“Bless you, Tony,” Steve sighed and audibly closed his book, crossed his arms, and cocked an eyebrow at his suffering friend.
For the first time, Tony looked up at him, rolling his eyes.
“Y’know, there’s a reason I went to get you tissues,” Steve quipped and nodded towards the small, blue box. “So you’d use them.”
“And there’s a reason I’m not using them, Steven. snfSNFF! They’re not necessary,” Tony replied, unconsciously swabbing at his nose again.
“Oh yeah? I think that sniffle and the fact that you’re rubbing at your nose right this second tell me otherwise,” Steve’s smirk widened when Tony quickly drew his hand away from his face, “oh, and never mind the continuous sneezing, of course.”
Tony rolled his eyes once again, and Steve chuckled lightly. “Seems like someone’s caught a cold,” he said more like a statement than a question.
“It’s just allergies,” the older man shrugged nonchalantly, closely followed by a full-body shiver.
“Allergies?” Steve questioned curiously and Tony hummed in confirmation. “Since when does allergies cause a fever?”
Tony frowned and crossed his arms defensively. “I don’t have a fever, Cap. I’m perfectly healthy. As right as rain,” he assured with a fake confidence that made Steve grin.
“You’re a terrible liar, Stark. I can literally feel the heat radiating off from you,” Steve insisted, “and I think those shivers are a pretty clear give-away.”
“It’s cold in here. Not everyone’s their own personal furnace,” Tony snarked, and Steve’s lips curled upwards. “I think I juh- snff! just forgot to c-close the wihhii- heESHHsuuuh! Ugh.”
Tony groaned and threw his head back after fighting a loosing battle against the insistent tickle. He’d just managed to fight it off long enough to once again bring his arms to his face.
Steve reached out for the tissue box, and instead of grabbing one and handing it to the man in need, he threw the entire box at him, hitting him on the shoulder. “Then stop sneezing for God’s sake!” Steve said playfully.
“Ow!” Tony mocked a whine, but he couldn’t help but smile. “You can’t just throw random objects at me, that’s basically abuse.”
Steve laughed, shaking his head fondly, once again reaching out for the box that had landed on the floor, and this time, he did pull out a few and offered them to Tony, who was reluctant at first but accepted them just as his breath started catching again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cupped his nose and mouth with the tissues, giving into the outburst. His body doubled over with the force of three strong sneezes, leaving him woozy and glassy-eyes.
“Jesus, Tony, bless you,” Steve said, sounding more concerned this time.
“Christ, Rogers, would you stop saying that?” Tony grumbled, rejecting the sympathy Steve’s sparkling eyes and soft, gentle voice exuded.
“You need to rest, Tony,” Steve ignored Tony’s request, the tone of his voice leaving no room for discussion. “You can finish whatever you’re working on later when you’re feeling be-“
“I’m fine, Steve!” Tony interrupted with an annoyed ring to his voice, making Steve roll his eyes and clench his jaw in frustration. “Besides, if I don’t finish this before 6 PM Pepper will literally rip my head off and then I would be even less fine.”
“For fuck’s sake, Tony, give yourself a break, would ya?” Steve cursed unintentionally, at which Tony’s raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re sick.”
“I’m not sick!” The genius snapped and was then launched into a violent coughing fit, bending over in pain, clutching his chest tightly as he wheezed.
Steve rushed from his end of the couch to Tony’s side, protectively laying an arms around the older man’s waist and grabbed the glass of water from the table. When the coughing died down and Tony could breathe normally again, Steve handed him the drink persistently. This time, Tony didn’t put up a fight.
“Thanks,” he mumbled after taking a careful sip, the cool liquid soothing his throat.
“Of course,” Steve spoke softly, rubbing his hand comfortingly up and down Tony’s lower back. “So, what were you saying about not being sick?”
Tony elbowed Steve in the stomach but it really didn’t give off the effect Tony had wanted it to as hitting Steve’s rock-solid abs sent a stab up through Tony’s arm, like had he smacked it into concrete. He didn’t want to give Steve that satisfaction though, so he bit back the pain. “Shut up… it’s just a cold.” Tony admitted, going a little shy.
Steve just chuckled and smiled dopily, that half-smile Tony had always loved.
“I’ll talk to Pepper. You shouldn’t overwork yourself, especially not in this state.”
Their eyes locked for a second and Tony felt the blood stream to his cheeks. If anyone asked, it was from the fever. But come on, how could he do anything but blush when Steve looked at him like that, with his ocean blue eyes, his blinding smile and that all-American boyish charm? God, Tony was so screwed.
Suddenly, they both realized how close they were; Steve’s hand still resting on the small of Tony’s back, their faces no more than an inch apart, eyes staring deeply into each other, and before they knew it, Tony’s lips were on Steve’s, placing a gentle kiss onto them.
It was Tony who pulled away after abut 5 seconds, causing Steve’s head to fall slightly forward into the air, prompting him to open his eyes.
“h-tSCHH’ew! Oh… heh- etsch’uh!”
Bursting into laughter, Steve wrapped both arms around Tony, pulling him into a squished hug. “Was kissing me really that bad?”
Tony also laughed, the tension from earlier completely gone by now, transformed into playful flirtation. “Yes, Steve, yes it was. I think you need another try, you know, to make it better,” Tony said, batting his eyelashes and smirked smugly.
“It’d be my pleasure.” The smile was present in Steve’s voice as he leant in closer, brushing his nose against Tony’s bright pink one. “Bless you, by the way,” he mumbled onto the brunette’s mouth before softly pressing their lips together again.
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if magic exists, you’re the closest thing [fic]
Relationships: andrew/neil, jerejean, side aaron/katelyn, side alvarez/laila
Summary: The concept of love is not one Andrew understands.
For a long time, it escaped him. It's always fuzzy, always distorted. He'd given up on it long ago, so why is he still chasing answers?
Whatever the reason, he's content to blame Jean Moreau for a lot of things, Katelyn too.
It's their fault he's here, at the happiest place on earth.
Tags: disneyland fic, andrew thinks a lot about love, fluff, comfort, references to canon abuse/past
Read on AO3!
Andrew never liked the concept of time travel; there’s no one distinct moment he’d go back to personally, no tragic world event he’d try to stop like in the movies.
However, due to today’s events, he might just forgo that opinion to say he’d gladly go back to make sure Disneyland never existed.
Then, maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to Kevin’s nagging.
"You two cannot blow off Jeremy Knox!" Kevin rages, hands planted on the kitchen counter as Neil deftly works around him. Andrew's not quite sure what he's doing; he asked Neil for some ice cream a few minutes ago, and the sounds of clattering dishes and spoons are way more interesting than whatever Kevin is saying.
Andrew leans back into his beanbag chair, content to demolish Aaron in Mario Kart in the meanwhile.
"Yes we can," Neil says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Andrew almost smirks.
It is; there's no way in hell Kevin's making them go to Disneyland on top of scouting recruits in California. Andrew doesn't understand why Queen Day can't just make another pit stop in Los Angeles after visiting the other recruit he has lined up in Washington.
Andrew exhales slowly, trying his best to keep his attention on the screen while he thinks about Neil. He's not sure when that became so difficult.
Alas, Andrew knows why he's being forced back to California. Neil cares far too much about Exy and his duties as vice-captain to miss out on something so essential. He picked out some of these recruits this time around, and he wants to see them in action. However, in this case it's not even one of his picks, and all they need to do is drop off paperwork. Neil has been trying, futilely, to convince Andrew he doesn't need to come.
The consideration is appalling. Andrew's grip on his controller is enough to make the plastic creak. Neil knows all too well California is a sore spot for him, but not the area they're going. Andrew couldn't care less.
Besides...Andrew's not letting Neil travel that far all alone.
Nothing, not even his past, is going to keep Andrew from going with him to make sure he doesn't die or worse. It wouldn't be a problem if Kevin were accompanying him, but he's got his own recruits to scout.
Neil is capable, Andrew thinks. He doesn't need protection, but it won't stop Andrew from offering it.
He chooses not to think about how one day, he'll have no choice but to stay behind. One day, he'll live apart from Neil and have to trust that he'll be okay.
He swallows down the dread he doesn't want to acknowledge, and claims first place.
"Motherfucker," Aaron spits, but immediately clicks the next level for them. If he can sense Andrew's mood, he doesn't comment, but...this helps.
And then he hits Andrew with a blue shell, and Andrew has to wonder why he shared a womb.
Andrew channels the uncertainty elsewhere, like kicking Aaron's ass and listening to Neil wave Kevin off. The rest of the time, he blames his nerves on the five hour flight he'll have to make in the very near future.
"We're not going," Neil says again, firmer this time. It's a tone that always sends Andrew's protective instincts into overdrive, Neil's temper flaring. But, it's just Kevin, which means there's more amusement than danger at play here.
Neil simply doesn't want to deal with it, so Andrew finds his voice. "Fuck off."
Kevin sputters, no doubt whipping around to where Andrew is sitting. He's not sure why Jeremy Knox is so set on taking them to Disneyland, but Andrew doesn't care enough to think about it. He's trying to do the bare minimum on their trip, and the USC Trojans are trying to make life difficult.
As Kevin groans on, Andrew hears the slightest indication of Neil stepping towards him. Neil's walk is distinct, in that it's nonexistent. Andrew often tests his hearing on how well he can sense Neil's approach.
And then, Neil is in front of him, and the world narrows until it's just Neil, crouched down with a bowl in his hands. Andrew hates what he's begun to call the Neil Effect, since it really has no concrete explanation, at least not an acceptable one. He gets second place in the game, and ignores Aaron's gloating for once. He'll get him back later.
There's something proud in Neil's eyes, self-directed, and that's when Andrew looks down to the bowl of ice cream.
Ah, now he remembers.
They hadn't been able to go grocery shopping, so the only thing in the freezer was boring vanilla. Disappointing, but Andrew's sweet tooth didn't care at the time. He needed dessert, no matter how lackluster.
However, this isn't just vanilla ice cream. There's large chunks of Snickers and peanut butter cups mixed in, haphazardly so, but well enough that someone obviously put in the effort.
Someone being...
Andrew looks between the bowl and Neil's steadily brightening expression, unwilling to linger on the fact Neil took the time to become a Cold Stone apprentice for the sole purpose of pleasing Andrew. It's all a waste though, because when he takes the bowl from Neil's hands, the reluctant words come out anyways.
"You're it for me."
It's not really a confession, since Andrew has known this for a while, but it still stings his pride a bit.
Neil blinks at him, tilting his head in that way that has Andrew glaring extra hard. "Hm?"
"Nothing."
He shoves the biggest spoonful he can manage into his mouth, and deserves the icy burn he gets for it.
Thankfully, before Neil can pry, Kevin is back at it again. Andrew's not sure if it's for better or worse.
The Queen himself rounds on them, blocking the television. "One of the best strikers from one of the top teams invited you to hang out for the day," he says, solely at Neil. He knows well enough that Andrew doesn't care about ranks. "How does that not excite you?"
An appropriate question, though. Why wouldn't it excite Neil?
"I don't know anything about Disneyland."
Neil plops down next to Andrew, indifference well conveyed. However, Andrew knows better. The restlessness in Neil's muscles is slight, but not surprising. There's a lot of things Neil doesn't know about, and while he normally wouldn't care, the idea of a place known for crowds of people probably isn't something Neil wants to explore.
It's not like the striker grew up with any exposure to the hundreds of movies or songs.
"It's an amusement park you loser," Aaron chimes in, and Neil scowls at him. Andrew pauses mid bite, surprised. A little. His brother's brand of comfort is the exact opposite of the what the word entails; it's a contrary, scathing thing, nearly as bad as Andrew's. But Andrew can detect it still, and that was definitely it.
Not that Neil would know though. The striker crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue, but Aaron's attention is already on getting Kevin the fuck out of his way.
"I don't care, I don't want to go," Neil responds petulantly, the words eaten up by the harsh impact of a pillow hitting Kevin's stomach.
At least he moves enough for Aaron's game to resume.
In the middle of Neil's protests, the door opens, admitting another one of Andrew's problems.
And she's unpredictable on top of it.
"Hi sweetie," Katelyn calls, punctuated by the slam of the front door. Andrew tries not to cringe at the name, nor his brother's dreamy sigh as Katelyn waves at them all. She walks over to kiss Aaron on the cheek before her attention is back on Neil's constipated face, which she blows past without a second thought. Oh, to be a cheerleader. "Go where?"
Kevin tears his gaze away from Aaron at the reminder. "Neil, you have to go to Disneyland, just fucking deal with it. You might be able to get some helpful pointers from Jeremy. Plus, don't you want to check on Jean?"
A cheap trick, and one that absolutely sours Andrew's mood despite the sweetness in his mouth. The protective itch is back from hearing Moreau's name, and he tugs Neil a little closer out of necessity.
Another reason for them not to go: Andrew's not sure he can stop himself from murdering the ex-Raven. Victim of Riko or not, he'd put his hands on Neil.
"If he wasn't doing okay I'm sure he would've reached out on his own," Neil counters, seeing through Kevin's appeal to sympathy. Neil, while he gets along with Jean better now, doesn't worry about him nearly as much as Kevin does.
Kevin can visit him then, if he's so curious.
As if Andrew said the words aloud, Kevin's stare intensifies. "Are you kidding--"
"Wait," Katelyn interrupts without care, and Andrew actually looks at her. He's been giving her that privilege a lot more now. Not everyone is dumb or brave enough to cut Kevin off, and even the striker looks impressed. Andrew's immediately thrown by the quality of her stare, the determination. Neil makes a strained noise in the back of his throat, and well, he does know Katelyn better. "You guys are talking about Disneyland? Like...Disneyland Disneyland?"
The existence of a knock-off Disneyland is certainly a topic Andrew will explore with Neil later.
"Oh no," Aaron whispers, and that's all the warning they get.
Neil leans further into Andrew's personal space, almost guarding. Like he senses the catastrophe too. "Uhh, yeah?"
Katelyn screams.
Andrew's hand on the back of Neil’s neck keeps him from jumping out of their seat, but Katelyn's got a one track mind as she rushes for him, plopping down on the ground as Aaron checks his ears for ringing.
The only satisfying part is that Katelyn pushes Kevin out of the way in the process. He goes reeling back with a yelp, very unbecoming of royalty.
"Oh my god! Neil you have to go, it's so fun!" Katelyn cheers, clapping her hands together softly. She chooses then to show Neil her backpack, adorned with about 100,000 Disney pins. Just an estimate.
As if Neil knows what any of them are. Neil barely blinks at Elsa's face before Katelyn's back to talking his ear off. "I've been trying to get Aaron to go with me for months but we don't ever have the time. I have a super long list of stuff I want! If I give you the money will you get them for me?"
Katelyn bites her lip rather hard then, like she almost let a 'please' slip, and Andrew doesn't try to think about the consideration. Katelyn clasps her hands together instead, like a plea.
Andrew figures the only reason her forehead isn't on the floor is because she knows better than to have any faith in a boys' dorm room.
"Whoa, whoa," Neil says, raising his hands in the face of Katelyn's puppy eyes. "I'm not going--"
The puppy eyes turn into those of a Rottweiler. Andrew doesn't know why all his previous judgements are being so twisted on this mediocre Thursday night, but whatever.
"Neil," Katelyn breathes, patience tested. "It's the happiest place on Earth."
Andrew's eyes flit to Neil's, communicating the same thing: bullshit.
Neil's confused expression falls into downright boredom, watching Andrew swirl the remains of his dessert. "Katelyn, I don't know how to tell you this, but I actually don't care."
Aaron wheezes at the same time Katelyn deflates.
"Josten--"
"B-but..." Katelyn turns her shining eyes on Aaron, cutting off his warning like a shiv. Andrew almost doesn't want to watch his brother be this pathetic. "Aren't I right, babe? Neil just has to experience it, he has to!"
Andrew hears Kevin open a bag of chips.
"I--um," Aaron tries, glancing between Neil and Katelyn's pout. It takes him about...two attempts to make words. "Yeah Josten, you have to."
"Wow," Kevin mutters, off to the side.
Neil glares at Aaron's weakness, but he had to know Aaron would be useless from the start. Aaron can't say no to his girlfriend.
What a loser.
"Katelyn, I'm not going," Neil tries again, dutifully not looking at the Disney-vomit backpack Katelyn keeps inching closer to him. "Andrew and I are just stopping by to drop off paperwork for one of Kevin's new recruits and that's it."
Kevin takes a deep breath, like he remembers he started this argument in the first place, but is cut off by Katelyn's backpack hitting the floor.
Neil is the only one who seems to take it as a threat, and he holds up a hand for Kevin to shut up. Now, Andrew knows most mafia movies are unrealistic and stupid, but he thinks he's had enough actual exposure to make a good guess.
This feels like some kind of standoff between two troublesome redheads, and he meets Aaron's confused stare with his blank one.
He wishes everyone would get out of his dorm.
"Okay, I get it," Katelyn says slowly, words spaced out by deep breaths for effect. Andrew would think she's a theater major, not biology. Neil watches Katelyn's hands fold in front of her, eyes hard. "I didn't want to have to do this."
Neil quirks a brow, somewhat amused.
"Neil."
"Katelyn."
"You owe me," she says, and the room freezes. Owe. Haha. That's a very dangerous word to toss around in the presence of Andrew Minyard, especially concerning his boyfriend who he's sworn to protect. Andrew turns on her with a frown, but she's undeterred by his ominous stance, fixed solely on Neil. "From the time. With the thing."
Katelyn flips her wrist back and forth then, an almost meaningless gesture, and no one knows what she's talking about
Except for Neil.
The striker's face goes red, and Andrew chooses then to squeeze the back of his neck tighter. Neil's not panicking, Andrew knows, but it's an instinct. Katelyn's smug smile is starting to piss him off, and he shakes Neil sharply.
"Neil," he says, voice even despite the tension in his limbs. "What--"
"We're going to fucking Disneyland," Neil says with a groan, slumping into the edge of the beanbag chair. He looks far from distressed, more...like he's been bested.
Katelyn cheers, jumping up to hug Aaron, who still has no idea what's going on.
Same.
"I'll get my list ready!" Katelyn rips out her science notebook, nearly tearing some neatly written equations. Not that she cares, in the moment. "Oh Neil, you're the best!"
Andrew drags Neil by the chin until their gazes meet, and Andrew hates when Neil looks sheepish. It means he's up to no good. "Neil, she can't force you to--"
"She's not forcing me," Neil sighs, tugging Andrew's sleeve until he lets their fingers link together. Neil's smile is rueful as he slots his eyes over to where Katelyn is scribbling on her homework, and he makes sure no one is watching when he slides Andrew's hand against his cheek. "Trust me when I say...I made the bed I'm about to lie in. I honor my deals too. Okay?"
Neil is such a problem, because he knows Andrew too well. He grinds his teeth, but he comes up with no argument. It's Katelyn, so it's not like the deal Neil made is anything life threatening or degrading, but Andrew's curiosity is annoying regardless.
Maybe when his pride dies down a little, he'll ask.
"Whatever you say," he scoffs, but keeps Neil's hand tucked against his side. "I still didn't agree to--"
Andrew looks down to where Neil fiddles with his shackle bracelet, still shining around his wrist because of how well the striker takes care of it. Neil tilts his head, and oh, oh no.
Andrew glares at the offending gift, given by his own hands and delicately tied around Neil's wrist. If he knew it would be this much of a weakness, he would've thrown it in the ocean.
"Andrew?" Neil asks, squeezing his hand, and Andrew doesn't know what to do other than curse Katelyn, himself, and then Walt Disney.
"I hate you," he mutters, and Neil's all too happy to hear it.
--
It takes Andrew about five minutes or so to determine that Jean Moreau is in love with Jeremy Knox.
It takes even less time for Andrew to decide he doesn't give a fuck. In fact, Andrew's not sure why he notices in the first place. He doesn't care about those things, but maybe it's just that they're so obvious, Andrew's can't help but pick up on it.
The long glances, the way Jeremy keeps reaching up to fix the stupid headband on Jean's head...
Gross.
The landscape in Andrew's mind has a tremble in it today, so there's no way for him to tell for sure why the two of them are so apparent to him. The air around him gives him a lot of things to linger on; disjointed laughter, cheery music, and less upsetting, the smell of fried desserts. It ties a rope around his brain and leads him in different directions, leaving only Neil as his weight. No wonder the Jean Moreau shitshow managed to slip in there somewhere.
Andrew doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed at that, at his inability to reign himself in and decide what to cast aside or focus on. His gaze scans the massive crowd in front of him, behind him, painfully aware that he's surrounded.
That Neil is surrounded.
He sighs, and the sound makes his boyfriend flinch in relief. Like he forgot Andrew was there, and is now all too happy that he is.
Calm down, junkie.
Andrew's fingers itch for a cigarette, but that ship had sailed as soon as he stepped through the Disneyland entrance. He thinks this, but he's actually not particularly anxious. He's not Neil, who needs to know all the quickest ways out of a place and who takes a large crowd as an invitation to slip in and disappear.
That's mostly where the itch comes from, Andrew realizes with only some irritation; he's hyper-aware of Neil, and all his reactions. The striker keeps glancing around at the streams of people, the bright colors and signs inviting them to a landscape with no laws or reason.
It should be everything Neil hates, and Andrew watches his blue eyes trace the cobblestone and directories.
"Beautiful isn't it!" Jeremy gestures to the road leading up to main street, and some of the tension in Jean's shoulders notably dissipates. "Did you know Disneyland brings in an average of--"
"50,000 people a day," Jean deadpans, as if the thought still makes him queasy. He gets a genuine laugh out of Jeremy for it, so Andrew guesses that was the point all along.
Andrew remembers everything, and he did not need that useless fact. But alas, now it's stuck.
Neil's body is surprisingly still beside him. Calm.
Andrew pauses, waiting for Neil to show some sign that he can't handle this. It's not a reflection of any kind of weakness Andrew thinks he has, he simply knows that sometimes Neil pushes himself where he shouldn't. Andrew considers this a loophole in their non-finalized deal. He lets Neil fight his own battles, but Andrew is not afraid to step in and put a stop to the ones Neil doesn't know he's in.
But, to Andrew's unintentional relief, Neil doesn't look two seconds from a panic attack. The striker’s face settles into a deadpan expression, a habit stolen from Andrew himself. There's no tremble, or fidgeting, or sign to tell Andrew to drag Neil back to their hotel and hole him up there.
Neil simply looks fucking done, and Andrew couldn't agree more.
Their unfortunate companions are there to remind them it's only the beginning.
"Oh my god, what should we do first?" Jeremy Knox babbles, stupid Mickey ears on his head, and Andrew watches with only some amusement as Neil leans back an inch in fear. The striker never did know what to do with genuinely happy people. Katelyn, he's come to understand based on the things they have in common. Their protective instincts and tempers ghost over her sheltered lifestyle and talkativeness, though Andrew still doesn't get how Neil stands her. Renee he simply hadn't trusted; Neil had seen the darkness beneath the smiles, but in time, he'd come to trust and value her as well.
Jeremy Knox is a different story, and currently even Andrew doesn't know how to feel about him. Such optimism and ignorance to the real world are things Andrew would normally write off in a person, but there's something swimming beneath the surface in Jeremy Knox's eyes that has him rethinking.
In short, Andrew gets the vibe that if pushed far enough, Jeremy Knox might actually have the capacity to snap over Disneyland. Disneyland.
That kind of madness is something Andrew can't help but recognize in people, and he keeps an eye on Neil as a result. He should've known; who gets custom Disney ears the color of their fucking school?
"Uh..." Neil tries, but he's apparently speechless. Andrew reaches down to tug on Neil's belt loop, and he won't ever say it's out of comfort. Neil takes it like one though, scooting closer, and the urge for nicotine is less powerful for a moment.
There's no avoiding it, and he despises feeling trapped. They're going to have to spend their whole day here. It really isn't their kind of place, but Andrew has not right to wonder how they got roped into this.
Andrew glares at Neil’s bag. He didn’t bring it for them.
That's why they're here, because Neil has a two-page souvenir list in his backpack courtesy of Aaron's girlfriend.
Andrew's scowl returns at the memory, and he turns it on Jean.
Just because.
"Jean, what's your favorite ride?" Jeremy asks, eyes shining. Neither Andrew nor Neil asked for the recommendation.
"Indiana Jones," Jean answers, seemingly without thinking too hard on it, and his eyes shine when Jeremy beams.
"Mine too!"
Gag.
Andrew's opinion of Jean Moreau has not improved over the past year. Andrew promised Neil he wouldn't confront the man while they were actually at the park, but it's a talk Andrew will eventually have if he has anything to say about it.
He's different though, that much Andrew can tell. The backliner still curls in on himself, making himself as small as can be despite his height. The tattooed '3' is dark against his pale skin, but the sun has taken out some of the starkness. Jean always keeps his hands in front of himself, as if ready to guard against an attack, but his shoulders are less stiff around his new team.
They're observations, nothing more. Andrew couldn't care less about Jean Moreau's life or happiness. It's all his own to deal with, but Andrew cannot ignore the changes, since they mirror Neil's own.
Speaking of Neil...
He's still trying to find a polite way of telling Jeremy he has zero clue about what Disneyland has to offer, and Andrew notes that Neil must've sensed it too: Jeremy's batshit opinion about this place. Otherwise Neil would never hold back the usual bluntness.
Andrew would pay to see it.
Jean tugs one of Jeremy's Mickey ears, gesturing to the entrance. "The girls are here."
Neil's demeanor breathes a little when he sees Laila and Alvarez approaching; he likes them, and even Andrew knows they're not nearly as annoying as their teammates. They're walking hand in hand, the same Trojan ears glistening on their heads.
What is it with these people?
Andrew lets the greetings fall into the background, but can't say he feels awful when Laila cracks some dumb Exy pun, making the edge of Neil's lips twitch in a smile.
Another thing the girls have to offer: they seem to know when Jeremy is about to launch into another tirade.
"Jeremy cool it," Alvarez says, holding Jeremy back by the hoodie before he can get anywhere further into Neil's bubble. "Neil's not going to remember everything about all the different sections, just let him explore."
For a split second, Jeremy's face scrunches up, like he ate something foul. "He needs to know not to go to....that place."
Laila rolls her eyes. "You mean Star Wars--"
"Stop."
Laila turns her aggravated stare on her girlfriend, but all Alvarez offers is a shrug. "He's right."
Neil turns to Andrew as if he'll understand, but he does not.
Jeremy's eyes flit around the park to all the decorations, the crowd a sea of Mickey ears, planning out where to drag them. And the rest of them allow it. Team dynamics don't interest Andrew much, but they're not following Jeremy out of fear. They're treating this journey, along with Jeremy's eccentricities, as inevitable and maybe even endearing.
Andrew wants to leave.
Then Jeremy gasps, staring down at his empty hands. "Neil, you and Andrew have never been here right? Maybe I should've gotten you a map, for the experience, you know?" Then Jeremy tilts his head up, in that haughty way Kevin might after lecturing them on an exy skill he acquired. "It's fine though, I know where everything is. You're in good hands!"
Andrew seriously doubts that.
"Oh, that reminds me!" Jeremy says, plopping his giant backpack on the floor. Andrew wonders if he packed for the possibility of them being stuck there for eternity. It's a gift for Jeremy Knox to be able to make Andrew's day that much worse. He pulls out two custom sets of ears from his backpack, styled in white and orange. Palmetto colors.
No.
"You guys can match," Jeremy says with a wink, and Neil looks torn. On one hand they're orange, on the other hand they're absurd.
But of course, Neil's obsession wins over, and he grabs for a pair of ears without hesitation.
Andrew can't.
"I'm not wearing those," Andrew states, uncaring of how the rest of them flinch. Neil's the only one not surprised, but he's giving Andrew that face, and Andrew has to hold himself back from telling Neil to stop.
We're in public, control yourself.
But Neil just sighs, fixing the ears to his head. They clash with Neil's reddish-brown hair, bright and sparkly.
Andrew hates being gay.
He ignores Jean's glare as Jeremy holds the other pair of ears to his chest. More evidence, Andrew realizes, and the pathetic kind too. Jean can't stand the thought of someone hurting his not-boyfriend's feelings.
"O-oh," Jeremy says, but his smile is back, undeterred. He spins to face Neil, who miraculously, doesn't flinch. "Well, I guess I'll wear them then! Neil, you and I can match! I don't want you to be alon--"
The stream of consciousness in Andrew's head comes to a jarring halt, tires screeching.
Unacceptable, absolutely not. He doesn't even have a moment to think about why, or stop himself from being so ridiculous.
He snatches the ears from Jeremy's hands and puts them on, refusing to meet Neil's smug stare.
"Shut up."
And thankfully, Neil does, but others do not.
"He's as bad as you babe," Laila whispers behind him, and he practically feels the heat radiating off Alvarez.
"Can it."
Andrew catches Jean's sigh of relief in his peripheral, and isn't quite sure why he agreed to not kill him in the happiest place on Earth.
"You guys look great!" Jeremy comments, but Andrew is already walking ahead, eager to be anywhere else.
That, and he's pretty sure the churros are this way.
Neil keeps up with him easily, given his strong legs, even knowing Andrew is deliberately trying to not look at him. Neil's gaze is a warm, affectionate thing, one Andrew will never be used to. Neil's so distracted, he almost trips, and Andrew hooks his arm around Neil's waist to right him. They're connected for merely a second, but Andrew's arm feels like it's on fire.
"Focus," he growls, but Neil doesn't take it as a threat. He never does.
"Mm, I can't," Neil says. "I like them. I like them on you."
"They're hideous."
"So our uniforms are hideous?"
"Yes."
They reach the churros, and Neil buys him three.
Jeremy starts to babble again as Andrew digs in, and Andrew can't help but notice he buys Jean one without being asked. The ex-Raven doesn't look super pleased with the sweetness, but he eats it anyways.
And throughout all the chatter, Jean won't stop staring right at Jeremy.
Why does Andrew keep noticing? He might just be able to blame Katelyn for that too.
Ever since he picked her up from Eden's, she's been responsible for a lot of unacceptable thoughts in his head. All because of one, stupid line of reasoning.
"I know, I know a lot of people use the word and they don't mean it, or they don't act like it but...that's on them. That's not real love, the actual thing, the definition. Just because people use the word incorrectly doesn't mean the feeling isn't real."
Real love. Already, there's so many things wrong with that phrase. Katelyn doesn't see it as subjective, Andrew doesn't see it as anything at all. Devotion, protective, consideration...they are all things people would perhaps put towards the definition, but they neglect the absences as well. Absence of hurt, of blame, of judgement.
That's the half so many people don't get right, and even if they do, Andrew cannot see how it could be wrapped up in a word.
He watches Jean sigh and lean into Jeremy's sphere, and thinks of how his brother looks at Katelyn. It's eerily similar.
Andrew would not use the word love normally, so he reaches in to pluck Katelyn's idiotic definition out from the past to see if it applies. The pretty parts are there; Jeremy is constantly aware of Jean's presence, careful to steer him to the edges of crowds, to check if he's alright. On the opposite end of things, Jean just looks like he'd burn the so called happiest place on Earth to the ground if it meant being able to listen to Jeremy's prattle.
He's not willing to analyze much more than that, not with Neil by his side. It puts pressure on the stone in him, dropped there by Katelyn that night at Eden's and steadily growing with every moment he spends around his boyfriend.
"I think we should definitely go on Indy though," Jeremy says, leaning in to take a bite of Jean's churro. It's so stupidly romantic Andrew wants to vomit. "I want to see Jean get scared again!"
The girls smirk, though a minute later Alvarez is teasing Laila just the same. Jean's face is colored red, not with shame, but innocent embarrassment. Not becoming of a Raven, but then again, Jean never wanted to be one.
"I was not scared, I had never been on the ride before!" Jean crosses his arms, and his teammates look at him in the way the Foxes look at Neil. Complete adoration.
"It scared him to death," Jeremy says to Andrew and Neil, trying very poorly to whisper.
And, without breaking eye contact with Jean, Andrew says: "If only."
Because really, if only.
Jean's the only one besides Neil who takes the statement as intended, as in completely seriously. The backliner's face goes white, staring at Andrew and waiting for it to be a joke. He has to know deep down it's not.
Jeremy holds his stomach from how hard he's laughing. "Ha! You're a riot Andrew," he wheezes, and Neil regards him as neutrally as he can. It's hard, when Jeremy sounds like a dying seagull.
Andrew pulls out his phone, avoiding Neil's gaze. Technically, he only promised not to physically confront Jean at Disneyland, nothing else. "That's me, comedy king."
Without looking up, Andrew opens his notes app and sidesteps Jeremy until he's closer to Jean. He has no qualms about calmly typing out the words 'I despise you' before showing it to him.
Honestly, no other Raven is this easy to read, but Andrew supposes it has more to do with Jean's complete revival than anything else.
Jean reads the message, blinks, looks at Neil as if to confirm his suspicions, and then nods slowly.
Well, now he knows. It'll be a good way to put a pin in things for now.
When Andrew walks back over to his churro holder (see: Neil), the redhead is shaking his head, grin way fonder than it should be.
--
It takes around fifteen minutes for them to ditch the group, and for Andrew to stuff his pair of ears into Neil's backpack to never see the light of day again.
It's absurdly easy, they barely have to duck into the crowd or put their heads down. Despite Jeremy's insistence that Andrew and Neil see all there is to see, he'd hardly taken his eyes off Jean. In fact, the two are so engrossed in each other they barely notice the girls, who seem to weirdly not mind.
Jeremy is the talker, and Jean is only too happy to go along with it, soaking in every nonsense opinion even when he seems to not understand the relevance or importance. Andrew wonders if this so called 'love' truly makes people that uncaring, but then again, he knows it does. He's watched his brother fawn over every dumb little detail of Katelyn's life. Once, she'd gone on a ten minute tangent about her colored pencil coordinated note taking system. Aaron had been fascinated, not because he cared about the content of the words, but because of Katelyn herself.
Andrew doesn't understand, but his mind conjures up the image of Neil peeking over the top of a bus seat, the hours floating by.
They find a good spot to sit down on Main Street near the castle, perfect for the people watching Neil likes to do. Andrew's on his third churro with a fourth lined up, and if Neil's wallet is crying about it, he doesn't seem to mind. The striker's legs dangle lazily from the bench they're on, swinging in time with the cheery music blaring through the speakers. Andrew brought him here to escape the crowd; Neil always preferred to watch, to catalogue the different types of people. Disneyland, at the very least, should have an interesting variety for Neil to judge and pick apart for the nonsensical survival guide in his head.
Page ninety-two: signs of regret-filled parents. That's how Andrew would guess it's organized.
But no, Neil's staring right at him. Andrew could feel it mid chew, the striker's gaze penetrating and brighter than any of the thousand balloons he's seen flying around.
Andrew managed to hold out for about half a churro, no longer, before giving in.
Neil's triumphant smile is an indication he was all too aware of the game.
"Are they good?" Neil asks, and it's enough to make Andrew pause. He watches the way Neil adjusts those stupid ears on his head, the way he licks his lips to mimic the place Andrew assuredly has sugar on his own.
Rather than answer, and before he does something stupid, he shoves the end of the churro into Neil's mouth. It's not an uncommon occurrence.
Neil barely yelps before dutifully taking a bite. Andrew waits for the usual scrunch of his nose, the disgust at the sweetness. Still, Neil will never refuse something Andrew offers him.
"Not bad," Neil says, chewing slow. There's sugar on his lips now too, and Andrew realizes he made an error. "Still too much sugar."
Unheard of. There's no such thing.
With a scoff, Andrew wipes the excess sugar off Neil's lips with his thumb. "You disgust me, Josten."
It doesn't sound as convincing as it used to, and Neil's triumphant smile only grows wider. Only then does he sigh and lean back, staring into the sea of people who love wasting money. Andrew will never get the fascination.
There's a good distance between them on the bench which Neil hasn't tried to close, and won't until Andrew says otherwise. Andrew's not in the mood to feel his weight, not today. It wasn't brought on by anything specific, but Neil abides like he always does.
Neil doesn't seem any less content.
"I can't believe they haven't noticed we're gone," the redhead says, far from disappointed. The relief is something Andrew can relate to. It's been about an hour, and they've done nothing, but Andrew knows he's having a better time this way.
The last thing he wants is to watch Jean and Jeremy obliviously flirt and fawn over one another with no outlet. Andrew's not sure if they'd be worse if they were actually dating, and part of him considers just dropping the bomb on them to ruin any kind of movie moment they might have at this godforsaken place.
"I can," Andrew mutters, but doesn't elaborate. He's sure Neil hasn't actually noticed the pining, not with Andrew nearby, and certainly not with everything else going on. He doesn't need to know, because then they might have to talk about it.
Andrew doesn't have all the words for that yet.
Neil hums, interpreting the words in his own way. "Jean does seem...better. I guess he would be more focused on his friends. At least now Kevin will stop complaining, I'll get to tell him Jean's doing just great."
The topic of Jean Moreau isn't much better.
He's not able to keep all of his glower locked down, and he ends up making a passing school teacher flinch. "I don't care how he is," he says through his teeth, and Neil stiffens.
Yeah, wrong thing to bring up. Not as bad as the times Neil will drop his mother into conversation, but not good regardless.
Neil sighs, fiddling with his bracelet again. It's what he does when he wants to touch Andrew but won't. "Andrew, Jean is--"
Andrew turns the intensity of his stare on Neil. They've had this talk before, and he's not trying to bring it up again. Contrary to what other people may believe, he's not adverse to having difficult conversations with Neil. Arguments, even.
They happen, but...
There's something about it; Andrew won't say it's comfortable, but he simply knows it won't change anything. He and Neil disagree sometimes, but it seldom turns into a screaming match or the silent treatment. More often than not, Andrew's willing to keep coming back to a topic if it means they reach a compromise. He doesn't yield that way for anyone else, but Neil doesn't make it feel like submission or defeat. It's why it doesn't make Andrew nearly as antsy as he originally believed it would, when they started their this. For them, it's problem-solving.
This however...this is one thing Andrew can't excuse. Not yet, maybe not ever. They keep having to step away.
"Don't," Andrew says. Neil's eyes hold no fear, and they shouldn't. Andrew's not saying it unkindly, it's the truth. "Whatever you say will not change my mind. Not with this."
Not when it comes to people hurting what's mine.
Andrew's hands curl into the edge of the bench, the splitting wood a comfort. He's strong, his hands have the power to kill, to fend off. Why that's so important in this moment...
When Neil still doesn't look like he understands, Andrew reaches forward to flick the shackle pendant around his wrist, almost on instinct.
And well, guess it's become a weakness for them both.
Neil sighs, and bites his tongue in a rare show of restraint. The striker keeps back every counterpoint and argument, which he surely has handfuls of, and puffs out his cheeks. Any other moment it would be...maybe not so annoying.
But not cute.
Some of the trembling in Andrew's frame leaves; he's not dumb enough to think this is over, Neil is too stubborn. But for now, the striker accepts it.
Though, not without being infuriating. Neil's gaze pierces him, sticking Andrew to the spot.
"I'm safe with you Andrew," Neil breathes, and Andrew's not willing to acknowledge how Neil quickly aims for the root of the problem. It's a spike through Andrew's chest. Again, Neil races ahead of Andrew's own thought process at the most random times.
So that's it. Andrew thinks. A promise.
It won't happen again. Neil has no way of knowing that, but he wants Andrew to believe it; nothing will hurt Neil so severely again because Andrew won't allow it. Andrew will thrash and bleed before it happens again, but Jean Moreau is a reminder that it can, even when most of the guilt falls on a dead man. There will always be others, lurking in the shadows. Weapons, threats.
But still, with all his paranoia, Andrew can't even tell Neil to be quiet, because to refute such a statement feels wrong in a number of ways. Neil's trust is something he earned.
Andrew hums instead, and refuses to repeat the obvious. Instead, he pushes Neil back by the shoulder, his back hitting the bench and forcing Neil to loosen up.
Better.
"I can't believe a place like this exists," Neil sighs, giving into the calm Andrew lends him. Andrew's not sure if he means it from the perspective of a runaway or not. Disneyland would be an enigma to most people with Neil's past.
"You don't feel happy?" Andrew says with a sneer, taking in the fighting families and crying children. He knows there's equal parts people smiling and having fun, and he's choosing to center himself on the negatives, but he's not in the mood to apply Bee's advice for once.
"Well if I did it would be because of you," Neil says, grin smug from the stare Andrew turns on him. No one needs his sappiness. "But I don't really like that word."
Haha.
Andrew pokes Neil in the leg, more like a jab, and Neil jumps. "Stop stealing my lines."
Neil snorts. "I just meant in terms of this place. Doesn't it feel untrustworthy from the get-go if you advertise your park as the happiest place? It can't actually be."
It's amazing how hard Neil's brain works when it comes to unimportant topics. "Careful, if Jeremy hears you he'll have a meltdown."
"That would be interesting though."
"And potentially homicidal."
Andrew makes a note to bring Kevin if he ever has to return here. Kevin won't be able to keep his distaste hidden, and he'll get to really test the Jeremy Knox theory.
"Have you ever been to an amusement park?" Neil asks a moment later, voice low. Treading lightly.
It's not a particularly bad memory for Andrew though, and he only shrugs. He's no longer shocked about how much he talks to Neil. It's easy, not draining.
"Mostly for school, I wouldn't waste time with the rides," Andrew says, and feels the memory of old dollar bills in his hands. Sometimes he'd be lucky enough for his foster homes to provide him money for food, sometimes not. "Carnivals were easier. I could just go off and find some abandoned corner to smoke or wait it out."
No one ever cared to come looking for him.
Despite his sweet tooth, he seldom had the actual money to spoil himself with the fried foods either. He makes up for that now, obviously.
Speaking of, he wants a frozen lemonade at some point.
Neil's eyes are devoid of pity, but Andrew knows he could quickly turn that understanding gaze into a rage-fueled one if he chose to provide any of the details.
He doesn't. He never enjoyed things like amusement parks, and he doesn't mind either way if Neil does, but part of him is simply at ease, here on this stupid bench.
Neil's protection can't reach back into the past, no matter how badly the striker would like it to.
"Everyone always talked about Disneyland as the best place in the world," Andrew offers instead, waving his hand around. If anything, the sheer size of the park is the most impressive thing about it. The other kids in his classes couldn't let it go; family vacations, dream dates, etc.
The hype around the park never died down no matter how Andrew aged.
Compared to Neil sitting next to him, the park is without.
"And your verdict?" Neil asks anyways, because he tries not to assume when he can.
Andrew's not sure why his heart reacts the way it does to that.
Neil's stupid ears pair with his Palmetto hoodie perfectly, and he looks like the pumpkin Cinderella would've taken to the ball. The fierceness of him isn't softened in the slightest by it though, his vulnerability comes from his eyes, the way all his alarms become inactive in Andrew's presence.
Andrew craves it, this complete, unyielding trust.
He hates how Neil can make any situation interesting.
"It's annoying," Andrew eventually says, rolling up his churro wrapper into a tight ball. He misses the trash can when he tosses it, and ignores the disgruntled stare he gets for it from a park worker. "Not awful."
Neil straightens up, too proud of himself. "Are you saying that because of the churros or because I'm here?"
"Be quiet."
Neil, because his death wish inclination isn't as active today, doesn't point out the non-answer. The striker just hands him money for another churro, though he's considering beignets.
Neil watches the way Andrew stares at the money, seemingly content to allow Andrew this indulgence. "I remember kids talking about it when I was younger. I could never understand why such a crowded place could be so fun. Much less the lines or overpriced food. But..."
Andrew clutches the money tight, but it's a poor substitute for Neil's hand. "But?"
"But well, it's not like I ever got the chance to try it out." Neil gestures to the precise decorations, the ornate buildings, and his eyes flit down the trolley lines like they remind him of a destination far worse. Andrew never asked Neil if he train hopped before. Neil sighs, his nose scrunching from the sweet, candied scents in the air. "Maybe I would've loved it. Then I'd be a lunatic like Jeremy."
It's meant to be a joke, but Andrew understands. That's the strangeness of the unknown. Had things been different, had they been raised like anyone else, there's no telling what they could've been like.
But things weren't different. Andrew isn't foolish enough to reflect on the past with bitterness or entertain what he could've been like if only. The asinine exercise would do nothing for him, for his future.
The future he's coming to anticipate and accept, because Neil also refuses to look back. It's still a globby, hard to see mess right now, but the more days pass with Neil by his side, even it begins to take shape.
But he doesn't have room in his chest to say all that, so instead he tugs on Neil's headband again. Snug.
"You're already wearing the ears," he drawls. As if Neil forgot, his hands fly up to tug on one of the ears, and Andrew is helpless to save the image forever.
"I should probably take them o--"
"No."
Just...no.
It's hard to make Neil blush, but when it happens Andrew makes sure to catalogue it. He watches the color spread on the bridge of the striker's nose, and then Neil laughs, a light and fleeting sound. Andrew hears it over everything else.
Neil turns on the bench, hugging his knees to his chest, and Andrew is moving to face him without thinking about it. "I feel like...if the others were here they'd say we're wasting the opportunity," Neil muses, pursing his lips. "Like we should be going on rides and watching shows."
"That's everyone's problem then," Andrew waves the thought off, tracking Neil's lips. He's not ready for a kiss, but he's warming up to the idea.
But, Neil seldom brings up things pointlessly with him.
"It is," Neil agrees, and Andrew presses his thumb into the crease of his boyfriend's brows. Neil doesn't flinch. "But they might be right. I guess I can't expect to have the same opinions now as I did as a kid on the run. I should at least be able to say, yeah I went to Disneyland slightly more adjusted and I still don't see what the big deal is."
Ah, the point emerges. Andrew will admit...
"You don't seem anxious," Andrew observes, because he expected Neil to be very nervous.
Neil tilts his head, and Andrew has to make him stop doing that. "What?"
Andrew leans back, and Neil follows the touch instinctively before getting a hold of himself. "If you really felt you were wasting time, you'd be all fidgety and irritating."
"I didn't say I felt like I was wasting time, just that I maybe should," Neil sighs. Andrew isn't sure what he means, but he doesn't have time to think about it when Neil's impish grin comes back. "But no, any time I spend with you isn't a waste."
Andrew leans in, slow and insistent, and lets Neil tense in anticipation of a touch, a kiss. Then, Andrew pushes his face away. It's what he deserves, and Neil bites his tongue.
Huffy.
Neil slumps back, but the pouty thing he's doing dampens the scowl. He needs to not spend so much time with Katelyn.
"You've become a sap, rabbit."
And it's dangerous for both of them. Andrew doesn't mean for the words to come out so light, but what's the use in correcting himself?
"I get it from you," Neil shoots back, and oh, now he chooses to read Andrew's mind. At the twitch of Andrew's mouth, Neil smiles, the kind reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone.
Andrew's nerve endings are still a little fuzzy, but he tugs Neil's sleeve until he follows. He brings Neil close enough to feel Andrew's heat, to smell the cinnamon. This works, for now.
And Neil, despite being somewhere people dream of visiting, looks totally focused on him. When he gazes down the trolley lines again, the expression is much more promising.
"Who knows? It might be fun if we went now, with all the foxes," Neil wonders aloud. "Not sure, since I think the closest thing to a ride I've ever been on is a train, and not legally."
Well, there's the train hopping question answered.
But that's it, he supposes. He feels nothing about this place, or any amusement parks for that matter. Even in his tumultuous childhood, he experienced them, never understood the appeal.
Neil's never had the opportunity to try. He's never been able to form an opinion.
Andrew thinks that's at least one aspect of his freedom Neil should have, even if it is something so trivial.
Andrew sighs; what has he gotten himself into?
Neil Josten is a whirlwind of an individual, but he's Andrew's.
That's what Neil would say, without hesitation, every time.
'But I'm yours.'
Andrew really does need a cigarette, but that frozen lemonade will have to do. He stands up, making a show of brushing himself off. He can feel the tilts of Neil's head behind him, for fuck's sake.
"C'mon then," Andrew says, turning around to adjust how crooked Neil's headband is. Another problem he didn't need, but it's too late now. Damn merchandise. When Neil still makes no move to get up, Andrew tugs his bangs. "Let's go on a ride."
Neil's jaw opens and closes, but Andrew is already turning away from him. Neil's fast, he should be able to catch up. "W-wait, are you sure?"
Neil scrambles to his feet, and Andrew can't look directly at him. He's sure there's something bright and shiny swimming in those eyes right now, and that's far too much.
He tries to go through his mind for what he knows about Disneyland, and asks himself if he's in the mood to be up high.
No, not today. Neil has him feeling far too much already.
"I think the Matterhorn is enclosed," he says, in lieu of an explanation, and knows Neil will get the meaning.
Neil grips the straps of his backpack, reigning in the energy as best he can. Andrew wonders when he'll work up the nerve to tell Neil he doesn't have to when it's like this. Even without touch, Andrew promised to take everything Neil had to offer.
He's not sure if Neil can sense the feeling, but his face softens anyways. "Okay...yeah!"
Neil falls in step beside him, and Andrew revises his previous statement with only mild displeasure. He doubts he will ever have enough of this.
--
The Matterhorn was, what a shocker, a bad idea.
Andrew will never say he tries to make his driving a comfortable experience, but he knows his road raging still would've been a more pleasurable time than being thrown around on that poor excuse for a ride.
The bumpiness of the Matterhorn was also not helped by how tense he was; he felt like a cutting board in a blender, trying to force away the unrealistic thought of Neil flying off the edge and plummeting to his death during the whole two minute affair.
A forty-five minute wait for two minutes of back pain that'll last the rest of the day.
"Well that sucked," Neil says with a wince, stretching out his back slowly. Andrew pointedly looks elsewhere. "Why do people do this for fun? I feel like my spine got ripped out and then put back in the wrong way."
Andrew wants to tell him to stop being so dramatic, but for once Neil's words are accurate.
They tried. No one can say they didn't try.
"Nevermind you were right," Neil says as Andrew orders them a lemonade to share; Neil ignores the glare Andrew gives him for chugging the first half in one go. Neil sighs from the rush of citrus, placing the cold cup to his forehead. "Can we go home?"
"Doubtful, unless you want to walk," Andrew sighs. He retches the lemonade away from Neil, pushing away his grabby hands. An admirable tactic, but fruitless. "I knew carpooling was a stupid move."
"Hey, we take offense to that."
Neil tenses on instinct, like the hypocrite he is. He's so used to being the shadow, the nosy meddler who overhears everything. Andrew would think he's more than deserving of being on the receiving end if he wasn't so annoyed himself.
They turn to find the girls grinning ear to ear, and Andrew notes right away how there's no smiling bundle of 'I love Disney' with them.
Jean and Jeremy are nowhere to be found.
How 'bout that.
Alvarez unlinks her arm from her girlfriend's to ring out her damp shirt; Andrew notices they're soaked from head to toe, sneakers squeaking from their drenched socks. It makes Andrew grimace on the inside; it should feel atrocious, but the girls are beaming.
"So you two do act like a couple," Laila says, and Andrew's not sure he gets what she means. He does decide she's his least favorite of the two though. "I had some doubts."
Andrew couldn't care less about that, but Neil's a different story. Defiantly, Andrew silences his boyfriend before he can even go on his tirade by shoving the lemonade back into his hands.
An acceptable sacrifice; Neil's aware they don't seem like the stereotypical couple, but he hates having his feelings doubted.
He hates it even more when people doubt Andrew's, and Andrew pushes the thought of Katelyn's suspicious expression at Eden's out of his mind.
What other people assume about him is not his problem.
"Why didn't you just buy him his own lemonade?" Alvarez asks, her eyes flicking over Neil's expression. He's calming down, but the aggravation is there. Guess not all the Trojans are oblivious.
Andrew takes the bait for what it is, no energy to be contrary.
"Neil doesn't need that much energy, and he'll drink mine no matter what because he's annoying," Andrew says, and sure enough, he hears the slurp behind him, an alert that Neil basically sucked down the rest of his drink.
One down, several to go.
"It's true, I am," Neil chimes in at that, refreshed. It's then he actually seems to pay attention, scanning the girls from head to toe. "Why are you guys all wet?"
Laila claps a hand over Alvarez's wolfish grin before she can even respond to that, and Andrew is glad. He really didn't want to hear it.
At least Neil would get the joke this time.
"Splash Mountain," Laila replies hastily, like they have any clue what it is. "Horrible build-up, decent pay-off. Jean hates it though so it's the best way to make sure we don't run into them."
At her own words, she checks behind her, like Jeremy Knox can appear at the mere mention of his not-boyfriend.
They probably shouldn't stay in the same place too long.
"Outside Star Wars anyways," Alvarez adds, prying Laila's hand off her mouth for .2 seconds.
"Hush, he'll hear you!"
Then, Alvarez must lick her girlfriend's hand, because the goalie retches away with a disgusted yelp. "Hey! Gross!"
"Wow, you don't love me."
It's punctuated with giggles, and Andrew stuffs his hands in his pockets; why that word decides to plague him today, he's not sure. He wouldn't say the girls act as useless as Katelyn and Aaron do, but their dynamic is still distinct.
Affectionate.
Andrew turns his hard stare at the ground. No, no. It's still not right.
Neil, oblivious to Andrew's plight, squints at the empty space where Jean and Jeremy should be. "Wait...you guys ditched them too? Why?"
"They had the same idea as us," Andrew mutters, but Neil's lightbulb still hasn't gone off.
Laila's grin is as sardonic as it gets. "Ah, so you noticed?"
Andrew doesn't respond. He's steadily reaching his word quota.
Knowing the only chance of Andrew saying anything is by asking himself, Neil turns to him, too searching. "Noticed what?"
And oh, Andrew can't avoid talking about it after all, can he? He's not sure why he doesn't want to, there hasn't been much cause for concern with Neil lately. Not for months. Maybe not ever, but Andrew had been in denial there for a while.
Perhaps Andrew just hates being in this limbo, where he doesn't even know how he feels about a topic yet. It's happened before, but it's no less disconcerting than the other times. The jealousy, the concept of understanding, their first time...
His mind, a traitor, reminds him none of those situations ended horrifically.
"Moreau is in love with his captain," Andrew mutters, and watches the moment Neil blanches. No stopping the floodgates now. "Original."
Something in Neil's gaze twitches. Andrew's hasn't seen the look before, but it's surely not good for him or his pulse. Andrew turns his stare to the ice cream cart in the distance, but his sweet tooth is done for the day.
Another unfortunate reality.
"God, so they really are that bad," Laila groans. "For a second there, we thought it might just be us."
Alvarez scoffs, crossing her arms and putting all her weight on Laila. It must be a common occurrence; Laila huffs, but makes no move to push her away.
"We've been trying to get them together for ages," Alvarez continues, twirling her finger around like a never ending cycle. "We ditch them literally every single time in the hopes they finally have their moment."
Both their expressions fall then, truly defeated. Laila sounds at her wit's end, and Andrew feels little sympathy. "But, no such luck."
Andrew can't even begin to pick apart how uselessly optimistic that is when idiots are concerned, but Alvarez seems to be tracking his every movement for some type of reaction. He should've never said anything, but she'll learn soon enough; he's not an easy read, despite a hot-headed outlier.
Neil blinks at them, a complex math problem with cliche romantic plots instead of numbers. "They're...into each other?"
The look he gets from the girls is similar to the pitying ones he gets from Allison whenever he says something particularly misguided about fashion.
Laila puts her hand on Neil's shoulder, patting him slowly. "Oh Josten, your face right now tells me all I need to know about you."
Then, the double shot of pity is poured right down Andrew's throat.
"You got an oblivious one too huh?" Laila says wryly, and Alvarez chokes.
"Hey."
Andrew won't dignify that with a response, but he figures it's obvious anyways.
Laila snorts, tugging on Alvarez's ear lobe. "But yeah, Jean totally wants to husband Jeremy. It's so painful. Disneyland is supposed to be romantic, but--"
Alvarez finishes the thought with a fart noise. Andrew's not sure why he speaks up, the conversation is so beneath him, and he blames Bee. He never used to talk so much before he realized that it actually helped his mind move down the endless river.
"Movie moments like that will never happen," Andrew says, nothing condescending or dismissive about it. It's the truth; he learned long ago that the grand gestures people expected seldom come to fruition. They could sit Jean and Jeremy at the table for two with violins playing around them and it most likely wouldn't do any good.
People won't do anything until they're ready to acknowledge how they feel, and even then they might not. Andrew never thought that was such a bad thing; shutting down a feeling, weighing the pros and cons of a decision until ultimately trying to be rid of it.
It was better that way.
He knows though, had he never let that go, he wouldn't have Neil next to him.
He also knows Bee would call that a good thing, the release of a way of thinking that he's yet to acknowledge as completely outdated.
None of that realization shows on his face.
"You sure sound fun," Alvarez mutters, but she's smiling in a way Andrew hates.
"Andrew's the funnest person I know," Neil adds, unhelpfully adding to the upbeat of Andrew's heart. If Neil could stop ruining the English language on purpose that would be great.
The girls wait for Neil to reveal it as a joke, but seconds of Neil's blank stare kill any chance of laughter.
No, Neil is completely serious. And maybe he's right, after all the good Trojan captain himself did call Andrew a riot.
Laila purses her lips after a moment. "Right..."
"Anyways, you better get a move on if you don't want to continue enjoying your date," Alvarez says, glancing behind her suspiciously while checking her watch. Laila's hand entangles in her girlfriend's, and Andrew notices the charm bracelet there. He wonders if it's a gift from Alvarez.
He's seen a similar, custom one on Katelyn's wrist for the longest time. He's about to ask himself why people are so obsessed with buying jewelry, before realizing he's in the same boat.
When did he come to permit this?
Ugh. He's not running around that particular race track again. "It's not--"
"We're going to go get drinks in the Star Wars cantina," Alvarez interrupts, hastily beginning to tug her girlfriend in that direction. Guess it's later than she thought. "Jeremy will come this way soon. He has a very specific itinerary."
Of course he does.
"Any...slow ride suggestions?" Neil asks before they go, and Alvarez squeaks when she runs right into Laila's strong back. Neil steadfastly ignores the glare Andrew sends him, though if they do have to go on more rides, Andrew would prefer something smooth.
The Matterhorn can burn.
"There's the storybook ride?" Laila says, pointing behind them down the path. "Or It's a Small World?"
Alvarez huffs. "There's a joke there somewhere..."
Andrew doesn't mean for it to happen, but his memory is a steel trap, with a layer of unpredictability wrapped around it. He can't stop it, can't turn it off. For the briefest of moments it brings him the image of a homely kitchen in California, his fingers tracing the carvings in the table while he watches Cass cook dinner. It smells good; he remembers. Of course he remembers, the dish, the ingredients, down to the stains on the tile and which cabinets were open.
The song Cass hummed from between her lips.
He'd never heard the real song, never cared to look it up online or search up the ride itself. But he knows the name, knows the tune.
"What's that?" Neil asks, and whether he means to or not, his voice pulls Andrew out of it. Not even just that...Neil has a way of firmly planting Andrew in this new reality he's forged and tailored.
For the better, Bee's voice reminds him.
Laila smiles, no doubt connecting the ride to memories of her own. Happier, softer memories. Andrew could have those too, if he wanted. It would just take some revision, overwriting. "It's just a boat ride, and it kills time for sure."
Just a boat ride. That's all.
Neil nods, turning to Andrew while the girls walk away. It's getting later; Andrew can tell by how blue Neil's eyes get, highlighted by the darkness. They're haunting in a way, like the unexplored bottom of the ocean. Horrific things lurk in the depths, but there's something pleasant about them too, calming in their mystery. Maybe because to Andrew, and only Andrew, it's familiar territory. Andrew has never felt that level of ease from something, but Neil's stupid expression is too soft when he speaks. "How about it?"
How about it? Hm.
Andrew looks off into the direction Laila pointed in, debating on if he should put himself through that. Is he ready to put himself through that?
He could take this step, he reasons. He could try to overpower the terrible memory with one of Neil, with the feeling of his weight beside him. Is it worth it? Will it work?
No, he can't think of it like that.
It won't erase anything; Andrew's not so naive to think he will ever be rid of the image in his head, the sound of Cass's voice. But...maybe he could make the crystal clear image blurrier, faded around the edges until his mind wavers, until he can no longer make out the scenes as well as before. Instead, his brain will default to Neil in the future. Whenever he hears the cheery tune, Andrew will think of his stupid headband and sugar-kissed lips.
Stronger, sturdier memories.
He's allowed Neil to implant them before, and it hasn't backfired. The process is not always easy, or without pain, but it's been worth it every time. Andrew sees no reason to mess with a working strategy.
Andrew grabs Neil's wrist, the firmest contact they've had all day, and something in him sighs at the same time Neil does.
He leads the way.
--
As soon as Andrew hears the tune as they enter the tunnel, he wonders if he made a mistake. Not because of the memory, though that's definitely there. No, it's the tune itself.
The music is loud, repetitive, with no lull. He's not sure how someone can work on this ride and not quit immediately. He should've expected it though, so the blame is on himself. It won't be over anytime soon either. The boat they're in is moving at an agonizing speed, but it's a relief for his back. The slow glide makes him painfully aware of the soreness in his legs, the heaviness of his eyelids.
The spotlights are pointing at the monuments and walls, leaving the riders in the shadows. If Andrew squints, the people in the boats ahead of him look like nothing more than silhouettes for the briefest of moments. Unreal, specters.
The song continues, and Andrew reevaluates. It's too late to get off the ride, and the song might be called fitting; there's a weird eeriness to it, along with the surreal feeling of the park noises being completely blocked out. It's silent, for being so loud, so irritating. But after a while he's sure he'd become numb to it, and then what would be left?
All he can hear other than the singing is the gentle slosh of the water and the occasional hushed voices of the people in front of them. Like the wind. He feels like a ghost on the ride, wispy and drifting in and out of centuries. The tune is ageless, has probably been around for decades, long before Cass started to hum it.
Somehow, it's a comfort. Cass had been insignificant, another way to separate her memory from the ride itself.
Some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders, and having Neil beside him lessens it further. There are two free seat rows in front of them; the line hadn't been too long at this time of day, and Andrew feels an inkling of gratefulness.
It's the closest thing to privacy they've had all day, he realizes, and some of the fuzziness from earlier dissipates. The static in his brain has had time to even and sizzle out; it's taken hours for him to get to this point, but when Neil lets a quiet 'yes or no' pass between them, the answer is easy. Certain.
Andrew pulls Neil against him, and Neil follows it up by entangling their fingers together. He hardly hesitates anymore, doesn't treat the gesture like something with an expiration date. Andrew privately thought it would be the case, but...he's yet to be tired of it.
It's not so rare anymore, holding Neil's hand.
They pass the first display of dancing puppets, just as the song repeats 'it's a small world after all' through the speakers. Andrew can feel Neil's wry smile before he sees it. "It really is a--"
"Finish that joke I'll kill you."
Neil throws his head back in the first sign of genuine joy from a ride, and Andrew thinks this is already better than anything else they'd previously done. It's less intensive, with just enough chaotic energy to appeal to Neil's sense of humor.
They're not the type of people usually caught dead on these kinds of rides, but the creepiness feels warmer than any of the other joyful displays Disneyland had to offer. Neil's laugh echoes off the high ceilings, and he smothers it quickly.
But Andrew's mind remembers, and he plays the cut off sound on a loop far more intense than the tune of the ride itself. He mixes them together, until they can't be pried apart.
When they pass the German section of the song, Neil looks at him expectantly, and the look Andrew gives him is unimpressed. Mischief dances in his boyfriend's eyes anyways, and again, it's not cute. It's not like Andrew is going to suddenly start singing along just because it's in German. Though, Neil's reaction might be worth it.
Neil critiques the lyric translation anyways, like it's not the simplest song to mass produce.
"This isn't so bad," Neil sighs as they pass under another archway to a different section of the very small world. His finger is starting to tap along on the back of Andrew's hand, and he's not sure if he should put an end to it before it gets stuck in Neil's head. Then he'd have to hear Neil humming it over and over, and while not as traumatic, there's only so much Andrew can take.
"Other people would probably call it torture," Andrew says, gesturing to the lifeless faces of the puppets. He wonders if there's any conspiracies about this ride online, he's sure Neil would get some morbid kick out of them.
"Wimps," Neil replies haughtily, and no, Andrew's pulse does not jump. “I’m a torture connoisseur.”
He bastardizes the word so bad Andrew almost feels bad for France. Almost. When did Neil start thinking he was funny?
"That's not even remotely how you say it." Andrew untangles their hands purely for the purpose of flicking Neil's earlobe. Neil grabs for it again as soon as the punishment is doled out.
Junkie. "You speak that language..."
But Andrew's accusations mean nothing to Neil, per usual.
"I'm dumb remember?" Neil reminds with a shrug, and Andrew grits his teeth. He's still unsure how he feels about this; Neil's mind is vast when it comes to a lot of things. Languages, math, world knowledge, how to kill a man, basic things.
But otherwise...the ignorance can be...
Attractive.
Andrew almost gets off the boat from admitting it to himself. Dumb jocks with runner's hearts is a type he guesses, and it happens to be his.
Or, scratch that. Neil can't possibly fall into a group. Had more than one Neil existed, the mafia would've surely met their demise as a whole through a combination of violence and general dumbassery.
"You milk it on purpose," Andrew decides to say, because Neil does. Because no, Neil's far from dumb, he just knows what gets under Andrew's skin.
Neil chooses not to respond to that, predictably.
"It's just not as bad as I expected," Neil continues, leaning his head against Andrew's shoulder. He gives a long sigh, and Andrew's sure it can't be comfortable. As at ease as he is in Neil's presence, there's always a hardness there, a tension coiled in his body. Yet, Neil leans into him like a pillow and seems to cherish the steadiness.
For a while, they just listen to the song.
Andrew's not quite sure if he agrees with the message, but he doesn't care in the moment. He's come to acknowledge lately that he shares quite a bit with other people, much to his chagrin. Though in the grand scheme of things, he's eons away from them all.
Primarily, he doesn't like to think he could replicate this...feeling, whatever it is.
Certainly not enough to assign an overused word to, one stamped onto every relationship like a barcode. 'I love you.'
He's never admired the words when other people used them. Is that fair, he wonders. Does it matter? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place; the need to be contrary itches at him. He shouldn't want to feel that way, shouldn't have to label this feeling as love...
And it doesn't feel right anyways.
He does not want to fit an insincere mold, but he doubts he and Neil ever could. They never have. This would not be so easily destroyed, toppled.
They simply share too much, and Andrew thinks back to his goal of replacing every bad memory with Neil. That's not an accident, or a desperate quick fix. That instinct is there for a reason...
Cass. Funny how his two separate problems seem to come together. Cass is an appropriate example. Andrew knows, better than anyone, that she hadn't loved him in Katelyn's definition, if that's what love even is. If love can be broken down like that, if it's real. Devotion, consideration, loyalty.
Andrew sighs; he can't go that deep into it. It's too much, bogged down by layers and layers of terrible experiences that have only just begun to be pushed aside like weeds. Never ripped out. The roots have taken hold, but they're withering.
Maybe it's because he's so tired of thinking about it that the words come out. He peers down at Neil against him, at the top of his head where the auburn curls are so within reach, and confesses to Neil's crown. He doesn't blame the need to admit things to Neil as influenced by love, it can't possibly be so contained. He just...something pushes him to work this out. "Cass would hum this, every now and again."
Andrew's not sure what he wants the reaction to be, but when Neil responds, Andrew's soul relaxes, so it must be what he needed. Neil goes rigid within an instant, robbed of the peace afforded them. Andrew didn't mean to throw it into their quiet bubble, but he doesn't regret it. These things aren't inconvenient. Andrew gives these pieces of information to Neil now, like he always has. Willingly, and they're received in kind.
Neil shoots up, eyes frantic when they meet Andrew's. He sees so many things in those blue eyes: rage at Cass, concern for Andrew, and things Andrew didn't ask for but will receive for as long as Neil is here. Neil looks frantic, and two seconds away from dragging them as far away from this place as possible.
Neil's voice is a whisper, sharp and desperate. "Why did you--"
Why indeed? Why come on this ride?
Andrew's puts all his boyfriend's worry and guilt into an early grave.
"I hate having her in my brain," he answers, and knows it's not an excuse. Being on this ride is far from traumatic, more therapeutic than anything, but he almost recoils. He's only ever admitted those things aloud, the pent up resentment and anger, in the privacy of Bee's office. Even then, it's pulling teeth. For so long he framed his time with Cass as the only blip of light in his life. But it had come with a price, and Andrew knows now it hadn't been remotely worth it. For so long he tried to protect that outlook, but now he wants it stained, blacked out. He just never knew it would be so hard to blot it out with his own hand.
And if that was not love...
Neil flinches, but Andrew keeps going, daring him to say something. He needs Neil to know he's serious, so he makes it personal, shared. "You're the obnoxious one, telling me to overwrite things all the time. That's what this is."
That's why I'm okay with this. It's you.
Andrew can see the moment Neil remembers; they'd been sitting on the roof, and Neil had asked him to only remember the good things, even if for just a moment. Andrew's not the best at employing this, and sometimes he vehemently denies the ability to do so, but not with this. Not today.
That feeling cannot be replicated; Andrew turns the idea in his head again and again, never getting closer.
But one thing is certain...
Neil's expression softens, and Andrew squeezes his hand before he flicks a look up at the bright orange monstrosity on Neil's head. "Now, this ride will just remind me of how terrible that headband is," he says, and Neil should at least be able to read between those lines. "Nothing else will come first."
I will latch onto you instead. Andrew never wanted that before, to cling to some idealized outlook again. But Neil is not that; Neil is painfully real. Sometimes he misinterprets, other times he keeps too much to himself. But at the end of the day, Andrew trusts him to do whatever it takes to remain by his side for as long as he chooses to be there.
Andrew is the same way; he can't go back to how it was before.
Andrew's not paying attention to the displays around them anymore, but he can feel his mind melding the images and the tune together with Neil's expression. Open, vulnerable, welcome.
Neil sighs a moment later, muscles relaxing. Not once does his hold on Andrew loosen, but he knows better than to pry about Andrew's past. Andrew has made it clear; this moment is not about an old memory.
Neil leans back, moving further into Andrew's space. "Mm, should I say something else annoying, make the moment stronger?"
And ah, back to normal already are we?
Andrew flicks the back of Neil's hand. "You just did."
He'll log that away too, as aggravating as it is.
"Yeah..." Neil breathes out with a laugh, his thumb rubbing small circles into Andrew's skin. Physical touch, muscle memory...Andrew needs all of it for this to work. He gladly focuses on that while Neil thinks; Andrew can tell solely from the crease in his brow the striker has more on his mind.
Neil's not necessarily like Andrew, he won't keep these things to himself for prideful reasons. He needs to let them out, or they will eat him up.
He's bad at hiding it too.
"Hey Andrew," Neil says eventually, and Andrew's ready for the words before they're even in the air between them. He'd been expecting this, dreading it, but not okay with putting it off any longer. He needs Neil's help, unfortunately, to piece it all together. "You said Jean was in love with Jeremy."
One day if life is especially cruel, and Andrew outlives Neil, he will make it his mission to pick the man's brain. Something in that stubborn subconscious always seems to anticipate the winding roads Andrew is currently stuck on, even when Neil actually has zero clue.
He's not so upset by this anymore.
Carefully, Andrew turns Neil's palm over to trace the heart lines. If he put them on a map, would they cross through all the places Neil's been? "I did say that."
And he's been re-thinking about if it's true. Who knows if Jean and Jeremy are actually in love. As much as he likes to compare them to his brother's and Katelyn's nauseating displays, affectionate looks and blushing cheeks can't be all there is to it.
Andrew had been stupid to chalk it up to just that. Not even Katelyn would've. And if that's the case, Andrew might never be convinced of Jeremy and Jean's feelings. Attraction sure, but he doesn't care enough to dig deeper.
There's not an equation to test levels of protectiveness, or comfort, in order to determine an abstract and troublesome thing like love. And why would he need to test his own feelings against such a thing anyways? He knows...he knows this is something he will keep for as long as he can.
"I thought you didn't use that word," Neil offers when Andrew is quiet for too long, debating on the best angle to attack this from. Neil tends to do that, when Andrew himself hasn't figured things out yet. If he poses questions that open up other doors, it clears the mess away. He notes how Neil says 'doesn't use' instead of 'doesn't like' or 'hates,' because it's true. Andrew isn't repulsed by the word, just annoyed with it and all its aspects. He does not get it.
It's like he told Katelyn...
"I don't, but only because it's untrustworthy," Andrew replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He's not making sense, not even to himself. He's simply trying to see if he's open to the idea of throwing out his old opinion, the one where the concept of love is something twisted beyond recognition. Fake. Overly reproduced.
It's far more difficult a feat than simply overwriting a bad memory. This feels more invasive, but Andrew knows he wouldn't be thinking about it if there wasn't something important lodged beneath.
Neil squints, unaware of Andrew's turmoil. "So you were insulting them?"
The game show buzzer in Andrew's head rings; nope, that's not it.
"I was applying Mrs. Minyard's definition..." Andrew tries not to sound too bitter. The whole reason he even let this issue cling to him is because of Katelyn. She's the worst.
"Katelyn?" Neil asks, but doesn't question further after Andrew nods. Andrew assumes he's used to this, and it's entirely likely he's had a similar conversation with Katelyn. Andrew won't think about that either.
Neil nods. "Okay well, do you care if they figure it out?"
Again, Neil strikes out, but it helps Andrew to eliminate the background noise in his head.
"No, it makes no difference to me," he says. He couldn't care less what becomes of Moreau's romantic life. "Though it would be annoying if we have to do this again."
Another forced outing surrounded by dense morons...
Andrew's had to deal with enough obliviousness.
Neil smirks. "You know, Kevin might flip out if they get together."
Ah, another rare pro...
Neil leans away, regarding Andrew like he's taken on a new sleuth role. He rubs his chin too, to add to the drama of it. Maybe Andrew should get him a monocle, if he's going to be this much of a fuck. "So...if you don't care if they realize it, why think about it at all? I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd care about something like this."
Andrew's not quite sure why or if he does either. It doesn't have to be a thing that applies to them, if he doesn't want it to be.
Their this is unique. Andrew had been so resistant to using the word 'love' because it had been spit on and turned to bile, misused by people throughout his life. But in doing so, he ignored the times people used it genuinely. In the past, he would've contested that. He would've said it was never genuine, never earned. The commercialized concept wasn't something he'd let himself have in common with others.
But lately, Andrew finds that having some things in common with certain people isn't reprehensible. And in this case...
Aaron's voice comes barreling through his head, steering Andrew to destinations he couldn't find before. And well, now he knows why his brain can't let go of Aaron and Katelyn as his go to example.
"Our feelings for them are the same."
Yes. Andrew had slowly begun to accept that. Maybe that's why his brain wouldn't write off Katelyn's words so easily.
Begrudgingly, Andrew admits there's a lot more to his brother's relationship than pure affection, even when most of it is behind closed doors. Katelyn had been there through the worst parts of Aaron's college life, and she'd never once judged him or ignored the ugliest bits. Not even when he hated her, could Andrew look past those things. They meet her own definition, and Andrew's simply choosing to extend some trust to his brother. Aaron says he's in love, so Andrew believes him even when he doesn't believe in the feeling's history, in the way it's manipulated.
And well, if his feelings are the same...
Well, he guesses he can try to accept that too.
"I was testing it," Andrew answers, without much struggle. Katelyn's definition, any definition. Andrew looks at Neil straight on then, and the striker's grin fades. Something crosses over those eyes, like for once Andrew is ahead of him. "Love. I think I'm trying to decide if I...want to say it."
If I want to say 'I love you.' If it applies at all.
Not need, but want.
Is it something heavy, or is it something inconsequential?
It feels wrong, but Andrew knows he's reached the crux of his problem. This is where all his restlessness stemmed from, his observations about Jean and Jeremy, about the girls...
It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with whether or not he'd ever want to have that in common with them.
He'd ignored the fact he most likely already does.
But the words...he never would've bothered before. They don't mean much, other than the weight society has put on them, and Andrew's never cared about that. He doesn't need them to know this is something sturdy in his life, and he doubts Neil needs them either.
It's more...this is another thing life took from them, took from Neil. They've never expected to regain everything; they never feel like life owes them.
It has nothing to do with that. It's just the same as with a lot of other instances; Andrew wants to give these things to Neil, because Neil is his.
Does there have to be some deeper explanation or justification for it? Even if there is, Andrew stops looking for it.
He waves off Neil's shocked expression, and doesn't ponder why it's there in the first place. He's been in the wrong before, assuming he's the only one who thinks about stuff like this. It's possible this has been on Neil's mind too, but that's not the point.
"I don't mean now, or anytime soon," Andrew corrects. No, no. He's not there yet, and it's not like it's some milestone they have to reach. Andrew doesn't like to think it could encompass how he feels, but maybe his biggest issue with this is that...he's not sure he hates the idea of it anymore. The word. One day, he might be able to say it and know it means a lot more than what other people think about it. And that would be enough. "But one day."
The shadows of the displays wash over Neil's expression, and Andrew can't pull anything out of it. Neil stares, hand still curled impossibly tight in Andrew's.
Andrew won't take back anything he said, but Neil's silence is beginning to unnerve him. He could have overstepped he realized, he should've asked for Neil's opinion at some point, weighed it against--
"You know, Aaron talked to me about this once," Neil offers finally. It's not what Andrew's expecting him to say. Then, Neil's face twitches, and Andrew can tell he's...holding back a smile. "That night you picked Katelyn up, we talked about...yeah."
Yeah.
Andrew knows the gist of what happened, Neil filled him in. Guess he didn't reveal all the details though.
Neil's laugh is a breathy, comforting thing this time. "He made me think about it. He asked if I loved you."
Neil smiles wryly, an expression he's begun to pair with Aaron lately. It's not a glare or scowl nearly as much anymore.
Andrew stills, but relaxes in the next second. They'd both been subject to the same thoughts after all, Andrew just didn't realize how similar the sources were. Aaron and Katelyn are menaces, and they don't even realize it.
Andrew doesn't feel nervous, or anxious. The way Neil feels about him is obnoxiously stone-like and unmovable at this point, as much as Andrew still sometimes tries to act like it's not. Neil won't say anything to make him doubt that.
"I said I did," Neil continues, like it's obvious. Andrew's pulse hiccups a little anyways. Stupid. "But I didn't know if I ever wanted to say it to you. It's more like...well obviously I do feel that way right? In the whatever—traditional sense."
Traditional. Ha.
He's not sure even Katelyn's definition is truly traditional in its selflessness.
Neil clears his throat, palm clammy in Andrew's own. Second by second, Andrew feels lighter. Neil's rambling is a strange salve, one more thing they have in common. Too much thinking, when the answer doesn't have to be so complex. Neil tries to glance away, but Andrew grabs his chin, keeping them face to face. He wants to have all this forever, every expression, every blink.
Neil swallows, but his smile stays, making a liar out of him before the words even leave his mouth. "But one word doesn't seem like enough, and if we did say it wouldn't it just be for other people's satisfaction? I don't need it to know you feel the same way..."
Andrew shakes his head in disbelief. Neil. Only Neil would expect that from Andrew. Andrew's mind exhales.
The convoluted mess of words echoes Andrew's own thoughts throughout the day, but it's never sounded clearer. No, it's true, one word will never be enough, but Andrew thinks if he could come to associate the word, the phrase, with this feeling, unique to them...
It wouldn't be so damaged anymore.
It would still be theirs, and no one else's. He'd have his own definition, to overwrite the rest.
"But even then..." Neil adds, quietly, his voice dancing with the song still playing around them. The lyrics are in English again, and Andrew knows the ride will end soon. Cass is barely a blip in his mind now, compared to Neil's words, the ones which mirror Andrew's. "I still thought it might be nice, one day, to say it. That doesn't make sense, does it?"
Logically no. All the contradictions, the back and forth...feelings are a strange thing and that's one reason Andrew's always hated them. There's no rhyme or reason, and there's two sides to each one. All justification is ruled out by one thing and one thing alone: 'I still want to.'
And in that sense, Neil's words make perfect sense.
But he can't confess all that; instead he cups Neil's face in his hands, smoothing over the scars like he always does. The roughness is a constant, familiar. "I hate you," he says, with no heat. It makes both of them blink, and Andrew realizes it's been a while since he said it. That too, has changed. But in this case, he thinks it's more than fair. He's feeling more than he possibly knows what to do with. "Yes or no?"
The fact he asks makes Neil snort; it's nostalgic, because...they don't ask as much these days. But Neil's 'yes' echoes loud and clear as they pass under the final archway, and for the first time all day, their lips meet. Neil sighs into him, his hands coming up to rest over Andrew's, breathing in the unspoken promise.
Nothing was decided, nothing fleshed out. But it didn't have to be.
One day, maybe.
They're both more than okay with that. Besides, Andrew did always say proof meant more than words.
And he has mountains of it to last in the meantime.
With only a little annoyance, Andrew admits he fell into the trap without meaning to; they shared a kiss at Disneyland.
Andrew pulls away as the sunlight begins to pour over them, and he squints, already missing the ride. Quiet it was not, but not as bad as the sounds and size of the crowd. If he ever does have to come back, he knows it will be a place to stop.
It makes him think of Neil, first and foremost, and he's long since stopped denying himself that.
Neil tries to help Andrew out of the boat, but Andrew swats him away for being a shit. He doesn't need help. As revenge, Neil smirks at him once they're walking down the exit path, adjusting his ears just to be even more irritating. Not cute. "Wait, so this means you admit Katelyn and Aaron are in love. Can I tell them?"
Andrew rolls his eyes, and Neil laughs. He'll never live that one down, and if Neil wants to survive he'll keep it to himself.
Mockery aside, Neil links their hands together, and Andrew pushes his face away before accepting the touch. Neil hasn't stopped smiling.
"Something to say Neil?" He says with a glare, and though he knows it's a joke at best, it makes that obnoxious warmth in him surge.
Neil smiles wider, dragging Andrew down the path with no idea where he's going. Andrew lets him.
"No," Neil throws behind him, humor lacing his tone. Gradually, the corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Not at all."
--
"Andrew! Neil!" Jeremy's voice booms from across the pavilion, and they both freeze in their analysis of where the best hiding spot would be in the entire park (Andrew is making a case for Toontown, but puts a pin in it).
Their time alone is officially over.
"Shit," Neil mutters, hand still linked in Andrew's. Normally at the sight of people they know, he'd pull away for Andrew's comfort, but Andrew keeps his grip firm.
He wants this today. Neil beams, sighing at the rest of the group's advance. It must be twice as sad now, since Neil knows.
Jeremy and Jean follow with the girls in tow, and as they get closer Andrew can see Laila's resigned smile. She and Alvarez have been caught too, despite their best efforts, and Andrew can tell nothing has changed.
The 'magical moment' they'd tried to pull out of Jean and Jeremy didn't happen, just like Andrew knew it wouldn't. Regardless, they're as hopeless as ever.
Jean trails close after Jeremy, eyes scanning his strong back while Jeremy keeps looking to make sure he's following. They're still dancing around one another, oblivious, but that's their own problem to sort out.
Still...there's a shift in Jean's features that wasn't there before, and Andrew is all too happy to wither it away with a glare.
He's accepting, not forgiving.
Whatever realizations Jean came to today have no other impact on Andrew other than an urge to get as far away as possible from it.
But there's hours to go.
Hours more to go, with Neil's hand in his. The striker throws a knowing grin back at him before pulling him forward, probably dead set on meddling as much as possible.
With the promise of 'one day' still fizzing strong in his chest, Andrew follows.
There's no more memories of this place to overwrite, so he has no choice but to crack open the door a little for some new ones.
That, at least, he can handle.
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The Assassination of Jaime Lannister*
Rant contains spoilers of Season 8 Episode 4 of Game of Thrones. Look away if you haven't seen it.
Right. Here we go.
I did not read the series A Song of Ice and Fire (ASOIAF) until Season 5 of Game of Thrones. Fantasy is not my favorite genre. Besides these books by George RR Martin, the only fantasy novel I've read was The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King.
I was drawn to the books because of the show. They're not easy to read. Besides being thick enough to actually hurt someone with it, I read them with zero ideas about the conventions of fantasy, the worldling and so on. I was curious and wanted to see. Also, Season 5 took too long. After a weekend where I binged on Seasons 1 to 4, I needed to know about the books.
The wait for Season 5 was reason one. Curiosity the second. The third was I have fallen in love with Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth. Yes. I was in love with them as a pair. They are my favorite characters.
Back then I had no idea what shipping meant, and what fandoms were. But I knew I had to see if the chemistry of Jaime and Brienne in the show, awesomely played by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and Gwendoline Christie, resulted from casting and adaptation or if the characters' interactions sizzled in the books. In other words, and this is vocabulary I picked up once I began wading deeper into the fandom, I was curious if it was canon.
And it was!
On their own and together, Jaime and Brienne were written with nuanced complexity. Jaime, especially, seemed sketched to cover the entire spectrum of gray and other unknown shades of it. Readers and show-onlys went from wishing this guy Seven Hells for throwing a ten-year-old child from a window to cheering him on as he found himself, often with great reluctance at first, on a path to redemption. Because Jaime, once separated from his family--the continuing disapproval of his father Tywin because he was nothing more than a glorified bodyguard and the quicksand relationship with twin sister Cersei--was finally free to be a man on his own. It did not matter that he was one of the greatest sword fighters, that he was a Lannister and Kingsguard. Robb Stark's army captured him because he was leading the Lannister armies. He lost his hand for thinking being a Lannister gave him protection and privilege. One-handed and probably still fevered, he jumped into the bear pit to rescue Brienne of Tarth. And before that, he saved her from being raped too.
As all that Jaime had been was gradually stripped away to reveal a man who murdered his king to protect the people yet one who loved his sister without guilt, Brienne was there in the picture of him being rendered anew. Honestly, because of Brienne, I swung to Team Jaime. Possibly with pom-poms too.
But after reading the books and seeing some episodes again, I began to wonder if David Benioff and D.B. Weiss hated the character.
While in the books Jaime said, "The things we do for love" WITH LOATHING, in the show he said the line with a smirk, that throwing a boy out the window was the natural consequence of protecting his affair with Cersei. Maybe Show!Jaime didn't see it as a consequence but something that simply had to be done but without smugness.
Okay, I thought. That was weird but the writers have to know right? They read the books.
When Jaime and Brienne finally have that bath in the show, and how it was adapted as faithfully as possible, I thought the show finally understood him. It was weird that Jaime returned to Cersei before the Purple Wedding but i thought of nothing of it.
Until THAT episode in Season 4.
In the books, the scene above should be when Jaime returned at King's Landing after being captured by Robb Stark and The Brave Companions. The reunion was from Jaime' point of view. Cersei's consent was clear:
"Hurry," she was whispering now, "quickly, quickly, now, do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime." Her hands helped guide him. "Yes," Cersei said as he thrust, "my brother, sweet brother, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you’re home now, you're home now, you’re home." She kissed his ear and stroked his short bristly hair."
In the show, she actually said, "It's not right!" a few times. Also, a few episodes prior to this, we saw Jaime complaining to her that he had been "back for weeks," and wanted to resume their affair. While in the books we saw two people falling in each other's arms after being apart for a long time, and needing each other desperately, in the show we saw rape. Though the claim by Benioff and Weiss was due to "bad editing/lighting" and that it was "unintentional," their refusal to actually address the issue and just re-edit and re-broadcast buried even more Jaime's redemption arc. As a viewer I forgave this mistake. Maybe next season?
Nope. It got worse.
When Jaime and Cersei made love by Joffrey' body in the books, this was the last time the twins would have sex. The books showed Jaime's gradual disillusionment with Cersei--he thought she drank too much, was tired of her scheming. Tyrion also told him about her affairs with other men. So when Jaime went to Riverrun to recover it for the Crown, he was not only the farthest from Cersei again, he was done. Just DONE. Her pleas for him to help her and promises of love end up tossed in the fire.
The show, rather than adapting this, simply diverged. Season 5 was as confused in what to do with Jaime as lots of viewers were. Season 6 saw Jaime and Cersei resume their affair before he left for the Riverlands. Returning to King's Landing in the finale, we saw the chilling look Jaime gave Cersei during her coronation.
Perhaps this was it. This would be when he falls out of love.
HA.
Season 7, until this weekend's episode, was THE WORST ADAPTATION OF JAIME. There. I'm saying it. THE WORST.
Why? It wasn't even the incest that pissed me off. Jaime, who slew the Mad King for wanting to torch King's Landing with wildfyre, did a dizzying 180 by ENABLING his sister, who murdered Queen Margaery, her former fiance, Kevan Lannister and other innocent members of the court by wildfire. Season 7 Jaime simply took Cersei at her word. Forget about Tommen, THEIR LAST SON. Who committed suicide as a result of his wife's murder. Forget about what really caused the Sept explosion. What mattered was creating a dynasty for "the last Lannisters who count."
Jaime stood by her side and in the queen' name, contributed in tearing further apart the Seven Kingdoms. No questions asked. LITERALLY no questions asked. Despite telling Cersei of the danger of her new position, he went on to rant about the lack of allies. That can be read as Jaime being practical but as the season progressed, it was proof that he would be at her side no matter what. No matter who had to be murdered. He DID say he would murder everyone until it was only the two of them left in the world. Alright.
LIoking back on past episodes, Cersei always succeeded in keeping Jaime at her side with promises of going public with their affair. In the books, Jaime pressed her to let people know he was her choice and she refused. In the Season 4 finale, she told him she told Tywin about them, resulting in passionate and this time consensual sex on a table in the White Sword Tower. In Episode 3 of Season 7, after Cersei fucked him to celebrate her victory over the Sand Snakes, we saw a loved up Jaime in the morning after.
This would be the happiest viewers had seen Jaime. Cersei, now really THE Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, would openly fuck him. The scandal reached as far as Eastwatch, with Tormund, wanting to clarify, asking which queen was discussed in a conversation. "The one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?"
After Daenerys and her Dothraki army burned the Lannister forces on their way back to King's Landing, a shaken and muddy Jaime returned to Cersei right away. And in the same episode, Cersei revealed she was pregnant again. This was happy news, indeed but Jaime needed to know one thing: who will Cersei acknowledge as the father.
"You."
Now I refuse to think Cersei had once again succeeded in manipulating him. I think she WAS pregnant. There's no way to fake joy like that. And yeah, though I don't ship them, I understood Jaime's happiness. Finally, he would get to be a real father.
Still, still, still. Season 7 Jaime really made no sense. There was none of Book Jaime here. None. What we saw was a guy who supported a tyrant willingly and was now going to be a real daddy. I hate it but that's really Season 7 Jaime. Even when he left Cersei, the reason was a headscratcher.
"I don't believe you," has got to be the worst break-up line because it's lame. Better if Jaime just looked at Cersei with puppy dog eyes and walked away. Really.
The beginning of Season 8 saw the writing of Jaime hitting the right beats. A different man, check. A man who honestly regrets what he did to Bran, check. A man who was no longer the golden lion and ready to fulfill a vow he made, check. Hearteyes at Brienne, check.
He knighted Brienne. BIG, FAT CHECKS.
In episode four, The Last of the Starks, Benioff and Weiss, probably tired from the glare of their computer screens, seemed to have just written the episode in bullet points. It became glaringly obvious they wanted the series over and done with. Fuck decent writing.
Jaime Lannister is not the only one who was badly written in the latest episode. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about Qyburn's ballista and Euron apparently a sharp-shooter. We have no idea how Missandei was captured. That drinking game with Jaime, Brienne, Podrick and Tyrion was awkward and misogynistic--seriously, why shame Brienne for being a virgin?
And Sansa! Sansa basically saying if she had not been raped and abused, she wouldn't be in the position she is now! Who on earth says anything like that? Answer: no one. And I don't mean Arya.
And Missandei. The ONE WOMAN OF COLOR in a blindingly white show is chained and beheaded!
Then Jaime. Oh, Jaime.
There are no happy endings in Game of Thrones. Ned Starks gets beheaded. Jon Snow gets knifed. Sansa is raped. Catelyn, Robb and Talisa get butchered. Just when victory is within reach, characters are punished so cruelly it's inhuman.
But it doesn't mean crappy writing. At fifteen million dollars an episode this season, I expect writing that reflects intelligence. Who cares about CGI wolves and dragons when the writing is shit?
Now it's no longer a question if David Benioff and D.B. Weiss hate Jaime. THEY DO. Everyone else was buffed up or given meat. They couldn't even spare Jaime Lannister a decent-sized bone.
I don't blame Jaime for leaving Brienne. Hear me out.
After Brienne and Sansa tell him the latest developments in King's Landing with regard to Cersei, we see Jaime shocked and even horrified. The next scene, he's in the chambers with Brienne contemplating what to do. And this is where the writing becomes really shitty:
1. He left her without saying goodbye.
2. He LEFT Brienne with her thinking he did it for Cersei.
What was the point of according her the respect and honor of being a knight--done by his own hand? What was the point of telling her he was no longer the fighter he was? Where was the respect when he was going to leave her as a regrettable one night stand? (But Winterfell to King's Landing is a month by land so I assume they've been banging for that long)
Nothing, it's just illogical shit.
Had the writers made just a bit more effort, Jaime Lannister should have been shown experiencing some happiness with Brienne, rather than Tyrion telling the viewers about it. We don't see it. We're just told and have to take their word for it. Jaime could have benefitted too in leaving Brienne in the NEXT episode. Why? It increases the stakes. Just one scene showing Jaime happy, just one, and of him ACTUALLY talking to Brienne about having to leave instead of being found out, and the episode probably won't be as crappy. I don't mind Brienne begging and crying, heartbreaking as that scene is. What I mind is Jaime never being shown what he stands to lose if he leaves Winterfell. Olenna Tyrell, before he he grants her the mercy of taking poison, had warned him it will be too late for him. She's right.
I believe he goes to King's Landing because of the guilt that he began a war to protect Cersei. When he does things for Cersei, the consequences are horrible and far-reaching. Easy to call him dumb and he is. But let's not forget that he charged at Daenerys and Drogon with just a spear thinking to end it all. A spear against a fire-breathing dragon. Like, what are the odds, right?
I'm not going to say anything more about The Bang That Was Promised And Sucked Donkey Balls. Enough has been said, enough hearts have been broken. We KNOW the world of Game of Thrones is dark and bitter and almost without hope. We really do. But as fans of the books and the show, FANS WHO MADE IT POSSIBLE FOR THE SERIES BE RENEWED AND HBO TO INCREASE THE BUDGET EVERY SEASON, all we ask for is good writing. We get that without actual material from George the writing is challenging. WE REALLY DO.
But is it too much to ask for the writers to set aside their hatred for one of the best characters in the series and understand him? Give him the material he deserves in the show? There is none of the Book Jaime trying so hard to be honorable. None. Instead what we've been given, since the first episode, is a train wreck of an adaptation that has now been confirmed as a character assassination.
It's not dragonfyre that has killed Jaime but writing that is careless, hurried and just plain awful. In Benioff and Weiss' determination and delusion in finishing the TV series on a high note, Jaime Lannister has been left with barely a whimper.
*Previously titled, "When Adaptations Assassinate A Character."
#jaime x brienne#jaime lannister#brienne of tarth#brienne x jaime#game of thrones#braime#asoiaf#the last of the starks#gots8e4#gotspoilers#spoilers#got spoilers#game of thrones spoilers#david benioff#d.b. weiss
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The Cage and the Key: Chapter 1
“Got it, Miss Griffin.” Bellamy squared his shoulders as she began to open the door.
“Oh, and one more thing?” He glanced back at her, one eyebrow raised. “Please just call me Clarke.”
Clarke is America's reluctant first daughter, and Bellamy is assigned as her personal secret service guard. At first, he regrets the job -- who wants to babysit a rich, spoiled little brat? But the longer he works at the White House, the more he realizes that there's more to Clarke than it first seemed. As Clarke struggles with the impossible situations her mother, Abby Griffin, has put her in since becoming president, Bellamy finds himself fighting in Clarke's corner, realizing she's becoming more than just a job to him. Will Clarke finally find in Bellamy someone she can count on, or will politics and the trappings of her own mind get in the way?
---
“Right now she should be in the bowling alley. If you’ll follow me, please.”
Bellamy tried not to visibly scoff at the words “bowling alley”. How much more spoiled could an only child get? He shook his head as he followed the security guard down a narrow flight of stairs. The hollow thunder of a bowling ball rolling down a polished floor reached his ears, followed by the clattering of plastic. Exhaling quickly, he gritted his teeth and pushed through the swinging door.
He’d been told earlier that the last bodyguard had been fired for failing to realize that she had sneaked out. “She’s a problem child if I ever saw one,” the head of the security staff had whispered to him in a tired voice. “No respect for rules, no value of decorum. Headstrong girl.” the woman abruptly stopped speaking, her face pinched as if to stem the flow of disapproval. “Well, anyways, it’s a good thing you’re younger than the last one. Maybe you can keep up with her. But you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Bellamy heard two of the other secret servicemen whispering out a wager behind him: would he last one month, or two? He rolled his eyes. He knew a thing or two about stubborn teenage girls. “I suppose it’s time you meet her and start your work, then.” The woman stepped out into the hallway, motioning for him to follow.
A small, two-lane bowling alley came into view as Bellamy stepped over the creaky threshold. The room was plain, narrow, and overwhelmingly wooden; Bellamy thought it smelled vaguely of a 1960’s smoking parlor -- or at least, what he imagined one would smell like. He glanced over just in time to see a bright blue bowling ball topple over two pins.
“Dammit.”
She was shorter than he’d expected. Bellamy had seen pictures of her in newspapers before and on national television during the inauguration. There, she had seemed like a tall blond statue, standing expressionless and literally in the shadow of her mother, President Griffin. “The Ice Princess,” one article had labeled her.
Here, Bellamy wasn’t so sure he would call her that. At least, not at this very moment.
She stood at the top of the lane, her hands clasped in defeat behind her neck after watching her abysmal effort at taking down the pins. Her blonde hair was unruly, almost scraggly, and completely unstyled. She was wearing ratty gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt so worn and oversized that one side of it had completely fallen down her shoulder. Bellamy’s mouth twisted when he realized she was barefoot. Who the hell bowls barefoot?
Bellamy glanced overhead at the screen and also realized that her name was the only one scored. She was bowling alone. As he walked across the floor, he noticed that she was the only one in the room that wasn’t a secret service member.
“Clarke?”
the girl didn’t respond as she watched for her bowling ball to pop back up in the ball return. “Clarke,” the security director barked, causing the girl to jump slightly before turning around with sagging shoulders to face the rest of the room. “Come meet your new bodyguard.”
continue reading on AO3
Notes: This is going to be 10 chapters long. They have all been written already, and I will be posting a chapter every week or two until it's finished. No need to worry about it staying an eternal WIP!
I do ask you to please pay attention to the trigger warnings in the tags. This fic was partially inspired by Clarke's mental state in season 6, which I found to be darker than anyone is really acknowledging on the show. Because of this, I found this fic to grow quite dark as well, especially in the back half of it. If you're sensitive to issues such as body shaming, self-harm, suicidal ideation, substance abuse, or explicit depictions of sex, this fic probably isn't for you.
I hope you enjoy the journey if you choose to stick with it!
#bellarke ff#bellamy x clarke#bellarke fic#bellarke fanfiction#bellarke fan fiction#multi-chapter#white house AU#posting this here just in case#please note the trigger warnings before deciding if you want to read!#slow burn#hate to love#etc etc#the cage and the key#my fic
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Hang By A Thread
✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Seokjin x Reader
✂ Word Count: 1k
✂ Trigger Warning: Poisoning, physical abuse, degradation
✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.
[Edited]
***
Anon asked: “May I request a oneshot for Yandere Jin’s reaction to you attempting to poison him? Thank you 💞”
My first request! I was about to use the royalty au for this because I couldn’t find the ‘right’ ending, but decided against it. I hope you like it, tho!
If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!
“Now, you’re only gonna listen to my words. Yes, now you’re only gonna look at me. Yes, now you’re only gonna fall for me. Yes, now let’s start, from now on.” – Play With Me [CROSS GENE]
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The plan was supposed to work. After all, you’ve been planning this for weeks. You’ve studied his schedule, quirks, moods, to the point where you were able to identify his feelings from a single twitch of his lips alone. So, why? Why did it still not working? Why was freedom so hard to reach?
And most of all, why did you even think that just because he wasn’t present in the same room as yours, he wouldn’t know what you were doing at all?
Jin wasn’t too big on arguments. Once attacked, he would usually choose to be defensive rather than strike back. It was nice to know that he still considered his partner’s feelings as opposed to brutal offense. However, it seemed that today wasn’t your lucky day. Just like any other day you were stuck with him in this so-called ‘home’.
Home? What the hell was home? All you knew was a hellhole whom you endeavored to depart as far as you could despite your seeming laziness and nonchalance.
And of course, Jin was bound to notice your odd behavior. Because honestly? This wasn’t the first time you’d taken such a drastic measure to leave him and his toxic love.
Contrary to what you thought about him, Jin wasn’t that delusional. He knew what he did was wrong – immoral. And if the reverse came true, where he was the captive of his own house and you were the captor, he would definitely try to escape. It was only natural because even the laziest person in the world didn’t want to be trapped in a possessive lunatic hell-bent on controlling their movements.
But just because he acknowledged it, didn’t mean he would change what already happened. No, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Jin was a loyal man, after all. Once committed, he would go through hell and heaven with his partner.
And, of course, all he asked in return were loyalty and affection. He wanted his efforts to be noticed, too. But clearly, you couldn’t see that. Rather, you were blind to the terrifying depth of his love despite his stream of loving words, expensive gifts, and soft touches. Because if you did realize, then you wouldn’t have attempted to poison him in the first place.
You stood in the center of his office, eyes fixed on to the floor below. The silence was thick, and the constant ringing in your ears did nothing to ease the silent anxiety that racked your whole body. You hated how vulnerable you were under his gaze; how your hands trembled underneath the sweater paws as you waited in tensed anticipation of his next reaction. You wanted to get out and curl up on the bed. Anything to avoid the punishment that would surely come after your gutsy action.
“I thought you’ve changed,” Jin spoke, voice laced with heavy disappointment. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to care because, in your mind, it was better to be a bit rebellious than being submissive altogether. An obedient bitch that only obeyed his orders as if he were your boss – your master. You were scared, sure, but at least you’d tried to be brave.
You’d stood up for yourself. Now if only he was that petty bully, then this whole situation might be a bit easier for you to handle.
But you were scared. So, so scared you might puke right in front of him.
“Nothing to say, huh?”
Jin turned his attention back to the screen of his computer. It replayed the footage of you adulterating his tea with some strange substance. Your profile was resolute as you slowly stirred the tea with a teaspoon, trying to make it as inconspicuous as possible. You didn’t know there was a CCTV in the kitchen, nor were you aware of its existence around the house. And judging from the angle in which the video was recorded, the camera must be hidden inside the glass-door cabinet that stored antique china.
You really needed to move your butt out of the couch and start cleaning the furniture for once.
Sighing, Jin opened one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. How did he get those, you had no idea, since Jin didn’t look like the type to use bondage on the bedroom. But you knew, those wouldn’t be used for sexual practice. Jin preferred practical punishment more than sexual. And, well, at least you were able to retain some of your dignity from the former. You didn’t know if you could bear the thought of being a moaning mess under his rough affection, and the shame that followed.
The chair rolled away slightly as he stood up and approached your frozen figure. He pulled both of your hands and shackled your wrists with a single click. After that, he moved to sit back on the rolling chair and deliberately spilled the contaminated tea on to the floor.
“Lick it.”
You immediately snapped your head towards him, unsure if you heard it right. Maybe your mind was playing a cruel trick on you. Maybe you misheard it. Although you knew, he knew, you heard what he was saying. The order was crystal clear in your ears. No repeat, no hesitation, no reluctance.
Sure, it was more lenient than any punishment you’ve had in the past, but it didn’t make it any less demeaning.
“Lick it until there’s nothing left.”
You stared at him for a long time, deciding whether or not he was being serious. His face was darkening in each second, and yet you still wanted to make sure he wasn’t misspeaking himself.
“Are you deaf? I said lick it!”
You flinched. Jin rarely raised his voice around you, opting to manipulate you through his cogent words instead. He didn’t have an acting degree and the face to complement it for nothing.
Reluctantly, you bent down to your knees and leaned forward. Well, as forward as you could with bound hands. Strands of hair fell from your shoulders, some touching the little pools of brown tea.
Before you could open your mouth and clean the mess he had created, the air was abruptly knocked out of your lungs. A sturdy foot flopped on to your back, pressing you against the floor.
“I hate to do this, but bad girls need their punishments. You should be grateful that I’m not heartless enough to poison you back.”
Jin pushed you down, even more, ignoring your muffled whine. “Now, lick it like an obedient bitch you are.”
#yandere bts story#yandere bts au#yandere bts#yandere bangtan seonyeondan#yandere seokjin bts#yandere seokjin x reader#yandere seokjin#yandere kim seokjin x reader#yandere kim seokjin#yandere kim seokjin bts#jin x reader#kim seokjin x reader#seokjin x reader#yandere kpop au#yandere kpop#kpop yandere#yandere kpop story#anon#request#yandere request
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Life is a Game Risks, Chapter 35
Chapter Summary - Christmas day and Tom speaks to Alexianna about things.
TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.
Previous Chapter
Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna
Request if you wish to be tagged
‘You are terrible.’ Alexianna chastised.
‘Does she like it though?’
‘She adores it. I think you are the winner of the year.’ She smiled, looking at Lily surrounded by her gifts. 'Or did you not hear the fifteen hundred "thank you's" she just gave you?'
‘Good, and what about you, do you like yours? What did Daniel get you?’
‘He got me a new laptop, apparently, my old one was haggard.’
‘It was, really.’ He agreed. ‘And my present…?’
‘I haven’t opened it.’
‘What?’
‘I...I don’t want it.’
‘Lexi?’
‘I know whatever it is, it is too much. I don’t want that, I can’t….I can’t compete with that.’
‘I don’t want a competition, if I give you something, Lexi, it is because I want to give it and I do not expect anything in return. It is your reluctance to take things that makes me want to bestow something wonderful on you on occasions such as this, because the rest of the year, I know you will not accept them.’
‘I don’t have to accept them now.’ Alexianna pointed out.
‘No, you don’t.’ Tom conceded. ‘But I hope you will on the basis of I am good the rest of the time.’
‘This is hard for you, isn’t it? Me not just taking everything?’
‘It’s not hard, per se, but it is different. Though I am not as misfortunate as others I have spoken to have been, I have come across the few that have expected a lot of me because of my profession.’
‘I don’t want that.’
‘I know you don’t, that is why you are so refreshing and why I love you so much. You care about me, not what I have.’ There was a few moments of silence on the phone. ‘Please, Lexi, open the present.’
‘You want me to do it with you on the line, don’t you?’
‘Yes, actually, I do.’
‘Okay.’
He heard her rummaging around. ‘Lexi?’
‘I can’t take this.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘But Lily…’
‘Dan has agreed to take her for it.’
‘I...you asked Daniel?’
‘Yes, I knew you would be reluctant to leave Lily with anyone else, so I checked with him about him taking her for the night, and of course, he agreed.’
‘It’s too much, Tom.’
‘It’s dinner, a show and a night away, not a cruise around the world.’
‘That would be tempting, though I would settle for a boat down the Thames.’ Tom erupted in laughter. ‘What?’
‘I love you so much. I cannot believe how much I miss being around you after only a few days.’ There was silence at his words. ‘Lexi?’
‘You….miss me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘I...How could you not see that? I love spending time with you, you are so smart and loving and I cannot wait to see you again.’ Tom decided as he had been outed already, he should simply admit his thoughts.
‘I….can’t wait either.’ He stared at the phone startled, thinking he had heard her wrong. ‘I miss you too.’
Really?’
‘I know we are not around each other all the time, but knowing you are only a few stops away on the Tube makes me feel good.’
‘Good to know. Though when I have to work….’
‘I’m a big girl….though I still will miss you.’
‘Likewise.’ Tom grinned, licking his teeth. ‘So, are you excited?’
‘I am.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Thank you, Tom. So you are back soon?’
‘Well, yes, it is on in three days. And I forgot my present.’
‘I cannot believe you left it behind.’ Alexianna rolled her eyes, looking at Tom’s present, which was indeed under the tree still.’
‘I was too sidetracked making sure your brother got from the airport, Madam!’
‘Thank you, Tom.’
‘Anytime, beautiful.’
‘What day are you coming back to London?’
‘The day after tomorrow, we tend to go a little liberal on the wine and whiskey here after dinner today and I am not risking injury or other things to drive tomorrow.’
‘Please don’t.’ She pleaded, ‘One second.’ He heard her talking and Daniel’s deeper voice in the background, though not what he was saying. ‘Sorry, Dan is just taking Lily out for a while.’
‘That’s good of him.’
‘It means I can start cooking.’
‘Well, that is important.’ Tom acknowledged. ‘How is it, him being there?’
‘Great actually, Anna is coming New Years Day, so we are going to get to meet her, Lil’s is excited.’
‘And you?’
‘I am worried that we won’t get along and it causes a rift that is complicated for Dan, but I think that is just me being a little neurotic.’
‘Ever so slightly.’ Tom agreed. ‘She loves your brother, she is good with her sibling and she respects you and Lily in his life, you will get on well.’
‘I know, I am just scared.’
‘Does she know, about Lily and everything?’
‘Yes, apparently.’
‘You don’t sound too pleased.’
‘I feel as though it shouldn’t really be something people spend time talking about.’
‘Because it is not their business or because you just don’t like it being discussed?’
‘Both. The more people talk, the more likely Lily is to hear things.’
‘Understandable, talk to Daniel about it.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I better help Mum here now, I will see you in a few days, Lexi. Try not to miss me too much.’
Alexianna scoffed and laughed. ‘You’re an egotistical prick sometimes, you know that?’
‘I am, I’m your egotistical prick, though.’
‘Maybe a little.’ She smiled.
‘I cannot wait to see you again.’
‘Me or your present?’
Both.’ There was a playfulness to his tone.
‘Thanks for the honesty.’
‘You deserve that at least.’ Tom’s smile was clear. ‘I will call you again later, after the joys of dinner.’
‘Sounds like a plan. I won’t be insulted if you fall asleep.’
‘I don’t make a habit of that.’ Tom went into self-defence mode. There was silence. ‘Fine, I have a tendency to doze off, but not for long.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Alexianna quipped. ‘Bye Tom, I love you.’
‘I love you too. Give lily the biggest hug from me.’
‘I will.’
Tom looked at the screen and felt the same dislike as he always did as he clicked “end call”.
‘So, how is Alexianna’s day?’ He turned to see his mother walking into the kitchen with plates from the living room where the family had been having tea and cake.
‘Good, they are loving having Daniel around.’
‘Good.’ Diana noted a disheartened look on her son’s face. ‘Tom, darling, what is it?’
‘I wish I was there.’ He confessed. Diana said nothing in response. ‘It feels wrong, missing Christmas with Lexi and Lily. I just….I feel like I should have been there for Santa, to see her excitement. It feels wrong.’
Diana nodded slightly. ‘She’s your little girl.’
‘No, she…’
‘She is. Her not being yours biologically does not take from your feelings Tom, she sees you as her father figure and you, whether you realised it or not, have had that little girl edge her way into your heart so much the idea of not being there for her today hurts.’
‘What can I do?’
‘At this stage, nothing, but that’s okay, you will see them again soon, and next Christmas, you will ensure you are not away from her.’
‘Mum?’ Diana smiled as a manner of telling her son she was paying attention to him. ‘What will I do if something divides me and them?’
‘You mean if you and Alexianna break up?’ He nodded. ‘I don’t know, Sweetheart, I hope it will not happen.’
‘I...I don’t want to be without them, they….they are everything I ever wanted.’
Diana was elated for her son to think that way of the woman their family adored and her lovely little girl who she too had come to adore as her own, but she was concerned also that he was so attached, with no biological link, if they were to break up, Tom would have no right to see Lily, and she was scared what that would do, not only to her and her son but to Lily too.’
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redrikki replied to your post “Maybe I’m REALLY slow but I just realized Yoda felt “Pain, suffering,...”
To be fair, a war started 30 seconds later so he was pretty busy. Also, the Jedi don't give a fuck about mental health as long as they can still do their job. They needed all hands on deck and as long as Anakin was pointed at the right targets they didn't care.
I thought about that too but even if we consider the war and the Jedi disregard for mental health, it was still a terrible move. The Jedi in general were all about the destruction of the sith. Behind their benevolent ideals, they were all about eradicating any perceived enemies without question. The moment they suspected you of being involved in anything remotely “dark”, you’re done. Your opinions don’t matter because you’re mad. All you get is a death sentence or a lifetime in prison without any trial. That’s how Jedi justified they actions against Palpatine in ROTS. They didn’t have enough proof to do anything legal about it (they just thought he was involved in something “dark”) but they still spied on him and were considering a coup.
Yoda spend every second of his screen time preaching about the dangerous of attachments and how “negative emotions” turn you evil. That should make him obligated to do something when he sensed the being with the highest midichlorians count ever took a step towards evil? Anakin’s “negative emotions” were so powerful Yoda sensed them all the way from Tatooine. That alone was a gigantic warning flag. It’s not just about not caring for Anakin’s mental health, it’s about endangering the Order and the Republic. They just found out a mysterious army was created, the sith is back and their prodigy just proved his suffering was powerful enough to be felt around the galaxy. Look at the distance, that’s some powerful suffering:
He should have talked to the council about it. By pretending nothing had happened he played right into Palpatine’s hand and allowed him to keep manipulating and abusing Anakin. If he swept it under the rug because of the war then it’s even worse. Not only he was neglecting his duty to his students, his peers and the republic, he’s also knowingly using a young man.
That’s what I’m curious about. I think we all know Yoda never cared for Anakin’s mental health. What I want to know is how Yoda justified it to himself. Why did he decided it was better to ignore such an obvious sign something was wrong? I went back to the only conversation I could think of where Yoda talks about it and, sadly, it doesn’t help his case:
Yoda flicked him a skeptical glance. “Reluctant I was because the same flaw you share, Obi-Wan. The flaw of attachment.”
What? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Yoda snorted. “Yes, you do. Melida/Daan, attachment that was. Your promise to Qui-Gon Jinn, that you would train Anakin? From attachment it sprang. Great affection you felt for him. Great affection you feel for Anakin Skywalker. Run deep your feelings do, Obi-Wan. Mastered them completely you have not. Mastered his own young Skywalker has not. Suspect I do that strict with him about attachments you have not always been.” […] “Because of attachment to his mother,” Yoda continued, his expression severe, “to Tatooine did young Skywalker go, defying your direct instructions.”
Obi-Wan stared. “I don’t—we didn’t—he has not told me why he left Naboo. There was no time to discuss it. Events on Geonosis moved too quickly.”
“To Shmi Skywalker has something happened, I fear,” said Yoda quietly.
“What?”
“Sensed young Skywalker in the Force, I did. Great pain. Great anger. A terrible tragedy.”
Oh no. “He’s said nothing to me, Master Yoda. If something had happened to his mother, I’m sure he’d tell me.” […]
Then Yoda goes on and on about the necessity of ending Anakin’s attachment to Padmé. Obi-wan leaves to Padmé, learns about Shmi’s death and returns to this:
“Necessary this was. Necessary it would not have been, Obi-Wan, if closer attention you had paid.” Yoda’s eyes narrowed. “Disappointed I am.”
And that was a lightsaber thrust between his ribs. “I am truly sorry, Master.”
Yoda tilted his chin, his steady gaze implacable. “A lesson let this be, Master Kenobi. Attachment leads to suffering for a Jedi. School yourself. School your Padawan, while you still can. A Jedi Knight must he become, sooner than we thought.”
What? No. “Master Yoda, he’s not ready.”
“Make him ready, you must, Obi-Wan. Your task that is.”
Given Yoda’s mood it was folly to argue. But he couldn’t stay silent. “Master Yoda, is there really a need to be precipitate? Surely it would be unwise to rush Anakin, especially now. His injury … and Master, his mother is dead.”
Yoda nodded, short and sharp. “Yes. But mothers die, Obi-Wan. Sad it is, but distract a Jedi death must not.” […] Yoda’s stare was bleak. “Great are the challenges your Padawan will face. To be his friend your heart will urge you. But Obi-Wan, a mistake that would be. A friend young Skywalker does not need. A Master he needs, and a Master you must be.”
Yoda admits he sensed something wrong (something deeply connected to the dark side) and yet seems more concerned in “correcting” Obi-wan and making Anakin a “proper” Jedi. He acknowledges everything that’s “wrong” with Anakin (everything that would later lead him to destroy the Jedi) and does nothing. Why? Is he so arrogant he thinks he can control Anakin? Is he so detached he doesn’t understand the depth of Anakin’s pain and attachments? Is he so hypocrite he does not realize he’s acting against his own teachings? Is it all of the above? Or is it something else? That’s what I can’t wrap my head around.
If we look at Yoda as teacher, then he was wrong to not properly ackonwlge his students struggles. If we look at Yoda as a the leader of the Jedi Order, then he was wrong to hide from the entire Council know about what had happened. If we look at Yoda as a general, then he was wrong to put an emotionally unstable child-soldier in the front lines.
#redrikki#replies#sw meta#anakin skywalker#yoda#the yoda problem#anti-yoda#because fuck him#meta: yoda#jedi order#jedi politics#jedi culture#meta: anakin#txt
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sharing the learning: workshop with Peak
Closely following the cul-de-sac event I was contacted by Rachel at PEAK, asking if I would be interested in delivering the ‘pilot’ session for the YP programme they were developing and trialling.
This idea was something that was discussed in my studio visit meeting, but at the time I think PEAK were reluctant to try to move their summer programmes to an online format, as the idea conflicted with so many of the goals and aims of the organisation.
However, due to increasing concern of lack of contact they were having with the young people they work with so often, it was decided to try and develop a bespoke programme to allow the young people to be engaged with things and have contact with people they were so used to working with.
In my studio visit meeting, I shared my ideas for using Zoom as a platform to be creatively explored for sharing works and collaborating. It was this idea that Rachel felt would be a good idea for me to base the session around - meeting on Zoom and carrying out creative activities exploring its affordances.
Having helped develop the ideas that became the performances for cul-de-sac festival I now felt in a really good position to create ideas of my own that encouraged participation using the platform.
I was also really keen to use this opportunity to reflect and build on the sessions I had delivered to my Popular Music students, which were developed by adapting previously existing sessions, in slightly more uncertain and stressful circumstances (because this came as a surprise and was, as we all say now, ‘unprecedented’).
With a couple months of familiarity of using the tool to communicate with people in various contexts, I was able to consider its limitations as part of the planning process, and incorporate its affordances as part of the creative activities.
Preparation
I began by making a list of affordances that Zoom has (by no means a complete list!). Then I narrowed down this list to a few that I found more interesting or most used to exploit to create artistic processes around considering the limited resources the young people had: a sketchbook and the device they were using for the call. So in the spirit of Steal Like an Artist, I chose works that had recently resonated with me that lent themselves to be adapted really well in the virtual chat world.
Activity 1
Rationale
The inspiration for the first activity was a piece called ‘I heard that was a secret chord’ by Daily tout les jours, an art and design studio who create collective experiences for public spaces. I saw and heard the installation at an exhibition called 24/7 which I visited earlier this year. It’s an enclosed space with a looped recording of a group of people humming to the tune of ‘Hallelujah’ playing. There are microphones hanging down from wires, which you are encouraged to hum into, joining in with the recording and participating using your voice. Humming, as opposed to singing, removes a potential barrier to entry for participation: embarrassment. Humming is easy to do without worrying about ‘sounding good’.
Design
For this session, the idea was to play this loop through Zoom so everybody could hear it, and then for people to join in with the humming as a performative experience. And because all audio produced by participants funnels into your headphones, you lose the ability to locate the source of a sound through directional and spatial clues. And as humming gives less clues about the unique timbre of your voice, over Zoom humming enhances the idea of anonymity while being able to produce a musical sound.
Execution + Reflection
The participants were uneasy to begin with, as expected. But after a single round of the loop playing, I heard other voices come in. As expected it wasn't possible to identify who was humming from audio alone. It was possible to see people moving up and down, where it was clear that those humming physically moved with the rhythm of the humming. Participants admitted they felt much more relaxed to join in this experience than if I had asked them to sing.
Activity 2
Rationale
The second activity I based around the process of still life drawing, a process that is commonly taught at schools at different times, so I anticipated it to be familiar for the participants. The difference in this activity played with the idea of space, and its fluid nature while video calling people in different locations.
Design
I asked each participant to choose an item from their home and place it in full view of the camera, so there were 11 different items on the screen and no people visible. This presented the participants with a number of different objects to draw, where the perspective was the same for each person, as it appeared in 2D on their device screen. (Usually still life drawing involves taking a physical object(s) and centrally placing it for a group of people to see and draw from their own perspectives.) From here they were challenged to draw all of the items, using any preferred technical processes, and focus on the arrangement of the objects on their canvas. Here it wasn’t so much the detail or surface of the object they were trying to capture, but their interpretation of the scale, position, and proximity of the objects among one another. Something unique to using web conferencing tools for presenting objects.
Execution + Reflection
After explaining the instructions, the participants went out of full view and it was effectively silent for 10 minutes while people were drawing. This was something the participants enjoyed, as this was something they hadn’t experienced in a Zoom call before; the design of these tools encourage hyper-focus on the other people on the call, as you are ‘face-to-face’ with everyone in a conversation. It alleviated a pressure to make eye contact with someone and be more relaxed. The results were really diverse, as each participant had chosen a slightly different order to draw things in, how to scale the objects against one another and where to place them.
Activity 3
Rationale
The third activity I designed was based on the idea of a video performance by Koki Tanaka. It also draws on a philosophy of performance outlined in Performance by Anthony Rooley:
“...from birth to death, out entire 70-year span… is nothing, but nothing, other than a play, a performance. … Every action, interplay of relationships, pursuits of all kinds can be seen as ‘performance’.”
“The experience of performance contains such powerful things: heightened states of awareness, time seeming to stand still, comments of incredible clarity, moments of beautiful reverie, a sense of wonder, awesome beauty and love, profound admiration and respect. These brief, intense moments become magnified in an artistic ritual experience which is out of the ordinary. But all these delights are also to be found in the ordinary - if only we will let the natural thing happen, and not block it with negativity, boredom, habit and other abuses.”
These ideas champion embracing the playful potential of performing with everyday objects, a consideration that needed to be made due to lack of resources of the participants.
Design Participants were going to be asked to leave the Zoom call running, but go on an adventure to record the interaction of an object that exploited one of its affordances but that didn’t fulfill its intended function or purpose (like pushing a roll of toilet paper across the floor). These were then to be stitched together and screened as a single video.
Execution + Reflection
Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to fit this activity in. But it was explained to the participants and is something we are aiming to achieve remotely and watch together at another session in the near future.
Overall Reflection
The workshop finished with thanks from everyone, to everyone that was involved. I chatted with Rachel afterwards about the experience and we discussed whether the dynamic of a workshop over Zoom was effective. We agreed that it can and does work in the short term, as long as the restrictions are acknowledged as part of the workshop itself. Otherwise, common characteristics for workshops, such as intimacy, social connection, comfort, the ritual and sacredness of space, are completely lost and the experience could feel very dry.
This experience has only confirmed my thoughts that these conditions (the nature of video calls and the varying tools that enable it) for social interactions are not fit for purpose for the long term, considering our existing expectations of social connection, collaboration and participation. They are a temporary solution that serves practical purposes of convenience. But, ultimately they cannot, and I think should not, replace meetings in physical spaces for the sake of convenience in the future as we re-emerge post-lockdown.
And while I think the creative/artistic works being made within the limitations of the lockdown show resilience, flexibility and adaptability of people, for me these efforts are overshadowed by the sheer scale of the impact that has caused these creative restrictions in the first place. I’m aware this may sound a little defeatist and pessimistic, and possibly even undermine some of the really great things being made at the moment as a coping mechanism for individuals and communities, but I think a part of me resents that certain parts of society have had to ‘keep going’.
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Text
black lives matter, always.
TRIGGER WARNING | Covered in this post:
police brutality
murder, abuse, assault
racism
Hi.
I haven’t been writing recently, but I’ve found myself drawn to the keyboard recently with a duty to use my platform, no matter how small, to speak up about what has been happening in the world.
I will forever stand by the side of the black community.
I will forever condemn the police and the judiciary system for the incessant and atrocious racism that runs through its very core.
I will never let anyone tell me, or anyone else, that Derek Chauvin was not a murderer.
Before I really get into this, I need to preface: I am an asian woman. I recognise that even as a person of colour, I benefit from privileges that aren’t afforded to black people purely because of my skin colour (I am not black). I am far from perfect and have definitely caught myself unintentionally feeding into racist biases that our society has cultivated over centuries. But I keep learning and correcting my mistakes, and that is what we have to keep doing within ourselves, our homes and our communities.
Now, I would like to again acknowledge that I still have a lot to learn about the injustices that black people face and I am in no way educated enough to be telling anyone what is and isn’t right (other than the blatant racism that has not ceased to plague our world), so please do not take my words as hard facts and do your own research. I also do not want to speak over black voices, but I do want to amplify them. Please share your experiences and call me out if I have made any errors.
For those of you who are sat quietly behind your screens, reluctant to comment on the issue at hand, shame on you. Silence is compliance. Silence in violence. The black community does not need you to sit complacently and watch as their friends and family be consistently targeted and assaulted by police. They need you to speak up, to stand up and to fight. If you are not using your platform, no matter how big or small, then what are you really doing? I understand that one does not need to share what they are doing in order to prove that they are helping, but right now (and always) there is strength in numbers. Let’s call out systematic racism and hold cops accountable. Let’s use our voices and this real estate on social media to actively seek change.
George Floyd did not resist arrest, he did not do anything even remotely violent or suggestive of violence. George Floyd was an innocent man, a father, suffocated and murdered by a white police officer while his three colleagues watched George die. When someone puts their knee on top of your neck and directs all their weight onto that knee, pinning you down onto the ground for eight minutes and 46 seconds, that is murder. That is a restraint and technique that shows the intent of murder. No matter what a preliminary autopsy says, no matter if they are trying to blame George for his own murder, his death was no accident. Derek Chauvin worked alongside George Floyd for 17 years, yet felt no remorse when he suffocated an innocent man. Derek Chauvin has been accused on numerous accounts (12) of police brutality. He shot Leroy Martinez in 2011, Ira Latrell Toles in 2008, Wayne Reyes, and three other people while chasing a car in 2005. In no way is this man worthy of a third degree charge. Raise the degree. This was not manslaughter, this was pure, intentional, brutal murder committed by a heartless, racist white man. There are no ways to excuse Chauvin’s actions. Give him a life sentence.
It does not stop there. George Floyd’s murder was the tipping point in the Black Lives Matter movement over the past couple of years. With dozens more killed and wrongfully arrested purely on the basis of their dark skin colour, and we must not forget their names. What is evident here is how White America has disguised the old-fashioned discrimination they claimed to have fixed (or at least improved) after the Civil Rights movement has just morphed into a sneaky form of discrete discrimination that is simply swept under the rug by government officials and society. No longer can I, as an ally, stand down.
In the recent protests, the media has spun the story to make it appear as if looting and chaos was the result of the BLM movement, was the result of the actions of black people. NO. I do not understand how you can turn a blind eye to the hundreds of videos from the protests showing the instigation of violence by police officers, but beat and shoot a man to death while he was jogging (Ahmaud Arbery). Jared Campbell pepper sprayed a 10 year old girl. Another cop forcefully took off a woman’s hijab during the protest. Countless other cops were caught on tape telling each other to illegally turn off their cameras so they could get away with violence. Videos circulated of peaceful protestors sitting on the road before a swarm of police in protective gear fired tear gas into their faces and beat them down onto the ground, shooting rubber bullets when necessary. Live streams captured many, predominantly black people being assaulted by police officers both verbally and physically while they walked the march. NYPD ran into a group of protestors with their vehicle. And still, you say not all cops are bad?
All cops benefit from the same racist system, and if 100 cops are bystanders while 10 abuse their power to reflect their racist prejudices, you have 110 bad cops. All cops are bastards.
Please, if you are a citizen of the United States over the age of 18, vote Trump out. Trump’s tweet announcing that he authorised the military to shoot down protestors was a direct quote from a lynching campaign in 1968, proving that genocide is being cultivated within the walls of the White House. Do not let this bigoted, fascist, KKK supporter rule your country for another 4 years. Enough is enough.
Black Lives Matter.
On another note, with Pride month starting today, it is important that we continue to spread the message of the BLM movement. Don’t ignore the pleads of the black community, a community who built the gay rights movement and led the stonewall riots, just so you can party. Marsha P. Johnson and Storme Delarverie, a trans woman and a lesbian respectively, gave us (the LGBTQ+ community) our rights. So pay some respect and keep the memory of those brutally murdered by the racist justice system going.
Say their names: George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Samuel Dubose, Sandra Bland, Walter Scott, Terrence Crutcher, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Samuel Dubose, Sean Reed, Michael Brown, Stephon Clark, Dante Parker, Anthony Baez AND SO MANY MORE.
Black Lives Matter.
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