#*gazing longingly at that little gray bear* you were...everything.

[nostalgicfun]

Bears for sale, 2009

[vannahfanfics]

So Many Things

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: Atlantis- The Lost Empire

Characters: Kida

Kida’s toes kissed the mirror-smooth surface of the pond, causing little ripples to appear in the otherwise flat sheet of water with every tiny movement of her body. The dampness of the algae-coated rock seeped into the thick fabric of her clothes, keeping her body pleasantly cool as the humidity of the dense jungle trapped the volcanic heat in the artificial atmosphere. Her fingers hugged the stone edge of the cleft overlooking the idyllic cove nestled within the network of broad-leaved ferns and twisting green trees hugging the circumference of the lost city. Kida breathed in the fresh air, then sighed deeply. Blue eyes sad, she turned her face upward towards the vast stone dome that separated their city from the outside world. 

[Matim,] she mourned quietly. So many thousands of years it had been, and yet, Kida missed her mother just as much as the day she had been swallowed by the light. Kida’s father had never explained what had occurred, at least no further than the ancestors had chosen her mother to protect their people from the great cataclysm. Kida supposed that she ought to consider it an owner on her mother’s part, to be fused with the spirit energy of her ancestors to see Atlantis through the greatest catastrophe of their lifetimes. Yet, the bitter child locked away inside the princess could not help but feel that she was robbed. 

Kida exhaled again, hand curling over her heart. She always wondered if her mother could see her. Would she be proud of her? Kida dearly hoped so. She had strived endlessly to serve her people and bear the burden of royalty both proudly and properly. Yet, Kida knew in her heart that she was still painfully naïve and ignorant of many things. 

Kida clicked her tongue against her front teeth as her eyes bored into the distant stone ceiling. So long it had been since they had seen the world above, so many thousands upon thousands of years. Kida wondered what had become of the planet. Did the great flood obliterate the entire world, transforming it into an endless ocean? Were the Atlanteans, secluded deep beneath the ocean bedrock, the only living creatures sequestered to land? Or had the human race evolved into something unrecognizable and strange? Kida wondered this, among many things pertaining to the world above the stone, quite often. Her young, spirited heart, despite how much she loved Atlantis and her people, craved the unknown. That was why Kida pushed the borders of patrols to their absolute limits, creeping forward day by day despite the hesitations of the other members of the guard. One day, Kida hoped, some strange miracle would be discovered on those ventures, something foreign and exciting and new. 

[Is that selfish?] she asked aloud, though she knew her long-lost mother couldn’t answer. The Atlantean words dripped sorrowfully from her tongue in place of the mournful tears she could no longer shed. [I know that your sacrifice saved us from extinction, but…] She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she contemplated aloud. [I cannot help but admit this endless existence bores me.] Was that normal, to find complacency stifling? For her spirit to wither on the repetitive ins and outs of immortal life thriving away from the rest of the earth? In her heart, she felt that it was not so, but she still couldn’t help but feel guilty for entertaining such thoughts. Her father would surely remind her that their people are alive and thriving because of the secrecy, and searching for adventure or outsiders could only invite ruin. 

And yet… Kida gazed longingly at the mist wafting through the stalactites clinging to the cavern roof, pretending that they were instead the white, fluffy clouds she vaguely remembered meandering across the clear blue sky. She had always wondered if they were like mist, incorporeal with water droplets bursting against her skin as she waded through it, or actually of solid form, soft and yielding. She’d never know now. With a small groan, Kida pushed her cheek into her hand. She’d gone and depressed herself. She tore her eyes away from the stone heavens to focus instead on the pond, trying to cheer herself up by observing a frog on a lily pad. It licked its glassy black-and-yellow eye, croaked, and leaped into the water to vanish from sight. Kida tutted, thinking it only par for the course for how the day was progressing. 

The gentle rustling of ferns captured Kida’s attention. She turned to see a few of the other Atlantean guards pressing through the jungle, holding their elongated, wood-carved, grass-frond-covered masks at their sides.

[Princess,] one of them addressed her with a polite dip of his head. He gestured with his spear into the tangles of ferns and vines and bushes. [We are going to patrol the perimeter. Would you like to join us?] Kida nodded in affirmation and stood, retrieving her own spear and throwing her mask over her face. She tromped past them to lead the patrol party into the denseness of the jungle, trekking confidently over thin, well-worn intertwined paths to the edge of the city. With every step she took, the distant cascading of several waterfalls grew in volume, until it filled the air with a consistent, steady gushing. They strode along one of the many rivers carving through the jungle to the edge of their world, where the water would spill over the precipice to cascade down into the dizzying chasm to disappear into the thick sheet of water vapor. 

Kida’s sure feet expertly navigated over the protruding tree roots, checking the edge of the void for any signs of concerning erosion. The watery atmosphere slowly ate away at the rock, chipping it away in small places. In several instances, large chunks of the landscape had just caved in, sliding into the abyss to leave a gaping hole, like a giant had taken a bite out of the platformed city. The Atlanteans had reinforced the edges of the chasm with concrete, but even that was only temporary; as time pressed on, the water wormed its way into the pores to spread cracks and fissures across the light gray stone constructs. 

Thankfully, Kida didn’t note any alarming progression of the erosion. They tracked a swift, purposeful path to what used to be the entrance of their city, which was now a collection of large stony steppes budded with large ferns and a few small shrubby trees. Kida froze when a strange noise greeted her ears, and she quickly raised a hand to order the small scouting party to stop. Kida narrowed her eyes behind the mask when she recognized the sounds as distinctly human. 

[But how can that be?] She wondered aloud, crawly forward on all fours to lower a broad purple leaf. Several yards away, a medium-sized group of very distinct people were talking animatedly about something. Kida found herself drawn to the skinny, gangly young man with orange-brown hair and spectacles framing his eyes. Kida cocked her head to the side slightly as she regarded him, strangely fascinated by him. 

Kida jumped slightly as her fellow Atlanteans crouched down beside her and whispered feverishly, asking her what she intended to do. As fascinating as the newcomers- the answers to her prayers, really- were, she had to apprehend them before they could get into too much trouble in this new and strange land. Kida instructed the group as to how to proceed, and then, in a flash, they had the strangers surrounded. 

[Who are you strangers and where did you come from?] she demanded while brandishing her spear, pouring more malice into her tone than she felt. 

Someone shoved the skinny boy forward. He fumbled with a small, leather-bound journal and stammered a few incoherent words. Kida cocked her head slightly, watching as he struggled to regain his composure before clearing his throat. Kida’s eyes blew wide behind the carved wood as he timidly uttered a few broken phrases in Atlantean. 

[Who... are you strangers and where... do you come from?] 

[He speaks our language?] She wondered incredulously, eyes widening behind the mask. How would a surface-dweller have any knowledge of their ancient, lost culture? The man jerked and flipped open the book to hastily flip through the pages, stumbling over his words. Kida slowly lowered her spear, growing increasingly intrigued. A few enunciations and pronunciations were off, but she could largely understand what he was saying. Making a hasty decision, she removed her mask, watching as the man’s eyes widened and a blush blossomed on his cheeks. 

[Your manner of speech is strange to me,] she told him with a curious look. The man grabbed his forehead as he struggled to retrieve the proper words, hand whirling in unconscious gestures as he forced out, [I… travel… friend!] Kida repeated his words softly, a bit confused as she struggled to understand him. Inhaling deeply, he suddenly crossed his arms and flashed her a smile. He suddenly switched to a strange dialect, yet one Kida could understand perfectly. 

[So, my friend, I am a traveler!] He clarified with raised eyebrows.

[You speak the language of the Romans!] she realized with an almost accusatory look, fascinated by the sudden switch. Grinning now that he was finally getting somewhere, he keened while leaning forward, “Parlez-vous français?” Kida smiled amusedly and agreed with an impressed, “Oui, monsieur!” The others standing behind the linguist watched with various degrees of shock and confusion as the two communicated. Finally, the man exhaled satisfactorily. 

“We’re friendly travelers,” he explained with a hand splayed graciously over his small chest. “We’ve come from the surface world.” Behind her, her guards exchanged galvanized but concerned whispers. Kida ignored them, enthralled at the golden opportunity she’d literally stumbled upon. I can finally learn everything about the surface world! She thought, automatically switching to English as the group began introducing themselves. By matter of protocol, Kida would have to deliver them to her father, the King; she would take all the time she had to squeeze as much information as she could out of them. 

“Come with me,” she addressed them with a smile. “I will take you to my home. Please, follow us,” she said, gesturing into the brush with her spear. The others led the way, while Kida fell in step with them at a small distance, absorbing the peculiarities of their persons with bright, glimmering blue eyes. 

Matim, she thought with a quick glance up at the dome. There are so many things I have yet to learn, but… I think after today, I shall be a little less ignorant, no?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​

[etherealemerson]

ROSE + MASON - MAYFAIR TO TILBURY, ESSEX | SUMMER 2012

Mason’s Journal. Date: Tuesday, June 19th, 2012.

On the record, four in the morning is wretchedly early but adventure does not have those perceptions. Nor can it feel the morning after a shared bottle of bourbon between only yourself and another. Yet, as soon as the rich, dark, comforting Colombian aromas filled the kitchen, I was anxious to head out.

It wasn’t until I was placing the cheese on our breakfast sarnies when Rose finally came down, looking as though she was still rubbing off the night before. Her hair was damp and unruly, as though she showered and went back to sleep. She slide into her usual spot onto the counter, where I have started to place her coffee cup when she stays, and perched up to look at me, “Are there any rasher’s left?” I gave her a sheepish grin, holding up a small baggy full that I hadn’t packed yet, “I thought you would want them along our way, care for them now instead?” She nodded her head lightly, taking her first sips of coffee before I finally made it over with the bacon. “Care for any help?” Rose asked when I had finally reached her, opening the baggy to snag a strip. Her voice was still a little horse, probably from having one too many fags, but the warm stiff was really helping. “No,” I replied smoothly, but anyone could tell that there was this cheerfulness and excitement ringing through the words, “Everything is ready when you are.”

Before long, our packs were on and the bikes were loaded. Although we could be there within minutes, Rose and I enjoy the long ride. Especially this time of year. The mornings are still chilly, just barely at 60 degrees as the sun begins to rise and the fog gently blankets the ground around you. We decided to skip the ride by Winter Wonderland, making our way down to Green Park to visit Buckingham Palace instead. The area is always gorgeous, flowers always seeming to be in bloom, but typically really touristy. Unless, of course, you know the right times to go.

St James’s Park was also very empty, which gave to a very pleasant start as we made way to cross at Big Ben. Folks in their morning suits were starting to pass us by when we finally made it to Shakespeare’s Globe, traditionally where we sit to eat our packed breakfast. I looked down at my watch to find it was a quarter past seven in the morning, stomach rumbling as we found a bench along River Thames. The Globe stood stoically behind us as we tore through our meals, hardly saying a word to each other until our bellies were fat and round.

It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before we set out again, quickly sharing a fag before we headed off. We wouldn’t truly stop again until Greenwich, possibly my favorite place to visit along the way. It’s full of parks, history and not to mention where the Queen was known to rest her head. Passing many different shops, we did whatever caught our attention. From what looked to be the art district, to the Greenwich Market district (where we enjoyed a different array of street foods), down to the Pier to check out Cutty Sark.

Rose always insists that we do a tour of the ship, even though we have seen the inside a handful of times, turning into a small child as we approached. After we finally locked our bikes, Rose and I opened the doors to head into the Cutty Sark Museum. I truly do savor the first moments her eyes gaze upon the ship, which is as innocent as a newborn discovering the world, even if I didn’t show it. Rose gets this innocence about her when we are traveling that you just can’t put into words, but when you are with her you can always feel it. Almost, exhilarating.

After I was good and nackered from hearing about which teas were aboard, Rose bought a box of her favorite Lady Gray and we walked over to our best find. The pub was built sometime in the late 1700s, showing it with it’s historic build and “apartment above” feel. Sometime in the 1970s, it was named Gipsy Moth and has been a magnificent and cozy scene. We opted for the seats to view the ship, even though the gardens above are quite marvelous. We both had a sense that this view was more appropriate for the day, preferring the smell of water and winds carrying it’s sprays versus the buzzing of bees and flourishing nursery.

After we ordered our first round, Rose had let out a soft sigh and looked longingly at the timid streets of Greenwich. The only crowds around us were townies, simpler Muggles instead of all the ones that went to the University. Young and irritatingly reckless, but I generally don’t care much for my own age. I smiled gently, looking out towards the same similar direction when she spoke, muttering bits about the grindylow’s and how we could possibly manage with just the two of us.

Our drinks came rather quickly. Rose and I both ordered different branded lagers, taking turns sipping each others and freely debated on who’s was better. I believe the Bear Face Lager was top notch, but I always let her win. Once our dauphinoise potatoes and Welsh rarebit sausages arrived, our chatter was in full swing. We changed through many topics, but continued to land on Mervillage and our plan to connect with the creatures in the lake. I must confess, I haven’t been the most buoyant when it comes to her latest endeavors and her fascination with the Merpeople. Not that I wouldn’t want to understand more about their kind, but we would still be putting ourselves into danger. “Bubblehead is the perfect way,” she said to me, still thrilled with our chances and drive to discover. Something that I commend in an individual.   “You are correct,” I replied, still trying to give her an optimistic tone and caring smile, “I just worry.”

After one last round, we decided to go for a short walk around the Pier. The smell of the river greeted us as we trotted, so crisp that my nose slightly burned and Rose’s had turned a blush pink. Neither of us wanted to share, insisting we needed our own fag after having stuffed ourselves to the brim with pure glutenous intentions. As we putzed around, we discussed where we were heading next and decided it was about time for us to continue on. Rose had even started buzzling slightly as we made our way back to the bikes, hair bouncing within the wind as the beer fully let loose into her blood stream.

(to be continued)

[queerastronauts]

Under Clean Waters

This is a gift fic for Skylar @nwesninski, who asked for andreil alternative meeting and high school au, among like a hundred other prompts - it was a great selection, thank you! I hope you like it.

This is part of the @aftgexchange.

Read on ff.net and ao3

[1]

It had been two years since Neil had last stepped into a pool, which was probably for the best. Swimming was like – a loss of control. A loss of control he couldn’t afford.

But California, it seemed to him, worshipped swimming pools. As far as he could tell there was a swimming pool on every corner, and of course, the Olympic pool at the school. They were unavoidable, and Neil didn’t like things that were unavoidable.

The towns he’d gone through on his way to this town, through three states and back, had almost never had a pool. He was grateful for this. Ever since his mother died, he couldn’t look at the water without thinking of the taste of her burning flesh in the air. A year later, and he still woke up sometimes in the night, the smell of it at the edge of his senses. Like a gust of wind had carried her back to him. It was comforting, sometimes, to know that he still had her, in a way.

But most of the time – most of the time it was like his sense were attacking him, and he couldn’t breathe.

 The school he was going to was relatively small, but part of a large enough town that not everybody knew everybody. After a month long stint in a town called Millport, he decided this would help preserve his anonymity.  He didn’t like the gossip of small towns. It made him anxious. On edge. He felt watched.

His papers said he was a year and a half older than he actually was, and therefore legally able to sign any document the school required himself. He did have to do a lot of catching up if he was skipping a grade, but considering how often he changed schools, this would have been true anyway. He wouldn’t mind graduating high school early. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, if it weren’t for the exy.

The exy, and the showers. Hot water might have been rare, but the water was there nonetheless. And yeah, he might’ve looked longingly at the pool sometimes, but only sometimes.

Most of the time, he was pretty good at ignoring his own heart.

*

Most days, the first thing he did in the morning was run. He ran for about an hour at a steady pace, on a route that ended in the school, about half an hour before classes were supposed to start. He’d shower quickly in the locker room, open for morning practices, and spend the day avoiding attention in class. He paid special attention in his language class, Spanish, because his was extremely rusty, but the class wasn’t particularly helpful in reviving it. He spent his lunch break in the library, doing homework. And at the end of the day, he went to Exy practice.

*

He had only tried out for exy because he couldn’t bear the idea of watching it. He had severely underperformed, partially by choice, partially because he was very, very out of practice. He had stamina for running, of course he did; this earned him a role as striker. But he got to play very little, which he was partially grateful for, and mostly very, very bitter over.

There were always parts of him fighting each other. He had a warring soul.

*

[2]

The first time Andrew spoke to Neil, Andrew had almost broken his nose, and it was even by accident. A matter of bad timing; Neil was walking into the locker room just as Andrew had picked his racket up. It swung towards Neil’s face, and really, it almost blinded him. Neil bit back a yelp of surprise, and took a step backwards.

Andrew said: “Oh, hey.” And when Neil didn’t answer, he took his things and left.

*

The second time Andrew spoke to Neil, he’d actually managed to get a couple words out. He’d been readying himself for a rare afternoon run – Exy practice had been cancelled at the very last moment – and he glanced towards the pool for a mere second. Andrew, who was walking out of the gym with what was clearly a bag of dirty clothing, turned to him and asked: “Do you swim?”

Neil stopped stretching and stared at Andrew for a moment. “I used to.”

Andrew nodded and walked away.

Neil spent exactly one moment feeling confused before he pushed that feeling aside, and instead focused on the pleasant burning sensation he felt as he stretched.

*

The third time Andrew spoke to Neil, Neil actually initiated it. Andrew and Neil were in the same math class, but Neil had accidentally spaced out during the last five minutes, and had completely missed what their homework was. Upon realizing Andrew was the only person in the class he even recognized, he ran up to him and said his name.

Andrew immediately turned around, lazily looking Neil up and down. “What?” he said flatly.

“I missed what the homework was,” Neil said. Under Andrew’s gaze, he felt awkward and gangly, misshapen somehow, like his limbs were out of alignment. It was an odd feeling, and he was pretty sure he disliked it. “I was wondering if you caught what it was?”

Without even pulling out his notebook, Andrew said: “Chapters 6 through 8, problems 11 through 23 and 45 through 66, and problem 69.”

“Oh, thanks,” Neil said, quickly committing it to memory. “See you at practice.”

*

There was something about Andrew Doe that bothered him immensely.

Maybe it was the quiet that seemed to radiate off of him, a seriousness not shared by other people in their class. Maybe it was the way he felt watched whenever they were in the same room. Maybe it was just the fact that he seemed to remember anything and everything without a problem, which makes lying much more difficult. He relied on the fact that he was forgettable, but Andrew seemed to do nothing but remember.

The evening in the first week of October when he dyed his roots, and they came out a little darker than usual, he panicked, because he knew Andrew would be able to tell. They’d only known each other a month, but every time they interacted Neil was even more sure of it: Andrew had the ability to perfectly recall anything and everything. He’d gotten into the habit of asking Andrew questions, all random facts from class or practice, and he never missed any of them, remembering even the tiniest of details – details that Neil himself had forgotten, at times.

And the most irritating part about it was that Neil couldn't seem to force himself to forget Andrew, either. Every time he felt Andrew's eyes on him it distracted him. He couldn't focus on classes, or on practice, or on studying - because Andrew always seemed to be in the library when he was.

He was beginning to get sick of it. After a few weeks of this, as he got settled into his favorite spot in the library and, as usual, felt Andrew's eyes, he turned and stared right back, meeting the shocking spark in Andrew's otherwise emotionless face.

And to Neil's absolute shock and horror, Andrew didn't sit down in his usual seat two tables away from Neil. No. He came and sat in the seat right in front of Neil.

"Hey," Andrew said.

"Hi," Neil said.

Andrew took out his Math homework, so Neil did the same, and they studied in silence.

*

Neil wasn't quite sure how this became a routine, but it did. Neil and Andrew would sit together during every lunch period, and - at first - besides polite greetings, they studied in silence.

Andrew was the first to speak during these study sessions. He said: "Do you know any German?"

Neil's heart beat fast in his chest, but he forced himself to raise his head slowly, as if he was still reading a sentence in Spanish. What did he mean? Why was he asking? What -

"I'm taking it this year as my language elective, and I don't remember what this word means," Andrew explained. He seemed disinterested, but Neil felt as if his eyes were -

Well.

"I took a year of German," Neil lied - well, really he was just bending the truth. "I might be able to help you."

Andrew silently moved his notebook closer to Neil, and he turned it around. Andrew pointed at the word he meant.

"That's stay," Neil said.

"Hm." Andrew said. "Why are you taking Spanish if you've taken German before?"

"Why so many questions?" Neil countered.

For the first time, Neil saw Andrew smile. It was a small, sarcastic thing. Not a true smile by any means, but a mockery of one, worn by someone who hasn't the patience for the joy necessary for a smile.

"We can trade."

Neil just looked at him.

"You ask me something, I ask you something. We both answer honestly. We end on equal footing."

What could Andrew possibly say that would interest Neil? "Pass."

"Are you sure? I will not make this offer again."

Neil thought about it. Thought about the constant, consistent presence of him, the spark in his eyes, and about how he never seems to leave Neil's mind. And suddenly he was curious, unreasonably curious. If his mother knew that he was about to be honest with this - this boy, this random student he has spent almost no time around -

"Alright," he said, before he could change his mind. "I thought Spanish could be useful. Why have you been staring at me?"

"I was curious," Andrew replied. "You aren't just new, you’re - off. I look at you and all I see is a gray blob of nothing."

"I am nothing," Neil said. "You shouldn't be curious about me."

Andrew took his notebook back, began to shove his things into his bag. "I'm sure I'll be over it soon," he said. "But for now -" he shook his head, cutting himself off. "I'll see you at practice."

"Yeah," Neil said. "Right."

Andrew walked off, and Neil wondered to himself what had just happened.

*

[3]

“Why don’t you swim anymore?”

Andrew had managed to startle Neil. It was the end of practice, and Neil was doing what he always did: pretending to be busy with something in order to delay his inevitable visit to the locker room. He usually managed to stay on the field until everybody left, at which point nobody cared what he was doing. This had proved to be consistently successful, so he was incredibly surprised that Andrew had lingered as well.

“What?” he said, pretending to have misheard.

Andrew didn’t seem to be buying it, but repeated himself anyway. “Why don’t you swim anymore?”

“Is this your next turn?”

“Yes.”

Neil took a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t like the loss of awareness. Everybody can look at me, I can’t see them.”

“Hm.” Neil met Andrew’s piercing gaze. In his eyes, he saw –

“I’ll take my turn later,” Neil blurted. He grabbed his bag and got pretty close to sprinting away from the field. He’ll skip his shower today; he didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary on school grounds right now.

*

Later, he lay on the floor of the empty house he was sleeping in currently and thought of Andrew’s intense eyes. It kept him up until the hours, at which point without even noticing he drifted into a light sleep, riddled with dreams as confusing as Andrew Doe.

*

[4]

“Do you want to go see a movie sometime?” Andrew said a week later, as they silently sat and studied.

Neil didn’t even have to force himself to pick his head up slowly. He was finally getting some progress with his Spanish, and didn’t want to lose his train of thought, so he hummed to signal that Andrew should wait a second for his response. Once he finished translating the sentence he’d been working on, he finally registered what Andrew had actually said. “What movie?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really care. Maybe that new Marvel film. Do you want to?”

Neil considered it. What else did he have to do, anyway? “Sure.”

Andrew’s features slowly transformed from their usual blank slate to a vaguely pleased expression. Neil didn’t know what it meant that he could tell the difference when the change was so small, and he frowned and pushed that side to be dealt with later.

They set a time to meet at the local movie theatre and that was that.

*

[5]

So now they were hanging outside of school as well, and fairly regularly as well. It seemed to Neil that they were meeting almost every other day, to go to the movies or to go eat together or, once, to go ice skating. They often shared a smoke before or after these outings. He knew his mother would berate him for wasting so much money, but he found himself enjoying these outings.

After yet another shared dinner, Andrew surprised Neil yet again. “Would you like to come visit my house tomorrow? Meet my foster mother?”

It was a Friday, a chilly night in the middle of November. Above, clouds blocked the stars; below, neon lights would have prevented them from seeing stars any way. Neil had a feeling it would rain that night.

Neil shot Andrew a look, but for once, Andrew was looking up at the starless sky instead of him. “Depends,” Neil replied.

“On what?” Andrew said.

“I want to take my turn.”

Andrew dragged his head down and examined Neil thoroughly. He gestured with his hand, saying go ahead.

“Do you know who your biological family is?”

Andrew let out an insincere snort masquerading as a laugh. “I found out last year, yes.”

“Who are they?” Neil pushed.

Andrew stood still for a second, before releasing a breath and saying: “I have a twin brother, Aaron. And a mother who doesn’t want me.”

Neil could feel the words hitting him. His heart, he was surprised to find, ached for Andrew. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It’s not your fault,” Andrew said. “So don’t apologize.”

“Alright,” Neil said. “I’ll – see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” Andrew echoed. And then he was gone, and Neil felt very, very cold.

*

“I like your foster mother,” Neil remarked as they climbed the stairs to Andrew’s room. “She’s nice.”

“Yes, she is,” Andrew said, and if Neil didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he heard affection in his voice. The door slammed behind them, and Neil took the time to examine Andrew’s room. It was small, but bare, practically as sterile as the house Neil broke into every night. There was a large bed, which took up most of the room, along with a dresser and a small bookcase. There was also a laptop, but no desk. Maybe Andrew did his studying in another room?

Andrew sat on the bed and Neil awkwardly mimicked him.

“So this is Andrew Doe’s room, huh?”

“I think that’s rather obvious,” Andrew said.

Suddenly, Neil knew that Andrew was real. He’d known it all along, of course, but until this very second somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been doubting it, thinking that this complicated young man couldn’t be anything other than a figment of his own imagination. Seeing his bedroom, his house, his home, knowing that Andrew existed beyond Neil’s perception of him – it was dizzying.

“I want to play another round,” Neil said.

“No,” Andrew said. “I don’t want to answer your questions right now. And I have too many questions to ask to choose just one.”

“Ask me something anyway,” Neil said.

Andrew looked at him oddly. “Yes or no?”

Andrew surprised Neil again and again. He’d managed to get under his skin and Neil hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. He baffled Neil, but also challenged him, made his stay on his toes, and before he even knew it, he was attached to him.

“Yes,” Neil said.

Andrew surged forward and kissed him. It lasted only a moment, but it felt like an entire lifetime. Neil found himself surprisingly pleased with the experience - once Andrew pulled away, he brought his left hand to his lips, partially shocked.

Andrew was looking away from Neil, visibly angry, his hands curled into shaking fists. Neil had learned better by now than to touch Andrew unexpectedly, so he resisted the urge to put a hand on him and instead opted to murmur Andrew’s name. He looked at Neil then, a strange look on his face. “Do you want me to leave?” Neil asked.

“No,” Andrew said, but he seemed to be doubting himself.

Neil compromised by sinking to the floor beside the bed. Not leaving, but also not too close. He decided he’d give Andrew a second to relax, but that second turned into minutes, into hours, and eventually, in that quiet room on that bare floor leaning against the plain white wall, he fell asleep.

*

In the early hours Neil woke, sudden, quick. He blinked as he surveyed the room around him. The door was slightly ajar, letting the orange hallway light in; Andrew was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear murmuring from down the hallways. Neil felt like he was swimming in the stifling heat of the room as he rose. Neil hadn’t brought his duffel to Andrew’s, but he searched for it anyway before he remembered. He glanced at his watch – it was only nine o’clock. He’d been asleep for maybe a couple of hours, but it was still too long. He should leave.

As the door creaked as he opened it and the voices silenced immediately. Once Neil’s eyes adjusted he realized it was Andrew and a young man he didn’t recognize, and who he immediately disliked. His figure was overbearing in a way that reminded him too much of the people his father had surrounded himself with, and the closer Neil got to him, the clearer the young man’s expression became, the more he disliked it.

“Andrew,” he said, a smirk adorning his terribly handsome features. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”

“He – “ Andrew began, but Neil cut him off.

“I fell asleep just as we were going to start watching a movie,” Neil said. “I’ve been overworking myself at exy practice. Andrew, are you coming back?”

Andrew gave a curt nod, and walked away from the young man. Neil didn’t realize how tense Andrew was until they stepped into the bedroom and he relaxed, if only a bit – Andrew didn’t like this young man any more than Neil did.

Neil shut the door. “Who was that?” he demanded.

“Drake,” Andrew said. “My foster brother.”

*

They did watch a movie together, although they paused around ten o’clock so Neil could pretend to call his mother and tell her he’d be sleeping over at a friend’s. They started a second one, but Neil could tell he was tired, so he suggested they continue it tomorrow, and they both went to sleep.

Neil woke up at his usual time – five thirty am – itching for a run. He knew he’d have to go home first to change and grab his things, but he wasn’t sure he had the time. Luckily, Andrew woke up the moment Neil began moving.

“You,” Andrew said, “wake up far too early.”

“I need to go home and get my things,” Neil said.

“C’mon,” Andrew said, “I’ll drive you.”

*

Andrew did drive him – after leaving a note for his foster mother that he was borrowing the car –but Neil had him drop him off a block away, giving a few excuses in succession, hoping one of them would stick and Andrew would drive off. Andrew didn’t leave, but he didn’t insist on driving down the street; instead, he said he’d wait for him on the corner until he came back.

It was almost six-fifteen, too late for Neil to take his normal route to the school anyway. On a whim, he grabbed his swimming trunks and a gray shirt and put them in his bag. This early, there’d be nobody to see him, anyway.

When Neil got into the car, Andrew asked him: “Yes or no?”

*

[6]

Neil and Andrew now had a new routine. Just after six Neil would meet Andrew, who would drive them to school. They would spend a few minutes kissing, and then Andrew would drive to school. Andrew remained in the car while Neil went swimming for half an hour, leaving him enough time to shower and get to first class, nodding at Andrew in the hallways as if they were mere acquaintances. Then they would sit together in the library during lunch, and Neil would spend half the time thinking about his homework, and the other half he spent watching Andrew and… trying to understand.

Andrew had told him to stop looking at him like that a couple of times already, but he truly had no idea what he meant until, one morning, Andrew took his turn.

They’d already passed the physical stage of the morning, but Andrew didn’t start the car.

“I’m taking my turn,” Andrew said, carefully examining Neil’s features.

Neil nodded.

“Who are you running from?”

Neil’s world once again shifted, and he physically recoiled.

“Answer me,” Andrew said.

“Andrew – “ he began. He thought of lying to him, but a lump in his throat stopped him from doing that. “This is more than I can give.”

Andrew looked at him for a long time, clearly expecting more. Neil shook his head. He wasn’t going to give any more. Instead, he took his own turn: “I’ll tell if you tell me what Drake is doing to you.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said.

Neil said, “Don’t ask questions like that if you don’t want me to do the same.”

Andrew started the car and a pregnant silence settled over them as they drove. When Andrew parked the car by the school, Neil made for the door. Andrew spoke before he could even touch the handle.

“He rapes me,” Andrew said in a voice so raw and angry Neil physically recoiled. “He comes into my room at night, and – “

“No, you don’t – you don’t have to say anything else,” Neil said.

Empty eyes met his own. “You asked. Don’t ask if you can’t handle the answer.” Neil took a deep breath to steady himself, refusing to look away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Neil finally asked.

“Like I’m your answer.”

“What if I’m yours?” Neil countered.

Andrew laughed darkly. “You have yet to answer my question at all.”

And how could he be anything but honest at that?

“My father,” he said. “It’s my father who I’m running from.”

*

He opened his eyes, and the waters were clear. He’d swam what felt like one hundred laps; he’d lost count. He shouldn’t be in the water. The water could turn his shirt sheer, show his scars, and anybody could sneak past him, attack him the moment he left the pool. But he never felt freer than he did when he was immerse in the water and chlorine all alone.

He spent his usual half hour in the water, but when he left the water he found himself unexpectedly face to face with Andrew.

“Who are you?” Andrew asked.

Neil looked at him, doing his best not to shiver from the cold. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“I’m moving in with my biological family. My uncle won me last week,” he spat. “And I’m going to leave.”

“Oh,” Neil said. It was December, he realized. They were going on break next week. This was probably a very good time for Andrew to leave.

“Who are you?” Andrew repeated, slowly, slowly walking closer. Neil closed his eyes, tried to steady himself.

“I can’t give you that,” Neil breathed.

“You owe me one last question,” Andrew reminded him. Neil knew he did, but he didn’t know how to give himself away like this.

He didn’t know what to do.

His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe.

He looked away. When he looked back, Andrew was gone.

*

[7]

He took one last swim. It was the last day of the semester, and half the school was out sick; even the staff was spread out thin. He had two classes that day, and had been considering skipping; what was the point, anyway?

He’d decided he was going to leave.

For some reason, he’d made it official. Went to the office and told them his parents were transferring, and he was going with them. Said he wanted the transcripts. They would be useless to him; he wouldn’t turn 17 for a few months, and they said his 18 birthday had been months ago. Even if he did have to continue studying as a senior, he couldn’t have anything tying him to a place he’d already been, saying: I’ve been here, now I’m elsewhere. I was here.

Maybe he wanted it for himself, the knowledge that Neil Josten had existed, that he’d had something with Andrew Minyard nee Doe, and that he wouldn’t anymore.

And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

He wouldn’t have Andrew anymore, and he didn’t know why or how, but that mattered to him more than survival.

*

He was running. He knew Andrew wasn’t at school today, had checked, and had also known that he’d be leaving that afternoon. That meant that right now Andrew was at the Spear’s home, and that he was most likely packing, and that Neil would miss him, and that he would never know unless he –

He made it. He knocked on the door. He waited.

“Andrew?” he said.

The door opened, and Andrew was –

He swallowed his first instinct, to reach out and pull him as close as possible.

“You’re moving to Columbia, right?”

Andrew nodded.

“It’s a funny coincidence,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “But so are my parents. Last minute transfer. Odd, right?”

Andrew didn’t react.

“Maybe when we’re there,” Neil said. “I’ll be able to answer your question.”

“Maybe,” Andrew said. He shut the door, and, smiling, Neil turned away.

Maybe.

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Day Four: Tears of a Lover

Again, coming in a little bit later in the day, is day 4 to my OC Kiss Week. This time I have my drell OC Savitr and @eddicus-lord-of-berries‘s turian OC Agrippa. The theme for this one is “sorrow”. And sorry, Eddy, but I hurt Agrippa rather badly in this ficlet. Don’t worry, Savitr is feeling the pain as well. XD

Savitr swallowed anxiously as he stared unblinkingly at the prone, pale form of his lover in the hospital bed, looking nearly ashen thanks to his gray coloring. Harsh white lights bore down on him, making the turian look even closer to death than he really was. Savitr dug his fingernails deep into his green palms, onyx eyes roaming over every section in the room, absorbing each detail while committing the moment to memory. With or without his mental capabilities of being a drell, he would never forget this day. Never, ever.

Placing a hand on the window facing his lover, Savitr rested his head against the glass surface, listening closely to the steady beeps from the monitor. The nurse attending Agrippa had asked him to wait outside until Agrippa woke up, saying once the doctor confirmed Agrippa’s remaining injuries, he would have to go back into surgery again. 

The battle with Walker had taken a deadly toll on the veteran turian, especially since he went toe-to-toe with the enthralled bastard himself. As a result, Agrippa had several broken bones, a ruptured spleen, and a lung that was almost in danger of collapsing. The lung and spleen had been taken care of as soon as the turian first landed in the emergency wing, yet later, shrapnel was discovered in his back, abdomen, and thighs. So along with a fixing a few of Agrippa’s more splintered bones during the next surgery, the doctor wanted to check the X-rays thoroughly and see if any of the shrapnel could be removed without posing more risks to his boyfriend’s health. 

“He is awake now.” The asari nurse’s voice jolted Savitr out of his grim musings and he turned to face her, incredulous. “He wants to talk to you until it’s time for the operation.”

Nodding wordlessly, he followed her into the room, where she gave them some privacy upon leaving. Savitr smiled feebly at Aprigga, whose grey eyes, a shade lighter than his skin, gazed longingly back at him. For awhile, Savitr was afraid he’d never see those eyes open again.

“Another operation, eh?” wheezed Agrippa, his voice so course and dry that he coughed a little, prompting Savitr to seize the pitcher of water and start pouring a glass for him. “Haven’t had wounds that awful since the Reaper invasion.”

“I’d rather you not have any injuries at all, serious or otherwise,” Savitr intoned bluntly, handing the cup over to the turian, who drank it up avariciously. Yet Agrippa eyed him almost pitying, reaching out for the drell’s hand. He responded immediately and cupped both of his hands in his, holding them fiercely. 

“I’m a soldier, Savitr. I’m going to get hurt. It’s all a part of the job description.”

“DYING ISN’T A PART OF THE JOB DESCRIPTION!”

The confession, the pain and horror Savitr bottled up inside him ever since he first witnessed the mass bruising, slashes, and gaping, bleeding holes decorating the turian’s unconscious form like a moon crater. After that excruciating heart-wrenching event, the sorrow and agony had been churning deeply inside of him, clawing at his heart, soul, and mind akin to a ravenous, relentless monster that whispered poison in his ears, saying the worst was yet to come. Now his fear was out in the open, Savitr’s shoulders slumped forward and abruptly, his whole body began to quake and shudder intensely. Soon, crystalline droplets rolled down his scaly visage, dropping on their joined hands as he leaned down to plaintively kiss each and every knuckle belonging to his lover’s scarred hands. There was still a chance he could lose Agrippa, whether to a botched operation or another assault from Walker. Regardless, he could slip through his fingers like mist on a warm summer’s morning and Savitr couldn’t bear the mere notion of burying Agrippa before his time was up, not when their life together had barely begun.

“Agrippa, when I beheld what Walker...what those menaces masquerading as him inflicted on you--I swear my heart stopped and my soul screamed out your name. If something were to...I mean, I can’t lose you. I don’t want to remember your death or all that blood and gore so vividly for the rest of my life. I want to recollect your smile, your gruff attitude, the way your muscles flex as you fire or maneuver through obstacles, or how we kiss and make love---” During his rambling, Agrippa leaned over and gently pressed his mouth on the top of the drell’s head, mandibles flickering ever so slightly as he sadly listened to his lover’s tearful admission, wishing he had the strength to wrap him up in a soothing, loving enfoldment. Savitr stopped talking when he sensed Agrippa above him and tentatively looked up, only to have the turian remove his hands to cup his face, the love he carried for his drell lover blazing so true and strongly in his slate grey eyes. “Agrippa?”

“I’m not going to die on you, Savitr. Not yet. I still have plenty of years left in me.” he finally answered, his thumb rubbing away one tear prior he leaned over to kiss the rest of them away. Beneath his touch, Agrippa felt Savitr’s cheek muscles pulling up a bit, as if to smile and Agrippa’s heart became a little lighter. He wanted his boyfriend to grin again, to show off the same charm he flaunted when they reunited so many months ago when he was charged with guarding his life. Savitr’s beam was a precious treasure in this galaxy, one reason he would do anything to fend off the encroaching tide of the Leviathans. Loving Savitr made he feel alive again, that he could make a difference in this universe once more.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, okay?” replied the drell, closing his eyes briefly fully experience the soft, airy kisses, the warmth and roughness of Agrippa’s hands on his face, the sterile smell of the room, the beating of his own heart... He wouldn’t succumb to sorrow and grief, not now, not when his lover was still alive and kicking. 

Agrippa nodded soberly, stroking Savitr’s face and saying, “I promise. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Awkward laughter choking up his throat, the freelancing hacker tried to find the humor in the situation, as he was prone to do, but instead, more tears prickled his eyes. This time, they were less in volume and more out of relief. Everything was going to be all right, just as Agrippa alluded to. After the operation, all would be well. His partner was strong and had beat death before. “Good. I never wanted to be rid of you anyway, my love.”    

[frazzledsoul]

A late night insomnia induced post in which I try to justify the second most upsetting event in Gilmore Girls history

. . . . I am of course, speaking of the Gilmore/Hayden marriage experiment.

(Disclaimer: if you’ve written any of the stories I refer to below, understand I’m not judging you. I mostly wrote this because of a very upsetting story I read which directly suggested that Lorelai would have been wasting her life with Luke if she didn’t give him that ultimatum. It made me think of a lot of the fanfiction trends I’m not comfortable with, but as always, it is just my opinion).

Fan fiction is always a unique experience.

First of all, you have to reach a particular level of insane obsession to even know what it is or to attempt reading it, and as far as I’m concerned, I have to go significantly past the route of no return before I even attempt it. You have to put up with a lot of sentimentality and bad porn to get to the good stuff, and if you’re reading fanfiction for a genre show, forget it. There are some weird ships out there, and stuff that bears no significant relationship to the show it’s supposedly about. The fact that Fifty Shades Of Gray emerged out of such a phenomenon is not shocking at all once you’ve waded into it, and that’s actually on the milder end of things.

I’m not even going to talk about the Walking Dead Negan/Glenn slash I accidentally read on here. Or some of the stuff I accidentally stumbled on about David Archuleta back in 2009 or so. Trust me, you don’t want to know.

I’ve noticed a few trends in reading fanfiction for Gilmore Girls’s’ core couple. First of all, there’s a lot more of it than I expected. People were passionately writing these stories three, four, five, six years after the show ended, and this is long before anyone even thought of a Netflix revival to continue the story. Second of all, a lot of it is actually really good. Third, this is a fandom that loves to go AU and “correct” certain plot events, and while that’s really not my thing, I’ve read quite a few of those stories and I’ve liked them more than I thought I would. However, there is one particular genre I’m not crazy about.

It appears that when revival spoilers came out that Luke and Lorelai were not married for at least part of the revival, it inspired . . . some angst. Quite a bit of angst. Even among writers I really liked. Nothing positive had changed in the Luke/Lorelai relationship. Luke still won’t commit or let Lorelai into his life. She’s still mournfully gazing at the engagement ring or the wedding dress and hoping things will change and he won’t budge. Sturm und drang. It’s season 6 all over again.

This appears a little funny in retrospect after reviewing what actually happened in the revival. Lorelai was clearly in the driver’s seat when it came to the marriage discussion this time around. She’s the one who decides to hold off for nine years: she’s the one that decides when it’s time to finally make that final step. The parental duties are kept mostly separate, but this was at Lorelai’s insistence (this doesn’t stop people from blaming Luke when he lives up to his end of the bargain, but I guess old habits die hard), and as Luke points out, he just went along with what she wanted. When Lorelai re-proposes, it’s Luke who comes running with the old engagement ring he’s held onto for a decade just in case she was ever ready for it again.

If anyone’s longingly looking at that ring, it wasn’t her.

Of course, there was a time in the show’s history when Lorelai was that person, and it’s not a time period any of us remember fondly. The sixth season finale is one of the most upsetting events I’ve witnessed in many years of obsessive TV watching. I think the only thing that really comes close for me is watching Jon Snow get murdered and seeing Glenn and Abraham get turned into human oatmeal earlier this year. We knew about Glenn and Abraham way ahead of time, and we got Jon Snow back two episodes into the next season. But I don’t think any of us anticipated the level to which Amy Sherman Palladino would sink her show.

The thing that upsets me most about the break-up in that episode is that Luke has been running around looking for Lorelai for days, clearly concerned about her welfare. He keeps trying to get her to sit down and discuss the situation rationally, and she won’t have it. She’s going to have a loud, noisy, public meltdown in the middle of the street, and he’s going to have to deal with it. Yes, there were real issues in their relationship that they needed to hash out. Maybe he wouldn’t budge in the end and she would still decide she wanted marriage and kids on her timetable more than she wanted him. But screaming in the middle of the street and stomping off and sleeping with his worst enemy when he wouldn’t immediately agree to her crazy plan wasn’t the way to have that discussion. There were very real issues affecting the custody of his child that partially caused Luke to act the way he did, and those issues would not be solved by the quickie wedding that Lorelai insisted that they have at that very moment. Not everything revolves around her and her biological clock, and if she insists on behaving in this manner, she’s not really of a sound mind to embrace marriage or motherhood, anyway.

(Oh, and a more apt metaphor for ASP and her approach to contract negotiations is pretty much impossible to find compared to this one, but I suspect this is the point).

That said, despite all of this, I kind of get it. Luke’s behavior gets really bad in the latter half of season 6. I feel I can’t judge him too harshly for prioritizing his kid, but it’s not pleasant to watch. I understand why Lorelai felt at that point that she had to break up with him, and why she married someone else after a few months.

I’m a 36 year old woman from Alabama. I have seen this situation play out in my own life more times than you know. The concept of a woman in her late thirties breaking up with a long-term partner because he isn’t ready for marriage and kids and quickly marrying someone who is is something that is very familiar to me. And in real life, these marriages actually last. When you get to a certain point, it’s easier to settle and compromise because you want the same things. Sometimes life isn’t fair, and you have to choose your best options.

When Luke justifies to himself that he and Lorelai were never meant to be together and tells he’s going to stop being angry and just move on, he basically gives her his blessing to pursue other options. She’s still devastated, but when Christopher shows up and makes his big romantic plea, it’s immensely appealing to her. Sure, it’s not the epic, passionate love affair she wanted, and she’d rather be hearing this stuff from Luke, but Christopher is doing all the stuff she wanted Luke to do. He lets her be involved with his child. He wants marriage and kids. They’ve been involved for 20 years anyway. So when he pushes for it in this ultra-romantic setting, she goes for it. Wanting the same things will be good enough to justify this decision, right?

Of course, it’s an epic disaster for the six weeks or so that it lasts. Christopher is weak, pathetic, and utterly useless to anyone who might have the misfortune of needing to rely on him. He let Lorelai participate in his child-rearing decisions largely because he was incapable of making them himself. Lorelai isn’t in love with him and she’s never fully committed to this life together, but she convinces herself that because they supposedly want the same things, it’s good enough. 

However, Christopher isn’t good enough, and never will be. The character reference that Lorelai wrote laid out all that Luke was capable of, all of the love and devotion that he lavished on Lorelai and Rory over the years, and of how special he was to the both of them. Lorelai didn’t sign the letter OMG WHAT HAVE I DONE, but she might as well have. When Christopher read the letter, he knows that Lorelai still loves Luke because she will never be able to say those things about him. No one will ever be able to say those things about Christopher. He knows that he’ll always be nothing more than a very inferior replacement, and that Lorelai is never really going to be able to love him that way. 

Eventually, Lorelai realizes this too, and ends this torturous marriage experiment once and for all.

As far as Luke is concerned, I think he allows his family to talk him into the idea that he and Lorelai were destined or failure as a way to live with the situation. If he allowed himself to think of everything that went wrong, he would go insane. And he can’t break down and do that, because he’s got a daughter to take care of now. It’s his way of stepping up and being the bigger person. The show starts building him up again, and they really, really needed to do that. He becomes a great guy again, and we needed him to be that guy.

I don’t think the reality of the situation really hits Luke until Lorelai shows up in the hospital with the wedding ring. Then he has to admit what he’s lost, but even then he can’t give up. He’s got a kid he’s got to fight for, a new infant niece, a very pregnant employee/surrogate daughter to look out for. When the letter’s read out to him, he allows himself to have a tiny bit of hope. And when Lorelai needs him, he drops everything and runs to her side, because he still loves her and would do anything for her. He’s worthy of everything in that letter at that moment.

I think what this brings us all to is that Lorelai ultimately learned that this set plan she had for marriage and kids was not what was going to make her happy. I think what both she and Luke came to realize that what they really wanted was each other, not some arbitrary expectation of what life was supposed to be like for them. Giving up on Luke was not the right decision because he couldn’t be replaced, and what she needed most of all was simply to have him in her life, and for him to be in hers. Both of them figured out that marriage and parenthood were going to be a lot harder than they thought they would be, and neither of those things mattered more than being together. Their life together was a good life, and it made both of them happy. Ultimately, Lorelai did decide that she did want to be married, and Luke wanted that, too, because all he ever wanted was her. However, that doesn’t mean the previous decade didn’t count because it didn’t live up the previous ideal. It did.

As far as the kids issue goes, I think for Lorelai it was mostly a vague afterthought. I think it was different for Luke, at least at first. It’s not an accident that he has so many surrogate kids. He did want to be a dad in some way, but having April gave him that opportunity, and it wasn’t a very pressing need after that. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to run out of additional offspring any time soon, either.

Life can be good, and deep, and meaningful, and worthy, even if it doesn’t live up to a Norman Rockwell ideal. I think Lorelai learned that when she tried to substitute someone else for the person she really wanted.