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aftgficrec · 2 years ago

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Staff Recs - Why Don’t You Just Stab Me in the Heart? Angst

We’ve read some fantastic angst lately so decided to feature it in staff recs. Not all of these end unhappily, but some do. We classify these as medium to heavy angst. Please heed the trigger warnings! - AFTG Fic Rec Fam

Scribbles and Sticky Notes by Fortheloveofexy [Rated T, 11750 Words, Complete, 2022]

It started soon after Andrew’s official retirement from Exy.

tw: major character death, tw: major character injury, tw: car accident

Nor are we forgiven by AyeAyeAye [Rated M, 16866 Words, Complete, 2022]

“Dissociative amnesia,” Andrew said, and Aaron tried his best to listen.

“She’s really dead,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You killed her.”

Andrew said nothing, just twirled his knife between his fingers and stared Aaron down.

***

Aaron is the host of a DID system. Andrew is one of his alters.

Pre-canon and works through canon also.

tw: child abuse, tw: drug use, tw: did, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: violence, tw: vomit, tw: withdrawal

Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe) by temporaryeverything [Rated M, 23803 Words, Incomplete, Updated Aug 2022]

Andrew looks at himself in the mirror. He has electric clippers in one hand and his phone in the other, and debates which one he should turn to first. He flicks his thumb over the button of the clippers and it starts vibrating viciously in his hand. Another flick and it turns off just as quickly.

He unlocks his phone without looking and presses speed dial. He puts it on speaker and while it rings he flicks the button; on, off, on, off. On.

He starts at the front and just as the first strands of thick blond hair fall to the sink the dial tone stops and labored breathing can be heard in its place.

“Andrew?”

Where Andrew goes to see a doctor and doesn't tell anyone about it

tw: major character illness, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: explicit sexual content

Inked Petals by jaydreamz [Rated M, 11265 Words, Incomplete, Updated Aug 2022]

Andrew spent 3 years in a shithole small town in Florida trying to get through the loss of the only person who made him feel something.

Then Aaron convinces him to move to New York to start living his life again.

It all goes well until Andrew makes a tinder account and matches with his dead boyfriend.

tw: assumed major character death, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug use, tw: car accident, tw: panic attacks

Train Wreck by jaydreamz [Rated M, 8837 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2022]

Neil never made it out of Baltimore.

Six years later, Andrew has his life together, more or less, but he's far from okay. When Bee convinces him to change the scenery and go on a trip around Europe, he knows this isn't going to fix anything.

Except, he's sitting on a train in Switzerland across a ghost who's staring at him with a familiar crystal blue gaze and no spark of recognition in his eyes.

tw: assumed major character death, tw: violence, tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced self harm

lamb to the slaughter by skullcaid [Rated M, 405804 Words, Incomplete, Updated Aug 2022]

After being saved from a vicious and merciless kidnapper that had him for eight long traumatising weeks, Asher Foster is trying his best at normalcy; which means he continues to work at a local convenience store and continues to do his schoolwork.

However, his attempt at prevalence is postponed when he learns he has not one, but two older twin brothers, and now Asher's not only dealing with the aftereffects and the outcome of his own grisly dark past, but also with the task of meeting and understanding Andrew and Aaron Minyard and their own family, the Palmetto State Foxes.

But Asher's life is far from a fairy tale, and not all demons are content with staying buried.

or, there's another secret Minyard brother.

tw: kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: murder, tw: violence, tw: vomit, tw: referenced forced feeding, tw: eating disorders, tw: paranoia

NB: extras from fic author @skullcaidd: ‘lamb to the slaughter’ book cover mockup (tw: blood, tw: injured animal) here, playlist here, and fandom fun post here. Fanart by @artattacker here and here, by @bevmvrsh here, and by @asher_katsumi on twitter here

just one thing series by Lyndis [Rated M/T, Collection, Updated July 2022]

Part 1: Just one thing [M, 3021 Words, Complete]

Neil is married off to Andrew Minyard. He tries to be a good husband. When he searches something in their shared bedroom he finds something unexpected, something very much not good.

Andrew likes Neil but he also knows his father and he knows what that man is capable of. He doesn't think for one minute that Neil is unharmed, even though his experience is strikingly beautiful. But while he is fully prepared to take care of his new husband, he had no clue what he was signing up for.

“These are for self-defense.”

“Of course they are.” Neil was quick to respond, looking up for the first time and giving his husband an empty, lifeless smile. He couldn’t do better at the moment.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: negative body image, tw: panic attacks

Part 2: The Butcher's Son [T, 3670 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2022]

Neil kills their Chef. Andrew tries to find out what happened.

tw: blood/gore, tw: murder, tw: minor character death, tw: disordered eating, tw: implied/referenced forced starvation, tw: panic attacks

it would have been you by theresnothis [Rated T, 2142 Words, Complete, 2022]

Jeremy should have known. He should have fucking known. All the signs were there. How could he have been so blind?

tw: major character death, tw: suicide, tw: implied/referenced rape

What died didn't stay dead. by freshtaylorswiftduck [Rated T, 11065 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil Josten is dead. Neil Josten was never even a real person.

Thank you. You were amazing.

And now Andrew Minyard was left with a pair of keys and nothing else.

tw: assumed major character death, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: depression

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80076 Words, Complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music.

In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies.

When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to decide how to escape his fate and bring Andrew back.

Sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, as Neil will realize, truth is the only weapon you have to save the ones you love the most.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Skin Comes Apart (Angel in Lothian) by JuiceGremlin [Rated E, 60088 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2022]

Andrew has signed with a team halfway across the country. Neil is determined to make it work, to break the distance down into something manageable.

They are going to survive this.

That is, if Ichirou doesn't have other plans.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: panic attacks, tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual drug use

Either Love is a Shrine or Else a Scar by Texfoxyard (twda1003) [Rated E, 2762 Words, Complete, 2022]

14 years.

He is 14 years old.

168 months. 5110 days. 122640 hours. 7358400 minutes.

That is how long he has been alive. Though alive would imply he has a spirit, a vigor for living, not his 14 years of barely surviving on scraps of food, scraps of affection, and scraps of love.

By all accounts, alive does not mean laying in a pool of his blood hours before he legally becomes a part of a family, finally belonging.

or, the one where pig Higgins doesn't come across Aaron, which means Andrew stays with the Spears'.

tw: major character death, tw: suicide, tw: rape, tw: csa, tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: graphic depictions of violence

Run to You by Major_816 [Not Rated, 38078 Words, Complete, 2022]

Part 2 of The Books of Baltimore series, part 1 (also angsty) recced here

When Nathaniel wakes up after Baltimore he bides his time, and as soon as he’s left alone in his hospital room he does what he does best.

He wanted to stay this time. He’d even been dumb enough to think there was a minor chance he could pull it off. He knows better now, back in the seat of a hotwired car and heading North on instincts learned under the threat of death. Nathaniel fights until he runs, and he runs every fucking time.

Sometimes, Nathaniel wonders if that’s all he’ll ever be good at.

AKA - the one where Neil runs.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: major character injury, tw: blood, tw: drugs

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my-monologues-to-my-brain · 2 years ago

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Re reading aftg and im just. Broken. These god damn twins. Neil rightly points out they can barely stand the sight of each other on a good day, but they still fiercely care about each other and only upon re read did it fully hit me. And, boy, did it fucking hit me. These stubborn, traumatized, mean idiots. They would kill for each other and they do, but they dont understand each other one fucking bit and now i cant unsee how easily they couldve given up on each other but refused to.

Andrew cared for Aaron as much as he ever did even when Aaron hated him for keeping his promise: even when Aaron hated Andrew and assumed that he killed Tilda for his own reasons, despite the fact that Andrew had done so to keep the promise he made to Aaron, to protect him. We know how angry Andrew is about that. The first time Neil sees a glimpse of the intesity and fury that Andrew hides behind his indiference is when the twins briefly argue in the stadium and Andrew almost casually confesses to killing Tilda in front of all the foxes. Aaron denies Andrew having done that for him, and when Andrew says that just because Aaron decided to forget about that promise that didnt mean he wasnt going to keep it, and that fuck him for expecting anything else, theres real anger in his eyes. To him its obvious. Hes been clear about it. He keeps his promises, hes brutal not because of some sociopathic inability to care but because he cares fiercely. But Aaron doesnt understand that. Or him. And they dont talk about it. But as much as Andrew despises him for that, he never stops caring.

And Aaron. Boy. Reading the story knowing where we were heading allowed me to see a lot of things i hadnt fully taken in on first read, and Aarons arc is one of the many things that hit different. Hes so sure that his brother not only doesnt care, but is in fact incapable of caring. And it doesnt change a fucking thing. He hates Andrew, but he never gives up on caring for him as fiercely as Andrew cares for him, and it fucking breaks me. Hell of a thing, really. To never fully withdraw, to care that much, with that intesity, all while being so completely certain that it was a one way street. To Aaron, Andrew would never care. Not really. To Aaron, there was no changing Andrew or his sociopathic tendencies. And it didnt change a fucking thing. He made peace with that fact, in a way: knowing that Andrew would never feel their dinamic the way he did, it didnt change the fact that Aaron cared. Through hate and while never shortening the distance between them, he cared. He kills Drake in a way that rightfully mirrors Andrew killing Tilda. And he is one of only people in the entire series to actually look out for Andrew, concerned about Andrew being in danger and not just being a danger to others, which is why he sets to confront Neil to check what is going on between the two. The only other people who we see being aware that Andrew is in fact human enough to be hurt are Wymack, Bee and, of course, Neil. Everyone knows Andrew can physically hold his own in a fight, and most of them do not even consider how someone could hurt Andrew, even after Drakes abuse, and their obliviousness is not there out of malice but its there none the less. Aaron not only cares enough about Andrew to get himself up in his and Neils bussiness (though in a much smarter way than Nicky, who tried to be nossy and almost got stabbed for his troubles cause of course he did), but he also is concerned and suspicious when he learns about their relationship cause he actually thinks of protecting Andrew. Aaron confronts Neil in a purposely cruel way, and he has to know the likelihood of that ending with him being punched by Neil (as he in fact did) and possibly Andrew, hes not dumb, but he goes for it and very especifically evaluates Neils reaction. Aaron does like being a dick to Neil, but thats not something he would just do for the fun of it. He doesnt even need to figure out Neils stand on the relationship in terms of getting Andrew off of his and Katelyns backs: that hinges on Andrews view of the relationship, not Neils. They havent yet fixed their issues, the twins dinamic is still shaky at best, but Aaron not only cares about Andrew, he cares about Andrew in a way barely anyone thinks of caring for him.

They both had enough reasons to give up on each other. They wouldnt drop out of each others lives entirely, they couldnt, being in the same university, in the same team, with promises of sticking with each other until graduation, yet they still couldve given up on every other level. But they didnt.

Why stick with someone who cant be reached?

Why stick with someone who doesnt think theres enough of you to be reached?

I think of Neils words to Kevin. You just need to be more afraid of letting go than you are of holding on.

After all they went through, the twins still knew they didnt want to let go of each other.

Its easy to see strained relationships and just cut ties. Sometimes theres not enough to save. Sometimes distance is the only way to heal. I think of Nicky and his parents. I think of Kevin and Jean. But sometimes theres healing after rock bottom. Sometimes theres enough will on both parties to mend whats broken and build something better. Sometimes theres enough people around you willing to stand with you and remind you of that will. And so we heal.

Somehow, we heal.

#aftg #aftg trilogy #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #neil josten #palmetto state foxes #all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men

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darkblueboxs · 3 years ago

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Calling Home

Summary:

"What if Neil hid his phone where his kidnappers wouldn't find it? What if he called Andrew while on his way to Baltimore? What if Andrew had to listen, heart tearing in two, to Neil's journey into his father's basement?"

Andrew fishes his phone from his pocket, chest emptying himself of air when he sees Neil’s name flash across the display. His hands are shaking as he hits return call, shaking like they haven’t done since he went off his meds, and in many ways the lurch of loss in his gut feels like withdrawal.

He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.

“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.

Read here or on AO3

Andrew finds Neil’s rucksack and racquet four gates down from the one they left through. That’s when he knows – isn’t sure what he knows, but knows, because Neil would never willingly surrender his bag or racquet, would keep a white-knuckled grip on them even if the world were ending. It feels like the world is ending, and if it isn’t Andrew is going to end it himself, is going to rip and burn and tear and cut until there’s nothing left of this stupid hunk of rock. Neil is gone.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket. Andrew ignores it. He doesn’t have time to deal with Kevin or Renee or Nicky or anyone else pestering him about where he is and what he’s doing. Right now there’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s-

The buzzing stops.

It’s only as the call times out that Andrew snaps back to sense with a jolt. Neil’s phone wasn’t in his bag. Which meant he could have-

He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.

“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.

“Stop it,” Neil’s voice cracks over the phone, and in the black wash of memories that follows it takes Andrew a moment to realise that it isn’t him Neil is talking to. The voices are muffled as though reaching the mic through layers of fabric,and Andrew crushes the device against his ear. Most of the crowd has dispersed in the aftermath of the riot, but still he finds himself scanning the surroundings for somewhere quieter, somewhere he can listen, think-

“Stop me,” taunts a cool, female voice that has Andrew’s train of thought stalling in its tracks. “I told you to keep still, didn’t I?”

“Where are you taking me, Lola?” Neil says, loud and, in Andrew’s opinion, far, far too obvious. The bitch – Lola? – laughs. Andrew would thank Neil for giving him the name if he wasn’t determined to kill him for everything else.

“Where the fuck do you think? Daddy’s waiting. Speaking of which, I can’t take you to him with such a stain on your face. Rome?”

The image that springs to Andrew’s mind is inconceivable. Or, it would be, if he hadn’t lead the kind of life that provides plenty of material for a blackened imagination to work with. His feet are moving before he’s aware of it, and he’s biting his tongue to keep him from shouting Neil’s name down a phone where at best the sound would go unheard and at worst it would get Neil killed. The stadium grounds flash past, and something clicks on the other end of the line, followed by a breathless “You’re sick,” that turns Andrew’s blood to slush in his veins.

He’s jogging up to the team bus when Neil starts to scream. He stumbles, doubles over as though feeling the pain himself, and this time a noise that might have been Neil’s name slips through. Neil is making too much noise on the other end for the word to have made it through, but regardless a rush of fury has Andrew biting down on his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

He drops the bag and raquet as soon as he’s in range of the bus to slide a blade into his free hand. Nicky is the first to see him, staggers back from whatever he sees in Andrew’s face, mouth hanging open around an exclamation that never makes it past his lips. Noone is stupid enough to lay hands on him as he climbs onto the bus, and their questions go unheard. All Andrew can hear is screaming.

Abby is checking Kevin over when he reaches them, medical kit open at her side. Andrew shoves her from his path with the flat of his knuckles and she staggers back, diagnostic torch clattering to the floor. Kevin barely has time to look up before Andrew is throwing him up against the bus window.

“Tell me where Neil’s father is or I’ll slit your fucking throat,” Andrew says in a voice that isn’t his.

There are shouts behind him, someone get coach and don’t touch him and it’s Kevin, he won’t, will he?

Kevin’s eyes are glassy, but they sharpen as a gutteral noise buzzes through the phone still crushed to Andrew’s ear. It’s followed by gulping, frantic breathes, pained, but evidence, at least, that Neil isn’t dead.

“Is that-?”

Andrew presses the blade against Kevin’s throat. “Where is Neil’s father?”

Kevin goes white. “Prison.”

“Not anymore.” There’s that clicking again, and Andrew’s gut twists on reflex like some kind of fucking pavlovian reflex. This time he knows what to expect, but Kevin doesn’t, and he flinches as Neil’s scream echoes down the phone.

“Baltimore, then. He’s from Baltimore, he-”

“Renee,” Andrew says without looking away from Kevin. She’s right there behind him- he expected no less.

“Andrew.”

“I need a car. Something fast.”

He doesn’t have to turn to see the moment she shifts from Renee to Natalie: he can hear it in her answer. “I’ll be back.”

His brother throws himself into one of the seats as Andrew passes, as though he thinks he’s next on Andrew’s interrogation list. Andrew can’t blame him: he himself isn’t sure what he’s capable of right now, the knife in his hand twitching as though it has a mind of its own.

“Andrew,” Kevin says, “You can’t.”

He flips the knife in the palm of his hand as he hops the last step down from the bus. “Watch me.”

Neil’s voice on the end of the line has turned thin and scratchy like old sheets, garbling what sounds like she’s dead, she’s dead, I swear she’s dead.

“Do we believe him?”

“Might as well be sure.”

A scuffle, and Neil is screaming again. Andrew wants to join him.

Renee roars up to the bus at the same moment Wymack arrives at a brisk jog, presumably summoned by one of the well-meaning idiots hiding on the bus.

“Minyard-!” he yells, then his mouth drops open when he catches sight of Renee behind the wheel of a sleek, obnoxiously orange car. Maybe she stole it from one of their fans. “What in the flying fuck?”

“Andrew,” Nicky pleads, “Whatever’s going on, the police-”

“Half the police are his men,” Kevin says. “And he could buy off the rest if he wanted to.”

“Who?!”

“Nathan Wesninski. Head of the Baltimore crime family.” Kevin’s voice cracks. “Neil’s father.”

“Text Renee his address.” Andrew says, ignoring the reaction of his teammates as he pulls open the car’s passenger door. The glass is missing, due to the riot or Renee’s carjacking it’s hard to say.

The door doesn’t shut behind him when he pulls it, and when he looks up it’s Aaron’s hand blocking the way.

“Andrew.”

Andrew yanks at the door, but it won’t give. Neil is begging now. Begging like Andrew used to, and it’s working as well for Neil as it did for him. Whoever this Lola is, she’s going to die slowly.

“Let go,” Andrew grits through his teeth, not trusting himself to say more.

“What the fuck are you doing, Andrew? Are you going to try and kill a mob boss? You’ll die.”

“So?”

Aaron doesn’t answer, but his grip on the doorframe tightens. “I can’t…” he starts, chokes, starts again. “Don’t leave me.”

Andrew throws himself back out the car with violent speed, grabs Aaron by the collar before he can react. “You arent the only person I made a promise to.” Andrew grinds out through clenched teeth. “I intend to keep them both.”

Aaron’s eyes widen. At last he swallows, lets go of the door, and Andrew snaps it shut behind him before anyone else can intervene. Aaron’s face could be his own reflection, were it not for the absence of glass in the window and the absence of fear on Andrew’s face.

It’s only as they pull away from the stadium that Andrew remembers Neil called their deal off. Just that day. As though he knew.

If he thinks that will stop Andrew- fuck him.

They’re on the road with impressive speed – Andrew thought he was reckless, but Renee’s driving puts his own to shame. Horns blare and brakes screech as they merge onto the highway, but the roar of the engine not quite covering up Neil’s sobs echoing down the line.

Neil is crying. Torture, Andrew has no trouble imagining, but Neil crying…

“Faster,” he says. Renee accelerates.

Even at such alarming speeds, their progress is agonizingly slow. Renee is smart enough not to ask any questions, and Andrew leans away from the howl of air blasting through the broken window. There’s shuffling, the clicking of – handcuffs, he’d recognise that sound anywhere – and then Neil is talking. To pigs, by the sound of it, the shitty kind, the only kind, and he addresses them as though reading their names off their badges, loud and clear for Andrew’s ears. Andrew doesn’t need to make an effort to remember their names, but still he repeats the syllables with a bite that has Renee glancing his way.

“Do you have anything?” Andrew asks.

“A penknife. Nothing worthwhile in a real fight.”

“I’ll give you some of mine.”

Renee nods, fingers flexing around the wheel. If the prospect of death worries her, she doesn’t show it, gaze steady on the road ahead despite the furious roar of the car engine.

The rustle of fabric against fabric, and Andrew is biting back bile as-

“You could almost me my type if you weren’t so young, hmm? You look just like your father.”

Andrew doesn’t hear Neil’s response, his mind whiting out like television static. He doesn’t realise his blade is back in his hand until Renee leans over to bat at his fist. Blood leaks from his palm where his blade sliced it open.

“If you fight me, I’ll cut you off at the knees,” Lola hums in his ear. Andrew drops the knife to the footwell before he can damage himself any further, a swirling montage of horror hazing over him. He knows a viable threat when he hears one.

“Chloroform,” Neil says, then, “I can’t-”

Whatever he’s trying to tell Andrew is cut off, and the phone falls silent save for the faint sound of police sirens.

Andrew drops the phone into the footwell after the knife and punches the dashboard with everything he has. The plastic cracks under his fist, and he’s drawing back to take another swing when Renee slams the breaks, bringing the car to a gut-punching halt. Andrew’s seatbelt cuts into him as car horns blare furiously behind them.

“Keep going,” Andrew barks.

“You won’t be any use to him with a broken fist,” Renee answers, infuriatingly level.

“Keep going,” Andrew says once more, then, when it gets no reaction, “I won’t do it again.” He fishes the phone out from the clutter of magazines and takeout wrappers in the footwell and holds it like a promise.

Andrew thought Neil’s screams were the worst thing he had heard. But, as the following hour proves, his silence is much, much worse.

When the voices return, Andrew can tell by the echo that they’ve moved somewhere different. Tiled walls, if he had to guess, but beyond that, it could be anywhere. Muttered snatches of, where do you want him and dump him anywhere coming through with such dispassion that for a heart-stopping moment he thinks they’re talking about Neil’s corpse. But then the voices move off, and finally, a low, near-unrecognisable voice.

“Andrew.”

“Neil,” Andrew says, as though there’s any chance of Neil hearing him.

“I don’t know… I don’t know if the call connected. I hope it didn’t. I hope you didn’t have to hear…” Neil interrupts himself to hack up what sounds like half a lung. “I couldn’t hold it in. I’m sorry.” The plastic of Andrew’s phone casing cracks under the pressure of his grip. He barely notices Renee taking the exit from the highway.

“I don’t want to die a lie,” He continues, and Andrew has never hated him more for it. Will never hate anything or anyone as much as this for as long as he lives. “My name is Nathaniel Abram Wesninski. And I wasn’t thanking you for the game earlier. I was thanking you for the keys, the trust, the honesty, the kisses. I was thanking you for everything.”

Andrew stares ahead without seeing a thing. “No,” he whispers.

As though by some miracle he heard, the other end of the phone falls silent.

Then a door opens.

“Renee,” Andrew says urgently.

“We’re close.”

“Not close enough.”

“Hello, Junior.” A pause. A thud. A gasp of pain. “I said, hello.”

Neil’s voice – Andrew doesn’t care for Nathaniel, doesn’t care to let Neil slip from his grasp so easily – sounds as broken and terrified as Andrew has ever heard it. “Hello.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Neil’s father speaks with the same self-assured authority Luthor did, the same cool detatchment as Proust, the same subtle satisfaction as Drake. “Who told you that hiding in plain sight was a viable option? You had to know I would find you eventually.”

I did. The thought comes unbidden to Andrew, settling in his chest like a heartache that will choke him until he dies. Andrew doesn’t believe in regret, but this is as close as he’ll ever come. He didn’t know. He didn’t know Neil’s father was this. He wants to kill Neil for lying to him almost as much as he wants to kill himself for believing him.

“The only question that remains is how I’m going to kill you. I’ve had a couple of years to think it over but now I’m indecisive. I might skin you alive. I might take you apart one inch at a time and cauterize the wounds. I think no matter what I choose we are going to start by slicing the tendons in your legs.”

Metal scrapes against stone. There’s shouts, a clang, scuffling, a thump.

“Maybe we’ll do both,” Neil’s father continues. “Skin you an inch or two at a time and carve the flesh out from underneath. If we do it right, you might last all night.”

Andrew is thrown back to a crisp winter morning on a cold rooftop, surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke and the icy burn of Neil’s eyes. I think about carving the skin from your body and hanging it out as a warning to every other fool who thinks he can stand in my way.

And what about the other ten percent of the time?

The answer doesn’t matter anymore. Andrew hit zero long ago.

“No,” Neil says.

“Lola, would you like the pleasure of crippling him?”

“Please,” says Neil. The word nearly stops Andrew’s heart. “Please don’t.” Then, “Andrew-”

And the line goes dead.

And something inside Andrew goes with it.

The phone hits the floor of the car with a distant thunk. Renee’s voice is white noise, syllables devoid of meaning.

“Keep going,” Andrew says.

The house is a hive of flashing lights when they arrive, police cars and ambulances and the flash-bulbs of photographers following the scent of blood. Bodies are being carried out on stretchers under white sheets, and Andrew tears through a police baricade like tissue paper.

Renee buys Andrew enough time to reach the nearest body, and the EMTs stumble back but can’t do anything to stop him without dropping the body. He hauls back a sheet, and his mind goes deadly blank as he sees piercing blue eyes, familiar auburn hair flecked with blood-

“Andrew?”

He turns.

Sitting in the ambulance at the bottom of the driveway, caked in bandages beyond recognition- but he would know that voice anywhere.

Andrew is lost.

Andrew is found.

He flows to Neil like the river to the sea.

“You heard,” Neil whispers. There’s barely a part of him that’s safe to touch, so Andrew settles for the back of his neck, which is sticky with blood but otherwise untouched. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll kill you,” Andrew replies, grip tightning, and Neil smiles, even though it must pain him to do so.

“Couldn’t let anyone else have the pleasure, could you?”

“Neil.” It’s as though every other word has flooded from his head at once.

Neil’s smile, already fragile, looks set to shatter. “My real name-”

“I don’t care.” The officers have made it past Renee, but they aren’t interfearing, which is good, because being arrested for assaulting an officer right now would be deeply inconvenient. And, because Andrew means what he says, he leans down and presses a kiss softer than he believed himself capable of to Neil’s lips.

Neil sucks in a breath, but not from pain, hands coming to rest on Andrew’s shoulders, too heavily bandaged to gain purchase. He pulls Andrew back in, and they kiss through the taste of blood and sweat and tears until there’s nothing left in his world but Neil.

“Neil Abram Josten,” Andrew repeats. It sounds like a prayer answered and a promise fulfilled.

Which it is.

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #my fic #check AO3 for content warnings #do people actually find it helpful when i post the whole fic here or does everyone go straight to ao3 #im not a fan bc tumblr doesnt have kudos or hit counters so theres very little feedback #but i dont want to stop if someone relies on it being posted on tumblr #oh god its 2:40 am

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cdyssey · 4 years ago

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Regret

Summary: When Fran doesn't come down to breakfast after spraining her ankle, the whole house is concerned for her—especially Niles and Mr. Sheffield. Set after "An Affair to Dismember."

A/N: Okay, so I've binge re-watched nearly four seasons of The Nanny in four days, and had to get at least one fic out of my system, lmao.

Fran Drescher's acting in "An Affair to Dismember" when she suddenly broke while talking to Maxwell made me sensitive. ;-;

AO3 Link

—

Breakfast is a remarkably boring affair without Miss Fine bursting through the door, raising her arms in a floral robe, and proclaiming, with signature adenoidal stylings, “Good moooorning, everyone!”

The clink of silverware, the scraping of ceramic plates, the ruffling sound of Mr. Sheffield anxiously attacking the New York Times like a new Andrew Lloyd Webber play has just dropped—all of it is so terribly drab that Niles spends the first fifteen minutes of her pronounced absence coughing loudly in the hopes that his employer will pick up the hint to do something about it.

“Oh, do go get a bloody cough drop, old man,” he finally snaps, smacking his newspaper down on the table. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Sorry, sir,” Niles arches a brow as he refills Mr. Sheffield’s coffee mug. “I have asthma.”

He turns away to replace the coffee pot on the side table.

“And half a mind to kick your tetchy derrière,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Niles?”

“Nothing, sir! Just saying thank you for your attentive care.”

“Dad,” Master Brighton thankfully interrupts, “where’s Fran, and what have you done to make her mad this time?”

Niles immediately turns around again in time to see his boss’s shoulders straighten in that way they often do when he’s indignant.

Or guilty.

Or some mixture of them both.

“I beg your pardon, Brighton,” he replies stiffly. “Why do you immediately assume I’m the problem here?”

“Process of elimination,” Brighton shrugs. “Fran’s not mad at me, Maggie, or Grace, and Niles is one of her closest friends.”

“You’re so astute, Master Brighton,” Niles smiles wryly as he moves to the left to get a better view of Mr. Sheffield’s face. The vein in his temple is beginning to throb, which is always a good time.

“She hasn’t dated anyone recently,” Miss Margaret pipes up.

“And she’s always fighting with her ma,” Miss Grace adds, “but that's never kept her from Belgian waffles before.”

“So, Dad,” Brighton grins, patting his father once on the back, “unless our math is wrong, that leaves you.”

“Goodness me,” Mr. Sheffield mutters, angrily stabbing a piece of link sausage with his fork. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of the lost Hardy Boy.”

“So you did do something!” Margaret exclaims.

“No! I bloody well did not, Nancy Drew. For your information, Miss Fine accidentally hurt her ankle clubbing last night with Val. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’ve called a doctor to come by just to check.”

“Tsk, tsk. And you didn’t offer to pick her up Cinderella-style and swoop her downstairs so she wouldn’t miss breakfast?” Niles asks chidingly, only to be greeted with a nasty glare.

“Yes, I did offer to bring her down to breakfast as a matter of fact... but Miss Fine seemed strangely subdued when I spoke to her through the door... I didn’t know what to make of it to tell you the truth...”

Mr. Sheffield’s brow contracts as he searches Niles’s face for an answer, and Niles stares back just as studiously, observing the profound concern in his employer’s dark eyes.

The gentleness.

The romance.

The stunningly oblivious care.

Niles sighs fondly.

Unlike Miss Babcock, he’s never had the heart to kick poor puppies when they’re down.

“I’ll bring her Advil and a fresh ice pack,” he promises. “Perhaps some pain relief will help her to regain her spirit.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Sheffield replies, self-consciously turning to his plate again, the tips of his ears rather pink. “I hate when Miss Fine isn’t feeling well.”

“Here, here,” the whole table concurs.

—

Twenty minutes later, Niles is at Miss Fine’s door with a silver tray laden with all the essentials: painkillers, an ice pack, a mug of coffee (milk instead of cream and extra sugar), and a copy of the new edition of Gloss. He lightly taps on her door with the side of his loafer.

“Miss Fine, can I come in?”

“No,” comes an immediate and sharp reply. “I’m not dressed!”

“How discouraging,” Niles sighs smilingly. “What ever shall I do?”

“Suff’a, and at least give me a minute to find a brassiere.”

“Oh, we’ll be here all day then.”

He hears a strange thud, a collection of evaluations (“dirty, dirty, slutty, Maggie’s, dirty”), and an assortment of Yiddish curse words he now vaguely recognizes from being friends with Miss Fine for nearly four years now. And then finally—

“Come in, Jeeves, but shut the door behind ya ‘cuz I haven’t applied a morning layer of lipstick yet.”

Niles elbows the knob and pushes with his shoulder until the door lights open to a peculiar sight. Far from being neat, Miss Fine’s room looks like Macy’s after its annual Black Friday sale with clothes strewn everywhere—from the dressers to the wardrobes to the floor. An empty suitcase is lying on the bed next to Miss Fine, who is sitting in bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow. Niles can tell, even from the doorway, that it’s red and swollen, but to his satisfaction and relief, it doesn’t appear to be broken.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Miss Fine mutters when she notices his incredulous gaze. “We got all the animals out t’day.”

“I can see that,” Niles replies, placing his tray on her bedside table and shutting the door. With his usual efficiency, he then walks back over, retrieves the ice pack, and gently places it on the affected area, frowning when she flinches.

“Mr. Sheffield said that the doctor was coming at ten,” he says as he gently lowers himself onto the bed, clasping his hands primly on top of his lap.

“Mm,” Fran grunts noncommittally, grabbing the two Advil pills and knocking them back with a swig of coffee.

“What? You’re not curious as to whether or not said doctor in question is single, Jewish, and living in a Manhattan penthouse? Miss Fine”—Niles reaches over and places the back of his hand on Fran’s head—“do you have a fever?”

“Oh, Niles,” she swats his hand away, “I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”

“Niles!”

“Sorry, Miss Fine,” he withdraws his hand with a laugh. “You know I have to warm up before Miss Babcock arrives.”

“Glad to assist,” Fran quips, taking another sip of coffee, and it’s only as she closes her eyes to savor the taste, that he notices there are lines beneath her eyes from what seems to have been a sleepless night.

The smile sinks from his face.

“You know,” he says quietly, “in all of our acquaintance, I’ve never known of you to injure yourself while dancing.”

Fran opens her eyes only to immediately glance away, tapping her long nails against her mug.

“Val tripped me up when she thought she saw Elton John,” she shrugs dully. “Turns out it was just a really lifelike poster of him behind the bar...”

“I see,” Niles returns, raising a brow. “It was nice of Miss Toriello to forgo her weekend trip with her parents to come back and… boogie woogie oogie with you.”

“Dammit,” she pouts, scrunching her nose. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”

“You didn’t. I overheard you and Miss Toriello gabbing on the phone about it yesterday morning.”

Fran can’t seem to help herself; she smiles crookedly, even as she shakes her head.

“I dunno who’s more absorbent sometimes—you or the dish sponge.”

He smiles back at her, patting her uninjured leg gently.

“Me, naturally."

"I can believe it, Chatty Cathy," she sighs.

"Now tell me, Miss Fine"—he regains his solemnity quickly, unwilling to let her deflect with jokes—"why does your room look like a tornado went through Loehmann’s?”

Her dark eyes immediately glance around the messy room, as though looking for an excuse and failing to find one.

It’s only now that Niles is sitting down, taking everything in, that he notices that most of the articles strewn about are her favorite clothing items, from her holographic Versace dress to the black tube top that Mr. Sheffield can’t pry his eyes away from every time she wears it.

“I almost did a very stupid thing, Niles,” she half-whispers, looking down into her coffee cup, her fingers tensed and shivering around the handle. “And the thing is, maybe it wasn’t really all that stupid? Maybe it was the smartest thing I could of done in a lifetime of doin’ so many stupid things.”

She pauses briefly before sardonically adding, “People included.”

Though Niles doesn’t have enough dots to connect the full picture, he has what he needs in the way of evidence to get the basic gist: Nigel being in town, the two of them going out, Nigel leaving town, the suitcase, the swollen ankle, and Miss Fine's uncharacteristic melancholy, smeared across her face so sharply that it may as well be lipstick.

He swallows thickly, suddenly grasping how close that they had all been to losing Fran forever.

“Well,” he says, making an effort to hitch an oblivious smile on his face, “isn’t it your mother who says that everything happens for a reason? It seems as though you’re right where you belong.”

“Yeah,” she snorts indelicately. “Twenty-nine multiple times over, single, and livin’ in a mansion with a man who won’t even commit to his meal orders at restaurants, much less his very available and desperate nanny.”

“Beautiful, young, and living in a mansion with three children who love you, a butler who’d be lost without you, and a man who won’t commit to his tie choices either but still cares for you deeply all the same,” Niles corrects her softly. “He was very worried for you when you didn’t come down to breakfast this morning. He didn’t even do the crossword on the Times.”

“Gee,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “how romantic.”

“Very,” Niles grins, “a modern day Romeo—emotional hangups and all.”

With that, he pats Fran again and stands up; he has no doubt that Mr. Sheffield will be calling for him soon to interrogate him as to Miss Fine’s wellbeing.

Maybe he can even get C.C. on speaker phone to rub it in her face.

“Y’know, Niles,” Fran smiles at him fondly, “if this whole Mr. Sheffield thing doesn’t work out, we should elope in Vegas in ten yea's.”

“Only if you wear this little number,” he says, bending down and picking up a black cocktail dress from the floor, folding it neatly over his arm.

“You wish you could be so lucky.”

“If we’re going to be in Vegas, anything can happen, I suppose.”

After he retrieves the silver tray from the bedside table, he bends down and kisses Miss Fine lightly on the head, his heart hurting when he notices the way that she closes her eyes beneath the gentle touch—young and vulnerable and terribly hurt by something he can’t quite fix with a well-timed witticism.

“Get some rest, Miss Fine," her murmurs against her head. "I'll check on you a bit."

“Thanks, hubby."

—

Scarcely ten minutes later, he’s down in Mr. Sheffield’s office as per usual, offering the producer a fresh cup of tea even though he had already drunk his traditional two cups at breakfast.

He insisted, though, on a third, for some excuse he couldn’t quite come up with.

And instead of coming up with an excuse, he immediately asked for all the particulars of Miss Fine’s health.

Predictable chump.

“Thanks, old boy,” Mr. Sheffield frowns, returning to his crossword, tapping the end of his pen arrhythmically against the paper. “Let me know when the doctor for Miss Fine arrives. I want to be there when he checks her over.”

“Ooh la-la-la,” Niles hums, dropping a sugar cube into the tea with a zesty plop.

Mr. Sheffield places his pen down on the desk angrily.

“Not like that… I just want to ensure she’s going to be well… you know, for the children’s sake.”

“Yes,” he sighs theatrically. “How will the children ever be able to bear their nanny having a twisted ankle?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mr. Sheffield snaps. “I don’t pay you to be sarcastic.”

“No, sir, you pay me to help you with the crossword when you’re missing three-across,” Niles smirks knowingly when he glances down at the incomplete puzzle. “What’s the hint?”

Mr. Sheffield adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down again.

“A word that means feeling bad for not doing something that you should have done all along. Disappointment. A sense of shame.”

Niles straightens up with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“Oh, sir, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

#the nanny #fran fine #niles the butler #maxwell sheffield #maggie writes

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crows-and-crumbs · 4 years ago

Note

I love the idea of neil talking to matt about his relationship with Andrew and matt being super supportive bc thats his best friend and also a little shocked bc thats andrew minyard

Matt and Neil’s friendship doesn’t get enough love and recognition tbh, I love them so much.

I hope it did this prompt justice, I at least had a very fun time writing this! I hope you enjoys anon!

———————————————————————

“Matt where do you and Dan go on dates?” Matt almost dropped the plate he’d been drying off.

He played it off with a cough as he slowly turned to face Neil, who’d taken up seating on the kitchen counter, kicking the legs against the cupboards beneath.

“Dates?” He asked dumbly, not quite sure he understood the questions intent.

The foxes knew about Neil and Andrew, they weren’t stupid, but somehow it still caught him off guard sometimes.

All of them.

Matt had butted out of the betting the others still had booming business, mostly because he knew it annoyed Neil, even if he didn’t say anything. Generally, he stayed out of their business as much as he could, especially Andrew.

His feelings towards his best friend’s boyfriend was... complicated to say the least.

Andrew was violent, dangerous and ruthless to a point Matt couldn’t completely comprehend.

He had seen Andrew do things that sacred him, had felt them himself.

He doesn’t remember much of his one and only trip with Andrew and his crew, but it still has Dan fuming when they talk about it.

She had always been more angry about it than Matt himself was.

Matt felt oddly indifferent about it though, bordering on grateful. He knows it wasn’t for his sake, that it wasn’t the right way, but it had worked and honestly that’s what mattered the most to him.

He respected Andrew and his abilities. More than once Matt had been beyond impressed with how he performed on the court. He knew better than most how terrible it felt going through withdrawals, Matt couldn’t imagine standing up while coming down from a high, much less playing a full half in front of an entire stadium full of people.

“Yeah, you always talk about your date nights, but you never talk about what you do” Neil’s voice dragged him back to the current situation, and embarrassed Matt realised he’d been spacing out for at least a solid minute.

“Y-yeah!” Matt stammered, turning back to the dishes to hide his internal panic, “what do you want to know?”

“Andrew likes the outside, I think” Neil began, heels stopping their methodical thumping against the poor cupboard “but he likes movies too, so I just wanted to know... since I’ve never actually been on a real date.”

Matt felt like crying and squealing with joy at the same time. He loved Neil, he was the best friend he’d ever had, even if he didn’t understand what was going through the redhead’s mind most of the time, and could never understand like Andrew could.

It was moments like this, mundane and normal, that made his heart flutter.

“Well movies is a pretty good go too” Matt began, drying off the last plate a little more thoroughly, gaining his composure before turning around “but if he likes the outside, maybe take him for a hike or something.”

Neil leaned forward, balancing his chin on his knee.

Matt tried to imagine that, Neil and the monster on a hike, masquerading as humans, going for a romantic walk in the forest.

Suddenly the picture was embedded in Matt’s head, and he it made him smile like an idiot.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Neil began, his brows knitted but lip quirking slightly upwards in lack of understanding.

“Nothing just...” Matt trailed off, searching for the right words “you just seem happy, that’s all.” The words were spoken softer than intended.

Neil stiffened, and for a moment Matt was scared he’d set the younger off somehow.

Talking to any of the monsters were like setting foot in a minefield.

It was like they interacted with the world differently than everyone else, and Matt logically knew it was because they didn’t know how.

You don’t become like Andrew Minyard without some shit happening. That didn’t stop the wave of uncanny valley effect from washing over him now and again.

Neil’s tense shoulder softened just as quickly as they had come though, and Matt breathed freely again.

“I guess I am” Neil answered him, looking from his hand and up and Matt, smile playing at his lips.

“Good” Matt responded, and so the silence settled over them again.

“I might take him to the beach, he’ll like the water” Neil stood from the counter, bumping Matt’s shoulder with his own “thanks for the advice” and then he was gone.

Matt stood there for only a little longer, until Dan arrived, flipping down on the couch to complain about the new lineup.

Allison had her doubts about them, Andrew and Neil, but after that day, Matt couldn’t be more reassured.

#andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #andriel #aftg fanfic #matt boyd

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Late Nights

Andrew (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: Late nights are famously accompanied by deep conversations. The type to keep you up like a full dose of caffeine. Those are the best, most relaxing and freeing conversations you’ll ever experience. Good thing Andrew and Y/N are the perfect company for each other when it comes to those exact talks.

Requested by Anon. Hello! I’m sorry there is no specifications on your request. You requested for some Andrew x Reader fluff and this idea immediately dawned on me haha. I hope you like it and I’m so terribly sorry for the wait. Hopefully the final product makes it worth your while. Looking forward to hearing your feedback and receiving any other requests you may have! Love, Vy ❤

A random notification sounds from my phone, scaring me out of my peaceful, dreamless slumber. Oh wait, I’m not in my bed. I’m sitting at my desk, surrounded with sheets of paper with notes I’m supposed to memorize by my 8 AM exam. Speaking of that exam, it’s in less than five hours. I’ve been studying for what feels like days, but my head still feels as empty as it was at the start of the semester. The way I see it, I have two options: I can either die from a caffeine overdose or from the heart attack this exam will cause me. No in-between and no other options. Just death. Maybe not in the literal sense, but if you ask me, burn-out should be considered death and that’s exactly what I feel right now. And the fucking exam hasn’t even happened yet, for fuck’s sake!

I lift my head to look at the clock on the wall and instantly get dizzy. Thankfully, I’m still seated. Damn, this calls for more caffeine.

“Hey T, can you -“ I look behind me in search of my roommate who’s supposed to be pulling this all-nighter with me. Needless to say, she has perished.

I already have an idea of where she might be, but the sticky note she has left on my dresser confirms it.

~ Daniel has more notes. Come to the floor lounge

Oh, hell no. I am not that committed to passing this exam. I am not about to be a third-wheel for five hours and feel miserable afterwards. Correction: More miserable than I’m already going to feel. Good thing there are two staircases on either side of the floor so I don’t have to pass through the lounge in order to get to the dining hall. That’s the only place I could obtain coffee and if I don’t I might just die right here on this desk.

I put my slippers on, throwing a jacket over my pajamas as well. It’s January and the dorms could not be colder. I swear to God, they are trying to build our immunity and resistance to cold one freezing night at a time. The heating doesn’t do much even if it’s on, which is a rare occurrence considering it’s faulty and doesn’t work 80% of the time. I leave the dorm, quietly shutting and locking the door behind me before taking the right hallway instead of the left. I wander around the dimly lit hallways, some of which don’t have lighting at all, my arms folded over my chest in a pointless attempt to bring myself more warmth than the jacket is able to provide me. No matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the intense shaking that started from my torso and has now spread as far as my bottom jaw.

I navigate the halls, mumbling curse words to myself while doing so. Having taken the long way, I have an extra two minutes or so of freezing before I can find myself in the warm and cozy dorm. Taylor and I bought a small heater for Christmas cause we were not having it with the shitty heating system. Must say, that’s a better investment than all the money I threw to be here.

The dining hall is dark as usual. The only lights are the exit sign and some small lights on the vending machines. And the glorious coffee machine! I can just imagine myself turning into a heart-eyed emoji looking at it.

“All-nighter?“

The voice is so sudden and so out of place, it startles me to the point of letting out a half-scream and immediately backing away towards the entrance of the dining hall.

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s me.“ A light appears at one of the tables, illuminating the person holding it.

I sigh in relief when I finally get a good look at the person opposite me. It’s Andrew - a classmate and friend of mine. We have creative writing together and a few other classes. We’re in the same friend group as well. I started hanging out with him more through Taylor’s boyfriend Daniel who’s roommates with him. I’m glad I met them both, they are really fun to be around. However, recently, Andrew hasn’t been himself. It might be a stretch, but I think it’s because of the upcoming field trip our creative writing professor John has organized. I have tried asking him what has been bothering him but he always brushes off my concerns by claiming nothing’s wrong.

“Jeez, Andrew. You scared me half to death.“ I place a hand over my racing heart, taking a deep breath to calm myself down, “You’re lucky I didn’t chuck anything at you.“

He has the audacity to laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He puts his phone on the table, flashlight facing up at the ceiling, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

I return to my previous task, “Getting coffee, can’t do without it. What about you? Do you just hang out here, waiting for student-zombies to scare?” I get my four cups of coffee, balancing them in a very risky way to where he’s sitting. “Want one?”

His eyes widen, “These are all for you?” I nod, “And they are all just straight espressos?” I nod again, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

I scoff, “That’s plan B. For now, I’m just trying to stay awake.” I knock back one of the cups, trying hard not to cringe at the unpleasant flavor due to the lack of sugar. “You didn’t answer my question.” I say after getting over the initial battle to get the coffee down without puking.

He hesitates, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the tabletop. I can tell he has spaced out, leaving me unsure of weather I should nudge him again or let him return to reality at his own time.

“I, uh....I had a nightmare.“ He says despite his eyes still carrying that thousand yard stare. “Daniel wasn’t there, and I didn’t want to stay alone in the dorm, so I came here. A lot more open. Not so suffocating.“

I frown, “What was the nightmare like?” I don’t try to hide my concern, there is no reason to do so. I want him to know I care, that I am and I always will be there for him. Even if it’s just as a friend, I will take what I can get. This is not the time to be thinking of anything more than being a good friend and helping Andrew.

He shrugs, his eyes slowly lifting to meet mine. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last cause he shakes his head, breaking eye-contact again, “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.“

I put my hand on top of his, stopping the repetitive tapping of his fingers. This causes him to reconnect our gazes. After a two second confirmation that he won’t look away, I speak up, “You could tell me elves chased you around with axes and I still wouldn’t say that, Andrew. Come on, talk to me.”

He sighs, nodding his head. I take this as a positive sign and give him an encouraging smile. Instinctively, I start withdrawing my hand as I lean back in my seat. To my surprise, he turns his hand, taking a hold of mine when he begins to speak.

“They started a week ago, when John told us about the trip to Little Hope.“ he still hesitates, but I still consider it progress. “It’s always one of two nightmares - it’s either a housefire which non of us survive or...I can’t even explain the other one.“

I give his hand a comforting squeeze, “Take your time. I know it’s tough.”

“Um, we are at this ruin of a house and we, well, you guys get attacked by these deformed, demonic monstrosities. I can’t get to you. I can’t save you. Darkness takes over my brain and all I hear is horrified screams and calls for help. And then I wake up. Terrified.“

I am terrified just picturing it, let alone experiencing it. I’d probably sob like a baby and refuse to go to sleep ever again. “That’s horrible, Andrew. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.” I pause for a second, “Little Hope is a place with terrible history, I can’t blame you for being so hesitant about going. I’m a sucker for these types of places, but I completely understand your angle.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I believe I overheard you saying you’d like to visit Centralia.“

I can’t help but smile, “Oh, I’d love to.”

Suddenly, completely out of the blue, he gets a spark in his eye. He becomes livelier, almost like new life was breathed into him. Pushing back his chair, he stands up and takes the remainder of coffee cups. “Well, that’s not gonna happen if you kill yourself.” Without batting an eye at my baffled expression, he throws the cups in the trashcan near by. “Let me help you with the studying. Two work better than one, after all. I’m sure you’ll grasp everything better if you have an actual person explaining it to you. Also, I’d like to make up for the time you wasted here with me.”

I get up as well, “No need, seriously. I can figure it out. Apart from feeling so energized I could run a marathon, my brain is working a lot better now. You go try to catch some z’s.” I wave my hand dismissively but he catches it mid-motion, mumbling a quick ‘come on’ before leading me out of the dining hall and towards the staircase I took earlier.

* * *

It’s been about two days since that night and history is over here repeating itself. I am, once again, pulling an all-nighter, this time alone because no one else from my friend group shares this class with me. You’d think I would have learned my lesson and would start studying at a reasonable time, granting myself both peace of mind and a better functioning brain, but NOPE. Actually, I’m beginning to think I can’t study at any other time of day. The late nights/early mornings give me the best atmosphere. Those hours before dawn are the quietest I’ve ever had the chance to experience - for studying and just chilling on the roof of the dorms. The dining hall is still a place I frequent. I can’t help but hope to run into Andrew every time I walk in that big, eerie room. I haven’t been so lucky, though. We got the results of our last exam today and I was, and still am overjoyed for the grade I got. Not only was it a passing one, it was a SOLID passing one. I can swear, if it wasn’t for Andrew’s help, I would’ve failed it with the lowest score in the class.

“How does this work...?“ I mumble in frustration, reading through the poorly written notes I’ve made. Full disclosure - this is my nap class. This is the class I spend spacing out and - as its title suggests - taking naps. I am surprised I have as many notes as I do.

Taylor, being the great friend she is, refused to budge from our dorm, determined to help me in any way she could. I appreciate the gesture, don’t get me wrong, but having another person would defeat the purpose of being up this late, so I talked her into sticking to her original plan - hanging out with Andrew and Daniel at their dorm while I fry my brain cells.

Just as I’m about to take a sip of my third coffee for the night, my phone starts ringing. I look at the phone screen that’s displaying Andrew’s name and straighten up in my chair, ready to launch myself out the door in case he needs my help. Screw the exam.

“Hello? You ok? What’s wrong?“ I blabber into the phone after picking up the call

“Hey, sorry for bothering you. Hope I didn’t wake you up. Um, I had another nightmare....never mind. Sorry for calling.“ His voice is shaky and hesitant, almost as if he’s speaking with zero air in his lungs.

My concern shoots through the roof, “Don’t you ‘never mind’ me! And don’t apologize! Meet me in the dining hall in five minutes.” I jump to my feet, pulling my jacket on with my unoccupied arm.

He sighs, “I’m already there.“

I nod distractedly, momentarily forgetting that he can’t see me, before leaving the dorm. I power walk the familiar hallways, the only reason I’m not running being the late hour and the trouble I’d get in for the noise.

I stop right outside the dining hall doors, giving myself five seconds to compose myself so I won’t look absolutely unhinged when I walk in. I get that it’s pointless, considering I have massive bags under my soulless eyes, but a girl can try.

Pushing the door open, I am met with small, flickering dots of light hovering over one of the tables. The outline of Andrew’s silhouette is also visible, but nothing more. It takes me a second to realize the lights I was looking at were three small candles.

“Andrew?“ I whisper-call his name while I’m still at a distance of about ten feet, cautious not to freak him out by approaching without making my presence known.

As I near the table, the candle-light illuminates his face enough for me to be able to see that he doesn’t look at all like what he sounded like over the phone. Something about his gaze when his eyes meet mine screams ‘I’m so glad you’re here’, but then again, that might be wishful thinking. Apart from that, he looks rather normal - not like someone who just had the most horrific of nightmares. Actually, I think I can see a hint of a smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Hey Y/N.“ He greets me, “Ready to study?“ He points to the several notebooks and sheets of paper neatly stacked on the table. Next to that pile is a similar one of snacks.

My eyes widen, “Wait, what? What is this?“ I narrow my eyes at him, “Is this your way of dealing with the nightmares or something? It’s completely ok if it is, don’t get me wrong...“

He shakes his head, the smile now fully formed on his face, “No, Y/N. I actually haven’t had a nightmare since that night you found me here. This...” he motions to the table, “...is several things. First of all, a celebration for your passed exam. Second, a thank you - cause I believe you’re the reason the nightmares stopped. I just needed to talk to someone about them and you were the only person I could do that with properly. And third, I know you have an exam in a few hours, so I wanted to help. We make great study-buddies, don’t you agree?”

I’m honestly speechless, “You schemer.” I’m smiling and blushing like crazy and I couldn’t be happier to be surrounded by darkness at this moment. “How did you even get these notes? You’re not in that class.”

He gives me a conspiring smirk, “That’s classified info.” He hands me a coke can, “No more coffee for you tonight.”

“You interrupted me on my third cup, but better late than never I guess.“ I giggle taking the handed soda and taking a seat on the chair opposite him. “Thank you so much, Andrew. Really, it means a lot to me. How am I supposed to repay you for this?“ I can tell he’s about to protest so I hurry to stop him, “No, no, no. You can’t change my mind on that.“

He sighs in defeat I can only guess is fake, taking the smirk on his face into consideration. He contemplates whatever’s on his mind for a second, buying himself time while he opens a soda can for himself. I copy his action, opening mine as well. “Um, well, there is one way I can think of....” he trails off, avoiding eye-contact. The brief moment I manage to catch his gaze I give him a nod, encouraging him to go on. “How about calling this a date?”

I am shocked. No, ‘pleasantly surprised’ is a better term to use. ‘Overjoyed’ an even better one.

The blush I thought couldn’t get any darker or more wide-spread just proved me wrong. Despite the chilliness of the dining hall, my face, neck and ears are on fire. Once again, a big thank you goes to the darkness that surrounds us.

Instead of showing off how surprised and happy I am, I lift my soda can in the air, “It’s a date then.”

His smirk turns into a relieved smile as he takes his can, clinking it against mine, “It’s a date.”

@sparrow-gg @artlovingbre @chairtiger

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years ago

Link

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 30, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

At 3:29 ET on August 30, 2021—early on the morning of August 31 in Afghanistan—the U.S. military mission in Afghanistan ended. It was the longest war in American history.

Among the last to come home were the 13 Americans killed in an ISIS-K attack last Thursday. They arrived at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware Sunday morning from Germany. President Joe Biden, First Lady Jill Biden, Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin, Secretary of State Antony Blinken, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley, and 8 aides attended the dignified transfer between the plane and a waiting vehicle.

In the last 17 days in Afghanistan, U.S. troops evacuated more than 120,000 people, making up the largest airlift in our history. For comparison, as Jennifer Rubin of the Washington Post pointed out, the U.S. evacuated no Americans from the civil war in Yemen in 2015, and only about 167 from Libya in 2011.

While critics have suggested that America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan will hurt American credibility abroad, President Biden and Secretary of State Antony Blinken have called for combatting terrorism through financial sanctions, bombing, and drone strikes like the one they used to retaliate against ISIS-K for the attack on the Kabul airport that killed more than 160 Afghans and 13 Americans last Friday, and by strengthening democracy at home.

There is plenty of work to do on that last front.

Last week, Peter Wehner, who served in the Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, and George W. Bush administrations, pointed out in The Atlantic that the right wing has moved to such extremism that former president Trump, whose behavior seemed so shocking in 2015 and 2016, is now being sidelined by lawmakers and pundits who are even more extreme.

Yesterday, in an event hosted by the Macon County Republican Party, Representative Madison Cawthorn (R-NC) insisted that the January 6 rioters are “political hostages” and said he wanted to “bust them out.” When someone in the audience asked “When are you going to call us to Washington again?” he said, “We are actively working on that one…. We have a few plans in motion that I can’t make public right now.” He called for removing Biden from office under the 25th Amendment and added, “when Kamala Harris inevitably screws up, we will take them down, one at a time.” He concluded by saying: “The Second Amendment was not written so that we can go hunting or we can shoot sporting clays…. The Second Amendment was written so that we can fight against tyranny.”

Increasingly, right-wing agitators are calling for violent overthrow of the government.

Today in Pennsylvania, Steve Lynch, a candidate for Northampton County executive, said: “Forget going into these school boards with freaking data. You go into these school boards to remove them. I’m going in with 20 strong men and I’m gonna give them an option—they can leave or they can be removed.”

At a protest in Santa Monica yesterday before a vote on a mask mandate, a man held a sign with the names and home addresses of each Los Angeles City Council member and said protesters would go to the homes of anyone who voted for the mandate and, if it passed, “Civil War is coming! Get your guns!”

This sort of street-level violence is known for radicalizing individuals as they get swept up in it and then later embrace the larger political arguments behind it. It also forces more reasonable individuals out of government positions as they conclude that their position on a school board, for example, is not worth threats against their families and their lives.

Far from trying to tamp down this violence, right-wing leaders are egging it on. Tonight, on the Fox News Channel, personality Tucker Carlson told his audience that no leader had apologized for “these terrible decisions” in Afghanistan. “This can’t go on,” he said. “When leaders refuse to hold themselves accountable, over time, people revolt…. We need to change course immediately… or else the consequences will be awful.”

The images on the screen behind Carlson were of President Biden, Secretary of State Blinken, Defense Secretary Austin, and Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Milley. Carlson often tries to undermine the current leadership of the military, suggesting that he would welcome its replacement by officers he finds less objectionable.

Republican offense may be an attempt at defense.

Today, Representative Bennie Thompson (D-MS), chair of the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol, announced that the committee has demanded that 35 major communications companies preserve their records from April 1, 2020, to January 31, 2021, for people involved in the January 5 and January 6 rallies in Washington, D.C., or “potentially involved with discussions” about stopping the electoral vote count on January 6 or otherwise “potentially involved with discussions" in planning the January 6 insurrection. According to CNN, the companies affected include cell phone giants Verizon Wireless, AT&T, T-Mobile, US Cellular, and Sprint. Social media companies covered under the request include Apple, Google, Facebook, Signal, Slack, YouTube, Twitch, and Twitter.

CNN reports that members of the committee have requested preservation of the records of representatives Cawthorn, Lauren Boebert (R-CO), Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA), Jim Jordan (R-OH), Andy Biggs (R-AZ), Paul Gosar (R-AZ), Mo Brooks (R-AL), Matt Gaetz (R-FL), Louie Gohmert (R-TX), Jody Hice (R-GA), and Scott Perry (R-PA). They have also asked the companies to preserve the records of former president Trump; those of his children Ivanka Trump, Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump; and those of his daughter-in-law Lara Trump and Don Jr.’s girlfriend Kimberly Guilfoyle, who worked on the campaign.

Those determined to regain control of the country from the Democrats also have to contend with continuing good news from Biden’s policies. A new study from the Center on Poverty and Social Policy at Columbia University shows that the first child tax credit payment kept 3 million children from falling below the poverty line and that the child poverty rate dropped from 15.8% in June to 11.9% in July. Coronavirus relief measures kept another 3 million children from poverty. Families are using the money to buy food and pay off debt.

The administration is also coordinating aid to the states hit hard by Hurricane Ida, which brought up to 15 inches of rain to parts of Louisiana and knocked out the state’s power grid. The administration deployed more than 3,600 employees of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) to Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas, who prepared more than 3.4 million meals, millions of liters of water, more than 35,700 tarps, and roughly 200 generators in the region before the storm hit. They have moved ambulances and search and rescue teams into the area and have opened shelters. The Army Corps of Engineers has mobilized personnel to remove debris and to provide temporary roofing and housing.

The administration is shifting its focus from unilateral military might to multilateral alliances to deal with common problems. Tomorrow, Special Presidential Envoy for Climate John Kerry will leave for Asia, where he will meet with leaders from Japan and then China to bolster international cooperation on climate change before the meeting of the 2021 U.N Climate Change Conference in early November.

—-

Notes:

Kyle Griffin @kylegriffin1CENTCOM's Gen. McKenzie: In total, 123,000 civilians were evacuated from Afghanistan over the last 18 days.

869 Retweets3,334 Likes

August 30th 2021

Aaron Fritschner @FritschnerAt Macon County GOP event yesterday, Madison Cawthorn called January 6 rioters “political hostages,” and spoke of trying to “bust them out.” Then- Attendee: “When are you gonna call us to Washington again?" Cawthorn: “We are actively working on that one.”

4,235 Retweets7,587 Likes

August 30th 2021

https://talkingpointsmemo.com/news/cawthorn-calls-jan-6-defendants-political-hostages-muses-about-trying-to-bust-them-out

Scott MacFarlane @MacFarlaneNewsALERT: House Select Jan 6th Committee asks 35 major communications companies (including major cell service providers, Twitter, Parler, etc) to preserve records for "individuals potentially involved with discussions" in planning Jan 6 Sweeping request (more)

1,408 Retweets3,875 Likes

August 30th 2021

/photo/2

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/08/30/statement-by-president-joe-biden/

https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/30/politics/fact-check-biden-dover-afghanistan-kabul/index.html

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/28/world/asia/kabul-airport-attack-isis-us-strike.html

https://www.cnn.com/2021/08/30/politics/january-6-phone-records-members-of-congress/index.html

Ron Filipkowski @RonFilipkowskiAt protest in Santa Monica today before the vote on mask-mandate, Jason Lefkowitz has the home addresses of each LA City Council member on his sign. He says they are going to the homes of whoever votes for it, and if it passes, it’s “civil war, get your guns.” From @chadloder

3,407 Retweets5,941 Likes

August 30th 2021

Andrew Lawrence @ndrew_lawrencethe most watched cable news host in america justifies a coming "revolt" unless we "change course immediately"

261 Retweets957 Likes

August 31st 2021

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/apr/01/american-civilians-yemen-left-behind

https://www.npr.org/2021/08/30/1032615984/house-panel-investigating-the-capitol-attack-orders-35-companies-to-preserve-rec

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/08/30/how-evacuation-americans-is-going/

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/08/radicalism-post-trump-gop/619891/

https://www.povertycenter.columbia.edu/news-internal/monthly-poverty-july-2021

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/08/30/readout-of-president-bidens-briefing-with-gulf-coast-elected-officials-on-hurricane-ida/

https://www.businessinsider.com/child-tax-credit-expansion-reduce-child-poverty-rate-research-2021-8

https://apnews.com/article/hurricane-ida-louisiana-new-orleans-c43c2c68946ceb6100c2239534c6c290

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#extreme right wing #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP #January 6 2021 #January 6 Commission #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson

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nekojitachan · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve forgotten what part this is now. Six? Seven? Anyway, more of the Raven!Andrew soulmate AU.

Last part can be found here.

Ah, mention of someone going through drug withdrawals...

*******

“So, with all the games in, it’s pretty easy to figure out which teams are in the top four of each district,” Nathaniel proclaimed as he peeled his clementine. “Well, if you’re good at math.”

“You’re a freak of nature,” Jean grumbled, much as he did every time Nathaniel brought up his talent for mathematics.

“Oh, so you don’t want me to help you study for that Trig final?” Neil grinned when his partner tossed his own clementine at the smart-ass. “As I was saying, it’s pretty easy to figure out who’s in the top four. Naturally, we’re in the lead for the northeastern district and overall in the division.”

“What a surprise,” Andrew drawled as he pushed his empty plate aside and tried not to stare when his soulmate licked a drop of juice from his right thumb.

Tried not to.

“Hmm, yes, I’m sure no one will be shocked when Tetsuji announces that fact this Saturday at the banquet. Nor will anyone be surprised when they find out that the Trojans are in first place for the southwestern district.” He seemed to be staring straight at Jean as he said that, while his partner was intently focused on aligning his chopstick a certain way on his food tray.

Jean cleared his throat before he spoke. “They are the second-best team in the division.”

“Yes, and their new captain is very talented.”

“He’s… not too bad.”

Andrew suspected that he was missing something – at least until he caught the way Jean’s right hand rubbed over the soulmate mark hidden beneath the sleeve of his shirt; he remembered the backliner telling him that his soulmate played Exy, too. Andrew clicked his tongue as he reached over to steal a slice of Nathaniel’s fruit, which prompted a pout from his own soulmate that wasn’t adorable at all. “Is he as much an asshole as ours?” he asked in French.

“Ple-ah, come on.” A slight flush colored Nathaniel’s cheekbones as he caught himself in time; he’d noticed that Andrew didn’t care for the word ‘please’ and so avoided it in any language he spoke. “He’s a Trojan. He probably doesn’t even know how to spell the word, he’s so good.” He wrinkled his upturned nose at the end as if saying something foul.

“Which is why you’ll never be a Trojan, you little demon,” Jean told his partner.

“I never wanted to be,” Nathaniel declared as he threw a piece of clementine peel across the table.

Andrew propped his chin up on his left palm as he watched the partners squabble, partially distracted as he recalled the Trojan’s captain and starting striker: Jeremy Knox. Hmm, not too bad, though much too smiley for his tastes.

The bickering only stopped when it was time for the team to report for afternoon practice; even with the semester all but over, Tetsuji wasn’t easing up on the Ravens, oh no. Andrew had already been warned that the next semester would be brutal as the Ravens defended their title yet again. He’d deal with the stupidity of the whole ‘must win’ mentality after winter break; first he had to suffer through a little thing like withdrawal, considering that he was headed to some rehab clinic on Wednesday, after his last final.

(On one hand, he got out of the winter banquet. On the other hand, he’d probably be puking his guts out Saturday night. He still preferred skipping the stupid banquet.)

They’d just finished a scrimmage when Riko and Kevin returned from Baltimore, Riko appearing tired and his dark eyes red-rimmed, while Kevin was nervous and wouldn’t look Tetsuji in the eye. Tetsuji said something harsh to them in Japanese that made Nathaniel shift on the bench and Jean mutter in French, then ordered them onto the court for the final scrimmage – against each other.

Andrew didn’t need to be psychic to know it wasn’t going to end well.

“Another bad game last night?” he asked in German.

“They nearly lost,” Nathaniel answered as he watched the disaster unfold. “Kev… was unusually unfocused.”

Kevin Day, Kayleigh Day’s son, raised on Exy and in the Nest, who was one of the best strikers ever (all right, Andrew agreed with his soulmate that the arrogant, tall bastard was the best, not that he’d ever tell Nat that) was ‘unfocused’? Hmm, somehow Andrew suspected that it had to do with the growing rumors that Kevin was holding back because of Riko (was held back because of Riko). Someone took their #2 status a bit too much to heart.

Or they knew how vicious someone could be if they believed their precious status as #1 was threatened….

Not that Andrew gave a shit (he didn’t give a shit about much in general), but a certain soulmate watched on with a stiffening back and clenched fists as Riko, Federov and Johnson slammed Kevin around, as they tripped him up and knocked him down, jabbed the butt of their racquets into his padded ribs while Tetsuji turned a blind eye to it all.

The scrimmage finally ended with Riko’s ‘team’ winning by six points and Kevin on his knees gasping for air; Tetsuji nodded in approval at his smug prick of a nephew. Right away, Nathaniel was on his feet, his blue eyes bright with righteous indignation and cheeks flushed with anger, and actually got a couple steps away from the bench before Andrew realized that the idiot was about to cause a world of trouble.

He managed a word or two of Japanese before Andrew charged forward, grabbed his fool of a soulmate by the waist and heaved him over his shoulder (thankful that Nathaniel was on the lean side). “What the- put me down!”

“Ah, ah, sweetpea, practice is over and now you’re mine.” He nodded to Tetsuji, who gave him that ‘you’re a bug unworthy of my attention’ gaze and smacked Nathaniel’s ass to make him stop squirming. “I told you that you have to listen to what I say, time to reinforce the lessons.” That seemed to prevent Riko from going all ‘king’ on them for disrupting what was technically the last two minutes of practice; the prick laughed and called out suggestions for how Andrew could punish Nathaniel, while Kevin appeared grateful to have the attention turned away from him.

Jean gave Andrew an intent look as he headed for the Nest, but a slight nod from Andrew made him relax; he had to have worried about the trouble Nathaniel was about to drag him into, yet he still wanted to make sure that his partner wasn’t going to be harmed. Andrew would call him a fool, too, but he knew that Jean also considered Kevin a friend.

Scratch that, Jean was indeed a fool.

He smacked Nathaniel’s pert ass again (no, don’t think that) and got a fresh spate of insults for his troubles (in Japanese, of course, since he didn’t know the language – Nathaniel wasn’t a total idiot). Andrew bypassed the locker room and kept on until he found an unlocked door to a suitably uncluttered storage closet (just a few ladders and boxes of lightbulbs); he dumped a squirming Nathaniel onto his feet (more or less) and locked the door behind them.

Nathaniel (as always) was quick to regain his footing; he pulled his disheveled jersey down to cover the bare slip of abdomen then pushed back the damp auburn curls falling onto his flushed face as he glared at Andrew. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Andrew leaned against the locked door as he gazed at his furious soulmate (dammit, did Nathaniel have to look even more gorgeous when he was angry?) “I don’t know,” he drawled as he folded his arms across his chest. “That I was preventing you from doing something stupid enough to earn both you and Jean a bad enough beating that you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow? Hmm?”

Mention of his partner made Nathaniel jerk back and then duck his head, the fire in him slowly sputtering out; Andrew would feel bad about that except that he didn’t believe in guilt and that everything he’d said was the truth. “I… dammit, I was trying to protect Kevin,” he said in a quieter voice, the heat of anger all but gone.

“Kevin is a big boy,” Andrew repeated for the fifty-eighth time. “Worry about yourself and Jean.” And him, because he wouldn’t allow Nathaniel to be such a suicidal fool.

Especially when he’d soon be gone for a couple weeks.

Nathaniel was quiet for a moment as he nibbled on his full bottom lip before he shrugged. “But… never mind.” His expression became closed off as he edged toward the other side of the closet, as far away from Andrew as possible.

Over the course of the semester, they had… well, they had grown comfortable in each other’s presence, had let down their guards somewhat. They were able to be close to each other, to spend the night in the same room and actually rest, to have their little jokes, to tease each other… but they still had their secrets, didn’t they? Andrew got most of his knowledge about his soulmate from Jean and others, while Nathaniel… well, he hadn’t told Nathaniel too much, had he?

He clicked his tongue as he dropped his arms to his sides. “Look, why don’t we try something new? You tell me something true, something you’re willing to give up, and I’ll tell you a truth in return.” He gazed at his soulmate steadily, as if he hadn’t offered something so ridiculous, something so… so intimate and… and… and ridiculous.

Yet after a few seconds, Nathaniel smiled and nodded. “Okay. So, uhm, who goes first?”

Andrew slumped against the wall for some reason and let out a slow breath. “You can ask first.”

“Okay.” Nathaniel did more of the lip nibbling thing (which did not help considering that they were enclosed in a small space and Andrew wanted to reach out to pull his soulmate close and- not helping) before he spoke. “Why did you agree to go off to rehab over winter break?”

Oh. Okay, that wasn’t bad. “Because I was put on the drugs against my will, they don’t do shit for me except jerk my emotions around, so I’ll jump at a chance to get off them early.” His grin widened even more as he flashed his hands in the air in a ‘ta-da’ manner. “I know I’m so much fun this way, but hyper Andrew is going bye-bye.”

“I… like you better without them. The drugs. Uhm.” Nathaniel ducked his head again, but not before Andrew caught a hint of blush on his cheeks. “So, your turn?”

Andrew shoved his hands behind his back before he did something stupid (like stroke his fingers over those warm cheeks). “Why are willing to get into so much trouble for Kevin?” Why did he try to step in for someone he barely talked to- was it because they shared the same ugly tattoo?

“Ah.” Nathaniel looked at him again, his expression thoughtful. “You… you’ve only been here a few months,” he said as he toyed with the hem of his Ravens’ jersey. “When I first came here, Riko wasn’t so bad and Kev helped me out a lot, showed me what to do and not to do.”

“Did he get you to keep your mouth shut?”

The slight, amused smile which always made something warm spark inside of Andrew’s chest curled on Nathaniel’s lips at the improbable question. “He tried, but….” Nathaniel gave a one shoulder shrug. “It was the three of us for a while, and then Jean showed up. Even then, all of us were young enough that Riko didn’t pull away entirely, not for another year or two.” His smile faded as he recalled the past. “Then he became determined to make us know our place, to show us the difference between heirs and belongings.” He gave an unconscious rub along his abdomen, which was littered with knife scars.

“Kev still talked to us and tried to help, but the partner bond with Riko gradually grew tighter and he didn’t have much free time to spare. That would have been fine, but the last year or two… well, you’ve seen it,” Nathaniel said as he gazed at Andrew. “Riko treats Kev more like a threat than a partner and brother.”

“So you think you owe it to him to try to defend him?”

Nathaniel shrugged again. “He stepped in for me in the past.”

Andrew slowly reached out to tug on his soulmate’s jersey. “Does Riko take a knife to him if he fights back? Give him to Federov as a treat?” He hated to bring that up, but he’d learned that Nathaniel was so damn stubborn and willing to martyr himself for those he considered friends.

(That wasn’t familiar at all.)

There was a flash of hurt in those pretty blue eyes for a moment, but Nathaniel didn’t bat his hand away. “No, nothing so permanent for Kevin, unless you count the emotional damage.”

Count on Riko to cover all his options when it came to abuse; Kevin could appear arrogant and confident as hell in front of a camera or out in public, but Andrew had to admit that anymore, he was a quiet presence around his partner when at the Nest.

“Then don’t rush to his defense and give Riko an excuse to hurt another person,” Andrew said as he tugged on his soulmate’s jersey again. “You’re supposed to have some brains, use them for once.” He clicked his tongue then let go.

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes as he straightened his jersey. “And did you think things through when you hauled me into here?”

Andrew was the one to shrug that time. “We’re soulmates and everyone thinks we’re screwing around, sweetpea. I’m sure they’ve ‘figured out’ what we’re up to, and it’s not talking.”

“Well then, we better leave now because I’m sure they expect you to be done by now, hasenfürzchen,” Nathaniel purred as he mussed his hair. “Even with a round two.”

That… Andrew didn’t know what surprised him more, his new nickname (what the hell) or that his soulmate was going along with his little joke. “Don’t forget to limp,” he advised as he unlocked the door. “You know, since I’m so big.”

“Something of yours is certainly huge and needs cut down to size,” Nathaniel muttered as he stomped out into the hall; Andrew noticed that Jean was waiting for his partner, along with a few sniggering Ravens. He ignored them as he went to change out of his Exy gear and shower, only pausing when he spotted Aaron in the red-painted hallway along the way to the locker room.

His twin should be almost done with his shift as Tetsuji’s work study assistant, running errands and doing a bunch of menial office tasks on the weekend. As surly as he’d been when it had started, he soon settled into the job, probably aware of how the experience would reflect well on him when he applied for medical school.

(That and Nicky most likely had given him an earful when he found out about him almost being kicked out of Edgar Allan.)

Aaron had, no big surprise, ignored Andrew at first, but gradually got over his latest fit of temper – especially when he learned that Andrew would spend the winter break coming off his court-ordered medication.

At first, Aaron had yelled at him for leaving him stuck with visiting Nicky and Erik in Germany by himself, in having to put up with the ‘disgusting, love-sick idiots’ all the time. Then he got on Andrew about finding a ‘cheap’ excuse to get out of giving any presents that year. Finally, he sneered and called him a wimp for going the ‘posh clinic route’ for rehab.

Andrew gave him the finger each time and walked away.

That day, Aaron nodded at him, a slight frown on his face. “Didn’t practice end a bit ago?”

“Had to talk to someone about some stuff,” Andrew said as he tugged on his jersey, eager to get out of his sweat-soaked gear.

“Oh.” Aaron glanced at the stack of envelopes in his arms as if considering something before he huffed. “Everything set for your pampered rock star rehab?”

Andrew rolled his eyes as he gave his brother the finger. “Yes.”

Aaron looked as if he was struggling not to smile (or drop some of the envelopes). “Let’s hope they don’t mix you up with one of the patients in there for a psych evaluation. We’ll never see you again, then.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew told him without any heat. “And bring back the good chocolates with the alcohol in them.”

“Sure I will, they’ll just all be for me,” Aaron taunted as he walked away.

Why couldn’t Andrew be an only child?

Why couldn’t he have a ‘get out of mass homicide’ card; when he joined Nathaniel and Jean in the dining hall, Federov, Johnson and several other assholes let out loud catcalls over their ‘quickie’. Andrew took one look at the too-blank look on his soulmate’s face then the barely suppressed delight on Jean’s and inwardly sighed. “I’m not a big fish.” Nor was he a rabbit.

Nathaniel eyed him up and down as if mentally deciding how best to fillet him. “Not gonna stop me from removing your spine in one piece while you’re still breathing.”

“Guess you didn’t do a good job, did you?” Jean taunted before he sipped his green tea. “Need to work on your stamina, yes?”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said with a wide grin as he eyed his yet again healthy (meaning bland and disgusting) dinner.

“I thought you got it all out of your system for the day.”

“Enough,” Nathaniel called out as he snatched the green apple from Andrew’s tray (he was more than welcome to have it, especially if it got him to stop threatening bodily harm). “Or I’ll gut you both.”

Andrew and Jean snorted at the threat, but focused on eating (choking down their food) regardless. As soon as they were done, they went to the backliners’ room to study for their upcoming finals; Andrew’s were crammed into the next three days, while Jean and Nathaniel had the rest of the week. Normally, Andrew wasn’t concerned about his grades, but the Ravens had to maintain a certain GPA as part of their ‘perfect’ image. Even Nathaniel, who was still in high school and taking online classes (and was expected to pursue a pro career, just like Jean), couldn’t let his grades slip past a certain point.

The next couple days were a busy blur for Andrew, were rushing from one final to the next amidst practices and study sessions. Despite the hectic schedule, he did make the time to reinforce an important fact with a few Ravens such as Federov: he would only be gone for a short while, and at no point during his absence should they dare assume that Nathaniel was fair game. There were some dented lockers, broken noses and black eyes by the time he was done reminding the bastards of that fact, but everyone could still play Exy so Riko and Tetsuji couldn’t bitch (too much).

“I don’t know why they let you get away with it and not me,” Nathaniel grumbled while he watched Andrew pack a duffel bag with a few personal items; he’d finished his last final that morning and would be driven to the rehab clinic in another ten minutes by Akagi.

“Because I’m universally adored.” Andrew narrowed his eyes and batted aside the pair of socks he’d just dropped into the bag which his soulmate had picked up and thrown at him. “Not nice. See, that’s why they don’t let you get away with shit.”

“I think you’re being checked in for your lying problem.” Nathaniel sat perched on the edge of Andrew’s bed, his expression guarded.

“What lying problem?” When Nathaniel didn’t say anything, Andrew zipped the bag closed and dared to reach out to lift his soulmate’s chin to make their eyes meet. “I don’t lie to you.” Not about anything important.

Nathaniel was quiet for a few seconds, then he nibbled on his bottom lip as doubt clouded his pale eyes. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Andrew breathed out as he stroked his thumb along his soulmate’s tattooed cheek (he wanted to stroke it along that abused full lip, to pull Nathaniel toward him and- no, not yet). “How could I possibly live without the wonderful tofu dinners here?”

That made Nathaniel smile. “See, there you go, lying again.”

Andrew grinned as he (reluctantly) let go then grabbed his bag. “Don’t do anything too stupid while I’m gone, sweetpea.”

“Hey! What makes you think I’m going to do anything stupid at all?”

Andrew merely hummed as he left his room, which made Nathaniel growl in such an adorable manner.

His soulmate caught up and walked beside him as he went to find Akagi. “So, uhm, are you going to tell me what really A/B/O means before you go?” Nathaniel asked, his expression hopeful.

“Absolutely badass optometrists,” Andrew ‘lied’, and inwardly delighted over the insults his soulmate hurled at him; he savored the image of Nathaniel with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, certain it would make the next couple weeks bearable.

While the Mountain Springs Restorative Clinic (‘restorative’, what a joke) looked very nice with its (now dormant) gardens, water fountains, ponds and other features which probably appealed to a more select clientele, Andrew (as expected) spent most of his visit miserable as hell as he went through a sped-up detox program, withdrawing from a drug in a fraction of the time as normally recommended.

He didn’t care if it felt as if he’d thrown up his entire digestive system at least four times, that his bones had turned into molten glass, that acid ate through his nerves and insects had set up a colony inside his head… he just wanted the damn drug gone. The first day he woke up and didn’t feel a need to take a new dose made all the suffering worthwhile (even if he felt like utter shit otherwise).

Upon his release after the new year, he was weak as hell, clean, minus ten pounds and instructed not to participate in practice for a week. Akagi didn’t say anything to him as he climbed into the black SUV, just gave him a polite nod in acknowledgement, and off they went on the almost thirty-minute drive back to Edgar Allan. He found himself anxious to return to campus, which he told himself had more to do with leaving the clinic behind and not because he was worried about a certain smart-mouthed soulmate.

Andrew powered back on his phone to check his messages, which were mostly from Aaron and Nicky, wishing him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (and a couple ‘you still alive?’ texts). Toward the end, there was one from Aaron asking ‘wtf is going on with ur team?’, which didn’t make any sense.

Then Andrew got to the text from Ben, which basically said that Nathaniel was all right. Something cold jolted through him as he pulled up the search browser and typed in ‘EA Ravens’: among the top returned results were several articles about Kevin Day being injured in a skiing accident while on vacation with Riko Moriyama.

(There was no use in pretending that he wasn’t concerned as hell about Nathaniel anymore.)

*******

No, I wouldn’t subject Andrew to Proust (I think a couple people were worried about that) - this Andrew is basically on Riko’s ‘good side’ right now so there wasn’t a need. Also, not quite emotionless Andrew off the drugs (he’s not entirely unaffected) since he gets off them a bit earlier, has less trauma while on them (no Drake or Proust) and there’s Nathaniel/his soulmate there.

I think that’s it? There’s probably just a few more parts left to this.

#the real thing fic #aftg #andreil soulmate au

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palmett-hoes · 4 years ago

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Aaron & 8 for the ask!!

( ask game )

8. Less an elaboration upon the text and more a critical response to the text

okay so first off, i definitely don't think that andrew was in the right in how he treated katelyn. he was awful to her, especially when he attacked and threatened to kill her

that being said, i think that andrew was valid in some of his suspicion for her for a reason that i don’t think was very well handled by the book

so like,, the way the whole thing comes off in the books is that andrew is somewhat vindictively holding onto his deal with aaron both as a punishment for aaron breaking it in the first place and because he’s secretly also afraid of being abandoned by his brother but doesn’t have the skills or knowledge to resolve things. we know their deal was technically for andrew to protect aaron from his mother and “women,” and that andrew seems to think that katelyn could be a “threat” to aaron in some way. only this reasoning doesn’t make a ton of sense to us as readers because we never see katelyn act in any way that’s not bright and sunny and perfectly lovely, which really just enforces andrew being paranoid, vindictive, and kinda misogynistic. and like he definitely is but i do think there could be something more to it that nora could have hinted at which would have really deepened the conflict another level

basically, that aaron has a history of toxic relationships. his ex-girlfriends all ranged from abusive to co-dependent to enabling, always with an undercurrent of substance abuse. a lot of them were into hard drugs, a lot of them came from bad situations and were perpetrating cycles. that’s what aaron knew and recognized so he gravitated naturally towards girls in similar situations to himself, leading to a string of unhealthy, mutually toxic relationships. andrew watched several play out before he made the deal with aaron. some hook-ups, some flings, and some longer relationships. it was messy, it was bad for him, and it was either gonna leave him dead or paying a shit-ton of child support

so when andrew promised to protect aaron and drag him out of the hole he’d buried himself in, that includes “women” because the women aaron dated before genuinely WERE threats to him because his relationships had always been intertwined with drugs and that landscape would threaten his sobriety even if they weren’t dangerous to him in an abusive sense

from that perspective, andrew’s extreme suspicion of katelyn makes a little more sense. if she were anything like his exes then aaron could very well relapse from spending too much time around her. i think that early on when aaron and katelyn were first getting to know each other and he was realizing he was interested in her this was probably more andrew’s primary motivation. he probably kept aaron under very tight raps and made sure they could never be alone together and probably tried to scare katelyn off more times than we see in canon and then probably dug through her past and personal life

and the point we see them at in canon where katelyn and aaron’s relationship is basically an open secret and obviously andrew knows about it but isn’t really doing anything about it as long as aaron just,, doesn’t acknowledge it openly, is probably after a lot of drama and investigation that actually came from a very genuine place of concern for his brother. but then once he determined that katelyn was,, fine, actually. was genuine and nice and all that she appeared to be, and was in circles way tamer than what andrew himself let his family get into. and she was into aaron and aaron was into her. and that’s where a lot of the jealousy and vindictiveness developed from, in part because andrew realized that his deal had become redundant. he needed to be needed and previously he WAS doing something that protected his brother, but realizing that he actually didn’t HAVE to this time, that katelyn didn’t actually put aaron at risk, was really hard for him to handle, so he handled it really really badly

additionally i like to think that katelyn had a close family member like an aunt or uncle who struggled with addiction, so she’s familiar with aaron’s situation and she understands him and is genuinely knowledgeable about how to help him, much more so than andrew, and that also contributed to him feeling insecure. like aaron tells her about being locked in the bathroom for days while going through withdrawal and she’s like “holy shit, no, what the fuck.” and while it was a horrible experience aaron is actually surprisingly forgiving of it because they were teenagers from bad situations operating under the best understanding of addiction they had at the time. and it was harsh and it was deeply flawed but it worked in large part due to how much effort andrew put into protecting aaron afterwards

#txt #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #aaron/katelyn #cw abuse #cw addiction #cw substance abuse #my posts #im talkin #ask #ask game #anon #anonymous

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shewhoworshipscarlin · 4 years ago

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Tim Moore

Tim Moore (December 9, 1887 – December 13, 1958) was an American vaudevillian and comic actor of the first half of the 20th century. He gained his greatest recognition in the starring role of George "Kingfish" Stevens in the CBS TV's The Amos 'n' Andy Show. He proudly stated, "I've made it a point never to tell a joke on stage that I couldn't tell in front of my mother."

Moore was born Harry Roscoe Moore in Rock Island, Illinois, one of 13 children of Harry and Cynthia Moore. His father was a night watchman at a brewery. Tim Moore dropped out of grammar school to work at odd jobs in town and even danced for pennies in the streets with his friend, Romeo Washburn.

In 1898, Moore and Washburn went into vaudeville in an act called "Cora Miskel and Her Gold Dust Twins." It was booked by agents and traveled through the United States and even Great Britain. As Moore and Washburn grew older, the act became less effective and Miss Miskel sent them back to their parents in Rock Island. Shortly after this, Moore joined the medicine show of "Doctor Mick" (Charles S. Mick), who sold a patented quack remedy called Pru-ri-ta. Doctor Mick travelled through the Midwestern states, with songs and dances provided by Moore and four Kickapoo Indians. The young man also worked in a carnival sideshow and gave guided tours as a "native" tour guide in Hawaii.

Moore left Doctor Mick, first to become a stable boy and later a jockey. He also tried his hand as a professional boxer under the name "Young Klondike" in 1905, and found it lucrative. He returned to performing in 1908, with a troupe of minstrels called "The Rabbit's Foot Company." By 1909, he was back in vaudeville and had met and married his first wife, Hester. They performed as a team, "The Moores - Tim & Hester", appearing in the United States and abroad. In 1910, the couple was part of an act called the Four Moores. By 1914, both Moores were co-stars of an act that was billed as Tim Moore and Tom Delaney & Co. The couple toured China, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, the Fiji Islands and Hawaii with a vaudeville troupe. The marriage ended in divorce in 1915, and in September, Moore married a vaudeville actress named Gertrude Brown. After more than a year on the road in vaudeville in the United States, the Hawaiian Islands, Australia and New Zealand, he returned to boxing once more as "Young Klondike", training in New Zealand. He fought there and in Australia, England, and Scotland. Before this, Moore fought as "Young Klondike" in the US, with Jack Johnson and Sam Langford as some of his opponents. Moore also made his way into films by 1915, playing the part of an egotistical musician in His Inspiration.

Moore became well known for his one-man presentation of Uncle Tom's Cabin, where he would play the role of both Simon Legree and Uncle Tom, applying white chalk to half his face, and burnt cork to the other. Moore literally took his one man act into the street of San Jose, California, for the sale of War Stamps in 1918.

n 1923, Moore and his wife co-starred with Sandy Burns, Fannetta Burns, Walter Long, and Bobby Smart in a silent film comedy, His Great Chance, directed by Ben Strasser (North State Film Corp.) The following year, the Moores toured vaudeville together in "Aces and Queens". Subsequently, he went on tour as one of the stars of producer Edward E. Daley's "black and white musical comedy sensation", Rarin' to Go, for three seasons on the Columbia Burlesque Wheel (1925, 1926 and 1927 editions).

In 1928, Moore took time off from his vaudeville bookings to try his luck once more on the Great White Way – Broadway. This time he met with enormous success as the star comedian of Lew Leslie's hit musical comedy revue, the Blackbirds of 1928. Moore's co-stars were singers Adelaide Hall and Aida Ward and renowned tap dancer Bill "Bojangles" Robinson. The hit musical scored high in Paris and London as well as on the road throughout the states. In 1931, Moore and his then vaudeville straight man at the Alhambra, Andrew Tribble, performed one of their funniest routines in Oscar Micheaux's first talking picture, The Darktown Revue.

At the time the troupe was booked in 1936 in the United Kingdom, King Edward VIII had just abdicated the British throne for love of American Wallis Simpson. There was a wave of anti-Americanism, with women picketing performances of the Blackbirds, carrying signs disparaging American women. Yet the next season saw the return of the revue as Blackbirds of 1937, its last edition in England. Two years later, on Broadway, Lew Leslie presented the last edition of the Blackbirds (1939); the principal singing star was Lena Horne. Moore's last Broadway show was Harlem Cavalcade (1942), produced by Ed Sullivan and Noble Sissle. During the late 1930s and early 1940s, Moore was one of the top comedians headlining at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. He also performed on radio as a dramatic actor.

In 1948, CBS hired Flournoy Miller as a casting advisor for the planned Amos 'n' Andy TV series. They had failed to locate Tim Moore for the role of George "Kingfish" Stevens, a role which was created and voiced on radio by white actor Freeman Gosden. It was Miller's job to trace the actor's whereabouts. Meanwhile, in January 1950, Moore went to New York to perform at the Apollo and appear as guest star on CBS-TV's Toast of the Town. After fulfilling these engagements, Moore returned to Rock Island. A few months later, Flournoy Miller called the manager of the Apollo and finally received Moore's address. Moore did voice tests at CBS radio studios in Peoria and Chicago, and then was brought to CBS-TV in Hollywood for a screen test. He returned to Rock Island. Shortly after this, he was signed by Columbia Broadcasting System to star in a new television adaptation of Amos 'n' Andy. As the radio series had developed in prior years, the scheming but henpecked Kingfish had become the central focus of most of the plots. In the television version, Moore played the character more broadly, with louder and more forceful delivery and a distinctive Georgia drawl, exaggerated for comic effect. Moore's Kingfish dominated the calmer and soft-spoken "Amos 'n' Andy" characters. Early in his career, Moore had developed a "con-man" routine he used for many years while in vaudeville; re-working some aspects of his old act produced the television character Kingfish.

Moore was very popular in the show and for the first time in his career became a national celebrity as well as the first African American to win stardom on television. When leaving a train in Albuquerque to buy some Native American pottery, the proprietor recognized him immediately, saying, "You, you Kingfish." This was the first time it happened in Moore's 52 years in show business. The show aired on prime-time TV from June 1951 to June 1953. Although quite popular, the series was eventually canceled due to complaints about ethnic stereotyping. Shortly after the television show left the air, there were plans to turn it into a vaudeville act in August 1953, with Moore, Williams, and Childress playing the same characters. After the series was canceled, it was shown in syndication until 1966 when increasing condemnation and pressure from the NAACP persuaded the show's owners (CBS, which still owns the copyrights) to withdraw it from further exhibition. It was resurrected in the early days of home videotape through public domain video dealers who had acquired episodes from collectors of used 16mm TV prints, although the copyright was never in the public domain. Illegally produced copies continue to be sold over the internet. The series itself would not be seen on a regular basis again until independent network Rejoice TV began re-airing episodes in 2012.

Moore married his last wife Vivian Cravens (1912–1988) eight months after Benzonia's death; Moore fired a gunshot in his home because of his "mooching in-laws" (stepson, stepdaughter, and her husband) when he found that the last of the New Year's roast beef had been eaten by them. Moore related, "These free-loaders have eaten everything in the house. My wife protects them and every time we talk about it, we get into an argument. The argument got a little loud and the next thing I knew, the big boy (his stepson Hubbard) jumped out of his chair. I ran upstairs and got out my old pistol. I didn't want to hit anybody."

When the police arrived at the home, Moore, pistol still in his belt, told them, "I'm the old Kingfish, boys. I'm the one you want. I fired that shot. I didn't want to hit anyone, although I could have. Anyway, you should have seen the in-laws scatter when I fired that gun." The shot Moore fired hit the china cabinet; he was arrested and charged with assault with a deadly weapon, with police calling him the "funniest prisoner in police history." Moore was initially ordered held on $1,000 bond; the judge changed his mind and released Moore on his own recognizance. Tim and his wife reconciled, with Vivian's pleading for the charges to be dropped. Moore entered a not guilty plea before the case went to trial on March 24. He received a $100 fine and a year's probation as his sentence.

Because of the "Roast Beef Scandal," Moore was once more in demand and even received a testimonial tribute dinner from the Friars Club of Beverly Hills, and appearing on The Tonight Show with Jack Paar. The publicity also won him an extended performance engagement at the legendary Mocambo nightclub.

Moore died at age 71 on December 13, 1958 of pulmonary tuberculosis in Los Angeles, four days after his birthday. There was no money to pay for his hospital care or for his funeral, Moore having received his final $65.00 residual payment from Amos 'n' Andy in January 1958. At one time, Moore had made $700 per week.

After a large funeral at Mt. Sinai Baptist Church, he was buried at Rosedale Cemetery. At the funeral service, 10,000 fans and mourners passed his open coffin; attendance was star-studded and included Groucho Marx, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Louis Armstrong, Tony Curtis, Sidney Poitier, Charlie Barnet, Noble Sissle, Erskine Hawkins, Louis Prima, Freeman F. Gosden, Charles Correll, Spencer Williams, Jr., Alvin Childress, Ernestine Wade, Amanda Randolph, Johnny Lee, Lillian Randolph, Sammy Davis, Jr., Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, Andy Razaf, Clarence Muse, Roy Glenn, Mantan Moreland, Pigmeat Markham, Willie Bryant, Earl Grant. Sammy Davis, Jr. later related that Frank Sinatra organized the effort to pay Tim Moore's funeral expenses. Moore's grave remained unmarked from the time of his burial until 1983; fellow comedians Redd Foxx and George Kirby raised funds for a headstone. There is now one marking the graves of Moore and his wife, Vivian, who died in 1988.

In spite of his achievement as the first major African American television star, Moore is still not honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_Moore_(comedian)

#black history month #actor #vaudeville

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mydearsaddiary · 5 years ago

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Neil Season 3- Chapter 1: 1933

Little curiosity notes: Every chapter will have one. One in the beginning, one at the end. The last name I chose for the Speakeasy Tonight MC is Granger. I wish I could be inclusive with all the last names you guys must’ve chosen but I’ll keep that one for the story (Generic English, I always had the vibes she had English ancestry since it’s never mentioned what her nationality is but we know it’s some sort of European but not Italian, Irish or French and her family had predominantly English names (I think her parents are Edward and Frances, but we have Charles, Edith and Hazel). However, I found a little way to be inclusive of the first name. I named the main character here Mary Catherine Granger, but almost every time everyone will call her by the nickname MC (Also works for Main Character) or Ice Box Flapper, unless it’d look weird (like her parents wouldn’t call her by her nickname). I hope when MC appears you guys can at least imagine what you decided to name her in the game! Hope this helps!

Author notes: It took me a while to write this but I finally did so here’s the first episode! I really hope you guys enjoy my imagination, I miss Speakeasy Tonight as much as you guys do! Please reblog, share, like it and don’t hold back on sending me opinions or criticism in here or in my private messages! It’s a long chapter and it starts with a future look, the next chapters will focus completely on 1926, with only a few occasional scenes in the future but not like this! Thank you, enjoy!

-Candy, My Dear Diary.

——

Fanfic: Speakeasy Tonight (originally by Lovestruck Voltage Games)

Neil Season 3

Chapter 1: 1933

1933

My ways had taken me to live in one of the famous bungalows in Chicago, it’s not what I would’ve imagined for myself, but it was more than I could ask for during these times. The now bankrupt city was once the source of vitality of my not so misspent youth.

The Chicago bootlegging scene was a world I discovered and would come to love when I was just nineteen. The youthfulness and freeness and excitement of the Prohibition life and running a speakeasy had turned into something completely different. I was twenty-six, I was still relatively young but I wasn’t nineteen anymore. The thrill of the illegal drinking had died once it was back to being legal. Gangsters were still alive, but the risk wasn’t worth it anymore, now vileness was the only reason to remain in a life of crime

Needless to say the location of the Ice Box had closed its doors, but the Ice Box itself remained alive in the family we had created. Cliff Conway had opened the Conway Diner. He was the owner along with still using his talents as a bartender there (and working in the kitchen sometimes making the best strawberry pie in the country). The place focused more on food, but drinking, dancing and music was still all part of it.

Uncle Charlie was a stubborn old man who wasn’t going to sit at home if his life depended on it. After being shot he was never the same, he had considerable health problems that weren’t huge if he watched himself. After being in the hospital countless times for not doing so (and after Neil yelled at him some) he finally got that into his head. Charlie’s appliances stayed open and things were going fine somehow, so during the day he stayed there and worked. It didn’t require him to do much and it still brought revenue. Later he’d come to the diner and spend time with everybody, Cliff would let him help sometimes. On top of everything, Uncle Charlie still had his Neighborhood Association. Crime was still part of life in Chicago and he still put in time to make sure people were safe.

Cleo, Julius and Sophia still provided entertainment there. Andrew was no longer needed as a bouncer or to keep people out, so even though it seemed like the last thing we’d imagine him doing, Cleo and Cliff both convinced him to take some culinary classes and work as a cook (and occasionally send away a rude client or somebody who drank too much).

Elliot was away much of the time in Hollywood. Since the Wall Market crashed a few years back, movies were everybody’s distraction. He got deal after deal, but he couldn’t stay away from us for too long, we’d always see him back here, playing poker and still always winning against some patrons (and Vince, who still always lost).

Donovan was in love. Everyone knew that the reason the flatfoot still hanged around us even though the Conway Diner didn’t need protection from the coppers was because he was still completely in love with Cliff’s whiskey. So at night after his work he’d always be there. He missed Elliot most of the time but still found ways to entertain himself.

Even Gerald O’Fallon was still in some ways involved with us. He opened up a ritzy restaurant he named The Broiler after his joint back in the Prohibition days. He still worked a deal with Cliff so Vince would supply his restaurant like before and they were still competitors. Funny to think it’s still the same. He sometimes comes by to dine with us and get into an argument with Vince as usual, which brings us to our Italian friend.

Vince was sometimes still involved with the crime life, Mad Dog Moretti’s reputation followed him until the end of prohibition and after. He helped out bringing supplies, food and doing the same he did with Liquor at the Ice Box. However Vince was still a hot head with a gun who had no other gangsters to fight. Sometimes he still let it get the best of him, he would get in trouble with some criminals, exchange shots and ended up the diner at night when it was empty with some different wound. Because of that Neil was still needed to patch him up.

Doc Dresner. Besides fixing Vince up and taking care of my uncle, well, he still sat at the bar and drank his bourbon at the diner. However, a few things had changed for the doc who sat down at the Ice Box and gave everyone the cold treatment. He still had his sarcasm in his voice and the cynicism in his personality, alright. Everyone still got treated the same, but since 1926 somethings had softened this man.

First he carried a little more of a tired look in his eyes from having to deal with children and a wife (although I like to pretend the latter one isn’t much to deal with). The responsibilities that came with being a father showed through. Me and the kids, we kept him less dark and bleak. Although his personality would always be there, he smiled, that warm smile, more often when we were around. Then sometimes when he was mad at one of us he’d put up the façade he built for everyone else, but that didn’t last long.

I think Neil was also happy now that our oldest, Alton, was old enough he had just started teaching him how to play chess. Charlotte and Lucius (or as everyone called him little Luke) had some years ahead of them. But besides his family life there was something else that improved his mood.

About two years ago, Neil had sent an application to the State Medical Board to reapply for his license, he went to hearings and it was a long process. I didn’t take much part in it but I understood that Charlie and the doctors that took care of him throughout his withdrawal processes downstate testified as witnesses that he had overcome his morphine problem and the court approved.

Neil joined the legal side of things along with the rest of us and was able to practice legally again. Being at a hospital took too much time away from everything so everybody helped out to reform the infirmary he had before into a nice doctor’s office not too far from the appliance store. He helped out the neighborhood like he did before, took care of some emergency situations and sometimes went to people’s houses if they were too incapacitated.

I believe that only leaves me. The Ice Box Flapper. Well, flapper no longer. Not me and not any other girl either. I still liked the red hair as an added charm of mine and my curls didn’t go nowhere but they were more organized like romantic waves and you’d find my hair a little longer these days. I didn’t spent a lot of time at Menken’s anymore but I still loved fashion. Although nothing was as extravagant as what I used to wear, even the calf-long dresses or skirts still had a belt with a glimmering accessory attached to it, or the delicate tilted hats had a bow. I always found my ways.

The question is, what exactly was I doing? The day I normally spent at the house with the kids, Neil would come home and we’d spend some time together and then he’d give me a ride to work and stay there. Where? Well, the Conway diner still needed a chippie with a way of the words as a host, and what better than this former flapper with a way for numbers too? I helped Cliff out with the clientele and worked on the accounting side of the business. Some days Cliff would lend me to Uncle Charlie when he needed help. I’d bring the kids over and Alton and Charlotte would help (or try to).

Even if things did change, it seemed one way or the other we all found our place. There was really a life after prohibition.

I was coming back from the market. It was a little solemn watching people have to count and put back things they could no longer afford, but there was no way to avoid buying food. It was Friday morning, last day of work for this week. Neil and I decided we’d save the weekends for us and the kids. I gave the taxi driver his dime and climbed out of the cab to meet the front of the bungalow we’d bought after we found out I was pregnant with my second child.

It met the sidewalk with a nice little white fence, and once you were past it a clean little garden decorated the front along with one small tree facing the street. Everything contrasted the neighbor’s porch who had given up on the positive and hid behind tall, uncared for, grass. The white stairs led to a small but still nice-sized porch. I had made a point of making it a place to spend summer mornings at. I had placed a wooden bench and on the other side of the blue door there was a table and five metal chairs surrounded it, I always liked to people watch, Neil liked to read more than anyone, so when it was hot outside we’d lose ourselves in our activities and small talk.

I walked inside to meet the living room, mostly in shades of blue. The wall paper also had shades of white and Victorian patterns on it. The sofa and the loveseat surrounded a coffee table and where by the fireplace, which on top resided the house’s radio. Further back by the window there was a dining area with wooden tables and chairs. Only a half wall and an open doorway separated the room from the kitchen. I liked it that way, it eased the conversation. The kitchen was well-lit and mainly white.

A corridor was by the front door. It led to a nice bathroom right in the middle, in which I took longer-than-necessary baths and right after it on the same side two doors led to two bedrooms. One was ours and the other the kids’.

Our bedroom looked like a mixture of Neil’s old room in his apartment and mine in Uncle Charlie’s house. My vanity table and mirror were still where I got ready in the morning, one-third of the closet was Neil’s and the rest was mine, but it was still all fair and square since he occupied most of the drawers. The bed I brought in from Uncle Charlie’s house, but the blankets were a cool shade of green instead of the more feminine colors I had before.

The children’s room we kept light. They had to share so sometimes things got messy, but their beds were separated enough that they didn’t feel suffocated. Luke slept with us half of the nights too, so that helped. They were all a close pack, even if they were very different from one another.

Alton Hasting Dresner had just turned six. Named after Neil’s best friend, he was the spitting image of his father with icy blue eyes and golden slightly curled locks. On top of it, he was (for sure) a daddy’s boy. He imitated Neil in everything. His favorite toy was the doctor’s set, he spent hours asking Neil about chess and moving paws across the board. Sometimes he’d get Neil’s philosophy books and talk about arguments and keep saying the word “rhetoric” and talk about Plato and Aristotle even though he had no idea what he was talking about. Once I caught him drinking orange juice out of one of the whiskey glasses we kept for Neil’s bourbon. He sat right where Neil sits and looked just as pensive as he would. Alton says when he grows up he wants to be a combat medic in the army (Neil is very against it) and then after he wants to be a doctor. If we had told him about the morphine problem Neil had I bet he would want to be a morphine fiend.

Charlotte Granger Dresner was named after my uncle and Charlie came to be her nickname too. That for sure made her his favorite. We both loved Uncle Charlie, so choosing her name was a piece of cake. She sported light brown curls like Shirley Temple and bright hazel eyes. She was a little blabbermouth and her manners reminded me of Edith, it also made her my parent’s favorite. She enjoyed playing Momma and being the perfect pretend wife taking care of the house and dolls just as much as Edith liked doing as a kid.

She was also too preoccupied to make sure she looked good, too much at five if you ask me. I let her play and so did Neil, but she did end up being the biggest target of his sarcastic comments. She’d come into the living room with enough powder on her face to fluff up a sugar cookie into a cake, Neil proceeded to giggle, she’d look at him and say “What are you laughing at?” to which he’d reply with something along the lines of “Didn’t know the circus came to town”, which would promptly get her in a lather and she’d stomp away into her bedroom.

However, she was the one Neil was most protective of, after all she was his little girl. Neil almost passed out when she came out declaring she had a new boyfriend called Rick whom she met at the playground that afternoon. Neil gave a piece of his mind to Little Rickie and his parents the next day and let’s just say they haven’t been there since.

Lucius Edward Dresner was our youngest. Everyone, called him Luke or Little Luke. He was named after Neil’s sister Lucille. She had been bending Neil’s ear as soon as she found out I was pregnant and Neil probably felt he should since she named the now 7-year-old Cornelia after him. He was just one year and seven months old. Luke had hazel eyes like mine and blonde hair like Neil’s. In appearance, Luke was the one who resembled me the most. Even though he could barely walk his personality shined through. He was a shy and quiet kid, didn’t make much of a fuss as a newborn and he only cried out of pain, being scared or if he was really tired.

I have to say I never imagined myself as a mother. Alton was an accident, I had a lot of doubts. Having Neil by my side made things easier, he was responsible and he took care of me, always reassuring me everything was going to be okay. When he was born I had a lot of growing up and adjusting to the situation to do, but I got there. Eventually I found out I loved my little family with Neil. I loved everything about it even if it was hard. Our little chaos in our house added the sense of adventure I enjoyed, so we planned Charlotte. We decided we were done then, until the year before when we tried for Luke. Then we promised ourselves we were done for good.

-Helen?- I asked going into the house. Helen was an older nanny we’d pay to watch the kids at night. That morning I asked if she could watch them as I ran some errands and she came to help out. She was a bigger woman and taking care of kids was a joy for her, so I knew she’d take care of them well.

She came out of the room into the kitchen happier than ever- Mrs. Dresner, you’re quick, you got everything you needed?

-I told you MC is fine, or even Mary, Helen- I mentioned it again, but the woman wasn’t fond of nicknames or being on a first-name basis. She was very traditional. She called me “Mrs. Neil Dresner” for months. I finally convinced her to shorten it, but something told me I wouldn’t be able to do much more than that- But thanks for asking, everything is just fine.

-That’s good Mrs. Dresner, Little Luke is taking his nap- she ignored my first comment with a friendly smile on her face- The kids are playing in their room so if you don’t mind I put him in the crib you have in your room.

I let her know I didn’t mind one bit and she said she’d come back later at night and watch them. I thanked her and she was on her way. I still wasn’t much of a cook but being a mother required me to be at least a little better than what I was before. I fixed up lunch for the three of them. I usually ate later with Neil when he got home.

I could hear Alton’s loud laughs and Charlie’s mad little screams and it was sure a good time to break them up- Hey, you guys, lunch is ready!- I poked my head out the corridor to call for them- Now!- I said when they took long, Alton came running and Charlotte came out still mad by whatever her brother did, but soon enough they were both sitting at the table

-Where did you go Momma, you didn’t go to Robbie’s did you?-Alton looked up while he ate. A fella named Robert had this toy store and it was betrayal for Alton if we went in there without him

-Wouldn’t want you to take any more money from me by going there- I joked around with him

-Yeah, Alton- Charlie said staring him down- She doesn’t want to spend all of her money on your silly toys!

-Hey missy, you spend all of my money too using all of my makeup- I pointed at her, but that didn’t stop the both of them from going at each other like Vince and Donovan

-Alright, stop it you too. Eat now- I put the rest of the groceries away- If you don’t behave there’s no ice cream after- I said and they both started making good progress with their lunch. I stepped out taking my apron off once I heard Little Luke’s noises from the bedroom. I came back, lectured Alton about eating too fast and sat at the table helping the youngest one eat his baby food while the others finished up

They were well into their ice cream when Luke pointed and kept saying “Ishe crean”, and those big pleading eyes of his convinced me to give him a little bit of it.

Neil chose that moment to walk into the door, taking his shoes out and sighing like he had the most stressful day at work and was happy to be home. Alton abandoned his ice cream to go running to the door yelling “daddy!” all excited. Neil smiled to him and lowered himself to pick him up and walk him back to the dining table

-Have you been behaving while I was gone? - He asked putting him to sit down to eat ice cream again

-Of course I have!- He lowered his voice to seem manly and then went back to eating

Charlie didn’t stop eating and with her spoon in her mouth she opened her arms to Neil who hugged her and kissed her forehead- Hi daddy!- She greeted him, while Luke who had made a mess out his ice cream on his hands and mouth kept pointing at him saying “Dada”.

Neil asked how she was doing to which she replied “Great, because she had tea with her kids and her teddy bear and it was the classiest tea ever”, and Neil pretended it was the most interesting thing in the world

-Dada!- Luke said it louder this time since in the other three times he didn’t get the attention he wanted

-Seems like someone’s needy- I said looking at him on my lap while he anxiously waited for his Poppa to come.

-What has your mother been doing to you?- He lowered himself in front of us and before I could give him a snappy comeback he started cleaning his mouth and fingers with a paper towel. His attention to it and his calm hands over him showed his doctor steadiness. It put me in a trance when he acted so carefully, and I smiled to myself thinking of how something so small as cleaning his little flingers made me think of how much I was in love with Neil Dresner. Being there with him, watching the family we created together, gave me this warm fuzzy feeling in my belly. Happiness. I had settled down and this was my life and I didn’t mind one bit.

After, Neil picked Luke up giving him the attention he wanted. I got up collecting the ice cream bowls and washing them while Neil sat down where I was and caught up with the kids who fought for his attention talking about their day. He glanced at me in the kitchen, giving me a small smile, the one letting me know he was coming to greet me in a second. I watched their exchange from the sink for a little bit. Then, Neil gave Luke for Alton to hold and walked in my direction

I giggled lowly when he held my face giving me a long kiss, a kiss I was longing for since he walked out the door that morning

He looked at me, face still close to mine, hands still resting on my face-I love you-He whispered, like it was a precious secret between the both of us

-I love you, Neil- I answered in the same tone, leaning towards him for another kiss- How was your day?

-Oh, you know, desperate people thinking they’re going to get pneumonia and tuberculosis and scared they won’t have the money to pay for it because their husbands got laid off.

-What do you tell them?-I hugged him around his waist, looking up

Neil responded with one arm hugging me around my waist-That if they’re worried about their money they shouldn’t be coming to the doctor’s perfectly healthy

-Not very sweet with the words are you?

-When have you ever known me to be sweet with words?-He looked down giving me that sarcastic glance

-Hmm… You can give me a toothache sometimes- I smiled kissing him once more

-Not if you’re giving me a headache-He snapped back and let me go- I haven’t achieved my perfect bourbon levels to handle the rest of the day yet- He said walking over to his bourbon cabinet pouring him a drink- Want one? - I replied not right this second and he poured it in his cup two more times before putting the drink away

-Hey daddy-Charlotte looked at him from the couch while playing with her dolls- Can you and mommy tell me that story again?

-Your mother is better at talking than I am- He pointed at me, still with the bourbon glass in his hand

I walked over sitting by her- Which story this time?

-How you and daddy met- She said while Neil sat by her other side, interlacing my fingers in his, holding my hand firmly

-No, Charlie!- Alton complained- We hear that one all the time. Poppa worked with Uncle Charlie- “Great uncle Charlie” was too long for everyone- And then Momma came to Chicago and to live with Uncle Charlie and that’s how they met!

-Oh and how mommy was working at Uncle Charlie’s store so hard she fainted and daddy had to take care of her- she sighed- So romantic!

Me and Neil just giggled between ourselves at their silliness.

-Stop it, Charlie!- Alton declared- We already heard that one SO MANY TIMES- He put a huge emphasis on that phrase- I want to hear a different story

-Alright Alton-I said- What story do you want to hear?

-How did you and Poppa get married?- He looked up from the ground where he was sitting

-Oh yea!- Charlie seemed just as excited- Did he kneel in front of you? Did he say that you were the love of his life? Did you wear a beaaautiful gown? Did you guys go to a really romantic honeymoon in Paris?

-If you keep asking we can’t answer- Neil said, making she just look at us excitedly waiting to hear what we had to say. Neil then looked at me since he declared I was the best storyteller

-We decided to get married over a chess game. I told Neil that if I won we had to get married

-And then what happened?- Alton asked, this time sitting on the couch himself

-Well, I won!

1926

More than a few times I’ve heard from Poppa that my actions were comparable to a gal who’s on a fast track to hell. I must think he convinced himself that was the path I was on, which is why he sent me to Chicago to live with uncle Charlie, whom he thought was even a stricter blue nose than he is. By my father’s standard I was going to hell, alright. Until half a year ago I would have cared. Besides my escapades to have fun in the middle of nowhere in Ohio, I would’ve still cared some. I didn’t want to be a complete disappointment.

Funny thing is my attention changed. I no longer sought the approval of Poppa, but of the father figure that had come into my life since I’ve been here: Uncle Charlie. He didn’t judge me for being who I was and he welcomed me into his little Ice Box family which I soon figured out was where I belonged.

Uncle Charlie was back home for good and he was very pleased when Neil asked for my hand in marriage to him. It was a little too traditional for me but he insisted in talking to Charlie and getting his blessing. Uncle Charlie was indeed pleased. For the sake of keeping up with the traditional standards for the older people we said Neil was the one who popped the question.

Then, Uncle Charlie gave us a two-week vacation from the Ice Box. After Vera Peters was no longer a threat, things had been a little more pacific at the speakeasy. The occasion was that since we had made it official we couldn’t delay any longer meeting each other’s families. We had to go to Columbus and to Boston.

I didn’t know if I was ready to see my folks yet, but Neil seemed more prepared than I did. He had gotten invited for Lucille’s baby shower for his niece Cornelia and with a little push from me he had decided to become close to her again. Neil was ready to go back to Boston. He then finished up his letter to his sister. I didn’t read it but I know it mentioned some apology to never answering her letters, catching up with what’s going in his life, letting her know that he was soon to be married to little old me and that I would be coming along with him to attend her baby shower.

I also sent a letter to Momma mentioning our visit but it was shorter and to the point.

The next day, Neil picked me up from Uncle Charlie’s house. Charlie gave me a letter for Poppa and to let him know he was expecting him in Chicago. I made sure to tell him I’d let them know.

We made our way to La Salle Station and soon enough we were in a fast-moving train, I was going back the same way I’d come and the anticipation of showing a new self that my parents expected made my heart pulse a little faster. Neil must have noticed my agitation because he held my hand tight

-Everything will be okay, MC- He smiled at me- I’ll be there the whole time.

——

Little Curiosity notes: MC and Neil will be visiting first Columbus then Boston in the next two chapters. Both their families will show up. There’ll be a little drama in Columbus but Boston will be very eventful, lots of drama! After that the two will go back to Chicago where the main setting will be the Ice Box and follow the original story of Gangster and Prohibition drama + The growth in Neil and MC’s relationship until the wedding.

Author’s note: My chapters do run a little long! Let me know if you guys want it shorter, but normally they’ll be about this length! This chapter focused more on the future but from now on we’ll be focusing our story on 1926 on and what happened directly after Neil Season 2. I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! Thank you!

-Candy, My Dear Diary

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fortunatelylori · 5 years ago

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Sandtion: The Sense and sensibility connection - a meta collab with @and-holly-goes-lightly

As some of you may have gathered, @and-holly-goes-lightly and I are salt mates (this is a tumblr term I have learned only recently and am planning to run into the ground. You have been forwarned. I don’t want any complaints down the line!)

It all started about a year ago, with this:

And progressed steadily until we ended up here:

Occasionally, between ogling pictures of naked men, we discuss serious issues as well. Those end up as metas for your consumption, most of the time.

It’s a colaboration that works well. I write long metas, she writes really good ones. We enjoy. We have fun.

Given that we both obssesively analyze tv content and that we tend to reach about the same conclusions, we have been planning on doing some project together for a while now.

I think if 2 months ago someone had told us that Sanditon would be the tv show that would see us join writing forces, we would have been more than a little shocked.

But here we are … hoplessly obssessed with Austen’s unfinished novel and ITV’s unfinished tv show (get the hint, ITV?!?! I hope you do. Chop, chop! You can’t live on Downton Abbey reruns for the rest of time, you know)

So on this most special of days, @and-holly-goes-lightly and I bring you the motherload of Sandtion metas. Two crazy writers, one tv show, one simple title:

Sandtion: The Sense and Sensibility connection

It’s no surprise to anyone, at this point, that Andrew Davies wears his Austen influences on his sleeve in Sanditon. You can find easter eggs for most of Austen’s work, from the famous Pride and Prejudice to the obscure Lady Susan.

However, Sense and Sensibility seems to be one work that hasn’t insipired much comparison from the fandom. And it’s perhaps for that reason that Sandion’s last two episodes were so hard to digest and why so many question marks were raised in regards to Charlotte’s characterization.

In this project we aim to dispel some of that confusion and attempt to put into prespective the character arcs of both Sidney and Charlotte in:

Sidlotte: A parallel journey between Sense and Sensibility by @fortunatelylori

As well as delve deeper into Charlotte’s POV through out the season finale in:

Charlotte Heywood - From Sensibility to Sense by @and-holly-goes-lightly

We hope you enjoy our take. Please don’t forget to leave us your comments in the reply section. This is a new format for us and we’d love to hear from you on how you like this kind of collaborative work.

Sidlotte: A parallel journey between Sense and Sensibility

As I was reading the now infamous Theo James interview, I was reminded of the “unusual” visual representation of Sanditon. It really does look quite different to most Austen adaptations which are defined by the sunny, sanitized domesticity of the English garden.

Sanditon doesn’t look like that. It’s rough and a little wild. It presents a world in the throes of change, with gales, nudity and darkness lurking around the corners. I think it’s those visual cues that made Theo link it to Wuthering Heights with its Yorkshire gloomy moors and harsh winds.

But that just goes to show you Mr. James has not done his proper Andrew Davies research (Tsk, tsk, me thinks he will need to do a few more nude scenes to atone for it) because the wind swept beaches, the wilderness of the English countryside, the cowboy motif? They all go back to this:

I imagine the visual style of Sense and Sensibility 2008 was in part generated by an attempt to separate it from the very famous 1995 version (the quintessential sunny English countryside film) and in part as a response to the earthier approach Joe Wright took for his now very influential version of Pride and Prejudice (2005).

But I do think Sanditon owes more to S&S 2008 than just its visuals. I’ve talked about this in the past but Sanditon, to me, is really Davies’ homage to Austen’s entire body of work so the more you dig and analyze, the more similarities and parallels you are going to find between Sanditon, its characters and the rest of the Austenverse (I really hope this is just a thing I say in a sarcastic way on tumblr. Not everything needs to be a –verse, people!).

Episode 8 really brought this theory into focus for me. In my review I said that the finale marked the tonal shift of the story from the naïve, hopeful and mostly comedic territory of Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice towards the darker, more reflective tone of Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility.

Of course, comedy and witticisms are a core trait of all of Austen’s work. Her voice is so powerful that she is always an extra character in her own stories. However, Persuasion and S&S are also permeated with a sense of loss and angst that her other works don’t really have.

They’re more mature I suppose one could say. And it’s that maturity that plays a role in the shift that occurred in the season finale of Sanditon. Because Sanditon is really all about Charlotte Heywood. We enter this world with her and we follow her coming of age story throughout the season. And that story is marked by a pretty steep transition from the romantic, hopeful heroine represented by Marianne Dashwood to her restrained, sensible sister, Eleanor.

One of the things I liked the most about S&S 2008 was how much more balanced its view on Marianne and Eleanor was. In the 1995 film, it always felt as if Marianne was presented as a cautionary tale while Eleanor was the heroic nurturing woman who endures everything stoically and is rewarded for her restraint in the end.

But that’s not really, to my mind, the message Jane Austen would like us to get out of S&S. Just like with Pride and Prejudice, Austen is shining a light on the folly of both extreme sense and as well as extreme sensibility. It is not wise to jump head first into situations having only Lord Byron’s poems as your guide but it’s also equally unwise to constrain yourself to the point where you are unable to confide in anyone, to the point where you deny your feelings and end up a passive participant to your own life.

With Charlotte Heywood, we get to explore both those behavioral patterns.

The change from Marianne to Eleanor doesn’t occur in episode 8, by the way. It occurs at the end of episode 6 and carries through to the finale. That’s why people, including myself, were taken aback by Charlotte’s apparent change in demeanor in episode 7, from the girl who always spoke her mind (even when she shouldn’t) and wore her heart on her sleeve to the outwardly detached, apprehensive young woman who was waiting for the other shoe to drop even as the man she loved was about to propose to her.

It would be easy to blame this transition on poor execution and I do believe the shift was too sudden and it was a mistake to have it start off screen (in between episode 6 and episode 7). However, the arc itself is not a mistake and it’s actually very clever.

For one because it allows us to explore this story both from the naïve, romantic perspective as well as the angst filled one.

Secondly, and most importantly, because it works in tandem with Sidney’s arc, who is going through the exact opposite journey from the emotionally repressed outlier to the open hearted tormented hero, representative of the Byronic romantic ideal.

What was supposed to happen is that by the end of episode 8, Sidney and Charlotte would meet in the middle, she as a more controlled romantic, he as a warmhearted stoic. What Davies gave us instead is two ships that passed each other in the night and have, by their last scene in episode 8, completely exchanged places.

So I think it’s important to go back to the beginning and analyze how the meeting between the naïve romantic Charlotte and the world weary Sidney ended up altering them forever and how, while deeply painful for both of them at the moment, their separation and behavior shift will end up benefiting them when their eventual reunion occurs (whether or not ITV decides to renew this series, Charlotte and Sidney WILL get married and have 2 to 3 adorable children because this is an Austen story and I will accept nothing less, damn it!)

One of the most important scenes in the whole season for me was the carriage scene in episode 6. I wrote a whole meta on it that you can find here and I have to go back to it in order to reference this extremely important exchange that sits as the lynchpin of this meta:

Sidney: And what do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read?

Charlotte: I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling.

We’ve spent a great deal of time analyzing this scene and how pivotal it is in the story of Sidney as the motivator behind his lowering of his emotional guard. But I don’t think we’ve spent nearly enough time asking ourselves what this exchange tells us about Charlotte.

Because this doesn’t just announce a change in Sidney, it also foreshadows one for her. Sidney is correct in implying she doesn’t really understand love because she’s never experienced it. She is, however, about to realize that she’s in love with him and thus her assertion that she’d rather be naïve than insensible of feeling is just about to be tested.

And the surprising result is … Charlotte fails at her own paradigm. For the rest of the season, she will never be as emotionally open as she is in episode 6.

Charlotte is unable to remain the open book, expansive girl in the face of first supposed unrequited love and then as she experiences loss. She, instead, withdraws inward and begins building up her walls just as Sidney did after Eliza left him.

I think Davies understands Austen’s ultimate message that you fall into the extreme of sense or sensibility at your own peril, which is why he chooses to have his main two characters traverse opposite journeys so they can be brought closer by the end of the story (in season 2 of course).

That’s because at the core of all of the fights and misunderstandings between Charlotte and Sidney sit two problems:

Sidney Parker does not believe in the good intentions of other people. He is operating from a place of hurt and feeling under attack. He is essentially under the impression that the people he comes into contact with have ulterior motives, and none of them are good. And you can’t really blame him for that distorted image of reality when you consider what the two most meaningful relationships in his life have been up until this point.

On the one hand you have Tom who weaponizes even the most benign of compliments:

Tom: At least I have your prowess on the cricket field to be thankful for.

Sidney: Well in truth you have Lord Babington to thank for that. I am here at his behest to give him support in his time of romantic need. God knows he shall need it.

Tom: You’re a good friend, Sidney … I don’t suppose you could try just one last time… [to go ask for money]

On the other hand, you have Eliza Campion who says stuff like this with a straight face:

Sidney: You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.

Eliza: I’ve waited for 10 years. What’s another quarter of an hour?

While researching this meta and also trying to figure out my Christmas fic, I’ve come to realize that both Tom and Eliza are using a victim narrative to get what they want from the people around them. What Sidney has learned from these relationships is that nothing in life comes for free. Any compliment, any sign of affection comes with a price tag or an eventual let down.

For her part, Charlotte Heywood is suspicious of Sidney because he doesn’t make himself easy to understand.

Charlotte thrives on communication and she tends to empathize and like people who share, or overshare, information with her. Her opinion on Tom shifts the moment he starts including her in his Sanditon projects. She is apprehensive of Otis for quite a bit of episode 4 but ends up completely on his side the moment he talks about his past as a slave and making innuendos about Sidney, despite neither one of those things really resolving her initial reasons for being apprehensive.

This behavior is really down to Charlotte’s upbringing in a very large but very happy family. Or as Eleanor Tilney in Northanger Abbey would put it:

Eleanor: I think you have had a quite dangerous upbringing. You’ve been brought up to believe that everyone is as pure in heart as you are.

Incidentally another Andrew Davies adaptation …

In Charlotte’s mind, people who are open emotionally and speak their mind must be good people. After all, she is this way and she certainly always has the best of intentions. When someone doesn’t do that, or worse they evade and try to manipulate, she distances herself from them, as is the case with Edward and Clara.

And since Charlotte views meaningful communication as the ultimate sign of trust, it’s this withholding of information, this emotional barrier she can sense in Sidney, that makes her mistrustful of him. She can’t understand his emotional withdrawal for what it is – a response to trauma - because she’s never experienced it. And as such she will always fundamentally misunderstand him.

We see these two character hang ups rearing their ugly heads again and again in their conflicts:

Episode 1

Sidney: And what have you observed about me upon our small acquaintance?

Charlotte: I think you must be the sensible brother of the three. I may be mistaken but it seems to me that your younger brother, Arthur, is a very … contrary nature. Alternately over lethargic and over energetic. While your elder brother, Tom, could be called over enthusiastic. I’m afraid that despite his good nature, he neglects his own happiness and his family’s in his passionate devotion to Sanditon. Don’t you agree?

Sidney: Upon my word, Miss Heywood, you are very free with your opinions. And upon what experience of the world do you form your judgments? Where have you been? Nowhere. What have you learnt? Nothing it would seem. And yet you take it upon yourself to criticize. Let me put it to you, Miss Heywood: which is the better way to live? To sit in your father’s home, with your piano and your embroidery, waiting for someone to come and take you off your parents’ hands? Or to expend your energy in trying to make a difference? To leave your mark. To leave the world in a better place than you found it. That is what my brother, Tom, is trying to do. At the expense of a great deal of effort and anxiety, in a good cause in which I do my best to help and support him. And you see fit to … to criticize him … to amuse yourself at his expense.

Fortunatelylori: … I have a theory that the reason why Sidney’s been forced into prostitution by the end of season 1 is because he used the argument of the fucking patriarchy to defend Tom The Worst Parker. Gee, Sidney, us women would love to go out there and change the world but your male friends are forcing us to stay home with our pianos and embroideries to make sure they take full advantage of our ovaries. Please take several seats!

Fortunatelylori: Also … fyi … Tom isn’t protecting England from the French or helping Warren de La Rue develop the freaking light bulb. He is trying to run a dime a dozen seaside resort and failing miserably at it so spare us the change the world one naked ass at a time speeches.

Charlotte is baited by Sidney, the emotional recluse, into oversharing which she can’t help herself from doing because even at this early stage she has a crush on him and wants to impress him with her insight. He takes that rather kind take on his brother Tom and spins it into a narrative of inexperienced superficiality and mockery because that’s what he’s conditioned himself to think about people.

Episode 2

Charlotte: Our conversation at the party … I expressed myself badly and I fear you misunderstood me. I didn’t mean to disparage your brother or to offend you. Indeed I have the greatest admiration for what you and he are doing here in Sanditon. You were right to rebuke me and indeed I am sorry. I hope you won’t think too badly of me.

Sidney: Think too badly of you? I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood. I have no interest in your approval or disapproval. Quite simply, I don’t care what you think or how you feel. I’m sorry if that disappoints you but there it is. Have I made myself clear?

Fortunatelylori: Badly done, Sidney! Badly done indeed!

Not much to say about Charlotte in this one as this argument is ALL on Sidney and his trust issues. In his world, this kind of earnest apology and brave taking of responsibility is always a precursor to a guilt trip or a victimization episode. So he has become very adept at shooting down any such attempt forcefully.

It’s only in episode 3, when he sees Charlotte helping Mr. Stringer without any expectations of reward and her accepting his apology without any hint of emotional blackmail that Sidney is able to lower his guard and begin to see Charlotte for the honest, kind and generous human being that she is:

Fortunatelylori: Awwww! This is Sidney essentially seeing his unborn children in Charlotte’s eyes. (that is the most romantic lyric in the English language and no one will convince me otherwise)

However, what ends up happening? Sidney lowers his guard just in time for Charlotte to reactivate her suspicions which leads to their most explosive fight to date:

Episode 4

Sidney: Did we not agree that you would look out for Georgiana? Keep her out of trouble? I should have known you weren’t to be trusted.

Charlotte: And I should have known, despite your professed concern, you care nothing for her happiness.

Sidney: I would ask you to refrain from making judgments about a situation you don’t understand.

Charlotte: I understand perfectly well!

Sidney: Of course you do! Even though you’ve known Georgiana but a handful of weeks and him but a matter of hours.

Charlotte: That was time enough to learn that Mr. Molyneux is as respectable a gentleman as I have ever had cause to meet.

Sidney: You seem to find it impossible to distinguish between the truth and your own opinion!

Charlotte: The truth? You wish to speak of the truth, Mr. Parker? The truth is you are so blinded by prejudice that you would judge a man by the color of his skin alone.

Sidney: You speak out of turn.

Charlotte: Why should I expect any better from a man whose fortune is so tainted with the stain of slavery!

Sidney: That is enough! … I do not need to justify myself to you.

They essentially spiral out of control in this scene. Sidney’s trust issues come back and his lack of feed-back to Charlotte’s accusations make her provide increasingly horrible explanations to fill in the blanks.

Because their fights tend to be very intense (they are both people with very strong personalities), it’s easy to think of the two of them as simply not being compatible.

But their issues aren’t a matter of compatibility but rather an inability to find the right channels on which to communicate with each other, despite both wanting to.

Which brings us to episode 5

I love these little acting choices Theo James makes. This sigh is so evocative because it’s pretty clear it’s not frustration or boredom, but rather Sidney still reeling from her accusations in episode 4.

On the other side, Charlotte looks at him and thinks he is distant and non-affected and because, despite being angry, she still wants to connect with him, she tries so hard to use Sidney’s acerbic wit against him and keeps attempting to poke the big grizzly bear:

Charlotte: I assume you are here for the cricket.

Sidney: Never short of assumptions, Miss Heywood.

Unable to find a chink in his cold shoulder, Charlotte tries again at the cricket match:

Charlotte: Good luck to you too, Mr. Parker. Although I imagine you don’t think you’ll need it.

Sidney: Yes more assumptions, Miss Heywood?

Sidney is so pissed at her in this episode, not even her low key flirting with James Stringer galvanizes him.

But then something quite unexpected happens … Without actually realizing it, Charlotte manages to find the right channel to communicate on:

Stringer: You haven’t got another player to replace him. We win.

Charlotte: I’ll play.

With the wide eyed enthusiasm of a true romantic, Charlotte taps into the core of what Sidney desperately needs in his life. She doesn’t just help and support him when he needs her to but crucially she doesn’t put a price tag on it.

Charlotte: Is that a smile I detected?

Sidney: Oh, I doubt it …

Charlotte doesn’t enter the cricket match because she wants to use that gesture to ask Sidney for money for her pyramid scheme or gaslight him into thinking her betrayal was actually her “waiting” for him. Charlotte does it because she wants to see him smile. And just look at him …

Unfortunately that momentary progress is derailed again when Georgiana is kidnapped which will eventually lead to the carriage scene in episode 6 where Charlotte’s need for feed-back clashes with Sidney’s trust issues in their most revealing conversation.

It’s tempting to look at this argument and think Sidney is the only one who is in the wrong and who needs to change. But that would be missing a few important aspects of the story.

Charlotte: Otis never meant to place Georgiana in harm’s way. Any more than I did.

Sidney: And yet you both did.

I think a lot of people, Charlotte included, fall into the trap of believing that if someone didn’t intend to harm someone else that means they haven’t actually done something wrong. Which is why there are still people in the Sanditon tag that are resisting the idea that Tom Parker is a villain. Surely he never meant to hurt his brother and he didn’t force him to propose to Eliza, so why is everyone so hard on him?

But like Charlotte had to learn with Otis, just because Tom didn’t intend to cause Sidney harm doesn’t change the fact that he very much did.

In this case, Charlotte’s major mistake was not that she helped Georgiana stay in touch with Otis. Charlotte’s mistake was in assuming she had the whole 1000 piece puzzle completed when she only had about 200 pieces in place.

Charlotte: All I ever cared about was Georgiana’s happiness.

Sidney: What did you think I cared about?

Charlotte: That is anyone’s guess!

Sidney: I’ve done the best I can by Georgiana.

Charlotte: No! At every turn you have abdicated responsibility. If you truly cared for her welfare, you would have watched over her yourself.

Sidney: It is a role I neither sought or asked for.

Charlotte: Of course not! Because you are determined to remain an outlier. God forbid you give something of yourself!

Sidney: Please do not presume to know my mind, Miss Heywood.

Charlotte: How could anyone know your mind? You take pains to be unknowable. All I know is that you cannot bear the idea of two people being in love.

Despite admitting she doesn’t know his mind, Charlotte can’t help herself from filling in the blanks with what she assumes is a conscious desire to be uncaring. Because she doesn’t have the life experience to come up with another answer.

For his part, Sidney is hurt by her lack of trust in him but unwilling to trust her enough in return to tell her the whole story. Still her words do affect him enough to make him begin to lower his barrier and give Theo James one of his best acting moments:

Sidney: And what do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read?

Charlotte: I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling.

Sidney: Is that really what you think of me? I’m sorry that you think that. How much easier my life would have been if I were …

Fortunatelylori: I just … he’s very good … that is all

It would be very tempting to assume that since Charlotte admits to being naïve once the whole Otis and Georgiana’s situation is revealed:

Charlotte: It’s all so overwhelming! I hardly know what to think anymore. (beat) About anything! I’ve always felt so certain of my judgment. But now I see that I have been blinded by sentiment and naivety. How could I have gotten it all so wrong? No wonder your brother has such a poor opinion of me …

and Sidney begins to show more outward concern for the people around him and validate Charlotte in ever increasingly romantic ways:

Charlotte: I know … I’m too headstrong. I’m too opinionated. I’m too …

Sidney: No. You are not too anything. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re more than equal to any woman here.

That their clashing world views are now aligned. But the truth is, Sidney isn’t the one to explain to Charlotte how it was that he became “insensible of feeling”. It’s Tom that tells her that story (and then promptly bungles whatever help he might have provided his brother). Sidney’s trust issues remain which is evident even as late as episode 8:

Babbington: I believe she’s tamed me.

Sidney: Yes … I just imagine how that might feel.

And

Sidney: I have never wanted to put myself in someone else’s power before.

Don’t get me wrong, I melt every time I hear that second line but it is indicative of the fact that love still feels like an inherently risky and dangerous thing for Sidney where he is obliged to hand over his power to someone else and pray that person doesn’t abuse it the way Eliza did.

For Charlotte’s part, Sidney beginning to reveal more of himself and show her the true man underneath the armor, makes her fall more and more in love with him. And the more she loves him, the more afraid she is of outwardly showing it. His confusion over his feelings for her and Eliza’s reappearance in his life, cause her to attempt to fill in the blanks again in episode 7. First by proxy, while talking to James Stringer:

Charlotte: You are far too sensible to form such a misguided and futile attachment.

Stringer: Why should it be futile, Miss Heywood? For all you know your feelings are repaid 5 times over.

Charlotte: I allowed myself to believe so for the briefest of moments. But I cannot deny the evidence of my own eyes.

And then directly:

Sidney: I hope you weren’t too offended by Mrs. Campion. It was only meant in jest.

Charlotte: Is that all I am to you? A source of amusement?

Sidney: No. Of course not! You’re … Forgive me.

Charlotte: On the contrary, you’ve done me a great service. I am no longer in any doubt as to how you regard me.

So what happens in episode 8? Well, they essentially trade places, going from this:

Charlotte: I hope you won’t think too badly of me.

Sidney: Think too badly of you? I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood.

To this:

Sidney: Tell me you don’t think too badly of me.

Charlotte: I don’t think badly of you.

In one of my metas I made the point that Sidney Parker IS Charlotte Heywood’s coming of age story: he is her first love, the first man she is sexually attracted to, her first kiss and well … unfortunately also her first (and hopefully only) heartbreak.

By being forced to deal with her own sense of loss and the pain of being separated from the person she loves, Charlotte will finally be able to understand the true nature of Sidney’s insensitivity of feeling. Instead of causing her suspicion or apprehension, she will be able to connect with it because she’s lived through it herself.

As for Sidney … I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the end he is forced to do to Charlotte what Eliza did to him all those years ago. He chooses to marry a wealthy woman he does not love and disappoint a poor woman whom he does love.

I think given that his motives are obviously altruistic while Eliza’s were not (both per Tom’s story as well as her general character as revealed in the show so far), the point of the similarity is not to bring him closer to Eliza. Certainly not when he’s looking at Charlotte like this:

Which means that him being forced to contend with what happened 10 years ago by reliving the incident, this time in the role of the aggressor, is there to increase his level of vulnerability and put him in the place of the earnest person trying to reach out for emotional connection and having to fight to pull down the walls he himself helped put up in Charlotte.

You know what they say … If you really want to know someone, walk a mile in their shoes. No one ever said those shoes would be comfortable.

#sanditon #sanditon meta #sidlotte #sidlotte meta #jane austen adaptations #sidney parker #charlotte heywood #sense and sensibility #sanditonmetacollab

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years ago

Text

i’m not the villain i appear to be (but i’ll play one for you)

Ha, so, it’s 3 AM and I really don’t have an excuse for this piece beyond the fact I’ve been listening to this song the entire time I was writing the piece - and, for the record, I wrote, proofed, and am now posting this drabble all within the past couple of hours. It was also roughly inspired by the video linked and an AU me and my girlfriend @cheshire-kas did for some RPs, so, uh... Enjoy! I hope!

(In case the link doesn’t work above, here it is in full: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRpiBvwKX6c)

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Summary: Danny Fenton, twenty-four-year-old detective, hadn’t been expecting for art thieves to actually show up during the biggest and busiest night and event of the museum he was tasked to watched. He also hadn’t expected to end up flirting with one of the thieves, but, well... accidents happened.

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Relationship: Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom/Ghost Writer | Andrew Riter

Characters: Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom, Ghost Writer | Andrew Riter

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 2,368

Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

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i’m not the villain i appear to be (but i’ll play one for you)

⁂

Halfway through trying to smother a laugh into his drink without spilling anything onto his suit, Danny felt his amusement start to drain out of him when he saw Sam’s smile, a twisted little smirk, go from wry amusement to sour annoyance. She paired the twist in expression with a soft, “Heads up.” Danny, unfortunately, didn’t even get a chance to brace himself before he realized what Sam’s warning meant.

“Fenton!” The cheerful, and loud, cry of his last name was nothing, absolutely nothing, to the harsh slap to Danny’s back that was no doubt supposed to be a ‘friendly greeting.’ “Glad you could make it out here tonight!”

“Of course, Mr. Basco,” Danny said through gritted teeth and the ‘media smile’ Sam had helped him master because if you’re going to be a detective, Danny, then you need to know how to tell the media to go fuck themselves with a smile. Danny could almost imagine the pride in Sam’s expression when he glanced at her to share a suffering look of commiseration. “I kind of have to ask, though… Do you really think they’ll try something tonight?”

The smile he was given, something cold and sharp and devoid of all empathy for human life, had Danny struggling to keep his own smile as he felt the art director’s hand squeeze his shoulder tight enough to leave bruises, “Danny, my boy, let me give you some advice. You’re pretty new to this game, aren’t you?”

“I, uh, yes? Sir?” Danny stumbled over his words, wincing even before the grip tightened. “I think my record already speaks for itself, however.”

“Oh, of course!” Basco’s grin widened and it was nothing good. “The youngest detective we’ve had in quite some time, if I’m not mistaken. So much prestige and you’re only twenty-four! No, no, my boy, your qualifications speak for themselves, but, well… How many cases like this have you dealt with?”

Buying himself time by taking a sip of his drink, which was supposed to be some expensive champagne that actually tasted awful, Danny looked around the museum he had been tasked to guard for the night. The art museum was a smaller one in their city and focused on sculptures more than paintings, but it was well-known in its own right.

The director, Martin Basco, was also well known. Danny didn’t have any specific cases or evidence against him, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that some of the museum’s pieces came to be there through less-than-legal means. That was a fight for another day, though, and the fight Danny was supposed to be focused on had him there for a different reason.

“I can’t say I’ve dealt with art thieves before, sir, but I just can’t imagine that they would try to steal something during a gala this size.” Danny kept his smile in place, even as Sam, dressed to the nines in a black and silver sequined dress that attracted more attention than some of the exhibits, did nothing to hide a laugh of her own. Basco, on his end, did nothing to hide his scowl.

“And here’s where the advice comes in… Those who steal art do it for many reasons, but the largest reason is, without a doubt, for the recognition.” Well… He hated to admit it, but Basco had a point there, at least.

If someone became desperate or crazed enough for money and hit a low enough point then they robbed a bank, but turning into a master art thief? No… A person didn’t do that for money; at least, they didn’t only do it for money. Recognition was as good a reason as any to become an art thief.

“Mark my words, Fenton, this gala is nothing more than a beacon and those art thieves will be here tonight and will do everything in their power to filch more of my money-”

“Your art, you mean, don’t you?” Sam asked ‘politely’ with a smile colder than ice itself. Danny was all too happy to slip away as Basco fumbled with an answer, Sam smiling as if she was about to throw him a noose rather than a life raft. It at least bought Danny the time he wanted to check on everything.

While his department wouldn’t usually send an entire squad of police officers and a couple of detectives, Martin Basco was a big man with a big name and even bigger pockets. In their time of budget cuts and losses, they couldn’t afford to anger one of their largest donors - although that didn’t mean Danny had to play nice all night.

Besides, it was unlikely anything would actually happen. The gala that they were at was a yearly event that was one of the biggest events in town, and half of the town itself usually showed up to dress up for a night out while acting like they had more money than they actually did. It usually ended in a few drunken brawls and fights, but that was no doubt all Danny would be dealing with that night.

Danny was halfway through contemplating an excuse that would let him leave early so he could get back to his apartment and do something useful, like catching up on his backed up shows, when someone clipped his shoulder with enough force to knock him straight into the back of someone else, glass slipping out of his hand just slow enough that all Danny could do was swear about it.

Slamming his eyes shut instinctively and ready for the sound of shattering glass, Danny instead heard a soft laugh. Eyes snapping open, Danny stared at the man he had bumped into - a man with much better reflexes as he had Danny’s dropped glass in hand, perfectly intact without a crack in sight.

“Careful there,” the man laughed again, his voice deeper than Danny would have expected, but his smile softening it by leaps and bounds. “Although, maybe a pile of broken glass would be a better sight than some of the sculptures around here.”

Danny couldn’t have stopped his laugh even if he had wanted to, sound tumbling out of him as he inspected the man from his pressed suit and crisp purple undershirt to his scruffy goatee that looked surprisingly good; Danny had a feeling the man’s smile had something to do with it. Well, that and the fact that, unlike Danny, the man in front of him looked good in his suit.

“You know, most people at least pretend to like the art until they’re out of here,” Danny finally managed, delighted at the warm, amused smile he was given in return.

“I always rather thought there was little point to art without some sort of controversy. I take it by your reaction that you’re not here simply to admire the art?” As he was asked, Danny’s glass of hideously awful champagne was pressed back into his hand, the man’s hand slow to withdraw as fingers lingered against his own for a moment too long. “Or do you have a personal stake in the opinion of tonight’s pieces?”

Danny gathered himself together as best he could, resorting to his only trick of taking a drink to scramble for something coherent and semi-intelligent to say. “Would you believe me if I said the answer to both of those questions were yes?”

“I’m not in the habit of believing strangers I just ran into, but I might make an exception for you,” the other teased, a smile half-hidden behind a raised hand. Danny glanced around as unsuspiciously as possible, trying to make sure Sam wasn’t anywhere nearby. She would never let him live it down, otherwise.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty good at being the exception to things,” Danny beamed when he was sure the coast was clear. “Detective Danny Fenton. It’s a pleasure to meet someone with quick enough reflexes to save me from making an idiot of myself.”

“Andrew Riter,” the man - Andrew - introduced himself with a wider smile. “Detective, though… That’s not something I would have expected.”

Danny gave him a mock grimace along with a long, dramatic sigh, “Let me guess. I look too young and act too clumsy?”

“Well, while you do appear rather young for a Detective, that wasn’t quite what I was thinking,” Andrew said softly, Danny feeling something like a shiver crawl down his spine. “A detective at a place like this, though… Something interesting I should know about?”

“I wish,” Danny snorted out a laugh that was probably a touch too loud. He tried to turn it into a cough halfway through, but judging by Andrew’s wide smile, it probably hadn’t worked too well. “I mean, well… The art director here, Martin Basco? He thinks that there’s a chance of one of the sculptures being stolen tonight.”

“Really?” Andrew blinked, looking caught off guard as he looked around the bustling building. Dozens of people lined the halls in their fanciest of outfits and the lighting was bright and left very few shadows to skulk around in. “I would think a night like this would be the worst time to conduct art theft.”

“See! That’s what I said!” Danny threw his arms up, wincing as some of his drink splashed over the rim of the glass to land on his wrist. Quickly lowering his arms, and attempting to shake off the spill, Danny prayed to whatever God was out there that he wasn’t red in the face when he cleared his throat. “But, yeah. He thinks two popular art thieves are going to hit this place tonight and so that’s why I’m stuck here.”

Danny looked away as he shook his arm as if that would dry his sleeve, jumping when hands darker than his own caught his wrist before gently patting at the spot with what looked like a cloth napkin. It was a gesture that had Danny feeling like his heart was trying to flutter its way out of his chest while also diving straight down into his stomach.

“Well,” Andrew said softly, looking up through the fringe of his hair, as dark and untamed as Danny’s own, to meet his gaze with a smile. “Let me guess… You’d rather be watching the next season of your favorite show?”

It took Danny a couple of tries to speak past his dry throat, but he finally managed a weak, “Next episode, thanks. I’m not enough of a heathen to be behind by an entire season.”

Andrew laughed, a response on the tip of his tongue before it died under the sudden screaming alarms that rang throughout the building, Danny swearing as he jerked his arm back and dropped his hand down to the gun hidden under his suit jacket.

“Get behind me,” Danny tried to shout over the noise, head jerking towards the sudden sound of a woman’s dramatic shriek and was it really the time for dramatic screaming?

“It’s been stolen!” The cry carried over the room and Danny groaned as he resisted the urge to look anywhere near where Basco had been. He already knew he was never going to live the night down no matter what was stolen – not that the lady had bothered to scream that out.

In the seconds that passed before the building descended into absolute chaos, Danny paused as he felt his wrist grabbed. A look back to Andrew showed the man biting his lip, looking nervous as he moved forward enough to be heard over the sound of alarms, “Running off to save the day, Detective?”

“Always seems to happen at the worst moments,” Danny managed, letting himself get distracted just enough to take a step closer to Andrew himself. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, alright? My job is to keep people safe, after all, and, well… We have a conversation to finish, so I’ll definitely be back soon.”

Andrew blinked at that, looking caught off guard before he was laughing which, alright. Laughing during all of the alarms and screaming was kind of weird, but Danny wasn’t much better himself considering he was practically flirting during the mess. Ready to pull away again, Danny paused as Andrew crossed the rest of the distance between them, hands on both of Danny’s wrists. It was overwhelmingly ridiculous how conscious Danny was of the bands of warmth around his wrists.

“Detective Danny Fenton,” Andrew said softly, Danny somehow able to hear nothing but him as he leaned just a bit closer. “I have to say… I almost wish it wasn’t you on this case.”

Danny blinked, staring at Andrew in confusion before sucking in a sharp breath at the same moment he felt his arms pushed around his back and cold, familiar steel snapping around his wrists in place of the warmth that had been there. “You-!”

“Me,” Andrew damn near purred, innocence and sweetness gone from his gaze as placed a kiss on Danny’s cheek and this utter fucking bastard art thief-! “Au revoir, mon cher. Until next time, hm?”

Danny didn’t even get a step forward before Andrew was off and disappearing into the crowd, laughing loudly and freely and blowing a kiss over his shoulder at him.

“Danny!” Sam’s shout of his name was the only warning Danny had before she crashed into his back, Danny just barely keeping them from hitting the floor before he felt Sam’s hands around the handcuffs keeping him trapped. “Oh- Danny, what- What happened?” Danny looked back at her, confused and worried and with Basco quickly making his way over with a look that could only be called furious. “Are these your handcuffs?”

“Not sure, but probably,” Danny managed, looking back to the direction Andrew had gone. “But I found one of our art thieves.”

“Apparently,” Sam laughed, a half-wild sound that was as amused as it was concerned. “I take it something happened if you’re smiling like that, though?”

“You could say that,” Danny said, laughing himself as he felt the smile Sam had pointed out growing. “I found our art thief, yeah, but… I also found a lead.

Andrew Riter, huh?

This was going to be fun.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost writer #ghostwriter #iambic prose #my writing #original #@ google what do i do when i accidentally take the idea of an rp me and my gf did #and obsessivly write a drabble for it in one sitting??

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