#but Nicky can’t bring himself to mind when she’s having so much fun

[cerealforkart]

Long time no fairytale au. They’re all dressed up and having a fun time

[marvel-m-lee]

Jay's Makeup Giggles

I actually like his fic a lot for the most part. I haven't felt so gd bout righting a fic in a while lol- though it's weird at the start, I promise it does actually get better.

Prompt: by @secretly-tword-obsessed - Lee Jay

Words: 2222

Warning: language, teasing, fluff.

-Big Mouth!

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

It was a casual day. Only it wasn't. I lied. Jay was now hiding somewhere in Nicks house, giggling nervously, awaiting for one of his friends to find him.

It had started off a normal day, Andrew and Jessi were going to come over to Nicks and Jay just stayed the night. Nicks parents loved him so they never really minded.

"So, Nick, Jay? What time are Andrew and Jessi coming round?" Nicks mum asked, everyone sitting around the breakfast tabled eating.

"Any time, but knowing them probably 11 or 12" Nick answered.

Both of Nicks parents looked at each other with lust, his father slightly whispered something rather a little too loud making all but the two lovers uncomfortable. Well and Jay- but that's just Jay for ya.

"Please don't say that when they're here-"

"Nicky, I perfectly normal -and healthy! To make love in the morning. Your mother and I would do it all hours of the day if you kids weren't around and we had no jobs-"

"That's enough dad!" Nick sighed, putting down his cutlery and feeling incredibly embarrassed.

Later Nick and Jay were getting ready when the door rang, alerting them that Andrew and Jessi were here. Nick ran down, Jay following after and let the two in the house.

"Hey Andrew! Hey Jessi!" Jay happily yelled, giving the two a hug.

"Hey Jay" Jessi chuckled, patting jays back.

"Okay, alright! Let's go upstairs and play some video games!" Nick said, the four ran upstairs and played video games.

Yeah, all rather casual for the most part. They played videogames, had lunch, played more video games- them jessi decided to scroll on her phone for a bit.

"Come on Jessi girl, let's do something fun!" Connie begged, watching ad the girl scrolled through Instagram posts of mini make up tutorials and clothing outfits.

"Connie I'm bored too, but the boys just wanna play videogames and I just wanna scroll through my phone" Jessi didn't once take her eyes off her phone.

"Come on!!!- oh I have an idea!!! We could convince them to let us do their make up!?" Connie's eyes shone brightly, as thiugh she'd just had the best idea.

Jessi thought for a moment, about to agree because that could actually be pretty fun, but she soon remembered she hadn't brought the little make up she had.

"We can't, I didn't bring any make up" she sighed, looking back at her phone.

Connie's expression changed from excitement, to disappointment ment, to yet more excitement in a matter of seconds.

"Check your bag!"

"What?"

"You packed some from the time you went on that horrific date-" An uncomfortable shiver went down Connie's spine, the same for Jessi's.

"Yeah- it was pretty shit..."

"Yeah... anyway go check if you still have it!"

Jessi jumped off the bed and went to grab her bag, Nick looked over to check if she was alright but soon realised she was fine.

Annoyingly that made him loose the game. "ha! Another win for the Jay Hammer! Thats what my pillow calls me" Jay winked but the other two grimisted at the thought of Jay fucking a pillow-

"Hey guys?" Jessie asked, picking something up and nor letting any of them see.

"Yeah Jessi?"

"Wanna do something fun?"

"She wants to fuck! She definitely wants you to pounds her" Maury chanted, excitement radiations off him. Andrew tried to ignore him.

"Uh.. sure Jessi, what?" Andrew asked, confused but wanting to see if Maury was right. Obviously he wasn't. But still, hope. 🤞

Jessi pulled out her make up and smiled evil-y as the lights flickered and the boys all screamed.

Very over dramatic indeed.

"What the hell jusy happened to the lights?" Andrew asked, looking up.

"Probably a fuise"

"Did anyone else hear that demonic laughter?" Nick asked.

"Me again, haha- MAHAHAHA" The lights flickered again as Jay laughed manicly, everyone else screaming. The next minute it was like nothing happened.

"Okay- anyway- Jessi you can't be serious? That's... make ups for girls" Andrew said, threatened by ruining his masculinity.

"Yes I'm serious! Plus, make ups for everyone. All it does is make your features show more"

"Jessi- I just don't think... make ups for me? Ya know?"

"Oh whatever Andrew, Nick? Jay? You two aren't afraid of make up right?" She asked, not wanting to convince Andrew.

"Uh... Jessi I just don't know-"

"I will!" Jay jumped up and off the bed, jumping up and down with his hand in the air like a child.

"Yes Jay!"

Jay and Jessi were both excited to do the make up, Nick and Andrew both shrugged as they continued playing their video game. Though it was better cause Jay would always win.

"Okay Jay, sit up here" Jessi said, patting the edge of the bed as she put her stuff down and grabbed a rather large make up brush.

Jay sat down and swung his legs like a five year old, he was more than happy to do this- for whatever reason. He sat patiently as he waited for Jessi to get ready.

Jessi had put some sort of powder on the brush and asked Jay to look at her, she gently held his chin in her hand and dusted the brush on his face, asking Connie if she was doing it right.

Suddenly though, Jay jumped upwards with a little squeak, everyone stopped and looked over at him.

"You okay Jay?" Nick asked, Jay went a little red and nodded, suddenly quiet. Andrew and Nick looked at one another, asking what the hell just happened, Jessi just asked for Jay to sit down again so she could keep going.

Reluctantly, Jay sat back down and waited. He tried to hold it in but he couldn't help as the brush dusted his cheek once more. Suddenly, light, bubbly, childish giggles splattered out of his mouth, giggling away as the brush tickled his skin.

He tried to twitch away but also tried to stay still, trying to mask was something he did rarely, if ever, but was trying so hard to at this moment.

"Jay? Everything okay?" Jessi asked, stopping the brush and taking it away. Jay's giggles didn't stop though, so he tried to rub them away which just messed with the powder slightly.

"Is- is he okay?" Andrew asked, yet again pausing the game.

"I dont know-"

Nick tapped Jay's shoulder, making him jump. For some, stupid, random reason whenever Jay was lightly tickled he'd become incredibly sensitive, not that he wasn't already, no. Jay was probably one of the most ticklish people in the world but would usually run and hide so his friends never found out.

"Woah- hey, Jay?" Jay stopped rubbing as the sensation went away, his face was going red as he realised most, if not all of his closest friends were in the same room, without him being able to run, as he was lightly tickled.

"Oh my god the boys ticklish-" Maury and Connie both exclaimed, now visible to all the children rather than just their kid.

"Aw, that's so cute!" Connie exclaimed, grabbing him and ticking under his chin, starting up a whole new bundle of giggles as he turned away.

"No! No-" Jay denied, still giggling like the five year old he was.

"Wait seriously?" Andrew exclaimed, jumping off the bed. Out of all of them Andrew was one of the most ticklish, but it wadnt a surprise, let alone new news. Jay on the other hand jumped at the slightest touch.

"How did we never realise?" Nick asked, rather surprised yet somehow not at all.

"Let's tickle him till he cries!" Maury yelled, wiggling his fingers at the boy who just giggled before he was even touched.

He shook his head, "g-guys! I-iheim not even ticklish!"

Jessi couldn't help but smile, Jay trying to ignore the fact of how ticklish he was was adorable to say the least. Especially as he was already giggling at the slight thoughts of being tickled.

"Aren't you a cutie!" Connie said again, tickling his chin, ears and neck making him squeal and step back into the bed. He tried to run away the sensations but couldn't stop the giggles or smirks growing on all his friends faces.

"N-no- really guys- ihihim n-neheot ticklish!"

"How about we test that theory?" Andrew said.

As soon as Jay heard that his eyes went wide and he ran. Probably faster than Usain Bolt.

So that's where we are, Jay hiding from his friends as the image of their wiggling hands corrupted his mindz reluctantly giggling. Jay slammed his hand over his mouth and shut his eyes tight, pretending he wasn't there.

Jay didn't hate tickling, he actually enjoyed it. His brothers would tickle him to tears and although they thought they were annoying him, Jay treasured the moments. His parents would do the same when he was much smaller, tickle him slightly and hear his childish giggles.

The thought of his friends tickling him? It was terrifying buy also exciting. He couldn't bring himself to let them though, so he hid away.

It had been 10 minutes, his giggles would stop and go all over again and he was surprised he wasn't found yet.

Only then did he hear people walking down the hall, calling out his name.

"Jayyyy? Where are you~" Andrew called out, the teasing didn't help. He flushed red and hid deeper in his hands, curling up.

"Jay, we're gonna find you" He heard Nick call.

"Come out~" Jessi couldn't help but laugh, imagining her friend in the exact position he was in.

The footsteps passed the cupboard but stopped soon after, Jay had accidentally let out a rather loud giggle after holding his breath. Once more his breathing stopped and so did everything else.

In a slash of a second, the door opened and Jay was thrown over some hairy monsters shoulder, squealing and yelling. Pounding his back.

"This kid is strong" Maury said, but soon gave Jay a poke on his side and he once more turned to a puddle of giggles. Jay was thrown on Nicks bed and the door was locked.

Jay curled into a ball and squeezed his eyes tight, giggling hysterically already.

"Oh my god he's worse than Andrew!" Jessi called out.

"Hey!"

"We haven't even touched him yet" Nick laughed, then going to poke Jay's side as he squealed.

"Jay~ are you sure you're not ticklish?" Nick teased, poking his side over and over abd Jay frantically tossed and turned, laughing now.

"NAHAHAGAHANOOOOO" He shook his head and squealed as the pokes became faster as faster.

Andrew them fluttered some fingers around his neck, giggles splattered out along with reluctant laughter.

"NAHAHA!! PLEASEEEEEE" Jay battered their hands away, begging as the sensations became stronger.

"Oh my fuck, you got him begging already?!" Maury cheered the kids on. Nick looked at Andrew and Jessi and the three decided to climb on the bed.

Nick said just below Jay's hips but not on his thighs, Jessi sat on his angles and Andrew used all his strength to lift up the boys arms exposing his armpits and sat on his wrists as he clashed around.

"All spread out just for us" Andrew teased, dragging his hands lightly down Jay's arms as he tossed and turned, giggling eyes squeezed shut after feeling the horror of being so exposed.

"Nahahaha!! A-andreewwww" Jay begged but soon he felt hands on his calves, Jessi's fingers slightly being dragged upwards. Jay couldn't help but bash his feet.

"Now, Jay? Are you ticklish?" Jay didnt care, he somehow thought that they'd believe him if he stood ground. Even if he was a giggling puddle.

"NooAh!?" He jumped as he felt Jessie flutter under his knees.

"Weak spot guys" she called out, then moved her hands and squeezed his kneecaps.

Jay shook and squealed then, bashing all he could to get out. His knees were definitely a weak spot, he couldn't handle the torture. And it had only just begun.

His friends all laughed at his situation and actions, then everyone dived in. Andrew scratched at his hollows, Nick squeezed his sides and hips, making him buck. Occasionally spidering his ribs which made his giggles bubble up again. And Jessi kept changing from squeezing his knees to his thighs.

Jay couldn't handle it all, not at one anyway. He shook and squeaked, a bright red happy face but begged abd begged.

"STAPPPPPPOP PLEASE STAPPPPHAHMMM" He spluttered out, his face was so red and he couldn't help the tears that formed through laughter over a party few minutes.

Everyone let up abd laughed with him as he crawled into a happy giggly little ball. Maury poked his side one last time for good measure with made him yell but they all just laughed.

"Aw, Jay's a ticklish like boy" Jessi teased. Jay hugged himself, drowning and his own laughter for a few minutes.

"Ya know we would have stopped if you asked?" Nick teased, jumping back on the bed witb Andrew to play again.

Jay went red again. They were right, he'd never actually asked them to stop, and he loved it so much. Everyone went back to doing their own thing and Jay just giggled. Fuck.

[djhedy]

i have decided to start posting anything im not gonna finish for ao3 here, in case anyone doesn’t mind reading something small and unfinished

this one is called: the one where andrew meets neil at a party and is definitely not interested

*

Andrew regrets everything about the party the second he walks into it. He regrets the deafening chaos of the people dotted around the room whose mothers gave birth to them; the smell of the dorm, like carpet-crushed-cheetoes and unmixed malibu; the clock on the wall which says they arrived way too early for his patience. He smiles a little, salutes Kevin and says, “No.”

Kevin, the tall asshole that he is, shoves his way between Andrew and the door, frowning, and says, “No? We just got here.”

Andrew crosses his arms and stares at the wall. He waits. If Kevin wants to watch him stare at a wall all night that is up to him. Something itches under Andrew’s skin, something like violence, and he closes his eyes, and waits. A phone is pressed to his cheek, which he takes intuitively. Nicky says,

“Andrew, you promised.”

Andrew’s eyes flicked open. His eyes drop to the skirting board, flakey and a little away from the wall. “No I didn’t.”

“You did,” says Nicky, half-confident, half-sad, very thousands of miles away. “Last Sunday.”

Andrew flicks through last Sunday, finds their conversation, considers all the parts. He clicks his tongue, irritated. “That was not a promise.”

“Ok fine, but you said you’d try.”

Andrew eyes Kevin who is still staring down at him, arms still folded, body still blocking the door. Andrew says, “This is me, trying. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Kevin says you’re leaving.”

“Staying at this party won’t prove anything.”

“Oh go on,” Nicky says, using his cheerful mom voice, “it might be fun!” And then, “Ok it’ll probably be super lame but I dunno you might – witness a shooting or something.”

Andrew blinks away from Kevin. “A shooting.”

“Maybe an argument will break out. Or an epic red wine disaster.” Andrew feels bored, feels his eyes growing hazy, the way he hates, the way he can’t concentrate on anything sometimes. Nicky says, “Just – just stick with Kevin. For me. I’m so – far away.”

Andrew closes his eyes, feels his eyebrows furrow, hands the phone back to Kevin. Hears Kevin say, “Yeah. Ok. Sure Nicky.” And then nothing.

Andrew looks up at the man who calls himself Andrew’s friend and says, “You will pay for this.”

“In what?” Kevin says, tucking his phone away in his pocket. Confident. Asshole.

Andrew turns away. “Find me something drinkable.”

Kevin finds it: a 10 year old Glenmorangie, hidden on top of the cupboard, reachable only by a 6”2 athlete on top of a chair. Andrew makes himself comfy against a wall in the living room, crosses his legs at the ankles, and drinks expensive whisky.

It’s not that he hates people. He does not really hate anything. Being bored, maybe. He watches people, the window – something dark and grey and sticky against the sky – the paint drying. He thinks the paint probably dried a long time ago, now he’s just watching it existing.

He thinks about what it would be like to be one of these people. Who go to parties. And stand, or wander, finding someone interesting to talk to, or to paw at. Exceptionally ordinary, dull, shallow, brain the size of peas. Wonders what it would be like.

Watches dried paint, static.

--- 

“Dolphins surf.”

“That’s so cool.”

“I know, I know. I mean, like, do you think they do it for fun?”

“Maybe they’re trying to go somewhere.” A conversation has sprung up around Andrew, unwarranted. He was just standing here, minding his own business, and now he has to mind his tongue too.

The guy says, “Blue Planet is awesome.”

He’s looking at Andrew, kindly, as if to include him, so Andrew clenches his jaw and says, “Incredible.”

When he says nothing else the guy looks away and him and the girl keep chatting about whether or not they think dolphins have a secret agenda until they get distracted and Andrew gets his wall back.

His whiskey is empty.

He sighs, feeling put upon, feeling his back pocket for his cigarette pack, and pushes away from his wall.

---

The kitchen is busy. He doesn’t like people.

It’s not that he hates people.

He doesn’t hate anything.

He just doesn’t care for any of it.

It’s like the difference between setting something on fire and just watching it burn.

He looks for the whisky, and finds it – fucking Kevin. It’s back on top of the cupboard, and Andrew stares at it forlornly while going through possible plans in his head. If Kevin needed a chair to get it, Andrew will need two. He doesn’t think that would work. He considers climbing on top of the burly brunette chatting in a corner, but that would require touch, and an awkward conversation. Though – he looks back at burly brunette, long enough that the guy catches his eye, gives him a look, clocks onto something and winks.

Andrew turns away, tucking that aside as plan B.

He finds Kevin in the living room, stuffed in a corner with two girls.

Eurgh.

“Kevin.”

Kevin looks up, and waves his hand dismissively.

“I just don’t think a trade is the right move for them,” says Girl 1. “Not now, not when everything is so fragile.”

Kevin scoffs. “Fragile. Amy Williamson is an incredible coach, she had five years with the Eagles –”

“Yes, I know,” says Girl 1.

“She knows,” agrees Girl 2, giving Andrew a look Andrew doesn’t care about. So they’re both friends with geeks, that doesn’t give her a free bonding pass.

Kevin scoffs again, so Andrew says, “Kevin.”

Kevin misreads, gestures at the two girls and says, “This is Andrew. Andrew – Dan and Renee.”

Dan gives Andrew an assessing look and Renee smiles.

Andrew says, “Great. I need a top up.”

Kevin gets to his feet and tries to take the glass out of Andrew’s hand. Andrew holds onto it and says, “Bring the bottle this time.”

Once Kevin is out of sight, Dan says, “So, Andrew, do you play exy as well?” Andrew says nothing. He doesn’t take Kevin’s seat, and standing puts him above the two heads nicely. He looks away.

Renee says, “Are you friends with Kevin?”

Andrew says, “Define friends.”

He gives Renee a sparing glance, and she smiles again, and says, “Willing to put up with exy in exchange for whisky service?”

Andrew shrugs, and Renee laughs. Small, and earned, and Andrew flicks his eyes away again.

Standing on the other side of the room, leaning against his wall – tucked into a corner and bathed in shadow and looking into a red cup – is some guy.

Andrew narrows his eyes at the challenge.

Dan is saying, “– go to school here?”

And then Kevin appears with the bottle and Andrew snatches it out of his hands and stalks off.

---

This guy is no less as boring as the rest for leaning against Andrew’s wall; no less boring for the way his fingers curl around the cup, tight and possessive; for the way his rough auburn hair sticks out all over the place only a few inches above Andrew’s own.

Andrew leans one shoulder against the wall, hip out, and stares him down.

The guy looks up, slowly, still frowning, like he was trying to figure out something.

“The mystery of the universe?” Andrew asks.

Guy cocks his head, just a centimetre. Barely noticeable. “What?”

“In your cup.” Andrew nods at it.

Guy looks back into his cup. “I think it’s spiked.”

Andrew freezes, then straightens and snatches the cup out of the guy’s hand, pours it straight onto the floor.

It spools into a little puddle, most of the fizzy orange liquid soaking into carpet, a few droplets here and there that haven’t made their way in yet.

Andrew and guy watch it.

Guy says, “With alcohol.”

Andrew looks up at him, breath still in his body, but barely, and says, “What?”

A small smirk hooks the edge of the guy’s mouth. “The drink. I meant, I think it was spiked with alcohol.”

Andrew blinks at him, and looks away, and presses the toes of his foot into the wet carpet. He says, “Huh.”

And hears a low chuckle. “Yeah. Well. Solved the problem either way, so thanks.”

If Andrew could feel anything, he thinks he would feel sad at the loss, so he says, “What a waste.”

The guy says, “If it was my asshole friends, it was probably something cheap and shit.”

“Good riddance then.”

When Andrew’s eyes finally make their way back up to guy’s face, it’s to that smirk again. He looks at it for a second too long, and then the guy says, “Anyway. Go away.”

Andrew’s eyes flick up from his mouth to his gaze and says, “I got here first.”

Guy waves a hand around himself. “You didn’t. You literally didn’t.”

Andrew purses his lips. “This evening,” he bites out. Awkward for some reason. “This wall is mine. I came to tell you to fuck off.”

The guy looks at his empty hand, flexes it for want of something to grip, Andrew supposes, and says, “You didn’t make it very far.”

Andrew takes one last look at him, turns the angle of his body, and relaxes his upper back against the wall, whisky bottle in one hand, and doesn’t look at the guy again for 12 minutes.

They watch the party. Or at least Andrew does.

There are thirty people stuffed into this room, the wide common area that acts as a living room, with sofas and beanbags and a table full of bottles. Andrew knows there’s a kitchen. Probably half a dozen bedrooms. Calculates there could be a hundred people at this party.

Some low-fi beat-pop he tunes out. He’d rather listen to nothing than something someone else has chosen.

He thinks about his heart beat, and the way it speeds up sometimes when he drinks too much. Not that he drinks too much very often. He knows his limits, he sticks to them. Swigs the bottle up to his cup, then his mouth, feeling the burn all the way down his throat.

The guy says, “That stuff smells disgusting.” Andrew wipes his mouth with his sleeves and drags his eyes lazily to the side. The guy shrugs. “No offence.”

“No offence,” Andrew mutters, lifting the bottle. “10 years.”

The guy looks amused. “Is that supposed to be impressive? I’ve been alive 20.”

“Congratulations.” Andrew shuffles his feet, straightens. It puts him at the same height as his slouching companion. “Do you have a name?”

The guy looks away. Smirks. “Alex.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, at the way his grey walmart tshirt doesn’t really fit, like there’s some space between his stomach and the shirt, the way it hangs past his hips, and says, “The truth?”

The guy looks back at him, face expressionless but eyes searching, and says, “Sure.” Andrew doesn’t break his gaze, and then he asks, “What’s yours?”

Andrew waits a beat, then deadpans, “Batman.”

Alex laughs.

His amusement is small, mouth closed and eyes alight, like he wasn’t expecting it, and Andrew has to look away.

“Ok Batman,” Alex says. “You can share my wall.”

Andrew presses a little more firmly against it. “Wasn’t asking.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand, side by side, a solid gap between them, for another few minutes, and at one point Andrew just closes his eyes, and breathes.

A large figure approaches, first his shadow, then his laughter, then Andrew opens his eyes to a grin and spiked hair. “Chris! Where did you go?”

Andrew looks at his companion, who just frowns.

“Alex,” Alex insists.

“Ok ok,” says large guy, smiling and looking distracted. “Wanna come play mario kart?”

“No.”

“Who’s your friend?”

There’s an awkwardness before Andrew realises he’s being looked at, so he meets the guy’s inquisitive look head on, face blank and giving off as many unimpressed vibes as possible.

The guy looks away.

Andrew allows himself a small smile.

“Batman,” says Alex, “meet Matt. Matt, this is Batman.”

Matt frowns at him, then at Andrew, and Andrew links his hands and flaps his fingers like a bat.

Alex laughs.

Matt looks between them, then hides something in his expression. Andrew drops his hands, embarrassed by the stupidity, the triviality of making such a joke in front of two strangers he couldn’t care less about, then says, “Take him back, if you’ll have him.” He grips his fingers firmer around his bottle, turns on his heel, and leaves.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Fourteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

i think i’ve talked about this chapter more than any other. i’m VERY nervous scared excited to post it, and i cannot wait to hear what you think. please noe: any character’s views on God and/or the universe do not reflect those of the author

as per usual, thanks a million to my lovely beta, @thestarwhowishes, and to you all for reading!!

---

November 9 - 4 years after

 When Feyre sees Cassian the day after he arrives in Velaris after over a week away, he is unrecognizable from the day before. It had been depressing to see him like that. Somehow worse than when they had lost Nesta years ago. That unhealthy anger was better than this proper misery, this depressing lack, the only trace of anything in his being guilt.

But the day after, the usual twinkle is in his eye and he says to her directly, looking over Rhys, “Nesta and the triplets are coming for Solstice.”

She jumps up. “Are you serious?”

"She just sent word. I’ll tell Elain. Where is she?”

“Garden.”

He shoots her a grin before leaving to find her, whistling slightly as he goes.

Feyre laughs. “He’s happy now.”

Rhys hums in agreement. “Are you?”

She takes a minute to think about it. “I’m...happy with you,” she says slowly. “With our people. And our family, here. But it’s not just that Nesta isn’t here. It’s that things aren’t right with her.”

“Cassian wants her to move here.”

Feyre hesitates. “I don’t think she will.”

“What about what you want?”

She shrugs. “Sure, I want that. I want my sisters and my niece and nephews close to me. Why wouldn’t I want that? But Nesta worked hard for her home on the Continent.”

“There’s nothing there that doesn’t exist here,” he says gently.

“I don’t understand,” Feyre says, a wry smile on her face. “Do you miss Nesta?” She doesn’t feel any guilt thinking that—there is no love lost between her mate and her sister, not on either side.

An identical smile tugs at Rhys’ lips. “Can’t say I particularly do. But if you and Cassian want her here...and the children, obviously.”

“Nicky looks so much like Cassian,” Feyre says for the umpteenth time. She can’t keep the excitement out of her voice—it will never cease to amaze her, how she can see bits and pieces of Cass and Nesta and even herself and Elain and their father in three little creatures. It never fails to make her long for her own child, the little boy the Bone Carver had shown her. With Rhys’ hair, with her lips...lips that Nesta and Ava share as well. Will the resemblance be clear enough, if they all stand together one day? Will everyone know just by looking that they are a family?

“Cassian looked at a house.”

“What, here in Velaris?”

Rhys shows her the outside. Bigger than Nesta’s house in Sugar Valley, and not the same style at all. In fact, this one looks vaguely similar to the townhouse they had once spent most of their time in.

“Four bedrooms,” he says.

Feyre’s heart sinks. Four bedrooms. For a family. But what are the chances that Nesta will actually to agree to live there?

I really want her to. Even the voice inside her head sounds small. She misses her sister.

At once, Feyre decides she can’t wait till Solstice. “I’m going to visit her,” she says.

If Rhys doesn’t think she should, he keeps it to himself. “With Elain?”

“No,” she says. “I’d like to speak to her alone. Without a buffer.” Without a shield. “This is long overdue.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She won’t...” Feyre struggles to find the right words. “She’s agreed to come for Solstice. I think we should keep her interactions with you...to a minimum.”

Rhys laughs as she grins apologetically. “Fine,” he says. “But...hurry back.” He tilts her face upward to kiss her.

She floods the love he sends to her back at him, tenfold. I will, she says silently.

But not before she gets what she’s going for.

---

November 22 - 1 year after

 With the mess of her finding out she was pregnant with triplets across the sea from everything she had ever known, Nesta thought she might be entitled to a bit of courteous privacy, but evidently, the citizens of Sugar Valley disagreed, and when she arrived at work, Miri was waiting for her in the area of the back room she normally worked in, with two steaming mugs of something.

It wasn’t that Nesta hated these people, it was that she could not understand why everyone in the world couldn’t simply mind their own business and why they had to be so interested in other people’s lives. Namely, hers. But the smell from the mugs was the same as that chocolate-berry drink Zeyn had given her yesterday, and since she had had it, it was all she could think about.

Well. That and the three fetuses currently growing inside her.

So she sat down and took the mug.

“Nesta, dear,” Miri said, voice dripping with sympathy.

Nesta stifled the urge to roll her eyes—she didn’t need coddling or anything of the sort. Sure, yesterday had been a bit of a shock, but she was fine now. Her thoughts were gathered. She would go through with the pregnancy and…well, that was the most important thing. That she knew that, at least.

But Miri only continued with, “You must be so hungry and tired,” and that, because it was the exact right thing to say, was apparently the exact wrong thing to say.

Nesta knew very well how to deal with people saying the wrong thing to her. Perhaps it could be argued that she did not deal with it particularly well, but she had her methods. But someone saying the right thing to her was so much more rare. And she wasn’t sure if it was being away from her sisters, or him, or the three little parasites in her uterus, or maybe the berries in the water, but—to her horror—Nesta could feel her throat and eyes begin to burn at Miri’s innocent statement.

“Oh, poor dear...”

“I’m fine,” she nearly sobbed, sounding shrill even to herself.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, running a hand up and down her back. “We’ll take care of you...we’ll write to whomever you want…”

This nearly made Nesta lose control completely, and she shoved a fist against her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn’t want to send a letter…she didn’t want this in writing, didn’t want it to be real.

Nesta’s pathetic attempts to stop herself from making any noise and the tears blurring her vision and the sudden uptick in her body’s temperature left her, unfortunately, in a coughing fit. Her whole form shook, racked with emotion, and for a very frightening few minutes indeed, she couldn’t even feel Miri sitting next to her.

But she came back to herself eventually, and Miri was still there. Still stroking her back, still murmuring to her, half in the common tongue, half in Gilameyvan.

“It’ll be all right,” she kept saying. “Everything will be all right.”

Nesta didn’t think she believed her.

---

November 11 - 4 years after

 Nesta’s had quite enough of her own cowardice and marches herself to the table Zeyn is sitting at, ignoring Xeyale’s greeting. “I need to talk to you,” she says to him.

His brown face tenses for a moment. But it disappears quickly, replaced by his usual friendly, patient smile. “All right,” he says, standing up.

She turns on her heel and leads him to the back room. “Out, Maz,” she commands.

“I’m working!”

“Well, work in the front,” she snaps.

“Sorry, Maz,” Zeyn says with a laugh, as he passes by with a scowl. He laughs again. “I guess this’ll be a good talk, then. Nothing makes you happier than yelling at Maz.”

Nesta ignores the guilt stirring her stomach at the twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t yell.”

“Oh, semantics.” He sits down. “What’s up?”

Nesta allows herself a few more moments to summon her nerve—swallows once, squares her shoulders, then says, “I’m taking the children to Velaris for Solstice.”

The teasing glint winks out of his eyes and his deerlike ears still. “And you...think this is a good idea.”

She’s not sure how much of a right he has to be upset, but it does irritate her a bit. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was a good idea.” She tries to keep the bite out of her voice. “I’ve never cared much for Solstice, you know that. And their father does. So it does seem to make sense that they celebrate it on his terms.”

As if presenting the argument as entirely logical, as only sensible, will make him believe and accept it.

“But we celebrate Solstice here.”

They do—they have, since she came here. And it’s...fun. It was always nice to see her children enjoying themselves. Last year they were even old enough to not only appreciate getting gifts, but also anticipate Solstice before it happened. It was important enough that they remember it, and still bring it up occasionally.

“Maybe we can celebrate two Solstices,” she suggests.

He frowns. “Summer?”

“No, I mean...one here, one there.”

“I always thought of it as our holiday,” he says. “Just the five of us.”

This definitely irks Nesta. He should know better than anyone she doesn’t see any holidays as her own. It’ll always feel frivolous and treacherous to her. “We’ve never celebrated it just the five of us,” she says. “We’ve always done something with the whole shop.”

She really hates this—arguing with Zeyn. She always feels like she’s in the wrong. He’s never seen her as she is; he always sees her as something better. 

He hates arguing with her as well, and she can see by his eyes darting around and the slight shuffle of his hooved feet that he’s going to drop it. She’s relieved, because she’s a coward, but a small part of her is disappointed. They are long overdue for a lengthy discussion regarding his vision for a happy little mixed family of five, and her desires for her children and herself.

It’s her fault, of course, that they had not had this conversation years ago, and so she can’t be upset with him when he finally gives a little shrug and says, “I’m sure you’re doing what you think is best.”

If it’s the tiniest bit irritating, that is prickly Nesta’s own fault, too. He isn’t trying to upset her—he’s Zeyn.

“You know I wouldn’t if I didn’t.”

He smiles at her, sweet and sincere. “I do.” His warm brown eyes crinkle. “When will you be going?”

“Only next month,” Nesta says. Probably only a day or so before Solstice—just because she wants them to enjoy the holiday with Cassian doesn’t mean she’s been deluded into thinking she’s going to have a particularly fun time herself. No need to make it longer than necessary.

"Let me know. I can help you pack.”

There’s no malice, no bitterness she can detect in his voice. She stifles a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t answer, only smiles.

“I need to find Adil,” she says. “I’m going to be scouting for authors.”

He raises an eyebrow. “In Prythian? They don’t traditionally publish here…”

“It’s a new age,” she says, shrugging. And it’s true. While Prythian has generally been secluded, she has learned, since the defeat of Hybern they have tentatively been more open with trade amongst nations that hadn’t sided with their enemies. She imagines it’ll take longer for any partnerships with Montesere to kick in.

Adil is torn when she tells him of her plans. On the one hand, she knows, he is skeptical of her going. He has never liked Zeyn’s affection towards her, but he has also no reason to like Cassian or her sisters.

His blue lips purse, and she suppresses a smile as she can see the other side of the equation spin around in his head—that he definitely wants to be the first Gilameyvan bookstore to publish an author from Prythian.

“You’re a good mother and a sensible employee,” he says finally.

She tries to stifle a blush, but she’s too taken by surprise. “Thank you,” she says.

“Let us know before you leave. We’ll give you gifts to take with you.”

“I will,” she promises. He and Miri dote on her children; Solstice is a fun time for her to watch the five of them.

That's the thing about Solstice, Nesta thinks as she gathers her children from nursery and heads back to her house. It’s not that she’s against the familial nature of it all, the loving closeness during the coldest time of the year. She’s not a monster. It’s a nice idea, and it’s fun to watch her children get excited over gifts and whatever art projects they’re doing in nursery.

Before she had them, her main issue with Solstice was that it felt like giving in to the Fae. Like surrendering the last of her humanity. For they did not have holidays South of the Wall. Why should they? What was sacred to a people abandoned by the gods? If one had to be powerful to be loved by the faes’ so-called Holy Mother, she didn’t want anything to do with Her anyway.

And now? Now she likes the joy it sparks in the people around her. But this time of family only ever serves to remind her that she is missing half of hers. Blame can be shoved this way and that, but when everyone around her is thanking their Creator for all their loved ones around them, whose fault it is is the last thing on Nesta’s mind.

“Mummy, when is Appa coming back?” Nicky asks her when they get home.

“I still don’t know, Nicky,” she says patiently. Then she pauses. Now seems as good a time as ever to tell them, she guesses. “We’re actually going to visit him soon, though.”

“Go and visit?” Avery asks.

Nesta helps Ollie take off his outer things. “Yes,” she says. “Do you know where he lives? With your aunts?”

“Do they all live together?”

Well. “Yes.” It’s true enough. She doesn’t think Elain has gotten her own house in the past three years—there’s no way she’ll live on her own, and as long as she isn’t married, she won’t live with a male, so she’s definitely still living with Feyre. And Cassian hasn’t bothered to get his own place in Velaris in the past five hundred years or so; she can’t imagine anything has changed as of late.

“In a very big house, Mummy.”

“Yes, it’s a very big house, Avery.”

"It’s very very very very big!” Nicky says.

"They live all the way across the sea,” she says, stopping them before they can get into her least favorite game. 

"Where’s the sea?” Nicky asks.

"It’s to the west.”

"Are we going on a boat?” Ollie asks.

"No,” she laughs. “We’ll probably winnow.”

"Maybe we can fly,” Nicky says hopefully.

“Absolutely not.”

“Maybe we will.”

“No. We will not. Does that sound like fun, though? Does going to spend Solstice across the sea with Appa and your aunts sound like fun?”

“It sounds like so much fun!” Avery says.

“Do they have orange juice across the sea?” Nicky says.

“We can’t fly because it’s too far and Mummy can’t fly,” Ollie says.

“Yeah, Nicky, Mummy can’t fly.”

“Do they have orange juice or not?”

“All right,” Nesta cuts in. Apparently they don’t care as much as everyone else seems to. She’s sure they’ll bring it up again closer to the date. “Let’s get something to eat.”

There’s lots she has to think about, she realizes. Duration of their stay, how they’re getting there...she doesn’t ever take them along on her—ahem—preferred method of travel. And oh, she’ll need to take a trip to the lake before they leave. She’s not going to want to have all that magic pent up inside her while she’s there, and it’ll be best for all parties involved if she’s at her calmest upon arrival.

Amren will be there. Her first...friend, in Prythian. So different from Amorette, and yet the comfort she feels in the latter’s presence is so reminiscent of what she used to feel doing a jigsaw puzzle at that demon’s apartment. She’s not spoken to her for longer than she hadn’t spoken to her sisters...neither of them had attempted to seek the other out after their last fight.

“Can we go to the park now, Mummy?” Nicky asks her after they’ve been fed.

Nesta glances outside. A light drizzle has already begun. “No, angel, it’s going to rain. Let’s play inside today.”

There’s a bit of grumbling about this, but they are—as always—mollified when she starts out the game herself. Sometimes it’s coloring, sometimes building blocks. Today she’s situated herself inside the little house Cassian had erected for them during his visit. The three of them scramble to join her; it’s only a few seconds before Avery has declared the rules of this little house and their roles in it. This game lasts an hour and then, mercifully, transforms into “art projects” at the kitchen table. More of a mess for Nesta to clean up later, but less exhaustive.

She’s allowed not to partake in order to prepare dinner for them. She smiles to herself as she cooks; she’s always loved listening to them talk amongst themselves. They’re good friends; she thinks they would be even if they weren’t siblings.

After dinner, bathtime, a bit more play, and a bedtime story (Ollie’s turn to choose), Nesta walks back downstairs to make something for herself to eat. She pours herself a glass of wine and sits in the living room, in her favorite corner of the couch, with a notebook. She’s got to make a list of everything she needs to prepare before leaving. She’s never taken them anywhere farther than Privet Falls a town over.

A knock on the door interrupts her. She sighs as she stands up to open it. Probably Zeyn, upset at her decision. She did think, earlier, that he had given in a tad too easily. Although such is Zeyn’s way: he never confronts her. He’s not a warrior type.

But it is not Zeyn’s warm brown eyes staring back at her when she opens the door. It’s her own grey-blue.

“Feyre,” she says, too surprised to say anything else.

“I know I probably should’ve given you some notice,” her sister says apologetically. “Sorry. I just...had to see you.” She swallows and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside.

She’s not sure what her feelings are on Feyre showing up on her front doorstep. She’s too taken aback to think straight, so she says, “Can I get you some wine? Or something else to drink,” she adds.

"Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Nesta pours her sister a glass of white on crushed ice and hands it to her. She takes wordlessly and downs half of it.

“Are you staying here?” Nesta asks suddenly, the thought only just occurring to her.

"I don’t know,” she replies. That depends on you, she doesn’t say.

Well, she’s not going to throw her sister out onto the street, but she hasn’t decided if she wants her sleeping here. Will she go to the inn to spend the night? Or will she winnow back? Or fly? Does she still fly very often?

“How are the triplets?” Feyre says, finally breaking the silence.

“Well,” Nesta says. “Very well. Happy. Healthy.” Well, Ollie might still be a little underweight...but as long as his lungs are strong, his healer says...

“I heard you’re coming for Solstice.”

“Oh. Yes.”

Feyre nods. She opens her mouth a few times but can’t seem to find anything to say.

Not for long, of course. Not her brash little sister. On her fourth try, she says, “Why didn’t you write to say you were pregnant?”

Nesta doesn’t hesitate. “Why didn’t you write to say you were alive?”

Feyre flinches. Then she laughs a little; more bitter than amused, but there isn’t any malice. “I guess that’s fair.”

Elain would never say so. And as a mother she can’t really say that two sisters hurting each other makes it fair, but as a sister...well, she’s not upset that Feyre agrees, at any rate.

“You know, that first letter,” Feyre starts, her eyes on Nesta but clearly seeing something else—Nesta’s own eyes see that dock in Montesere— “we ripped it open. We were so...after the note you left Cassian? And then we were so angry…”

“You were angry?”

Well, we were hurt. And the lines kind of blur when emotions run high.”

Nesta has nothing to say to that. A few moments ago she was more pleased that she and Feyre shared the same thoughts; now she is remembering how much she used to hate it as a girl.

“Your other letters weren’t much better.”

"At least I sent them,” she snaps.

"I know,” Feyre says. She sets her wine glass down. Her voice is thin, tight. "But...in your letter. After your note."

Nesta slowly moves to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. They have not yet spoken outright of her leaving, just of her having been gone.

"Because you said you were drowning."

"Feyre." Nesta stops herself.

"Why did you leave?" she blurts out. "I thought things were going well! I thought you and Cassian..."

"I know what you thought."

"So what happened?"

"I don't want to discuss this, Feyre."

"Well, I do!" Feyre says, and she straightens, snapping herself up. "I want to know why you had to leave, when we had finally got things going well for you!"

At this, Nesta freezes. "When you...had got things going well...for me?"

If Feyre is unsure of herself at Nesta's tone, she doesn't show it. She nods once, firmly.

Nesta sucks in her lip slightly, but tries to keep it from curling upwards. The children are excited for Solstice, she says to herself. And she doesn't want this to end in anger. Again.

But Feyre has quickened her pulse and risen her temper.

"Tell me, Feyre," she says, her voice cool. "Why was it so sinful, so unforgivable, for Tamlin to keep you in the Spring Court, and yet your right to send me to Illyria?"

Feyre’s mouth parts. “I...”

She’s begun to tremble, and Nesta is irritated at her for this reaction. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She shouldn’t get upset.

“Nesta,” she says, voice catching. “I...I didn’t...I never meant...”

“I know what you meant,” Nesta says, gruffly. She doesn’t want to talk about this.

“I just need to know...if you left…” Feyre trails off. This is unlike her, this anxiousness. “Nesta, am I your villain?”

She blinks. Is she her villain?

"I don’t have a villain,” Nesta says, slightly bewildered. “I’m not a story.”

Who put this in her head? Her idiot husband, probably. He’s the villain, we’re the heroes, or some stupid shit like that, as if they were simple fable characters, one-note and flat, instead of people, capable of kindness and manipulation with conflicting desires.

“But...when you said…” Feyre’s lip trembles. Is she—is she going to cry?

Nesta’s mouth parts open a little. When was the last time she saw Feyre cry? That night she got Elain back, during the war?

“When you said you were drowning...in your letter...I need to know if—if I did that.” Her sister’s eyes are wide and searching, fighting back tears. “And now...if I’m like—if you felt how I felt... Please tell me. Because...if that’s true...then I—I’m sorry, Nesta,” and tears do spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks, still rosy from the cold. Or maybe the wine. “I’m sorry.”

Out of love for the first baby Nesta remembers holding, she stifles an eye roll. She moves closer and pats her shoulder tentatively. When Feyre was very young, she had shown her a lot of physical affection, but she doubts she remembers any of that, and it would probably be weird for both of them if she hugged her. “Feyre,” she says, trying to be gentle. How to explain to this...this little girl, made to believe by a male, oh, twenty-seven times her age or so, that she is the most powerful creature in the world, special and essential to the function of the universe...that not all of her elder sister’s choices revolve uniquely around her?

She doesn’t fault Feyre for this, of course. And she doesn’t think Rhysand put it in her head directly—You’re the reason your sister left does not strike her as the kind of thing he would say—but Feyre’s always been rather miserable at connecting dots.

“Feyre,” she says again. “I don’t have a villain. I chose to leave. Just like you did,” she reminds her, bumping her knee lightly against her. Referring to more than one time, of course. Leaving home and then leaving the Spring Court. “I went of my own volition.” Were there other factors? Of course there were. But nothing she needs to share with her baby sister; certainly not while she cries. Nesta has no desire to hurt her further. She remembers the day Feyre was born. She remembers teaching Feyre to speak. That Feyre does not remember these things is irrelevant; it does not have anything to do with the sacredness of the acts. “But if I did,” she continues, moving closer to her sister, “it wouldn’t be you. You’re not like Tamlin,” she adds. She doesn’t tell her that she thinks her old High Lord and her new one share far more than their race and title.

Tamlin ruined their lives. He sold them out. His treatment of Feyre was enough to make Nesta vomit, and that was only from what she saw at that stupid High Lord meeting. The only thing she doesn’t loathe about her idiot brother-in-law is his patience with Elain.

But she doesn’t blame Feyre for those things. When you meet someone as a baby, she thinks, you see them that way forever.

Feyre wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath, and Nesta feels another surge of irritation towards her idiot husband. Placing this girl as monarch over a people, after just learning how to read, no political experience or knowledge whatsoever...this is what it’s done to her. Feyre makes mistakes with her sister; the three of them do. But now Feyre believes there’s some echoing magnitude to everything she thinks about. People are angry at Nesta for not hunting alongside Feyre when she was fourteen, but she was only seventeen herself. Seventeen is not old enough to hunt either, just as twenty-six is too young to rule a country forever.

“But...you’re still angry at me.”

There she goes again, with her black and white world. Nesta gives a little shrug. “I’m not thrilled. I don’t carry anger.”

Feyre frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t carry anger?”

“I just...ignore things. Forget about them.”

“That doesn’t strike me as particularly healthy.”

“Well, I haven’t died yet, so…”

They both pause, and after a moment, laugh a little.

It’s not that Nesta is at peace with everything that has happened in her life. She most certainly is not. It’s that she doesn’t want to let things affect her relationship with her children. And if there’s one thing her parents taught her, it’s that you can’t be a good mother when you’re carrying pain.

“I’m really happy you’re coming for Solstice,” Feyre says softly.

“I’ll make up a bed for you,” Nesta replies, which is not quite forgiveness, but Nesta is still not quite forgiving.

But there are better uses of her energy than turning her sister out.

---

Chapter Fifteen

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really THAT Bad?

The DC films have been a mixed bag, to put it lightly. As of 2020, for every fun and enjoyable superhero film like Wonder Woman, Shazam, Aquaman, and Birds of Prey, there has been a film that was reviled or polarizing. Dawn of Justice and Justice League are both common punching bags, but there is one movie that stands out as the single most despised film in the DC cinematic universe so far:

Suicide Squad.

A lot of this comes from just how unashamedly blatant the film is at being a rushed cash in on the type of quirky superhero movie that Guardians of the Galaxy helped popularize: a bunch of wild and wacky antiheroes team up, fight a big problem, make one liners, and become a family, all while an awesome soundtrack blares in the background. It seems like the easiest thing in the world to rip off, but there’s a lot of heart and charm in Guardians that it’s not easy to replicate. And if you ask most critics… this movie did not.

Opinions on the film tend to range from lukewarm to outright hating, with IHE and the [REDACTED] Critic all throwing in their two cents. Perhaps the most damning review of all came from Mick LaSalle, who wrote:

“If you know someone you really can’t stand — not someone you dislike, not someone who rubs you the wrong way, but someone you really loathe and detest — send that person a ticket for “Suicide Squad.” It’s the kind of torment you can wish on your worst enemy without feeling too guilty: not something to inflict permanent damage, just two hours of soul-sickening confusion and sensory torment.”

There’s not much love for this, is what should be abundantly clear. And it’s really a shame, because there is stuff this film has going for it, but it wasn’t really enough to stop DC from basically hitting the soft reboot button and snagging the actual James Gunn to make a sequel while also doing their best to downplay that the events of this film actually happened. But now with a few years of hindsight, I have to go back and wonder like the heathen I am…

Is Suicide Squad REALLY that bad?

THE GOOD

Yes, amazingly, there is some good stuff here, mostly to do with the casting. At least half the cast is just pitch perfect for their roles. Famous rapper and YouTube Rewind star Will Smith as Deadshot is, of course, one of the standout examples; he brings a lot of charm and charisma to his role of an assassin who really loves his daughter, but then again, this is Will Smith. It’s hard not to love the guy in anything he does. Viola Davis as Amanda Waller is another inspired bit of casting, and she truly owns the role, and Jai Courtney is perhaps the most consistently enjoyable member of the Squad, Captain Boomerang, the exact sort of stupid D-list villain who SHOULD be getting screentime in a movie like this.

Of course, the very best bit of casting is Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn, in Harley’s big screen debut. Robbie has such an enthusiasm for the role that shines through even with the clunky script, and while she would definitely improve her craft for her outing in Birds of Prey, her performance here still has that spark of zany fun that Harley needs, cementing Robbie as the perfect star for the role. Frankly, that’s the feeling that can be gathered from a lot of these really good performances; they’re good, but they lack proper refinement, and so are stuck spouting the stupidest, corniest, clunkiest lines imaginable. But yes, really the worst thing you can say about Harley in this film is that her outfit is absolutely atrocious and demeaning.

While we’re on the subject of Harley Quinn, tough… while the whole situation with the Joker is something I’ll get to shortly, I think their relationship in this film is actually done well in many aspects. I’ve always preferred the original idea of “Mad Love” over the glorified domestic abuse that Joker x Harley has often devolved into, and while there is a bit of the latter, the fact that Joker literally goes out of his way to save Harley at every opportunity to the point he’s a definition satellite love interest is really good. Of course, this was thrown out for Birds of Prey, but I do think it worked in the context of this film.

Of course, we all know that the greatest aspect of this film is REALLY Slipknot, the single most powerful member of the Squad. I’ve already written an entire Psycho Analysis on why he’s the greatest villain in the history of cinema, so just read that for the rundown on how our man Slipknot climbs his way into your heart and mind.

THE BAD

So there is just a lot to go over here.

First, there’s the soundtrack’s implementation. As a blatant Guardians ripoff, everything the characters do needs to be punctuated by some sort of awesome music to tie the scene together. The difference is that where in the Guardian movies the soundtrack is used as a storytelling tool to help subtly emphasize points that the narrative doesn’t want to spell out for you, Suicide Squad just has these songs because they’re cool and because Guardians did it. Why is “Black Skinhead” playing while Deadshot tests his weapon skills? Why is “House of the Rising Sun” playing during Waller talking about the Squad? What exactly do these songs add besides background music? The opening montage of everyone in the Squad is particularly bad because the songs are just switching up really quickly as the montage goes along, which echoes a complaint I had about Little Nicky, of all films: “One of the more noticeable problems is the usage of music; in the course of one single scene, they play four different songs, and all of this is in a span of about one or two minutes. Just pick a song and stick to it for fuck’s sake!” About the only song that is really properly utilized is “Heathens,” which plays over the (admittedly cool) credit sequence.

Now let’s get into the characters, because for every awesome character in this film, there’s two that just absolutely suck or are so underutilized it’s laughable. Probably the worst case of this is Killer Croc, who despite being a stunning practical effect and probably the reason this film scored an Oscar, does pretty much nothing for the entire film, save for a short bit in the ending where he swims. You’d be entirely forgiven for forgetting he’s in the film, which is not something you should be saying about a Batman villain of this caliber.

Katana and Diablo are both characters who should be awesome, but the story givers them nothing to do and rushes their character arcs, respectively. Katana is yet another character you’d probably forget is there, even though she has a lot of fascinating elements to her character (some of which are detailed in her infamous introduction, which don’t worry, I’m working towards it), but nothing is really done with her. Diablo is actually one of the best and most fleshed-out characters in the film, but the narrative just completely fails to justify him or his ultimate heroic sacrifice; by the end, he claims the Squad is like family, but they’ve never really done anything to earn this. Like, think to the ending of Guardians of the Galaxy, where we have moments like Drax standing up for Gamora and Groot sacrificing himself. These moments only work because the characters had their relationships built up over the course of the movie so that there is a punch when these things happen. Suicide Squad really just throws it in just to have it.

Then we come to our villain. Enchantress is yet another villain I once detailed on Psycho Analysis, and my opinion on her remains unchanged. While she most certainly has a cool design, she is absolutely not the sort of world-ending supernatural threat a team of snarky jackasses should be fighting on their first mission together. The Squad should have had a mission more grounded in reality, and that can’t happen when you have an ancient interdimensional witch causing a Luddite zombie apocalypse through the power of interpretive dance. There’s also the fact that there’s never really any reason given to care about the character of June Moon, the host of the Enchantress, so the desperation of Rick Flag (a character so boring and pointless I didn’t even waste time mentioning him before) to save her comes off as hollow as most of the movie’s other emotional moments. Overall, Enchantress is just a boring generic doomsday villain who feels wildly out of place in the story and just doesn’t do anything to make herself stand out.

Then we have Joker.

I’m not really going to get into Jared Leto’s obnoxious behind-the-scenes antics, because that has little bearing on his performance, kind of like how his performance has little bearing on the film. As I mentioned before, this Joker is nothing more than a satellite for Harley. This is probably a good thing, because despite being called Joker he’s pretty divorced from most other interpretations; while he plays up the thuggish, brutish elements the Joker does typically have, everything else about him is just so jarringly non-Joker as to be laughable, from his ridiculous grill to the absolutely cringeworthy “Damaged” tattoo on his forehead. I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say he’s the worst villain in a superhero movie ever as some have, mostly because he’s not even in the film long enough to leave much of an impact. I will, however, say that so far he is the absolute worst onscreen depiction of Joker in film. Once again, if you’d like to hear more of my in-depth thoughts on Leto’s portrayal, I did make a Psycho Analysis on him a while back.

But all that aside, the worst aspect of this film is the writing. The writing is just utterly abysmal throughout, and while there are a few good lines sprinkled here and there, a lot of the dialogue is cringeworthy and the story itself is a convoluted mess. The story takes so many nonsensical turns from the get-go, starting with how Amanda Waller thinks a bunch of non-superpowered criminals could take down a metahuman threat; what the hell is Killer Croc, whose only power is “being an ugly cannibal,” going to do against Superman? That’s like if you put Leatherface up against a Predator, who would be stupid en-

...Oh. Right. Well, if nothing else, Amanda Waller has a very bright future as a designer for Mortal Kombat games. Beyond that, as mentioned above, a lot of the characters simply exist and serve little purpose in the narrative, and the ones that do serve a purpose are underplayed unless they’re Deadshot or Harley. You’d think Diablo’s tragic backstory and desire to have a family or Flag’s desire to save June from her curse would be more major elements, but nah. We don’t get much, if any, development on these fronts. And for the dialogue… well, I think this one speaks for itself:

Is It Really THAT Bad?

So I’ve been pretty hard on this film overall, I think, but here’s the shocking twist: I don’t think this is the worst DC movie. Frankly, I find the claims that this is the bottom of the barrel in terms of superhero films a gross overexaggeration. F4ntastic and The Amazing Spider-Man 2 are far and away worse films with little to no redeeming qualities whatsoever in them. At the very least, Suicide Squad is a fun kind of stupid, whereas those movies are bleak, miserable slogs that fail to even try and engage the viewer on any level.

And then, even within the DC movie lineup, I would not say this is worse than Dawn of Justice. Dawn of Justice has a more coherent story, and it in a general sense has better writing, dialogue, and so on… but it isn’t fun, it’s overly long, it’s incredibly pretentious, and it absolutely squanders the coolest concept for a crossover fight that there ever could be, all while giving us a Lex Luthor who is an obnoxious, whiny, sniveling brat who is utterly unbelievable as a threat. Suicide Squad almost seems within the ballpark of being self aware that it’s stupid schlock, and I find that infinitely more respectable than a film that, regardless of its artistic merit, thinks it’s deep and meaningful when it is anything but.

Suicide Squad is firmly on the side of “So bad it’s good,” and even within that category it’s somewhat underrated. I don’t necessarily think this film needs more respect per se, but I feel like it falls into the same category as movies like The Emoji Movie, where it isn’t good by any means but people will rant and rave about how it’s destroying cinema by being apocaliptically bad instead of just saying it’s crappy and moving on with their lives. Like this isn’t a great movie, but at least there’s a couple of enjoyable things, and superhero movies have been through far worse. Its current score of 6 on IMDB is honestly pretty fair. Is it spectacular? No. Could you be watching something way better. Definitely. But is it a trashy, idiotic romp with some good actors and some fun performances in a story so mind-bogglingly dumb that it needs to be seen to be believed? Hell yes.

[songsofloretto]

Kieran gave me this earlier. I like writing for Kieran. He's a nasty bastard trying to turn his life around which makes him multi-faceted but as a character giving direction he's easy to 'feel'. Kieran never does third person perspective. His stories are always first person and written like a commentary.

Kieran, Nicky, Rory and Matthew

Sainsbury's, May 2021

"Uncle Kieran can I have these water pistols?"

It's been 30 years since I last took a child grocery shopping. It was bad enough in the 1980s with the kids wanting the sweets at the end of the checkout and all that. Fast forward to the 21st century and the problem has absolutely mushroomed, along with the size of supermarkets in general. Before I went to prison supermarkets only sold food. These days they sell everything from sun-dried tomatoes to fecking funeral plans. Nothing is sacred from these corporate giants. There are whole sections devoted to toys so there's no avoiding the inevitable pleas from children presented with their every wildest dream every time you call in for a pint of milk. Our Matthew's grandson is no different. The little lad is only four years old and to him this toy section is like every Christmas morning he's ever dreamed of all rolled in to one.

"Eh?" I say.

Rory lifts a box of four water pistols from the shelf and almost topples over under the weight of them. I grab it quick and steady him before he smacks his head off the corner of a shelf.

"Woah," I say to him, "steady on, our kid."

"I want these water pistols," Rory says emphatically, "there's four altogether. You, me, Uncle Nicky and Grandad can all play with them in the garden."

I look at the box. The pistols are nothing special. I've seen more power in a carrot. But the kid is right. It's a boiling hot day and perhaps an hour in the garden shooting each other up is exactly what this fecked up family needs to bond.

And who can say no to little Rory, who hasn't seen his daddy in over a year. Deaglan has been stuck in New York over this bloody pandemic, unable to get home to his son, missing out on all the drama we have going on here. The kid, innocently caught in the middle of it all, deserves a little joy in his life. I take a pistol out of the box and work my finger over the trigger, pretending to shoot, while Rory laughs and crouches down low.

"Aye you can have them," I tell him, and ruffle his hair with my fingers.

Right on cue the ever uptight Nicky slides up to us, almost falling over himself in his desperation to spoil any fun. He's swaggering about in his police uniform with a stick up his arse as usual. No tie or epaulettes but you can still tell he's an off-duty police officer. The cunt.

"I don't think so," he says rather efficiently as he plucks the box and the pistols out of my hands.

"What the f...Nicky!" I say, and pull the box back from him, "what's wrong with you?"

"I don't think it's appropriate for children to play with guns," Nicky says matter-of-factly.

"Aww!" Rory whines, "please, Uncle Nicky!"

His face creases and I can't bear to see him look sad. I know from experience that arguing with Nicky isn't easy. He's a jumped-up, self-important and arrogant little prick. In fact he's just like me when I was his age. It amuses me somewhat. I know that he'll get wound up like a clock if I challenge his decision - and I'm really trying to make friends with him, honest - but I've got to try and change his mind, for the little lad's sake.

"Well they're only water pistols," I say with a little shrug, "not gonna do much damage with them, eh, Nick auld fella?"

Nicky pulls a straight-laced expression and looks down his nose at me like a seasoned bloodhound would look at a yapping pup. He thinks I'm scum, I realise as we face each other off. He'll always look down on me like this, because in his bright, British eyes I'll always represent the dirty side of Ireland. I feel the vein on my temple flicker. I have to take a deep breath to keep my cool.

"It's not about any potential risk of damage," Nicky breaks the tension between us with a belittling little sniff, "it's about the psychology. Teaching children that guns are good fun and can't hurt anyone is a slippery slip. Before we know it he'll be twelve years old and shooting up his gym class."

"Fuck off Nicky, this is England, not America," I try to laugh off his point but he just keeps staring.

"And I don't think you, of all people, Kieran O'Driscoll, are in any position at all to be encouraging my nephew to take an interest in firearms," Nicky looks down his nose at me again.

I've been trying hard to handle his snooty arrogance for weeks. I really have. But something inside me snaps.

"Why?" I ask, squaring up to him, "because I was in the IRA? Is that it?"

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm 79 years old. Nicky is 45. I haven't got a chance against him in a fight, especially not with all his police training, but it's my pride that pushes me on. I have to stand up for myself, be a man about it. Teach this little arsehole a lesson.

"Yes," Nicky nods his head, "because you dealt firearms for terrorist organisation. And I don't want you playing with any sort of gun, imitation or otherwise, in front of my brother's son."

Deaglan is Nicky's own twin brother. They've never met. They were seperated at birth. Deaglan stayed in Ireland with Matthew, Nicky went to England with Kate. And now he fancies himself as the big Englishman, the creme de la creme of Britishness, superior above each and all other nationalities. And he spent his whole life loathing the Irish for putting his mother in a wheelchair. She was was a British soldier, victim of an IRA bomb, Newry police station, 1975. Sad story.

It was a terrible shock to poor Nicholas Jamie Hawley when he discovered that his father was not, as his mother always told him, a dead British soldier who died for his country in a halo of bullets. His father Matthew is in fact a proud Ulsterman who is very much alive and even did time for murder. Nicky's brain must have exploded inside his skull when it tried to digest this information. When he realised that half of him bled for Ireland it nearly knocked him sick.

But he had to get used to the idea because this pandemic threw us all together under the same roof, forcing us to learn to love and live with each other. And so here we are, factions of a long-estranged family trying to find common ground, and about to start fighting over water pistols in Sainsbury's.

"You'll never forgive me for being ex-IRA, will you?" I ask him.

"Never," Nicky lifts his chin, "once a terrorist, always a terrorist in my book."

"I did my time, Nicholas," I tell him, "27 years in a hell-hole of a prison. Oh Lord I suffered. And I'm deeply sorry for my transgressions as a younger man."

"Sorry will never be enough," Nicky whispers, "what your sort did to my mother..."

I close my eyes. I don't like think of it. And all over some water pistols to make the little lad happy!

The Voice of Reason enters stage left. Here is Matthew O'Driscoll, everyone's favourite peace-keeping fence-sitter. He spent an age parking the car and has only just joined us. He's as Irish as I am but everyone loves him, even Nicky, because...well because he's Matthew. Need I say more?

Matthew is astute. He studies the body language between me and his long-lost son and folds his arms, awaiting explanation.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"The wee bairn wanted a few water pistols to play with," I said, "and PC Gobshite over here has got an issue with it."

Matthew looks at Nicky who blushes a little as if he suddenly feels rather foolish.

"I didn't think it was ok," he says. His mouth is suddenly dry and he swallows, "to promote guns to a child. I'm in Loco Parentis for Rory. Deaglan has trusted me to look after him. I don't want to fuck it up and send the kid back to his dad thinking guns are ok. Because they're not. What would Deaglan think of me?"

He gives Matthew a slow look. Matthew nods his head. He is trying to understand Nicky's perspective. The man is nervous about all this family stuff. He's still reeling from the shock of discovering he has a family he never knew, that the family is Irish, that there is a man out there in the world who shares his face. Appearance and reputation is key right now. Nicky has never been a parent and suddenly, thanks to the pandemic, he's stepping in to care for his twin brother's son. He wants to do a good job. Of course he does.

It's interesting that Nicky never gives Matthew any stick about being Irish. Let's not forget that Matthew did prison time too. In 1994 he shot his own best mate in the head to stop the IRA from kidnapping and torturing him. We've never spoken about the fact it was me who ordered Brophy's kidnapping in the first place. If I'd have got my hands on Donnachadh Brophy all those years I'd have cut his balls off, fried them in Crisp N Dry oil, added little salt and pepper to taste and made the cunt eat them. But not now. I've mellowed out now. I'm not like that any more. I wouldn't hurt a hair on Brophy's head if he were alive today. And I don't deal in guns. Except water pistols because...well they're water pistols for feck's sake.

"You mean you've taken offence to Kieran handling a gun because he's Irish, is it that it?" Matthew asks.

"Not because he's Irish, per se," Nicky says, "but because of...it's because he has previous."

Matthew nods. The simple action brings calm to the situation. Nicky is feeling heard. He relaxes a little.

"I know you still suffer the fear of the IRA," Matthew says to him softly, "I know as a kid they haunted your dreams. You grew up thinking you had to protect your Mammy from them. But it's all in the past, Nicky. Wether we like it or not we're all together now and there are things we have to forgive each other for if we're going to survive this virus. And survive as a family. Because that's all any of us ever longed for, isn't it? It's time to let go, son."

Matthew takes the pistol from Nicky's grip. The police officer tightens but then releases his hold, surrendering control to the father he never knew he had, and letting go of the toy gun. It's very poignant, metaphorical moment. Makes the man in me uncomfortable so I try to inject some humour to make it bearable.

"Fecking hell," I scoff, "who do you think you are Matty eh? A walking example of the Good Friday Agreement?"

Matthew doesn't take his eyes from Nicky's face. A silent agreement is passing between them.

"Shut up, Ki," Matthew says without looking at me, "it's all right, Nicky. We're going to take these pistols home, fill them up with water and have a big old laugh together. Three generations shooting cold water at each other. And it will be safe, it will be ok. Because it's what families do together all the time."

"Ok," Nicky starts scratching at his arms in that way he has when needs to self-soothe with a wash, "we'll have a water fight. Together. But I'll need to get a shower first."

"If it makes you feel better," Matthew nodded.

He understands Nicky's need to be clean better than I do. I've never known a man so obsessed with washing his skin, changing his clothes, marinating in aftershave because unfamiliar smells upset him. As soon as you walk into the house we all share his first question is 'have you washed your hands?' He won't let you touch anything until you wash your own hands at the kitchen sink. Which by the way is a Belfast model. That little detail is lost on Nicky. It brings me a private sort of amusement.

Nicky's scratching intensifies. We'll have to hurry up with the shopping now because he has it in his head that he needs a wash and a preen. If he doesn't get to a shower soon he'll start getting all upset with himself. There's no time to argue now.

Matthew hands the pistol to the four-year-old whose innocence is responsible for bringing us all together. And then we all walk on, four abreast, to find the pint of milk we all came in looking for in the first place.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/71793039

Chapter 49

Nick accepted the sandwich and took a bite. He indeed found it was a pity that he had to put the rags back on, because Arthur had so many worries about it. But at least he could hold him close and caress his bare skin with his finger. Arthur showed his approval by cuddling into Nick's shoulder and from time to time dared to do the same. It was fascinating how the tall Downer had turned back into his shy self after a moment of self-awareness. Nick was very curious about how far he would get. His personality seemed to break out more and more. He trusted Nick, and that made him optimistic. And still, he didn't want to go too far yet since he didn't want to scare him and ruin the progress. It was also the reason why he had given in.

Perhaps I've changed too, perhaps I've become more tame, he wondered while he held his devoted Downer in his arms. Actually he didn't want to call him a Downer, because it was a cuss. But he didn't feel any anger when he thought at that word. If all Downers were like Arthur, they were downright charming. Nick stroked Arthur's cheek and kissed his forehead. No, he then thought. If I changed I wouldn't be here. He sighed.

"Does the garden make you pondering, too?", Arthur asked quietly. "Yeah...I guess so....but...I don't know if it's the garden..." "Are you a thoughtful person, Nick?" "Uh...well...I wasn't for a very long time...", Nick began, feeling a bit blindsided. What did he know about his character from the past, from before Joy? "I'm learning to think again." "And how does it feel for you?", Arthur asked with honest concern. "Er...sometimes it's unpleasant and sometimes I'm glad about it." "I feel the same." Arthur looked up to the clouds that slowly went by. Nick wondered if that was true. "You...you too? Are you sure?" "Absolutely. Thinking isn't always pleasant. Sometimes I wish I could turn my head off." "Well...you can. It's actually easy. Why don't you do it?" "Because I have to live with it", Arthur said so bitterly that Nick felt pity for him. "Who told you that?"

Arthur closed his eyes. For a while he pressed his head into the crook of Nick's neck, as if he was seeking comfort, then he said: "Whatever is done is done...and taking Joy doesn't change anything. We can't turn back time and make everything better. We always have to live with what we've done...". Arthur fell silent, feeling that he was getting way too depressed. He patted Nick's arm, to distract him if necessary. Now Nick stared into the clouds. Arthur had struck a nerve. He was so right. But exactly that had been the reason why they were taking Joy. "Nick? Are you okay?". Arthur sounded worried. Nick only nodded quietly.

"Sorry...I didn't mean to ruin the mood...Must be the garden after all." Nick looked around. "How could something as beautiful as this ruin our mood?" He indeed had good memories of gardens and parks. It gave him just the right feeling, with nature around him and the touch of melancholy. He grabbed his guitar. Arthur left his shoulder and lay down close beside him, with a hand supporting his head. Nick began to play a melody, testing how the sound melted into his surroundings. Some things stay the same after all.

Arthur listened with a throbbing heart. He had been nervous about this moment all the time, afraid of his own reaction. It reminded him of how he found Nick in the tunnel, completely stoned and out of his mind. He had been afraid that this would happen again. He didn't want to hurt Nick. But now that he heard Nick play, not defaced by drugs, he was overwhelmed. He had always thought that all these popstars would be lost without their expensive equipment. Nick definitely wasn't. His pure voice, not forged by a studio or loudspeakers, moved him. He now understood why his fans loved him, why they were screaming like crazy at his concerts. They would do everything to be here but instead he was here, a worthless Downer, and Nick played only for him. When the song was over, Arthur was glad that he was stilll wearing his mask and Nick couldn't see how red he was. Still, he put his hands on his cheeks.

"What's wrong?", Nick asked. "I'm...I'm just getting red", he admitted. "Really? I didn't sing anything naughty", Nick chuckled. "No, but I know now, why your fans are screaming when they see you...and why they throw their underwear at you." Nick laughed, and Arthur couldn't help joining him. "You're not throwing anything", he then said and lifted an eyebrow. Arthur gulped. "I...I don't think that's my style." "Why not? Just do it! Go crazy, man!" Arthur winded. "I'm already on the brink. Play another song, please, Nicky." Nick chuckled again. "You're a grateful audience." He began another song that insidiously called on him to dance. Arthur imagined dancing with Nick, while he listened to the music and constrained himself to sit still on the blanket.

Then he jumped up anyway because he saw Wastrels coming at them. "Oh no", he squeezed out. Of course it had to happen. And how naive he was. Of course the music would summon them and they would wonder why they were so happy, they would become suspicious and eventually attack... Nick stopped singing when he noticed that Arthur hadn't jumped up because of him but instead was staring  into the distance with alarm. "Get behind me", he said and already stepped forward to hide Nick, who now also saw the Wastrels. "Hello there", Arthur approached them, hoping he could come out of this cheaply. "We're just trying to forget the past for a while, there's nothing bad about it, right?" "Play on", one of the Wastrels shouted. A woman swooned: "You sound just as Nick Lightbearer! Oh, how much I miss him! They never play him through the speakers and all the records here are broken." "Play a song for us", also the others begged.

Being pressed so nicely, Nick couldn't say no. He now sang with more enthusiasm, flattered that his audience had so spontaneously increased. It was something else that hadn't changed, and it made him very happy that it still worked. He felt a little like in the old days, when he had been simply making music for the fun of it, and he felt vindicated that not all his charm was gone. That he could find back to his old self and also that he really had this kind of impact on others and didn't just make it up over time. Seeing the Wastrels dance and laugh, he noted that they weren't so different from the Wellies. This could be a nice place just like every other. He should perform here if they missed him so much.

Arthur instead wasn't very happy with this situation. Of course he was happy for Nick, who was even a star in the Garden District, but now their beautiful privacy was gone. Everyone was dancing except Arthur, who was feeling like an outsider. Then a woman danced past him and grabbed his arm. "Come on, get a move on!" Arthur protested, but he was pulled along by the slaphappy Wastrelette. Her dance style was quite peculiar. He was struggling to hold her pace that was completely independent of the rhythm, but she had the time of her life. "So, what did you do in the Parade, tall guy?", she asked along the way. Arthur cut out asking what gave her the idea. By now he knew that his suit was giving it all away.

"I was an editor in the Department of Archives...mostly reading papers and cencoring articles", he said bluntly. He found it was better to appear casual. "Ohh", she blew a whistle. "I bet it was a very important job, right? Prestige and everything." "Er...rather not", Arthur said. "I wish I didn't do it." "Heh. You're not the only one who has regrets", she replied. "Honestly, I was a supervisor at the bridge to Hamlyn Village, judging who gets in and and who stays out. We had that stupid quiz 'Oh, behave!" I don't remember anyone passing it on my shift." Arthur was about to answer when their conversation was interrupted. "Oh, oh", the woman said and stopped dancing.

"Well, well, well, looks like someone's having fun out here!" A group of moody Headboys showed up. "Do you have a licence for this concert? No? So we're afraid we have to put an end to this!" The Wastrels cried and ran. They didn't have the power to fight shovels and bats. Still, Arthur found it would've been nice to stay and help. Nick stared at the aggressive gang, confused, pressing his guitar to his chest.

"Nick, run!", Arthur yelled, setting himself into motion. Nick jumped up and ran, but a Headboy caught him. He however didn't count on Nick's resistance. The guitar hit him hard in the face. Cussing, he let Nick go. Arthur promptly jumped at him, choked him with one arm and wrenched the bat from him. When the Headboy finally lay on the ground, Arthur wasn't helpless anymore. But four against one was still an unfair fight. Fortunately, he still had enough nails in his pocket, wich he quickly tossed at the attackers. The first one was so distracted with pain that Arthur could strike him down with no problems. Nick quickly understood this concept and insisted on taking the next out by himself. "This is giving a new meaning to beat music", he chuckled.

The other two were already warned and avoided the nails. One of them swung at Arthur who wished he had brought his electric truncheon. Blocking an attack and shoving the headboy away, he could cop a look at Nick who was hard pressed by the other one. The rockstar definitely had the weaker weapon. His tactic was merely avoiding the blows, running away and trying to bring him down from behind. But he was getting out of breath. Arthur hurried to get rid of his importunate enemy. Finally, he managed to hit his carotid, what made him faint. With horror he saw that his lover was lying on the ground, with the headboy above him, already taking a swing.

"Nick!", he yelled. He distracted the headboy for a second. Arthur quickly wrapped his arms around him and choked him while he fell into the grass with him. Nick got up and took the bat the headboy had lost, in case Arthur needed help. The headboy struggled. He wasn't as easily choked as the others. Arthur and Nick exchanged glances for a second, then Arthur nodded, let the Headboy go and Nick at the same time gave him a blow with the bat. The headboy fell unconscious. Arthur checked on him, then Nick helped him up. "Are you hurt?", Arthur promptly asked.

Nick palpated his head. "Not badly...only a bump...My baby got it worse." He showed the guitar, that didn't only have a few more scratches but was also almost broken in half. "I'm sorry, looks like it's beyond repair now." Nick patted it. "Perhaps Mr. Bates can fix it...I mean Mrs. Bates." Arthur didn't seem to notice the mistake. He had most likely never visited the shop. "It's not so bad", he said louder. "And it was kinda fun." Arthur looked rather down-hearted. "I'm sorry...I should've been more careful. After all, I know this place." "Who were these blokes?" "Headboys...they rule this place, or that's what they think. They put me in their arena once and called me "King of the Parade", I told you." "Oh, I remember!", Nick blurted out. "Nasty fellows, they don't fit in with the garden at all." "Yeah...they like to attack helpless Wastrels. They're not very brave. But they're still dangerous. I thought we're safe here. I'm sorry."

"Hey, Arthur", Nick put a hand on his shoulder. "Nothing bad happened. We had fun, everyone had a random party, it was great! I want to do that again!" He squeezed his shoulder happily. Arthur found his smile back. He hugged Nick in silence. "I reckon you have to go home soon...", he then whispered. "You're right. But I had a wonderful time."

They strolled back to the hatch. Arthur regretted he had to let Nick go again. He was the only bright spot in this screwed up life full of lies. They put their proper clothes back on and kissed each other goodbye, rolling around in their bed for one last time, then Nick left with his destroyed guitar. Arthur remained sitting on the bed for a long time until he left.

Meanwhile Nick actually planned to have his guitar repaired. He didn't like to give up one of his babies, and also his mistake had reminded him of something he had repressed all the time, and also forgotten because he had had no reason to come to the shop. But now he found it was time to face the truth, even if it was very unpleasant. In addition he wanted to know if the shop still existed. It looked normal from outside, he stated. It was hard to believe that it would never be the same again. When he entered, the bell rang, and he halfway expected Mr. Bates to stand behind the counter and to find out that it was all a misunderstanding. But the counter was empty. It was also clean. The bobbies must have removed all traces of the crime scene. In general the shop was very clean and tidied up, as if it was still in business.

"Hello? Anyone there? You have a customer!" Nick put his guitar on the counter and waited. "I beg your pardon", he heard a familiar voice say. "I've been packing goods. It's not the same anymore since...". The woman that came out of the storage room eyed her customer and froze. "Nick!" Her face lit up. "Oh, Nicky, you're back!" She ran around the counter and fell into his arms. "Hey, baby...", he whispered. "Are you okay?" "It's hard..doing this all alone...some people only come by to ask their stupid questions. They're stealing my time as if I had nothing else to do", blustered out of her mouth. Then she put on a smile again. "But I'll make it." She gave Nick an adoring look. "I'm sorry for what happened...", Nick said quietly. "You don't have to be sorry for anything." She kissed him again. "You keep the shop?" "U-huh", she nodded. Nick smiled. "You're a tough girl." "I've got you to cheer me up", she purred. "That's the spirit", he said giving her finger guns. "It's so awesome! That you're back with your band, that everyone remembers how great you are! I know you're busy now, but please pay me a visit, will you?" "Oh...uh...sure...as soon as I can..."

Nick pointed at the counter to change the subject. "You think you can fix that?" Kitty viewed the damage. "Oh, Nicky, you're a bad boy." She giggled. "I could do it, but I'm afraid it'll never look like new again." "I don't mind. I like the scratches, they are memories...I mean, good ones. I just don't want it to fall apart." "Okay." She wrote something on a paper and handed it to Nick. "This is the verification that you turned it in. I need your signature there." Nick drew a big lettering with hearts as tittles. Kitty giggled and admired it. She left the counter again to hug and kiss her idol. "I miss you". "I'll come back", Nick said, carefully winding out of her grip. "I send you a message when it's done", she said. "Okay..."

Kitty blew him multiple kisses while he left and he gave her more finger guns and a wink. Then he was out, happy that the shop wasn't closed. Another walk through the tunnels later he was finally back home.

[commanderceleste]

Chapters: 18/18 Fandom: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko Characters: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Nile Freeman Additional Tags: fluffy af, as usual, Angsty shit too, Alternate Universe, Mission Impossible meets Uncharted, robin hood-esque, superhuman abilities, Not immortal, Oops, Nico is a cinnamon roll that must be protected at all costs, Joe is head over heels but hurting, Misunderstandings, Badass sassy lesbians who will tear down the patriarchy one creep at a time, Exotic locations, Party Crashing, bank heist, Escape from Prison, Maybe I'll take them to space, i dunno, Just having fun and building up anticipation, Enjoy!, What happened in Málaga?, kaysanova, Nile is finally here you guys!, also, Fowler. Andy's Rottweiler, He's so handsome I can't even, Some smut thrown in there too, Because I need some practice damn it, And it was actually kind of fun?, Slooooooooooooow burn, apparently, Booker is a bit of an ass, I love him in the film, But you won't like him as much here, probably, My first cliffhanger, i dig it, You might not, Things might get a little Uncharted-ish after this, Booker's on his way yo, Rating and Warnings have been updated folks, There is some blood and violence in this chapter, Sex talk in the last chapter, Woof, Spicy 

The End. 

Currently on: Chapter 18

Current Chapter Summary:

Haven – 8:30 a.m – January 13th, 2020

- Something on your mind? –

He huffs, equal parts pleased and grateful to have Nile by his side.

- You know me –

- I do, but I’m no psychic – She leans on the railing, leaving her crutches rest beside her - You want the wisdom? Spill –

He can’t bring himself to deny the aforementioned wisdom. Confidence is kind of a given when it comes to Nile.

- I wouldn’t even know where to start –

- Still halfway through my first cup of coffee, Joe. You know better than to test my patience before I’m on the second one –

[jemej3m]

incarnate (p3)

Hheeere uuu goooooooo (OooOoooooOOooOOoOooO) - p2

*

Andrew rocked up to the weekly gathering, basically in his pyjamas. Neither him nor Kevin were early risers, but Kevin had the gall to actually come to these things appropriately dressed. 

Andrew had just chucked a sweater over his t-shirt, tucked his pyjama pants into boots, yanked a beanie over his head and shuffled into his overcoat. Erik and Nicky - who lived in the second bedroom of their apartment - didn’t look much more presentable than he did, slomping around like zombies until they’d knocked back some coffee. 

Why Wymack and Dan held these gatherings at sunrise was beyond Andrew. He hated every single fucking time the little fox dropped off the acorn message at their door. How the fox even managed to get inside the building without triggering security was a wonder in itself. Andrew couldn’t wait to move out into a house. 

They’d all crammed into the car, revved up the engine way too loud for almost five in the morning, and cruised till they arrived to the edge of town. 

They all trudged through the forest till they’d arrived at the clearing where Palmetto held all their most powerful rituals and flamboyant gatherings. It also happened to be where Andrew had summoned the demon - Neil - maybe two weeks ago. 

He still had no idea what he wanted from the thing. He didn’t want anything, really. He’d never wanted anything. 

Andrew lit a cigarette when they arrived to the clearing, waiting for the others to show up. Renee, Dan and Allison were already there: Renee, smiling like an angel, Allison, looking like a god-send and Dan acting like she owned the place, formally greeting the others upon their arrival. 

Renee sidled up to Andrew, nudging their shoulders. “Something’s changed about your aura. Something lighter.”

Odd. He would have thought a demon summoning would’ve put a blemish on his soul, or whatever bullshit Renee actually bought into. He just shrugged. 

“The whole place seems a little different, really.” Renee said. “Like its recovering from something big. You wouldn’t have been here recently, would you?”

“Everyone hangs around here.” He said flatly. “We’re a bunch of witches and this is the coven’s gathering circle.”

“Of course.” Renee said easily. “It could have been any one of us. It’s definitely not Kevin, though. He looks far too guilty.”

Andrew’s gaze travelled across to where Kevin was mulling about the exact spot Neil had appeared the first time. Andrew muttered angrily under his breath and stalked over, dragging Kevin by the arm. 

“Hey!” Kevin complained. “I was just checking -” 

“Shut it.” Andrew hissed. “Fuck this up and I’ll tell everyone exactly who hexed the coven in an attempt to get rid of his tattoo and ended up giving everyone shitty tramp stamps. We clear?”

Kevin gulped. “Crystal.” 

The recognisable footsteps of Wymack were heard by everyone: They all stood to the clearing’s edge as he arrived, flanked by Abby and Bee. Bee smiled at Andrew warmly and tapped her wrist ( “Talk later?” ). Andrew rolled his eyes and nodded. 

“Boyd and the neophyte will get here soon.”  Wymack said gruffly, brushing himself off. A twig was still stuck out of his hair and Abby plucked it out fondly. “Yes, that’s why I’ve called you all here. We’re initiating a witch into the Palmetto coven this morning.” 

Two sets of footsteps neared the clearing. One set familiar - heavy and rhythmic, like Boyd’s heart rate - and the other flighty and nervous. As they appeared, Andrew’s heart bottomed out into his stomach. 

“Neil Josten.” Wymack gestured for him to step forward. “Welcome to the Palmetto coven.” 

Neil nodded gently, eyes scouring the circle that greeted him. He looked human - the scars on his face and arms were gone, and his eyes were a normal (still devilishly gorgeous) shape and shade of blue. When his eyes flit to Andrew and Kevin, he had to stifle the hints of a grin. 

“Step into the centre: everyone else, join hands.” Wymack instructed. Andrew hated this part of the initiation, twisting his fingers with Renee’s and Kevin’s. Everyone’s energy flowed freely between them. He could feel the valliant leadership from Dan, Allison’s lures and illusions, Bee’s soothing calm, Abby’s healing tisanes, clarity and forgiveness from Renee, strength and loyalty from Matt, Kevin’s logic and perfection, Nicky’s boisterousness and sunshine and Erik’s curiosity and perseverance. 

When Neil bowed his head, they all took a startled step back. Of course it’d be something unlike any of them had ever witnessed: Neil was a creature of pure magic. Not like humans, who were poor conductors at best. His power glossed over Andrew’s skin like gold dust and he opened his eyes. 

Neil’s glamours had held up, but they wouldn’t be good enough for Renee and Bee. Regardless, they both smiled and went to Neil to welcome him alongside the rest of the coven. He looked lost and somewhat uncomfortable with all their friendly introductions, looking frantically from witch to witch. 

Andrew kept back: Kevin did too. Wymack glanced to them only once, shaking his head. 

“He’s so strong.” Kevin murmured. “He could - Andrew, he could teach us stuff! Will you ask him to?”

“Like I’m going to waste my one wish on your needless pursuits for knowledge.” Andrew muttered, letting his head fall to one side. Even Kevin’s rattling couldn’t distract him from the way Neil’s eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, the way the tip of his nose curved perfectly to his lips. 

Andrew would never ask for that. There was no consent in magically inclined bindings. But so long as he could appreciate from afar, it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Oh, how Andrew hadn’t had a clue. 

*

three moon cycles later 

“It’s the fall equinox, it’s the fall equinox!” Neil crowed, sitting on Andrew’s dresser with his ankles crossed and rapping against the wooden surface with his knuckles. “Wake up, morons. Is that an appropriate insult? I’m still not very good with insults. Although I have decided that you humans are rather feeble: Almost pathetic. So maybe dweebs is a better term?”

Andrew blinked awake blearily, not realising he’d set a hyper-active demon to go off at six o’clock in the morning rather than his usual Kevin-Day-Getting-Bored-And-Wanting-To-Research-Or-Practise alarm. 

“How’d you get in here?”  Kevin said, waving his hands around in a futile effort to block the rays of sun that peered through the window: Neil, the little bastard, had opened the curtains. “Andrew, didn’t we set up protective wards?”

“Neil’s a part of the coven.” Andrew muttered. “He can bypass them. He’s been bypassing them for two and a half months now.”

“Who decided it’d be a good idea to bring a demon into the coven?”

“Matt’s.”

“To be fair, he still doesn’t know.” Neil chirped. “And I’m right here: I can hear everything you two are say. And some things you aren’t saying.”

Kevin sat up, shirtless and still half asleep. “What, you can read minds now?”

“I’ve always been able to read everyone’s intentions and emotions.” Neil corrected him. “It’s rather necessary for one’s survival. I’d teach you how to block it, but that wouldn’t be any fun.” 

“You’re the worst.” Kevin groused, stumbling to his feet and disappearing into the bathroom. 

Andrew finally sat up and checked his arm-bands were there, pulling a hoodie that’d been stuffed between his bed and the wall over his head. Neil watched him with his head cocked to the side. Andrew didn’t care. It’d been three months of having a pet demon and Andrew really couldn’t care less about the five-foot-three nuisance. 

“I lied before.” Neil said, softly. He was still sitting atop of Andrew’s dresser, effectively blocking Andrew from grabbing a clean pair of boxers. “I can read everyone’s intentions and emotions - except yours.”

“Now that’s some Twilight bullshit.” Andrew grunted, checking over his plants with careful fingertips. “Do you glitter in the sun, too?”

“I hate it when you make pop-culture references.” He complained. “I never understand them.” 

“Forget it. Why can’t you read me?”

He shrugged. “Most demons back home are very good at concealing themselves, but humans have never been. Renee is also practised, as is Bee, but your soul is far more intricately protected.”

Andrew closed his eyes momentarily. “It needs to be.”

“Right.” Neil said, unconvinced. “I just hope you’re not constricting yourself in the process.”

Andrew flipped him off. 

“What? I’m just making observations.”

“Well, make your observations elsewhere. I need to get to my drawers.”

Neil, in a rare moment of complacency, did as he was told. He sat on the edge of Andrew’s bed instead and leaned forward. “Have you thought about what you want from me?”

Andrew ignored him. 

“Because it’s the fall equinox, and I can draw a lot of power tonight. I should use it to escape.” Neil admitted. 

Andrew slowly turned. “What?”

Neil looked up at him from under his curly fringe. He’d let loose his glamour again - fuck, those eyes got Andrew every damned time - and he hadn’t really cut his hair for however long he’d been here. It was getting ridiculously long. Andrew wanted to run his fingers through it. 

“I can’t stay.” He said. “My father will find me. He’ll break into this realm somehow and ruin everything. I have to leave before he does.” 

“Fuck that. You’re not going anywhere.” 

Neil looked back down at his hands. They shook slightly: He balled them in his trousers, a pair ratty pair of jeans. Andrew crouched in front of him. 

“Neil,” He said. “I have the journal. I have you. If he wants to cause trouble, I’ll send him to Hell’s ninth fucking circle, got it? You’re staying.” 

“But -” He tried. 

“No.” Andrew reached out to pinch his lips shut. “Quiet, before you say something ludicrous. Stay out of trouble and I’ll watch your back. Clear?” 

Neil’s lips fought free of Andrew’s fingertips to smile, a small thing that was so reserved but unrepentant all the same. Andrew hated it. “Crystal.”

*

[holdmyhopeinyourhands]

!!!!!!!!!!! Hello it was me, the anon that asked for your take for psg x the old guard... heheheheh THANK YOU so much haha. You wrote a fic!!! Which is infinitely so much better than I hoped for :))))) it was so so so GOOD I love it. Thank you for responding to that odd ask, I thought about querying you because you can give one of the best takes in here regarding those sorts of things. Thank you again youre such a blessing.

Hi! 

Inspiration just hits me out of the blue sometimes so questions that I generally would have answered with my thoughts alone turn into a story so I’m really glad you liked it. Was kinda worried about that so *wipes away sweat* phew. 

I love the old guard, so to be able to write a fic was really fun for me too. Even though I’m not writing football fics anymore. Anyways, I too had a lot of thoughts on a crossover between psg and the old guard.

Like if Thiago was an immortal and he did get taken away from the hospital it will create so much chaos and uproar like.... I think even Andy would be wary about doing it. And I can see the rest of the family/team debating whether it is worth the risk. He is a high profile football player for God’s sake. “Think guys. We can’t just snatch him out of a hospital! Do you want us to expose ourselves!”

But then they are of course bleeding hearts and just the thought of Thiago somehow getting himself butchered in some top secret government facility because they were unwilling to save him kinda gets to them so they eventually decide to go. Now, my headcanon (I like it ok!) is that Andy isn’t immortal anymore but she still sorta is? Like she doesn’t heal like the others, but if she doesn’t get injured she’ll live pretty much forever?

Anyways, eventually after a lot of arguing they decide to let Andy go get him. (Booker isn’t currently with them). And she takes Nicky as backup. And the only reason Nicky goes is because he is a huge psg fan and his favorite football player is Marco Verratti (don’t fight me on this.)

So, they sneak into the hospital, and finding Thiago turns out be be surprisingly easy. They knock him out, don’t even give him a chance to argue with them or get scared. Nicky obviously doesn’t like this because “Did you have to Andy? It’s Thiago Silva! He’ll never like us now.” But better safe than sorry, Andy shrugs before slinging Thiago over her shoulder and walking away with him.

Now that they have Thiago Silva thought..... his kidnapping is all over the news and people are going crazy. His family are crying on the news for him and his teammates are making these heartfelt and sad speeches and it’s all depressing and Nile kinda uncertainly voices what’s on all their minds. “Should we have done this?”

But the answer is yes and they all know that. 

No matter how difficult their situation gets, they don’t leave someone behind, ever. Anyways, I think Thiago while very confused and heartbroken at the beginning of his stay with them does eventually warm up to the group and accepts that he can’t go back. He probably accepts it a lot quicker than most of them would have assumed. 

Him and Nicky play football together a lot, and he also has the kind of quiet and calm presence that can sit and read with Andy for hours and him and Joe argue about everything and while the others think that it isn’t the healthiest relationship, Joe knows its the only way Thiago allows himself to express all his frustration and fears so he keeps it going.... and for Thiago, their arguments remind him of Neymar and Marco, and it hurts sometimes, but in a good way.

Now that he’s missing, Marquinhos steps up to be the captain, and the CL takes a break because the whole kidnapping thing is a big deal, but eventually things settle down and even though the season has yet again been postponed, Thiago still finds himself being very excited to watch his boys play, and it’s when Nicky comes to sit down next to him during match day, Andy bringing the snacks and Nile dragging Joe behind here; despite neither of them being that into football (course Joe is lying. He just doesn’t like psg, he is an arsenal man through and through) it’s the first time Thiago truly feels part of this ragtag tightly-nit family.Truly feels like he belongs.

When Thiago witnesses psg finally win the CL (it’s up to your imagination if it’s this season or somewhere way down the line) he cries, fingers pressed against his mouth to stop the sobs, while in front of him Nicky is jumping up and down like crazy, celebrating. The others are out that day so they come back to a stupidly large blue and red cake with a giant ICI C’EST PARIS! written on it, along with too much junk food to count. When Joe asks what the hell is going on, Nicky just kisses him excitedly and tells him psg won.

So the others sit down in amusement and decide to celebrate with them. And Thiago feels both sad and content, because he isn’t there with his friends and family, but he is making a new family right here, and his teammates have just managed to make him really really proud and happy.

---------

I think I’ll stop here before I get ahead of myself lol.

Tiny/mini headcanon: Kylian eventually tracks Thiago down and they have a long heart to heart talk about this and that and Kylian doesn’t want to let him leave, because “what am I supposed to tell the others? Your family? I know you’re alive, I know you’re ok, so how can I possibly--” and Thiago just hugs him and lets Kylian cry on his shoulder. (he himself has shed so many tears his eyes are nothing but dry wells now.) Kylian leaves at the end, but wishes Thiago the best and signs a psg kit for Nicky (because of course), but he doesn’t go without giving him one last hug and a promise to look out for the others.

------

Ok, now I’m done. For real. Doooooneee. It’s a really fun au to play around with though<3

[janetbrown711]

Thunder crashed and roared outside of a tall bell tower in France.

Magica had successfully made her way to the realm of the living, but lacked a way of tracking down the princess, until she had sent Poe out to find a clue, to which he returned with a newspaper with the headline "LOST PRINCESS FOUND IN PARIS" with a picture of the young Webbigail attached. Magica grinned.

"Poe, you must find me some perfume and a comb. I wish to look my best before I destroy my greatest rival's bloodline," she grinned.

"That might take a lot of work," Poe commented on her rotting flesh, but Magica was in too good of a mood to be bothered.

"Then hurry up and do it! We are going to a party!" She told.

"A party? You? But you haven't been to a party in ten years and look where that got you," Poe pointed out.

"Bah. I will let the Grand Duchess Webbigail have her moment and then I will strike her down! Right in front of everyone! Even her Grandmother!" She laughed.

"Kill her? What happened to the whole party idea?" He asked.

"That's when we'll kill her imbicile," Magica scoffed. "We're going to crush her in front of absolutely everyone!"

"Won't someone recognize and at least try to stop you? Why don't you lure her away like you did with the boat?" Poe asked. Magica stopped to ponder.

"That does seem more likely to not end with me dead..." she said.

"So..?" Poe egged on.

"Alright, fine. I'll do your plan. But it'll be a whole lot less fun."

.o0o.

Webbigail laughed alongside her grandmother as they looked through old memories together in Beakly's mansion. Being reunited filled them with joy that neither had felt in years. Looking theough photos, paintings, old doodles, and writings of the past made memories come flodding back to Webby. She picked up a photo of her and her sibilings and sighed.

"I remember now... how much I loved them all," she said. Beakly put a hand on the photo.

"They would not want us to live in the past, now that we have found each other," she soothed. Webby smiled and nodded. Beakly looked back to the basket of memories they had been examining and pulled out a drawing Webby had done right before the ball when she was eight.

"Oh my- would you look at this?" Beakly laughed and showed it to Webby, who laughed too.

"Odette made me so mad! She had said it looked like a pig," she snorted. "Well, she was right," she said as she put it down. Beakly laughed and stood, helping Webby off the ground too.

"In your laughter, I hear my Nicky, your dear father, once again," she smiled and took her to a mirror before going over to a box and taking out a giant crown embedded with hundreds of diamonds. Webby gasped at how beautiful it was.

"But you have the beauty of your mother, Alexandria, the Empress of all Russia," Beakly said as she placed the crown on Webby's head. Webby looked into the mirror and couldn't help but feel like her whole family was there cheering her on. It was like the past had been made right, but at the same time she felt like it wasn't over, that nothing was over yet.

"Now, let's get you dressed for the ball of the decade," Beakly said.

A dress, yes. That must've been what was missing. Beakly took Webby over to the fitting room and before Webby knew it she was getting dressed into the most beautiful dress she had seen in her life. It was yellow and pink as well as sparkly, which she felt like added a special touch. On top of all of that, she wore the blue sash of her father.

The crown of her mother and the sash of her father.

She was quite literally carrying the legacy of her family. They lived on with her.

"Oh my dear, look at you. You look like a Grand Duchess if I have ever seen one," Daisy clapped at her presence.

"Thank you," she smiled and twirled around in it happily. This was probably one of the happiest days of her life, but still there was something missing. Something unfulfilled that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she figured she'd figure that out later.

.o0o.

"You sent for me, your grace?" Louie bowed for the Dowager Empress.

"I know you kidnapped me, and forced me into a strange hotel against my will, but it did bring me my granddaughter and a promise is a promise. Ten million dollars, as promised with my gratitude," she revealed a suitcase full of money on the table by her side.

"I accept your gratitude your highness... but I don't want the money," Louie said.

"What do you want then?" She eyed him suspiciously, which if she actually knew him would've been a fair response.

"Nothing you can give, your highness. Now if you'll excuse me, I must start packing my things for home," he bowed once more before starting to leave the room.

"Young man, where did you get that music box?" She asked, stopping him in his tracks.

"You were the boy, weren't you? The servant boy who got us out?" She asked. Louie looked away and avoided eye contact.

"You saved her life and mine, then you restored her to me, and yet you want no reward," She puzzled.

"Not anymore," he sighed.

"Why the change of mind?" She smirked, starting to theorize.

"It was more of a change of heart," he corrected tiredly. He paused before saying, "I must go," and leaving the room, leaving only a smirking Beakly by herself.

Louie made his was toward the exit when he ran into no other than Webbigail herself, though she'd always be Webby to him, dressed in a ballgown worth of an Empress. He was star struck once again at the sight. Webby looked back at him with an expression he couldn't read. Gratitude, anger, happiness? Perhaps a mix of all.

"Hello Louie," she said.

"Hello." He shook out of his star struckness and returned to his sharp and witty protective outershell.

"Did you collect your reward?" She turned bitter too.

"My buisness is complete," was all he said before moving down the stairs. A butler stopped him though.

"Young man, you will bow and calm her 'Your Majesty' when talking to the Princess," he said.

"No, that's not-" she tried to stop.

"Oh no, please. Your majesty," he bowed. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

"Yes. I'm glad you did too," she said, a bit puzzled at his genuineness.

"Well then... goodbye your highness," he bowed one last time, took a good look at her, sighed and walked away. Webby waved a little before sighing to herself.

She realized that was likely to be the last time she would ever see him, and her feelings still hadn't gone away.

"Goodbye..."

.o0o.

Donald hummed happily to himself as he readied himself for the night's ball. He was placed back on the imperial court by the request of Daisy and on favor of the Dowager Empress out of gratitude. He was in a room alongside Lena, who was given a little something to wear for the ball too, since Webby had insisted on the dog coming to the ball too. It was a little unorthodox, but they did it anyway.

"Lena, do you mind? Oh, of course you don't. You are a good dog," Donald patted her head and took a metal off the little sash Lena had on and pinned it to his shirt. Just as he was doing it Louie entered the room. He had to clear his throat to get his uncle's attention.

"Well... if you're ever in Saint Duckburg, give me a call," Louie sighed.

"You're going back?" Donald asked.

"I've already made up my mind, so don't try to change it," Louie said. Donald sighed before going and hugging Louie, who for once in his life accepted it.

"So long Uncle Donald," he said.

"Ah, my Louie," Donald sighed and put a hand on his nephew's face. "You are making a mistake. Trust me."

"No, trust me. This is the one thing I'm doing right," Louie stuck his hands in his pockets, and started to walk away when Lena of all dogs started to whimper. Louie sighed and crouched down.

"So long mutt," he said with a small crooked smile. Lena would've normally bit him at the remark, but instead she just whimpered and begged him to stay more.

"I can't stay. I don't belong here," he explained. It broke Donald's heart to hear him say that. Donald hugged Louie one more time before Louie walked out of the room forever.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[darklingichor]

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell *Major Spoilers*

I wrote a little about this book last month, but I want to write more. This is one of those books that has been lingering in my brain so what follows will be long and rambling.

Now, I haven't read Fangirl I've been pulled more toward action adventure and humor in my fiction, for a while now. Hmm, I wonder what could have happened a few years back  that would cause a Pacific Northwest liberal to feel the need for escape? Just one of those things, I suppose.

I need to read it, if only because I wrote Harry Potter fanfic for years and sort of lost myself in it right after high school.

Anyway.

I've heard people calling Carry On an HP knock off. I don't get this. Simon Snow is obviously Fangirl's Harry Potter. That makes Carry On more of a tongue in cheek homage to HP and stories like it as well as something of a love letter to fanfic writers.

A lot of the main characters start out as your standard for this type of story. "The Hero", "The Mentor", "The Damsel", "The Enemy", "The Unspeakable Evil."

Through the book it becomes clear that our hero is well meaning but ill-suited for the role that his mentor thinks he place him in. The mentor is shown to be unhinged. The damsel is sick of screaming and doesn't want to be in the story at all. The enemy is love sick for the hero and dealing with the puberty from hell. The unspeakable evil, isn't. Its just an unforeseen byproduct of the mentor's plan, in which, the hero, is a pawn.

The book plays with archetypes and I read some of them as being fairly meta about their expected place in the story.

Agetha, especially, seems to know her role and resent it. She's who is saved by the hero, whether she likes it or not.

Baz is so certain of his role as "The Enemy" that until his role flips, he's sure his destiny is to be killed by the person he's in love with.

Simon knows his role so well, he's on auto pilot as a defence mechanism. He's either going to die, or he'll get a stock Happily Ever After. He doesn't even allow himself to think too much about what really matters to him, because he knows his life isn't really his.

I would have loved this book because of everything I wrote above, but add to it the nods to fan contribution? It was enough to make me remember my old ff.n login!

I don't know if Rainbow Rowell researched fan fiction but I figure she must have.

I mean, the things I saw played with and reshaped in Carry On, are fanfic tropes. Rowell took things that grew out of fans having fun with their favorite characters and made them canon.

Main character going out with an exchange student, pop culture references, evil good guy, and:

Four words: Draco is a vampire.

Sure, not every fic that used these were the best, but so what? Many were sincere.

What better way to go to Hogwarts as a person raised outside the UK than to live though an OC in an exchange program?

It was weird that no one in the wizard world listened to muggle music, watched movies or TV. Even the muggleborns? I'm sorry, but I was in the same age range as the characters. In fact, if Harry were real, he would be three years older than me. You can't convince me that there were not at least a couple of muggleborns who were  sending an owl a week to remind their parents to tape Friends or My So-Called Life.

There were a fair few stories where Dumbledore or even Harry turned out to be evil. Even before we found out Dumbledore wasn't a saint. It can be fun to play with expectations and Dumbledore was too perfect for too long.

The vampire thing? I mean, why not? Either Draco or Snape. It fits enough for a fic, and you can get some fun stuff out of it. Besides Hogwarts allowed a warewolf, why not a vampire?

The point is, this book reminds me of some goofy fics I read but also reminds me of some that I sometimes have to remind myself aren't canon, because fan fiction can be amazing.

Example: It has been years but I still remember a great fic that someone wrote about Uric The Oddball's years at Hogwarts. I don't remember much about it off hand but I do know that if I re-read HP, when Uric is mentioned, I think of this story like it is something that is actually in the history of the series. (Dude, I googled "Uric the Oddball fan fiction" on a whim. Popped right up: Uric the Oddball and the Wild Hunt by Ariana Deralte. Guess I shouldn't be surprised! Maybe I should read it again to see if it's still as good as I remember).

So yeah, Carry On is so not an HP knock off and has a number of things that I think make me like it more.

The first one is diversity. It is very nice to have it explicitly said in the text that characters are of different ethnicities, sexualities, and abilities. Watford is a far better representation of a population than Hogwarts is, outside of fanfic (It wasn't there, people wrote it in).

Then there is magic itself, it comes from somewhere it's in the environment, it has to do with celestial alignment, people give words power to channel that energy.

That brings me to something that made me adore the world building here.

The actuality of Simon Snow's universe is that Mages cannot exist independently without the Normals. Without the Normals giving weight and meaning to turns of phrase, rhyme and songs, the Mages couldn't do what they do. Add to that, this means that magic is ever evolving and the Mages must learn about and be a part of, to some extent, the Normal world. This makes Mages who look down on Normals seem even more ridiculous.

I also think this book handled romance better than Harry Potter. I don't know what it was but the relationships seemed awkward and strained in HP. Maybe it was because most of it was shoved into one book, like Hogwarts's water supply was spiked with hormones? I don't know.

What I do know is that even though Simon and Agetha are going through the motions of being together in this book, they still feel like two people who have been dating for a long time.

We don't get a lot about Penny and her boyfriend, but the way she is described talking about him reminds me of how my best friend would talk about her boyfriends when she was visiting me. The way she would go on, you'd think that he was on the moon instead of 90 miles away. I bought that Penny and her boyfriend enjoy each other's company.

And the biggie. Simon and Baz

I almost didn't read this book for two reasons. First: Vampire main character. I love vampires, but I lived through the deluge of Twilight, True Blood, and Vampire Diaries, not to mention that every other book seemed to be about vampires. Even though I didn't watch or read all of them, I just got vampired out.

Second: I have never been one for the whole "enemies to love interest" thing. The Harry/Draco pairing never spoke to me.  Not that I never read fics that managed that ship well, it was just not my favorite, probably because I just never liked Draco.  I tend to prefer romances that are built on friendship (Remus and Sirius dated each other at some point, and nothing can convince me otherwise).

All that being said, I like the Simon/Baz pairing.

I like that Baz freely admits to the reader that a lot of his tormenting of Simon is pigtail pulling.

I like that Simon is more or less: "I like a guy? A guy who was my nemisis? That's new, let's go for it."

There's none of that "Hate turns to love" shit that I personally can't stand.  None of the "I am evil, yet his light draws me" or "His darkness is so seductive"

Baz isn't a villain needing to rethink his position. He's a slightly snobby guy with a lot of family pressure, who is in love with a dude who has been set up as opposition, by the adults in his life.

Simon isn't a good guy wanting to be bad. He's a guy who is following the path set out for him without giving context to his feelings with thought, because he doesn't think. So, when Baz doesn't show up at the first of the year, Simon knows 3 things for sure:

Baz is his enemy

His enemy is not there

He feels very uneasy about it.

Why?

See numbers 1 & 2

This equals out to "plotting" in Simon's mind because that's what enemies do.

It doesn't dawn on him that he was actually missing Baz and that he has romantic feelings for him until later

I also like the interaction between them. Again, I buy that they like each other. The simpler moments, like sharing food, or being flirty. It also makes sense that Baz is so nervous and guarded about the relationship. It fits that they would bicker and argue while trying to figure every thing out.

The relationships feel authentic.

In fact all of the relationships between  the characters feel authentic.  The sibling relationships between Ebb and Nicky, I know siblings that close. The interaction between Baz and his little sister, I know people like them too. The Friendships; in my opinion, too few friends in fiction are depicted messing with each other or being lovingly annoyed by each other.

I've known my two best friends most of my life. Not a day goes by where one of us doesn't say something that if it was said by anyone else, it would lead to a fight. Said by us, it's funny, or at least something we can't argue with.

So I related when Baz's friend complained that he had wasted his childhood hating Simon now that Simon and Baz were no longer enemies and Baz said: "What else were you going to do with your childhood?"

I spent my 20's with my friends seemingly taking turns crashing at my apartment. I spent most of my time ossulating between wishing they would go home and being glad they were there.

So at the beginning of the book, when Penny won't leave Simon's room? I saw myself in the way Simon felt about it.

That authentic and relatable quality was what I really liked about the quiet - if not Happily Ever After - then the Attempting Normal For Now ending each character got.

Well, as normal as you can get with a story involving  mages, vampires and powerful Elton John songs.

I am a dodecahedron of geekdom, btw and the classic rock side jumped up and down clapping hands at all of the music references (and giggled when Carry On was fallowed by Wayward Son which will be followed by Anyway The Wind Blows). 

And now we come to the reason I have not read the sequel even though it is sitting in a bag with the rest of this year's Powell's haul.

From what I have read, Wayward Son is, at least in part, about what happens after Happily Ever After and ends on a cliffhanger. 

After Happily Ever After with a cliffhanger and no release date... Yeah, that will drive me crazy. I haven't even read the second book and I'm already thinking about the third. Aw man! Who dies? Who breaks up? Who becomes evil?

So, even though road trip stories are right up there with time travel stories as one of my favorites, even though I love the idea of showing a character battling depression, even though I love these characters, period; Wayward Son will stay unread until I run out of new books to read, or the next book's release date is close. Whichever comes first, because I want to think of the characters in their quiet ending ending for a little while.

[jsteneil]

So today (the 30th) is my birthday so here’s a birthday prompt for our boy and queen himself that I started and forgot to finish in february  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Neil is on his feet as soon as Kevin opens the door.

“We’re going,” he says.

Kevin stares at him for a second, dropping his bag on the floor—that book on the socio-economical development of railway in Europe is heavy—, but Neil’s face doesn’t change.

“Did you have afternoon classes? You shouldn’t go to practice on an empty stomach.”

“I’m fine,” Neil says. Somewhere on campus, Andrew’s whole body just spasmed, Kevin is sure. “We’re not going to practice.”

“What?” Neil’s gaze strays to the side. Kevin follows it to the calendar taped to the fridge. “Oh, no,” he says, catching on. “We have a game next week.”

“It’s in seven days,” Neil says. “We’d have gone out to Eden’s anyway.”

He’s still standing in the middle of the room, so Kevin takes his bag and makes his way to the bedroom, the farthest point from the front door. If he can get on his bed, open a book, maybe take a nap—

“You won’t even celebrate your birthday,” he says as Neil follows him.

“It’s not my decision.” Neil looks and sounds a bit like he’s dreading this as much as Kevin. There is not a celebratory bone in his body.

“Did Nicky put you up to this?”

“I can’t say.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a liar?”

Neil’s phone must go off, because he fishes it out of his pocket and clicks a number of keys to read a message. He conveniently forgets to answer. Kevin collapses on his bed and tries not to think of the beautiful embrace of sleep.

“I’m allowed to use force,” Neil says, looking up from his phone.

Kevin stares at him for a while. “How?”

Neil doesn’t answer that either. “Come on.”

No amount of scowling deters Neil from dragging him through the door and pointedly locking it shut. Kevin wants to tell him he has his own keys, but when he looks closely, he realizes that it’s his set of keys that Neil is using, and he doesn’t give them back. Neil types something on his phone one-handed, then snaps it shut with a vengeance.

“Alright, let’s go.”

By the time they make their way downstairs, Andrew is leaning against the Maserati in the parking lot, pale and black like an omen of ill-fortune. Kevin scowls at the cigarette pinched between his lips. Ever since he started running with Bee after her accident, they’ve all noticed a significant decrease in the number of cigarettes smoked around the dorm, but on weekends Andrew still lets himself go.

Kevin wishes he could pluck the stick out from Andrew’s grasp and stomp on his addiction at the same time, but even for him that’s hypocritical.

“Finally,” Andrew says as he puts the cigarette out.

“Did you wait long?” Neil asks, getting close.

Kevin turns his eyes away and slides in the passenger seat. Watching Neil and Andrew grow into something more every day feels both natural and slightly bitter. There might only have been Nicky to be surprised by their relationship. To Kevin, it’s as resounding as the shock of an exy ball thumped against a wall.

To Kevin’s surprise, no one is waiting in the car. Neil slides in the backseat, leaving Kevin to sit next to Andrew’s characteristic wall of silence.

“Where are the others?” he asks as Andrew backs the car out of its parking spot. He assumes they’re going to Columbia, but it makes little sense for them to go without the others. Kevin is glad he’s not rooming with Nicky anymore if it turns out Andrew and Neil have planned on going out without him.

Andrew hits the brake. “It’s a surprise,” he says, as if Andrew Minyard somehow understood the concept of birthday surprises. “Neil?”

“Oh, yeah.” Neil’s knee hits the back of Kevin’s seat when he contorts himself to extract something from his pocket. He throws the thing on Kevin’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to put this on.”

It’s one of the shirts Nicky bought for Neil when they go out to Eden’s, a scrap of black mesh fabric. It’s surprisingly tiny when folded over itself.

“This is never going to fit me,” Kevin says. He senses a headache building behind his eyes. Andrew still hasn’t backed the car out of its spot. “Did you both hit your heads? Is this a parallel universe? What’s going on?”

“It’s a blindfold,” Andrew says, turning over in his seat. “For the surprise.”

“You want me to blindfold myself with a shirt.”

“I thought the sleeves would be useful to tie it behind you,” Neil says. “I considered putting a bag over your head but it seemed a bit too execution-style even for me.”

Contrary to what people might think upon meeting him, Kevin knows that Neil actually can make jokes. He’s not sure this is one of them.

“Yes or no?” Neil asks impatiently as Kevin considers the shirt.

“We could stuff him in the trunk,” Andrew suggests, leaning up to meet Neil’s gaze in the back mirror.

Coming from Andrew, the suggestion might be even more dangerous than Neil’s mob-style blindfolding method. Still, his tone was light—as light as it gets—and Kevin is eighty-percent sure it was another joke.

This is shaping up to be a weird evening.

“Fine,” he relents. Andrew is clearly not starting the car again until Kevin has a shirt tied around his face. He hands the shirt back to Neil. “Do it.”

Neil rolls the shirt a few times in the air, then places it around Kevin’s head. Kevin directs the shirt to rest above his eyes but clear of his nose, tucking up a bit hanging in front of his face.

“There,” Neil says. He tugs on the to make sure they’re secure, then Kevin feels him sitting back. “Sure you can’t see anything?”

Everything is black. “Just go.”

Andrew finally turns the key in the ignition again.

“Kevin wouldn’t have fit in the trunk,” Neil says as though he’d been seriously considering Andrew’s proposition. “We’d need a SUV. I’m not sure even I would fit.”

“Don’t push me,” Andrew warns, “or you’ll find out.”

It feels weird to hear their voices in the dark, so close and disembodied.

“Please stop flirting,” Kevin says to remind them that the shirt covers his eyes, not his ears.

Neil presses his foot into Kevin’s lower back, gentler than he could have been. The next time he speaks, it’s in German. Andrew hums in response, then the Maserati jerks brutally to the right and Kevin is left without point of reference to his surroundings. He was sure they were almost out of the parking lot, but he thinks Andrew might be turning around on purpose to confuse him.

Coming from Neil, it’s not surprising.

It’s too short a drive for them to be in Columbia, though it’s longer than Kevin would have anticipated. Maybe they’re still in Palmetto. Maybe they went to Abby’s house.

His mind is still churning out hypotheses when he hears Neil’s and Andrew’s doors open. Kevin scrambles for the tie to the blindfold, but his door opens before he can get to it. “Don’t touch,” Neil says. “Get out, I’ll guide you.”

“I can get out of the car just fine,” Kevin says, batting his hands away. He almost trips when he stands up, but thankfully Neil doesn’t remark on it. Hands on his elbow guide him a few steps away, then Neil’s voice comes from behind him.

“You can take it off.”

Kevin does, cursing when the knot catches in his hair. Neil tied it tight, too, and in the end Kevin just sort of rips it out.

He has to blink a few times to get his vision back. The high lights are still as bright as usual, blinding for someone who spent the past fifteen minutes in the dark.

They’re outside the court.

“Surprise!” the Foxes shout before Kevin can say something. They’re all huddled in front of the athletes’ entrance.

“Happy birthday,” Dan says, stepping forward. “We couldn’t do anything last year so we figured we’d do something twice as fun today.”

Last year’s February 22nd was a Thursday just before a game, so Kevin had forbidden any of the Foxes to make a fuss. He had spent his twenty-first birthday watching Andrew eat the cake Nicky bought for him and trying not think about his past.

He’d spent the one before that drinking himself into a stupor, shaking every time his eyes fell on the dirty white of his cast.

“What kind of fun?” Kevin asks anyway.

“You’ll see,” Dan says. “Allison?”

Allison turns to rummage into a large shopping bag at her feet, taking out a colorful birthday hat. She hands it out solemnly to Dan, who gestures for Kevin to lean down.

“There you go,” she says, snapping the elastic under his chin.

The hat almost falls off. Kevin automatically reaches to steady it.

“Is this necessary?”

“Yes. Now let’s go in, I’m freezing.”

Matt clasps Kevin on the back when he is shuffled forward. “You’ll like it,” he says. “Renee helped organize it, so you know it’s tasteful.”

“I’m surprised anyone on this team knows the meaning of this word.”

“Hey!”

“Case in point,” Neil mutters from somewhere at the back of the group.

“Shush,” Andrew says with his usual brand of brutal fondness. “You don’t get to criticize anyone’s mouthing off.”

The Foxes’ party organizing skills apparently extend to bringing an ungodly amount of alcohol and snacks into the court’s lounge. Kevin doubts this was Renee’s doing, except maybe the small cupcakes decorated with her signature rainbow sprinkles. A large banner is hung from the ceiling, reading “Happy 22nd Birthday, Kevin”, with the twos crossed out and replaced by badly printed pictures of chess pieces.

“Is that the tasteful part?” Kevin mutters.

Andrew slithers past him through the door and glances around. “Look,” he says, pointing to the table in the middle of the room. “Pineapples.”

It might be an answer to his question. It might not. In any case, Andrew’s right: the paper plates are covered in colorful pineapple patterns.

The way Andrew says it makes Kevin glance at him from the corner of his eye. He looks almost too detached, like a caricature of himself.

“Were you the one who told them I like pineapples?” Kevin asks, because he’s never been good at denying himself the hope of provoking Andrew into responding.

“You’re not that much of a mystery,” Andrew replies, which is neither here nor there. He leaves, cutting short the conversation, and makes a beeline for the frost-covered cupcakes.

The Foxes must have passed the word around not to leave Kevin alone all day, because Nicky replaces his cousin almost immediately.

“Kevin, my man,” he starts. Then: “No, it’s terrible. Dude? Sir? I can’t tell how formal you are.”

“I’ve known you for two years,” Kevin replies. “I saw you dance at 4am in your underwear.”

“Yeah, but that’s me. The neighbors probably saw it. I doesn’t mean I know their names.”

Their Columbia neighbors are an old couple who always look at them from behind their blinds when they’re at the house. Kevin isn’t sure he ever wants to know their names.

“Anyway,” Nicky continues. He places a glass of some colorful alcoholic beverage in Kevin’s hand. “Drink up, birthday boy!”

Matt does a drum roll on the back of the couch. Kevin drinks. The other Foxes cheer.

At one point Renee comes up to him, hugs him and tells him, “The cupcakes on the left are carrot cake. Lemon icing. Happy birthday!”

Neil flits in and out of his vision all evening, always too distracted for Kevin to hold even one conversation on when he intends to catch up on their missed evening training session. If they’re not going to Columbia for the weekend, Sunday is the perfect opportunity to use the court.  

They all get progressively more and more drunk as the evening progresses, until Allison’s lying on the couch with her head in Renee’s lap and Renee’s hand in her hair. Kevin downs his drink and mulls it over. It’s not an entirely new development, but it still takes Kevin by surprise.

“Ha,” Dan says. Kevin starts a little. He didn’t hear her approach. “Mark the day. Bet you fifty bucks they’ll be together by spring break.”

For someone who built her future career over reading team players and working with their dynamics, Dan is excruciatingly bad at relationships which aren’t her own.

“I’ll take it,” Kevin says.

“Really? You usually don’t bet.”

“I refused to bet on Neil and Andrew we had better things to do last year than waste time on such an obvious outcome.”

“Are you saying you’re happy with the way the season is going? Aw.” Dan hugs him one-armed, squeezing him almost painfully against her side. “Guys!” she calls before Kevin can squirm out of her hold. “Kevin’s just said he’s proud of us!”

The team cheers.

“I didn’t—” Kevin splutters, but he cuts himself short. This isn’t the battle he wants to fight.

“You’ve mellowed,” Dan says, winking at him before Matt catches her attention.

Kevin stares at her as she retreats, pressing the edge of his cup in his chin. Maybe he has.

[suepixels]

15 | Breakdown [🔗]

San My City Memorial Park, 11:31 am

Everyone is still sitting on their chairs. Caught up in their thoughts. Manny sees that RJ is holding his hand against his head. His eyes tell that something is wrong. Many shouts concerned: ”RJ, what is going on with you? Are you okay?” All see that something is going on with RJ he went pale for a second. They get up. London reacts quickly, he sees that something bad is going on with him. RJ feels suddenly dizzy his head hurts, he staggers, he’s about to fall.

RJ whispers: London, I don’t feel good.

RJ fell almost but London stood up instantly to prevent that he is going to fall. Both end up on the floor. RJ is on his knees and he is shaken by an intense sob. This is final and the end of the road for his love and children. His world falls apart as he realizes now the true meaning of there is nothing, truly nothing worth to fight for. He breaks into tears and can’t stop, he talked about it today but it was still so distant like a dream! He starts to reflect that his heart has been shattered into millions of pieces, he might never be able to feel love, again. All he had he lost. There is no way back to what he had. His hope to experience a love like this ever again vanishes right there in his hopeless situation.

London: RJ, Man, what are you doing to yourself? Look at me, RJ!   RJ: They are dead, London, all of them, they are fuckin’ DEAD! This is not how it supposed to be, this went so wrong! I should have been with them together instead of being in the office that day, pitching for the next big deal, it’s my fault London. London: Don’t go there and start to scourge yourself. It’s not your fault RJ. Don’t do this to yourself, don’t go there, forget this guilt trip. Do you hear me? I think this was too much for you. You need to rest, RJ! We are going to take you home! You’re having a mental breakdown. RJ can’t face anybody right now, he feels ashamed and puts his hand in his lap, he gives up. If he would look up right now, he would need to face how his father would look down at him for being so fuckin’ weak. He tried so hard but it’s too much to handle, he closes his eyes. RJ whispers: I can’t deal with it anymore. I feel a heavy burden on my shoulders, I don’t know. I suddenly felt like my legs gave up on me. London, drive me home, please. I can’t be here any longer - I...I can’t breathe. London: Alright, let’s go, bro! Can you get up? RJ: Yes. Remy stood up instantly, trying to help but he noticed that his son was asking for London, so he decided to stay where he was. He can’t believe how devastated his son is. This honestly crushed even his cool heart. Tears fill up his eyes and he wishes he could do something about it, take his pain away. Lala did a quick outcry out of surprise that RJ broke down. But she didn’t dare to get closer to him, he would probably either scream at her or be indifferent towards her again. She covers her mouth, speechless, seeing her son so broken, it breaks her heart for him. Lala goes to Remy and squeezes his hands for reassurance.

Remy: Son, you need to rest. London can you give me later a call and let us know that everything is alright? I will send him our doctor to check on him. Just in case to make sure he is fine, as far as it is possible to say that for now.

London: Sure Mr. Holmes, I will give you a call as soon the doctor did check on him. 

He ignores that Mr. Holmes is having tears in his eyes, simply because he knows that the “Holmes Men” take pride in being strong and talking to them about their own emotions is not something they really want to discuss. Except for RJ who trusted London so much that he could move him, to open up to London over time, once they became friends. Remy rubs his misty eyes, trying to prevent that London sees it. 

Remy formal: You are a loyal and a damm good friend to my son. I’m happy he has you because I honestly don’t know what he would do if he would be alone. London: Of course Sir, we stick together in good and bad. I consider himself as my best friend, he is not only my business partner. He was there when I needed a friend so now I can be there for him, that’s what friends are for.

Remy taps on London’s shoulder. Remy: Thank you for taking care of my son and make sure to notify me if my son needs me. Now I need to comfort my wife what a messed up day. Niara seemed to be happy, she already had a cheerful conversation with Pastor Mcmillian. Does this woman has feelings at all? Nicky wonders. The funeral was for sure over. The other family member left, right after the ceremony when RJ broke down. They couldn’t help so it was time to leave since his parents and his best friend took care of him. Nicky needs to bring Neely and Maxine home but he will go later to RJ to check on him. He didn’t want to get involved in this conversation, he couldn’t help but he felt his cousin’s pain. Nicky saw his uncle for the very first time having tears in his eyes and he never thought that he would ever see him crying. 

Nicky wonders at this moment did he ever see his father cry? He can’t recall a memory, his father was always the strongest! But how strong would all Holmes men be, if they would lose what they love the most like RJ? On his way out of the chapel Nicky thinks:

“RJ you are not alone, we will fix you and help you through this rough time! If you’re fit tonight we can check out the nightlife for some fun, to ease your mind, I think I have a better place in mind than Rockstarrz”.

START | PREVIOUS | NEXT

[wulfrann]

Andreil Contemporary Dance AU Because I Can

I don't know what this is. Call it a bullet-point fic, a ficlet, a one-shot, but the point is - the thought of a Contemporary Dance AU wouldn't leave my mind, so I wrote it down and here you go.

It's messy and barely edited and very self-indulging, but maybe this can be my Happy New Year contribution to the fandom.

- Palmetto's Foxes is a dance school known as an eclectic, unsynchronized, bastard group that mixes various types of dancing into contemporary with various levels of success. Kevin is appalled at first and convinced that they need to stick to one genre, but then he realizes that it could actually work, maybe, as long as they reinforce the contemporary elements to make it a real basis for all the other stuff that they add to it. Also they need to work on their group dancing, because solo/duet stuff is great but they're a team too so they need to start acting like it.

*

- Dan knows how to pole dance. She does it once during a solo performance and it's the most majestic thing ever. Matt can't stop talking about it for months. (and no one can really blame him)

- Renee can breakdance. I will fight you on that.

- Allison used to do ballet at a high level when she was still living with her parents. It got her into a fucked up mindset that nearly broke her, but she's slowly learning to appreciate it again for what it is, and not the memories it is tied to. (Renee helps. with that. because I'm weak.)

- I feel like Nicky would know some ballroom dancing? He would have gotten into it in Germany with Erik because it is a Thing there to have ballroom dance classes when you can afford it (sources are my German teacher who's German). He's petrified with fear the first few times and only dances with girls (there are more of them than guys anyway), but after getting with Erik and starting to be at peace with himself they start practicing together. Nicky can't help but cry a little the first time, because this is real and Erik is real and he's dancing with a boy and that boy is smiling at him like nothing else around them matters, and it's all a little too much to take in. But he does, eventually.

*

- The Ravens are this super elite, very competitive dance club with. "disputable" methods. They do a lot of group dancing where everyone is doing exactly the same movement, with Riko as their only lead dancer. Kevin was his go-to partner for duets before he left. Then it was Jean, and then no one because he sucks.

- Riko broke Kevin's right foot, not hand. He has to adapt his dancing not to put too much weight or strain on it, which takes a lot to hide.

*

- When Jean joins the Trojans, he's completely unable to dance duets or any kind of non-group dancing. His feet are in the worst shape and he's got bruises all over.

- So Jeremy takes it upon himself to make Jean fall in love with dancing all over again and to Jeremy, that means reminding him that dancing can be fun, too. Which means Jeremy giving Jean improv dancing and ballroom dancing lessons in private, just the two of them.

- It works, of course.

- Except Jean doesn't fall in love with just dancing, and Jeremy gets caught in his own trap because a carefree Jean might actually be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

*

- Neil mostly did ballet as a kid because that's what the Ravens have the children do (teaches discipline and all the basics, according to them, which isn't entirely false from my understanding).

- When he was running with Mary, he used to stare at any kind of dancing whenever he thought she wasn't looking. Not long after her death he's squatting in this house, right, and there's a small dance club two blocks away. Neil tries, he really tries not to give in - but it's a Monday night, or maybe it's a Tuesday, he hasn't been keeping track - he's out of food and hasn't slept in days, because the nightmares are worse than the frantic beating of his heart against his skull and the shaking, incontrollable, that makes any lock picking last minutes he can't afford. The sun is setting behind the suburban buildings as he walks past the dance club, and maybe the light catches on the picture window, maybe there's music filtering out the cracked-open door, or maybe Neil's feet are too heavy to keep going past the building and into the empty, cold house.

- Neil stops.

- He stops, and stares right through the window.

- He doesn't know what kind of dancing it is, doesn't remember anything about it except the focus, suddenly, the sense of purpose and here and this is what living looks like, and his heart in his chest. Beating.

- Neil picks his way into the house within seconds that night, and sleeps.

- In the morning he's gone.

- His mother would beat him up if she saw him taking dance lessons again. But his mother is dead, and dancing is the only thing driving Neil to make sure he isn't.

*

- When Wymack and Kevin show up after his contemporary dance class, Neil makes a run for it and gets punched in the stomach by a small blond guy, because of course Andrew Minyard came with.

- Both his parents' imprint in his flesh isn't enough to make Neil disappear this time.

*

- When Neil trains with Kevin at night they mostly do ballet, though Kevin makes sure that whatever they do doesn't interfere with regular training.

*

Andrew always dances alone, and Neil doesn't understand why.

His posture is good, and somehow melts into the movements without ever going soft. It's like watching a stream boil down the mountain's flank, except the stream is 5 feet tall and makes the mountain look pliable.

Every time he looks at him, Neil wonders what it must be like to dance with someone as steady and centered as Andrew. Wonders what it must be like to be centered.

Then he snaps out of it and pulls his mind back to practice.

*

"Why do you always dance alone?"

Andrew blows the smoke out of his mouth and studies Neil's face through the wisps.

"Why are you always in the back?"

"I asked first."

"And I asked second. Afraid you might trip?"

Neil crosses his arms. "I don't trip."

"So you're afraid to stand out."

It's not a question, so Neil doesn't answer. "Why do you only dance alone?"

Andrew takes another drag out of his cigarette, then lets it drop to the ground and steps on it.

"I don't do teamwork well," he says, and then goes back inside.

*

Kevin asks Neil to do a duet with him at some point during the regionals. They've been practicing together for a while now and although they clash a lot, Kevin and Wymack think there's potential there. Neil panics and says no. When Kevin starts pressing the matter, Andrew interrupts.

"Drop it, Kevin. Rabbits only know how to dance when they're running."

Kevin storms out, and Neil stares at Andrew with clenched teeth.

"I'm not running."

"Could have fooled me."

*

- Neil agrees to do the duet with Kevin, but only if they practice it during their night sessions for now.

- "If we can't make it work with the group, there's no point doing it."

- "Take it or leave it. We don't even know if we can sync together. If it works, we'll take it to the rest of the group."

- It's a disaster, of course. Neil has never done duet work since he was a child, and his approach to dancing clashes with Kevin's.

*

"I can't dance with him."

Neil and Andrew are on the rooftop, the smell of tobacco and ash floating up lazily to the stars hidden by the city lights. A red glow cuts out Andrew's features against the night, his silhouette a mere shadow but for his face.

"I thought you were done running," Andrew says, blowing out smoke.

"I am."

"Then act like it."

Neil lets his eyes wander to where Andrew's hand is tapping his cigarette against the edge of the rooftop, cinder flakes falling down like snow, weightless and bright. Stretching beneath them the city sleeps, a quiet map of lights.

"Help me practice."

The sound of his own voice surprises him. The silence that follows is filled with it.

Andrew turns a blank stare to Neil.

"I don't mean the choreography," Neil says, slowly forcing out the words. "Help me practice dancing with someone."

A beat.

"I only dance alone."

"I'm no one, aren't I? You said so yourself."

Andrew flicks the remainder of his cigarette into the darkness and leaves. Neil watches it fall down until Andrew's footsteps down the stairs stop echoing through the night.

*

It's not until three days have passed and Neil is this close to giving up on the duet that Andrew gives him an answer.

It comes in the form of a small stereo sitting on the rooftop, music winding from its speaker and escaping from the roof like smoke, slow and flimsy.

The first time isn't really dancing. Mostly they just stare, feet solidly planted into the ground. Then Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew takes a step forward. He takes a hold of Neil's wrists and brings them to his shoulders, then puts his hands on Neil's waist. They stay like this until the end of the song.

The second time they start shuffling along with the music.

The third time Andrew tells Neil to open his eyes. They swing, slightly, and Andrew's face is more blank than ever. Neil takes it as a victory none the less.

The fourth time, Neil asks if he can try something and takes Andrew's right hand in his. Andrew lets him.

The sixth time, Neil figures out a few steps - and smiles when Andrew goes along with them. They're awkward, barely in rhythm parodies of the dancing Neil has been watching with increasing frequency on his free time, but they start to settle into it after the third try.

After that, Neil keeps testing out steps, trying to place them on the music, and repeating them for as long as Andrew will let him. Sometimes they only go through it once, sometimes four, and sometimes Andrew stops before the end of the song. But he always comes back.

*

By the time Neil feels sort of comfortable dancing with Andrew, dancing with Kevin starts getting bearable - sometimes even rewarding. Neil stops trying to put as much distance between them as he can, and he starts enjoying the movements, too. Kevin is nothing if not meticulous, but he makes it look effortless, and the choreaography reflects that. It's a rapid, wild dance, with a lot of back and forth that gets suspended, for a split second, then starts again, changing forms. Kevin calls it a tide, once, and Neil starts to feel the waves in the music and the wind carrying salt across the pale wooden floor.

Kevin gives him a twelve-hour notice for their first group practice. Neil barely sleeps.

He doesn't know what, exactly, makes his body stiffen as soon as he walks into the room, but the whole thing is a disaster. Kevin makes him run laps, which he does enough of that the burning in his muscles is the only thing he can think about.

It goes about as well the next day, so Kevin cancels their night practice so he can get his thoughts together.

"If you can't give it your whole tomorrow, don't bother showing up."

Neil goes for a run. When he comes back, Andrew is waiting for him outside the building. They walk up to the roof without a word and start dancing, simply repeating the movements that Neil put together over time. The music, slow and familiar, wraps itself around them like a stream, and Neil is content just to let himself be carried. He loses the tension in his muscles, in his chest, lets the current wash it off into the night.

Then Andrew does something new - and Neil has to pull his focus back to follow, to stare, as well, to fall back into the regular steps as he studies Andrew's face, unmoving and unmoved, bored but for the the slightest hitch pulling at the corner of his mouth and his hold, steady, focused - open.

Neil debates saying something, but closes his mouth to smile instead.

"What?" Andrew asks, voice flat. Neil focuses on the music, adds a step without leaving Andrew's eyes.

"Nothing."

*

- The group practice with Kevin isn't perfect the next day, but it flows. Kevin makes him work even harder that night, "to make up for the time you wasted". Neil doesn't complain.

- They dance the duet for the regionals. It just about closes the whole performance, and Neil leaves the stage feeling like his chest will either collapse or burst out. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

Andrew's hand brushes his back lightly when he walks past.

"Junkie."

Neil grabs Andrew's tee-shirt to stop him. "Thank you."

Andrew pushes his smile away with his hand and a frown and leaves before the rest of the Foxes can get there.

*

"I want to dance like that again."

Andrew lights a cigarette and puts it on the ground next to him. Neil takes it, sitting, and takes in the smell. His mother is as fickle as the coils of smoke rising above them that night, so he lets it rest. Andrew picks it up from where Neil put it down between the two of them and takes a drag, blowing out the smoke with his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Neil waits for Andrew to turn towards him. "Next time I want to dance a duet with you," he says. Neither of them wavers, but the air between them does.

Andrew reaches for Neil's neck, bringing it down.

"What makes you think I want to dance with you?"

Andrew's words smell of smoke and Neil can feel the heat of his breath grazing his face, sees it in Andrew's eyes clear as the city lights.

"Because we did."

Something flickers across his face, quick as a ghost.

Neil knows he could pull away if he wanted to, but when Andrew brings him closer he lets him.

"Yes or no?"

There is a tension in them, pulling - whether it's a tide or a stream, Neil doesn't know. But he dives anyway.

"Yes."

Andrew kisses him, and the weight of Andrew's hand at the back of his neck is an anchor that the storm in his chest cannot reach.

Kissing Andrew is not much different from dancing with him, Neil thinks.

And then he stops thinking.

[allforthecourtt]

rereading aftg with my dumbass opinions pt. 2 (tfc chapters 6-10)

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

look guys! its the highly unanticipated continuation of my reread of aftg!

chapter 6 (aka. meet this MESS of a team)

“My mother's family is French." It was a lie that probably had his British mother rolling over in her sandy grave.”

neil really never misses an opportunity to remind readers that he fucking buried his mom on the beach huh?

“A liar who practices occasional honesty. Clever. Keeps people guessing. Very effective. I would know. I do it myself, you see. Come on, then. After you.”

have i mentioned how entertaining high andrew is? because he’s funny as hell

also rereading these are fun because Nora is incredible at foreshadowing just sayin

“Neil automatically reached for his seatbelt, but one of the brothers was sitting on it.”

how neil would be in the back of the cousins’ car if they let him:

“You?" Neil said. "You can't." Andrew's smile curved wider. "Ohhh, that sounds like a challenge. Mother may I?" "Your mother's dead. I don't think she cares what you do.”

HO HO HOLY SHIT NEIL

“Starting a fight was too out of character for who he portrayed "Neil” to be, though.”

“Consider this your official invite, you suicidal wretch. I'm bringing you to Columbia with us this Friday.”

awe suicidal wretch... glad they’re starting those pet names early

“I don't drink or dance," Neil said.

andrew: i kno u can

“Kevin doesn't dance anymore”

anymore? ANYMORE??? release the cursed events that led to him not dancing anymore Nora im begging you

“Are you bleeding anywhere?" Matt asked. "Nowhere vital," Neil said.

gskjgnsak god i stan this little asshole so much

“She said it gently, with the hint of a smile on her face, but Neil still felt the rebuke. It was subtler but somehow deadlier”

have i mentioned how gay i am for renee? because im very gay for renee

“Allison looked ready for a photo shoot with perfect platinum curls, spiked heels, and a skintight dress.”

im also gay for allison ngl

“I can move if you want to sit here," Neil said. "No, this is fine." She smiled, but it had a smug edge to it, probably because Seth was glaring at them like he could kill them with willpower alone. ”

lol remember how neil doesn’t think he’s attractive and yet in 0.1 seconds after meeting him allison is like “yes this idiot is hot enough to piss off the other idiot im dating”

“Personal favorite was when someone told the police we were running a meth lab out of the dorm," Dan said sourly. "Police raids are awesome.”

no offence dan but that’s fucking hilarious omg

that’s kind of like the time my residence floor had to get evacuated bc some kids hotboxed their dorm room

god i love uni

“The death threats were creative, though," Nicky said. "Maybe this time they'll follow through and actually kill one of us. Let's vote. I nominate Seth.”

pfffffttttt i love Nicky omg

also hahahahahah foreshadowing!

“It'll be fine," Andrew said. "I promised, didn't I? Don't you believe me?" It took a while, but at last Kevin visibly relaxed. ”

again this is why i thought they were fucking for like the better part of the first two books

“The dead look Kevin turned on Andrew today was the same look Neil saw in his reflection. When Neil stopped acting, when he stopped worrying about who was watching, when he let go of the lies that kept him alive, that was the only expression he could make.”

it’s fine i didnt need a heart anyways

this kid is 18 hes A BABY

the first time i read this i was 18 too and like jfc i was a BABY at 18 and so i neil

“One of us has to make it, Mom." It wasn't going to be Neil. It was obvious he was too stupid to survive without his mother if he let himself get into messes like this. But maybe Kevin could do it.”

sorry let me just wipe my TEARS off my fucking laptop neil honey what the fuck

“He felt distant as he watched them walk in. Maybe he was already dying, his stupid soul fading from his short body in preparation for a brutal end.”

neil we get it you have depression (me too bitch u aint special)

“Fuck running," Seth said.

now that’s a whole ass mood

“he didn't know how Renee could smile so warmly when she was speaking to Andrew.”

haha bitch just wait

“when he slept, he dreamed of his father waiting for him on the Foxhole Court.”

remember how at the end of the series his father is waiting on the court but neil wins??? god we love good storytelling

this is such a fucking wild chapter

could you imagine? coming back from the summer and your first introduction to this amateur from arizona is this neil josten level of sass? because i’d probably kill him

first years are bad enough but first years who dont care about other people’s opinions? the fucking worst

chapter 7 (aka. neil does NOT have a fun night out)

“It seemed Allison and Seth didn't believe in middle ground: either they were slinging vile insults at each other or they were making out in the locker room regardless of whoever might be around.”

that’s just how the straights are

“It reminded Neil a little of Allison and Seth, except without the desperate sexual undertones.”

i’ll just leave this gem of a line here

“His teammates held so little regard for him he didn't even have the dubious honor of being dead last.”

neil shading himself is actually hilarious how relatable

“Neil watched him do it, trying to remember the last time someone gave him a gift and coming up blank. That his first one should be from Andrew was unsettling.”

i actually love the fact that andrew bought him clothes so early on like andrew your gay is showing

“Neil debated how much damage the thick heels of his new boots would do against Andrew's face and liked what his mind came up with.���

i thank god everyday that these books are neil’s pov

“Andrew gave Neil another slow once-over and let go. "We're going.”

^andrew seeing neil w/o contacts (aka. the ‘i can’t think straight’ vine)

“Most of the men wore leather, half the women had corsets, and a good number of both genders were covered in buckles and chains.”

this... is a... gay bar

“Andrew saluted the bouncers on his way by and led the way into the club, bypassing the line entirely.”

i always forget the drinking age in the us is 21 but like this bar really dont care about their liquor license AT ALL lmao

“You think Kevin would risk his future over a night out at the club?" "What future?" Neil asked.”

WOW NEIL WAY TO BE A BITCH

“Neil hadn't seen Aaron get up, but he was waiting behind Neil when Andrew let go. Neil reached for Andrew with lethal intent, but Aaron grabbed the back of his chair and pulled hard enough to topple it over.”

why are the twins literally this gif:

real talk nicky kissing neil like that is horrible and really reflects poorly on nicky as a character

andrew for this entire chapter:

chapter 8 (aka. a hitchhiker’s guide to lying about your identity)

“I don't know how your conversation with Andrew went, but it didn't end well. Rumor has it you paid a busboy a hundred bucks to knock you out. Way to cut our night short.”

this is probably my favourite thing neil does in the entire series ngl

“Wymack grabbed his elbow and hauled him inside. He slowed just long enough to slam the door behind Neil. "Are you stupid or just crazy? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you between here and there? What were you thinking?”

Why does Wymack literally sound like my father?

foxes: daddy?

wymack: DO I LOOK LIKE

follow up:

kevin: daddy?

wymack: uh yeah

“I don't know what the beef is between you two, but it ends here and now.”

Wymack @ neil: tell your boyfriend, if he says he’s got beef that your a vegetarian and your not fucking scared of him

“Then correct me." "Give me a reason." "Besides the obvious?" Andrew said. "If I can't get an answer from you, I'll get it wherever I can.”

andrew:

“I'm—" Neil didn't want to say it, but the word was already there, broken and pathetic between them, "—nothing. I'll always have and be nothing.”

“He wondered for a moment if Andrew could handle the entire truth so calmly, but that was too dangerous and stupid to consider.”

“Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing, but he thought perhaps he liked it.”

this is such a good fucking line like i am shooketh

chapter 9 (aka. neil is, like, really horny for exy)

“Are you stupid?" Seth asked. "Yeah," Neil said.”

what a fuckin MOOD

“Neil had almost forgotten why he liked Exy so much. He did his best at practices but these days he worked mostly to keep his teammates off his back. As Neil surveyed Kevin's damage, he finally felt inspired again. On its heels was a hungry, desperate rush.”

“Seth made as if to throw his beer at Neil. "His life is not more important than mine just because he's more talented.”

sometimes i really wish seth was actually given a chance to have some character development

“ "Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought." "Maybe I am," Neil said”

another big fucking MOOD

chapter 10 (aka. shocking: university is hard :/ )

“It's fun telling Kevin no," Andrew said with a wicked grin.”

why is andrew like this omg

betsy probably was like just looking for a chill job and was like “oh cool uni students? ill have to deal with like a lot of anxiety, sexual tension, depression and like confusion about the future, not to bad” but NOPE welcome to the fucking MAFIA WARS

“That wasn't so bad, was it? Andrew was convinced it would be a disaster. He put money on you hating Betsy." "Did you bet against him?" "Yes," Renee said. "It was a private bet between the two of us.”

“I hope you didn't lose much," Neil said.”

god why is he such an asshole at every opportunity i love him

“I can take care of myself," Neil said. "Watch me beam with pride.”

wymack is the best father in the world and you cant convince me otherwise

“There was one for every fall team with schedules printed on each. Neil kept the Exy one, tossed the rest into the trash, and buried his magnet deep in his pocket where he didn't have to look at the dates.”

neil “i only care about exy” josten strikes again with his great school spirit

“Palmetto State was facing Edgar Allan on Friday, October 13th”

that’s such a cliche and i love it

“He detoured around students toward one of Palmetto State's three dining halls. Two were for the general student body. The third was for athletes only”

lmao my school literally has one dining hall and it couldnt give less of a fuck what type of student they’re selling food too as long as they’ll pay $15 for chicken fingers

what kind of money does palmetto state fuckin have

like i get us tuition is a lot but jesus so’s mine and my school couldn’t be less fucked

“It was only the first day of school and he already had three assignments: a short paper, a fifty-page chapter to read, and a page of questions about said chapter. Neil debated for a minute as to which one sounded least painful. Five minutes later he was still uninspired, so he put his head down on his desk.”

1. MOOD

2. first years are so cute thinking that’s a lot of assignments i remember in first year being like “i have to read 40 pages thats so unfair :(” and now i’m like “ah sick only 200 pgs of readings this week? im gonna have so much free time!”

upper year history sucks ngl

“I'm fine," Neil said.”

neil knows exactly two (2) words and those are it

“You say that an awful lot," Matt said. "I'm starting to think you don't know what it means.”

overall thoughts:

the plot is pickinnnng upppp

i kind of forget how much world building happens in the first book but like its good

also i love neil literally hating everyone its so funny bc like bby these going to be your best friends just wait

anyways that’s all for now

part 3 will be the rest of tfc and then we’ll move onto trk if you guys still want more of this? let me know

love u all bye