#but that's a cheap trick song so it would be off brand

[geddy-leesbian]

deciding on a title for the flashbacks thing is the hardest thing ive ever done in my life

[husbandohunter]

Hey, I just found your blog through your adorable A Smaller Predicament headcanons. You’re an amazing writer and I was wondering if you could please do a version of that for Venti?

A Small(er) Predicament [Venti x Reader]

Synopsis: When you have to deal with each other's quirkiness as either him as a child or you as a pocket-sized human being

(Two seperate scenarios of Smol Series 1 and 2)

(A/n): Awww you're too kind anon and Venti is such a good addition to this. He's already babie (just look at the art #protecc)

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

Venti as a smol baby

The price for the Anemo Archon taking the form of a 12-year old boy had errupted some unique reprocussions after the potion effect: Rather than a young child with the capacity of walking at best, he reduced to something much much younger...a baby.

This meant that Venti will articulate the exact traits of an average one year old except he's more chaotic given his godly powers. It's because he's yet to learn his powers, if Klee could blow up the entirety of DragonSpine, then Barbatos would spin a tornado enough to flatten the mountains and plains altogether. You pray to god when he happens to sneeze (until you realize he is the god). Time to duck under the table, every item would fly off their tables and snot would be coming down his nose...which you have to wipe now (yuck!)

No matter what form he takes, Venti is still the same troublemaking, free-spirited to a fault and mischevious bard. The type to cry at least three times during sleeping hours and you wake up the next day completely deprived of energy. He's a messy eater as well as a picky eater. Food would constantly be stained around his face to the point you feel uncomfortable looking at him. Oh and if you ever try feeding him meals that he dislikes, Venti will either dodge your spoon or blow it away that it splashes all over your shirt.

Does. not. drink. milk. You fight to shove the bottle into his mouth which ends up with him crying a ear-splitting scream. It's almost embarassing trying to feed him in public. Because what Venti wants is not milk, he wants wine. WINE. You knew because "wine" was his first word. The amount of stress he gives you almost wants to make you cry too. So you often had to bring him to the Cathedral and ask the sisters to help instead. Turns out singing songs helps him calm down alot.

However when there are times where Venti is behaving, he's an absolute cutie. He laughs alot, a bubbly and gurgly giggle where you can almost hear his signature "Ehe" except now its an "Eehee". For some reason, Venti loves to bite. He will take a strand of your hair and put it in his mouth. If you bring him close to your face, he'll lean in and chomp your cheek. You're not sure why but that's just his way of showing affection. Most of the time he may stink as a baby, but after a good shower he smells like the fresh minty wind that had blown through the whispering woods.

Once he turns back to his normal self, Venti acts like nothing much happened. Doesn't even apologize for all the trouble he committed. He just says "That was fun!"

When you turn pocket-sized

Boy oh boy you two are going to have lots of fun together ehe ^_^ But don't worry. Venti has no malicious intent. Just his mischeivious tricks like usual. It's like having his own verison of Paimon! Oh, you can't fly? That can be fixed. He crafts you a mini wind-glider when actually it's a cheap folded paper airplane he made in just ten seconds, sticks you on it using tape before using his powers to generate a wind current. You were screaming for your life.

But it doesn't stop there. With you brand new powers, you guys can now be partners in crime! Big and small. As he distracts the staff at the Dawn Winery, you can sneak into the cart and push the apples down into his bag. Or what about sneaking underneath the door to unlock the cathedrals cell where all of the wine stash is hidden?

"No? *sigh* such a shame. We could have been really great partners. A fantastic duo hehe! But you know, now that I'm looking at how small you are, this kinda reminds me of...nevermind. Where shall we be off to next?"

He lets you slip underneath his beret hat. Despite being the wind god, it never falls off. Whenever you shift and push out from the edges of his hat to take a peek outside, Venti can feel your knees digging into his head. Although the feeling can be a bit nagging sometimes and that he has to get used to, at least he has someone to scratch for him whenever he feels itchy!

Whenever you need help climbing on top of furniture, sometimes you'll feel a gentle boost ghosting in the air. Even when Venti isn't around, he keeps in mind to help you navigate your surroundings whenever you need to. Also considering that he's so short himself, sometimes he'll lift you to the top shelves to get something for him.

When you turn back, he says he's going to miss the times where you're flying around in a tiny form. It brings him a sense of deja-vu. Regardless, Venti makes sure to implement this into his songs and stories, a tale of two figures of different sizes ready for adventure!

[lucifer-nanezgani]

Driving with Mankai (A3! crack headcanon)

So a while back my family and I went on a road trip and while sitting in the passenger seat and listening to all the A3 character songs (EN only) I started daydreaming about what it would be like if the Mankai boys gave you a lift, assuming they could all drive. This is the result.

Spring Troupe

Sakuya: Doing his best. Scraped by with his tests and drives at grandma speeds, but you can’t get mad at him. Has a packet of half-melted party mix lollies in the glove box that he shares with you.

Masumi: Drives too fast with everyone else and too slow with Izumi. If you try and change his music he will not give you a lift again. Does not speak to you the entire time.

Tsuzuru: Drives a beat-up second hand car he got for cheap and somehow always gets stuck in traffic, but you two always have a good convo while waiting for the lights.

Itaru: A relatively normal ride, but if there’s an event on for one of his games, you will be ranking for him while he tries to give you instructions and drive at the same time.

Citron: Nobody knows how he got his license. Will probably regale you with stories about how back home he drove an elephant or something. Wants to spray-paint the sides of his car to say “The Citron-mobile.”

Chikage: he drives a bright green Volkswagen Beetle. Probably ran a red light once. He drives safely with you in the car but you can’t help but feel nervous. Very good at intimidating cops to get out of a ticket.

Summer Troupe

Tenma: He is not the one driving. You’re joining him in the backseat of his family car while Igawa drives and you sip coffee and talk about his times on set.

Yuki: Drives a pink Mini Cooper. Silent the entire ride. If you change his music, he’s kicking you out there and then. Have fun walking.

Muku: Needs lots of positive reassurance while driving. Constantly asking you if the temperature’s alright or if you want to change music. You take him out for ice cream afterwards.

Misumi: Got Kaz to help him cover his car in triangle stickers. Stops at every triangle sign he sees. Very slow trip but still fun.

Kazunari: Surprisingly conservative with his use of stickers and decals. Plays his mixtapes/playlists constantly and takes you to McDonald’s. Accidentally gets a ticket bc he was too busy vibing to notice you’d gone over the speed limit.

Kumon: Tried to deck his car out like a race car with Kaz’s help. Again, nervous driver but he’s doing his best. Has fuzzy dice that look like baseballs. Listens to baseball on the radio and if you try to change it he gets very dejected. Do not change the radio.

Autumn Troupe

Banri: Has a super tricked-out flashy new car with like a touchscreen and everything. Practically cruises along and makes small talk with you while driving. You kind of feel like a celebrity. If only he played something other than shitty club music through the speakers.

Juza: You’re riding on the back of his bike. He’s awkward bc you have to hold onto his waist and he’s touch-starved as fuck so it’s a quiet ride. You pass a sweets store and ask him to stop there to treat him to milkshakes and apologise for the weird ride.

Taichi: Saved up for years to get a cool car (it is cool, but not as over the top as Banri’s). Has a hat monster bobble head on the dashboard and sings along super loud to his favourite songs while driving. You join in- it’s carpool karaoke central there. Gets pulled up for running a red light by accident.

Omi: Also riding on the back of his bike. He’s less awkward than Juza but keeps asking if you’re ok back there. Harasses you about wearing a helmet properly and stops halfway and pulls some scones out that he baked earlier for you to share.

Sakyo: Will begrudgingly give you a lift but only when you really need it. Drives a plain white sedan. Lectures you about whatever reason you needed the lift for the whole while. Secretly hopes you need another one in the future.

Azami: His dad and Sakyo insisted on helping him pick out his car, so he got stuck with a plain black sedan. Blasts his rap music super loud from the speakers and flips off and honks anyone who cuts him off, but generally an unremarkable driver. Will punch you while driving if you change his music.

Winter Troupe

Tsumugi: Has had the same car since university. Got an Elvis CD his grandma lent him stuck in the CD slot and he can’t get it out. Makes lots of small talk to cover up the constant Elvis.

Tasuku: Got the first car he could find, so it isn’t super flashy. Silent the entire car ride since he doesn’t know how to ask you what music you want to listen to. Listens to a soccer match on the radio instead.

Hisoka: Tasuku and Tetsuro installed a marshmallow dispenser in his car. Can stay awake for 10-15 minute trips if you really need him to drive you, but will fall asleep at the wheel after that. Who let him drive.

Homare: His car has heated seats and he always uses the same air freshener brand to keep it smelling nice and the same. Will talk at you and make poems up the entire ride, but buys you a coffee or tea afterwards. Solely listens to the classical station.

Azuma: Probably picked you up late at night after you’d been drinking or partying. Drives a nondescript car and a master of the smooth turn. You end up spilling your guts to him in the passenger seat and he offers to cuddle with you when you get home.

Guy: ???? Fucker probably teleports.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 3

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Mentions of slave trafficking

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 3 - Born Without Tears

The red-dressed beauty lightly opened his vermilion lips and blew into the jade flute. The flute sound was full of lingering affection, softly touching his heart, as if he was inviting all listeners to join the red curtain and share the scenery together.

Song Qingshi's mother was an internationally renowned pianist. Because of her influence, music had become Song Qingshi's only hobby outside of school. In the last days of Song Qingshi's life, he had lost all body functions, but his consciousness was extremely clear.

His mother invested heavily in installing top-notch audio equipment in his room to play music everyday. She also asked top musicians in various fields to give him a small concert every day.

Music rescued him from the brink of despair and soothed his heart. During this special time, Song Qingshi was particularly sensitive to the emotions in music. He could hear the player's tenderness in the passionate piano music, and he could also find hidden encouragement in the sad and solemn guzheng music. . .

Now, he heard the familiar struggle and despair in the lingering and affectionate sound of the flute.

Song Qingshi finally raised his head, staring at the brilliant phoenix in a daze. He could no longer look away.

Jin FeiRen found out that Song Qing finally became interested in one of the beauties, and he was overjoyed: "Song Xianzun is interested in this slave? His name is Yue Wuhuan, naturally charming, a rare wood single-spirit root. That means he's much more resistant when tossing him around in bed. The more you rough him up, the more unhinged he comes. Those who have tried it have never failed to boast about it. Do you want to taste him first?"

Song Qingshi's ears were reddened by his explicit recommendation. He quickly turned his eyes away, and said dumbly: "No need."

"Medicine Master Xianzun is clean and does not engage in those activities. If you don't love these things, don't force him, friend." LingBao Xianzun came over, pointing to Yue Wuhuan and exclaimed, "If I remember, was this the best product sold by Xie Que? This immortal world is still the best place for him to raise beautiful people; one is more tasteful than the last. Alas, I have a friend who is his good friend, and all kinds of better goods will be sold to you first."

Jin FeiRen waved his hand and said, "You flatter me. What he really has a good relationship with are thirty hu of mermaid pearls."

LingBao Xianzun laughed: "If all friendships in the world could be created with money, my friend would be surrounded by the most affectionate people in the world. Come, come, let me have three cups with my friend and celebrate the wind and moon together.

Jin FeiRen also laughed, and ordered the young man in his arms to fill a glass of wine and drink with LingBao Xianzun.

LingBao Xianzun had already drunk a lot. He was slightly drunk. He leaned against the table and listened to the flute. He exclaimed: "I remember that when this beauty first entered this place, he was reluctant to accompany guests, even under the control of Acacia Seal. It was very interesting to see, but now he has become so promiscuous, and his flavour has changed. You have great methods, my friend."

Jin FeiRen shook his head: "It's a pity that this beauty doesn't cry no matter how rough you toss him around. He was born without tears, and because of that, some of his appeal has been lost."

Song Qingshi heard the professional question and couldn't help answering: "Being born without tears may be a problem with the lacrimal secretion system."

Jin Fei was dumbfounded for a moment. He appreciated his friendship with Song Qingshi, but he couldn't keep up with his medical obsession. He had to laugh awkwardly and switch off the topic: "Don't look at this beauty's promiscuity deceive you. In the mortal world, he was also a noble and respectable prince. When he was eight years old, Xie Que found that he had excellent aptitude when he was looking for beauties in the mortal world, so he showed his supernatural powers and presented the emperor with a pill for prolonging life. The old emperor was so happy that he happily gave his son to the immortal leader. Xie Que is also an ingenious person. He will seriously accept mortals with spiritual roots as disciples, and coax them to trust him. Then he uses that trust to trick them to sign the spiritual contract of voluntary slavery. He then teaches them superficial techniques, and, when they appear to be at their peak, brands them with the Acacia Seal. He always gets them when the colour is at the best time for picking, and then sells them to the brothels to serve in their rooms.

Although everyone knew he was taking advantage of those loopholes, they all turned a blind eye and eventually accepted this method of slave trafficking."

The Yanshou Pill can only be taken once to extend someone's life to reach 100 years old.

Cultivators can live at least three hundred years so long as they build a good foundation base. They don't need this tasteless kind of thing at all. Most of them are bought for their mortal servants. The price is very cheap, only worth two low-grade spirit stones. Such huge profits have continued to promote the slave trade.

There is an endless stream of cultivators in the trade, but none of them are well-versed as Xie Que.

Song Qingshi was surprised to find in his memory that the original body had seen Xie Que before.

That spring, the original body was studying a new way to create pills behind closed doors. Xie Que came to seek medical treatment with a comatose child. The child was a mortal, about eleven or twelve years old, with a rare pure yang physique and a wood spiritual root. Moreover, when he reached the third rank, his talents were different, and he was even better than some of the wasted descendants of various immortal families. Xie Que said that it was his new apprentice who had recruited more than three years ago. When he went to the mountains to practice, he was bitten by a Devil Mask Snake. Devil Mask Snakes are not extremely poisonous, but they will turn the faces of the poisoned person different colours, just like they were wearing a mask.

The original body typically didn't treat mortals, but Xie cried out in tears, saying that this was his most important apprentice, and he was willing to pay a high price to save him. The original body was in a good mood at the time, and was annoyed by his repeated crying. The Devil Mask Snake poison was also easy to detoxify. He finally relented and ordered a servant to give him two detoxification pills and ordered Xie Que not to cry again.

Xie Que stayed beside the apprentice’s bed and took care of him for three days. The apprentice woke up from a coma, his body no longer in a serious condition, but it took time for the ghost marks on his face to disappear. They stayed in the valley for half a month, and waited until his apprentice's face fully recovered.

During that time, the peach blossoms in the medicine garden bloomed just right, like red brocade all over the sky. When the original body encounters a problem with his alchemy, he often sits in a high place and looks at the peach blossoms and thinks. Every time, the original body would see a small figure under the peach blossom practicing swordsmanship. He practiced in the morning, at noon, and at night, as if it had become a landscape of symbiosis with the peach blossoms.

Mortals trying to cultivate immortality are like a fish leaping over a dragon's gate. The path comes with many difficulties and dangers, and there are few successful ones.

Xie Que was always by his side, with a worried expression on his face. He was either afraid that he would drop his sword or that he would become exhausted. The two quarreled several times. On a whim, the original's body and mind let out a spiritual thought to investigate. He heard the child say to Xie Que: "Master, although mortals are not as good as immortals, my father taught me to reward my diligence, and diligence can make up for my weaknesses. So I have to work harder and never waste time."

"What you said makes sense," Xie Que tried to persuade him with a bitter face. "Your injury has not healed. I'm afraid you might hurt your body. And. . . why do you have to practice sword? Entertaining cultivation, wouldn’t it be better for you to learn some flute, piano or something?"

"Master taught me to use music to cultivate Taoism is very good," the child scratched his head embarrassedly. "But I like swords, I want to be like Mo Yuan Jianzun. Master, rest assured, I know all the songs you taught me. I practiced better than my senior brothers and sisters, and I definitely don't put off practice."

Xie Que had no choice but to say: "I will find you the right ice silk gloves later. You must wear them when you practice swords. You must soak your hands with lotion at night to make your hands soft. This will prevent calluses, so you won't miss the subsequent practice."

The child cheered, excitedly: "Master, you are so kind."

"Don't get hurt," Xie Que lightly knocked on his forehead and complained. "You naughty devil. Your master is terrified. From now on, stay in the sects when you practice, and you are not allowed to go to the back mountains. Take breaks as well to avoid ruining your eyes."

The child accepted all these conditions.

Xie Que leaned over, rubbed his head gently, and sighed: "You don't know how much Master values you. . ."

"I know." The child raised his head and said in a serious voice: "I know that the immortal world looks down on mortals that cultivate immortality, and even looks down on the master who only accepts mortals as disciples. I don't want to shame my master, so I must cultivate a Golden Core to prove to everyone that Master’s vision is right!"

Xie Que looked at his face silently, his eyes distant and difficult to distinguish.

The child pulled Xie Que's sleeves, turned his eyes, and said embarrassedly: "Wuhuan likes Master the most!"

Xie Que stretched out his fingertips, stroked the child's colorful face, looked carefully, and finally stopped reluctantly on the small red mole under his left eye, which was dazzlingly beautiful. He was silent for a long time, showing a very kind smile: "Master also likes you the most."

. . .

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1988

Under the cut.

"So Emotional" -- Whitney Houston -- January 9, 1988

It's either a song about cheating or about being hung up on an ex. She's got a love of her own, but she's "so emotional" with this other guy, and keeps a picture of him by her bed. Um, does the other guy know this? Maybe she needs to have sex with the other guy so she stops being obsessed with the touch of the previous one. It's a dance song, and I like the beat, but it's painfully repetitive in the second half. Also, while I've known the chorus to this song very well since it came out, I thought it was a normal love song until I looked up the lyrics just now. Houston doesn't sing it like she's in any pain -- well, except I bet her throat hurt from the oversinging.

"Got My Mind Set on You" -- George Harrison -- January 16, 1988

Super repetitive lyrics. But the music's really fun, and I love what lyrics there are. I wish there weren't so few, though. "It's gonna take a whole lot of money" harks back to the many Beatles songs where they sang proudly about spending money on women they loved. Still, this is an example of how George was the best solo Beatle eventually. The video's cute, too, and obviously lampshades the idea of George Harrison doing backflips and dancing.

"The Way You Make Me Feel" -- Michael Jackson -- January 23, 1988

Michael Jackson was no Janelle Monáe. On so many levels. In this case, he wasn't anywhere near her artistic standard. This song does have the lyrics "Oh I'll be workin' from nine to five/ To buy you things to keep you by my side," but it sounds more like a Beatles rip-off than a tribute. I actually didn't remember this song at all, and the video is one of those annoying 80s ones that takes an entire minute to start the song. Then Jackson does a whole bunch of "woos" and "ows" and all that stuff he did that worked in moderation. But "moderation" was not what he was doing in 1988. In any way. He actually oversings in this. I turned it off halfway through. And immediately turned to Janelle Monáe's "The Way You Make Me Feel," which I adore.

"Need You Tonight" -- INXS -- January 30, 1988

This is one of my favorite songs. It's incredibly sexy, obviously. I didn't really notice it until I was around 15, and then I NOTICED it. As I got older, the song got better. The lines "You can care all you want/ Everybody does yeah that's okay" have meant so much to me ever since I started dating seriously. Because caring was not what you were supposed to do.

Anyway, this song is phenomenal and I love it.

"Could've Been" -- Tiffany -- February 6, 1988

This song was #1 for two weeks, and all the previous ones from 1988 have been one week. How? It's a heartbreak song that starts with the lyrics "The flowers you gave me/ Are just about to die," which is painfully on-the-nose. They'd probably work in a country song, but this is lite pop, not country. Tiffany occasionally seems to be trying to do some country stuff with her voice, which is smart. But that's not enough. It's not a terrible song, but it does nothing for me. I don't remember ever having heard it before.

"Seasons Change" -- Exposé  -- February 20, 1988

Speaking of songs I haven't heard before. I like this one though. The music's pretty interesting, especially the melody. The singing's excellent. And the music behind "seasons change/people change" sounds exactly like some of the music from Persona 4, so I wonder if Atlus' composer was influenced by it, unconsciously or not. It's just a couple notes, though. Lyrically, the song is about being in love now but realizing it might not last. It's good. I'm gonna look up more of their music.

"Father Figure" -- George Michael -- February 27, 1988

The music for this song is great, and George Michael as usual sings wonderfully. But um. There are some kinks that make me run screaming even when they're really mild. "I will be your father figure/ Put your tiny hand in mine" are two of them. So if you enjoy this song, I'm happy for you, it's musically lovely. I will be going to take a shower now.

"Never Gonna Give You Up" -- Rick Astley -- March 12, 1988

There was a time when I would have easily been able to have an opinion on this song. That time was long ago. It's hard to hear as a song now, rather than an internet meme. But I will not give up. (The video has almost 9 million views, sheesh.)

Okay so they're friends and now he wants a relationship. He says "You wouldn't get this from any other guy," which is a total jerkass line. Other than that, the lyrics are -- oh who am I kidding, I can't do this.

"Man in the Mirror" -- Michael Jackson -- March 26, 1988

I try to separate the art from the artist. That's in both positive and negative directions. If I love someone's art, that doesn't mean they're a good person. If I hate it, that doesn't mean they're a bad person.

This song, though -- "I'm starting with the man in the mirror/ I'm asking him to change his ways" -- uh yeah. Liar. And it's wedged in with all this "oh you should care about all the starving kids and homeless people" self-sanctification that Michael Jackson always protected himself with. This song disgusts me.

"Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" -- Billy Ocean -- April 9, 1988

Speaking of disgust. Yay street harassment!  I've never heard anything bad about Billy Ocean as a human being though. But I'm not listening to more than 5 seconds of this song. Gross.

"Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- Whitney Houston -- April 23, 1988

She's singing to a man she wants to get back together with after they decided they needed some "space." There's a lot of naivete in the song -- "And if somebody loves you/ Won't they always love you?" No. Even if they do still love you, that doesn't mean it will work. But maybe it will. I've never gotten back together with someone after a breakup, though I've been asked to many times (percentage-wise.) I've always had an allergy to it, both because my parents got back together after divorcing and should not have, and because I had a friend who broke up with her boyfriend and got back together with him at least 8 times in the space of a year and I had to keep hearing about it.

So this song doesn't really speak to me. But it's pretty good. Houston sings it well too, reigning in the oversinging until near the end.

"Wishing Well" -- Terence Trent D'Arby -- May 7, 1988

That's an awesome name. The writer of this song said he wrote it when he was half-asleep, which makes sense. "Butterfly tears", okay, just poetry, but you want to fall in love near a well of crocodile tears too? Doesn't that mean you're faking? I like the song though. It's sort of funk, but softer than full-on funk. I like the way D'Arby sings it. The whistling part (keyboard whistling) is very enjoyable. It's a fun song, and one I do remember from the time.

"Anything for You" -- Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine -- May 14, 1988

A pretty breakup song. But, of course, I have an issue. "I can pretend each time I see you/ That I don't care and I don't need you/ And though you'll never see me cryin'/ You know inside I feel like dying." Well that makes his life a lot easier, doesn't it. The whole song is about how she'll do anything to make him happy. Urgh. She needs to tell him to get out of her life so she can make a brand new start.

"One More Try" -- George Michael -- May 28, 1988

Yet another heartbreak song. It's not surprising that I remember so few songs from this year. I feel like I'm back in the 60s before The Beatles again. Though this year is musically better, I'm still bored. Anyway, in this one, the narrator doesn't want to try again, and he keeps addressing the person he doesn't want to try again with as "teacher," which is... a thing. The only time he seems willing to try again is the very last line, which is "Maybe just one more try."

It's slow, it's pretty enough, it would be unbearably boring if George Michael weren't such a good singer. I'm bored anyway. No wonder we ran screaming from anything smacking of this kind of thing in the early 90s. I feel stupid and contagious.

"Together Forever" -- Rick Astley -- June 18, 1988

He certainly had a brand, didn't he? The song title tells you everything you need to know about the lyrics. The song sounds a lot like "Never Gonna Give You Up," but much more boring. A massive drum machine intro can't carry this. I do recognize the chorus, but that's it. The song is fine, really. But that's it. It sounds like a lesser knockoff of "Never Gonna Give You Up."

"Foolish Beat" -- Debbie Gibson -- June 25, 1988

Heartbreak song. Sigh. There's a nice cheesy saxophone that I like, at least. She left him and she regrets it and thinks "I could never love again/ The way that I loved you." Nope, it's never the same. That doesn't mean it's worse. It's often better. I'm not listening to the whole thing, not even in case the sax comes back. The song's too dull.

"Dirty Diana" -- Michael Jackson -- July 2, 1988

It's about some groupie trying to seduce poor widdle helpless Michael. I don't remember ever hearing this song, and it's musically whiny too. Yuck. So much yuck.

"The Flame" -- Cheap Trick -- July 9, 1988

Heartbreak. Song. Again. "You were the first, you'll be the last" oh no they won't. I entirely approve of being honest about heartbreak, but this year is just crushing with the monotony of it. At least there's a beat to this one.

By the way, in the video, the lead singer's hair appears to be made of straw. Ah, the late 80s, when people thought cooking their hair was the way to go.

"Hold on to the Nights" -- Richard Marx -- July 23, 1988

A heartbreak song in disguise. He's in love with this woman but they can't be together. Are they cheating? I don't know. I don't care. It's so boring, words and music both. Even the piano is blah.

Speaking of late 80s hair, it looks like Richard Marx used an entire can of Aqua Velva on his in the video.

"Roll With It" -- Steve Winwood -- July 30, 1988

This was a #1 hit for four weeks, and I know why. It's not boring! Or depressing! It's got kind of an old-fashioned soul sound: Horns, groove, lyrics. When life is too much, roll with it baby. Not profound, but this is a really good song. One I've heard quite a lot, too, on purpose and everything.

Also, Steve Winwood's hair would work fine today. Coincidence?

"Monkey" -- George Michael -- August 27, 1988

This is actually kind of a heartbreak song, but not really. The one he loves has a "monkey" on their back and he wonders if they love it more than they love him. Addiction is my guess. It's a high-energy dance song, though -- it sounds a little angry, not sad at all. I find the melody sort of dull, but at least there's a beat. But I'm sorry, "Why can't you set your monkey free" is an absolutely hilarious lyric, and I can't take this song seriously in any way.

I think I had the hat George Michael's wearing in the video.

"Sweet Child O' Mine" -- Guns N' Roses -- September 10, 1988

Okay, yeah, sort of a heartbreak song, the relationship sounds like it's a mess with "where do we go now?" sung a zillion times. But it's so good. SO good. And it's rock. It's no wonder that it's one of the few songs that have stayed around from this list. It's not some kind of mass-produced pap without personality. Only Guns N'Roses could do this. Great song, I love it, and I love it more knowing what came before it. Man, Slash can play.

"Don't Worry, Be Happy" -- Bobby McFerrin -- September 24, 1988

Yeah, I'm guessing people were horribly sick of all the overproduced depression on the charts this year. A lot of music critics, and other critics, were really nasty about it because of the simplicity of its lyrics and its earworm-ness. And we made fun of the phrase plenty as young teens in the 90s. But now? I think it's pretty good. Philosophically, it's a mess, but the music isn't serious so I don't think we're supposed to take it seriously. And I like a-cappella. It was played way too much back in the day, though.

(Robin Williams is in the video, which made me tear up. Oof.)

"Love Bites" -- Def Leppard -- October 8, 1988

Technically about heartbreak I guess, but I feel like they're lampshading all the songs from this year which may as well have had the same title. Probably not intentionally. I can't take this song the tiniest bit seriously. It's rock, but not with a lot of personality. Any hair metal band from the time with interchangeable bleached blond frontmen could have done it.

I think this guy used an air fryer on his hair.

"Red Red Wine" -- UB40 -- October 15, 1988

One is supposed to hate this song, or was I don't hate it. I was a kid when it came out, the pop reggae appealed to me, and I still find it fun. Neil Diamond, the original singer, likes it. I certainly find it more interesting than anything with Neil Diamond singing on it.

"A Groovy Kind of Love" -- Phil Collins -- October 22, 1988

It's a cover of a 60s song. "Baby, you and me/ Got a groovy kind of love." This version is incredibly slow, and doesn't have any interesting drum work from Phil. It doesn't make me angry, but it doesn't make me anything. It's there. My brain wandered off and I started looking at stuff on the internet while trying to listen to it.

"Kokomo" -- The Beach Boys -- November 5, 1988

I loved this song as a kid and no one is prying it from me. It makes me happy when I feel down. I got the Cocktail soundtrack this is on for Christmas in my stocking 1988 -- me and seemingly every other kid, I think the tape was massively on sale. I loved the soundtrack, and I especially loved this song. I will never see the movie. I always felt that the song was a middle-aged man singing to his middle-aged wife ("pretty mama".) Which I thought was sweet. I figured that's what middle-aged people did, went off on vacations to tropical islands sometimes, even though my parents never did. I want to though.

"Wild, Wild West" -- The Escape Club -- November 12, 1988

"Heading for the nineties," hm? Well one of the lines is "give me, give me safe sex," and safe sex messaging being absolutely everywhere was an early to mid 90s thing. It's always funny to hear someone with an English accent sing about something extremely American. This song does sound like it's heading for the nineties musically, which is good. Only heading toward though. It's okay, but not very interesting. The music is repetitive. I got bored halfway though.

"Bad Medicine" -- Bon Jovi -- November 19, 1988

Your love is like "bad medicine" and he's addicted. Like a monkey on his back. What's with that phrase this year? I don't recognize this song. It's overproduced, it's shouty, there's too much going on, and it feels like it's trying too hard. Nope.

"Baby, I Love Your Way/ Freebird Medley" -- Will to Power -- December 3, 1988

I'm used to the 90s cover of "Baby, I Love Your Way" by Big Mountain. And I don't think I'm being biased when I say the Big Mountain version is significantly better. The lead singer of this one, a woman, is way too breathy and mannered.

The "Freebird" portion is bad. Just plain bad. The man singing is also breathy and there's absolutely no oomph. Also a lite, bouncy pop song in which the woman is singing how much she loves the man and the man's like "no I gotta be free" is blech. It does not work.

"Look Away" -- Chicago -- December 10, 1988

This was Chicago's biggest single. The narrator's ex called him to tell him she's with someone new, and he pretends to be happy for her, but wants her to look away so she doesn't see the tears of a clown -- er, no, that's a better song. Same idea though.

A heartbreak song, but I don't mind it, because it's got some blood to it. It's not slow and there's a real beat. Also Peter Cetera wasn't with Chicago any more, so Bill Champlin's the lead singer here, and he's so much better than Cetera it's ridiculous. Champlin brings some guts to the song, he doesn't sing through his nose, and he sounds truly heartbroken. Worlds better than Cetera. So it's a good enough song, if you're in the mood for that kind of thing.

"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" -- Poison -- December 24, 1988

I never minded this song before at all, but I am so sick of this kind of song at this point. Whine whine whine every cowboy sings a sad sad song. You're no Johnny Cash, dude. He said something wrong, he doesn't know what it was, they broke up and he still doesn't know why -- okay, who does this? Actually wait, I know one person who did this, and he keeps saying he has no idea why either of his wives broke up with him and I do because I was there and they told him they would break up with him if he didn't change. Over and over and over and over. And now he's like "poor me, I don't know why this happened. " He probably doesn't, either. He cannot admit fault.

Anyway, projections of my own personal trauma onto a hair metal band aside, the narrator’s ex is now with someone new and he thinks "I never meant that much to you." Maybe, maybe not. Cowboy, change your ways today.

BEST OF 1988 -- "Need You Tonight" by INXS and "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. WORST OF 1988 -- "Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" by Billy Ocean

[leahxx129]

Heaven’s on Fire (Castiel x Reader)

This is my submission to the talented @lettersofwrittencollective​ ‘s 1K Celebration challenge. Congrats once more! :))

I had this idea in the back of my mind for quite a while now and her challenge came as a heavenly sign to write & publish it, so here we go. My prompt can be found in bold in the text. I hope you all enjoy it! :) Oh, and if you want to listen to the song mentioned in the fic, you can do that here.

Disclaimer: Tumblr is being weird again so if you’re using the app, the ‘Keep Reading’ cut off line may not be visible inspite of the fact that I always insert one.

Summary: You’ve successfully managed to get off the grid but thanks to your best friend, the one person you wish to see the least finds you and reveals a surprising truth. Will it be enough to bury the hatchet though? 

Warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

Word count: 2.790-ish

You are tapping your fingertips against your glass as you watch the ice cubes slowly melt and dissolve in the bourbon. Is this your second? Or third? You have no idea. And frankly, you don’t even give a damn.

This Friday night is just like any other in the past year – you find a bar, have a few drinks… sometimes you leave alone, sometimes you don’t. It depends on your mood and on how attractive the person trying to get in your pants is. Truth be told though; you haven’t been so picky lately as you’ve realized that when you close your eyes, they all look just like him.

You’ve been here for about an hour now and only two candidates have summoned the courage to approach you but sadly, none of them measure up to your lowered standards. You roll your eyes in annoyance and down what’s left of your drink. Just as you’re about to get up and leave, another bourbon is placed on the small round table in front of you. Your look of disapproval soon turns into bewilderment as your eyes travel to the face of your server.

“Feathers?” you blurt out and despite your best efforts, the pet name sounds more like a question than a statement.

A faint smile is playing in the corner of his mouth.

“It’s been a while since I heard that one.”

Castiel sits down across you and takes a sip from the booze he got for himself. Hundreds of questions are racing through your mind and you’re having a hard time deciding which one to ask first.

“Which one of those asshats sold me out?” you eventually settle on one. Around the apocalypse situation back in 2010, the angel branded your ribs with the spell that keeps people off the celestial radar, too, so he couldn’t have found you all by himself.

“Assuming you are referring to the Winchesters, it was Sam.”

“Should’ve thought so…” you say dryly. “When I texted him my location, I thought I made it clear that I’m only available in case of emergencies. “

“I sort of tricked him into believing this was an emergency.” he admits, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“What do you want, Cas?”

“I wanted to see you, Y/N.” your name rolls off his tongue the softest way possible. “When I was sent back to Earth from the Empty, I was perplexed not to find you in the bunker.”

“Yeah, well, I needed some space and a breath of fresh air.”

“A thousand miles away from there? From me?” he adds the last part reluctantly.

“You do not have the right to guilt-trip me, okay? If anything, I should be doing that to you…”

He draws his eyebrows together in confusion.

“I do not understand.”

Of course he doesn’t... You try to blink them away but a couple of hot teardrops stream down your face, nevertheless. He instinctively grabs your hand you’ve been resting on the table and squeezes it.

“Please look at me.”

Every fiber in your body is protesting because once you look into those ocean eyes, he wins… but you comply anyway.

“Explain?” he murmurs.

You hear the appeal leave his lips but all you can concentrate on is the way his fingers are pressing yours. It conjures the memory of the very first time you held hands...

You finished applying lipstick and checked your complete makeup in the review mirror. A sophisticated trophy wife was staring back at you, which meant that you accomplished your goal. You silently thanked the Lord Sam and Dean weren’t with you because you would never hear the end of their mockery.

“Okay, I’m done. Tell me, Feathers, how do I look?” you turned to Castiel who’d been riding shotgun before you parked your dark blue 1970 Ford Fairlane in the church’s parking lot.

“Uhm, you look lovely, Y/N, although you do not quite resemble your everyday self.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“For the sake of this mission I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant to be one.”

You shrugged then proceeded to give him a once-over.

“Well, you look dashing as always, but I suggest losing the trench coat. It doesn’t suit the occasion and we certainly don’t want to raise Father Milton’s suspicion. If he senses something is off, he’ll never lead us to his angel-hearing daughter.”

He appeared torn for a minute.

“But my angel blade is in my trench coat. If I leave it in your car and things take a turn for the worse, what will I use for protection?”

You pulled your chiffon skirt up, revealing a .45 Hardballer attached to your thigh. His eyes followed your abrupt movement but as soon as he realized where his gaze landed, he looked away. If you weren’t imagining, he even blushed a little.

“As long as we’re dealing with humans, this shall do.” you pulled the skirt back down. “Now c’mon. We need to find this Anna girl before the demons do.”

You both got out of the car and walked to the church’s entrance but before you went in, you adjusted his tie.

“Okay, Castiel, remember… we are Mr. and Mrs. Novak, expecting our first child, and we are here to see the girl who hears the angels so she could bless our baby.”

“I still believe this is a ridiculous cover story.” he commented.

“They’re religious people, they’re gonna buy it, trust me.”

With that, you took his right hand and laced your fingers with his. He almost yanked his arm away - you could tell from the little twitch you felt – but stopped himself from doing so.

“What are you doing, Y/N?”

“We have to make our cover realistic and this is one way to do that. Relax a bit, would you? You’re stiffer than a stick…”

“What you’re saying is not humanly possible for my vessel, but I suppose I perceive the insinuation.”

You rolled your eyes at his awkwardness and pushed the church door wide open.

The memory makes you smile and when you look up to his face, you see him replicating your expression. He must’ve been reminiscing about the same thing.

You pull your hand from his grip and first you swallow your glass of bourbon, then his, too, not minding the puzzled look he gives you. You need all the liquid courage you can get.

“You want an explanation? Here you go!” you reply, feeling the warmth of alcohol spreading through your body. “I simply cannot be in your immediate proximity anymore, Cas, I just can’t! I have no idea when these feelings for you developed exactly, but they did. And every single time you sacrificed yourself for the greater good over the years, I died a little inside… which is crazy, because you’ve never seemed to be interested in me like that… So, when Lucifer killed you for the second time, that was the last straw. I couldn’t keep breaking my own heart for somebody who just sees me as a really close friend with occasional benefits. I had to get away in order to piece myself back together.”

He sighs your name passionately and the next second he leans over the table, gently captures your chin between his thumb and index finger and locks his lips with yours.

You’re not sure what amazes you more – the fact that he’s kissing you or the scene that starts outlining in your mind.

You remember the place that comes to life in your head. It’s the higher scale pub where you had your farewell drinks at with the Winchesters, Bobby and Cas the night before Sam let Lucifer wear him to the prom. Not counting the five of you and the bartender, the joint was empty - courtesy of the angel’s heavenly persuasion technique applied on the bouncer so he wouldn’t let anyone else in. 

But something isn’t quite right…this is not your memory. 

It’s Castiel’s, you realize.

Cas, Bobby and Dean were sitting around a table, the latter raising a hand to order another round of the most expensive scotch the place served. The world was ending, saving a few dollars on cheap drinks seemed utterly pointless. You and Sam were attempting to dance to an overrated pop song a few tables over, laughing whole-heartedly throughout the process. With a little liquor in his veins the man was a real talent on the dancefloor – or at least that’s what he thought.

“You do realize, Dean, that a few glasses of alcohol will not numb me to the point where I would forget what is ahead of us, right?” Cas inquired but before Dean had the opportunity to come up with a comeback, Bobby jumped in.

“They might not numb you but they’re sure as hell working for me!” he said as he took a sip from his newly arrived quality booze.

“All I’m missing is a hot babe on my laps...” Dean added “What do you guys say, shall we get ourselves some fun female company?”

“I do not know about Bobby, but it is a pass from my side.” Cas replied indifferently then averted the topic, asking what he’d been dying to know all night. “Why are Y/N and Sam dancing so close to each other? Their bodies are touching. Is there… is there something romantic between them?”

Dean and Bobby exchanged a curious glance.

“Cas… are you… jealous?” Dean chose his words carefully and asked in a tone only the three of them could hear.

“I don’t know, honestly. Emotions are a novelty to me.”

“Okay…how do you feel when you see them dancing that close?” Bobby tried approaching the topic differently and succeeded.

“I do not like it. I feel like it is wrong. I would like to be the one that close to her. But apparently, she is completely content with Sam’s proximity.”

“There’s nothing romantic between them, Cas.” Dean declared. “They used to date when they were high schoolers, but that’s it. They’re not an item anymore. So, go get your shot with her while you still can.” there was a short silence, but he continued “Man, my little brother must know something… I mean, staying friends after a breakup? I’m a ladies’ man and not even I can do that!”

“Enough of the bragging, idjit! Order another round instead, would ya? I’m still thirsty…” Bobby scoffed and downed the remainder of his drink.

The rest of the night went by fast. In the end, Bobby and Dean had to drag a very drunken Sam out of the bar as his own legs failed to support him. You returned from the restroom to find Castiel all alone.

“Hey, Feathers… were you waiting for me?” you asked with the sweetest smile he had ever seen and suddenly his heart began beating faster.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I was. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Go on…”

Instead of phrasing his thoughts, he just cupped your face and kissed you. After a short while you were the one to break the interaction and he instantly felt embarrassed, so he uttered the very first thing that came to his mind.

“Thank you, Y/N, for being such a great friend. I deeply appreciate it.”

“Uhm, you’re welcome, I guess…Is there anything else you wanted to share or…?”

“No, we can leave. The others are waiting outside.”

“Okay.”

He knew he screwed up. He had his chance and he totally blew it. But the worst part was that he had no idea how to make it right.

The flashback ends as Cas leans away and your eyes flutter open.

“You… you had a crush on me?”

“Ever since I met you, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was convinced that a fierce, beautiful woman such as yourself could never accept a frail underdog such as myself to be by her side.”

His confession startles you immensely and you need a few seconds to collect your thoughts.

“You’re an idiot, Feathers.”  

“So I’ve been told.”

You both chuckle and this time it’s your turn to kiss him.

“There’s so much we need to catch up on…” you whisper against his lips, but he frowns, making you regret your words immediately.

“Uhm, we can’t just yet… first, there’s something I need to take care of.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

Funny how a four-letter word can hurt even more than any physical injury you have ever obtained during your career as a hunter.

“I see.”

“Y/N…“

“Don’t. Just leave, please.”

A flutter of wings indicates he complies with your wish. You call a taxi to take you to the motel you’re staying at as you’ve had enough to drink and don’t want to risk crashing the Fairlane. You are not in the mood for small talk, and sensing this, your driver turns up the volume on the radio. Heaven’s on Fire by KISS blasts through the speakers and it evokes the memory you associate with it.

Sometimes you just needed to take a break from hunting for the sake of your sanity and the estate in the Nebraskan countryside your grandma had willed you a couple of years prior proved to be an excellent safe haven. So consequently, when the Winchester found a very much so human Castiel, it wasn’t even a question where to hide him from the community of pissed off fallen angels.

On a particularly humid afternoon, you finished working on your car and took a quick shower to get rid of all the dirt and oil sticking to your skin. Having only a towel on, you proceeded to the kitchen with the intention of pouring yourself a glass of wine. Cas insisted on doing the grocery shopping, so you were all alone. Suddenly, Heaven’s on Fire by KISS started playing on the radio.

“God, I love this song!” you exclaimed and took a sip from your glass.

“I must say your taste in music is quite similar to Dean’s.” a voice spoke up behind you, making you jump.

You turned to see the ex-angel standing in the door with huge bags in his arms. He was back early.

“Jesus, Feathers, don’t sneak up on me like that! I almost threw my drink in your face and this shit is expensive! Every ounce of it should be treasured not wasted.” you scolded him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just… I just…” he was visibly struggling to express himself, but his gaze told you more than his words ever could as he slowly dragged it all over your body, examining every curve along the way.

“You’ve never seen a woman in a towel, have you?” you asked, not being able to suppress a smile.

“Only once in a movie about a pizza man.” he admitted shyly.

“A pizza man?” you furrowed your brows but soon enough you remembered the story about this. ”Oooh, I get it. In that case... put the groceries on the counter.”

He appeared a bit confused but did as instructed anyways. When he turned back to your direction, you undid the knot on your towel and let it pool around your legs.

“Now, I want you to show me what you learnt from that pizza man.”

“Are you okay, lady?” the driver asks, turning the volume down a bit and you realize you’ve been crying.

“Uhm, yes… I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” you reply while wiping your eyes.

You roll down the window and let the cool air dry your wet cheeks. This is the last time you allow yourself to be devoured by sorrow because of Castiel. Tomorrow you’ll retrieve the Fairlane and get gone, not leaving a trace you can be found upon.

Cas on the other hand goes back to Lebanon, Kansas, and roams the streets for hours. Eventually he stops in front of two liquor stores adjacent to each other. He wants to make up for all those years you two lost, he really does… but getting together with you would mean the world’s greatest happiness to him and that’s when the Shadow from the Empty would come and drag him back to the land of eternal slumber. He needs to find a way to defeat the Shadow first and then he’ll look for you. But until then there is one choice to make – which one of these liquor stores should he drink to numb the ache in his chest? Maybe both.

[xlady-saya]

if magic exists, you’re the closest thing [fic]

Relationships: andrew/neil, jerejean, side aaron/katelyn, side alvarez/laila

Summary: The concept of love is not one Andrew understands.

For a long time, it escaped him. It's always fuzzy, always distorted. He'd given up on it long ago, so why is he still chasing answers?

Whatever the reason, he's content to blame Jean Moreau for a lot of things, Katelyn too.

It's their fault he's here, at the happiest place on earth.

Tags: disneyland fic, andrew thinks a lot about love, fluff, comfort, references to canon abuse/past

Read on AO3!

Andrew never liked the concept of time travel; there’s no one distinct moment he’d go back to personally, no tragic world event he’d try to stop like in the movies.  

However, due to today’s events, he might just forgo that opinion to say he’d gladly go back to make sure Disneyland never existed.

Then, maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to Kevin’s nagging.

"You two cannot blow off Jeremy Knox!" Kevin rages, hands planted on the kitchen counter as Neil deftly works around him. Andrew's not quite sure what he's doing; he asked Neil for some ice cream a few minutes ago, and the sounds of clattering dishes and spoons are way more interesting than whatever Kevin is saying.

Andrew leans back into his beanbag chair, content to demolish Aaron in Mario Kart in the meanwhile.

"Yes we can," Neil says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. Andrew almost smirks.

It is; there's no way in hell Kevin's making them go to Disneyland on top of scouting recruits in California. Andrew doesn't understand why Queen Day can't just make another pit stop in Los Angeles after visiting the other recruit he has lined up in Washington.

Andrew exhales slowly, trying his best to keep his attention on the screen while he thinks about Neil. He's not sure when that became so difficult.

Alas, Andrew knows why he's being forced back to California. Neil cares far too much about Exy and his duties as vice-captain to miss out on something so essential. He picked out some of these recruits this time around, and he wants to see them in action. However, in this case it's not even one of his picks, and all they need to do is drop off paperwork. Neil has been trying, futilely, to convince Andrew he doesn't need to come.

The consideration is appalling. Andrew's grip on his controller is enough to make the plastic creak. Neil knows all too well California is a sore spot for him, but not the area they're going. Andrew couldn't care less.

Besides...Andrew's not letting Neil travel that far all alone.

Nothing, not even his past, is going to keep Andrew from going with him to make sure he doesn't die or worse. It wouldn't be a problem if Kevin were accompanying him, but he's got his own recruits to scout.

Neil is capable, Andrew thinks. He doesn't need protection, but it won't stop Andrew from offering it.

He chooses not to think about how one day, he'll have no choice but to stay behind. One day, he'll live apart from Neil and have to trust that he'll be okay.

He swallows down the dread he doesn't want to acknowledge, and claims first place.

"Motherfucker," Aaron spits, but immediately clicks the next level for them. If he can sense Andrew's mood, he doesn't comment, but...this helps.

And then he hits Andrew with a blue shell, and Andrew has to wonder why he shared a womb.

Andrew channels the uncertainty elsewhere, like kicking Aaron's ass and listening to Neil wave Kevin off. The rest of the time, he blames his nerves on the five hour flight he'll have to make in the very near future.

"We're not going," Neil says again, firmer this time. It's a tone that always sends Andrew's protective instincts into overdrive, Neil's temper flaring. But, it's just Kevin, which means there's more amusement than danger at play here.

Neil simply doesn't want to deal with it, so Andrew finds his voice. "Fuck off."

Kevin sputters, no doubt whipping around to where Andrew is sitting. He's not sure why Jeremy Knox is so set on taking them to Disneyland, but Andrew doesn't care enough to think about it. He's trying to do the bare minimum on their trip, and the USC Trojans are trying to make life difficult.

As Kevin groans on, Andrew hears the slightest indication of Neil stepping towards him. Neil's walk is distinct, in that it's nonexistent. Andrew often tests his hearing on how well he can sense Neil's approach.

And then, Neil is in front of him, and the world narrows until it's just Neil, crouched down with a bowl in his hands. Andrew hates what he's begun to call the Neil Effect, since it really has no concrete explanation, at least not an acceptable one. He gets second place in the game, and ignores Aaron's gloating for once. He'll get him back later.

There's something proud in Neil's eyes, self-directed, and that's when Andrew looks down to the bowl of ice cream.

Ah, now he remembers.

They hadn't been able to go grocery shopping, so the only thing in the freezer was boring vanilla. Disappointing, but Andrew's sweet tooth didn't care at the time. He needed dessert, no matter how lackluster.

However, this isn't just vanilla ice cream. There's large chunks of Snickers and peanut butter cups mixed in, haphazardly so, but well enough that someone obviously put in the effort.

Someone being...

Andrew looks between the bowl and Neil's steadily brightening expression, unwilling to linger on the fact Neil took the time to become a Cold Stone apprentice for the sole purpose of pleasing Andrew. It's all a waste though, because when he takes the bowl from Neil's hands, the reluctant words come out anyways.

"You're it for me."

It's not really a confession, since Andrew has known this for a while, but it still stings his pride a bit.

Neil blinks at him, tilting his head in that way that has Andrew glaring extra hard. "Hm?"

"Nothing."

He shoves the biggest spoonful he can manage into his mouth, and deserves the icy burn he gets for it.

Thankfully, before Neil can pry, Kevin is back at it again. Andrew's not sure if it's for better or worse.

The Queen himself rounds on them, blocking the television. "One of the best strikers from one of the top teams invited you to hang out for the day," he says, solely at Neil. He knows well enough that Andrew doesn't care about ranks. "How does that not excite you?"

An appropriate question, though. Why wouldn't it excite Neil?

"I don't know anything about Disneyland."

Neil plops down next to Andrew, indifference well conveyed. However, Andrew knows better. The restlessness in Neil's muscles is slight, but not surprising. There's a lot of things Neil doesn't know about, and while he normally wouldn't care, the idea of a place known for crowds of people probably isn't something Neil wants to explore.

It's not like the striker grew up with any exposure to the hundreds of movies or songs.

"It's an amusement park you loser," Aaron chimes in, and Neil scowls at him. Andrew pauses mid bite, surprised. A little. His brother's brand of comfort is the exact opposite of the what the word entails; it's a contrary, scathing thing, nearly as bad as Andrew's. But Andrew can detect it still, and that was definitely it.

Not that Neil would know though. The striker crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue, but Aaron's attention is already on getting Kevin the fuck out of his way.

"I don't care, I don't want to go," Neil responds petulantly, the words eaten up by the harsh impact of a pillow hitting Kevin's stomach.

At least he moves enough for Aaron's game to resume.

In the middle of Neil's protests, the door opens, admitting another one of Andrew's problems.

And she's unpredictable on top of it.

"Hi sweetie," Katelyn calls, punctuated by the slam of the front door. Andrew tries not to cringe at the name, nor his brother's dreamy sigh as Katelyn waves at them all. She walks over to kiss Aaron on the cheek before her attention is back on Neil's constipated face, which she blows past without a second thought. Oh, to be a cheerleader. "Go where?"

Kevin tears his gaze away from Aaron at the reminder. "Neil, you have to go to Disneyland, just fucking deal with it. You might be able to get some helpful pointers from Jeremy. Plus, don't you want to check on Jean?"

A cheap trick, and one that absolutely sours Andrew's mood despite the sweetness in his mouth. The protective itch is back from hearing Moreau's name, and he tugs Neil a little closer out of necessity.

Another reason for them not to go: Andrew's not sure he can stop himself from murdering the ex-Raven. Victim of Riko or not, he'd put his hands on Neil.

"If he wasn't doing okay I'm sure he would've reached out on his own," Neil counters, seeing through Kevin's appeal to sympathy. Neil, while he gets along with Jean better now, doesn't worry about him nearly as much as Kevin does.

Kevin can visit him then, if he's so curious.

As if Andrew said the words aloud, Kevin's stare intensifies. "Are you kidding--"

"Wait," Katelyn interrupts without care, and Andrew actually looks at her. He's been giving her that privilege a lot more now. Not everyone is dumb or brave enough to cut Kevin off, and even the striker looks impressed. Andrew's immediately thrown by the quality of her stare, the determination. Neil makes a strained noise in the back of his throat, and well, he does know Katelyn better. "You guys are talking about Disneyland? Like...Disneyland Disneyland?"

The existence of a knock-off Disneyland is certainly a topic Andrew will explore with Neil later.

"Oh no," Aaron whispers, and that's all the warning they get.

Neil leans further into Andrew's personal space, almost guarding. Like he senses the catastrophe too. "Uhh, yeah?"

Katelyn screams.

Andrew's hand on the back of Neil’s neck keeps him from jumping out of their seat, but Katelyn's got a one track mind as she rushes for him, plopping down on the ground as Aaron checks his ears for ringing.

The only satisfying part is that Katelyn pushes Kevin out of the way in the process. He goes reeling back with a yelp, very unbecoming of royalty.

"Oh my god! Neil you have to go, it's so fun!" Katelyn cheers, clapping her hands together softly. She chooses then to show Neil her backpack, adorned with about 100,000 Disney pins. Just an estimate.

As if Neil knows what any of them are. Neil barely blinks at Elsa's face before Katelyn's back to talking his ear off. "I've been trying to get Aaron to go with me for months but we don't ever have the time. I have a super long list of stuff I want! If I give you the money will you get them for me?"

Katelyn bites her lip rather hard then, like she almost let a 'please' slip, and Andrew doesn't try to think about the consideration. Katelyn clasps her hands together instead, like a plea.

Andrew figures the only reason her forehead isn't on the floor is because she knows better than to have any faith in a boys' dorm room.

"Whoa, whoa," Neil says, raising his hands in the face of Katelyn's puppy eyes. "I'm not going--"

The puppy eyes turn into those of a Rottweiler. Andrew doesn't know why all his previous judgements are being so twisted on this mediocre Thursday night, but whatever.

"Neil," Katelyn breathes, patience tested. "It's the happiest place on Earth."

Andrew's eyes flit to Neil's, communicating the same thing: bullshit.

Neil's confused expression falls into downright boredom, watching Andrew swirl the remains of his dessert. "Katelyn, I don't know how to tell you this, but I actually don't care."

Aaron wheezes at the same time Katelyn deflates.

"Josten--"

"B-but..." Katelyn turns her shining eyes on Aaron, cutting off his warning like a shiv. Andrew almost doesn't want to watch his brother be this pathetic. "Aren't I right, babe? Neil just has to experience it, he has to!"

Andrew hears Kevin open a bag of chips.

"I--um," Aaron tries, glancing between Neil and Katelyn's pout. It takes him about...two attempts to make words. "Yeah Josten, you have to."

"Wow," Kevin mutters, off to the side.

Neil glares at Aaron's weakness, but he had to know Aaron would be useless from the start. Aaron can't say no to his girlfriend.

What a loser.

"Katelyn, I'm not going," Neil tries again, dutifully not looking at the Disney-vomit backpack Katelyn keeps inching closer to him. "Andrew and I are just stopping by to drop off paperwork for one of Kevin's new recruits and that's it."

Kevin takes a deep breath, like he remembers he started this argument in the first place, but is cut off by Katelyn's backpack hitting the floor.

Neil is the only one who seems to take it as a threat, and he holds up a hand for Kevin to shut up. Now, Andrew knows most mafia movies are unrealistic and stupid, but he thinks he's had enough actual exposure to make a good guess.

This feels like some kind of standoff between two troublesome redheads, and he meets Aaron's confused stare with his blank one.

He wishes everyone would get out of his dorm.

"Okay, I get it," Katelyn says slowly, words spaced out by deep breaths for effect. Andrew would think she's a theater major, not biology. Neil watches Katelyn's hands fold in front of her, eyes hard. "I didn't want to have to do this."

Neil quirks a brow, somewhat amused.

"Neil."

"Katelyn."

"You owe me," she says, and the room freezes. Owe. Haha. That's a very dangerous word to toss around in the presence of Andrew Minyard, especially concerning his boyfriend who he's sworn to protect. Andrew turns on her with a frown, but she's undeterred by his ominous stance, fixed solely on Neil. "From the time. With the thing."

Katelyn flips her wrist back and forth then, an almost meaningless gesture, and no one knows what she's talking about

Except for Neil.

The striker's face goes red, and Andrew chooses then to squeeze the back of his neck tighter. Neil's not panicking, Andrew knows, but it's an instinct. Katelyn's smug smile is starting to piss him off, and he shakes Neil sharply.

"Neil," he says, voice even despite the tension in his limbs. "What--"

"We're going to fucking Disneyland," Neil says with a groan, slumping into the edge of the beanbag chair. He looks far from distressed, more...like he's been bested.

Katelyn cheers, jumping up to hug Aaron, who still has no idea what's going on.

Same.

"I'll get my list ready!" Katelyn rips out her science notebook, nearly tearing some neatly written equations. Not that she cares, in the moment. "Oh Neil, you're the best!"

Andrew drags Neil by the chin until their gazes meet, and Andrew hates when Neil looks sheepish. It means he's up to no good. "Neil, she can't force you to--"

"She's not forcing me," Neil sighs, tugging Andrew's sleeve until he lets their fingers link together. Neil's smile is rueful as he slots his eyes over to where Katelyn is scribbling on her homework, and he makes sure no one is watching when he slides Andrew's hand against his cheek. "Trust me when I say...I made the bed I'm about to lie in. I honor my deals too. Okay?"

Neil is such a problem, because he knows Andrew too well. He grinds his teeth, but he comes up with no argument. It's Katelyn, so it's not like the deal Neil made is anything life threatening or degrading, but Andrew's curiosity is annoying regardless.

Maybe when his pride dies down a little, he'll ask.

"Whatever you say," he scoffs, but keeps Neil's hand tucked against his side. "I still didn't agree to--"

Andrew looks down to where Neil fiddles with his shackle bracelet, still shining around his wrist because of how well the striker takes care of it. Neil tilts his head, and oh, oh no.

Andrew glares at the offending gift, given by his own hands and delicately tied around Neil's wrist. If he knew it would be this much of a weakness, he would've thrown it in the ocean.

"Andrew?" Neil asks, squeezing his hand, and Andrew doesn't know what to do other than curse Katelyn, himself, and then Walt Disney.

"I hate you," he mutters, and Neil's all too happy to hear it.

--

It takes Andrew about five minutes or so to determine that Jean Moreau is in love with Jeremy Knox.

It takes even less time for Andrew to decide he doesn't give a fuck. In fact, Andrew's not sure why he notices in the first place. He doesn't care about those things, but maybe it's just that they're so obvious, Andrew's can't help but pick up on it.

The long glances, the way Jeremy keeps reaching up to fix the stupid headband on Jean's head...

Gross.

The landscape in Andrew's mind has a tremble in it today, so there's no way for him to tell for sure why the two of them are so apparent to him. The air around him gives him a lot of things to linger on; disjointed laughter, cheery music, and less upsetting, the smell of fried desserts. It ties a rope around his brain and leads him in different directions, leaving only Neil as his weight. No wonder the Jean Moreau shitshow managed to slip in there somewhere.

Andrew doesn't even have the energy to be annoyed at that, at his inability to reign himself in and decide what to cast aside or focus on. His gaze scans the massive crowd in front of him, behind him, painfully aware that he's surrounded.

That Neil is surrounded.

He sighs, and the sound makes his boyfriend flinch in relief. Like he forgot Andrew was there, and is now all too happy that he is.

Calm down, junkie.

Andrew's fingers itch for a cigarette, but that ship had sailed as soon as he stepped through the Disneyland entrance. He thinks this, but he's actually not particularly anxious. He's not Neil, who needs to know all the quickest ways out of a place and who takes a large crowd as an invitation to slip in and disappear.

That's mostly where the itch comes from, Andrew realizes with only some irritation; he's hyper-aware of Neil, and all his reactions. The striker keeps glancing around at the streams of people, the bright colors and signs inviting them to a landscape with no laws or reason.

It should be everything Neil hates, and Andrew watches his blue eyes trace the cobblestone and directories.

"Beautiful isn't it!" Jeremy gestures to the road leading up to main street, and some of the tension in Jean's shoulders notably dissipates. "Did you know Disneyland brings in an average of--"

"50,000 people a day," Jean deadpans, as if the thought still makes him queasy. He gets a genuine laugh out of Jeremy for it, so Andrew guesses that was the point all along.

Andrew remembers everything, and he did not need that useless fact. But alas, now it's stuck.

Neil's body is surprisingly still beside him. Calm.

Andrew pauses, waiting for Neil to show some sign that he can't handle this. It's not a reflection of any kind of weakness Andrew thinks he has, he simply knows that sometimes Neil pushes himself where he shouldn't. Andrew considers this a loophole in their non-finalized deal. He lets Neil fight his own battles, but Andrew is not afraid to step in and put a stop to the ones Neil doesn't know he's in.

But, to Andrew's unintentional relief, Neil doesn't look two seconds from a panic attack. The striker’s face settles into a deadpan expression, a habit stolen from Andrew himself. There's no tremble, or fidgeting, or sign to tell Andrew to drag Neil back to their hotel and hole him up there.

Neil simply looks fucking done, and Andrew couldn't agree more.

Their unfortunate companions are there to remind them it's only the beginning.

"Oh my god, what should we do first?" Jeremy Knox babbles, stupid Mickey ears on his head, and Andrew watches with only some amusement as Neil leans back an inch in fear. The striker never did know what to do with genuinely happy people. Katelyn, he's come to understand based on the things they have in common. Their protective instincts and tempers ghost over her sheltered lifestyle and talkativeness, though Andrew still doesn't get how Neil stands her. Renee he simply hadn't trusted; Neil had seen the darkness beneath the smiles, but in time, he'd come to trust and value her as well.

Jeremy Knox is a different story, and currently even Andrew doesn't know how to feel about him. Such optimism and ignorance to the real world are things Andrew would normally write off in a person, but there's something swimming beneath the surface in Jeremy Knox's eyes that has him rethinking.

In short, Andrew gets the vibe that if pushed far enough, Jeremy Knox might actually have the capacity to snap over Disneyland. Disneyland.

That kind of madness is something Andrew can't help but recognize in people, and he keeps an eye on Neil as a result. He should've known; who gets custom Disney ears the color of their fucking school?

"Uh..." Neil tries, but he's apparently speechless. Andrew reaches down to tug on Neil's belt loop, and he won't ever say it's out of comfort. Neil takes it like one though, scooting closer, and the urge for nicotine is less powerful for a moment.

There's no avoiding it, and he despises feeling trapped. They're going to have to spend their whole day here. It really isn't their kind of place, but Andrew has not right to wonder how they got roped into this.

Andrew glares at Neil’s bag. He didn’t bring it for them.

That's why they're here, because Neil has a two-page souvenir list in his backpack courtesy of Aaron's girlfriend.

Andrew's scowl returns at the memory, and he turns it on Jean.

Just because.

"Jean, what's your favorite ride?" Jeremy asks, eyes shining. Neither Andrew nor Neil asked for the recommendation.

"Indiana Jones," Jean answers, seemingly without thinking too hard on it, and his eyes shine when Jeremy beams.

"Mine too!"

Gag.

Andrew's opinion of Jean Moreau has not improved over the past year. Andrew promised Neil he wouldn't confront the man while they were actually at the park, but it's a talk Andrew will eventually have if he has anything to say about it.

He's different though, that much Andrew can tell. The backliner still curls in on himself, making himself as small as can be despite his height. The tattooed '3' is dark against his pale skin, but the sun has taken out some of the starkness. Jean always keeps his hands in front of himself, as if ready to guard against an attack, but his shoulders are less stiff around his new team.

They're observations, nothing more. Andrew couldn't care less about Jean Moreau's life or happiness. It's all his own to deal with, but Andrew cannot ignore the changes, since they mirror Neil's own.

Speaking of Neil...

He's still trying to find a polite way of telling Jeremy he has zero clue about what Disneyland has to offer, and Andrew notes that Neil must've sensed it too: Jeremy's batshit opinion about this place. Otherwise Neil would never hold back the usual bluntness.

Andrew would pay to see it.

Jean tugs one of Jeremy's Mickey ears, gesturing to the entrance. "The girls are here."

Neil's demeanor breathes a little when he sees Laila and Alvarez approaching; he likes them, and even Andrew knows they're not nearly as annoying as their teammates. They're walking hand in hand, the same Trojan ears glistening on their heads.

What is it with these people?

Andrew lets the greetings fall into the background, but can't say he feels awful when Laila cracks some dumb Exy pun, making the edge of Neil's lips twitch in a smile.

Another thing the girls have to offer: they seem to know when Jeremy is about to launch into another tirade.

"Jeremy cool it," Alvarez says, holding Jeremy back by the hoodie before he can get anywhere further into Neil's bubble. "Neil's not going to remember everything about all the different sections, just let him explore."

For a split second, Jeremy's face scrunches up, like he ate something foul. "He needs to know not to go to....that place."

Laila rolls her eyes. "You mean Star Wars--"

"Stop."

Laila turns her aggravated stare on her girlfriend, but all Alvarez offers is a shrug. "He's right."

Neil turns to Andrew as if he'll understand, but he does not.

Jeremy's eyes flit around the park to all the decorations, the crowd a sea of Mickey ears, planning out where to drag them. And the rest of them allow it. Team dynamics don't interest Andrew much, but they're not following Jeremy out of fear. They're treating this journey, along with Jeremy's eccentricities, as inevitable and maybe even endearing.

Andrew wants to leave.

Then Jeremy gasps, staring down at his empty hands. "Neil, you and Andrew have never been here right? Maybe I should've gotten you a map, for the experience, you know?" Then Jeremy tilts his head up, in that haughty way Kevin might after lecturing them on an exy skill he acquired. "It's fine though, I know where everything is. You're in good hands!"

Andrew seriously doubts that.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jeremy says, plopping his giant backpack on the floor. Andrew wonders if he packed for the possibility of them being stuck there for eternity. It's a gift for Jeremy Knox to be able to make Andrew's day that much worse. He pulls out two custom sets of ears from his backpack, styled in white and orange. Palmetto colors.

No.

"You guys can match," Jeremy says with a wink, and Neil looks torn. On one hand they're orange, on the other hand they're absurd.

But of course, Neil's obsession wins over, and he grabs for a pair of ears without hesitation.

Andrew can't.

"I'm not wearing those," Andrew states, uncaring of how the rest of them flinch. Neil's the only one not surprised, but he's giving Andrew that face, and Andrew has to hold himself back from telling Neil to stop.

We're in public, control yourself.

But Neil just sighs, fixing the ears to his head. They clash with Neil's reddish-brown hair, bright and sparkly.

Andrew hates being gay.

He ignores Jean's glare as Jeremy holds the other pair of ears to his chest. More evidence, Andrew realizes, and the pathetic kind too. Jean can't stand the thought of someone hurting his not-boyfriend's feelings.

"O-oh," Jeremy says, but his smile is back, undeterred. He spins to face Neil, who miraculously, doesn't flinch. "Well, I guess I'll wear them then! Neil, you and I can match! I don't want you to be alon--"

The stream of consciousness in Andrew's head comes to a jarring halt, tires screeching.

Unacceptable, absolutely not. He doesn't even have a moment to think about why, or stop himself from being so ridiculous.

He snatches the ears from Jeremy's hands and puts them on, refusing to meet Neil's smug stare.

"Shut up."

And thankfully, Neil does, but others do not.

"He's as bad as you babe," Laila whispers behind him, and he practically feels the heat radiating off Alvarez.

"Can it."

Andrew catches Jean's sigh of relief in his peripheral, and isn't quite sure why he agreed to not kill him in the happiest place on Earth.

"You guys look great!" Jeremy comments, but Andrew is already walking ahead, eager to be anywhere else.

That, and he's pretty sure the churros are this way.

Neil keeps up with him easily, given his strong legs, even knowing Andrew is deliberately trying to not look at him. Neil's gaze is a warm, affectionate thing, one Andrew will never be used to. Neil's so distracted, he almost trips, and Andrew hooks his arm around Neil's waist to right him. They're connected for merely a second, but Andrew's arm feels like it's on fire.

"Focus," he growls, but Neil doesn't take it as a threat. He never does.

"Mm, I can't," Neil says. "I like them. I like them on you."

"They're hideous."

"So our uniforms are hideous?"

"Yes."

They reach the churros, and Neil buys him three.

Jeremy starts to babble again as Andrew digs in, and Andrew can't help but notice he buys Jean one without being asked. The ex-Raven doesn't look super pleased with the sweetness, but he eats it anyways.

And throughout all the chatter, Jean won't stop staring right at Jeremy.

Why does Andrew keep noticing? He might just be able to blame Katelyn for that too.

Ever since he picked her up from Eden's, she's been responsible for a lot of unacceptable thoughts in his head. All because of one, stupid line of reasoning.

"I know, I know a lot of people use the word and they don't mean it, or they don't act like it but...that's on them. That's not real love, the actual thing, the definition. Just because people use the word incorrectly doesn't mean the feeling isn't real."

Real love. Already, there's so many things wrong with that phrase. Katelyn doesn't see it as subjective, Andrew doesn't see it as anything at all. Devotion, protective, consideration...they are all things people would perhaps put towards the definition, but they neglect the absences as well. Absence of hurt, of blame, of judgement.

That's the half so many people don't get right, and even if they do, Andrew cannot see how it could be wrapped up in a word.

He watches Jean sigh and lean into Jeremy's sphere, and thinks of how his brother looks at Katelyn. It's eerily similar.

Andrew would not use the word love normally, so he reaches in to pluck Katelyn's idiotic definition out from the past to see if it applies. The pretty parts are there; Jeremy is constantly aware of Jean's presence, careful to steer him to the edges of crowds, to check if he's alright. On the opposite end of things, Jean just looks like he'd burn the so called happiest place on Earth to the ground if it meant being able to listen to Jeremy's prattle.

He's not willing to analyze much more than that, not with Neil by his side. It puts pressure on the stone in him, dropped there by Katelyn that night at Eden's and steadily growing with every moment he spends around his boyfriend.

"I think we should definitely go on Indy though," Jeremy says, leaning in to take a bite of Jean's churro. It's so stupidly romantic Andrew wants to vomit. "I want to see Jean get scared again!"

The girls smirk, though a minute later Alvarez is teasing Laila just the same. Jean's face is colored red, not with shame, but innocent embarrassment. Not becoming of a Raven, but then again, Jean never wanted to be one.

"I was not scared, I had never been on the ride before!" Jean crosses his arms, and his teammates look at him in the way the Foxes look at Neil. Complete adoration.

"It scared him to death," Jeremy says to Andrew and Neil, trying very poorly to whisper.

And, without breaking eye contact with Jean, Andrew says: "If only."

Because really, if only.

Jean's the only one besides Neil who takes the statement as intended, as in completely seriously. The backliner's face goes white, staring at Andrew and waiting for it to be a joke. He has to know deep down it's not.

Jeremy holds his stomach from how hard he's laughing. "Ha! You're a riot Andrew," he wheezes, and Neil regards him as neutrally as he can. It's hard, when Jeremy sounds like a dying seagull.

Andrew pulls out his phone, avoiding Neil's gaze. Technically, he only promised not to physically confront Jean at Disneyland, nothing else. "That's me, comedy king."

Without looking up, Andrew opens his notes app and sidesteps Jeremy until he's closer to Jean. He has no qualms about calmly typing out the words 'I despise you' before showing it to him.

Honestly, no other Raven is this easy to read, but Andrew supposes it has more to do with Jean's complete revival than anything else.

Jean reads the message, blinks, looks at Neil as if to confirm his suspicions, and then nods slowly.

Well, now he knows. It'll be a good way to put a pin in things for now.

When Andrew walks back over to his churro holder (see: Neil), the redhead is shaking his head, grin way fonder than it should be.

--

It takes around fifteen minutes for them to ditch the group, and for Andrew to stuff his pair of ears into Neil's backpack to never see the light of day again.

It's absurdly easy, they barely have to duck into the crowd or put their heads down. Despite Jeremy's insistence that Andrew and Neil see all there is to see, he'd hardly taken his eyes off Jean. In fact, the two are so engrossed in each other they barely notice the girls, who seem to weirdly not mind.

Jeremy is the talker, and Jean is only too happy to go along with it, soaking in every nonsense opinion even when he seems to not understand the relevance or importance. Andrew wonders if this so called 'love' truly makes people that uncaring, but then again, he knows it does. He's watched his brother fawn over every dumb little detail of Katelyn's life. Once, she'd gone on a ten minute tangent about her colored pencil coordinated note taking system. Aaron had been fascinated, not because he cared about the content of the words, but because of Katelyn herself.

Andrew doesn't understand, but his mind conjures up the image of Neil peeking over the top of a bus seat, the hours floating by.

They find a good spot to sit down on Main Street near the castle, perfect for the people watching Neil likes to do. Andrew's on his third churro with a fourth lined up, and if Neil's wallet is crying about it, he doesn't seem to mind. The striker's legs dangle lazily from the bench they're on, swinging in time with the cheery music blaring through the speakers. Andrew brought him here to escape the crowd; Neil always preferred to watch, to catalogue the different types of people. Disneyland, at the very least, should have an interesting variety for Neil to judge and pick apart for the nonsensical survival guide in his head.

Page ninety-two: signs of regret-filled parents. That's how Andrew would guess it's organized.

But no, Neil's staring right at him. Andrew could feel it mid chew, the striker's gaze penetrating and brighter than any of the thousand balloons he's seen flying around.

Andrew managed to hold out for about half a churro, no longer, before giving in.

Neil's triumphant smile is an indication he was all too aware of the game.

"Are they good?" Neil asks, and it's enough to make Andrew pause. He watches the way Neil adjusts those stupid ears on his head, the way he licks his lips to mimic the place Andrew assuredly has sugar on his own.

Rather than answer, and before he does something stupid, he shoves the end of the churro into Neil's mouth. It's not an uncommon occurrence.

Neil barely yelps before dutifully taking a bite. Andrew waits for the usual scrunch of his nose, the disgust at the sweetness. Still, Neil will never refuse something Andrew offers him.

"Not bad," Neil says, chewing slow. There's sugar on his lips now too, and Andrew realizes he made an error. "Still too much sugar."

Unheard of. There's no such thing.

With a scoff, Andrew wipes the excess sugar off Neil's lips with his thumb. "You disgust me, Josten."

It doesn't sound as convincing as it used to, and Neil's triumphant smile only grows wider. Only then does he sigh and lean back, staring into the sea of people who love wasting money. Andrew will never get the fascination.

There's a good distance between them on the bench which Neil hasn't tried to close, and won't until Andrew says otherwise. Andrew's not in the mood to feel his weight, not today. It wasn't brought on by anything specific, but Neil abides like he always does.

Neil doesn't seem any less content.

"I can't believe they haven't noticed we're gone," the redhead says, far from disappointed. The relief is something Andrew can relate to. It's been about an hour, and they've done nothing, but Andrew knows he's having a better time this way.

The last thing he wants is to watch Jean and Jeremy obliviously flirt and fawn over one another with no outlet. Andrew's not sure if they'd be worse if they were actually dating, and part of him considers just dropping the bomb on them to ruin any kind of movie moment they might have at this godforsaken place.

"I can," Andrew mutters, but doesn't elaborate. He's sure Neil hasn't actually noticed the pining, not with Andrew nearby, and certainly not with everything else going on. He doesn't need to know, because then they might have to talk about it.

Andrew doesn't have all the words for that yet.

Neil hums, interpreting the words in his own way. "Jean does seem...better. I guess he would be more focused on his friends. At least now Kevin will stop complaining, I'll get to tell him Jean's doing just great."

The topic of Jean Moreau isn't much better.

He's not able to keep all of his glower locked down, and he ends up making a passing school teacher flinch. "I don't care how he is," he says through his teeth, and Neil stiffens.

Yeah, wrong thing to bring up. Not as bad as the times Neil will drop his mother into conversation, but not good regardless.

Neil sighs, fiddling with his bracelet again. It's what he does when he wants to touch Andrew but won't. "Andrew, Jean is--"

Andrew turns the intensity of his stare on Neil. They've had this talk before, and he's not trying to bring it up again. Contrary to what other people may believe, he's not adverse to having difficult conversations with Neil. Arguments, even.

They happen, but...

There's something about it; Andrew won't say it's comfortable, but he simply knows it won't change anything. He and Neil disagree sometimes, but it seldom turns into a screaming match or the silent treatment. More often than not, Andrew's willing to keep coming back to a topic if it means they reach a compromise. He doesn't yield that way for anyone else, but Neil doesn't make it feel like submission or defeat. It's why it doesn't make Andrew nearly as antsy as he originally believed it would, when they started their this. For them, it's problem-solving.

This however...this is one thing Andrew can't excuse. Not yet, maybe not ever. They keep having to step away.

"Don't," Andrew says. Neil's eyes hold no fear, and they shouldn't. Andrew's not saying it unkindly, it's the truth. "Whatever you say will not change my mind. Not with this."

Not when it comes to people hurting what's mine.

Andrew's hands curl into the edge of the bench, the splitting wood a comfort. He's strong, his hands have the power to kill, to fend off. Why that's so important in this moment...

When Neil still doesn't look like he understands, Andrew reaches forward to flick the shackle pendant around his wrist, almost on instinct.

And well, guess it's become a weakness for them both.

Neil sighs, and bites his tongue in a rare show of restraint. The striker keeps back every counterpoint and argument, which he surely has handfuls of, and puffs out his cheeks. Any other moment it would be...maybe not so annoying.

But not cute.

Some of the trembling in Andrew's frame leaves; he's not dumb enough to think this is over, Neil is too stubborn. But for now, the striker accepts it.

Though, not without being infuriating. Neil's gaze pierces him, sticking Andrew to the spot.

"I'm safe with you Andrew," Neil breathes, and Andrew's not willing to acknowledge how Neil quickly aims for the root of the problem. It's a spike through Andrew's chest. Again, Neil races ahead of Andrew's own thought process at the most random times.

So that's it. Andrew thinks. A promise.

It won't happen again. Neil has no way of knowing that, but he wants Andrew to believe it; nothing will hurt Neil so severely again because Andrew won't allow it. Andrew will thrash and bleed before it happens again, but Jean Moreau is a reminder that it can, even when most of the guilt falls on a dead man. There will always be others, lurking in the shadows. Weapons, threats.

But still, with all his paranoia, Andrew can't even tell Neil to be quiet, because to refute such a statement feels wrong in a number of ways. Neil's trust is something he earned.

Andrew hums instead, and refuses to repeat the obvious. Instead, he pushes Neil back by the shoulder, his back hitting the bench and forcing Neil to loosen up.

Better.

"I can't believe a place like this exists," Neil sighs, giving into the calm Andrew lends him. Andrew's not sure if he means it from the perspective of a runaway or not. Disneyland would be an enigma to most people with Neil's past.

"You don't feel happy?" Andrew says with a sneer, taking in the fighting families and crying children. He knows there's equal parts people smiling and having fun, and he's choosing to center himself on the negatives, but he's not in the mood to apply Bee's advice for once.

"Well if I did it would be because of you," Neil says, grin smug from the stare Andrew turns on him. No one needs his sappiness. "But I don't really like that word."

Haha.

Andrew pokes Neil in the leg, more like a jab, and Neil jumps. "Stop stealing my lines."

Neil snorts. "I just meant in terms of this place. Doesn't it feel untrustworthy from the get-go if you advertise your park as the happiest place? It can't actually be."

It's amazing how hard Neil's brain works when it comes to unimportant topics. "Careful, if Jeremy hears you he'll have a meltdown."

"That would be interesting though."

"And potentially homicidal."

Andrew makes a note to bring Kevin if he ever has to return here. Kevin won't be able to keep his distaste hidden, and he'll get to really test the Jeremy Knox theory.

"Have you ever been to an amusement park?" Neil asks a moment later, voice low. Treading lightly.

It's not a particularly bad memory for Andrew though, and he only shrugs. He's no longer shocked about how much he talks to Neil. It's easy, not draining.

"Mostly for school, I wouldn't waste time with the rides," Andrew says, and feels the memory of old dollar bills in his hands. Sometimes he'd be lucky enough for his foster homes to provide him money for food, sometimes not. "Carnivals were easier. I could just go off and find some abandoned corner to smoke or wait it out."

No one ever cared to come looking for him.

Despite his sweet tooth, he seldom had the actual money to spoil himself with the fried foods either. He makes up for that now, obviously.

Speaking of, he wants a frozen lemonade at some point.

Neil's eyes are devoid of pity, but Andrew knows he could quickly turn that understanding gaze into a rage-fueled one if he chose to provide any of the details.

He doesn't. He never enjoyed things like amusement parks, and he doesn't mind either way if Neil does, but part of him is simply at ease, here on this stupid bench.

Neil's protection can't reach back into the past, no matter how badly the striker would like it to.

"Everyone always talked about Disneyland as the best place in the world," Andrew offers instead, waving his hand around. If anything, the sheer size of the park is the most impressive thing about it. The other kids in his classes couldn't let it go; family vacations, dream dates, etc.

The hype around the park never died down no matter how Andrew aged.

Compared to Neil sitting next to him, the park is without.

"And your verdict?" Neil asks anyways, because he tries not to assume when he can.

Andrew's not sure why his heart reacts the way it does to that.

Neil's stupid ears pair with his Palmetto hoodie perfectly, and he looks like the pumpkin Cinderella would've taken to the ball. The fierceness of him isn't softened in the slightest by it though, his vulnerability comes from his eyes, the way all his alarms become inactive in Andrew's presence.

Andrew craves it, this complete, unyielding trust.

He hates how Neil can make any situation interesting.

"It's annoying," Andrew eventually says, rolling up his churro wrapper into a tight ball. He misses the trash can when he tosses it, and ignores the disgruntled stare he gets for it from a park worker. "Not awful."

Neil straightens up, too proud of himself. "Are you saying that because of the churros or because I'm here?"

"Be quiet."

Neil, because his death wish inclination isn't as active today, doesn't point out the non-answer. The striker just hands him money for another churro, though he's considering beignets.

Neil watches the way Andrew stares at the money, seemingly content to allow Andrew this indulgence. "I remember kids talking about it when I was younger. I could never understand why such a crowded place could be so fun. Much less the lines or overpriced food. But..."

Andrew clutches the money tight, but it's a poor substitute for Neil's hand. "But?"

"But well, it's not like I ever got the chance to try it out." Neil gestures to the precise decorations, the ornate buildings, and his eyes flit down the trolley lines like they remind him of a destination far worse. Andrew never asked Neil if he train hopped before. Neil sighs, his nose scrunching from the sweet, candied scents in the air. "Maybe I would've loved it. Then I'd be a lunatic like Jeremy."

It's meant to be a joke, but Andrew understands. That's the strangeness of the unknown. Had things been different, had they been raised like anyone else, there's no telling what they could've been like.

But things weren't different. Andrew isn't foolish enough to reflect on the past with bitterness or entertain what he could've been like if only. The asinine exercise would do nothing for him, for his future.

The future he's coming to anticipate and accept, because Neil also refuses to look back. It's still a globby, hard to see mess right now, but the more days pass with Neil by his side, even it begins to take shape.

But he doesn't have room in his chest to say all that, so instead he tugs on Neil's headband again. Snug.

"You're already wearing the ears," he drawls. As if Neil forgot, his hands fly up to tug on one of the ears, and Andrew is helpless to save the image forever.

"I should probably take them o--"

"No."

Just...no.

It's hard to make Neil blush, but when it happens Andrew makes sure to catalogue it. He watches the color spread on the bridge of the striker's nose, and then Neil laughs, a light and fleeting sound. Andrew hears it over everything else.

Neil turns on the bench, hugging his knees to his chest, and Andrew is moving to face him without thinking about it. "I feel like...if the others were here they'd say we're wasting the opportunity," Neil muses, pursing his lips. "Like we should be going on rides and watching shows."

"That's everyone's problem then," Andrew waves the thought off, tracking Neil's lips. He's not ready for a kiss, but he's warming up to the idea.

But, Neil seldom brings up things pointlessly with him.

"It is," Neil agrees, and Andrew presses his thumb into the crease of his boyfriend's brows. Neil doesn't flinch. "But they might be right. I guess I can't expect to have the same opinions now as I did as a kid on the run. I should at least be able to say, yeah I went to Disneyland slightly more adjusted and I still don't see what the big deal is."

Ah, the point emerges. Andrew will admit...

"You don't seem anxious," Andrew observes, because he expected Neil to be very nervous.

Neil tilts his head, and Andrew has to make him stop doing that. "What?"

Andrew leans back, and Neil follows the touch instinctively before getting a hold of himself. "If you really felt you were wasting time, you'd be all fidgety and irritating."

"I didn't say I felt like I was wasting time, just that I maybe should," Neil sighs. Andrew isn't sure what he means, but he doesn't have time to think about it when Neil's impish grin comes back. "But no, any time I spend with you isn't a waste."

Andrew leans in, slow and insistent, and lets Neil tense in anticipation of a touch, a kiss. Then, Andrew pushes his face away. It's what he deserves, and Neil bites his tongue.

Huffy.

Neil slumps back, but the pouty thing he's doing dampens the scowl. He needs to not spend so much time with Katelyn.

"You've become a sap, rabbit."

And it's dangerous for both of them. Andrew doesn't mean for the words to come out so light, but what's the use in correcting himself?

"I get it from you," Neil shoots back, and oh, now he chooses to read Andrew's mind. At the twitch of Andrew's mouth, Neil smiles, the kind reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone.

Andrew's nerve endings are still a little fuzzy, but he tugs Neil's sleeve until he follows. He brings Neil close enough to feel Andrew's heat, to smell the cinnamon. This works, for now.

And Neil, despite being somewhere people dream of visiting, looks totally focused on him. When he gazes down the trolley lines again, the expression is much more promising.

"Who knows? It might be fun if we went now, with all the foxes," Neil wonders aloud. "Not sure, since I think the closest thing to a ride I've ever been on is a train, and not legally."

Well, there's the train hopping question answered.

But that's it, he supposes. He feels nothing about this place, or any amusement parks for that matter. Even in his tumultuous childhood, he experienced them, never understood the appeal.

Neil's never had the opportunity to try. He's never been able to form an opinion.

Andrew thinks that's at least one aspect of his freedom Neil should have, even if it is something so trivial.

Andrew sighs; what has he gotten himself into?

Neil Josten is a whirlwind of an individual, but he's Andrew's.

That's what Neil would say, without hesitation, every time.

'But I'm yours.'

Andrew really does need a cigarette, but that frozen lemonade will have to do. He stands up, making a show of brushing himself off. He can feel the tilts of Neil's head behind him, for fuck's sake.

"C'mon then," Andrew says, turning around to adjust how crooked Neil's headband is. Another problem he didn't need, but it's too late now. Damn merchandise. When Neil still makes no move to get up, Andrew tugs his bangs. "Let's go on a ride."

Neil's jaw opens and closes, but Andrew is already turning away from him. Neil's fast, he should be able to catch up. "W-wait, are you sure?"

Neil scrambles to his feet, and Andrew can't look directly at him. He's sure there's something bright and shiny swimming in those eyes right now, and that's far too much.

He tries to go through his mind for what he knows about Disneyland, and asks himself if he's in the mood to be up high.

No, not today. Neil has him feeling far too much already.

"I think the Matterhorn is enclosed," he says, in lieu of an explanation, and knows Neil will get the meaning.

Neil grips the straps of his backpack, reigning in the energy as best he can. Andrew wonders when he'll work up the nerve to tell Neil he doesn't have to when it's like this. Even without touch, Andrew promised to take everything Neil had to offer.

He's not sure if Neil can sense the feeling, but his face softens anyways. "Okay...yeah!"

Neil falls in step beside him, and Andrew revises his previous statement with only mild displeasure. He doubts he will ever have enough of this.

--

The Matterhorn was, what a shocker, a bad idea.

Andrew will never say he tries to make his driving a comfortable experience, but he knows his road raging still would've been a more pleasurable time than being thrown around on that poor excuse for a ride.

The bumpiness of the Matterhorn was also not helped by how tense he was; he felt like a cutting board in a blender, trying to force away the unrealistic thought of Neil flying off the edge and plummeting to his death during the whole two minute affair.

A forty-five minute wait for two minutes of back pain that'll last the rest of the day.

"Well that sucked," Neil says with a wince, stretching out his back slowly. Andrew pointedly looks elsewhere. "Why do people do this for fun? I feel like my spine got ripped out and then put back in the wrong way."

Andrew wants to tell him to stop being so dramatic, but for once Neil's words are accurate.

They tried. No one can say they didn't try.

"Nevermind you were right," Neil says as Andrew orders them a lemonade to share; Neil ignores the glare Andrew gives him for chugging the first half in one go. Neil sighs from the rush of citrus, placing the cold cup to his forehead. "Can we go home?"

"Doubtful, unless you want to walk," Andrew sighs. He retches the lemonade away from Neil, pushing away his grabby hands. An admirable tactic, but fruitless. "I knew carpooling was a stupid move."

"Hey, we take offense to that."

Neil tenses on instinct, like the hypocrite he is. He's so used to being the shadow, the nosy meddler who overhears everything. Andrew would think he's more than deserving of being on the receiving end if he wasn't so annoyed himself.

They turn to find the girls grinning ear to ear, and Andrew notes right away how there's no smiling bundle of 'I love Disney' with them.

Jean and Jeremy are nowhere to be found.

How 'bout that.

Alvarez unlinks her arm from her girlfriend's to ring out her damp shirt; Andrew notices they're soaked from head to toe, sneakers squeaking from their drenched socks. It makes Andrew grimace on the inside; it should feel atrocious, but the girls are beaming.

"So you two do act like a couple," Laila says, and Andrew's not sure he gets what she means. He does decide she's his least favorite of the two though. "I had some doubts."

Andrew couldn't care less about that, but Neil's a different story. Defiantly, Andrew silences his boyfriend before he can even go on his tirade by shoving the lemonade back into his hands.

An acceptable sacrifice; Neil's aware they don't seem like the stereotypical couple, but he hates having his feelings doubted.

He hates it even more when people doubt Andrew's, and Andrew pushes the thought of Katelyn's suspicious expression at Eden's out of his mind.

What other people assume about him is not his problem.

"Why didn't you just buy him his own lemonade?" Alvarez asks, her eyes flicking over Neil's expression. He's calming down, but the aggravation is there. Guess not all the Trojans are oblivious.

Andrew takes the bait for what it is, no energy to be contrary.

"Neil doesn't need that much energy, and he'll drink mine no matter what because he's annoying," Andrew says, and sure enough, he hears the slurp behind him, an alert that Neil basically sucked down the rest of his drink.

One down, several to go.

"It's true, I am," Neil chimes in at that, refreshed. It's then he actually seems to pay attention, scanning the girls from head to toe. "Why are you guys all wet?"

Laila claps a hand over Alvarez's wolfish grin before she can even respond to that, and Andrew is glad. He really didn't want to hear it.

At least Neil would get the joke this time.

"Splash Mountain," Laila replies hastily, like they have any clue what it is. "Horrible build-up, decent pay-off. Jean hates it though so it's the best way to make sure we don't run into them."

At her own words, she checks behind her, like Jeremy Knox can appear at the mere mention of his not-boyfriend.

They probably shouldn't stay in the same place too long.

"Outside Star Wars anyways," Alvarez adds, prying Laila's hand off her mouth for .2 seconds.

"Hush, he'll hear you!"

Then, Alvarez must lick her girlfriend's hand, because the goalie retches away with a disgusted yelp. "Hey! Gross!"

"Wow, you don't love me."

It's punctuated with giggles, and Andrew stuffs his hands in his pockets; why that word decides to plague him today, he's not sure. He wouldn't say the girls act as useless as Katelyn and Aaron do, but their dynamic is still distinct.

Affectionate.

Andrew turns his hard stare at the ground. No, no. It's still not right.

Neil, oblivious to Andrew's plight, squints at the empty space where Jean and Jeremy should be. "Wait...you guys ditched them too? Why?"

"They had the same idea as us," Andrew mutters, but Neil's lightbulb still hasn't gone off.

Laila's grin is as sardonic as it gets. "Ah, so you noticed?"

Andrew doesn't respond. He's steadily reaching his word quota.

Knowing the only chance of Andrew saying anything is by asking himself, Neil turns to him, too searching. "Noticed what?"

And oh, Andrew can't avoid talking about it after all, can he? He's not sure why he doesn't want to, there hasn't been much cause for concern with Neil lately. Not for months. Maybe not ever, but Andrew had been in denial there for a while.

Perhaps Andrew just hates being in this limbo, where he doesn't even know how he feels about a topic yet. It's happened before, but it's no less disconcerting than the other times. The jealousy, the concept of understanding, their first time...

His mind, a traitor, reminds him none of those situations ended horrifically.

"Moreau is in love with his captain," Andrew mutters, and watches the moment Neil blanches. No stopping the floodgates now. "Original."

Something in Neil's gaze twitches. Andrew's hasn't seen the look before, but it's surely not good for him or his pulse. Andrew turns his stare to the ice cream cart in the distance, but his sweet tooth is done for the day.

Another unfortunate reality.

"God, so they really are that bad," Laila groans. "For a second there, we thought it might just be us."

Alvarez scoffs, crossing her arms and putting all her weight on Laila. It must be a common occurrence; Laila huffs, but makes no move to push her away.

"We've been trying to get them together for ages," Alvarez continues, twirling her finger around like a never ending cycle. "We ditch them literally every single time in the hopes they finally have their moment."

Both their expressions fall then, truly defeated. Laila sounds at her wit's end, and Andrew feels little sympathy. "But, no such luck."

Andrew can't even begin to pick apart how uselessly optimistic that is when idiots are concerned, but Alvarez seems to be tracking his every movement for some type of reaction. He should've never said anything, but she'll learn soon enough; he's not an easy read, despite a hot-headed outlier.

Neil blinks at them, a complex math problem with cliche romantic plots instead of numbers. "They're...into each other?"

The look he gets from the girls is similar to the pitying ones he gets from Allison whenever he says something particularly misguided about fashion.

Laila puts her hand on Neil's shoulder, patting him slowly. "Oh Josten, your face right now tells me all I need to know about you."

Then, the double shot of pity is poured right down Andrew's throat.

"You got an oblivious one too huh?" Laila says wryly, and Alvarez chokes.

"Hey."

Andrew won't dignify that with a response, but he figures it's obvious anyways.

Laila snorts, tugging on Alvarez's ear lobe. "But yeah, Jean totally wants to husband Jeremy. It's so painful. Disneyland is supposed to be romantic, but--"

Alvarez finishes the thought with a fart noise. Andrew's not sure why he speaks up, the conversation is so beneath him, and he blames Bee. He never used to talk so much before he realized that it actually helped his mind move down the endless river.

"Movie moments like that will never happen," Andrew says, nothing condescending or dismissive about it. It's the truth; he learned long ago that the grand gestures people expected seldom come to fruition. They could sit Jean and Jeremy at the table for two with violins playing around them and it most likely wouldn't do any good.

People won't do anything until they're ready to acknowledge how they feel, and even then they might not. Andrew never thought that was such a bad thing; shutting down a feeling, weighing the pros and cons of a decision until ultimately trying to be rid of it.

It was better that way.

He knows though, had he never let that go, he wouldn't have Neil next to him.

He also knows Bee would call that a good thing, the release of a way of thinking that he's yet to acknowledge as completely outdated.

None of that realization shows on his face.

"You sure sound fun," Alvarez mutters, but she's smiling in a way Andrew hates.

"Andrew's the funnest person I know," Neil adds, unhelpfully adding to the upbeat of Andrew's heart. If Neil could stop ruining the English language on purpose that would be great.

The girls wait for Neil to reveal it as a joke, but seconds of Neil's blank stare kill any chance of laughter.

No, Neil is completely serious. And maybe he's right, after all the good Trojan captain himself did call Andrew a riot.

Laila purses her lips after a moment. "Right..."

"Anyways, you better get a move on if you don't want to continue enjoying your date," Alvarez says, glancing behind her suspiciously while checking her watch. Laila's hand entangles in her girlfriend's, and Andrew notices the charm bracelet there. He wonders if it's a gift from Alvarez.

He's seen a similar, custom one on Katelyn's wrist for the longest time. He's about to ask himself why people are so obsessed with buying jewelry, before realizing he's in the same boat.

When did he come to permit this?

Ugh. He's not running around that particular race track again. "It's not--"

"We're going to go get drinks in the Star Wars cantina," Alvarez interrupts, hastily beginning to tug her girlfriend in that direction. Guess it's later than she thought. "Jeremy will come this way soon. He has a very specific itinerary."

Of course he does.

"Any...slow ride suggestions?" Neil asks before they go, and Alvarez squeaks when she runs right into Laila's strong back. Neil steadfastly ignores the glare Andrew sends him, though if they do have to go on more rides, Andrew would prefer something smooth.

The Matterhorn can burn.

"There's the storybook ride?" Laila says, pointing behind them down the path. "Or It's a Small World?"

Alvarez huffs. "There's a joke there somewhere..."

Andrew doesn't mean for it to happen, but his memory is a steel trap, with a layer of unpredictability wrapped around it. He can't stop it, can't turn it off. For the briefest of moments it brings him the image of a homely kitchen in California, his fingers tracing the carvings in the table while he watches Cass cook dinner. It smells good; he remembers. Of course he remembers, the dish, the ingredients, down to the stains on the tile and which cabinets were open.

The song Cass hummed from between her lips.

He'd never heard the real song, never cared to look it up online or search up the ride itself. But he knows the name, knows the tune.

"What's that?" Neil asks, and whether he means to or not, his voice pulls Andrew out of it. Not even just that...Neil has a way of firmly planting Andrew in this new reality he's forged and tailored.

For the better, Bee's voice reminds him.

Laila smiles, no doubt connecting the ride to memories of her own. Happier, softer memories. Andrew could have those too, if he wanted. It would just take some revision, overwriting. "It's just a boat ride, and it kills time for sure."

Just a boat ride. That's all.

Neil nods, turning to Andrew while the girls walk away. It's getting later; Andrew can tell by how blue Neil's eyes get, highlighted by the darkness. They're haunting in a way, like the unexplored bottom of the ocean. Horrific things lurk in the depths, but there's something pleasant about them too, calming in their mystery. Maybe because to Andrew, and only Andrew, it's familiar territory. Andrew has never felt that level of ease from something, but Neil's stupid expression is too soft when he speaks. "How about it?"

How about it? Hm.

Andrew looks off into the direction Laila pointed in, debating on if he should put himself through that. Is he ready to put himself through that?

He could take this step, he reasons. He could try to overpower the terrible memory with one of Neil, with the feeling of his weight beside him. Is it worth it? Will it work?

No, he can't think of it like that.

It won't erase anything; Andrew's not so naive to think he will ever be rid of the image in his head, the sound of Cass's voice. But...maybe he could make the crystal clear image blurrier, faded around the edges until his mind wavers, until he can no longer make out the scenes as well as before. Instead, his brain will default to Neil in the future. Whenever he hears the cheery tune, Andrew will think of his stupid headband and sugar-kissed lips.

Stronger, sturdier memories.

He's allowed Neil to implant them before, and it hasn't backfired. The process is not always easy, or without pain, but it's been worth it every time. Andrew sees no reason to mess with a working strategy.

Andrew grabs Neil's wrist, the firmest contact they've had all day, and something in him sighs at the same time Neil does.

He leads the way.

--

As soon as Andrew hears the tune as they enter the tunnel, he wonders if he made a mistake. Not because of the memory, though that's definitely there. No, it's the tune itself.

The music is loud, repetitive, with no lull. He's not sure how someone can work on this ride and not quit immediately. He should've expected it though, so the blame is on himself. It won't be over anytime soon either. The boat they're in is moving at an agonizing speed, but it's a relief for his back. The slow glide makes him painfully aware of the soreness in his legs, the heaviness of his eyelids.

The spotlights are pointing at the monuments and walls, leaving the riders in the shadows. If Andrew squints, the people in the boats ahead of him look like nothing more than silhouettes for the briefest of moments. Unreal, specters.

The song continues, and Andrew reevaluates. It's too late to get off the ride, and the song might be called fitting; there's a weird eeriness to it, along with the surreal feeling of the park noises being completely blocked out. It's silent, for being so loud, so irritating. But after a while he's sure he'd become numb to it, and then what would be left?

All he can hear other than the singing is the gentle slosh of the water and the occasional hushed voices of the people in front of them. Like the wind. He feels like a ghost on the ride, wispy and drifting in and out of centuries. The tune is ageless, has probably been around for decades, long before Cass started to hum it.

Somehow, it's a comfort. Cass had been insignificant, another way to separate her memory from the ride itself.

Some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders, and having Neil beside him lessens it further. There are two free seat rows in front of them; the line hadn't been too long at this time of day, and Andrew feels an inkling of gratefulness.

It's the closest thing to privacy they've had all day, he realizes, and some of the fuzziness from earlier dissipates. The static in his brain has had time to even and sizzle out; it's taken hours for him to get to this point, but when Neil lets a quiet 'yes or no' pass between them, the answer is easy. Certain.

Andrew pulls Neil against him, and Neil follows it up by entangling their fingers together. He hardly hesitates anymore, doesn't treat the gesture like something with an expiration date. Andrew privately thought it would be the case, but...he's yet to be tired of it.

It's not so rare anymore, holding Neil's hand.

They pass the first display of dancing puppets, just as the song repeats 'it's a small world after all' through the speakers. Andrew can feel Neil's wry smile before he sees it. "It really is a--"

"Finish that joke I'll kill you."

Neil throws his head back in the first sign of genuine joy from a ride, and Andrew thinks this is already better than anything else they'd previously done. It's less intensive, with just enough chaotic energy to appeal to Neil's sense of humor.

They're not the type of people usually caught dead on these kinds of rides, but the creepiness feels warmer than any of the other joyful displays Disneyland had to offer. Neil's laugh echoes off the high ceilings, and he smothers it quickly.

But Andrew's mind remembers, and he plays the cut off sound on a loop far more intense than the tune of the ride itself. He mixes them together, until they can't be pried apart.

When they pass the German section of the song, Neil looks at him expectantly, and the look Andrew gives him is unimpressed. Mischief dances in his boyfriend's eyes anyways, and again, it's not cute. It's not like Andrew is going to suddenly start singing along just because it's in German. Though, Neil's reaction might be worth it.

Neil critiques the lyric translation anyways, like it's not the simplest song to mass produce.

"This isn't so bad," Neil sighs as they pass under another archway to a different section of the very small world. His finger is starting to tap along on the back of Andrew's hand, and he's not sure if he should put an end to it before it gets stuck in Neil's head. Then he'd have to hear Neil humming it over and over, and while not as traumatic, there's only so much Andrew can take.

"Other people would probably call it torture," Andrew says, gesturing to the lifeless faces of the puppets. He wonders if there's any conspiracies about this ride online, he's sure Neil would get some morbid kick out of them.

"Wimps," Neil replies haughtily, and no, Andrew's pulse does not jump. “I’m a torture connoisseur.”

He bastardizes the word so bad Andrew almost feels bad for France. Almost. When did Neil start thinking he was funny?

"That's not even remotely how you say it." Andrew untangles their hands purely for the purpose of flicking Neil's earlobe. Neil grabs for it again as soon as the punishment is doled out.

Junkie. "You speak that language..."

But Andrew's accusations mean nothing to Neil, per usual.

"I'm dumb remember?" Neil reminds with a shrug, and Andrew grits his teeth. He's still unsure how he feels about this; Neil's mind is vast when it comes to a lot of things. Languages, math, world knowledge, how to kill a man, basic things.

But otherwise...the ignorance can be...

Attractive.

Andrew almost gets off the boat from admitting it to himself. Dumb jocks with runner's hearts is a type he guesses, and it happens to be his.

Or, scratch that. Neil can't possibly fall into a group. Had more than one Neil existed, the mafia would've surely met their demise as a whole through a combination of violence and general dumbassery.

"You milk it on purpose," Andrew decides to say, because Neil does. Because no, Neil's far from dumb, he just knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Neil chooses not to respond to that, predictably.

"It's just not as bad as I expected," Neil continues, leaning his head against Andrew's shoulder. He gives a long sigh, and Andrew's sure it can't be comfortable. As at ease as he is in Neil's presence, there's always a hardness there, a tension coiled in his body. Yet, Neil leans into him like a pillow and seems to cherish the steadiness.

For a while, they just listen to the song.

Andrew's not quite sure if he agrees with the message, but he doesn't care in the moment. He's come to acknowledge lately that he shares quite a bit with other people, much to his chagrin. Though in the grand scheme of things, he's eons away from them all.

Primarily, he doesn't like to think he could replicate this...feeling, whatever it is.

Certainly not enough to assign an overused word to, one stamped onto every relationship like a barcode. 'I love you.'

He's never admired the words when other people used them. Is that fair, he wonders. Does it matter? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place; the need to be contrary itches at him. He shouldn't want to feel that way, shouldn't have to label this feeling as love...

And it doesn't feel right anyways.

He does not want to fit an insincere mold, but he doubts he and Neil ever could. They never have. This would not be so easily destroyed, toppled.

They simply share too much, and Andrew thinks back to his goal of replacing every bad memory with Neil. That's not an accident, or a desperate quick fix. That instinct is there for a reason...

Cass. Funny how his two separate problems seem to come together. Cass is an appropriate example. Andrew knows, better than anyone, that she hadn't loved him in Katelyn's definition, if that's what love even is. If love can be broken down like that, if it's real. Devotion, consideration, loyalty.

Andrew sighs; he can't go that deep into it. It's too much, bogged down by layers and layers of terrible experiences that have only just begun to be pushed aside like weeds. Never ripped out. The roots have taken hold, but they're withering.

Maybe it's because he's so tired of thinking about it that the words come out. He peers down at Neil against him, at the top of his head where the auburn curls are so within reach, and confesses to Neil's crown. He doesn't blame the need to admit things to Neil as influenced by love, it can't possibly be so contained. He just...something pushes him to work this out. "Cass would hum this, every now and again."

Andrew's not sure what he wants the reaction to be, but when Neil responds, Andrew's soul relaxes, so it must be what he needed. Neil goes rigid within an instant, robbed of the peace afforded them. Andrew didn't mean to throw it into their quiet bubble, but he doesn't regret it. These things aren't inconvenient. Andrew gives these pieces of information to Neil now, like he always has. Willingly, and they're received in kind.

Neil shoots up, eyes frantic when they meet Andrew's. He sees so many things in those blue eyes: rage at Cass, concern for Andrew, and things Andrew didn't ask for but will receive for as long as Neil is here. Neil looks frantic, and two seconds away from dragging them as far away from this place as possible.

Neil's voice is a whisper, sharp and desperate. "Why did you--"

Why indeed? Why come on this ride?

Andrew's puts all his boyfriend's worry and guilt into an early grave.

"I hate having her in my brain," he answers, and knows it's not an excuse. Being on this ride is far from traumatic, more therapeutic than anything, but he almost recoils. He's only ever admitted those things aloud, the pent up resentment and anger, in the privacy of Bee's office. Even then, it's pulling teeth. For so long he framed his time with Cass as the only blip of light in his life. But it had come with a price, and Andrew knows now it hadn't been remotely worth it. For so long he tried to protect that outlook, but now he wants it stained, blacked out. He just never knew it would be so hard to blot it out with his own hand.

And if that was not love...

Neil flinches, but Andrew keeps going, daring him to say something. He needs Neil to know he's serious, so he makes it personal, shared. "You're the obnoxious one, telling me to overwrite things all the time. That's what this is."

That's why I'm okay with this. It's you.

Andrew can see the moment Neil remembers; they'd been sitting on the roof, and Neil had asked him to only remember the good things, even if for just a moment. Andrew's not the best at employing this, and sometimes he vehemently denies the ability to do so, but not with this. Not today.

That feeling cannot be replicated; Andrew turns the idea in his head again and again, never getting closer.

But one thing is certain...

Neil's expression softens, and Andrew squeezes his hand before he flicks a look up at the bright orange monstrosity on Neil's head. "Now, this ride will just remind me of how terrible that headband is," he says, and Neil should at least be able to read between those lines. "Nothing else will come first."

I will latch onto you instead. Andrew never wanted that before, to cling to some idealized outlook again. But Neil is not that; Neil is painfully real. Sometimes he misinterprets, other times he keeps too much to himself. But at the end of the day, Andrew trusts him to do whatever it takes to remain by his side for as long as he chooses to be there.

Andrew is the same way; he can't go back to how it was before.

Andrew's not paying attention to the displays around them anymore, but he can feel his mind melding the images and the tune together with Neil's expression. Open, vulnerable, welcome.

Neil sighs a moment later, muscles relaxing. Not once does his hold on Andrew loosen, but he knows better than to pry about Andrew's past. Andrew has made it clear; this moment is not about an old memory.

Neil leans back, moving further into Andrew's space. "Mm, should I say something else annoying, make the moment stronger?"

And ah, back to normal already are we?

Andrew flicks the back of Neil's hand. "You just did."

He'll log that away too, as aggravating as it is.

"Yeah..." Neil breathes out with a laugh, his thumb rubbing small circles into Andrew's skin. Physical touch, muscle memory...Andrew needs all of it for this to work. He gladly focuses on that while Neil thinks; Andrew can tell solely from the crease in his brow the striker has more on his mind.

Neil's not necessarily like Andrew, he won't keep these things to himself for prideful reasons. He needs to let them out, or they will eat him up.

He's bad at hiding it too.

"Hey Andrew," Neil says eventually, and Andrew's ready for the words before they're even in the air between them. He'd been expecting this, dreading it, but not okay with putting it off any longer. He needs Neil's help, unfortunately, to piece it all together. "You said Jean was in love with Jeremy."

One day if life is especially cruel, and Andrew outlives Neil, he will make it his mission to pick the man's brain. Something in that stubborn subconscious always seems to anticipate the winding roads Andrew is currently stuck on, even when Neil actually has zero clue.

He's not so upset by this anymore.

Carefully, Andrew turns Neil's palm over to trace the heart lines. If he put them on a map, would they cross through all the places Neil's been? "I did say that."

And he's been re-thinking about if it's true. Who knows if Jean and Jeremy are actually in love. As much as he likes to compare them to his brother's and Katelyn's nauseating displays, affectionate looks and blushing cheeks can't be all there is to it.

Andrew had been stupid to chalk it up to just that. Not even Katelyn would've. And if that's the case, Andrew might never be convinced of Jeremy and Jean's feelings. Attraction sure, but he doesn't care enough to dig deeper.

There's not an equation to test levels of protectiveness, or comfort, in order to determine an abstract and troublesome thing like love. And why would he need to test his own feelings against such a thing anyways? He knows...he knows this is something he will keep for as long as he can.

"I thought you didn't use that word," Neil offers when Andrew is quiet for too long, debating on the best angle to attack this from. Neil tends to do that, when Andrew himself hasn't figured things out yet. If he poses questions that open up other doors, it clears the mess away. He notes how Neil says 'doesn't use' instead of 'doesn't like' or 'hates,' because it's true. Andrew isn't repulsed by the word, just annoyed with it and all its aspects. He does not get it.

It's like he told Katelyn...

"I don't, but only because it's untrustworthy," Andrew replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He's not making sense, not even to himself. He's simply trying to see if he's open to the idea of throwing out his old opinion, the one where the concept of love is something twisted beyond recognition. Fake. Overly reproduced.

It's far more difficult a feat than simply overwriting a bad memory. This feels more invasive, but Andrew knows he wouldn't be thinking about it if there wasn't something important lodged beneath.

Neil squints, unaware of Andrew's turmoil. "So you were insulting them?"

The game show buzzer in Andrew's head rings; nope, that's not it.

"I was applying Mrs. Minyard's definition..." Andrew tries not to sound too bitter. The whole reason he even let this issue cling to him is because of Katelyn. She's the worst.

"Katelyn?" Neil asks, but doesn't question further after Andrew nods. Andrew assumes he's used to this, and it's entirely likely he's had a similar conversation with Katelyn. Andrew won't think about that either.

Neil nods. "Okay well, do you care if they figure it out?"

Again, Neil strikes out, but it helps Andrew to eliminate the background noise in his head.

"No, it makes no difference to me," he says. He couldn't care less what becomes of Moreau's romantic life. "Though it would be annoying if we have to do this again."

Another forced outing surrounded by dense morons...

Andrew's had to deal with enough obliviousness.

Neil smirks. "You know, Kevin might flip out if they get together."

Ah, another rare pro...

Neil leans away, regarding Andrew like he's taken on a new sleuth role. He rubs his chin too, to add to the drama of it. Maybe Andrew should get him a monocle, if he's going to be this much of a fuck. "So...if you don't care if they realize it, why think about it at all? I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd care about something like this."

Andrew's not quite sure why or if he does either. It doesn't have to be a thing that applies to them, if he doesn't want it to be.

Their this is unique. Andrew had been so resistant to using the word 'love' because it had been spit on and turned to bile, misused by people throughout his life. But in doing so, he ignored the times people used it genuinely. In the past, he would've contested that. He would've said it was never genuine, never earned. The commercialized concept wasn't something he'd let himself have in common with others.

But lately, Andrew finds that having some things in common with certain people isn't reprehensible. And in this case...

Aaron's voice comes barreling through his head, steering Andrew to destinations he couldn't find before. And well, now he knows why his brain can't let go of Aaron and Katelyn as his go to example.

"Our feelings for them are the same."

Yes. Andrew had slowly begun to accept that. Maybe that's why his brain wouldn't write off Katelyn's words so easily.

Begrudgingly, Andrew admits there's a lot more to his brother's relationship than pure affection, even when most of it is behind closed doors. Katelyn had been there through the worst parts of Aaron's college life, and she'd never once judged him or ignored the ugliest bits. Not even when he hated her, could Andrew look past those things. They meet her own definition, and Andrew's simply choosing to extend some trust to his brother. Aaron says he's in love, so Andrew believes him even when he doesn't believe in the feeling's history, in the way it's manipulated.

And well, if his feelings are the same...

Well, he guesses he can try to accept that too.

"I was testing it," Andrew answers, without much struggle. Katelyn's definition, any definition. Andrew looks at Neil straight on then, and the striker's grin fades. Something crosses over those eyes, like for once Andrew is ahead of him. "Love. I think I'm trying to decide if I...want to say it."

If I want to say 'I love you.' If it applies at all.

Not need, but want.

Is it something heavy, or is it something inconsequential?

It feels wrong, but Andrew knows he's reached the crux of his problem. This is where all his restlessness stemmed from, his observations about Jean and Jeremy, about the girls...

It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with whether or not he'd ever want to have that in common with them.

He'd ignored the fact he most likely already does.

But the words...he never would've bothered before. They don't mean much, other than the weight society has put on them, and Andrew's never cared about that. He doesn't need them to know this is something sturdy in his life, and he doubts Neil needs them either.

It's more...this is another thing life took from them, took from Neil. They've never expected to regain everything; they never feel like life owes them.

It has nothing to do with that. It's just the same as with a lot of other instances; Andrew wants to give these things to Neil, because Neil is his.

Does there have to be some deeper explanation or justification for it? Even if there is, Andrew stops looking for it.

He waves off Neil's shocked expression, and doesn't ponder why it's there in the first place. He's been in the wrong before, assuming he's the only one who thinks about stuff like this. It's possible this has been on Neil's mind too, but that's not the point.

"I don't mean now, or anytime soon," Andrew corrects. No, no. He's not there yet, and it's not like it's some milestone they have to reach. Andrew doesn't like to think it could encompass how he feels, but maybe his biggest issue with this is that...he's not sure he hates the idea of it anymore. The word. One day, he might be able to say it and know it means a lot more than what other people think about it. And that would be enough. "But one day."

The shadows of the displays wash over Neil's expression, and Andrew can't pull anything out of it. Neil stares, hand still curled impossibly tight in Andrew's.

Andrew won't take back anything he said, but Neil's silence is beginning to unnerve him. He could have overstepped he realized, he should've asked for Neil's opinion at some point, weighed it against--

"You know, Aaron talked to me about this once," Neil offers finally. It's not what Andrew's expecting him to say. Then, Neil's face twitches, and Andrew can tell he's...holding back a smile. "That night you picked Katelyn up, we talked about...yeah."

Yeah.

Andrew knows the gist of what happened, Neil filled him in. Guess he didn't reveal all the details though.

Neil's laugh is a breathy, comforting thing this time. "He made me think about it. He asked if I loved you."

Neil smiles wryly, an expression he's begun to pair with Aaron lately. It's not a glare or scowl nearly as much anymore.

Andrew stills, but relaxes in the next second. They'd both been subject to the same thoughts after all, Andrew just didn't realize how similar the sources were. Aaron and Katelyn are menaces, and they don't even realize it.

Andrew doesn't feel nervous, or anxious. The way Neil feels about him is obnoxiously stone-like and unmovable at this point, as much as Andrew still sometimes tries to act like it's not. Neil won't say anything to make him doubt that.

"I said I did," Neil continues, like it's obvious. Andrew's pulse hiccups a little anyways. Stupid. "But I didn't know if I ever wanted to say it to you. It's more like...well obviously I do feel that way right? In the whatever—traditional sense."

Traditional. Ha.

He's not sure even Katelyn's definition is truly traditional in its selflessness.

Neil clears his throat, palm clammy in Andrew's own. Second by second, Andrew feels lighter. Neil's rambling is a strange salve, one more thing they have in common. Too much thinking, when the answer doesn't have to be so complex. Neil tries to glance away, but Andrew grabs his chin, keeping them face to face. He wants to have all this forever, every expression, every blink.

Neil swallows, but his smile stays, making a liar out of him before the words even leave his mouth. "But one word doesn't seem like enough, and if we did say it wouldn't it just be for other people's satisfaction? I don't need it to know you feel the same way..."

Andrew shakes his head in disbelief. Neil. Only Neil would expect that from Andrew. Andrew's mind exhales.

The convoluted mess of words echoes Andrew's own thoughts throughout the day, but it's never sounded clearer. No, it's true, one word will never be enough, but Andrew thinks if he could come to associate the word, the phrase, with this feeling, unique to them...

It wouldn't be so damaged anymore.

It would still be theirs, and no one else's. He'd have his own definition, to overwrite the rest.

"But even then..." Neil adds, quietly, his voice dancing with the song still playing around them. The lyrics are in English again, and Andrew knows the ride will end soon. Cass is barely a blip in his mind now, compared to Neil's words, the ones which mirror Andrew's. "I still thought it might be nice, one day, to say it. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Logically no. All the contradictions, the back and forth...feelings are a strange thing and that's one reason Andrew's always hated them. There's no rhyme or reason, and there's two sides to each one. All justification is ruled out by one thing and one thing alone: 'I still want to.'

And in that sense, Neil's words make perfect sense.

But he can't confess all that; instead he cups Neil's face in his hands, smoothing over the scars like he always does. The roughness is a constant, familiar. "I hate you," he says, with no heat. It makes both of them blink, and Andrew realizes it's been a while since he said it. That too, has changed. But in this case, he thinks it's more than fair. He's feeling more than he possibly knows what to do with. "Yes or no?"

The fact he asks makes Neil snort; it's nostalgic, because...they don't ask as much these days. But Neil's 'yes' echoes loud and clear as they pass under the final archway, and for the first time all day, their lips meet. Neil sighs into him, his hands coming up to rest over Andrew's, breathing in the unspoken promise.

Nothing was decided, nothing fleshed out. But it didn't have to be.

One day, maybe.

They're both more than okay with that. Besides, Andrew did always say proof meant more than words.

And he has mountains of it to last in the meantime.

With only a little annoyance, Andrew admits he fell into the trap without meaning to; they shared a kiss at Disneyland.

Andrew pulls away as the sunlight begins to pour over them, and he squints, already missing the ride. Quiet it was not, but not as bad as the sounds and size of the crowd. If he ever does have to come back, he knows it will be a place to stop.

It makes him think of Neil, first and foremost, and he's long since stopped denying himself that.

Neil tries to help Andrew out of the boat, but Andrew swats him away for being a shit. He doesn't need help. As revenge, Neil smirks at him once they're walking down the exit path, adjusting his ears just to be even more irritating. Not cute. "Wait, so this means you admit Katelyn and Aaron are in love. Can I tell them?"

Andrew rolls his eyes, and Neil laughs. He'll never live that one down, and if Neil wants to survive he'll keep it to himself.

Mockery aside, Neil links their hands together, and Andrew pushes his face away before accepting the touch. Neil hasn't stopped smiling.

"Something to say Neil?" He says with a glare, and though he knows it's a joke at best, it makes that obnoxious warmth in him surge.

Neil smiles wider, dragging Andrew down the path with no idea where he's going. Andrew lets him.

"No," Neil throws behind him, humor lacing his tone. Gradually, the corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Not at all."

--

"Andrew! Neil!" Jeremy's voice booms from across the pavilion, and they both freeze in their analysis of where the best hiding spot would be in the entire park (Andrew is making a case for Toontown, but puts a pin in it).

Their time alone is officially over.

"Shit," Neil mutters, hand still linked in Andrew's. Normally at the sight of people they know, he'd pull away for Andrew's comfort, but Andrew keeps his grip firm.

He wants this today. Neil beams, sighing at the rest of the group's advance. It must be twice as sad now, since Neil knows.

Jeremy and Jean follow with the girls in tow, and as they get closer Andrew can see Laila's resigned smile. She and Alvarez have been caught too, despite their best efforts, and Andrew can tell nothing has changed.

The 'magical moment' they'd tried to pull out of Jean and Jeremy didn't happen, just like Andrew knew it wouldn't. Regardless, they're as hopeless as ever.

Jean trails close after Jeremy, eyes scanning his strong back while Jeremy keeps looking to make sure he's following. They're still dancing around one another, oblivious, but that's their own problem to sort out.

Still...there's a shift in Jean's features that wasn't there before, and Andrew is all too happy to wither it away with a glare.

He's accepting, not forgiving.

Whatever realizations Jean came to today have no other impact on Andrew other than an urge to get as far away as possible from it.

But there's hours to go.

Hours more to go, with Neil's hand in his. The striker throws a knowing grin back at him before pulling him forward, probably dead set on meddling as much as possible.

With the promise of 'one day' still fizzing strong in his chest, Andrew follows.

There's no more memories of this place to overwrite, so he has no choice but to crack open the door a little for some new ones.

That, at least, he can handle.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 1: No One Here ⊲

𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person

- dictionary of obscure sorrows

- 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔 -

     It is not often the streets of Derry Maine catch a glimpse of Mike Hanlon roaming its streets. The older folks in the community - who had been around when he was young -  remembered him as that orphan boy of the “crackhead kook” that burned down Harris Avenue. But the false rumors had fizzled, slowly dying out with the older population that had started them. Nowadays, he was known by most as the recluse librarian, the one who spent most of his days holed up inside the loft above the Derry Public Library working on who knows what. No one really knew, of course, no one ever bothered to ask.

     Mike didn’t know many people, and yet everyone seemed to know Mike. He did know a great deal about the town and its residents, more so than any other citizen of Derry. When he wasn’t holed up inside, he was gathering information. Information from the townsfolk, their stories. He conducted many interviews over town as a part of his research on his own existing knowledge of the town’s darkest secret. Yes, Derry knew Mike, and Mike knew Derry. The history of the town and its people, that is. And yet, no one truly knew Mike Hanlon.

     Nobody that lived in Derry at least. There was one person that knew Mike like the back of her hand, and she was the only person he knew more than anything. But she was miles away, and any memory of Mike was fuzzy and unclear, and if she thought hard enough she would find nothing more than a blurry shape on the other side of that foggy windowpane of her memories. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never shake her from his mind permanently. She visited his thoughts often, and not a single one of his efforts to rid her from his conscious once and for all proved fruitful.

     To him, she was every catchy song on the radio. The tune you could never drown out no matter what else you played, the picture that never quite faded. Decades of his life were spent trying to forget her, and while he had eventually learned how to cast her from his mind for periods of time, she always had a way of sneaking back in. They were cursed, she was doomed to forget, and he was doomed to remember.

     When she had left Derry at the age of seventeen, she had taken his heart with him. Of course, it was never his, to begin with. It was hers since that humid June day all those years ago when they first met. How important that day would come to be he had no clue, but it didn’t matter now. She was long gone, and as Mike had quickly come to learn, he and Derry had been stripped from her memories not long after her departure. People who leave Derry, he discovered, don’t return. Derry in itself was cursed, a mere bubble out of time that brought nothing but foggy memories and sorrowful voids in the hearts of those who left. And for some, like Mike, who has stayed.

     A low grunt rumbles through his chest and he shakes the thoughts away. Instead, he turns his attention to the details surrounding him on his walk. Every independent crack in the pavement below his shoes, and the vibrant blades of grass - no, it was moss, he realizes - growing up from in between. The wind picked up from a subtle breeze to a small burst of air that carried with it the overwhelming but intoxicating smells from the bakery down the street. And despite the warm air, the wind had been a refreshing burst that cooled his skin that was covered in the thin layer of sweat on his brow. The pleasant sounds of a wooden wind chime rang through the air that brought his attention to the streets.

     It was only then when his eyes landed on the familiar lamppost with the chipped paint on the base, and the overpowering fragrance mix in the air did he realize where he had wandered. Costello Avenue Market. Despite the small changes in one or two venues, it was almost identical to how it stood 27 years ago. The savory smells of the bakery around the block were snuffed out in the unusually pleasant blend of popcorn from the Capitol Theater and the faint hint of chocolate and sweets from the new ice cream shop across the street. Well, newish… It wasn’t new at all.

     Derry Scoops was one of few selected venue changes in Costello Markets and while it had felt to Mike as only a mere few years ago, it had truly been decades. As long as Mike had been around, it had changed from place to place. It was a flower shop, shoe store, even a small book shop at one point; Derry’s Book Nook. But Mike would always know it as Quality Meats. He had been employed there in the summer of ‘88 delivering meat from his family’s farm. That’s when he met her.

     No, he told himself as he shakes his head, he couldn’t keep doing this to himself. It wasn’t healthy. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, much bigger things! The pattern was starting up again, the pattern he studied and memorized over the past thirty years or so but he wasn’t completely certain. Not yet, but then again this wasn’t something to wait around for. Mike is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude he had decided to go for a walk to clear his head.

     The fresh air was certainly, well, a breath of fresh air, he realizes. The combined hours he had spent in that damn loft in the past week alone was enough to drive him mad. With no company other than his books and sketches, every scrap of research he had compiled in the past few decades was bouncing around his mind and had turned into white noise. Nothing but static. And all he could focus on was every creak in the floorboards, funny enough, he knew exactly where they were, given the time spent inside. Another reason to be grateful for the outdoors; unpredictability.

     Mike took a long deep breath, letting the warm summer air fill his lungs as his chest swelled. He can feel the clouds over his mind start to blow away like a small fan against a tide of fog, slowly draining his mind of the heavy thoughts that have plagued him the past few weeks. The ritual, the rising number of missing person reports, even the turtle; but he was no help to Mike now. And as he’s done a million times before, with a deep breath and his heart open wide he allows the scents of the city mix with the scent of freshly cut grass and he is transported back to the simpler times as his legs continue to carry him across town.

     Mike almost laughs at the thought. ‘Simple’ was far from the right word to describe his youth. Things were never simple in Derry, no matter how happy or complicit anyone seemed it was always a mask. Everyone had their secrets, their demons. After all, Derry was the town of such creatures, the birthplace of true evil and it was this very plague on the town that had weighed Mike down. Kept him tied here. And even though Mike had dedicated his entire life to the research and observation of the town - the plague he was tasked with keeping at bay - he hardly dared to even think of Its name.

     It was truly an evil thing, just maybe evilness in and of itself. It wasn’t quite a monster, no, a monster would be far kinder than this. It was a presence, a dark and cruel presence that you could never quite escape. It was an entity that fed on your darkest fears, using your deepest, darkest secrets against you in the most twisted ways possible. And It thrived on it. Fear. What It did with you after was far more gruesome if at all possible, and it was the reason behind all the missing person cases in Derry. Mostly young children. They were the easiest to scare.

     It appeared in many different forms. To some, It presented Itself as a frightening figure you’d find in a children’s fable. The big bad wolf, the monster lurking under your bed or in your closet, like the boogieman. For others, people like Mike who have faced great trauma before, It would present itself as a memory. A cruel reminder that they could never escape the past, nothing but a cheap trick to throw them back into what could truly hurt them, to scare them. But of course, It didn’t mind using this to Its advantage.

     But It’s favorite form, the one shape it took most of all was that of Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.

     And Mike knew all of this. He knew more about this entity than just about anybody, not only for his dedicated research. But his experience. Billions of years ago, this entity landed in what would come to be named the town of Derry Maine. Derry had never existed without It lurking beneath its earth. For roughly one year every twenty-seven years it would emerge from a deep sleep, a hibernation, and feed off the people that inhabited the town before returning to Its cavern far beneath the surface. And yet, in all the centuries It has lived on earth, only eight people in existence had faced It, fought It and survived It. And Mike was one of them.

     They were young, just a bunch of kids. The Losers, they called themselves. They were each branded with this name, but when they found each other, it became a symbol of pride. Because as long as they had each other, they were safe. Safe from the bullies that had casted them out, the parents they rebelled against, and of course the evil presence lurking around every corner. Days after they emerged from the sewers, after their defeat against the evil - scraped knees, bruises, new traumas and all - they made a vow. A vow to come back and fight should It ever return.

     Mike remembered that day very clearly. He certainly remembered that summer clearly, but that day… That day was special. He remembered the warm breeze and grass tickling his ankles. The bleeding hands he held in his own - one in particular - as they spoke the words that would bring them back. He remembered how nervous he felt despite seeing It die. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel permanent. Watching It disappear into the black abyss, while it was a great relief, it felt… incomplete. Almost like listening to a song and it all comes to a sudden halt, it’s over before it’s finished and you’re waiting for the final note.

     Maybe this is why he was the only one to remain in Derry. He always knew things were never quite finished. The final note had yet to play. Things did, of course, slow down after that fateful day in the cistern, and the Losers spent several weeks in a true state of summer bliss. Especially Mike and Y/n. They had found each other along the way, before their defeat against Pennywise and they were stronger together because of it. But after their oath, one by one the Losers club of eight became six, then three, and then it was just the two of them.

     While they missed their friends terribly, they were thankful for each other and they never took a moment for granted. It truly was bliss. At least until that gloomy day at that damn train station. It’s not long before the heavyweight returns to his shoulders, he can feel the tension in all his muscles and the sickly black sludge stewing in his stomach and he knew.

     He had been denying it for so long but he just can’t anymore. It’s back. Or at the very least, It’s rising again. Testing the waters. He knows this in his heart of hearts. He’s always known. Since that day in the cistern, since the day of the oath, and the day he found the first missing child flyer last month. And he could almost hear it, he could certainly feel it. The final notes of the unfinished song beating in his chest. This is why he was the one to stay in Derry, he was never too scared to leave. No, he was the bravest because he stayed. The guardian of Derry. And this meant one thing.

     The phone call. The return of the infamous Losers Club. But how would he face them? It seemed far too cruel to simply pick up the phone and call them home, cause doing so would inevitably change their lives in the worst way possible. It would destroy them. The new lives they built for themselves, away from their dark pasts they didn’t even remember. There was no telling what they’d do.

     And yet, a tiny voice in his head was telling him - pleading with him to stop and think. Tp wait. The logical side of his brain, he first assumed it was but it was truly the small part of him that wanted to leave. Abandoned the town he begrudgingly called home and the oath him and his friends had made. The voice that reminded him that there was nothing stopping him from dropping everything and buying the first ticket to Florida he could find. Or any other goddamn place on planet earth cause he knew anywhere was better than Derry.

     You don’t know, the voice said. Not really, not for sure. For all you know it could stop tomorrow and you would have been worrying for nothing. You’re paranoid.

     Mike sighs once more, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands and it is only then he realizes he has ventured to the park, now occupying a bench. The heels of his palms dig further into his eyes and he only stops when he notices the spots forming behind his eyelids. His fingers part and his eyes flutter open, his gaze falling to the concrete as his eyes readjust to the slight but sudden change in brightness. He blinks away the blurry lens in his vision and that’s when he feels the wind pick up once more.

     He can hear it shift the trees and the rest of the world around him and for a brief moment, he relishes in the stimulation, the connection to the outside world he has been missing. He can feel the collar of his worn-out beige flannel shift in the wind and his ears perk when he hears a weak and delicate scrape on the concrete. Curiously, his eyes follow the noise and he spots a crumpled stray flyer tumbling against the pavement and come to a stop when it catches on his foot.

     Wearily, he reaches for the paper. The dog-eared corner catches between his two forefingers and it moves frantically in the wind as he raises it into his grasp. Flipping over the paper, he half expects to find another missing person flyer or even an older one. Lord knows they had plenty around town. But to his surprise and great disdain, he finds an advertisement for the upcoming Derry Canal Days Festival. He can feel his heart sink and yet it still manages to pound horribly against his chest. The all too familiar image depicted as the entrance to the funhouse of mirrors.

     The cookie-cutter child that seemed far too happy in his surroundings at the fair, a seemingly normal thing but to Mike it set his teeth on edge. The blood-red clouds looming over the fair - meant to coordinate with the fun color scheme of this years fair - but to Mike, it was only a visual aid in the depiction of his darkest nightmare. His past, taunting him. The giant pale white clown carved into the entrance, it’s mouth the very mouth of the entrance to the funhouse that casts a shadow that seems to loom over his heart.

     Mike felt his mouth run dry, his tongue almost felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and he could feel his stomach plummet. The words printed at the bottom of the page only taunted him more, and he could feel the painful twinge in his heart at the words. It was the medicine he was dreading to swallow, the task he had hoped he would never have to take on.

     As he read the three simple words it felt as if even he were a stranger to himself, that after all this time in this godforsaken town he lost himself in it. He was no note than the rotted, virus inflicted town that he feared in for forty years. It was three words that put the task at hand, the only three words that could simplify the phonecall the Losers would be receiving if Mike picked up the phone.

     Derry Is Calling!

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist:

@loversclwb

Let me know if you’d like to be added!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 5: Paradise City]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, some sexual content (not smutty).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

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The blue chalk moves swiftly with shrill little squeaks over the board. You’re dressed in a floral red dress, leggings, sensible sable flats, and fuzzy woolly mammoth earrings. The kids love to see what sort of eccentric accessories you wear each day; there’s even a space on the board reserved for it. Today’s flair is: woolly mammoth earrings! (Please don’t touch unless you ask first!!)

“Okay my lovely children, let’s practice using each of this week’s spelling words in a sentence. Who can remind me what the first word on our spelling list is?”

“Oh! Oh!” Brendyn—who you mentally mix up with Brayden or Kayden at least twice a day—leans out of his chair and waves his arm hysterically. Dear god, please send a plague to wipe the unnecessary Y baby name trend off the face of the planet. “I can!”

“Go ahead, Brendyn.”

“Throw,” he announces proudly, as if he’s just won the Olympic medal for elementary-school writing.

“Awesome job! That’s right!” You transcribe it on the board: 1. Throw. “And who thinks they can come up with a sentence using the word throw?”

Eli, as he’s doodling all over his worksheet, says: “If you don’t like someone, you can throw them out of a window.”

You swallow noisily as you collect your thoughts. The other students are alternately giggling cautiously or gasping, scandalized. “Now, Eli...”

“Yes, Miss Teacher?” he prompts.

“It’s nice to raise our hands and wait to be called on when we have something to share.”

“Oops.” He raises his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Could you come up with a different sentence, please? One that is more school-appropriate? Remember we had a whole talk last week about school-appropriate topics. Right class?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N!” they agree in unison. That conversation hadn’t, perhaps shockingly, been inspired by Eli. A chatty, beach-blond, future surfer bro named Dexter had discovered his father, a prominent cinematographer, in a compromising position with the nanny—in the jacuzzi tub, no less—and felt the need to divulge that during Story Sharing Time. Worst parent phone call ever.

“Give it another try, Eli,” you say encouragingly.

“Taking spelling tests makes me want to throw up.”

You drop your face into your hands as the class howls in laughter. “Okay, very funny, but I still think we can come up with something more appropriate. Does anyone else have an idea?”

Maisy raises her hand timidly. Oh, hallelujah.

“Yes, Maisy!”

“Always remember to throw away your trash.”

“Wonderful!” You write the sentence on the board. “No littering. I like it. Save the sea turtles. Maisy, as a reward, you may give Creampuff one pumpkin seed.”

“Yay!” Maisy leaps out of her seat and sprints to Creampuff’s cage behind your desk. It’s your third year teaching with Creampuff, and the poor hamster is decisively in geriatric territory; she’s morbidly obese and her eyes are bluish with cataracts. But the children adore her, and Creampuff has always been wonderfully sweet and never bites. You just hope that when the time comes, she has the decency to kick the bucket over a long weekend so you can dispose of the body in secret and whip up a cheery story to tell the kids about how Creampuff went to live in an organic vegan farm or a hamster sanctuary or a retirement community in sunny Tampa Bay, Florida.

“Okay friends,” you announce. “Go ahead and practice coming up with sentences on your worksheet. Then we’ll chat in five or ten minutes and see what we’ve got. Ready, set, go!”

As students’ heads bow and pencils begin scratching against paper, you circle the room peeking over shoulders and making suggestions here and there. When you reach Eli’s desk, you crouch down so your gaze is level with his.

“Hey, Eli.”

“Hi,” he replies mistrustfully, his blue eyes narrow under dark curls.

“I just wanted to let you know that I thought your sentence ideas were very funny and very, very clever. But they just weren’t the best choices to use in class. Do you understand why?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking a little. Of course you do, you’re the smartest kid in here.

“And I really appreciated you raising your hand to speak once you were reminded.”

“Thanks.” He’s actually bashful now, his high olive-skinned cheeks flushing.

“Are you still going to help me clap the erasers after class today?”

His eyes light up like wildfire. “Can I?”

The trap’s been sprung. Clapping erasers is like cocaine for first graders. “You betcha. If the rest of our spelling lesson goes smoothly.”

“Okay!” He immediately picks up his pencil and begins jotting down sentences. The handwriting is definitely a work in progress, but Eli’s spelling and grammar are immaculate. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away; you’re feeling triumphant, of course, but there’s something else as well.

I’m proud of you, demon kid.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben is standing on your doorstep, dressed in black, a potted calla lily in his hands. And at first he’s got that unnerving veneer, he’s serious and intimidating and smoldering; but then you find his eyes and his smile breaks open like cracked glass.

“Hi,” he says meekly.

“Hi.” You point to the calla lily. It’s a vivid green, like his eyes, like the serrated continents of the Earth from space. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, actually. It’s a gift, but it’s kind of a joke too.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s fake.” He grins. “So you can’t kill it.”

You laugh and take the pot, leaning back so the silk calla lily doesn’t tickle your nose, doesn’t rub against your makeup. “Come on in, Mr. Hardy.” Ben follows you, his hands in his jacket pockets, peering around watchfully. You find a temporary home for your new plant on the kitchen counter, right next to your latest purchase; you rest your hand, not-so-subtly, on the brand new, mint green, vintage record player. “Check this bad boy out.”

“Wow!” Ben leans down to examine it, running his fingertips over the turntable. Then his eyes flick to the box of vinyl records. “And you’ve already got listening material!”

“Lots of Queen, you’d totally approve.”

“Zeppelin?”

“Naturally.”

He flips through the records quickly: The Eagles, The Stones, Guns N’ Roses, The Beatles, The Cars, Aerosmith, Cheap Trick, Fleetwood Mac, U2, Hendrix, Elton, Nirvana. “Love it. I’m pumped. How much did all of this cost you?”

You crinkle your nose in lighthearted defiance. “It’s rude to talk about money, Mr. Hardy. Not a lot. Amazon is an amazing thing. And I’ve been collecting records for years. Yard sales, thrift shops, wherever. Some of them were my parents’ before I commandeered them.”

“I’ll ask again.” He takes out his wallet and starts counting bills, the paper shuffling in his hands. “How much for the record player? Estimate the rest.”

“Ben,” you protest, dismayed.

“Y/N,” he teases.

“You can’t buy everything for me,” you say gently.

“I’m not buying. I’m renting. I get to choose what to play whenever I’m here.” He unfolds $300 and lays it on top of the record player. “Will that cover it?”

You gape at the money. Yes, that’s about right. “Ben...I’d let you request music for free.”

“I don’t want requests. I want everything.” And then he grins, and it almost rips the floor out from under you. Oh god, I love this man.

You’ve never said those words aloud. You’ve never talked about his refrigerator magnet confession. But it’s somewhere in the space between you like a circling ghost, like a promise, like shared blood singeing under flesh.

“But,” Ben says, bringing you back into focus. “For now we should probably get going.”

“Right.” You grab your purse and jacket as Ben calls an Uber. “Where are we meeting them, anyway?”

He winks at you, his face illuminated by the glow of his cellphone screen. “Not the fucking Olive Garden.”

The Uber is a BMW with leather seats and a minibar installed in the backseat. As it cruises through downtown L.A., Ben tells you about how Joe has an apartment in the city, how Rami splits his time between his loft here and another in New York, how devout Londoner Gwilym is in town for work. You down a tiny Absolut Vodka to ease your nerves. “And when do I get to see your place, Mr. Hardy?”

He chuckles noncommittally. “We’re here,” he declares, glancing up through the BMW’s tinted windows. Outside is an upscale nightclub called The Edison. Then he turns to you. “Two things,” he says, holding up his index and middle fingers. There’s a gold ring on each. “First, don’t forget about the low profile.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

“Good. And secondly, don’t be anxious. They’re going to love you. You’re...”

“Charming?” you suggest, batting your eyelashes. “Blessed with impeccable music taste? Awesome at taming demons?”

He smiles. “I was going to say perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re three shots deep and belting out Sweet Caroline with the electric-fence kid from Jurassic Park. There’s a sentence you never thought would cross your mind.

Joe’s trim left arm is draped over your shoulders, his head leaning into yours, a lager swooping precariously in his right hand as he gestures with it like a microphone. Ben is looking on, grinning as he sips his Sazerac, his eyes flickering in the dim, rusty light. When you first arrived, Ben introduced you as a friend; Joe had quickly shimmied over and started dropping lines.

“Joe,” Ben flared, like it was a warning. “I’m not trying to set you two up. That’s not what this is.”

“Whoops, my bad,” Joe had replied, and dialed down the saccharine charm. Yet you like Joe, you like him a lot, and within thirty minutes you’ve already exchanged numbers and compared astrological signs and agreed that he’s going to teach you how to play baseball next week.

“She’s got a thing for Jeff Goldblum, you know,” Ben says now.  

“Stop!” you cry, blushing furiously.

“Do you?!” Joe asks and gulps half his lager. “I can make that happen. I can introduce you.”

“He’s a lot older than he was in his Jurassic Park days,” you sigh, lamenting.

“But also wayyyyy richer!” Joe pitches, waggling his eyebrows.

“She’s a schoolteacher,” Ben notes. “She could use a sugar daddy.”

“Girl, I am going to hook you up!”

Rami and Lucy return to the circular booth from the dancefloor, their fingers interlaced. Lucy is incredibly delicate, even tinier and more youthful than she appears onscreen, and always smiling; Rami speaks slowly and thoughtfully and with a captivating meticulousness, and when he fixes his pale eyes on yours you feel like you’re the only person in the room, in the city, in the world, as if whatever you have to say is the most profound thing he’s ever heard. Rami shouts something to Ben over the blaring music as Ben takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, and Joe jumps beside you, startled. “You smoke?”

Ben takes a draw, exhales smoke through full pink lips, and smirks guiltily.

“What year is this?!”

“2019,” Joe offers.  

“Who the fuck smokes in 2019?!” you hurl at Ben. “Do you like breathing? Do you enjoy your internal organs? Do you want to live to spend all your BoRhap money?”

“You tell him!” Joe whoops, clapping. “Yeah baby! Tell him, Y/N!”

You ask incredulously: “They let people smoke in here?!”

“They do in the VIP section,” Joe chimes.

“He’s quite the delinquent, isn’t he?” Gwil says, appearing from the dancefloor and resting his hands on Ben’s shoulders. Gwilym is gentlemanly and eruditions, classically handsome, one of those people whose sincerity reads all over their face. His voice is different than Ben’s, lighter, sharper, less husky; he’s tall and slim and polished. In a phrase, he’s outlandishly lovely.

“I didn’t come here for an intervention, mate,” Ben responds, but his tone is pleasant and at-ease.

“Sorry for loving you, Ben!” Joe yells. “Sorry for caring about your longevity!”

“Sorry for wanting to grow old with you and retire together!” Gwil wails theatrically.

“Oh wow wow wow,” Rami says, shaking his head and smiling. Lucy is clutching a Malibu Sunset and trying to drag him back to the dancefloor, her polka dot dress swirling dreamily around her ankles.

“Wait,” Joe begins, “this is awkward, I definitely already purchased adjacent burial plots for me and Ben and the cemetery has a strict no-Welshmen policy, so...”

Laughing, you turn to Ben, and all at once the two of you are alone in this deafening and pulsing space. He takes another draw, the lit end of his cigarette glowing like embers, his eyes—green like envy, like a snake’s skin, like insatiable greed—all over you: your lips, your neck, your chest, lower. Something deep and shapeless ripples through you, déjà vu or recognition or desire or all of that and more; you want to reach out and touch his flushed flawless skin with your fingertips, you want to make sure he’s real. Gwil and Rami and Lucy are engrossed in some conversation about the best neighborhoods for apartment hunting in London, but Joe’s squinting suspiciously at you and Ben through the veil of smoke. You can’t fool him.

“Right,” Ben says suddenly, crushing the rest of his cigarette in an ashtray. “I’ve got to run. Y/N, do you want a lift home?”

This is just for show, just for the low-profile arrangement; of course you want to leave with him. You’ll follow him anywhere. “That’d be greatly appreciated.” As you climb out of the booth, Ben slips his phone from his pocket to call an Uber.

Joe waves, still thoughtful. “See you soon, Sweet Caroline!”

“Oh god, let’s never talk about that again.”

Rami gives you a sophisticated peck on each cheek, Lucy a spirited hug and a delighted little squeal; her oversized dangling earrings drag along your cheek as you pull away. Gwil takes your hands firmly in his own. “It was wonderful to meet you, love,” he says. “Come along anytime.”

“You’ve all been so kind!” you gush tipsily, and that’s the truth; they’ve been almost preposterously welcoming.

“Yeah yeah, you’ve stolen the show,” Ben says affectionately, maybe even proudly, guiding you towards the front of the club with his palm pressed lightly against the small of your back. “Cheers! We’ll do this again soon,” he calls back to the others. Joe and Gwil dramatically blow kisses after him as you push through the crowds and out into the windswept, luminescent Los Angeles night.

“What’s the hurry—?”

“Can I take you home now?” His voice is rushed and breathless; he’s doing that nervous thing he does where he glances around distractedly and bites his lips and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and runs his thumb over his chin.

“Of course,” you answer, your words hushed like clouds muting the moonshine.

A red Porsche rolls up along the sidewalk and Ben opens the door for you.

“I need you to do something for me,” you say when you’re both in the car and zooming through traffic towards the suburbs.

“Anything.”

Your gaze is devouring his high cheekbones—Eli’s, just like Eli’s—as the streetlights pass overhead, his messy hair and barely-there smile and all that lives under his fierce exterior, kindness and strength and wit and love. Love. “I need you to quit smoking.”

He laughs at you; that’s not what he expected. “Seriously?”

“I don’t want you to die young. I don’t want to lose you.” You can’t stand that thought. You’ve known him for three weeks and you’re hooked like a fucking swordfish; he’s in your bones, your blood, your lungs, he’s dragging you up from the depths and into blinding, open air.

This is too soon. This is way too soon. You don’t know this guy at all.

And yet somehow you do, somehow it feels like you always have.

Ben reaches over and weaves his fingers through yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He follows you inside when the Uber pulls into your driveway; he’s not speaking, he doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes. He begins flipping through your box of records as you lean against the kitchen counter, your arms crossed.

“This is a test,” you say with a smile.

Ben makes a selection at last, drops the record onto the turntable, and places the needle. The music begins, filling your tiny one-bedroom house, reverberating off the walls that you’ve painted mint green and lilac and teal and pastel rosy pink. He still isn’t looking at me.

“Interesting choice.” The song is Save Tonight by a Swedish artist called Eagle-Eye Cherry; it’s acoustic and simple and soulful. “That’s not very classic rock of you.”

“Go on and close the curtains

'Cause all we need is candlelight

You and me, and a bottle of wine

To hold you tonight.”

“The Nineties weren’t all bad.” Ben shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the kitchen table, kicks aside his shoes, lays his phone face-down on the counter as if he’s just decided to stay. Then he comes to you.

“Well we know I'm going away

And how I wish, I wish it weren't so

So take this wine and drink with me

And let's delay our misery.”

There’s no questioning whether you’re going to let him touch you; there’s no question at all. The thought of not being with him is agonizing, cavernous, unbearable. You’ve never wanted someone like this. You’ve never wanted anything like this.

Ben cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he’s coming up for air, like you’re a high he’ll never get enough of. He tastes like cognac and whiskey and cigarettes and lust. Your back hits the refrigerator, and your magnets pop off and clatter against the tile floor; your fingers are knotting through his hair as his trace a path beneath your blouse. He asks if you’re okay—not with his voice but with his searching eyes—and you nod a desperate yes, yes, yes. Outside the stars are raging through the blackness, those same stars that lit up the sky above the dinosaurs just a few blinks of their immortal lifespans ago.

“Save tonight and fight the break of dawn,

Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone...”

“Oh shit...” Ben’s patting his pockets, flipping through his wallet. His eyes are wide and frantic. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re an actor, you probably get psychos trying to have your babies all the time, I totally understand if you don’t trust me—”

“I trust you,” he breathes, as if he’s just realizing it.

“I trust you too, Ben.”

“Don’t say it,” he whispers, almost pleads. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” you insist, unbuttoning his shirt, lifting all that separates you away, peeling back secrets like layers of the earth.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 20

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 20 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 20/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - Wow. Chapter 20. Can you believe we’ve made it this far? We’re onto “Amy’s Choice” now, so we’re half-way through the season!]

The Doctor stumbled out of the TARDIS from where it was parked in a small garden. “Rory!” the Doctor yelled as he came out of the house.

“Doctor”.

“I've crushed your flowers…”

“Oh, Amy will kill you”.

“Where is she?”

“She'll need a bit longer”.

“Whenever you're ready, Amy!”

Amy waddled out of the house.

“Oh, way-hey! You've swallowed a planet!” the Doctor exclaimed.

“I'm pregnant”, Amy told him.

“You're huge”.

“Yeah, I'm pregnant”.

“Look at you. When worlds collide”.

“Doctor, I'm pregnant”.

“Oh, look at you both. Five years later and you haven't changed a bit…” The Doctor hugged his former companions. “…apart from age and size”.

“Oh, it's good to see you, Doctor”.

“Are you pregnant?”

Amy laughed. “Where’s Elise?” Amy asked him.

The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, dropped her off with River for a while”.

“Oh? Co-parenting, I see”, Amy said.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elise opened her eyes and found herself in a bedroom, but it wasn’t her one on the TARDIS. She sat up as her father came into the room.

“Good morning, my little one!” he said, “C’mon. Mummy has breakfast waiting”.

He picked her up and carried her downstairs.

River was standing in the kitchen.

The Doctor handed her off to River and Elise buried her face in the woman’s blonde curls.

“How did you sleep, my little star?” she asked.

Where were Amy and Rory?

“She seems a little off today”, the Doctor told River as he ate some cereal straight from the box.

River glared at him as she rubbed Elise’s back. “You’ll feel better once you eat something, love”, River said and put her in her chair.

But all Elise wanted was her Auntie Amy. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, don’t cry”, the Doctor told her, “We’ll go to the park later and then we can go for ice cream!”

“Not until she’s eaten breakfast”, River said. River set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her, but Elise pushed it away from her.

She didn’t want to eat. She wanted to go back to the TARDIS.

River sighed. “Elise Smith, eat your food or we’re not going to the park”.

Elise picked up her fork and ate her breakfast reluctantly. Once she was done, River took her upstairs to get dressed.

They came back downstairs and River opened the front door.

Elise’s eyes went wide. She was on Gallifrey. They were on Gallifrey! The sky was the same burnt orange she remembered it being and the trees shone with silver leaves. Elise ran into the front yard, burying her hands in the red grass. It all felt so real.

“Elise!” her father called.

She walked over to him and he pulled a tarp off something.

A brand new tricycle sat there.

“Made it myself”, he told her, “Still has training wheels of course. I thought you could ride it to the park”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Someone, something, is overriding my controls!” the Doctor yelled.

A short man in a red bow tie and tweed jacket appeared on the stairs behind the Doctor. “Well, that took a while. Honestly, I'd heard such good things. Last of the Time Lords, the Oncoming Storm. Him in the bow tie”, he said.

“How did you get into my TARDIS? What are you?”

“What shall we call me? Well, if you're the Time Lord, let's call me the Dream Lord”.

“Nice look”.

“This? No, I'm not convinced. Bow ties?”

The Doctor tossed his screwdriver at the Dream Lord and it went right through him. “Interesting”.

“I'd love to be impressed, but Dream Lord. It's in the name, isn't it? Spooky. Not quite there”. He popped up behind them. “And yet, very much here”.

“I'll do the talking, thank you. Amy, want to take a guess at what that is?” the Doctor asked.

“Er, Dream Lord. He creates dreams”.

“Dreams, delusions, cheap tricks”.

The Dream Lord pointed to Rory. “And what about the gooseberry, here. Does he get a guess?”

“Er, listen, mate. If anyone's the gooseberry round here, it's the Doctor”, Rory said.

“Well now, there's a delusion I'm not responsible for”.

“No, he is. Isn't he, Amy”.

“Oh, Amy, have to sort your men out. Choose, even”.

“I have chosen. Of course I've chosen”, Amy told him. There was a pause before Amy hit Rory. “It's you, stupid”.

“Oh, good. Thanks”.

The Dream Lord popped up behind them again. “You can't fool me. I've seen your dreams. Some of them twice. Amy. Blimey, I'd blush if I had a blood supply or a real face”.

“Where did you pick up this cheap cabaret act?” the Doctor asked.

“Me? Oh, you're on shaky ground”.

“Am I?”

“If you had any more tawdry quirks you could open up a Tawdry Quirk Shop. The madcap vehicle, the cockamamie hair, the clothes designed by a first-year fashion student. I'm surprised you haven't got a little purple space dog just to ram home what an intergalactic wag you are. Where was I?”

“You were…” Rory said.

The Dream Lord appeared on the upper part of the TARDIS. “I know where I was. So, here's your challenge. Two worlds. Here, in the time machine, and there, in the village that time forgot”.

“One question. What have you done with Elise?”

“And why would you care about that brat? She’s been a burden on you ever since you ‘acquired’ her”.

“She’s not a brat. She’s my daughter”.

The Dream Lord rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ve sent her into her own dream. But it’s not all sunshine and roses there either”.

“If you’ve harmed her…”

“Nothing dangerous. Just not as sweet as it can be. Soon as you choose, you can have her back. Here are the rules for you three. One is real, the other's fake. And just to make it more interesting, you're going to face in both worlds a deadly danger, but only one of the dangers is real. Tweet, tweet. Time to sleep”.

The birdsong started up again.

“Oh. Or are you waking up?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Doctor and River walked hand-in-hand down to the shops with Elise riding her tricycle in front of them.

She noticed the looks they were getting. People whispered behind their hands as they passed.

“Ignore them, sweetie” River told her.

They finally came to the park and Elise left her bike with them to go play on the playground. But all the children she encountered ignored her. It was like she wasn’t even there. Every time she tried to insert herself into a game, the other children stopped playing and walked away from her. Elise finally sat down on a swing by herself as she watched her father and River argue.

“It’s okay, sweetie”, River told him.

“No! It’s not, River! Look at her!”

“Shh, keep your voice down”.

“The other children won’t even play with her. What are we supposed to do when she starts the Academy? The teachers are going to be extra tough on her because she’s my daughter”.

“We’ll figure that out when it comes time”.

Tears filled Elise’s eyes as she stormed over to them. She wrapped her arms around River’s legs as she cried.

River picked her up. “Shh…it’s okay, sweetie”.

The Doctor sadly picked up the tricycle and they walked home while River tried to comfort Elise.

Elise didn’t understand what was going on, but she didn’t want this anymore. She wanted to be with Amy and Rory and her father in the TARDIS.

Exploring the galaxy and running around saving people.

*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*

When they got home, Elise went straight to her room and climbed in bed. Her father followed her and laid down behind her. Elise rolled over and buried her face in his chest, taking comfort from his scent.

Whatever this was, he still smelled the same to her and wore his tweed jacket and bow tie with pride. “I’m sorry”, he said as he stroked her hair.

She could hear the tears in his voice. Elise closed her eyes as he started to hum “Rainbow Connection”.

The song he used to help her fall asleep after the Byzantium.

A few minutes later, the door opened and River walked in carrying a breakfast tray with three bowls of ice cream.

“I thought you two could use some cheering up”, she said. She set it down on the bed as Elise and the Doctor sat up. River went into the bathroom and grabbed a warm wet towel and cleaned Elise’s face. “There we go”, she said, smiling.

Elise gave her a small smile before grabbing her bowl of ice cream.

[closer-stars]

match ateez members with your favourite songs :'D

LMAO VIVI, icb it took me this long to answer this 

Seonghwa - Niki’s I Like U. Though the song’s on the POV of the one who “lost”, Niki’s talking about the person who slipped away. Not gonna lie, this gives me Seonghwa vibes. 

“I know that I signed up for this casually But I fell for your tricks, I'm the casualty“ “But I just can't seem to figure you out You got that mystery“

Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t think Seonghwa would carry that much charm. 

“Something about you makes me difficult But that makes us even 'cause you're top of the charts Egotistical, it's so typical For me to fall for your kind But, oh God, I wish you were mine“

HELLO?!?!

“I like you, I like you, I like you Sorry, I never meant to (Sorry)“ “I'll be patient, I swear I'll even count to ten One, two, three, four, five F- it“

Just gives me the entire vibe of how Seonghwa has this charm that you never really thought of going for but here we are. Fools for Seonghwa. Also, Aries energy the whole ‘One, two, three, four, five, fuck it.”

Second: Ooh La la - Tinashe

Hongjoong - Right off the bat, it’s Masego’s Tadow, the entire way they did the song just gave me the impression, that once they have the means to have all of that in a studio, Hongjoong will probably do it too. Also, the lyrics.  

“Baby like oh How'd you do the thing? The way that you do it and she ain't even show Nothing She be walking 'round so confident, so heaven-sent I think she was meant to knock 'em dead like (tadow) (tadow)“

Give Hongjoong some time and he’ll probably come out with subtle chill bangers like this. 

Second: Hey Baby - Crush, Zion T

Yunho - Tone Stith’s Let Me. Him being so willing to lend his credit card to Mingi in that one V-live. The way this fandom just agrees that he’s the type of person who’s love language is to pamper them. BUT ALSO. Yunho’s very relaxed, the relaxed that has him just leaning against the couch type. (is it the Scorpio mars? I have no clue.) BUT this song. THIS SONG. YUNHO. 

Second: Coco Bottle - Penomeco 

Yeosang - Eric Bellinger’s Type A Way. When Jongho said that Yeosang’s song recommendation was The Weeknd’s Heartless, it made me look at him at a slightly different light. He’s underestimated I think. So have a song that warns you that if you underestimate someone you’re bound to get whiplash.... which is what Yeosang gives me. His confidence in himself also is growing so it’s only a matter of time until he probably shows something deadlier than what he’s been showing us.  (cough cough @yeochikin thoughts?)

“So careful what you wish for (you might get it) You might get it (just wanna show you)“

“When I give it to you night and day (woo, yeah) And day, day and night, I know what to do (and day) Bet I make you feel some type of way-ay, of way-ay, of way-ay“

Second: Nights Like This - Kehlani

San - Ty Dolla Sign’s Purple Emoji. The song’s pretty much on how they express their love and appreciation for the other person. Their Day 1′s. The people who helped them become better. Different types of love. All just wanting the better for the other. San’s been the Day 1 for ATEEZ, wanting the best, wanting to improve for them. Besides the fact it’s called Purple emoji (San: Purple uwu), it’s just something I can associate San with. 

“I had to boss you up, I had to level up myself I did some growin' up, I'm doin' better for myself But I still need you“

“When we turn like 50, I'm still gonna have all of your messages saved Purple emojis with horns on it Like the devil, but ain't nothin' devilish, babe In fact, it's a Heaven-sent thing“

Also, this song has a special place in my heart. I kind of wanted to make sure if I associate someone with this song, it was going to be someone who has a good heart. 

Second: Pineapple Skies - Miguel 

Mingi - Sik-K feat DPR Live’s Have A Little Fun. Did I spend time looking up the brands Mingi wears in Mingkiway and out of that vlog? Yes. They’re not cheap. It’s not brands either that are as known as Gucci but mention them to someone who knows fashion and there’s a chance that they know it. Rich boy vibes. Also, Live’s verse on world tours = Mingi’s wish for ATEEZ World Domination. 

“YSL a bunch of money Diamond bling Switching lanes Porsche yeah believe that World tour that you wait on Rap till I die so my coffin gold Rep the country Yeah you might know Gon be legend that’s how it go”

Second: Lost in Your Light - Dua Lipa

Wooyoung - Penomeco’s Coco Bottle. There’s something about this song that really gives me Wooyoung vibes. The whole: I want to get away from this place, somewhere different. with someone. I don’t have the lyrics here cause it’s really just a lot of comparisons to coco bottles, and being brought to his own world (whatever that means). I do see Wooyoung just freestyling to this song though :c

Second: Ring Ring Ring - Somdef

Jongho - It’s a tie between Ella Mai’s Boo’d up and Trip. LMAO, I really did not have any plans of looking at him. Not in the “I want to ignore this guy” but more of “I don’t want to fall for his charms” My friends have seen my turmoil of trying to stay strong and not fall for him up to how I now just Yell over Jongho’s existence and mannerisms. Also, I’m really not used to having someone younger than me as my bias wrecker????? Bro What.

“My bad, my bad for, trippin' on you“

“Hear my heart go ba-do, boo'd up Biddy-da-do, it just won't stop, it go“