#andrew is just really pretty in dark green. because i said so.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Some arson neil please?

WIP Wednesday (9/11) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 228)

"Wow," is the first thing out of Aaron's mouth when he opens the door for Andrew twelve minutes later. Andrew cocks a brow and Aaron gives him a low whistle and a once over. "Damn, I didn't know we looked good in green. Where'd you get that?"

"It's a secret. Besides, it's out of your price range," Andrew answers. At Aaron's frown, Andrew says, "$130, plus tax."

"For a shirt?" Aaron's eyes bulge. "Are you serious? You paid—"

"Not me. Kevin."

"Oh." Aaron says. "Right. That makes sense."

"What do you mean, it makes sense?"

"Nothing, nothing." Aaron shakes his head, leaving Andrew confused. They stare at each other for long enough that Andrew feels like he's looking into a mirror. But, instead of green, Aaron is dressed in a familiar dark blue Henley shirt. Seems he must've hit the same Walmart sale as 10 the other day.

"Were you planning to move the table out here or...?" Andrew says, gesturing to the hallway. Aaron jolts.

"Oh, no. Come in," He says, moving out of the way. Andrew steps inside and is immediately hit with the smell of tomato-y. Aaron shuts the door behind him and Andrew surveys the living room he's standing in. 

It's simultaneously bigger and smaller than it looks on Skype calls. This is partially due to the card table in the middle of the room that has the coffee table shoved up against the couch. But the enormous Christmas tree in the corner is also a factor. It's absolutely massive and covered with green and red ornaments. Its bottom branches are drooping with them where they jut out into the room.

"Good grief. What is that, seven foot?" Andrew says, looking up, up, up until he can finally see the star on top. It makes him feel like a fucking dwarf. Aaron laughs.

"Yeah. Katie's family is big on Christmas and she's kinda insane about—" Aaron cuts off when said insane woman appears in a doorway across the room. "Hey babe, Andrew's here."

"I know. I heard you telling him I'm crazy." Katelyn says with a pout as she dries her hands off on a kitchen towel. She tosses it back into the kitchen and her eyes flicker over to Andrew. "Oh, I didn't know you'd look so good in green. Really nice."

"Um. I," Andrew blinks. First 10, then Aaron, now his girlfriend. Evidently Kevin has a future as a personal stylist, in case the exy thing ever goes sour.

Aaron's eyes are wide. "Katie..."

"What?" When she realizes what she's just said, Katelyn slaps a hand over her mouth, completely flustered. "Oh. My God. I didn't mean. I'm sorry. That was... I meant—"

"It's all right. I know what you meant. We have the same face and apparently this is our color," Andrew says, making Aaron sigh in visible relief. Katelyn's expression smooths back out, though her face is tinged red with embarrassment. Andrew wets his lips, trying to think of something to say. Perhaps he should've brought 10 after all. "Something smells good."

[callunavulgari]

"The kingdom come, the rise, the fall The setting sun above it all I just wanna be somebody to you"

Heather’s Top 50 Songs of 2023

thumbs — sabrina carpenter // dragostea din tei — feuerschwanz // edge of midnight — miley cyrus & stevie nicks // warrior of the mind — jorge rivera-herrans // happier than ever — kelly clarkson // flowers — miley cyrus // see you again — miley cyrus // six — six cast // fairytale — joel sunny // middle of the night — elley duhe // our light — lyn // it's terror time again — sesamoid // eat your young — hozier // step into darkness — dubkiller // got you — ga eun // just a man — jorge rivera-herrans // labour — paris paloma // the tornado — owl city // green green grass — george ezra // suzume — radwimps // can't take my eyes off you — boys town gang // survive — jorge rivera-herrans // mermaids— florence & the machine // unknown/Nth — hozier // we didn't start the fire — fall out boy // hold me like a grudge — fall out boy // where is the justice — death note musical // 30/90 — andrew garfield // everyday — buddy holly // i'm just ken — ryan gosling // what was i made for? — billie eilish // speechless — naomi scott // son of nyx — hozier // damage gets done — hozier & brandi carlile // paradise valley — honey and the sting // stand by me — florence & the machine //  my prayer — the platters // baby don't hurt me — david guetta // quietly yours — birdy // someone to you  — banners // one more time — blink 182 // adelaide — ramblewood // i'm just your problem — lur // you're gonna be okay — ashh blackwood // mr lonely  — angel olsen // now and then — the beatles // vois sur ton chemin — bennett // history is now — natalie holt // purpose is glorious — natalie holt // the power — borislav slavov

short version | long version | spotify wrapped

short version is the link to what you see here, my helpfully abridged version. long version will lead you to the 141 song, 8 hour and 17 minute supercut playlist which i’ve been slowly cultivating since early january. spotify wrapped will lead you to a mixture of the long and the short version, which is honestly pretty accurate but does not helpfully represent my ear worms of the week. i also skewed my data for it by listening to the spiritfarer and hollow knight soundtracks on repeat to ease the wedding anxieties.

also fun fact, the cover for this year's mix is actually a picture of the tree outside our room during our wedding day.

under the cut are the lyrics that really resonated with me and only a little personal tidbits from this year, because let's be real, nobody cares.

i. thumbs || sabrina carpenter 'cause that's just the way of the world it never ends 'til the end and then you start again

This one was playing as we left the florence concert late last year and dogged me all through january and february last winter. ii. dragostea din tei || feuerschwanz Alo, salut, sunt eu un haiduc Si te rog iubirea mea primeste fericirea

Yes, it's a metal cover. Yes, I found it on tiktok. Yes, I love it unconditionally.

iii. edge of midnight || miley cyrus & stevie nicks The midnight sky is the road I'm takin' Head high up in the clouds (oh, oh)

There's THREE Miley Cyrus songs on here this year. Nuts. I really loved cranking this while driving home from Newark back when I was still hybrid. Much serotonin in those gray winter months. iv. warrior of the mind || jorge rivera-herrans & teagan earley Maybe one day they'll follow me and we'll Make a greater tomorrow, then they'll see Is it REALLY a surprise that Epic grabbed me by the throat this year?

v. happier than ever || kelly clarkson You ruined everything good Always said you were misunderstood Made all my moments your own Just fucking leave me alone I actually ended up hearing the Billie Eilish version of this first, but I ended up reading a post about how Billie's version was for the shitty boyfriend's of the world but Kelly's was to her mom and just. That resonated SO so much that it's stuck with me ever since. I have a complicated relationship with mine. She didn't come to my wedding this year. Anyway, definitely screamed this in my car on long drives. vi. flowers || miley cyrus i can buy myself flowers write my name in the sand

I need to preface this with the fact that my partner and I have a wonderful relationship that I wouldn't trade for the world. This song is still a fucking banger. vii. see you again || miley cyrus I got my sights set on you and I'm ready to aim I have a heart that will never be tamed

Third Miley song of the year, I believe all ear worms before March. I ended up getting in a Tiktok loop of body transformations set to this song while I was really getting into working with weights. It was great inspiration that I DEARLY needed that early into things. The song is also incredibly catchy. viii. six || six cast we're one of a kind, no category too many years lost in his story I honestly feel like we saw this musical last year but this song in particular dogged me into this one. ix. fairytale || joel sunny *instrumental*

Found this instrumental version of a much beloved song due to a random discover weekly and loved it so much that I seriously considered using it in my wedding. x. middle of the night || elley duhe Come, lay me down 'Cause you know this 'Cause you know this sound

Shh, it's the horny booktok song. I won't be shamed. xi. our light || lyn 夢を夢と気づいた夜 君を見つめ瞼を閉じる 温もりも重ねた手も声も 目覚めれば微睡みへと消えて

I have been trying to finish persona 5 royal since 2020. this year, i finally beat it. xii. it's terror time again || sesamoid Oh, you just might die of fright, It's a terrifying time.

Yes, it's a Scooby Doo remix. yes, I love it. xiii. eat your young || hozier I'm starving, darling Let me put my lips to something Let me wrap my teeth around the world The horniest Hozier song since Take Me to Church in my humble opinion. I adored it immediately. xiv. step into darkness || dubkiller Blood on your hands, maybe you're dreaming? Do you believe, nightmares you're seeing?

Tiktok? xv. got you || ga eun Will you promise you’ll rescue me Take me from eternal loneliness

This was the theme song (I think?) to a Korean drama we were obsessed with for a little bit and I don't think we ever finished? Song is interesting though and sticks with you. xvi. just a man || jorge rivera-herrans When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster? More Epic, because I am a mythology loving twelve year old at heart. The many, MANY tiktoks to this particular song did not help.

xvii. labour || paris paloma The capillaries in my eyes are bursting If our love died, would that be the worst thing?

It's catchy. I had more typed out but tumblr fucking ate it, so fuck it.

xviii. the tornado || owl city A little rain never hurt no one, so I kept pressin' on And I tried to tell myself it's always darkest before the dawn

Another song I played very loudly while driving home.

xix. green green grass || george ezra Green, green grass, blue, blue sky You better throw a party on the day that I die

Dancy song!

xx. suzume || radwimps ル・ル・ルルルルル・ルルル・ルルルルルル ル・ル・ルルルルル・ルルル・ルルルルルル We saw this in theaters! I really loved it! xxi. can't take my eyes off you || boys town gang You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you The Tiktok dances got me. More serotonin when I really needed it. xxii. survive || jorge rivera-herrans Six hundred lives I'll take Six hundred lives I'll break And when I kill you, then my deed is over

More Epic! xxiii. mermaids || florence & the machine You only get one night upon the shore So dance like you've never danced before

I love Florence. That is all. xxiv. unknown / nth || hozier You know the distance never made a difference to me I swam a lake of fire, I'd have walked across the floor of any sea

Hozier was honestly the artist that kept me the most company this year if I'm not counting Spiritfarer or Hollow Knight. xxv. we didn't start the fire || fall out boy Mars rover, Avatar, self-driving electric cars SSRI's, Prince and The Queen die World trade, second plane, what else do I have to say?

I know it won't happen, but I hope every generation does a remake/remix of this song. Also, I saw Billy Joel himself in concert this year! xxvi. hold me like a grudge || fall out boy Hold me, hold me like a grudge The world is always spinning, and I can't keep up, whoa Honestly, I was a fan. xxvii. where is the justice || death note cast isn't everybody sick to death of all this stuff can't we all stand up and say enough?

This song gets stuck in my head like no one's business. xxviii. 30/90 || tick tick boom cast making choices, wicked witches poppy fields, or men behind the curtain tiger lilies, ruby slippers clock is ticking, that's for certain I still think that if Stranger Things did a musical episode Steve Harrington would have Andrew Garfield from Tick Tick Boom energy. xxix. everyday || buddy holly Every day seems a little longer Every way, love's a little stronger

Good Omens 2 dropped! I loved it! I also didn't love it! But mostly I was just happy. xxx. i'm just ken || ryan gosling I wanna know what's like to love, to be the real thing Is it a crime? Am I not hot when I'm in my feelings? And is my moment finally here, or am I dreaming?

I went to see this movie by myself because I was sick of waiting for someone to go with me and honestly had a great time. It was silly and fun and I loved the fact that so many dudes got so incredibly butt-hurt about it. xxxi. what was i made for || billie eilish 'Cause I, I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try

God, this song. It made me cry at the end of Barbie and I've been getting up in my feelings about it ever since. xxxii. speechless — naomi scott I will take these broken wings And watch me burn across the sky Apparently this is from the Aladdin live action? I haven't seen it so I can't confirm, but I DID hear this song this summer and fall in love with it. xxxiii. son of nyx || hozier *instrumental* This one might be my favorite? xxxiv. damage gets done || hozier And, darling, I haven't felt it since then I don't know how the feeling ended But I know being reckless and young Is not how the damage gets done

Another Hozier!!!!!! xxxv. paradise valley || honey and the sting Take what you want from me I bring it willingly

I may have done these next three out of order, but hey! I got married this year! As some of you may know, paradise valley has been the song that I have been obsessed with since I first heard it on Wolf 359 back in 2018/2019. I couldn't figure out a way to make it work in a traditional sense for the wedding, so I ended up using it as a private last dance. As the clock was hitting ten o'clock we had our dj gently shoo the stragglers out the door and just crooned this to each other in the dark. It was probably my favorite part of the entire night. xxxvi. stand by me || florence & the machine So darlin', darlin', stand by me Oh, stand by me

This was our first dance. As it should be. We timed our few spins around the 'darlins' and it honestly went great. 10 out of 10, would dance again. xxxvii. my prayer || the platters My prayer is to linger with you At the end of the day I did a sneaky thing. It was Nick's grandparents 65th wedding anniversary a few days before our wedding, so I quietly found out "their song" and had our DJ play it as the first official couples/slow dance of the night after wishing them a happy anniversary. They cried. I cried. The photographer cried. It was great. xxxviii. baby don't hurt me || david guetta What is love? Baby, don't hurt me

Yeah, it's just a catchy cover. xxxix. quietly yours || birdy I've always been yours Only yours This was from the Persuasion soundtrack and god, it's just so achingly haunting. xl. someone to you || banners I don't wanna die or fade away I just wanna be someone Well, doesn't everyone?

Look. I just wanna be someone. xli. one more time — blink 182 Do I have to die to hear you miss me? Do I have to die to hear you say goodbye? I don't wanna act like there's tomorrow I don't wanna wait to do this one more time One more time. I got tickets to their concert next year. We'll see if they cancel this one. xlii. adelaide || ramblewood Wish you could lay those shadows down And find your way back home

I think this is a local artist? I fell in love with the song though. xliii. i'm just your problem || lur Sorry I don't treat you like a goddess Is that what you want me to do?

Watched Fionna and Cake in like a day and a half and fell all the way back in love with Bonnie and Marceline. xliv. you're gonna be okay || ashh blackwood puff out your chest, take a deep breath you're gonna be okay

This showed up on an anxiety mix and now I literally sing it to myself if I'm having a fast day. It is VERY short, but impactful. xlv. mr lonely || angel olsen Now, I am a soldier A lonely soldier Away from home Through no wish of my own My Yuletide fic that has not yet been revealed was about [REDACTED]. I listened to this and a handful of other sad, lonely songs while writing it. xlvi. now and then || the beatles Oh, now and then I want you to be there for me This song has DEVASTATED me since it came out. I will not be the same again. xlvii. vois sur ton chemin || bennett Vois sur ton chemin Gamins oubliés, égarés

Another tiktok ear worm. I'm not much for techno, but I love this one. xlviii. history is now || natalie holt *instrumental*

Loki fucked me all the way up, guys. I know everyone is crying about it, and I'm crying too! It's beautiful and tragic and one of the most fantastic endings for a character arc that I have EVER seen out of Marvel. I HOPE they leave it alone. I hope they leave it as is so we get to keep the beautiful ending and they don't fuck it up. xlix. purpose is glorious || natalie holt *instrumental*

Again, fucked me ALL the way up. I wept. And watched it three times in a row. These two songs will be on my writing playlist for the rest of time. l. the power || borislav slavov I found you too soon Shining star of mine, hold tight Don't fight the power

I have not officially finished Baldur's Gate. However, every iteration of this song is haunting me.

[ezgithechaotic]

pushing up the dasies . peter parker

pairing: Peter Parker x Reader, Peter Parker x female reader

summary: Someone has been stealing Y\N's flowers, and she is determined to find who it is.

warnings: she\ her pronouns (don't know if this one's a warning), mention of the death of a loved person, graveyard

author note: I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. But please let me know if you see anthing that doesn’t seem right. I really have no idea if this is good or trash. I’m getting mixed signs. So, please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

As a comic book nerd, I personally love both Andrew and Tom's Spiderman. Just thought this story fit Andrew's more, but feel free to imagine Peter as your favorite! 

masterlist 

The first time you realized a few flowers were picked from your garden, you didn't think much into it. The kids around the neighborhood liked to play hide and seek around your garden. You thought; it should be Thompson's girl, she likes flowers. It wasn't something that never happened before. You would simply plant new ones, it was no big deal, you could never get angry at children. But after some time, you started to realize the pattern. Every month on the same day, you found a handful of your daisies gone upon returning from your part-time job. Mrs. Thompson swore her daughter would never do such a thing without asking, and after the third time, you were sure somebody was stealing your flowers. Maybe it was that gruff man across the street that never got along with people. But you had a feeling if he had to do anything with your flowers, it would only be blowing them up. 

Peter always wondered whom the pretty flowers and house belong to. The post box just outside the garden said Y\L\N, and he had always imagined an old sweet woman lived in the white-painted house with a green door. And Peter hoped he didn't make the poor woman too sad with missing flowers. Boy, was he wrong. You weren't old, and you were furious and determined to find the person who stole your beautiful daisies. 

Your friends always wondered why you liked living in such an old neighborhood. The house was one of the few things your mother left you after she died, along with the considerable amount of money in your bank account. You could always sell the house, find an apartment downtown, so you can be closer to school that's what your friends told you every time you had them over. But you loved the house. You loved that the house held so many memories of your childhood, especially your garden. Even though your mother was a busy woman, she had always made time for you and her flowers. At the age of six, growing flowers with your mother quickly became one of your favorite pastimes. That week you did what everyone would do, changed your shift with Mary Jane to catch the flower thief. 

So, no, selling the house or letting strangers steal your lovely flowers was not one of the many choices. 

Now, Peter Parker was many things, but not a thief. Well, it depended on what you would call stealing. Surely picking a few flowers from a random garden couldn't count as stealing. And God knows he wouldn't do it if he weren't penniless. Trying to survive college and paying for an apartment didn't leave him much. The money The Daily Bugle paid was shit. He had been selling photos for the damn newspaper since high school, but it was no use, Peter had to find a job that paid more than The Daily Bugle. And there was no way he was going to ask Aunt May for money, even though she would be happy to give him some. But that was another day's concern, for now, the only thing he needed to do was be quick. Because he knew if you found out that it was him who was stealing, sorry picking, your flowers he sure wouldn't be able to swing away this time. 

Peter honestly felt guilty about your flowers, they were lovely. And he knew this was a safe neighborhood, so he had no way of paying you back with saving you. He had been visiting Gwen every month since her death. It was one of the few things he could keep up with after he graduated high school. Daisies were Gwen's favorite. Peter knew he could easily find another place to pick the flowers, but he believed that there was something magical about the garden. He felt so much love around the house. Maybe it was a silly thing, but Peter thought Gwen would have loved that garden. 

Y\N had been sitting on her porch, hiding behind the dark blue armchair, actually too anxious to face the flower thief. You felt childish after some time. It was just a few daisies, right? There was no need to act like a crazy woman. As you were getting ready to go back inside, you saw him. He had an average height, brown messy hair. He was wearing a black t-shirt and an unbuttoned baby blue shirt with a greenish-brown jacket. Y\N's anger turned back the minute she saw him touch the flowers. 

"You, flower thief!" 

A moment before, Peter felt like his whole body was on edge as if bells were ringing in his brain. But he was already late to realize she had been waiting for him and there was no way to run, he wasn't wearing his suit. Where were the damn spider-senses when he needed them the most? So, he just stood there, speechless, his hand hanged above the daisies. She was pretty, as pretty as the flowers before him. Guilt heating his face, Peter couldn't help but stare at you with his eyes wide open like a dumbstruck idiot. He felt like his lunch was climbing its way back up. 

You were now, standing few steps away from him. "You've been stealing my flowers for months!" 

Peter held his hands up in defense. "Look, I can explain." 

Y\N put her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an explanation. Your heart beating like crazy. Even though it was still bright and you were in the middle of a road, he was a man. A man taller and despite looking skinny, stronger than you. But you hold your face as still as you could.  

"Go on then." 

Peter couldn't find the words to explain. What was he going to say? Sorry, I thought my dead girlfriend would love your flowers so, I've been stealing them, I hope you don't try to kill me. No fucking way. His mouth opened and closed few times, making you sigh. You realized the boy wasn't going to give you any answer. He was probably taking them to his girlfriend or boyfriend. 

"Are they pretty?" you asked, dropping your hands. Peter, very confused, kept on staring at her. You rolled your eyes at how silly he was. "The person you're taking my flowers to." Something at the back of your mind hoped he would say they were for his mother. Now that you were closer you could see the sweet hazel color of his eyes. 

"Um-" His hand went up, scratching his neck. "She is." 

She was.

He shuffled through his pants pockets. "I have a photo-" 

"No." You stopped him. "I want to see if she is pretty enough for my daisies." 

"What?" Peter tried to grasp his head around the idea. 

"I want to see her and tell her that her boyfriend is a thief. C'mon." 

"I don't think-"  Peter was getting anxious, now. How was he supposed to tell you that her girlfriend was dead? 

"Of course you don't think." You started walking. "C'mon, now. Take the flowers." 

Peter didn't know what to do so he went with it. What could go wrong, right? 

"I'm sorry," Peter said after some time. "I have no excuse for what I did." 

His head hung low, watching his steps as he walked. He knew he would stutter if he looked at your face. Peter had a habit of getting tongue-tied around pretty girls. And, well, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Mind you, he wasn't even thinking about Gwen anymore, which made him feel kinda guilty. 

"It's okay." You had your hands in the pockets of your jacket. "My life's been boring lately. You were the only exciting thing, I guess." 

"I'm sure you have more exciting things than me." Peter still didn't look at you but you could see him smiling.

"It's Y\N, by the way." You kept your eyes on him. "If you wanted to know the name of a woman you constantly robbed."

He laughed. "Peter, Peter Parker." His eyes finally met yours. It was ridiculous, how easy it was to just look at his face and feel safe even though he was a stranger. His smile grew even more. It was almost contagious, his smile. He had something about him that made you wanted to scream and purr like a cat at the same time. You felt yourself getting overwhelmed, he was making you weak at the knees. So, you pulled your eyes away from him. 

Pull yourself together, woman! He has a girlfriend.

You were too distracted to realize where was Peter taking you until you arrived. It was the same route you took whenever you felt like talking to your mother. Peter and you were standing just outside of the graveyard. Your head whipped around, turning to Peter. He had a soft smile on his face. 

"Peter, I-" 

"It's okay." 

"No, It's not okay." You took a deep breath, pressing your palms into your eyes. "I'm such a dick." 

"No, you were just mad at me." 

You slouched your shoulder, didn't know what to say. What would even one say in this situation?

"C'mon." Peter's warm hand was gently holding your arm, now. "Let's go see her." 

You didn't talk until you arrived at the tombstone. Peter put the flowers in front of it. 

"Daisies were her favorite." He had a sweet look on his face, he put his hands back into his pockets. 

"They were my mother's favorite, too." You murmured, but Peter could hear you perfectly. "I think that's why I overreacted you picking the flowers. I wasn't thinking." 

"Oh, It's not stealing anymore, then?" He teased. "It's okay, honestly. She would've liked you. You have that fire in you like you could make the world better just with a gesture of your hand. She liked that kind of people, that can light the room with their smile." 

"I think I would've liked her, too." You said, your eyes on the tombstone.

Gwen Stacy. 

Her name was familiar to you. You didn't know where, but you were sure you had heard before. Still, you didn't ask Peter anything, assumed he wouldn't be comfortable talking about it. You didn't say anything until you were out of the graveyard. You knew you would come back tomorrow to see your mother, but with Gwen on your mind. 

The more you looked at his face the more you could see him. Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, he was easy to read. "You blame yourself." You said, nodding your head slowly. You smiled after seeing the face he made. "It's okay, I know the feeling." 

"Your mother?"

"Yeah." 

Neither of you talked for a long time. Peter could tell you weren't ready to talk about it. He knew it wasn't easy to open up, especially to a stranger. It'd been years since he talked about Gwen, so, he knew the feeling, too. 

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. It was a message from Mary Jane.  "Just arrived home, you owe me." 

"That's it!" You exclaimed, remembering your talk with Mary Jane. "That's how I knew her name!" 

Peter, looking very confused, asked you. "What?" 

"Gwen, her name was very familiar." Pocketing your phone again. "I have a friend, Mary Jane, who went to the same high school with Gwen. I've seen her in the yearbook. That's where I recognized her name." 

"You know MJ?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed. "We met in Brooklyn, probably four years ago. I think it was very late, some guy was trying to get her number even though she said no, like five times. And I hadn't had the best day of my life. So, I punched the guy and told him to leave her alone. We have been friends ever since."

Peter was amazed. He didn't know how much cooler you could get. 

"You know her, too?" 

"Yeah, We've been friends for a long time. My aunt kinda tried to set us up."  

You laughed. Peter and Mary Jane seemed like two opposite characters. You would never imagine them together. But again, maybe Peter's pretty face was affecting your judgment. You didn't know. He made your mind foggy. At last, you found yourselves at your front yard again. Your eyes wandered over the empty spots that daisies left. 

"Would you like to get a coffee sometime?" Peter was leaning against white fences that surrounded your garden. He had that sweet smile on his face again. "So I can pay you back for daisies."

You bit your lips to stop yourself from smiling so much. "Gwen was pretty enough for them. You can have some once a month when I'm not looking." Peter was feeling like you were about to turn him down. Both of you knew this wasn't really about the damn flowers. But again, Peter was every so often wrong about these kinds of things. "But you know, maybe not Saturdays. I'm usually free for a cup of coffee on Saturdays." Peter was ready to feed himself with only pasta for a week if it meant he would get to see you again. 

You could visibly see Peter's eyes liting up. "Just one cup?" 

You shrugged. "Tea is fine, too." 

"I didn't know MJ had friends like you." He said, intensely watching your every move. 

"Like me?" You were so sure something bad was coming, he was simply too good to be true.

"You know, this beautiful. If I had known, I would have visited her more."

"Wow, you are hiding a monster under that pretty face, don't you?"  

[willowbird]

HEY for the prompt game: au 7, trope 3 (i love chaos), and very specific location 2? i'll leave the pairing up to your whimsy i just saw the combination of au and trope and HAD to request it lmao

Foxes as kids, foxes WITH kids, INSIDE ANDREW'S CLOSET.

Guys guys guys there were SO MANY WAYS I wanted to do this that my brain kinda exploded for a moment before I decided to go this route. Hope you enjoy!

---

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no!!!!!”

Andrew looked up at the ceiling, where the small, modern chandelier above the kitchen island swung in time with the distressed shouts and several ominous thumps. He looked over to where his husband was flipping pancakes and rose a single brow in question.

Neil shrugged, as if to say 'How should I know?'

A brief staring contest ensued, continued chaos still racketing upstairs. Finally, Andrew lifted one hand and curled it into a fist. Neil lifted his own, and after a brief round of rock-paper-scissors Andrew sighed to his loss and pushed away from the counter.

Neil caught the edge of his shirt as he passed him, tugging him in for a quick kiss. "I'll put extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

"Bribery is unnecessary when you won fair and square," Andrew grumbled back.

Neil raised his eyebrows. "You turning down more chocolate? I mean okay, if you're-"

Andrew cut him off with a kiss. "Too late to take it back." Then he turned and headed out of the kitchen, only to be nearly mowed down by a wide-eyed eight-year-old.

"Watch yourself there, Kev," Andrew cautioned as he prevented the gangly child from sending them both to the ground.

The kid's big bottle-green eyes were wide with alarm. "Dad! He's going bonkers! I dunno what's wrong with him." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, there is a lot wrong with him. But I mean I don't know what's wrong with him today."

Andrew sighed, more because he was pretty sure he did know what was going rather than because he didn't. It was honestly better if Kevin just thought his brother was being weirder than usual for as long as possible. He had a feeling that if Kevin could get any leverage on his spazzy older brother he'd turn into even more of a terror than he already was.

Andrew ruffled his younger son's hair and gave him a nudge. "I'll check on him. Go help your dad with breakfast."

Kevin perked up. "Pancakes?"

"Pancakes," Andrew confirmed with a solemn nod.

"Do you think dad'll make one in the silhouette of a dead French guy?!”

"If you ask him, maybe."

That's all it took, and the kid was taking off like a shot again. Andrew watched him go, grimacing at the thought that they would probably have to enroll him in sports this year if only to help him burn off all that damned energy. He was just as bad as Neil.

A scampering upstairs followed by the slam of a door drew Andrew's attention back to matter at hand. The slammed door did not come from either of the boys' rooms, but rather the opposite end of the hall, where Neil and Andrew's room was. In all, this wasn't all that surprising - at least not when it came to his fourteen-year-old. He'd been hiding in Andrew and Neil's closet whenever he got particularly upset since he was four and Neil had performed a "magic ritual" to make the closet a "bunker against all evil".

Andrew climbed the steps and made his way down the hall, stopping once he came to the closed closet door. From inside he could hear the muffled mutterings of an anxious teenager. He lifted a hand and knocked with just two knuckles.

When there was no answer, he knocked again and asked, voice mild, "Can I come in?"

Then he waited, giving his son time to process that he was here for him, whatever the issue was. Almost a full minute passed before a tight, watery voice said, "Y-you can come in."

Permission granted, Andrew swung open the door to find Nicky curled up in the corner, cheeks flushed and brown eyes full of tears. Nicky was technically Andrew's much younger cousin on his biological mother's side, but he and Neil had adopted him when, at two, DCFS took him away from his parents due to a severe case of neglect. The first few years had been tense - because Luther and Maria had tried to fight it - but Andrew's adoptive mother was a child psychologist and Neil's foster sister a renowned family lawyer.

Even without the connections they would have fought to the death to keep Nicky, though. From the second they brought him home, he was theirs, and they were the only real parents the boy had ever known.

"H-hey pops," Nicky stammered through a poorly-attempted smile.

Andrew waved away the bravado and took a seat next to his son. "Should I talk to Grandpa Wymack about getting us a bigger closet? We aren't both going to fit in here much longer," he said lightly, a soft opening for Nicky to tell him what had him so upset.

Nicky laughed, a more genuine sound, then sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "N-no. I'm sorry. I just..."

Andrew shook his head to stop him. "I would rather pay to have the closet expanded than take away a place you feel safe when you are upset."

As he watched, tears filled Nicky's eyes again, then he launched forward and it was honestly probably a good thing that the closet was a tight fit, otherwise Andrew might have gotten knocked over by the force of the hug. As it were, he was able to catch his son, patting his back only slightly awkwardly as Nicky let out a choked sob and began to ramble:

"..and then I told him that I liked his EARS oh my god Pops I am such a MORON why couldn't I tell him that I liked his eyes like a normal human or even that I liked his mouth or something!? That's sexy right? Oh my god this is terrible. And then! AND THEN I went and I liked about ten of his posts IN A ROW LIKE A CREEP and he NOTICED and then he MESSAGED ME and oh my god I can never show my face again.."

There was very little that Andrew could do other than listen, so that was what he did. As he did, though, he felt a warmth pool in his chest. A warmth that his son felt so safe and comfortable in his and Neil's space that he came here to hide when he felt upset. A warmth that he felt so comfortable, so safe with Andrew that he invited him into that space with him. That his son would cling to him and ramble about his boy problems without fear of judgement. That the biggest problems Nicky had right now were typical teenaged woes, not all the horrors that both Andrew and his husband were far too aware of existing in the world.

"I just don't know what to DO. Oh my god my life is OVER," Nicky finished with a flourish, pulling back and looking up at him with wide dark eyes.

After a thoughtful pause, Andrew finally gave a hum and said, "Well, that depends."

"Depends?"

Andrew shrugged. "Does he really have cute ears?"

Nicky made and high, defeated sound, burying his face in his hands. "They are ADORABLE, Pops. A-dor-a-ble."

"Ah." Andrew nodded his understanding and patted his son on the shoulder. "Then I think that definitely calls for extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

And, because Nicky was a teenaged boy with boy problems - but he was also still a teenaged boy (and moreover, he was Andrew's son), his head went up and his eyes brightened. "Chocolate chips."

"And whipped cream."

"Oh!" Nicky scrambled to his feet and bounded out of the closet with a flourish, only to come up short when Andrew snagged the back of his shirt.

"And Nicky, those crashes from before..?"

Nicky blushed brightly and glanced out the bedroom door toward his own room and quickly back again. "Um.. I'll clean up after breakfast?"

Andrew put on his most impactful Dad Stare, then gave a firm nod before letting go. "You better. Now hurry on before Kevin eats them all."

Nicky yelped in an entirely new kind of distress, all but sprinting out of the room. "KEVIN DON'T YOU DARE YOU LITTLE MONSTER!"

Andrew watched him go and didn't bother to stop the smile that crawled onto his face from a hidden chamber somewhere in the center of his heart. There was once a time he might have resisted it, when he was younger and wounded and angry, his teeth bared against a world that had only ever hurt him. Now, though? Now there was so much fierce, protective warmth inside of him - so much pride, so much adoration, so much love, that he no longer saw the expression of joy as a sign of weakness.

Shouts and scuffling downstairs pulled him out of his thoughts and he sighed to himself, but he was still wearing the smile as he headed down to breakfast.

[paradoxolotl]

hey idk if you’ve talked about it before but if Travellin’ Soldier is based on the Chicks song then i will legally have to attack you like a wild animal 🧡

Oh oh oh oh no

~~

Andrew was dead on his feet, the hours of the day pulling on his body like physical weights. There was still three hours left before he could go home, and he spent his breaths counting down until he could fall into his bed with his headphones. He was exhausted enough that he would sleep deep enough to escape any nightmares that were waiting. The little bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of yet another customer. Quickly wiping down the table he had just cleared, Andrew avoided looking up to greet them, hopefully successfully conveying how deeply he was inconvenienced by them. Hitching the tray of dirty dishes higher, he still managed to avoid looking at the newcomer, making his way back behind the counter to deposit the tray by the kitchen doors.

Finally, Andrew turned to survey the small diner, spotting him immediately. He was sitting at the counter, twisted to keep the door in his sight. The green of his uniform brought out the copper tones in his auburn hair, but Andrew was far more interested in the way his eyes darted to catalogue the movement of the other people around him. Stepping up to the man, Andrew dropped a tacky laminated menu in front of him, popping his gum as he did so. Instead of jumping like he thought he would, the man turned slowly to level a cool gaze at him. The blue of his eyes hit him hard enough to take the air out of his lungs and suddenly Andrew wasn’t so tired.

The man raised a brow before taking a slow perusal of the menu in front of him. Andrew bit down hard on his gum. Usually his glare had most people mumbling out their orders or shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but this man appeared completely at ease.

“What’s good?” His voice was more accented than Andrew expected, a little rough around the edges.

“Nothing. It’s all terrible.”

“Like the service then,” the man nodded, glancing back up at Andrew.

He fought the urge to cross his arms. Shrugging instead, he leaned a hip against the counter, giving the man his best apathetic look. If he didn’t like Andrew’s service, then he could get the fuck out and take his too pretty face elsewhere.

After a few more minutes looking over the sparse menu, he ended up ordering a black coffee. Rolling his eyes, Andrew poured a mug, placing it in front of him none too gently. A bead of dark liquid ran down the smooth white porcelain, leaving a lonely trail behind. Andrew didn’t wait to see if he wanted anything else, leaving to bring a bill to another table.

Twenty minutes later, and it was just Andrew, the man, and an older couple left in the front of the diner. Knowing the rest of his shift would be spent with minimal interruptions, Andrew pulled his bag out from the back, fishing out his homework. The one good thing about this job was that his boss didn’t mind his attitude and as long as his work got done, Andrew could do whatever he wanted when it was slow. Which was great, because learning Russian was not as easy as he thought it would be. He could memorize vocab no problem, but as his professor so elegantly put: his pronunciation was shit.

Mumbling quiet Russian to himself, Andrew put on another pot of coffee before flipping open his textbook. He made it a few paragraphs in before movement in his peripheral drew his gaze up. The man was looking at him strangely, his mug long empty. Andrew didn’t offer him a refill.

“What?”

The man blinked at him, “What are you doing?”

Andrew lifted his book in response, unwilling to hear a lecture about work ethic from anyone. He was sure the man was military of some kind, and Andrew had a long history of issues with authority.

“Oh,” the man said. Then, in perfect Russian, “your pronunciation is shit.”

If Andrew wasn’t trying to memorize the way his voice sounded wrapped around the language, his glare might have been more impressive. As it was, Andrew popped another piece of bubblegum into his mouth to curb the itch for nicotine. Fuck Aaron and his pestering.

He was about to turn back to his textbook when the man shifted again. “I could help you,” he offered.

Andrew’s first instinct was to refuse. As a principle, he didn’t accept help from anyone. But he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t mind an excuse to look at this man a bit longer. Damn those eyes and fiery curls. He could say it was because of the man’s clear proficiency in the language if anyone asked, but “What do you want for it?”

The man drummed his long fingers on his mug, “Another cup of coffee would be nice.”

“That’s not equal.” Andrew ran his life with equivalent exchange. Checks and balances. Black and white. He could not see how help in Russian equaled a cup of coffee.

“It’ll keep me company,” he said with a shrug, a complicated expression crossing his face.

Mulling it over, Andrew decided he could work with that. He really did need help with his pronunciation. “Fine,” he relented, shoving his books down the counter towards the man. Ignoring the small smile on that face, Andrew grabbed the coffee to give him a refill.

“I’m Neil,” he said, but didn’t offer his hand, which Andrew appreciated.

“Andrew.”

Neil gave a pointed look to Andrew’s nametag, which very clearly said Joe, but didn’t comment. Instead, he launched into a conversation entirely in Russian.

[dayurno]

i had time and got inspired by most lovely @daystens post about andreil dynamics + kevin so here is a (short?) kandreil fic about (soft?)butcher!neil, kevin as his husband and andrew as kevin’s bodyguard.

tw for nothing that’s not excessive tenderness for no reason 

The casino is loud, overly pompous and way too bright for the money men that frequent it, though Andrew doesn’t mind it much. 

He is not allowed in the table where the money is exchanged from wrinkly hand to wrinkly hand, anyways —  safety measures, Neil says, it’s better if they don’t see your face. A proper enough excuse, Andrew supposes, but still an inevitably boring rule to follow.

If he were to be honest —  and he is, more often than not, even at the expense of his own job —  it’s not Andrew, exactly, who is not allowed: it’s Kevin that can’t be near them, and Andrew goes wherever Kevin goes, which means that he is banned from watching Neil’s business go down by assimilation. Kevin doesn’t seem to enjoy their stay either, sitting in perfect posture on the seat next to Andrew with a bored look to his features and a fidget to his long fingers, the picture of dissatisfaction. 

Andrew knows his every tell now, from the soft furrow of his eyebrows to the pursing of his lips, and it’s an odd feeling: one look at Kevin is all it takes for him to know that he is bored out of his mind and probably missing Neil, who is the reason why he is bored in the first place. Foolish, foolish Neil —  always pulling all the stops for Kevin’s safety, however extreme such measures can be, everything to assure that not a strand of Kevin’s pitch black hair will be touched. Andrew never thought he’d understand them, but he does know, if only because of how much time he spends in their presence, watching their married banter and the way Neil’s eyes soften ever so slightly when he thinks no one is paying attention.

A soft couple is what they are. Andrew knows how important his job is to Neil’s empire, and is paid accordingly. 

But being Kevin Day’s bodyguard is simultaneously the most boring and most interesting job Andrew could’ve had gotten himself: in one hand, Kevin is the brightest jewel in the Butcher of Baltimore’s royal crown, meaning that his safety (and, painstakingly, happiness) is above every other thing under Heaven —  in another, when Kevin is not receiving combat training from Renee, he is sitting around in his apartment with a face mask on and trying to convince Andrew that the best Golden Girl is Sophia when Andrew knows very well that it’s Dorothy. The life Neil leads and the life Kevin leads are very different, and Andrew is involved neck-deep in both. 

Andrew would think that a year would be enough time for him to learn how to live with America’s most jarring sweethearts, but the truth is that he still doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at their tenderest moments: more than once he’s seen Kevin drape himself over Neil during one of these casino events — the reason he was banned from staying in their table in the first place, since people started to ask questions and Neil’s one goal in life is to make sure none of his frenemies know about Kevin’s existence at all —, and Andrew never knew where to look or put his hands during those times. 

It was easier when Kevin leant against Andrew’s shoulder, because then Andrew knew what to do. Not many people from Neil’s empire were allowed to even touch Kevin —  a rule he later came to learn wasn’t made out of possessiveness from Neil’s part, but genuine discomfort from Kevin’s —, yet Andrew had been given clear green lights from the Butcher himself to engage in any sort of touch as long as it is consensual, a get-go Andrew refuses to think about on the principle that he does not want to know how far he is allowed to go with the Butcher of Baltimore’s lover, no matter how many times he finds himself wondering just how long his leash really is. 

And, anyways,  Kevin is… Odd. Andrew finds him odd, at least, on the accord that he is violently passionate about one too many things, hand-to-hand combat (As a sport! Kevin often corrects him, as a sport, Andrew!) being one of them. Not that Andrew would ever be allowed to fight him on a rink: no one but Renee Walker had that privilege, and Andrew suspects it’s because Neil trusts her to never raise a hand in Kevin’s direction that hadn’t been explicitly consented to. Either way, it was odd that Kevin even engaged in anything but living the lavish life at all —  not only did he have access to Neil’s unlimited protection, he also had the right to every dollar bill made out of his empire, which meant Kevin could not work a day in his life and still live luxuriously until the day he died. If Andrew were him, he’d given up on trying to lead a normal life long ago. 

So, yes: Odd. Pretty, but odd. So is Neil. They were both incredibly odd people whose quirks were only halfway justified by the lifestyle that they led, and whose life Andrew hadn’t meant to be so intertwined in. 

“Andrew,” Kevin calls in his whining tone, yet another complaint Andrew can’t do anything about. “Can’t we leave? Neil is not even paying attention to us. Why are we here?”

“To you,” Andrew corrects him, “he is not paying attention to you, as you are the one that is married to him, not I. And we are here because you wanted to go out tonight.”

Kevin slumps on his chair, pillowing his head with his crossed arms and focusing all of his attention on Andrew. “I wanted to do something fun. You know, fun? I’m sure you know. We have fun all the time.”

“Don’t be inappropriate.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Kevin accuses, squinting at Andrew through dark eyelashes. “Andrew, come on. This is so boring.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “If you fall asleep, I am not carrying you to the car.”

“Yes, you are, as that is your job,” he replies easily, though with no bite to it. “And, anyways, you can’t: I’m a foot taller than you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you can’t carry me.”

“Neither can your husband.”

“And?” Kevin repeats. 

Andrew crosses his arms. “You are particularly annoying today. It can’t be that it is just because you miss him.”

Kevin muffles a scoff against the sleeve of his suit. “I’m tired and sore. Renee kept me up until the late night yesterday. You would know if you hadn’t fallen asleep.”

Ah, yes: Kevin is not only the bane of his existence, but extremely clingy. Andrew finds that he doesn’t really mind, but it’s still funny —  no amount of attention is enough for the Butcher’s husband, surely. “Have a nap, then,” Andrew replies, unmoved. “We will be here for a long time.”

He huffs. “Almost every single person in this room has a reason to kill me.”

“And yet,” Andrew points out, “they will not lay a single finger on you, as I will not let them.”

Kevin studies him for a second before eventually humming in agreement. He pulls himself up, raking a hand through his hair, before turning to Andrew. “Yes or no?” he asks, pointedly staring at Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

He shifts to lean his head against Andrew’s shoulder, a careful touch until Andrew presses an undemanding hand to the back of his head to get Kevin to relax. When he does, Andrew pulls his hand away and shifts on his seat to give him better access, crossing his arms as he scans the crowd. Taking care of Kevin is one thing, but taking care of a sleeping Kevin was another —  even Andrew could admit it flared up his protective senses, the ones that have less to do with the fact that this is his job and more to do with the way Kevin folds into his side gently, trusting that Andrew would keep his word of not allowing any harm to come to him. 

Andrew has to, anyways, if he doesn’t want his head as decoration for the Butcher’s lovely living room, but he doubts he’d let anything happen to Kevin even if the consequences were less extreme.

He briefly shifts his gaze to Kevin’s hands, resting on his own thighs. The wedding band is golden, but discreet —  Kevin and Neil weren’t very flamboyant people in spite of their intense lifestyles, and Andrew had been told (rather, gossiped to) by Nicky that their marriage ceremony had been small and deceivingly mundane. Andrew didn’t know them at the time: all he knows is that Neil locked it down just a month after he freed Kevin from the Moriyama family, and hasn’t let go ever since. The rest is history is how Neil refers to everything that came after their marriage; a funny way to avoid telling Andrew the entire scope of his attachment to Kevin. 

For a liar, Neil was very honest with Andrew. It was unnerving, and it once made Andrew think he’d be executed the exact moment he lost his job, a concern Neil had scoffed at and said If you think you’re not under the same protection that Kevin is, you’re really stupid in response. Andrew hates them —  the two of them, the very pair of husbands —  very much.

He was right: the night is long. Kevin is passed out on his shoulders for about an hour and a half until Neil returns to their table, his sharp smile softened at the very moment his eyes fall on his sleeping husband. Andrew used to pull away from whatever touch Kevin had asked of him when Neil came around —  rightful self-preservation, he’d argue —  but nowadays he knows there is no reason to. Another thing Neil and Kevin are very odd about.

“Did I make you wait too long?” Neil softly asks, his suit jacket discarded somewhere back into the table of the money men and his scarred hands falling just a breath’s distance from Kevin’s hair, as if slowing down to not startle him awake. Andrew doesn’t know the entire scope of what happened with Kevin and the Moriyamas, but he is sure that he doesn’t want to know if it’s what made Kevin develop the habit of waking up startled at the smallest of touches.

Andrew shakes his head. “He is just tired.”

Neil hums, carding his hands through Kevin’s hair delicately. “And you? Were you too bored?”

A weird question, given Andrew is just his husband’s bodyguard, but he shakes his head again. “I am used to it,” he replies. 

“Let’s go home,” Neil quietly says, though he lingers near them for a bit longer, petting Kevin’s head. Andrew watches as the stress slowly disappears from his frame, his shoulders relaxing with each breath, as if being near them —  near Kevin —  gave him back the energy he’d lost mingling with other mafia men. “I know for a fact neither of you had dinner yet.”

“Untrue,” Andrew protests, careful to not shift too much and wake Kevin straight into a panic attack, “we shared a sundae while you were negotiating.”

“And since when is that dinner?” Neil asks, quirking an eyebrow, his hands briefly stilling. “Since when does Kevin eat ice cream?”

He presses his lips into a tight line. “He has been getting better.”

Neil half-smiles; a tired little thing Andrew wishes he did not pay so much attention to. “Your influence, I’m sure. Aren’t you the best thing to happen to us in the last years?”

“So you say,” Andrew grumbles irritably. “Wake him up so we can leave.”

Andrew could do it himself (that is, has the permission to), but he is not as delicate about it as Neil is, and if he had to be honest, he would admit that he kind of enjoys watching it go down: Neil’s soft voice, warm and steady like a candle, his hands traveling from Kevin’s hair to his face gentler than Andrew has ever seen anyone be, and Kevin’s eyes blearily blinking open one, two, three times before he realizes who he is with and what is he doing there. He never wakes up startled when he’s near Neil —  as he never wakes up startled when he’s near Andrew. 

When asked about it, Kevin mumbled something about the way they smell. He doesn’t know why Kevin would pay so much attention to Andrew’s dollar store cologne, but he is not about to ask, either. 

It is like that, with them: Andrew and Kevin, Kevin and Neil, Andrew and Neil. Husbands and their… Bodyguard. 

Andrew doesn’t know which other term to use to describe his relationship with them. He’s often afraid he’ll never know. 

[hurting-fictional-people]

Ball

CW: burning/branding, noncon/dubcon touching and kissing, mention of past torture, vomit mention (it doesn’t actually happen), implied noncon

Before

Her dress was beautiful. Made of emerald green silk that complemented the red of her hair, a V neck descending to the middle of her breasts, a flowy skirt that lightly touched the ground, a tight bodice. Her hair fell down her back in loose waves, only half of it pulled up and braided with tiny pearls that sparkled when the light hit them. She knew she was stunning. It was hard for anything to feel good at the moment, but being pretty again was almost nice.

“Have I told you that you look dazzling tonight, precious?” Blake whispered, lips touching her ear, hand brushing the small of her back. She held back a whimper.

“We are going to play a little game tonight, Kiara”, he declared, grinning. His expression would be childish if his eyes didn’t gleam with wickedness.

“Wha-what are you talking about?”.

His smile widened as he opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked suspiciously like a fireplace poker, but with a larger tip. She started shivering when he placed its tip among the flames of the hearth and winked at her.

Kiara tried to take a deep and calming breath, but all she really did was bite her lip till she felt copper coating her tongue, hoping it would help her keep her face from frowning.

“Please” she mumbled, her voice so low she doubted he could hear it. But he did. He always did.

“You look pretty when you try not to squirm” was all he said, chuckling softly, pressing his hand against her back. The touch wasn’t especially harsh, yet her breathing hitched and she tried to arch away from him just to stop when she heard him tutting. “Remember our game, sunshine. I would love to meet that sweet brother of yours, but I don’t think you would like our get together as much as I would”.

She scanned the room as discreetly as she could, desperately wishing for someone to see the fear and hurt in her eyes, but the only looks she received were aimed straight at her boobs.

They had just got to the party, but she already felt faint.

“Let’s go greet some of my business partners, shall we?” Blake said gleefully. Kiara tried to focus on not passing out as she let him push her towards a group of men in front of the drinks table.

He was almost jumping up and down when the iron turned red. She was almost vomiting when he showed it to her. The tip of it was shaped like letters. Kiara started begging as soon as she realized what was going to happen.

“Please, please don’t do it. I promise I’ll do anything you want, just- just please don’t”.

Blake didn’t even bother responding as he opened the chain that kept her ankle linked to the wall. She was suddenly yanked from the corner in which she’d been sitting and dragged to the middle of the room. He dropped Kiara right where his center table usually stood, and she understood then why he’d moved it away. She wished she didn’t. She tried to run, but before she could take even a step away, he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her stomach against the ground.

It had been a while since she’d tried to fight him, but looking at the burning iron turning crimson among the flames, she screamed and thrashed, panic making tears fall down her cheeks and turning her movements desperate.

“Stop it, Kiara” Blake bellowed, annoyed. She couldn’t see his face with hers pressed to the ground, but she recognized the tone. He sat on her back, putting all his weight on her till she couldn’t breathe. “Hold still or it’ll be worse”.

“Ple-ease! Blake stop, please, please, p-please”.

“Hold still for me, my precious”.

“Blake!” exclaimed a tall man with blond hair “It’s been too long, my friend”.

“It really has, Andrew”, Blake said, grinning as he shook the man’s hand with the one that’d been pressing against Kiara’s back. She held back a relieved sigh when he took it away.

He proceeded on greeting each one of the men there, commenting on their families or hobbies. She kept her eyes on the floor, wishing to disappear. Unfortunately, neither her stillness nor her wishes kept her from being seen.

“And who is this kitten?” asked the one named Andrew. She only knew it was her he was talking about because suddenly Blake was back at her side and his fingers grazed the bare skin of her back right above where the fabric of the dress ended, right before where the burn started.

“This is Kiara”, Blake said, beaming. “The love of my life”.

She smiled too, hoping it looked real. Knowing it didn’t.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart”, said another one of his friends, one with a long black beard and malice in his eyes.

“Well, I don’t think she is very pleased with you, Blake”, remarked Andrew, narrowing his eyes with amusement.

She went instantly rigid and forced her eyes to wrinkle and her smile to widen. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. The ball is absolutely lovely” she stated, willing her voice to sound sweet but firm.

“I’ve been keeping her awake a lot these last nights” Blake joked, winking. All of the men laughed, and she let out the breath she'd been holding ever since he tightened his grip on her waist.

Blake had done a lot to her already. Whipped, drowned, kicked, punched, choked, chained, starved. She’d lost count of all the torments she’d faced, but he had never burned her before. So, when he tore the back of her shirt open and pressed the scorching iron to her lower back, there was nothing she could’ve done to prepare herself.

It was a literal hell. There was no thought, no scream, no tears, no nothing in the world. It was only pain. So vast, so deep, everything faded away.

She went limp at some point. Maybe she passed out, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure of anything but the blazing pain. When she came back to herself, her head was on Blake’s lap, and he ran his fingers through her sweaty hair. Her entire body trembled, and she was in so much pain all she could do was cry soundless tears. Kiara didn’t try to pull away or ask what he’d done. Didn’t have the energy to do anything other than weep. Not even sob, for when she did, her body moved, and it burned.

“So precious” Blake purred, fingers tracing the shape of her ear. “You were so strong for me, my little sunshine”.

“Please”, she moaned weakly. Kiara didn’t even know what she was begging for, but it hurt and she needed it to stop, and she hated his voice and his words and his hands touching her.

Blake chuckled. “Please what, precious?”.

“It hurts”.

“I know it does. It will for some time. But it was so worth it. I truly loved your little noises of pain. They were everything” he said as if that should appease her somehow. If anything, it made her cry harder.

“Please, make it stop” she sobbed, wincing when the movement sent a new wave of pain through her body “Please, Blake, make it stop, I can’t, I can’t take it. Please.” her voice was low and hoarse from screaming, and it hurt to even speak, but her back was pure agony and she couldn’t think right.

“Let’s talk about our game, and then I’ll make it stop” he assured. She closed her eyes and nodded, even though she knew whatever game it was, she was probably better off with the burn.

There were at least three hundred guests at the ball, scattered around the penthouse. People flirted and laughed, chatted, and joked. Kiara used to adore parties. She loved to dress up, feel like a goddess, and spend an entire night drinking and dancing. She would have loved that ball if it weren’t for her captor by her side and the dizziness making her vision blur.

She had to stay awake. Had to resist the burning pain that spread from her back to her entire body. Kiara had never been a good actress, but fear was as good a fuel as any. The smile she glued on her lips was kind and dumb enough to keep most people away, the wrinkles she forced her eyes to form hid the pain behind them and added up to the pleasant expression. Her back was as straight as a stick, but that had nothing to do with the act.

“Drink up” Blake ordered, extending a martini glass to her. There was nothing she could do other than nod and take the glass, taking a small sip hoping it would be enough to please him. The pain only increased with each passing minute and she worried she might vomit at any time.

His dark eyebrows shot up, the warning there so clear she shivered and took a longer sip. Blake continued to stare, though, so she gritted her teeth and drained it. He smirked.

“Good girl” he praised, then brushed his hand against her burnt back and took her to another group of people. She breathed in deeply and smiled through teary eyes as she was introduced to a bunch of new people. One lady came in for a hug, and she clenched her teeth so tightly to avoid screaming she was sure the woman heard it.

“Tonight I’m throwing a ball”, Blake said, playing with a strand of her hair. “You are going to be my date”.

“You burned me” she hissed furiously “Why would I ever go to a ball with you?”.

“It’s cute how you can’t even talk above a whisper and still has the nerve to defy me” he sighed playfully. She hated that she knew his moods just by hearing him sigh, but she did. “Now, back to what I was saying. You are going to be my date, and I’ll introduce you to all of my friends as my gorgeous, loving girlfriend”.

Kiara would have laughed, weren’t it for how bad she was hurting and how feeble she felt. Still splayed on her stomach on the ground, limbs heavy and shaky, she could only snort to show her exasperation.

“You see, I found a charming little house on a really cozy street last night. I even took a picture of it, let me show you”. She opened her eyes to find a cell phone in front of her face, and in it a picture of a two-story house made of red bricks, with plants by the windows and a low white fence in front of it. Dread filled her as she stared at the picture, at the house she knew all too well. “It’s really pretty, don’t you think? I thought about buying it, but the owner might not want to sell it. Maybe I should just kill him and take the house”.

“Please”, she choked out, “please don’t hurt him”.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she rolled to her side so she could look him in the eye. A cry escaped her lips when her back shifted, and a tear slipped from her eyes, but she only stopped when she could see his face. Her head was still on his lap, but pride was something she hadn’t known for a while now.

“Play the sweet obedient girlfriend at my ball and your brother will be left untouched. Fail, and I’ll decide if I shall bring him here to make you watch as I kill him or if I’ll force you to do it yourself”.

“I’ll do anything. Just, just please leave him alone” she promised, “I’ll go to your ball, pretend to b-be your girlfriend, as long as you don’t come near him”.

“We have a deal, then”, Blake said with a smirk. His hand found hers and brought it to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss on her palm and then started playing with her fingertips. “Do anything and everything I tell you to, and I’ll keep my distance”.

Kiara nodded, and when he helped her to stand up, she leaned into him, letting Blake support her weight while he rubbed something soothing on her back with far more force than needed. She shrieked against his shoulder and clutched his shirt while he tended to her burn, thinking of her brother the whole time, promising herself she would not let Blake near him. She would die before she let him touch Arthur.

“You seem kinda pale, love”, said an old lady, squeezing Kiara's hand, “do you need to go outside for a bit?”.

One look from Blake and she knew what she had to answer. “Thank you, but I really am okay. I think I overdid it on the makeup. It’s my first ball, you see? I wanted to look nice”.

“Oh, I get it” she giggled, patting Kiara’s shoulder. Even that sent a twinge of pain down her body. She smiled rigidly. “Especially with such a handsome boyfriend, eh? Gotta always look pretty for your man”. She grimaced internally but barely registered what the woman was saying as she swayed slightly.

Kiara really needed to sit down. She could feel the bandage stuck to the blazing skin of her back, the burn at the precise spot for the dress to cover it perfectly and for Blake to casually touch it at any time just to watch her trying to conceal a gasp or to remind her of what was at stake if she did as much as annoy him. It was getting harder to stand upright, smile, and talk as if there was nothing wrong. She felt her skin clammy and her legs trembling. If she didn’t sit in the next few minutes, she might actually pass out right there.

She took one step towards Blake, but even that was too much, especially with the high heels he’d made her wear. She stumbled and would’ve fallen down if he hadn’t moved so fast, catching her before anyone noticed what had almost happened.

“I need to sit”, she breathed, letting him support her weight. He held her by the waist, and his entire arm pressed on the burn. Kiara bit her already bruised lip and buried her face against his shoulder to muffle a pained whine. “I’m feeling faint”.

“People are looking at us” he crooned, low enough that only Kiara could hear it “I guess you just don’t love your brother as much as I thought, since you are doing such a poor job as my girlfriend”.

She closed her eyes and counted ten seconds to collect herself, hugging Blake as if he was someone she didn’t feel disgusted by. When she moved away, everyone was staring at them.

Kiara cleared her throat and straightened up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself not to flinch as he held her tighter.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m just so nervous”, she said, quietly enough for it to sound like she was addressing only him, but high enough for everyone close by to overhear. She looked up through her lashes and smiled timidly, then moved closer and kissed his lips. Blake stiffened for a moment before opening his mouth and kissing her passionately. Kiara had intended for it to be just a brush of lips, but she couldn’t back away now in front of everyone. He tightened his grip on her back and she moaned softly against his mouth, the sound swallowed by him before anyone else could hear it. When he finally let her go, she couldn’t bring herself to smile anymore, so she looked away from him, to the crowd watching them shamelessly. She gave them an embarrassed nod and started towards the tables.

Blake caught her hand a moment later and changed the route to the gambling area. Kiara shuddered but didn’t complain. As long as she could sit, she would do anything.

“Nicely played, sunshine” he mouthed into her ear. She pretended not to hear it.

Blake sat down at a poker table and pulled her onto his lap, forcing her back to press against his stomach. She bit back a cry and tried to think of her brother as she was introduced to more of Blake’s friends.

He started playing, and she pretended to not be in pain, or scared, or despondent. She pretended she wasn’t sitting on the lap of her captor, her torturer, the man who had taken so much from her. Who had taken everything from her.

As he went on chatting, gambling, and laughing, she pretended there wasn’t a burn crossing her lower back with his name on it.

[rose-bookblood]

okay here's more :) 🌍🎂 for andrew, 🎭 for cecilia and 👁️ for all four of the blue below the surface people bc i love eye colors

[Send me emojis from this ask game]

🌍 Will they give up the world for someone they love? Is this decision easy for them?

It would be a long and hard decision, but ultimately yes, Andrew would give up anything for someone he loves. He'd like to think not, though.

🎂 When is their birthday? Do they like celebrating it?

On November 7. Andrew is pretty indifferent to birthdays, but he's a cook, so he throws a little party just to experiment with recipes and bake a disproportionately elaborated cake.

🎭 Do they act differently around certain people? What's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

Cecilia isn't insecure at all, so, even if she has trouble communicating, she never masks her personality. With her friends, though, she brings out a sense of humour other people never see. Strangers may think Cecilia is cold because of her blank face and rationality, but the ones she loves know her compassion.

👁️ What colour are their eyes? Do people notice their eyes? Is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical...)?

Evelyn has bright blue eyes, think Alexis Bledel. The colour is pretty noticeable and, contrasted with her black hair and pale skin, it pops a lot.

Lily has dark brown eyes. I know chocolate comparisons are cliché, but they really look like hot chocolate. They usually go unnoticed, since her red hair catches most of the attention.

Andrew has brown eyes, but a clearer and colder colour than Lily. I've already said that Andrew is a great liar, and the only tell of it is the way his eyes kind of shut off.

Cecilia has green eyes, with a slight brown hint around the pupil. For her skin and eye tone, I actually took inspiration from Sharbat Gula, the woman from the 'Afghan Girl' photo. (I hate the story of that picture tho. Reeks of white saviourism.)

[i-did]

if you’ve addressed this before I apologize but what do you think of claims that Kevin is a poc coded character and his supposed “mistreatment” is fandom racism?

I mean Nora definitely intended for Kevin to be white while writing him, as she did with all other characters who races are not stated as otherwise. And like, I think I’ve seen the post you're talking about and what they describe is not what coding actually means.* There also isn't any textual basis for Kevin to be a POC besides Wymack, who people often see as non-white due to the discomfort over his 90’s tribal tattoos. IDC if people HC Kevin as a POC, but usually he’s just vaguely tan in the way people make Neil. You’ll see a “The Rock” FC for Wymack, but I haven't seen anything that actually goes beyond that. I’ve seen fic’s actively treat Dan, Matt, and Renee racistly, but Neil and Kevin get the same “vaguely tan” treatment and therefore avoid it. Nicky and Riko are different since they're canonly POC and not fanonly, so they fall into a different area. 

I would also say Kevin is a pretty common fandom favorite too? So I would disagree with that claim as well. Most people I talk to their favorite is either Andrew or Kevin it seems, then like a few Aaron lovers, and my personal favorite is Neil. These are all canonly white main characters–and are largely still depicted and treated as such. Dan, Matt, Nicky, and Renee are all larger characters than Jean or Jeremy, and besides Nicky, are intended to be white but the fandom decided weren't. So Dan, Matt and Renee all get pushed to the sidelines over favorable ‘white’ characters. Fandom’s racism actually has such wild layers tbh, same with its misogyny, but that’s another thing. 

I do think with a lot of the characters in AFTG adding headcanons making them POC can add an entire new layer to the canon and recontextualize scenes and struggles which would make some themes a lot stronger–I do this with most of the foxes in fact. 

But Kevin to me, if I do HC him as a POC, he is going to be white-passing and raised essentially believing he is white until he learns otherwise. 

Kevin to me is very peak white guy. I love him as a character, but book 1 he shows very typical white guy arrogance. He comes to a team and bosses them around while also dismissing them in the same breath. He believes he is owed something from the people around him, and they will blindly follow him and do what he says. They should always listen to him, and he automatically knows what is best–better than Dan. This feeling of “what I ask will be given, and I am above them” is definitely due to the raven mentality of everyone is inferior, but I’m sure there were racist raven recruits along the way, and Kevin is usually HC to be brown and not East Asian/Japanese, which experiences a very different type of racism. I believe if Kevin was a brown MOC… he would act differently. 

Personally, I see white-passing Kevin discovering he’s not actually white as much more narratively interesting and fitting. His mom is Irish, and it's very rare for a mixed kid to be perceived by society to look more related to their white parent than their brown parent–unless of course they're white-passing. And since the fandom usually has Wymack be a MOC, then it would make sense for this green-eyed light skin baby that never is outside but when he is he just kinda tans but is still light skinned, and think “yeah I believe her when she said he’s not my kid.” I also think it could fit Kevin’s arc of realizing Exy isn't all there is to him, in fact there is a whole culture and a father waiting for him to connect with, that he didn’t even know was there ‘as an option.’ it gives him something else to tack onto his identity as well that he had no idea about and was sheltered from. 

I’m still not solid on my own HC for Wymack and Kevin and if he will be white-passing or just white yet, but I play around with the idea sometimes for sure. But I don’t ever see him as visibly a POC. He feels no need to prove himself like Thea does and the media is shown to go easier on him as well as the foxes. The foxes are annoyed with him, but they ignore it, and the media forgives him easily and fawns over him, telling him he’s handsome and talented. Kevin from an outside perspective is very privileged in a way that parallels with Allison a lot actually. Who was based off of Paris Hilton– disowned wild child of a rich family that owns Hilton hotels, struggled with the public eye and is credited as the original influencer. 

*But yeah POC coding isn’t really a term like queer-coding is. Queerness is something that must be unstated for various reasons, which led to coding for either vilification or because there was no other way for it to be shown. But media dives pretty hard into ‘othering’ with POC, doing it’s best to show all the ways whiteness is different from ‘the rest’ by playing up stereotypes or extra emphasis on non-white features. I mean the first ever ‘talkie’ or modern day movie, had blackface in it, (the jazz singer). There is no perceived societal need for ‘POC coding’. There is such thing as ‘Jew coding’ however, which again is used for vilification and dates back pretty far in depictions of devils in churches in Europe. Kevin isn't shown as a ‘gay pervert’ like queer-coding does, or ‘dark curly hair and a strong nose, with his hands rubbing together’ like Jew-coding does. POC aren’t treated with coding but rather a full dive into minstrel depictions instead. 

Kevin is shown as sympathetic but also struggling, he is a victim, but he is also harsh. He is struggling with addiction that gets enabled by the other people around him who don’t know a better way to help. He has an arc, he learns to grow, he gets the tattoo, he talks to Wymack, he fights with Dan, he speaks to Jean, he scores the last point on the winning game, he learns to stand up to Riko. He develops in the books, and is one of the 3 main characters, Neil, Andrew, and Kevin. 

I think the fandom definitely focuses mostly on Andrew and Neil, which is unsurprising since they're the main pairing and get the most development and attention by the author as well. But the nature of fandom and fanfiction typically is to have all the background characters act as overly invested props to get the main paring ending up together. That's just kinda the way fanfiction typically goes. Kevin still largely is a character with his own thing going on, often recovery or dating other people or grumbling in the background with his own thoughts, in fics a lot more than any of the other characters in AFTG who aren't Andrew and Neil. I don’t think Kevin gets excessively ‘mistreated’ either, I think he gets a lot of the similar flattening out of his character we see a lot in general in fandom, whether its for a joke post or a fic.

[knox-knocks]

a hunger inside

an among us au >:) tw: death and violence (no foxes die, only ocs)

read it on ao3

Andrew finds him in the hallway, attempting an escape through the vent in the floor. Andrew’s eyes flick to the corner of the room where the camera is, but it is dark and lifeless, no blinking red light to indicate that someone is watching. Of course, that is why Andrew chose to linger in this part of the ship, after all. No one is ever watching these cameras, so he is free to smoke his cigarettes in peace.

“The vents, huh?” he says and leans against the cool metal wall of the ship and lights the cigarette. He’s almost out. As soon as his job here is done, he’ll have to stop by the closest pit stop for another pack.

Orange jumps at the sound of Andrew’s voice, twisting around in the tiny space the vents allow. It’s not much bigger than him, and he has to wiggle through in order to get out. Andrew watches him, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, and takes note of the dark red staining his orange space suit, seeping into the fabric.

Andrew tips his head and behind Orange he can see two feet sticking out from the darkness, dripping the same red liquid that’s currently splashed all over him. Andrew is no idiot, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the liquid is blood and the legs belong to a dead man.

“Faster way to get around,” Orange – Josten, he remembers – says after a tense pause. Andrew can’t see his expression past the dark screen of his visor, instead his own unimpressed face is reflected back at him, distorted in the curve of the helmet.

Andrew has never seen the man underneath the orange suit. He’s been aboard the Space Enterprise for a couple months now and hasn’t so much as taken off his helmet. Which wasn’t a cause for alarm – not at first – because technically it was a rule that you had to be wearing your space suit at all times in case of emergencies, though no one actually did. Except for Josten.

What struck Andrew as strange was that Josten didn’t take it off even to eat. In fact, Andrew has never seen him eat with the others in the cafeteria, not once, in the months since he’s joined the crew.

“I suppose you’re the one the others are worrying about, then,” Andrew says and takes a drag off his cig before it dies. “The imposter.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Josten says, neatly dodging the question. His voice is staticky over the mic, more artificial than human.

Andrew looks past at the victim half-eaten by the darkness. Josten subtly shifts his weight, an unsubtle attempt to hide the body, but the damage is done and Andrew has already seen it.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Andrew says. He stares at where he thinks Josten’s eyes should be, and meets his own even expression instead.

Josten doesn’t move so Andrew sighs and pushes up from where he’s leaning against the wall. Josten’s back straightens, and he makes an abortive move, as if reaching for a weapon. Said weapon must still be stuck in whatever poor sap whose blood saturated the floor, because Josten’s hands remain empty, and Andrew unstabbed.

“Go get cleaned up,” Andrew says and stubs out his cigarette against his fatigues. The ashes smear against the black fabric, near invisible. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” Josten says in that robotic voice of his.

“Because now you owe me one,” says Andrew.

“I thought we were even.” Josten mimes a movement reminiscent of raising a cigarette to his mouth, a clumsy mimicry in his bulky suit. “‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “But now I’m covering for you as well. So you owe me.”

It is eerie, the way Andrew can’t see his face to read his reactions, and wonders if this is how his crewmates feel about him. Andrew, always so tightlipped and apathetic, even when the crew started getting picked off one by one. He didn’t join up too much longer after the others, but he’d picked up on their unease almost immediately. Andrew doesn’t care though; he isn’t here to make friends. He is here to do his job.

Josten is the first to break. He turns, stiff, and walks down the hall to the sleeping chambers. Andrew watches him go and waits a few more minutes to give him a bit more time. He’s not really sure why. He could have left when he saw Josten climbing into the vent and pretend he never saw the body, or he could have simply reported exactly what he witnessed.

But it often gets boring on the Enterprise, and perhaps Andrew is intrigued, maybe he wants to see where this goes. Plus, it might come in handy to have the resident murderer indebted to him.

Andrew reports the body over the comm link and makes his way to the cafeteria.

_ _

It was Green who was killed, though Andrew never bothered to learn the man’s real name. The remaining crewmates are dragged from their tasks to deliberate over the murder, while Andrew watches over the chaos and waits for Josten to join them. In the end he points his finger at Red, who has no alibi except for her claim to be down in Navigation at the time of the murder. But the others do not listen and in their panic, they are quick to vote her out.

Her screams of terror and pleading are cut short by the hiss of the chamber door sealing shut. It is Yellow who slams the ejection button, and Andrew watches as Red is spat into the black vacuum of space. Yellow flinches when the air is forced out of her lungs and her blood boils in her veins, but Andrew does not.

Ten crewmates turn to eight in a day, and the others are soothed enough to go back to their assignments. At least until Andrew finds Josten stuffing Yellow’s crumpled form into one of the cupboards in Storage a few days later.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Andrew says smoothly, and Josten flips around, quite literally caught in the act. He’s still holding the knife, but he lowers it when he sees Andrew.

“I owe you two?” he says.

“One,” Andrew replies. Josten tips his head, a strangely animal action with the giant space helmet on. “I want your name.”

Josten hesitates.

“Your full name.”

“Neil,” he says slowly, as if trying it out. “Neil Josten.”

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, and he quite likes the taste of it on his tongue. It tastes a little of danger, like the iron-tang of blood. “Now show me your face, and we will be even.”

Neil is slow in taking off his helmet, and Andrew watches in rapt attention as the vents blow out a stream of oxygen and steam as the seals release and Neil twists the helmet off.

Andrew wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Neil looks normal. At least, he has a nose and a mouth, and reddish-brown hair falling into his eyes. It’s as his gaze is tracking the movement of his auburn curls that Andrew spots the reason Neil was so hesitant to take off his helmet.

His eyes are a bright, crimson red, glittering and dark under the fringe of his hair. Undeniably alien.

Andrew takes a step forward and grabs Neil by the chin. He brings his face down closer to his own and moves it side to side, studying him. Aside from the eyes, his face is also marked by deep gouges and circular scars on either side of his face. He is very attractive, and Andrew feels a slow, tight pull in his navel. He would quite like to take this man apart, bit by bit. Neil is silent as he lets Andrew look his fill.

“There’s a vent in the corner of the room, to the left,” Andrew says, releasing Neil’s face. “I’d be quick if I were you.”

Neil narrows those red eyes of his before reattaching his helmet and following Andrew’s directions. He has the vent open and one leg in when he turns back and says, “Why do you never talk to any of the others?”

Andrew gives him a thin, close-mouthed smile and says nothing.

He doesn’t report the body. He lets Purple find it, and he and Neil meet the others in the cafeteria together. His suit his clean, no traces of the blood that had been previously splattered down his front. His helmet is on, but he’s not the only one hiding their face so no one mentions it.

“Minyard,” the man in the white suit says. Andrew is pretty sure his name is Folkson or Falkner or something. His face his pale, eyes stretched wide, and his lips tremble as he talks. He’s the oldest out of all of them, and has taken the helm. “Where were you?”

“With Josten,” Andrew says. “We were clearing out the oxygen tanks in O2.”

“That’s not usually a two-person job,” Lime says suspiciously.

Andrew levels a look at her. “It is if you do it properly.”

“We need to figure this out,” Cyan snaps, and Andrew wracks his brain for their name. He comes up blank. “We’ve been getting picked off for weeks and we still have no fucking clue as to why.”

“They might not be human,” Pink says in his quiet voice, thin as a thread. He clutches his gloves in his hands, turning them over and over. “What if this is a game to them?”

Andrew hedges a look toward Neil but he is still, silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyan says, and rolls their eyes. “We need to stay focused before we lose the mission.”

“You give a lot of orders and not a lot of answers,” Folkson or Falkner gripes.

“I could say the same for you,” Cyan replies coolly.

Andrew lets them bicker. He said his piece, and both he and Neil are cleared. After all, Pink saw them on the cameras, and they were no one near the body when Purple found it. In fact, no one was around, and soon the suspicion turns to Purple. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as they are locked in the ejection chamber and Cyan presses the button.

The others whisper around them, desperate prayers to a God that has no place in the depths of space. Let us be right, they murmur. Please, this time, let us be right.

_ _

The first time Andrew kisses Neil, they are in the showers and he has just scrubbed the last of Falkner’s blood off of him. Red turns to pink as it runs off of him, over the white tiles, and down the drain. Andrew knows someone will stumble across the body and report it soon, but he doesn’t care.

Neil’s voice is different when he’s not wearing the helmet, and so is his gasp when Andrew pushes him against the still-dripping wall and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He has a grip on his t-shirt, one in his hair, and he angles their mouths together in a way that has Neil scrabbling against the wall for support.

“Andrew,” he says, and the sound is long, drawn out. Neil tips his head back against the wall and Andrew mouths at his neck, his skin warm from the blood pumping life through his body.

Neil is a killer, the imposter among them, but his skin still bruises and his body still reacts to Andrew’s touch. He kisses him, again and again and again, each one harsher than the last.

Andrew only pulls away when Neil’s tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. He takes a step back. He needs to be more careful. He shouldn’t be letting Neil get close like this, it’s too dangerous. Too easy to slip up.

Neil’s eyes are blown, his cheeks flushed. “I think we should blame Lime,” he says, breathless.

Andrew presses another kiss to his mouth and resists the urge to sink his teeth into Neil’s lip. Dangerous.

Once under control, Andrew says, “There will be four of us left, after this.”

Neil nods, suddenly solemn. He almost looks regretful. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Let’s go,” he says without meeting Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew has the feeling that he was going to say something else. Before he can ask, though, Neil is already pulling on his gear.

In the end, they can’t decide who to eject, and Lime is safe. For now.

_ _

“I didn’t do that one,” Neil says quietly, peering down at Lime’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck is broken, blonde hair falling over a face slackened by death, though still etched with fear. Andrew imagines her eyes widening, mouth opening in a scream as hands wrap around her throat, shoving her down the stairs. The image is not difficult to conjure.

“Must have tripped,” Andrew replies. He looks at Neil in the corner of his eyes, and a thrill goes through him when he sees the now-familiar bloodred of his gaze.

“I suppose we report this to the others,” Neil says the same moment Cyan enters the room with Pink in tow.

“Get away from him,” Cyan snarls, and it takes a moment for Andrew to realize that they’re talking to him. “He is the imposter. You – Orange.”

Desperation makes people clumsy, sloppy, and Andrew sees that they are very afraid. Neil looks alarmed – and extremely guilty standing over the body. Never mind Andrew was also caught red-handed, Cyan and Pink surround Neil and Neil only.

So they don’t suspect Andrew at all.

“You killed Gen,” Cyan says, voice shrill. They leap at Neil, and with Pink’s help they corner him against the wall as Andrew watches on. “And I’m willing to bet you were plotting to kill Black too. Lure him down and execute him here.”

“What of it?” Neil says through clenched teeth. Cyan has his arms pinned to his sides, and there is nowhere for him to go. They force him back, crowding him into the ejection chamber. Neil jerks in their grip, but Cyan holds tight. Pink grapples with the panel on the wall to open the door, but his shaking hands slide helplessly over the smooth panel. He finally finds a grip and gets the door open.

“Look at his eyes,” Pink cries. “I told you. I told you he wasn’t human.”

“Shut up,” Cyan grits and shoves Neil into the chamber. Neil struggles, bucking in a last-ditch effort to get out of Cyan’s grip, but it’s useless. They found their imposter, and now they’re going to kill him. His wide red eyes meet Andrew’s calm ones, and he rams his body into Cyan’s, desperate.

Cyan grunts at the impact and looks over their shoulder at Andrew. “Black,” They hiss. “Minyard, help – ”

Andrew smiles, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth he has so carefully hid from everyone until now. Pink sees it first and screams, but it’s cut off when Andrew lunges and sinks his fangs in his slender neck. Blood gushes into his mouth, and it tastes so sweet. Pinks chokes, hands fluttering ineffectually at his sides as Andrew tears out his throat.

Cyan watches with horror, but before they can do anything, Neil is already there, his arms wrapped around their neck. He forces their head back at such a steep angle that Cyan cries out in pain, and shakes them like a ragdoll. It is easy now that they have the element of surprise, and Neil snaps Cyan’s neck with ease. They slump to the ground and Neil stares at their body, chest heaving from the fight.

“You,” he says, still out of breath, eyes traveling up to Andrew’s. “You’re the other one.”

Andrew licks his lips, blood dripping from his face, his sharpened teeth, and Neil tracks the movement. “Yes,” he says simply.

Neil grins. “Good. I would have hated killing you.”

“You never would have gotten close.” Andrew steps over Pink’s still-twitching body and hooks his fingers in the thick collar of Neil’s space suit. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes are dilated, black enveloping red. “You already know my answer,” he says, voice heavy.

Andrew’s grip on him tightens. “Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” Neil says and Andrew yanks him in for a fierce kiss. Neil makes a sound low in his throat, guttural, and Andrew swallows it. He’s sure he nicks Neil with his teeth now that he’s not so concerned about keeping them hidden, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He is happy licking the blood from Andrew’s lips.

Neil’s eyes flash red and Andrew’s teeth bare in a sharp smile. Game over.

[cherubcow]

“Invincible”, Season 1 (2021) Review

Somehow both very cool and very fucking stupid :D

About Created and written primarily by Robert Kirkman (principle writer for The Walking Dead comic and TV show), this Young Adult cartoon basically synthesizes a number of comic book characters (e.g., Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Hellboy, Wonder Woman, Gambit) and tries to balance their heroism with cynical twists and dark realities. It's an exercise like Brightburn (2019) in that it mirrors existing comic writing all too closely in order to make violent twists. The cool stuff arrives pretty much immediately. You can tell right away that the physics have some level of realism, and it quickly gets serious because of this. The easy comparison would be to The Boys (also by Amazon, also about violent heroes, and also very well-produced). So, if you like The Boys (2019–), you'll probably like Invincible only a little less.

(( Some spoilers but nothing too specific ))

Wrong Focus But, the stupid stuff comes from the same error that the Kick-Ass movie (2010) made: it focuses on the wrong person(s). In Kick-Ass, the error was focusing on.. well.. "Kick-Ass", an irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. Invincible makes the same mistake, focusing on.. well.. "Invincible", a (so far) irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. So, despite its virtues, this show cannot escape that it made the decision to go for the Young Adult viewing demographic. It reminds me of Alita: Battle Angel (2019) in that way too: some very cool adult concepts ruined by the dramatic devices of unrepentant teenage stupidity and irrelevance. I didn't even like that stuff when I was a teenager, though Jordan Catalano gets a pass.

Main Cast and Characters The supporting characters were also very stupid. The most annoying was definitely Amber Bennett (voiced by the otherwise cool Zazie Beetz from Deadpool 2 (2018) and Joker (2019)), 

who is supposed to be attractive somehow to Mark Grayson ("Invincible", voiced by Steven Yeun, who played Glenn on The Walking Dead) 

despite the fact that she constantly judges him, fails to understand him, often fails to give him any kind of benefit of the doubt, and continues to scowl at him and be hurtful towards him even when she has information that should change her outlook towards him. And because she is part of the love triangle shared between herself, Invincible/Mark, and "Atom Eve"/Samantha (voiced by the awesome Gillian Jacobs from Community (2009–2014)), 

audiences simply have to bear with it that Amber's annoying character will be present and wasting time until Mark can realize that Amber is in fact toxic and that Eve actually understands him and can improve him in more positive directions. That love triangle should have been a 20-minute distraction, but I'm guessing that it will eat up a season or two more, especially if the writers become cowardly and fail to change things for fear of messing up a perceived "winning" formula. In my ideal story line, they would skip ahead 10 years, drop the teen drama, the love triangle, and the stupid jokes and have Invincible and Eve paired in defense of Earth, with the main tension being from their worry that the other would be horribly gored in front of them during lethal fights against cosmic enemies ;)

Aside, I am aware of Amber’s motivation for being a bad person, I just think her justification is not based in understanding, empathy, and a regard for the gravity of Invincible’s situation. In a strict political sense, Invincible should not commit a lie of omission by keeping her in the dark about his identity — even if for the “noble lie” reason of protecting her — but in a real sense, he is a fucking teenager who just developed his super powers. For her to pretend that he should reveal his entire identity to her — a potentially transformative and even dangerous decision — after a few months of teenage romance paints an absurd portrait of her mind. It does, however, align her with Omni-Man, because where Omni-Man forces Invincible to become an adult in the fighting sense (pushing with full force early on), Amber forces Invincible to become an emotional adult by getting him to understand that toxic people such as herself need to be given boundaries — and he needs to learn to clearly delineate and communicate his real desires. By knowing that he does not want Amber, people who regiment his free time, or people who do not suit him, for instance, he can realize why Eve was an obvious decision: Eve understands, can make time when they have time, and will let him find his decisions. Part of a coming-of-age story tends to be realizing what one actually wants, and Invincible’s hesitation in telling Amber his identity shows that he does not truly want her. This separates Invincible from, say, Spider-Man, who avoided telling Mary Jane his identity not because he did not want her but because he wanted at all costs to protect her.

The next most annoying character has to be Debbie Grayson (voiced by TV-cancer Sandra Oh and who luckily was not animated to look like the real Sandra Oh and who should have been voiced instead by Bobby Lee due to Lee's successful MadTV parody of Sandra Oh). 

Debbie basically fills the role of Skyler in Breaking Bad, except that Debbie's character tends to be slightly more understanding before her inevitable and toxic Skyler-resentment and undermining behavior. Despite having an 8-episode arc of change, Debbie's character flips too quickly and lacks the empathy and Omni-Man motive-justifying that would make her interesting (the comic's development may vary). For instance, if she refused to believe that Omni-Man meant his own words, that would make her empathetic and perhaps virtuous even if misled, but instead she dropped their "20 years" of understanding after viewing Omni-Man in action, which makes her appear shallow, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. That was a definite "Young Adult" genre move because it shows immaturity by the writers to break apart a bond of 20 years so quickly. Mediocre teens might accept such a fissure because their lives have not yet seen or may not comprehend that level of time, but adults know that even long-standing and problematic relationships (which, beyond the lie, Omni-Man's and Debbie's was not shown to be) take a lot of time to break — even with lies exposed.

Omni-Man The biggest show strength for me was of course Omni-Man, who in a success of casting was voiced by J.K. Simmons in a kind of reprisal of Simmons' role as Fletcher from Whiplash (2014). 

The Fletcher/Omni-Man parallel shows through their being incredibly harsh but extremely disciplined and principled, forcing people to become beyond even their own ideal selves (this via Omni-Man's tough-love teaching of Invincible — comically, Omni-Man was actually psychologically easier on Invincible than Fletcher was on Whiplash's Andrew character). Despite the show's attempts to villainize Omni-Man, he, like Fletcher and also like Breaking Bad's Walter White, becomes progressively more awesome, eventually representing a Spartan will, an unconquerable drive, and a realistic and martial understanding of a hero's role.

To the show's credit, while it wrote Omni-Man to be outright genocidal and from a culture of eugenicists (again, Spartan), they could not help but admire him and his "violence" and "naked force" (for a Starship Troopers reference), giving him a path to redemption. That redemption comes in part because — despite the show's attempt to be often realistic and violent — its decision to be directed at young adults via dumb jokes, petty relationship drama, the characters’ reckless lack of anonymity and security in their neighborhood (loudly taking off and landing right at the doorstep), and light indy music also made the portrayed violence far less literal. With a less literal violence, the real statement becomes not that Omni-Man really did kill so many people (though he certainly did kill those people within the show's plot) but that he was symbolically capable of terrible violence but could be reformed for good. That's the shortcoming with putting violence under demographic limitations. If it's a PG-13 Godzilla knocking down cities, the deaths in the many fallen skyscrapers don't matter so much (the audience will even forgive Godzilla for mass death if it happens mostly in removed spectacle), whereas if it's Cormac McCarthy envisioning a very realistic fiction, every death rides the edge of true trauma.

By showing light between the real and the symbolic, it is much easier to identify and agree with Omni-Man. For instance, when Robot (voiced by Zachary Quinto of Heroes and the newer Star Trek movies) 

shows too much empathy for the revealed weakness of "Monster Girl" (voiced by Grey Griffin), the audience may have thought, "Pathetic," even before Omni-Man himself said it. And this because Omni-Man knows that true and powerful enemies (including himself) will not hesitate to use ultra-violence against these avenues of weakness. "Invincible" can make his Spider-Man quips while in lethal battles, but he does so while riding the edge of death — something that Omni-Man has to teach Invincible by riding him to the brink of his own.

Other Cast/Characters and Amazon's Hidden Budget It was impressive how many big-name actors were thrown into this — a true hemorrhage of producer funding. Amazon has so far hidden the budget numbers, perhaps because they don't want people to know that the show (like many of its shows) represents a kind of loss-leader to jump-start its entertainment brand.

Aside from those already mentioned, the show borrows a number of actors from The Walking Dead (WD), including.. • Chad L. Coleman ("Martian Man"; "Tyreese" on WD),

• Khary Payton ("Black Samson"; "Ezekiel" on WD),

• Ross Marquand (several characters; "Aaron" on WD)

• Lauren Cohan ("War Woman"; "Maggie" on WD)

• Michael Cudlitz ("Red Rush"; "Abraham" on WD)

• Lennie James ("Darkwing"; "Morgan" on WD)

• Sonequa Martin-Green ("Green Ghost"; "Sasha" on WD) 

There were also connections to Rick and Morty and Community, not just with Gillian Jacobs but also with... • Justin Roiland ("Doug Cheston"), who voices both Rick and Morty in Rick and Morty,

• Jason Mantzoukas ("Rex"),

• Walton Goggins ("Cecil"),

• Chris Diamantopoulos (several characters),

• Clancy Brown ("Damien Darkblood"),

• Kevin Michael Richardson ("Mauler Twins"), and

• Ryan Ridley (writing)

That's a lot of overlap. They even had Michael Dorn from Star Trek: TNG (1987–1994) (there he played Worf) and Reginald VelJohnson from Family Matters (1989–1998) and Die Hard (1988), and even Mark Hamill. Pretty much everyone in the voice cast was significant and known. Maybe Amazon got a discount for COVID since the actors could all do voice-work from home? ;)

Overall Bad that it was for the Young Adult target demo but good for the infrequent adult themes and ultra-violence. Very high production value and a good watch for those who like dark superhero stories. I have heard that the comic gets progressively darker, which fits for Robert Kirkman, so it will likely be worth keeping up with this show.

[scribbleb-red]

Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

A Morning AU - with a fab prompt from @djhedy

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

 But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced nd held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a post English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skateboard. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skate board. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower. I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples. I’m telling the truth. My tongue goes green when I lie. I met Kevin Day.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, imagining over and over when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but here.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares.  And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn't. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil's facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

 There's no way Neil can win. Greg is a third grader and big beside. 

But Neil doesn't look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he'd still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar's mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

"So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first and second grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green," Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew's had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there's no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

"Oooo who's this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can't be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine year old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth" Josten.

"Back off," he says. He doesn't inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. "Leave him alone."

Greg nearly steps into Andrew's space but someone has started a whisper: 

Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo.

It's the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

 Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

 Neil Josten knows his name, Andrew thinks. Wow wow wow.

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

 Andrew shrugs. 

 “Yes or no?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you to if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying yes. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better story teller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but...” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

If only it were that simple.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it'll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He'll be packed off at the end of term.

"I think mom and I will move too," Neil admits. "We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah..." Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "He's in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me."

They pretend that the world isn't going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they're going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they'll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

"We could play exy together all the way through," Neil says. It's his new obsession. 

"I'm not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I'll be the knight that looks after you."

"You'd steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I'd be the knight trying to take your gold. But I'd be sneaky about it." Neil's laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you'll play with me?" 

"Yeah okay," Andrew says.

But it doesn't work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew's bags are packed. He's dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he's stuck in the swell of a wave.

He does play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he'll find Neil on a court too. 

He'll either face him down or by some miracle they'll be on the same team. 

He'll find Neil again. He will.  

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Something like an epilogue

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren't for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he's doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil's name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that's exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he's 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he'd met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil's many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There's no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. There's no sign of a Neil Josten.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman's Leaves of Grass every morning. 

Maybe it's time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can't. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can't help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he's recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody's name is Neil.

"Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope," Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. "Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It's not Andrew’s Neil. 

But it is too. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He's ferocious and plays like it's the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly," Kevin says. "That's why we have to have him."

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he'll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn't grown much either - he's still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

"Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet." Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn't have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

Wishes wishes wishes. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

"Drew?" Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

"Neil," he replies. 

"Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil's arms are around Andrew's shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they're hugging and he shouldn't want to hug back but he does. He does because it's Neil. His friend. His pipe dream. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn't going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil's lips, he doesn't tell Wymack. Doesn't call out his idiot's new ouchies. Doesn't answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign," he speaks only to Neil. He means, Stay with me. "We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. "Let's play a game."

The End.

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[angst-fairygodmother]

Happy Holidays (Nathan Young x Reader)

A/N: Just a fun little Christmas party with the crew, referencing some things from the Christmas Special but not most of them, because we’re pretending they had a bit more of a nice, normal holiday. Winter Prompts: Gingerbread; Mistletoe Word Count: 2118 Cross Posted to AO3: here

Humming along to the carols belting out from the tv speakers in the next room, you bustled about the kitchen. Nathan had been barred from “assisting” you today while you made a variety of treats to bring to Simon and Alisha’s Christmas Eve get together later, after he ate as much of your sugar cookie dough as you managed to get onto the baking sheet. Your friends had been surprised when you offered to handle all of the desserts for the shindig, but you loved to bake and always looked for any excuse to. Besides, it had been a while since you’d done something elaborate, and you had a plan that, honestly, your friends would probably just dub cheesy.

The plan was gingerbread, but you set aside seven of the cutouts that you were going to turn into cookie-portraits. You wanted to make sure these were perfect, carefully rolling bits of gingerbread to create Nathan and Alisha’s curls, using a fine-point food color pen to draw on Curtis’s cross, custom mixing the shade of blue icing for Simon’s eyes. It was incredibly time-consuming, but honestly, you loved the work, and couldn’t wait to see their faces. 

You were piping icing on some of the more generic gingerbreads when Nathan’s voice startled you, making you jump and leave a mess of icing smeared across one. 

“Y/N!” you boyfriend whined from the next room. “Ye must be done by now. Ye’ve been at it for hours and I’m so bored!”

“Have you wrapped the gifts?” you called back. 

You had a pretty good guess what his answer would be, but you weren’t letting him get away with doing no work to get ready for the party, or for Christmas dinner with his mom and her boyfriend (a prospect that still had you sweating, since this would be your first time meeting them as Nathan’s girlfriend). 

“Why d’ they need ta be wrapped? It’s just gonna get torn off again. Figured we’d just stuff em in some leftover takeaway bags.”

“Nathan, we are not wrapping our presents to our friends and family in shopping bags.” You came to the kitchen doorway to glare at him, hands planted on your hips. 

Suddenly he sat up from where he lounged on the couch, looking at you with a hungry gaze that made you swallow nervously, even as your stomach twisted in anticipation.

“Ya know,” he mused, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “I’m not one for food in the bedroom, but I might make an exception with ya lookin all cute and frostinged like that.”

“Don’t even start. I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work,” you scolded.

He quirked an eyebrow, rising to his feet and stepping closer, a challenge written across his face. 

“Isn’t it?” he asked, smirking as he got close enough that he was looming over you. 

“Simon and Alisha’s party is in an hour and I’m nowhere near ready, the cookies aren’t done, and you still need to wrap the gifts for Secret Santa. I will not be distracted.”

“Yer face says otherwise. I see the way yer checking out the goods.” He leaned in, eyes drifting to your mouth. “We can be quick. Or fashionably late.”

“No. Absolutely not. I know how hard Alisha worked putting the whole thing together, I am not ruining it by being late because you're too horny for your own good.”

Suddenly he surged forward, licking a long stripe along your cheek. Recoiling, you grimaced and wiped aggressively at your face in an attempt to get the saliva off. 

“What the fuck was that?!”

“I told ye, you look good enough to eat, all covered in frosting. Even better than the cookies. Couldn't help myself.” He shrugged, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his jeans pockets. 

“You're disgusting.”

“Ye love it.” He grinned cheekily at you.

As much as you hated to admit it sometimes, he was right. Rolling your eyes, you headed back into the kitchen to finish decorating the gingerbread, trying your best not to think about his tongue on your skin, cheek or elsewhere. 

--

“You didn't have to wear the sweater, you know,” you teased Nathan as the two of you rode the elevator up to Simon and Alisha's loft. 

“I know, but ye gave it to me, so it's special. Plus it'll drive the others nuts with how hideous it is!” He chuckled, pre-amused at their reactions. 

“Terrible,” you said, shaking your head ruefully.

He blew you a cheeky kiss before hauling open the door and making an ‘after you’ gesture. The next few moments were a blur of greeting hugs - especially from Alisha who was so excited to be able to actually hug you that she actually willingly gave one to Nathan as well - and being bustled about to set your things down (coats on the bed, presents under the tree, goodies on the counter). Keeping the littlest box with you, you sat down on the couch, and your friends gathered round curiously. 

“I went a little overboard,” you said sheepishly as everyone settled in, Kelly on one side of you and Curtis on the other, the others taking up whatever spaces they could. “So...I made y’all something.”

They all leaned in as you worked the lid off the little tin, revealing your gingerbread creations.

“Oh!” Kelly shouted in surprise. “Y’ made little gingerbread us?”

“They’re so cute!” Alisha added, reaching in.

You grinned, passing them around, particularly enjoying Nikki’s shock that you had made one of her too.

“Of course I did,” you answered with a shrug. “You’re one of us now.”

“I didn’t know you could bake like this,” Curtis said, inspecting the details on his cookie. 

You shrugged. “It’s just art in another medium. I love to, though. Used to want to open a bakery as a kid.”

You felt a familiar green gaze on you, Nathan watching in surprise and delight that there was still more for him to learn about you after all your time together.

“But you didn’t make one of yourself?” Simon asked.

“Yeah, I ran out of dough. Besides...self-portraits never come out well.”

“Is it cannibalism to eat these?” Nathan asked suddenly. “Because they look delicious.”

“Since it’s yourself, it would be autocannibalism,” Simon corrected.

“Unless you’re made of gingerbread, I don’t think it’s anything,” Nikki countered, rolling her eyes. “Except enjoying a cookie.” She turned to you and offered a rare smile. “It really was sweet, Y/N, thanks.”

--

You sipped at your eggnog, feeling warm and tingly from the heavy dose of rum Nathan had included when he poured it for you, amusing yourself by conjuring mistletoe over your friends’ heads at random. Curtis and Nikki seemed done with your antics after you had made them kiss about four times (every time Nikki seemed about to start in on Nathan), and you had played it safe with Kelly and Andrew since you weren’t sure where their relationship stood (still in that adorable newborn awkwardness if both their blushes were anything to judge by). Alisha and Simon on the other hand seemed thrilled by your game, basking in the sheer joy of being able to touch each other and happy to kiss as often as you grew something to prompt it. 

Suddenly, Nathan flopped down beside you, bouncing the whole sofa as he brought his curly head to rest on your shoulder. 

“I’m bored, Y/N,” he whined.

“You’re always bored, Nathan. Unless we’re shagging. And I’m not about to do that here,” you countered, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me?” 

He was silent, and you could feel him shift uncomfortably, settling further into the cushions and crossing his arms petulantly. 

“Nathan…” you said threateningly, ready to demand he talk to you if you had to and sleep on that very couch if he wouldn’t. 

“I just can’t help noticin’,” he grumbled. “That everyone else is gettin’ plenty o’ kisses, courtesy of ye, but I’m not gettin’ any.”

You laughed. “When you say it like that it sounds like I’ve been snogging all of our friends.”

“That’s not what I mean. But I’m glad my pain amuses ya.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing at his dramatics. But he was right about one thing. Somehow you two had managed to go the whole party without kissing. Suddenly he thrust himself up off the sofa, still clearly frustrated. 

“I’m gettin’ more cookies,” he said, half-storming off. 

“Is he really upset that you haven’t spent the whole party snogging him?” Alisha said a moment later, sitting down in the spot Nathan had vacated. 

“Apparently,” you sighed. “I should probably go talk to him…”

“Let him stew for a bit,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s an ass and totally deserves it.”

--

Twenty minutes later, you were surprised to notice that Nathan still hadn’t come back, and glancing around the room, that there was no sign of him. Your gut twisting nervously at the idea that he might have actually been upset with you, you started asking around to see if anyone knew where he’d gotten to. Curtis told you that he went out for a smoke and you grimaced, sliding your boots back on to follow your errant boyfriend. 

“Nathan?” you called into the darkness, squinting to see if you could spot any sign of him and shivering at the winter chill. “Are you out here?”

“Over here,” he answered. 

Following the sound of his voice, and now spotting the faint glow of orange from the end of his cigarette, you made your way over to where he leaned against the side of the building. 

“Hey,” you said, pausing to stand in front of him, hands shoved into the pockets of your jeans. 

“What are ye doing out here, Y/N?” he asked, reaching out to pull you closer. 

Instinctively, you stepped into his space. Trying not to let him feel you shiver, you wrapped your arms around his waist under his coat, feeling immediately warmer.

“Looking for you. I felt bad about our little tiff earlier…” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It was my fault anyways.” 

You bit your lip, hating how sad he sounded when he said it and afraid it was about to turn into one of those self-deprecating moments. 

“We’re supposed to be partners. I should have been paying more attention to how you were feeling,” you argued. 

“What I’m feelin like right now is that we should get inside before ye turn into a popsicle.”

“Nathan, I’m serious.”

“So am I, Y/N. It’s fine, let’s just go back up.” He wrapped an arm around you to hold you closer and leaned in to purr in your ear. “Unless you’re ready to blow the place and go home? I can finally give you your Christmas present?”

You shivered with desire as much as the cold. “I left my coat upstairs.”

“Who cares? I’ll keep ye warm while we walk.”

“It’ll take two minutes to go back for it. And then we can say goodnight.”

“Fine, but I’m only comin with to make sure ye don’t get dragged back into a conversation and forget.”

--

You sensed it before the elevator door even opened, and couldn’t help the sly smile that crept across your face. 

“What’s with that look?” Nathan asked, arm still in place around your middle. 

“Nothing,” you said impishly as you stepped out into the room.

For once your upward gaze wasn’t solely to look at your boyfriend, instead moving past him to the plant hanging above your heads.

“Well, that,” you said, nodding to it. 

Thick brows knitted in confusion, he followed your eyes.

“Oh ho ho ho, what’s this then?” he turned back to you with a smirk. “Trying to con me inta kissin ye, are we?”

“Nope. That sprig? Wasn’t me.”

“What do ya think we should do then?”

“With all the shit we’ve been through this year, I can tell you what we shouldn’t do, and that’s tempt bad luck.”

Not wanting to give him a chance to respond (after all, banter was fun, but you had better things in mind), you stretched onto your tiptoes to plant your mouth on his. Kissing you back, Nathan tightened his grip to pull you flush against him and ran his tongue over your lower lip. Eagerly, you parted your lips for him and he groaned as your tongues danced together.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Nikki chimed in after a moment, reminding you that you and Nathan were still at a party and decidedly not alone. “Some of us want to keep down our Christmas dinner.”

[thechangeling]

Be wise enough to wonder. Be brave and let it go.

Mark had no idea what time it was when he was woken up by the sound of his daughter crying. He heard an exhausted groan beside him as Cristina moved to pull herself up. Mark put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"No it's alright," he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep. "I'll go."

Two months ago Cristina had given birth to their first daughter. Her name was Gianna She was the biological product of Kieran and Cristina with her pointy ears and blue hair that changed with her moods, and Tina's chestnut coloured eyes and copper skin. But the trio fully considered her to be theirs. Blood was unimportant.

Mark was half asleep as he stumbled his way down to the room they had set up Gianna's crib in. He missed Kieran and he knew Cristina did as well. Kier was currently stuck in Faerie with his royal responsibilities. Cristina and Mark were visiting the LA institute to help with a recent uptake in demon activity around the area. It was amazing to see his siblings again (minus Ty, he was in Devon visiting Kit since the two of them were now dating long distance.) However he knew it was strange for Gigi to be sleeping in an unfamiliar environment.

Hence lots of crying.

Mark heard his daughter's crying getting softer as he came to the doorway. He could also hear another voice, cooing to her, calming her down. As he got closer he could see it was Helen. Mark smiled at the sight of his big sister gently rocking his daughter in her arms.

"Thank you" he whispered, trying not to startle her or wake Gianna. Helen was wearing her sleep clothes, with her hair tied back. There were also very prominent dark circles under her eyes.

"You should get some rest" Mark said as forcefully as he could without raising his voice. "Seriously you look exhausted Len, hand her over and he back to bed." Helen just gave him a stern look. The one that she used to use when he was trying to sneak extra cookies as a kid, or the first time she caught him trying to come home past curfew after being out at a downworlder party that he was way too young for.

The funny thing was that even though Helen had started calling Eleanor "mom" around the age of 8, Mark had never been able to do it. It had absolutely nothing to do with an attachment to his birth mother. He barely remembered her. Maybe it was because he had always had someone looking out for him since day one, and that person wasn't Nerissa or Eleanor.

And it certainly wasn't his father.

I think you're punishing yourself, is what Helen had told him one night. You're punishing yourself for being different, so you won't let yourself get attached.

Helen placed Gigi back in her crib and put her hands on Mark's shoulders. "Sweetheart you are more exhausted then I am" she reprimanded him gently. "You and Cristina both need help and I'm more than happy to do it." Mark put his hand over hers, gripping onto Helen to avoid passing out.

"She has Kieran too remember?" He insisted firmly. "Just because he isn't here right now doesn't mean that he's not her dad too." Helen's eyes widened.

"Oh no! No that wasn't what I was saying at all." She said frantically. Her voice was starting to slur a little like she was drunk. She really needed to go to sleep. "I was just trying to be useful you know? Like I always used to when we were younger."

Mark knew what she was referring to. When the twins were born, in order to help out Eleanor and their dad, Mark and Helen starting taking care of them so their parents could get more sleep. Julian was still very young, only two, so it was up to them as the older siblings to step up.

Livvy was a relatively easy baby. She cried when she was hungry or needed changing, and then she was fine. She was pretty good at sleeping through most of the night as well. Ty on the other hand was not. When he was drinking formula from the bottle he would only ever take a little and then refuse to eat any more. This lead to him always being hungry half an hour later and as a result, not sleeping for very long.

The family would take shifts when looking after the twins to avoid being too exhausted. But there were some nights where Ty would just refuse to sleep and nobody knew why. Eleanor wanted to go to the silent brothers, but thankfully Helen had talked her out of it.

He's just different, she had said. It's fine, we will figure it out.

At a certain point Andrew had just refused to try, and Helen and Mark had to step in. Unfortunately these were bad habits of Ty's that seemed to have carried over into adulthood. But at least now he could get up and feed himself at 2 in the morning.

Mark shook himself out of his stupor. "No it's ok. I'm sorry. I just worry about you Len" he murmured. Helen shot him a tired smile. "And I you, brother" she replied, slipping into a very fae way of speaking. Mark turned to look at his little girl, who was still sleeping. Thank the angel.

Thank the gods, his brain supplied.

It was interesting thinking about the way she would grow up. It would be so different from Mark and Helen. Gianna had access to Unseelie culture through Kieran, as well as the privilege of being raised by a full blooded faerie. She was already being read fae stories (accurate ones) and sung fae lullabies. She would be taught fae languages by Kieran and Cristina mostly, because as Kieran loved to point out, he was terrible with languages. She would also be taught Spanish and English when she was older.

She would be raised as a shadowhunter and as a faerie in a better, more understanding world that he was trying to help build. Mark couldn't help but be a little envious of her.

He turned back to Helen who hadn't left, but had sat down on the floor, bracing her back against the wall. He sat down beside her.

"Hey" he whispered roughly. "Do you ever feel like we were robbed?"

Helen looked up at him slightly dazed. Her Blackthorn blue-green eyes were starting to glaze over. "Huh?" She muttered sleepily. Helen rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat, trying again. "What do you mean exactly?"

Mark sighed as he slowly felt all of the thoughts and feelings he usually tried to keep buried. He really didn't want to deal with them. Because if he delt with them then he would have to acknowledge what happened, and acknowledging it made it real.

Something that Magnus always said was that you had to go through the pain and not around it, because going through it was the only way to get over it.

Mark took a deep breath and looked Helen in the eye. "I mean think about it. From the moment we arrived at this institute, our father always talked about how evil and wicked and manipulative our mother was. And yes, I would argue from the sound of things he was probably right, but I was four years old and she was the only faerie I had ever known. So it seemed as if everyone around was establishing a baseline of, Faeries. Wicked. Manipulative. Cannot be trusted.

Helen shook her head "but that's not-" Mark interrupted her. "I'm sorry but I'm not done." Helen sighed and looked to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but she didn't protest. "Ok fine. Go."

Mark continued. "And the thing is we were bombarded with that information all our lives. From our instructors, from our father, from our peers. So eventually I think you and I started to believe it Len! I think we started to think of ourselves as evil, and in order to not be evil we had to distance ourselves from being fae as much as possible." Mark's voice was beginning to shake.

Helen shook her head. "No I don't think it was that so much as we were trying to prove that we were real shadowhunters. Me personally, I didnt want to be considered a downworlder because I'm not, I'm a shadowhunter. " Helen explained, but her voice sounded unsure. "I didnt want to be treated differently."

Mark chuckled humorously. "But don't you see? We are different! That is precisely my point, and everyone made us feel ashamed of that. Remember how you used to braid your hair like a faerie until girls started making fun of you and trying to pull it out? And then you started wearing your hair to cover your ears. Did you honestly expect me to believe that you preferred the style, sister?" Mark was trying to keep his voice lowered but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Helen was silent. There was a pause where neither sibling spoke and then Helen's defeated voice. "I don't want to talk about this Mark." He felt a pang of guilt.

"I know. Forgive me please, it was not my intention to upset you." He spoke elegantly. Helen laughed softly. "You know it's weird how much it comforts me, hearing you talk like that" she said.

Mark smiled sadly at her. "But that's exactly my point Helen. I mean think about it? How much did we give up or refuse to pursue just because we were scared? You know I've been reading far stories to Gianna and some of them are actually really incredible. There are stories about brave female warriors who go on adventures to save beautiful princesses and stories of people who couldn't decide which one if their suitors they liked best, so they just chose them all. They are stories about people like us, written for people like us." Mark could feel himself beginning to cry .

Helen reached over silently and placed her hand on his to comfort him. She looked like she was holding back tears as well.

"Imagine" Mark whispered brokenly, tears running down his cheeks. "Imagine what it would have been like if we read stories like those when we were younger.

Helen closed her eyes, trying to block out tears. "We were trying to keep ourselves safe" she whispered. "It was self preservation."

"It was assimilation" Mark said firmly. "And that really wasn't fair." Helen let out a harsh breath.

"And it didn't even do any good," Mark continued. "They still kicked us out."

Helen laughed in spite of the situation. Then let they weight of the conversation wash over them both, soaking them in despair and self pity.

Helen finally broke the silence.

"You know, she began, Magnus Bane loves to share stories about past shadowhunters in a more accurate way because the Clave's records are usually very white and straight washed, and when Aline and I mentioned potentially adopting a child from abroad, he told us a story about this one shadowhunter Ariadne Bridgestock. Apparently she was a lesbian and in a relationship with Anna Lightwood but she was also originally from India. Her parents adopted her and brought her back to England."

Mark shrugged "So? There's nothing inherently wrong with that." Helen gave him another look.

"Well yeah, but the problem was they didn't let her retain anything from her culture and they didn't give her the opportunity to branch out and learn more. They stripped her of all of that and basically taught her to behave like the typical white British girl." Helen readjusted her position, straightening out her back. "He wanted to make sure that if we ended up with a child who had a different cultural background, we would understand the importance of nurturing that connection" she explained.

Mark nodded "Well yes, but Aline would never do anything like that given how important her culture is to her." Helen was silent for a moment.

"Yeah I know. It's just that I'm not exactly the poster girl for self love and acceptance now am I? She said I'm a self pitying tone.

Mark shook his head. "It's not really the same thing though Len" he reasoned.

"No I know that, but it's similar" she mumbled, tiredness seeping into her tone. "Anyways, that's why I'm so happy Gigi has you and Kieran." Helen finally stood up "Especially you. When she feels like her mom is too much of a shadowhunter to get it, and her dad is too much of a faerie to get it, she has her papa to understand her." Helen said wistfully with a smile.

She extended her hand to Mark and pulled him to his feet. They both stared at Gianna who was moving around slightly in her sleep. "Yeah she will be fine" Helen mused softly. "She's got Cristina to teach her spanish and Kieran to teach her faerie. You can tell her stories about the wild hunt and Cristina can tell her stories about living in Mexico." Helen paused, her expression looking a little sad. "Her life is going to be so different from ours."

Mark felt another pang in his chest as well as the boiling of anger beneath his skin.

"How do we get past this?" He whispered. "How do we deal with this Helen? This anger?"

Helen was silent for a moment. Mark turned to face her and noticed she was shaking slightly. Helen gulped and looked up at him.

"We can't feel sorry for ourselves. That gets us nowhere. We need to confront it and then we need to find away to move past it," she said determinedly. "We need to be brave enough to let it go. We can't change the past but what we can do is try and change the way we approach this now. I know it's hard but we can do it." Helen smiled at him "As long as we have each others backs we can get through this."

Mark nodded. "I know. You're right. I want to keep moving forward. I want to learn more, discover more. I want to figure out who I really am." Mark spoke steadily. "The things that happened when we were younger were horrible," he felt his voice breaking again. "It's painful, but we can't just stay on our knees. We have to move on or it'll consume us."

Mark took Helen into his arms and hugged her tightly. She sniffled lightly, wrapping her arms around him. Mark let out a sigh.

"It's ok," he whispered. "I've got you, you're not alone."

You are not the only.

Be wise enough to wonder, be brave and let it go.

Nothing is everlasting.

Have mercy on my soul.

[written-on-the-trees]

Chris Motionless Fan Fic - From Beyond The Grave

Prompt: Haunted

Word-count: 2150 words

Warnings: mentions of murder

Description: Chris has haunted his house for two hundred years, and scared off every member of the living that has dared to come near it...until this one

Author’s Note: Bonus fic for Chris Motionless's birthday! It was another long one for this series, but I just couldn't resist. I had so much fun writing this, I hope the man who's birthday inspired it had as much fun for his birthday just as much - and everyone else has fun reading it.

Lambs to the slaughter…

   Various members of the living crowded around the front of the house, running around like headless chickens, trying to set up everything they could before it got dark.

 What they were trying to set up, Chris wasn’t sure. It had been quite a few years since any of the living had dared to trespass into his domain, and it seemed technology had come quite a way since he’d seen any of it. He didn’t really care. No matter what contraptions and contrivances the living brought with them, they weren’t going to get rid of him; they couldn’t. He’d haunted this old house for over two centuries, ever since he’d been hung, drawn, and quartered, and had his remains hung from the rafters of the very attic he was now standing in - or perhaps floating was a more fitting choice of words.

 Chris didn’t really care about his choice of words.

 What he cared about was removing the ridiculous breathing humans scurrying about outside his house, about to disturb him. It was a mistake on their part; it had been a long time since Chris had had any entertainment other than re-reading the few crumbling books that had survived this long, and so he’d had plenty of time to plan what he would do to any possible intruders.

 It wasn’t going to be pretty.

 But it was going to fun.

 Very, very fun.

 He knew ghost hunters when he saw them, no matter how much their technology had changed, and knew they intended to ‘put this spirit to rest’ - which was something Chris had no interest in. With every passing anniversary of his death, he got more and more powerful: soon he would be able to seek out the descendants and statues of the ‘brave’ men who had killed him, and enact his revenge. Only after that was done would he go peacefully into that goodnight.

   Until then…time to have some fun.

   Smirking coldly, Chris dematerialized and sunk through the floor.

 The short, stout woman who currently owned the land that the house stood on was allowing two men in through the front door. Her face was pinched with worry, but the two strangers didn’t share her good sense: looking around the house with curiosity.

   “I can definitely feel something.” the first man, who had hair that was a rather unfortunate shade of dish-water brown: “A very strong presence.”

 His compatriot, a taller man with eyes that shifted from side to side nervously: “An evil presence.”

 “The ghost doesn’t like the living coming into the house.” the landowner remarked - from her spot just outside the front door: “It tends to react…violently when confronted.”

 “Violently?” Nervous Eyes asked.

   Why let her tell them, when I can show them?

   Remaining invisible for now, Chris used his power to make the floor under their feet groan, making the house sound like it was in agony.

 The landowner squeaked, and Nervous Eyes jumped backwards, but Dish-Water’s eyes only sharpened. He scanned the room, eyes pausing in a few locations, but never one Chris was in. It was obvious that he wasn’t one of the few members of the living who had the Sight, who could still see him even when he was invisible to most living beings, but he was far too interested in this situation when he should be scared.

 Chris was going to have to get rid of him.

 And he was going to enjoy it.

   “Get Willow in here.” Dish-Water demanded, looking his compatriot: “I want to see if she can see it.”

 Chris doubted that this Willow could, but he still ducked out of sight of the door as Nervous Eyes went out to do as he was told - returning a few minutes later with the sound of someone following him…someone who froze outside: “No.”

 “No?” Dish-Water rolled his eyes: “What do you mean ‘no’?”

 “I mean there is someone in that house that very much does not want me or any of us to be in there with them.” the new voice replied: a young woman, by the sound of it, her voice quavering slightly: “We should leave.”

   Ah, a young woman with some sense.

   Unfortunately, Dish-Water did not share her good sense, the same as he didn’t share Nervous Eyes’: “Just get in here, Willow, and do what we pay you for.”

   Willow hesitated for a few seconds, before doing as she was told - and making Chris freeze in place.

   Rosalie…

   It wasn’t his Rosalie; upon second glance, Chris could see that this Willow was not the woman he had once loved and now despised, but rather a pale imitation. Where Rosalie’s skin had been perfect porcelain, this woman’s face was splattered with freckles. Rosalie’s hair had been a rich shade of auburn, like a fine brandy, whereas Willow’s was the colour of damp autumn leaves. And Rosalie’s eyes had been a captivating feline green - Willow’s were a plain hazel.

 The two women were most definitely not the same, merely similar…but it was enough to ignite the fury that had been simmering low in his chest for a very long time.

 Without thinking, Chris buckled the floorboards under Willow, Dish-Water, and Nervous Eyes’ feet, sending the three of them stumbling backwards before they were knocked down. He buckled more floorboards, chasing them out of the house, before slamming the front door shut behind them - and still his rage burned. The window frames rattled, the walls roared, and the railings on the porch shook, and Chris still felt himself shake with anger, until the four living humans raced off of the porch.

 The landowner almost threw the keys to the house at Dish-Water, who stormed over to his truck, prompting Nervous Eyes to trot obediently after him. Dish-Water shouted commands at the assembled members of the living before driving away in his car with Nervous eyes, and soon all of them were packing things back into their vehicles, and leaving just like their boss had. Only Willow looked back…filling Chris with a vicious sense of anticipation.

 He wanted her to come back.

 So he could tear her limb from limb.

      Hours later, after the sun had set and the moon had risen high in the sky, Chris felt a quiet presence approaching the house.

 Willow had returned, and much quicker than Chris had expected.

 She looked scared as she walked the house, but her steps were certain nonetheless. As much as the urge to murder her the same way he wanted so desperately wanted to murder Rosalie, Chris couldn’t deny Willow’s strange mixture of fear and determination was…curious. Very few humans had ever come to his house twice, and those who had had never had the good sense to know they should be afraid of him. Willow was very clearly afraid of him, and yet she was still approaching the house.

   Curious indeed.

   “Um…hello.” she called, pausing at the foot of the porch steps: “It’s Christopher, isn’t it? I did some research in town, apparently you’ve been here a long time.”

   Chris knew that couldn’t be the only thing she had learned from her research…but he still had no answers as to why she had returned her.

 So he allowed her to keep talking.

   “I know a little about ghosts…enough to know that, based on the amount of time you’ve been haunting this place, you’ve likely had enough time to gain the ability to turn corporal. And enough time to get bored.”

   Chris couldn’t argue with either of those statements.

   “So I brought you some books.” Willow carried on, gently placing a decent-sized bag on the front of the porch: “I wasn’t sure what you read when you were alive - the history books said you were educated, so I grabbed some books on history, non-fiction books, and some classical fiction as well. There’re also a few modern books in there - horror stories.” she rambled: “Andrew will probably kill me for giving you ideas, but…I don’t know…seemed appropriate. You liked scaring us, I could feel your satisfaction…and your murderous rage…so I figured maybe you’d like horror…”

   Chris honestly wasn’t sure what ‘horror stories’ were…and equally honest, he didn’t really care.

 Fresh books were fresh books, and this woman had just left a pile of them on his front porch. A woman he had wanted to murder a few hours ago, all because of her unfortunate resemblance to a woman she had nothing to do with…

 The thought made Chris feel rather guilty.

 He was no stranger to murder - before or after he’d been murdered himself - but he’d never killed an innocent person before. The thought that he’d been angry enough to kill a woman in cold blood, over something as inconsequential as a fleeting resemblance, was enough to make his stomach turn. Especially when it was a woman who was kind enough to gift him with so many books, even after his earlier performance.

   “I owe you my thanks, for the books.” he said to the now-stunned Willow: “And an apology, for my earlier behavior.”

 Willow swallowed nervously, but nodded her acknowledgement: “I accept your apology. And your thanks.”

 “That is very kind of you, but I still find myself in your debt - ”

 “Oh, you really don’t - ”

 “Please,” Chris asked, knowing he couldn’t stand to feel like he owed this woman for being so kind as to bring him gifts when he had behaved so awfully to her: “There must be something I can do to make amends for scaring you so badly this morning.”

 Willow smiled, the expression nervous, but somehow still soft and sweet: “I mean…there is something…but it may seem a little strange.”

 Chris couldn’t deny his unease at a ghost hunter, one with the Sight no less, asking him for something ‘strange’…but he’d hear her out if it meant he may absolve himself of his misdeeds: “What is it?”

 “I know I can see ghosts when they’re non-corporal…but I don’t know if I can feel them. Do you know if I can? Or would you mind if I tried to hold your hand to find out?”

   It was a little strange…but Chris couldn’t see the harm in it.

 Instead of answering, Chris stepped forwards and returned to his non-corporal state before reaching out a hand to Willow.

 She smiled gratefully and reached up with her own hand, gently extending her fingers until they were tangled though his.

 The heat of her skin burned, but that didn’t stop Chris from involuntarily clenching his hand. It felt like he’d just stepped close to a roaring fire after being out in the cold - he had thought he could still feel differences in temperature after he’d gained the ability to become corporal, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Willow’s skin.

   “I…I haven’t felt warmth like that in a long time.” Chris explained himself, finally realising that Willow was looking at him with an alarmed expression: “I apologise. I’ve scared you again.”

 “No, no, I…uh…I get it.” Willow rushed out: “I wasn’t born with the Sight; I gained it after I died for three minutes on an operating table. Being able to see ghosts wasn’t the only thing that changed…everything just seemed so much…more for a little while.”

 Her alarmed expression had turned into one of understanding, and Chris couldn’t deny that that was soothing: “I’m sorry to hear of your traumatic experience. You seem remarkably well adjusted for someone who gained the Sight in later life. Many…do not seem to deal with the new ability very well.”

 “It was hard.” Willow agreed: “But I got through it, mainly because I had good friends around. I couldn’t tell them what was wrong - they would’ve thought I was crazy - but they were still there to give me a hug when I needed one.” She paused, as if thinking something through for a few seconds, a cautious expression overtaking her face once more, before she smiled nervously: “Would you like one?”

   Chris couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to hold him - even before he’d died.

 He’d led a solitary existence, removing men who’d had no right to exist from the Earth when the law couldn’t or wouldn’t, and the only woman who’d appeared to show any interest in him romantically had been pretending to lure him into a trap at the behest of her lover.

 A hug from Willow would likely be excruciating - both from the temperature of her body compared to his own, and from the fact he hadn’t been held in almost a quarter of a century…but Chris thought that it might be worth the pain just to be held. Especially as Willow did not exactly seem opposed to the idea.

   “I would.” Chris replied to her: “I very much would.”