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milfcodeddean · 3 years

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Memento Moratus Sum

Emma Haunts the Necklace- The Fic <3

Starts more post/concepty and becomes a fic bc I did not plan on this it was stream of consciousness! I have not seen all of the later seasons and it was hard to keep track of what plot points to mention even of all the seasons I have seen!

AO3

Emma dies and Dean keeps her necklace to have something to remember her by, partly out of grief for what could have been partly as an act of emotional self flagellation. He wears it under his shirt, a secret, just like any thoughts he has about his dead daughter.

Emma is a ghost because she didn’t do enough to be a monster and earn her place in purgatory but she isn’t human enough for heaven and she’s anchored to the necklace.

She follows Dean around silently, quickly learning enough about ghosts to know if she reveals herself too soon or ever really then Dean is going to burn the necklace.

During season seven Dean is haunted by two ghosts, Bobby, who is actively reaching out for him, and Emma, who is a silent observer. I think Emma hides from Bobby, he’s a hunter and she doesn’t want him to tell Dean about her, OR Bobby sees her before she knows ghosts can see other ghosts and they talk and he pities her but agrees to not let Dean know

Dean is wearing the necklace when he goes to purgatory. Emma is still a ghost here but it’s different, and she’s been watching this man for months now, he’s her world now. She keeps some of the monsters away, she makes him wake up when there are threats at night, she watches him befriend a monster and burns with pain at the knowledge that maybe she could have had that. Maybe she didn’t need to kill him, maybe he would have loved her not just as a dead hypothetical but as her.

Dean comes out of purgatory with an extra extra passenger. She watches with a sense of smugness as he rages at Sam, she pretends he’s also mad over her. She doesn’t like Sam’s attitude towards Benny either. She gets to see her great grandfather and she sees him die. She talks to his ghost, he calls her granddaughter (forgetting the great) even after learning she’s an amazon, before he gets reaped.

There’s an empty room in the bunker she pretends is hers. She moves objects in there, never quite decorating, but practicing telekinesis where Dean won’t see it and making up a fantasy of a life she could have had. She still never minds being tethered to Dean, especially now as he doesn’t sleep around and spends less time in bars where she’s left uncomfortably watching. She likes going to the grocery store, she likes watching him cook, maybe a few times she’s kept a pot from boiling over or a bag from falling. She’s learning to live from watching Dean, he doesn’t know it, but he’s teaching her life skills. She doesn’t know the names for the dishes he teaches her to make or the parts of cars or guns but she etches the motions he makes into her mind. She likes Charlie, she wishes she could meet her, and she likes larping. She imagines herself as an Amazon warrior of antiquity, armored in bronze.

She tried to wake Dean and Charlie out of their djinn dream but nothing worked, she tried to fight the djinn to no avail either. When Dean and Charlie hugged she wished she could be in their embrace too.

She’s glad it’s Bobby’s ghost they use for the trial, she’s so glad she never revealed herself.

Sam is slowly growing on her, she doesn’t love him but he means enough to Dean that she would try to stop him from dying.

She knows about Gadreel. She hides harder now, afraid too of the new angel in the bunker. Castiel she likes, Castiel she watched in purgatory and she watched beat her father bloody in the crypt and she understood brain washing and the control of authorities. She almost reveals herself and her knowledge of Gadreel when Dean kicks Cas out of the bunker, but her hesitation lasts too long.

She’s tethered to Dean so she isn’t there when Kevin dies. Kevin had been another one she enjoyed observing, she envied him his mother in so many ways, Linda had been everything Lydia hadn’t been. When Kevin dies he’s haunting the bunker too. It’s almost like having a friend. He pities her, but she’ll take anything, he’s sort of her age in some ways and she teaches him how to be a ghost.

Crowley almost gives her away. He knows she’s there, but he saves her presence as a bargaining chip against Dean, a surprise tidbit to bring up later.

The father of murder can see her too. Cain keeps his eyes on her father most of the time, but the spark in his eyes and smirk when he sees her and her bloody pink shirt cut straight through her.

Her father dies. She wants to run to him, to fling her arms around him and greet him with her bloody lips and stained shirt and tell him she forgives him and she loves him and she’s sorry he’s dead but can she at least spend some of eternity with him and she wants to teach him to be a ghost and she wants to tell him so many things she’s noticed. But Crowley does something that locks her voice and powers and keeps her from the room.

Demon dean leaves the bunker with Emma’s necklace ripped off and dropped beside a bedstead.

Sam picks up the necklace. Emma hates him touching it but it’s all she can hope that he doesn’t destroy it. She doesn’t know if he recognizes it, but he doesn’t throw it away, and brings it out to show Castiel as evidence for Dean’s absence. Castiel names it as Amazon gold, recognizes it as Dean’s, but does not know it’s origin. Emma has to hear her story from her murderer’s lips. She almost shows herself, but she’s afraid Sam will cast the necklace into a fire. If they could do that to Bobby, they’ll do it to her. But she doesn’t feel like a vengeful uncontrolled spirit, perhaps it’s the Amazon magic, but she feels calmer than she ever was during her days of life.

Her necklace stays in the bunker, she watches demon Dean from a distance at first, she tries to comfort him strapped to the chair but he calls her a hallucination and lets something between a sob and a laugh out before turning away. She tries, she wipes his brow, she begs him to become human again or to die, she tries to keep the devil’s trap intact. Still she is called a hallucination. It’s almost nice to be important enough that he’d hallucinate her.

When Dean, normal human dean, is back, he fixes the necklace with pliers and holds it staring at it in his hands. He’s alone in his room. Emma gently puts her hands over his where they are clasped around her anchor to him. She doesn’t know if he can feel her. Her name comes from his mouth in a breathy whisper, wet and rough, a word unused to being spoken. He bends over himself, weeping with the necklace pressed to his mouth. Emma weeps as well. He would not weep if he did not love her, but he is a hunter and she has to chose between this silent spectatorship where she can pretend she is living in rooms beside him, or the knowledge that if he knew she was haunting him, he would burn the necklace to send her on.

She doesn’t know if there’s another afterlife for failed amazons, and from what she understands of Heaven, hers would be something pathetic like the day she met Dean before she died, or an eternity as a ghost watching him weep.

She hates watching Dean with Amara those few days. She hates the burning wretched envy risking corrupting her as he holds a baby girl that isn’t her. She hates that Amara loves Dean. And she hates even more that Amara brings back Mary instead of her.

She never realized that she wanted to be brought back and resurrected so badly and that it was even an option until she watches Dean reunite with Mary.

Dean mentions her to Mary- almost - he says he had a kid, and the cut off gesture to the necklace means her. Emma stopped minding that Dean never spoke about her. She didn’t want him to talk about her with Sam, and she quickly realized he didn’t talk about his grief with anyone. But he did wear her necklace, and sometimes he took it out from under his shirt and rubbed his thumb over the metal and she would pretend it was his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Dean didn’t talk about her and she didn’t need him to. But now he had, and with his mother. And he implied he had thought about what he would want for her, that he wouldn’t want his life of violence and moving for her.

Emma likes Mary as a warrior woman, but can’t help but understand Dean’s pain when she leaves. She understands being the surprise child older than a parent wants too much.

She tried to help Dean as she always has, but the British Men of Letters terrify her. She knows they would either keep her to study or destroy her and she can’t trust anyone to keep her secret from their spying.

Later it seems the world collapses again. Cas dies. Angels don’t have ghosts, she can never meet him. And Kelly has eyes only for her son until she is reaped. Emma wishes she could comfort Dean or that she could truly leave him to his grief. She turns away as he ties Castiel’s body with yellow curtains. She stands beside him watching the pyre.

She doesn’t understand Dean’s attitude towards Jack. She’s watched jealously how Dean interacts with Krissy, with Claire, with the orphan boys at the home, and she has her fantasy of how Dean would have treated her had she lived. The jealous part of her doesn’t want Dean to like Jack, but most of her wants Dean to go back to acting like how she expected him to, she wants the man she could pretend was being her father. And she watches Jack enough to be afraid of their similarities. To see herself in him. And if Dean hates him, would he have hated her. Does he only wear her necklace because she’s dead.

She watches silently when Dean finally breaks, confronted, and tells Sam that he sees her in Jack. She hears how he loves her. She watches Sam realize the enormity of his crime and apologize. She accepts the apology, even if it wasn’t meant for her ears. Dean doesn’t see her, but she sits beside him on the opposite side of Sam on that floor.

Something has changed.

Sometimes, it seems like Dean is glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He stares at the steamy bathroom mirror while he’s shaving, right at the red smear on the pink of her shirt. He nicks himself, swears, and swipes a hand through the steam, through her image. He does double takes in the rear view mirror, glancing twice at the backseat where she sits, pretending she’s part of his road trips.

Jack brings back Castiel. Jack has powers beyond what Emma could have imagined. And Jack is both nice and not fully indoctrinated into hunting ways. Emma also likes Jack, she understands so much about him, and she likes the shows he watches, she likes the way he’s nice, and in her elaborate fantasy of what if she was alive, she decides he’s her brother.

It’s hard to find a time when Jack is alone but near enough to Dean and the anchoring necklace that she can talk to him, but it happens.

Emma focuses everything she has into appearing, a heavy grounding feeling she hasn’t felt since Dean was a chained demon. The words catch in her throat, unpracticed at speaking, but she blurts out to Jack that she’s his sister, the words spilling fast, that she’s Dean’s dead daughter, she doesn’t tell him that Sam killed her, she’s seen Sam with him, their closeness she can’t decide if she envies or not. She tells him she’s an Amazon, how she’s dead but anchored, how she doesn’t have a heaven or purgatory or hell, how she wants to come back. She tells him that she likes his shows and she tells him she loves Dean and Castiel and she finds things she likes about Sam. He doesn’t look at her with pity. He looks at her with a bright spark to his eyes.

But he doesn’t resurrect her. At least not right away. Apparently he’s been too recently warned off from the idea of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He thinks she should reveal herself to Dean first, before they decide. Emma hates the idea, she spent all of these years afraid of Dean destroying her anchor, and now she’s afraid of his rejection, what if he resents her watching him all the time, what if he blames her for not doing more. What if he wants her gone instead of brought back.

The Amazons,in their scant days of raising her, taught her to be brave.

Jack asks the family to stay after dinner.

Emma takes a deep breath, more for the instinctive motion than for a need for air, and materializes.

There’s a beat of silence and then a mess of noises. Dean drops a mug, Sam’s chair skids, everyone one is talking at once.

Emma can’t find words to say to Dean, she wants to stare at him as she always does, but she can’t bear to see rejection on his face. She waits and Jack opens his mouth to introduce her but then her name comes from Dean’s lips. It’s like that dark night where they wept in his bedroom again. She has called him many variants of father in her mind in several languages, but it is the most childish “daddy” that slips out.

No one else in the room matters, he looks at her, meeting her eyes instead of the gorey wound, and she gets eye contact without having to pretend she is what’s in his sight line.

He doesn’t ask if she’s a ghost or if she’s dead or any of the silly civilian questions. He only manages “how” before fumbling for the necklace, and she nods confirmation. She wonders if he’s planning on burning it.

He asks how long and suddenly words spill forth, she tells him she’s been here the whole time, watching, she says she sorry about Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Kelly and Cas and Benny she tells him the ones she helped with being a ghost, she tells him about watching the others move on, she says she’s sorry she couldn’t do more when he was a demon and something in his expression breaks, she says she’s sorry she never showed herself.

He holds up a hand, stopping her before she apologizes again, and says he remembers her when he was a demon, that he had thought she was a hallucination, she nods and cries anew.

She wants to tell him that she’s watched him and loves him and even if it’s embarrassing she wants to say she’s pretended to be alive with him, and she wants most of all to ask if he loves her, to hear it said to her face.

Instead he asks weakly why she’s here now.

She says she wanted to come clean about haunting him, says she’s thought about it for years and was scared he would burn the necklace, says she’s learned about ghosts from him and she’s never felt vengeful, she doesn’t feel corrupted, and maybe it’s because she’s a monster. His face twitches at that word.

Jack interrupts, changing the air in the room and suddenly both she and Dean remember their audience. Sam’s eyes are wet and he looks something close to afraid. Emma hopes the look on Castiel’s face is softness for her too and not just Jack.

Jack offers to bring her back, tells Dean that they didn’t want to do it behind his back. Emma turns invisible again out of the sick swoosh of anxiety that overwhelms her. She barely hears through her ringing ears that Dean desperately agrees and says yes, fumbling to take the necklace off and pass it to Jack.

She’s going to have to wait a few days. Jack is going to bring her back where her body is, and that’s more than 24 hours of driving away, and Dean wants to be there.

It’s a weird car ride, they know she’s there, and she sits between Castiel and Jack in the back of the Impala. They had her pick a set of Jack’s clothes to replace her bloody shirt, they have food and water for her. Emma doesn’t have a name for the emotions she’s feeling and they’re almost overwhelming.

They don’t have to dig her up to bring her back, Jack’s powers allow for that at least, and Emma is glad, she’s watched Dean dig up enough graves to imagine what she’ll look like.

Then Jack’s eyes glow bright gold.

It’s like what she imagines being born feels like. Overwhelming and dark and bright and both blissful and painful. And then she is gasping with real lungs and the sunlight is bright in her eyes and she can feel the textures of her clothing and the grass.

And then arms and hands are on her, Dean is pulling her to her feet and into his embrace in one motion.

She’s never been hugged by him, and it’s better than her jealous imaginings when he held others. She never wants to let go, she feels safe and warm and loved and his hand is on her hair and she can smell him and feel his heartbeat.

He finally lets go and steps back to look at her, keeping a hand on her shoulder and cupping her cheek with the other. There are streaks of tears matching her own on his face. His hands leave only to be replaced by Jack.

Jack’s hug is different but enthusiastic, there are no tears, he is beaming, part proud, part delighted, she can’t help but smile back. He calls her sister and she accepts him as brother.

Castiel does not embrace her, but his greeting his warm and his eyes match his smile. He clasps her hand between his and Emma’s heart swells.

She knows Sam doesn’t know how to look at her or how to talk to her. She doesn’t know what she wants from him either. She knows hes sorry, she’s heard it from his own lips, not to her, but to the only other person to whom it would matter. She smiles hesitantly at him, instead of glaring, and waves.

Then she slips her hand back into Dean’s and lets him pull her into another hug. She feels light and giddy and afraid this is all a dream. If she died and this is heaven then she would accept that too.

But it’s real, she changes out of her bloody shirt and into a blue one of Jack’s, she drinks water for the first time in years and eats fruit snacks from a packet pulled from Castiel’s trench-coat pocket, and a cereal bar.

A few hours later they stop at a nicer diner than Emma usually sees them eat at, and Dean tells the hostess it’s his daughter’s birthday and Emma gets to order foods she’s been curiously watching people eat for years off the menu. The restaurant gives her cake.

Emma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and Dean’s eyes have not lost their cheerful crinkle and Jack is beaming and even Sam and Castiel look endlessly pleased.

Later there will be harder talks, about the things she’s witnessed, later she’ll talk about haunting their steps, about the years of questions built up, later she’ll realize she doesn’t remember how to sleep and Dean will sit and try to stroke her hair and talk softly and it’s nice but not enough. Later it will be Castiel who explains how to become human, how to adjust to having a body, how to sleep and how to tell if you like a food or not. Later she will argue with Dean about her usefulness on hunts and he will tell her how scared he is of her dying again. Later Mary will come back and die. Later Jack will die and a demon will wear his corpse and she will hate and fear it, later God will tell her she is an interloper in his story.

But for now Emma has a family and a piece of cake and a table of smiles.

#emma winchester #emmanatural #dean winchester #dad dean winchester #my writing #this was not planned this was just me thinking Hey what if Emma haunted the necklace and was there watching events and like the Emma feeling #s spilled over into a whole 3.5k fic so #i might put this on ao3? the start is so weak tho #yes that is a reference to buried ghosts and bitter truths

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onechicago-upsteadrhekker · 3 years

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the trouble with wanting (is i want you) - part two

Friends!!!!! I’m here! I’m back!

I can’t apologize enough for the long wait! It certainly wasn’t intentional, but alas that is the life of a college student and unfortunately school comes before upstead as much as I wish it didn’t!

I hope part two gives you all the feels and makes up for the long absence, however, I do have something to share with you that may make you want to kill.

Part two turned into part three...

So, SURPRISE! This isn’t a two-shot; it will definitely be a three part story and I am happy to say that part three is written (mostly, I have to tweak a few things) so that will be up sometime next week depending on my school schedule.

Thank you again for your patience and I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter that contains no real plot, a lot of fluff and mutual pining!

As always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Tagging: @imjustwritingg, @anniesardors, @thetwit, @angelsjedi, @chichichicken, @carissalizz, @maya-asturias

Let me know if you want to be added to this list for part three!

Read on AO3

The next few days are filled with mandatory walking sessions, pain meds every four to six hours and Jay’s smiling face. He was the only reason why she wasn’t absolutely losing it because while she despised hospital stays in general, hospital stays in another city filled with people she didn’t know were downright insufferable.

But he’d made it go from something akin to glorified torture to slightly tolerable.

The bullet wound was starting to heal and the incision from where they’d had to remove her spleen was looking great according to the nurses and everything seemed to be on the right track healing wise, but anything regarding this thing that she and Jay had going on? She had no idea.

One would think getting shot in a different city, causing one partner to literally drop everything and come rushing to the other partner’s side would end in heartfelt confessions and relationships born at hospital bedsides.

But that’s not what happened, and Hailey was seriously starting to wonder if she and Jay were ever going to be on the same page. Or at least read the page aloud because she was fairly certain he felt the same way about her that she felt about him.

Because just partners don’t fly eight-hundred miles to be by your side even if you are hurt.

Right?

And it didn’t help that he was there with her almost twenty-four seven, giving her no time alone to process what he was telling her without words because before this, it had just been subtle glances and warm smiles, teasing words and affectionate eyes.

But this. Flying eight-hundred miles. It was tangible and real, and she couldn’t quite believe it was really actually happening, but then he was there, bringing her her favorite foods from restaurants she’d found during her time in New York and barely going back to her hotel room for sleep, staying by her side to keep her company and catch her up on five weeks’ worth of Intelligence news.

He was there for every lap around the hospital floor and every dressing change. He was there to shoo out the nurses when they were starting to get on her nerves and he was there, rubbing her hand softly when the pain of her bruised ribs made it hard to breathe.

And then there was the way she was constantly being referred to as ‘Jay’s wife’ instead of her own name much like when she was back in grade school and her teachers would call her ‘Sam’s little sister’.

He’d made quite the impression on the nurses and for some reason neither she nor Jay had set the record straight on the actual status of their relationship since that first day when he was mistaken as her husband.

(It was probably the same reason that they hadn’t talked about what Jay flying to New York meant. And to be honest, Hailey was sort of hoping that Jay would set the record straight on their relationship, if only to let her know where they stood.)

And she definitely wasn’t going to acknowledge the dangerous little thrill she got from hearing herself referenced that way or think about what it would be like for real. Nope, not a chance or she might never come back down to reality after having narcotic-induced dreams of three little words, ‘I do’s’, freckled little faces and laughing green eyes.

But then it’s so close, she can almost taste it and it should scare her, but it doesn’t.

Because she can feel it in the way he grins at her and in the way he tells her goodnight at the end of a long day of keeping her company. It’s in the way his arm brushes hers when he’s helping her sit or stand and it’s in the way his eyes hold hers for far longer than he should; his green eyes swimming with hints of the things she dreams.

But until she hears it. Until one of them gathers the courage to actually say the words and put a name to what they already know and feel, then she’s going to wait and guard those dreams carefully because she knows deep in her heart that when they return to Chicago, it will have either worked out or it won’t at all.

She’s not sure exactly when the pieces will fall into place or if they’ll even fit together but she knows they are at the point of no return. And honestly, that scares her the most because no matter what happens, it will always be Jay for her.

Because he was her home, and he had a place in her heart no one else could ever have and that terrified her because she knows that she’ll never get over him if for some reason it doesn’t work out between them.

She tries not to think like that because she’s pretty sure what she’s seen in his eyes is something that looks a lot like love, but it’s hard to be totally optimistic when it seems like the universe is always keeping them not necessarily apart, but not really together. At least not in the way she’s pretty sure both of them want.

So, she sits in her hospital bed, watching him laugh at her attempts to renegotiate her discharge date with the nurses and listens to him chatter about what Will’s been up to and how much he hated being tossed between Kevin, Kim, Adam and Vanessa while she’d been gone even if he liked working with each of them.

They’d been flying crooked he told her and that her not being there threw them all off so he’d be happy when he could take her back home and so would everyone else. In fact, they’d told her as much when Kim had facetimed Jay the day after he’d arrived in New York to get proof of life and see for themselves that she was truly going to be okay.

It was sweet and nice, and it made her realize how much she really did miss her team turned family even if she already felt like she was home just because Jay was beside her.

He was beside her and he was there with her and every time he looked at her over the beeping of the heart monitor she was hooked up to, everything else faded from view. The facetime calls with their friends, the friendly nurses checking up on her every few hours, the general hustle and bustle of hospital life happening outside her room.

It was just them and she’d be lying if she wasn’t looking forward to her discharge date for reasons other than just being out of the hospital because she knew then, she and Jay would truly be alone stuck in a hotel room in a city that neither one of them knew.

And that, she knew, would be the true test.

On the morning of the third day she’d been in the hospital, Hailey was given the news that she’d be released by that afternoon. If she was physically capable, she’d be jumping for joy but because of the dozen stitches in her side, she’d had to settle for celebrating internally.

Moving was still slow-going and she still felt overly tired far too early in the day, but she was confident that a night in her own bed (or at least the bed she’d been sleeping in for the past several weeks) would do her a world of good.

And she wasn’t going to think about how Jay being potentially next to her would probably make her sleep better than she’d ever had.

She didn’t know exactly where Jay had been disappearing to when he’d left the hospital at night, but she’d given him the key to her hotel room and he always came back looking well-rested so she felt safe assuming he was sleeping in the same queen bed she’d been occupying for the past five weeks.

Hailey wasn’t quite sure what would happen tonight when it was time for him to go to bed, but she wondered if this was the day they were going to finally get it right, nestled under the bed covers, whispering dreams and promises, her side aching but her heart so full.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Her gaze flicked up to Jay who had entered the room and was walking towards her, his hands already reaching out to help her pull on her coat. Hailey looked up at him as he focused his gaze on putting her left arm carefully through the sleeve of her jacket.

She wasn’t sure if a person could have reversed déjà vu, but the action brought her right back to another hospital room in a different city when she was still reeling from the panic she’d felt surrounding Jay’s terrifying brush with death.

When she’d helped him pull his familiar, worn black jacket over his sling right before she almost told him she loved him.

And now here they were again, except this time it was him helping her and this time she knew they weren’t going home without having the conversation they should have had then.

“Thanks,” She murmured softly, trying to ignore the way her heart raced when he briefly squeezed her hand.

Hailey gingerly sat down on the side of the bed, already worn out and sore from the morning’s activities of getting ready to leave.

“I called a taxi. It should be here any minute,” He grabbed her duffle and sat it beside her, “You sign the discharge papers?”

“Yes, thank God,” She muttered accepting the pair of Sperry’s Jay was handing her.

He chuckled softly, “You are so impatient.”

She shot him a look, “I’m sorry. And who was the one practically begging me to spring him from the hospital the minute he was awake and talking?”

He had the wisdom to look sheepish, but he couldn’t hide the wide smile threatening to take over. Clearly, they were both happy to be leaving the hospital room behind.

As Jay busied himself with packing the last few items into the duffle he’d brought Hailey the day he’d arrived in New York, he can’t help but watch her. She’s moving slowly, but she seems pretty alert for someone who got shot and had relatively serious surgery only four days ago.

Her eyes are bright if not tired and her hair is haphazardly thrown up in her signature high pony, but Jay still thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world and he almost tells her just that.

His mouth is open, forming the words when she turns to him after sliding on her shoes, catching his gaze with eyes narrowed in suspicion, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

And he thinks this is why he can never tell her how he feels. She’s always taking the words away with a flash of blue and a dash of blonde because he wants his future to look like her so badly, it terrifies him. And even when he does finally find the words, he knows he will never be able to tell her with words just how much she means to him.

His lips quirk and he shakes his head, turning his attention back to the duffle to zip it up before nodding towards the open door of her hospital room, “No reason. You ready to go?”

For a second, he thinks she’s going to push, and they are going to have the conversation they need to have right here and now, but then she doesn’t and some part of him feels disappointed that they are making themselves wait once again.

He’s not even entirely sure why because nothing is holding them back now. Not really. They are finally both in the same city with no kidnappings, rigged elections or anything else threatening to tear them apart and yet, they are still walking that very fine line of partners and best friends to something openly affectionate and loving and real.

It’s almost too perfect because while he rushed here in a state of panic, not knowing what he would find, Hailey, for the most part was okay and now they were stuck here with basically nothing to do but wait till she could fly without risk of infection or complications from surgery.

He’s not sure if he should be worried, waiting for the other shoe to drop or thrilled that the universe seems to be giving them a hint that it was finally time to take that leap of faith from partners and best friends to something more.

“Hailey, you are clearly in pain.”

After the short taxi ride from the hospital, they were finally in the hotel room and now firmly engaged in a battle of wills.

Hailey was currently giving him a glare that reminded him of the way she would silently warn him from across the bullpen to not do something he might regret or when they were down to the last couple of fries during a long stakeout and he was reaching for them.

Generally, he didn’t win the fights when she wore that look but today, he was determined to stand his ground.

“Jay,” It was practically whined and while he understood her reluctance to take the pain meds she’d been prescribed, he couldn’t stand watching her in pain.

In the few times that Hailey’s been injured during their partnership, it hadn’t been too serious, and she usually had a good attitude about doing what she needed to do to recover. So, seeing her like this, pale and tired and just not her normal, spunky self, broke his heart and he wanted to do everything in his power to fix it.

Starting with the meds she’s determined not to take.

He was happy to at least see the trait that was so undeniably Hailey in her eyes because otherwise, she looked like a lifeless shell of the badass detective he knows she is. The oversized pillows she was propped against makes her seem so tiny and she almost blended in with the sheets she was so white.

If he was being honest, she was starting to look worse than she did when she was in the hospital and that definitely concerned him enough to possibly make him take her right back there or at least call Will for his opinion.

Sighing, he uncrosses his arms to move from where he’s been standing a few feet away from the end of the bed holding the prescription bag in a clenched fist.

Her eyes track his movements as he comes to gingerly sit down at the edge of the bed, leaning over on his forearm to look at her closely, “Hailey,” He shakes his head, “Please just take them. At least so you can get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

For a second, he thinks that she’s going to keep fighting him, but then he sees the weak mask she’d had in place slip, the dull look of pain and exhaustion becoming clearly present in her eyes.

“Okay, fine,” She sighs out wearily, and he’s a little surprised that she conceded that quickly even if he knew he’d already won, but then she cocks her head slightly, “What do I get in return?”

Yeah, he didn’t think he’d won that easily.

Jay pushes the flirty and slightly suggestive response that instantly pops into his head to the back of his mind. There would be plenty of time for that later, or at least he desperately hopes so because he knows that now is not the time to start anything of that nature.

When he tells Hailey what she deserves to hear, he wants her feeling halfway decent and looking healthier than she does right now.

If they were in Chicago, he would bribe her with Bartoli’s, but they weren’t. They are in New York and she’s already made it quite clear that the pizza here is a tragedy, so he doesn’t think she’d want that particular food even if he could find a copy-cat deep-dish place.

So, he goes for the next best thing, “What about some Greek? It probably won’t be anything like Greek Islands, but I’m sure I can find a decent place. I could grab you some Pastichio. What do you say?”

The way her eyebrows furrow and her bottom lip sticks out adorably makes him want to kiss the pout away, but he doesn’t.

She shakes her head, “I don’t want Greek.”

Jay bites his lip briefly and refrains from making a comment on the childish tone of her voice as he regards her carefully for a quiet second.

He would never admit it, but he knows he’s a much worse patient when their positions are reversed so he’s more than willing to put up with her stubbornness because he knows it’s just a way to cope with the pain.

And besides, he loves her. He would do whatever he could to make her feel better.

“I’ll get you whatever you want as long as you take your medicine, so why don’t you tell me what it is you’d like to have,” He pushes himself up off his forearm to sit upright, but he still holds her gaze.

She sighs carefully, picking at the covers before answering him, “A Snickers bar.”

Jay raises his brows.

In the years he has known her, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her eat a candy bar. She could down a piece of chocolate cake at an event, or the random chip bag she’d found during a stakeout, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her eat the overly processed candy bar before.

“You like Snickers bars?” He can’t help the slightly disgusted tone of his words.

Hailey’s expression instantly morphs into a defensive one, “A girl can have guilty pleasures, and this just so happens to be mine. Now, you said you’ll get me anything if I take my medicine, so you’re lucky it’s not something like a new gun. Or a car.”

Jay rolls his eyes and Hailey desperately wants to swat him but she’s already in a significant amount of pain so she doesn’t think that would be the wisest decision.

“Relax, I will get you your Snickers bar. I promised, didn’t I?” He smirks a little as he moves off the bed to grab his coat that’s thrown over the back of the desk chair, “I just can’t believe I didn’t know you liked candy bars.”

Shrugging a little, she tries not to wince at the pain that small movement caused her, “I don’t indulge in them much; only when I’m not feeling good or if there’s literally nothing else to eat.”

After gathering up his wallet and phone, Jay stops in the middle of the room to regard her for another moment. He shakes his head, “What else don’t I know about you, Hailey Upton?”

She gives him a little smirk of her own, “Lots of things, I’m sure. I was once told I was aloof about my personal life.”

“And just when I thought I was getting to know the person under that tough exterior,” He feels the smile creep over his face, and he doesn’t care that he probably looks like a man hopelessly in love because he is.

He watches as her own expression softens and for just a moment, their eyes meet. A thousand words of unspoken love pass between them and he can see his entire universe in those captivating, blue orbs just as she can see a million promises in his.

Hailey shifts and winces at the sharp pain it causes her, cursing herself for ruining the moment. Those pain pills she’d tried refusing were looking pretty good right about now as the throbbing intensified around her still tender ribs.

Jay noticed her discomfort. He always does, and she could see the concern so clearly on his face it made her heart swell in love. He’s the most caring man she’s ever met, and it’s one of the things she loves most about him.

“As soon as I get back, you’re taking your meds,” Jay frowns, rubbing his thumb briefly along his hairline before dropping his arm, “I’d give them to you now, but I’m not sure I should leave you alone with narcotics in your system just in case. And besides, you need to take the antibiotics with food, so I’ll pick up something while I’m out.”

She just nods, picking up the remote for the television, “Sounds good. I’ll be here watching whatever trash I can find on TV, so hurry back.”

Jay gives her one last smile that warms her from head to toe before he opens the door and walks out.

When Jay walks through the hotel door about an hour later, he has the overwhelming urge to call out a ‘Honey, I’m home’, but he doesn’t want to wake Hailey if she’s sleeping and he’s not sure how she would respond to the term of endearment even if it is said teasingly.

It’s funny how that is the thing he feels would be crossing the practically non-existent line they have towing for the past several days. Or weeks really if he’s honest with himself.

As it turns out, she’s not sleeping but still in very much the same position he’d left her in. The TV was on, a rerun of ‘Happy Days’ playing quietly but she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention. Instead, she’s looking down at the phone in her hand, clearly scrolling through something before glancing up at him.

Her eyebrows rise as she takes in the various Target bags he’s carrying in both hands. Hailey let her phone drop in her lap, more interested in what Jay had bought because all she’d sent him out for were Snickers Bars, “Did you buy the whole store?”

He frowns at her as he finds the bag of take-out Chinese he’d ended up getting for their late lunch-early supper to set on the nightstand, “No, I did not, but I did get real food and,” He holds up the other bags he was carrying, “I got you your Snickers.”

Whatever else he’d bought was forgotten as she beamed up at him, already reaching for the candy bar he was digging for throughout his purchases. When he finally found what he was looking for, he tossed it to her, and she immediately ripped open the wrapper.

He makes a face as she bites into the sugary chocolate, “I still don’t know how you eat that crap.”

She responds with an eyeroll because her mouth was too full to make a witty comeback.

“You could at least wait till you ate actual food first,” Jay arched a disapproving eyebrow, his nose wrinkling as he watched her make an obvious display of enjoying her treat. He shakes his head and deposits the Target bags on the lower end of the bed to pull out the bottles of vitamin water he’d bought for her.

“Here, I got your favorite and a couple of new ones for you to try,” He handed her the blackberry flavored one before retrieving the pill bottles that were sitting on the nightstand beside their bag of food.

He read the instructions on each bottle then opened the oxycodone to dump one out, “Okay, you can have one right now and,” He checked his watch, “One at around seven then another at eleven.”

Hailey frowns, but takes the pill out of his outstretched palm anyway, “I hate the way these make me feel. My head feels fuzzy, and I can’t think clearly.”

Jay gives her a sympathetic smile and offers a simple, “I know” because he does know, but he also knows that if she has any hope of getting rest tonight, she needed to be well medicated.

“Maybe tomorrow we’ll try going all day without pain meds, okay? I just want to make sure you have a good night’s rest tonight since it’s your first night out of the hospital,” He tells her as he shakes out an antibiotic pill and then the iron supplement the doctor had prescribed her with for the next few days to hand to her.

Nodding, she knocks the three pills back and takes a swig of her vitamin water. Meeting his gaze, she reaches out to grab his hand and gives it a tight squeeze, “Thank you, Jay.”

The heavy tension that settles over them is now a familiar one and it’s almost comforting in a way as she tells him with her eyes how grateful she is for him.

After a few moments of silence, she clears her throat and withdraws her hand, turning her attention to the bags of stuff piled on the bed, “So, what’d you get?”

Jay blinks, shaking himself out of the trance they’d just been in as he rifled through the things he’d bought, pulling them out to show Hailey, “Well, I did some research and according to WebMD which was confirmed by my brother, weighted blankets can help with muscle soreness and speed up the recovery process.”

“I also got some ice packs,” He dumps out about a dozen before reaching in yet another bag, “And I picked up some of your favorite movies as well as a couple of pairs of fuzzy socks because I know you didn’t pack any and the hospital socks are terrible.”

The tears that spring to her eyes aren’t unexpected because the fact that he knows and remembers how much she loves wearing fuzzy socks when she’s at home decompressing tells her how much he cares even if he hasn’t really said it out loud yet.

The research, the weighted blanket, the movies, the treats, the socks; it’s slightly overbearing, but it’s sweet and it’s so undeniably him that it makes her heart hurt with the love she has for him.

She gives him a soft smile, “For someone who claims to not know me, he sure does take care of me and brings me all of my favorite things.”

“Well, after four years I would hope to know some things,” Jay smirks at her before moving to put the ice packs in the small fridge/freezer combo they had in the room.

He looks back at her over his shoulder, “But, I somehow missed your Snickers habit and it makes me wonder what else I should probably know, but don’t.”

Rolling her eyes, she watches as Jay moves back over to the bed, going for the food he’d sat on the nightstand.

“You know you’re not exactly an open book,” She points out with a wry smile.

He’s not an open book, it’s true, and even though she’s teasing him about it, she knows him better than anyone. Maybe better than even Will knows him. Maybe better than he even knows himself, and it’s ironic because the way she knows him better than anyone is more so through his actions and not his words.

She knows his heart through his acts of compassion. She knows his mind through his steady emotions. And she knows him because he lets her see the deepest parts of himself, unspoken secrets swimming in his eyes and dark memories whispered over drinks.

She knows the things that matter and the same could be said about the things he knows about her, but now that it’s being brought up, she does wonder if there are any meaningless habits she hasn’t bared witness to.

If her mind goes straight to those of a personal nature such as nighttime routines and shower preferences, then she’d never admit it.

“Well,” He handed her a container of Shrimp Lo Mein, “We’re stuck in this hotel room with basically nothing to do so,” Jay sat down on the bed, facing her with his own container of Chinese, “Let’s play a game.”

Hailey arches a skeptical eyebrow, “A game?”

“Yeah,” Jay nods as he takes a bite of his own Lo Mein, “Like one of those ‘get to know you’ games since we apparently don’t know much about each other.”

She frowns, a little unconvinced at this plan and what it could entail, but she’s curious and the slight woozy feeling she feels from the pain meds makes her ask, “What kind of ‘get to know you’ game? Like truth or dare?”

Smirking, he shakes his head, “No. Although, that could be extremely entertaining.”

“Uh-uh. No way am I drinking a bottle of hot sauce or jumping off the balcony or some other insanely difficult thing that you would think was easy,” She takes a bite of her food, trying to shake back the loose hair that keeps falling into her face, “I just had surgery.”

He’s full-on grinning now, chuckling at her impassioned response, “Nothing like that. I was thinking more along the lines of 21 Questions.”

Hailey tries to take another bite of her food, but her hair gets in the way again. She’s starting to get frustrated at the locks that keep falling into her eyes and mouth, making it hard to eat.

Sticking her chopsticks into the take-out container, she uses the now free hand to push her hair behind her ears as she shrugs, “Alright then. We don’t really have anything better to do other than watch movies and eat takeout anyways.”

The way his eyes sparkle at her answer is worth all the cheesy questions she’s sure he’s going to ask.

He stands up, shoving a used napkin into his now empty takeout container and she’s always amazed at how quickly he can down food when he wants to, “We can alternate asking questions and we don’t have to ask exactly 21 questions. It can be more, or it can be less.”

He throws his trash away and starts cleaning up the bed, moving all of the empty Target bags and the stuff he bought off to one side, “Is there anything off limits?”

She hesitates before saying no, shaking her head because while her natural inclination is to keep everything close to the vest, she knows there is nothing that she wouldn’t share with Jay if he asked her.

He makes her feel safe, and she’s constantly finding herself telling him things that she’d never said out loud before anyway, so she already knows that he will guard her secrets and feelings and thoughts deep in his own heart as if they were his own.

It’s like he knows what she’s thinking because the way he smiles at her is so gentle and the secretive sparkle in his eyes is what tells her that the same goes for him.

“You wanna go first or do you want me to?” Jay cocks his head, looking at her as he tears into the weighted blanket.

“You can go first,” She goes to take another bite of food when her hair falls into her face for what feels like the hundredth time.

She sighs internally, her frustration going unnoticed by Jay who had turned back towards the movies he’d bought, opening each of them as he tells her he has to make this first question a good one.

Pretty quickly after waking up from surgery, Hailey had found putting her hair up in its typical ponytail an almost impossible task because every time she raised her arms to gather her hair up, her stitches would pull, and her ribs protested loudly.

After several failed attempts that left her eyes watering, she ended up having a nurse put it up for her and she continued to ask for it done in the mornings before Jay arrived at the hospital to keep her company.

But now, there was no nurse to gather up her long, annoying hair when it keeps falling in her face and even though she’s stubborn enough to try it, Hailey knows if she pulls on her stitches or possibly breaks one, then she’s going to be paying for it tomorrow all because she wanted to put her hair up herself.

She sighs again, this one audible as she sets her Chinese container on the nightstand, “Jay?”

“Yeah?” He turns to look at her, his brows furrowed in concern.

Hailey bites her lip sheepishly as she snaps the elastic band around her wrist against her skin, “Can you put my hair up?”

He looks surprised for a moment before he smirks at the slight blush dusting her cheeks at having to ask for help with a task this simple, “Of course I can, Hailey.”

She hands him the ponytail holder as he walks over to the side of the bed, “But I will warn you. I’ve never done this before.”

She wants to tease him. Maybe tell him he’d better start practicing now if he ever hopes for a daughter one day, but it feels too on the nose when she wants that daughter to be hers too.

So instead, she smirks at him as he moves behind her to start gathering her hair up in awkward chunks. Hailey glances at him out of the corner of her eye, fake gasping, “Don’t tell me that the brave and noble Detective Jay Halstead, the man who jumps over moving cars and shoots sniper rifles doesn’t know how to put hair up in a ponytail.”

“Oh, shut up,” He grumbles good-naturedly, still trying to smooth her blonde hair into his loosely closed fist on top of her head, “It’s not like I’ve really had the opportunity or need to practice.”

Chuckling, she lets him concentrate on pulling her hair through the elastic and tries not to get lost in the feeling of his fingers in her hair and the warmth radiating off him. Her eyes flutter close and she marvels at how gentle he is even with the strength of his hands, well-conditioned in the act of squeezing a trigger.

And just like when making those shots, the precision in which he does everything is still there as he carefully tightens the elastic, securing her hair into place.

Hot breath hit the back of her now exposed neck and she can’t help but shiver. Before he’s stepping away, she swears she feels his hands brush her skin and she wonders if he’s equally as affected as she was by his closeness.

But before it can turn into anything, he’s smiling and settling back into his spot at the foot of the bed, gesturing to the ponytail he’d just completed, “It’s not as good as you do it, but I think it’ll pass.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Jay. It’s out of my face and it’s not like anyone will see it,” She grins at him as she picks up her food, intending to finish it off now that her hair won’t get in her way.

Jay frowns teasingly, “Hey, and what about me? Am I not someone?”

She smiles softly in amusement, “You’ve seen me in worse states and you’re not just anyone, you know that. You’re my best friend, Jay,” She hesitates because she knows that’s not strictly true. He is her best friend and he’s her partner but he’s also the man she loves, and it would be so easy to let the truth slip out.

Looking at him, she sees something in his eyes that looks like hope or maybe anticipation and she wonders if he thinks she’s going to tell him the one secrete she just can’t seem to get out. Maybe she would have told him if they sat there for a few seconds longer, but his phone buzzes and the moment is gone before it really even began.

Hailey wonders if phones are going to be their downfall.

She thinks she sees disappointment flash across his face, but she blinks and he’s looking at his phone with a serious expression.

“Is everything okay?” Her brow furrows as she watches him type out a quick response and put the device back into his pocket.

He shakes his head, sighing, “That was Kev. The Latin Players are on the verge of waging war against a new up and coming gang called The Jets.”

Interjecting, Hailey raises a brow, “As in West Side Story?”

“Yep,” Jay lets out a wry chuckle, “Anyway, the team flipped someone on The Jets’ side, and it looks like they are possibly willing to play ball so Kev was asking for some background info on my Latin Player connect because Intelligence is going to attempt to negotiate a truce before it can escalate to a full-blown gang war.”

She groans quietly, all too aware of the potential complications and ramifications that come from this type of violence, “That’s just what the city needs. A gang war.”

He huffs in agreement, dropping his head in disgust and she can see the tension in his shoulders. Even eight-hundred miles away, the crime and the innocent people that inevitably gets tangled up in it affects him.

Hailey frowns, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She reaches out a hand to lightly touch his bent knee, “Jay.”

He looks up at her and the empathy she sees in his eyes makes her heart swell in what’s becoming a familiar sensation. Love and pride and admiration and respect for this man she has the privilege to know.

Her eyes soften and she smiles gently at him, an earnest look on her face, “If you need to go home, go home Jay. I’ll be alright here by myself. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

If the situation wasn’t so serious, she might have laughed at the way his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, clearly not expecting those words to come out of her mouth.

Recovering, his eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head adamantly, “No way. They can get along without me. I’m not leaving here without you and I don’t care if you think you can take care of yourself because who’s going to help you change your bandages or make you take your medicine or keep you company?”

He challenges in a slightly playful manner, but the eyebrow he raises dares her to contradict him and she knows he is serious, “Besides, I need to be here if I want to keep my own peace of mind. I don’t work well without you, so I’m not sure how much help I’d be anyway.”

She knows that no matter the circumstance, Jay would always perform above and beyond the call of duty, but she also knows that this is his way of telling her that he needs her and the way he was willing to stay with her in New York makes her heart stutter in yet another way.

Before she can dwell on the feeling any further, he’s smiling again, his eyes crinkling with mischief, “Now back to the game. I think I have the perfect question for you.”

Sorry it ended in a bit of an awkward spot, but I decided to split it into two parts when I hit 10,000 words and I still wasn’t done yet lol so I didn’t know this was going to be the ending of a chapter.

I’d love to hear what you thought and stay tuned for part three!

#upstead #upstead fanfiction #jay and hailey #hailey and jay #onechicago #chicagopd

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darkblueboxs · 3 years

Text

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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aftgandotherbooks · 3 years

Text

Father-Son Bonding

Kevin only knew about his mum from what he heard about Tetsuji telling him (which is almost nothing really) and barely remembers her himself. What’s worse is that he knows nothing about Wymack and his past. A few years after Kevin graduated, he decided to visit his dad for the Christmas holidays. Wymack was a man of habit and still lived in that one room apartment near Palmetto university, which meant that Kevin unfortunately had to sleep on the couch for the week. One night of an especially bad nightmare of Riko, Kevin moved to the kitchen to make coffee since he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep again. Coincidentally it was also around the time Wymack usually wakes up to go out for his morning smoke. After a short and gruff “‘morning” *nod* “‘morning” *nod* exchange, both men headed out to the front porch. It was the long stretches of quiet that Kevin appreciated the most from being around his father. After spending years around people who always had something to gossip or complain about, the comfortable silences he shared with his father were a blessing. After an hour of bliss, Wymack looked over at Kevin and saw deep dark purple bags under his eyes and a surge of concern welled up in his gut. He cleared his throat and nudged his son’s shoulder, asking “couldn’t sleep?” Kevin, transfixed by the quiet morning air jumped at the sound of his father’s voice. “Yeah, um. Nightmare” he muttered, looking down at his hands that were fidgeting with the string of his pyjama pants. Wymack sighed and looked out onto the grass and birds singing their wake-up songs to the rest of the world. He nodded his head and looked back to his son. “That’s one thing that never seems to leave you alone. I had a bad one before you came. I could barely leave my bed for two days.” Wymack huffed. Kevin looked up to his father in shock. He always knew Wymack had a troublesome upbringing, but he never mentioned it. Of course, he knew something must have happened, otherwise the foxes and their reputation of ‘second-chances’ would have never even existed. However, Kevin would have never known his father was still affected by it to this day. As morbid as it sounded, it was comforting knowing that his father was struggling the same as him. Kevin had never asked about his dad’s past. Mostly because Wymack made an active effort to stay out of Kevin’s personal business after he graduated because the other Foxes had a tendency to go too far whenever Riko or the nest were mentioned. Kevin respected the fact that Wymack refused to be like that. But before that morning, Wymack never spoke of his own burdens. He barely spoke about Kevin’s mum, the pain of her absence too painful most of time for Kevin. That’s why Kevin asked “you don’t have to answer me but… what happened? Does it have something to do with mum?” Wymack was quiet for a few minutes. Kevin started to think that his dad would ignore the question altogether. But then with a quiet sigh, Wymack put out his cigarette and turned to face Kevin. “Look kid, I know you’ve been through too much shit in your life, and I wish there was a way that I could have known and stopped it. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I knew you before Riko got his hands on you. The point is, I didn’t want to put more shit on you that you don’t need. But... I guess it’s only fair you know more about me. I am your dad afterall.” Kevin nodded, hearing the solemn tone Kevin was too familiar with. The same tone was used whenever Wymack was faced with another kid with a messed up childhood. Wymack then closed his eyes, breathed slowly and methodically and squeezed his hands into fists for a minute or two. It reminded Kevin of the breathing exercises Betsy taught him when he was plagued with the anxiety attacks that came with his sobriety. With a neutral and emotionless tone, Wymack started speaking. “I was in prison for a year before I met your mother.” Kevin’s face snapped to Wymack’s. He opened his mouth to say something when Wymack held up his finger to shut him up. Wymack continued speaking. “I had just turned 18 and thought it was a good idea to get in a car with my drunk best friend after we left a graduation party one of our other friends held t their house. I only had one drink that night, I didn’t see the point of drinking. My old man was in a shit mood that morning and would have punched and kicked me to hell and back if I came home 10 at night, drunk. I kept going on about how I should drive since I barely had anything to drink, but he was too stubborn and I just wanted to get home early enough. So, my friend ended up driving, and we were blasting music, all that typical stuff teens do when they’re young and too stupid to care. It only took a second of us not paying attention that a kid crossed the road to fetch a ball. What sane kid plays with a ball at ten at night?” Wymack rolled his eyes. “anyway, I saw the kid before my friend did and grabbed the wheel to swerve it to the opposite side the kid was on. It just so happened that the car swerved too far and the road was still slippery from the storm we had a few hours before. And can I just say kid, the moment the car swerved and smashed into the light pole I knew we were screwed.” Kevin’s eyes were starting to water. It wasn’t at all what he was expecting. His father went to prison? “My friend, Alex, he died on impact. He was on the side the pole smashed into. I only got away with a bruised right leg, a broken arm and severe whiplash. The kid was fine. It was actually his mom that called an ambulance for us. When I told the cops what happened, they said that even though I saved the kid, what I did was technically manslaughter. That’s why I was sent to prison. My sentence was way shorter though ‘cause I barely had alcohol in my system, and Alex was way over the limit, so he was at fault for the reckless driving. Plus, the fact that my intentions were to save the kid, not to kill-” Wymack took a shuddering breath. “Not to kill Alex.” Kevin grabbed his dads tight fist and squeezed it. “Dad, you don’t have to keep going”. Kevin said, he could see his father’s defences slowly crumbling. But Wymack, the stubborn and persistent old man he was, shook his head and kept going. “Prison was… prison. Not a fun place, and there were things that I would rather never think or talk about. And when I got out of prison, I had nowhere to go. My old man used my sentence as an excuse to stop speaking to me again. Useless pig he was probably celebrated the day I left. My mom, well she’s been dead since I was 13, breast cancer. I’ve always wondered what she would have done about it all. So, I had nowhere to go, and no one to run to. I was working at a run-down diner because that was the only place that would take in a fresh out of prison convict. It was just a few yards off from where your mom lived. Her and Tetsuji would meet up every Saturday at my diner to grab lunch and work on the specifics of how Exy should be played. I always tried to be the one who would serve her, and then we traded numbers and started talking. We got real close for a few years until she asked me to join her first trial team for Exy. She’s the one who got me a job at Palmetto when I told her I wanted to expand the sport to other universities. She gave me the chance to move forward in my life when no one else would.” Wymack opened his eyes and looked at Kevin again. “She reminds me so much of you kid. Every time I look at you I see her commitment and passion.” Kevin looked down to their hands again, and smiled a watery smile. “Thanks dad. All I ever wanted to do was make her proud of me.” Wymack huffed again and said “I’m sure she is… I know cause I sure am.”

A.N: I have no idea how the criminal system works. Nor do I know how long, or even if Wymack would have been charged. I also haven’t read the books since last year so my knowledge of Wymack’s history is limited to other fanfics, so if I got anything wrong, I’m sorry. This is just my interpretation of how Wymack’s character and his personality were formed :)

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg headcanon #aftg headcannons #aftg headcanons #david wymack #coach wymack #Wymack #kevin day #kevin & wymack #bonding #riko moriyama #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxes #taans headcannons

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Danger: Onyx |1| - JUYEON

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.1k

Lesson 6: when all seems lost, do not falter. Just because it seems hopeless does not mean it is.

Previous: Ruby >> Onyx: Part 1 | Part 2 >> Next: Crown

TBZ Masterlist | Danger | Kingdom

[ Send a dm or an ask to be added to the taglist! ]

The meeting room is abnormally quiet when Somin enters. It could be due to the newly empty seat on the right side of the long table, but not even a whisper hangs on the lips of the remaining mages.

Somin’s mouth doesn’t even curl at their submission. As much as she would like not to show it, the failures of the man who used to sit on that empty seat affected her. Not because she felt particularly fond of him – though she will admit she was sad to see High Mage Jung’s disgrace and demotion, or simply Mage Jung now �� but because it left her with a one less competent head at her table.

At the head of the room, she turns, eyes roving over the heads bowed in respect (or is it fear? Pawns and kings, does it even matter?). Her lips curl, but not in joy. In disgust.

One gave her a plan that fell to pieces. Another let a powerful Onyx mage escape from his clutches. Three more on three separate occasions were unable to track and capture the thieves running around and stealing her jewels, with one of them lacking the wits to save her compatriot from the knife of that dratted prince. And when Somin finds out who let it slip that the ruby was to be held at the gray mage’s shrine…

The loss of one semi-intelligent mind means much in this room full of bumbling idiots.

Somin takes a deep breath. High Mage Jung was not infallible either. He failed to anticipate the revolt of the prisoners entrusted under his care, failed to prevent the theft of one of the last three jewels. All because he was sleeping.

She allows a slight smirk to cross her lips. His mistakes will not go unpunished, at least. One of his daughters already awaits retribution for her father under this very palace.

“Sit,” Somin says, purposely embedding the single word with ice.

Everyone sits. Somin does, too, smoothing her full skirts under the table as she tries to hide hands that shake with anger. “It has come to my attention,” she snarls, voice dripping acid, “that this is a room full of failures.”

Several mages flinch. The others remain still, even Lee Minho, who stares at the wooden surface in front of him as though it will give him the answers to the world.

At least Somin can count on his silence, now. Much better than his inability to shut up from before.

“You are lucky that I have a brain as well,” she hisses. “I do wonder what they teach you as mages, if not a single one of you could put together a plan that would not fail on every single level. Even without your specialized training, between dividing my troops and evading Onyx attack, I was able to come up with a plan to lure that insufferable band of jewel thieves into the open.”

Silence.

Somin tuts. “None of you will ask your queen what she intends to do?”

Bom clears her throat quietly. Her stomach wound has long healed, but she still hunches over the table like it never went away. “What is your plan, Your Majesty?”

Such a good puppet. Somin almost wants to pat her head, despite the fact that the mage is at least ten years her senior. This is why Bom sits at her table. It is a table meant for those more powerful than she, but Somin needs someone blindly loyal to her cause to remain close by, no matter how dull-witted.

“We are winning the war,” she starts, allowing a slight smile to curve her lips. “This gives me leave to bring some of our generals back to the capital for, ah, a respite of sorts. I’m sure many are eager to pledge themselves to the new queen and her king, just as all of you were.”

Mouths tighten. Faces whiten. Somin represses a smirk. A gentle reminder of what she holds over their heads never hurts. “I will host a competition of dual blades,” she announces. “It is an art widely practiced among the noble and royal classes, even in some of the common pawn circles. Anyone will be free to join, and the winner will receive the onyx stone as a gift. Spoils of war.” Her smile widens. “Who could resist?”

Minho’s eyes shift from the table to her. “You believe the Onyx prince will fall for this obvious trap?”

Somin returns his gaze. “You believe he won’t?” She laughs. “The prince needs this stone. Even if he has the other four, he has no way of completing the crown unless he somehow takes this one too. He may realize it is a trap, but what other choice does he have?”

Mage Choi Jinhee, at the end of the table, raises her head. “Will you use the real stone?”

A sigh leaves Somin’s lips. Does she really need to spell everything out for them? “No,” she snaps. Her gaze turns to a certain cat-eyed mage, whose mouth thins into a line. “The real stone will be left with the crown in a place no one can access but I.” She sneers. “Need I remind you of what happened last time I listened to such foolish advice?”

Jinhee falls silent, but Minho opens his mouth. Somin curses internally. “The prince is of the Onyx bloodline,” he says, bravely (or foolishly – she’s more inclined to believe that) meeting her stare. “He will sense whether or not the jewel is real. And if it is true that a mage travels with them –”

“Which is why it will only be revealed on the last day of competition, when the winner has fought their way to the finish,” she cuts him off. “No one will see it before then, so no one will know it is fake. The prince will fight until that day, at which point he will be arrested in front of all spectators so they can see just who has managed to trespass into our kingdom during a time of war.”

“How are you so sure the prince will make it to the last day?” Minho challenges.

Somin actually laughs at that. “Have you ever watched the Onyx prince at swordplay?”

A shake of the head. Somin’s smile turns into a smirk. “I have.” She leans forward, staring Minho in the eye. “When I tell you he is skilled, I do not lie. He was taught by Wang throughout his adolescence, and he specialized in it when he underwent his knight training.” Her smirk deepens. “I will not make the mistake of underestimating him.”

Minho’s lips twitch. Somin can’t tell if it’s a result of annoyance or a smirk, and that frustrates her. “It is sometimes just as crucial not to overestimate an opponent, Your Majesty.”

Somin scoffs. “I do not overestimate him,” she snaps. “If he loses early on, we will only arrest him earlier. Perhaps it will not draw the crowds I would have liked, but as long as he is executed the next day and leaves the Onyx Kingdom without an heir to the king’s crown, it does not matter.”

No one argues with that. Silence falls over the room once more.

A smirk creeps up Somin’s lips, and this time, she allows it to show. “Now, then.” She leans forward. “Who will be tasked with creating the fake?”

. . . . .

Juyeon isn’t stupid. A contest in swordplay offering the last crown jewel as the winner’s prize can’t be anything but an obvious trap.

Personally, he feels slightly offended. Does Somin really think he’s that dumb? He might not be Jisoo with her mind for battle tactics and foreign affairs, but Juyeon has a brain that he often utilizes well, despite what Kevin sometimes likes to say.

(No matter what the amethyst heir says, Juyeon will maintain that cutting himself on a rose bush is far less stupid than setting an entire hill on fire. At least his wounds were healed. As far as he knows, half of that hill is still blackened.)

But the longer he looks at the poster Jacob brought back from the town square, the more it becomes obvious just how well-wrought this trap is. It may be obvious, yes, but more likely than not, Somin’s accounted for this. She has rarely been one to underestimate her enemies, after all. Which means that she expects him to come, knowing it’s a ploy to catch him.

Juyeon swears, throwing the poster to the ground. Of course he’ll come. Of course he will. He may have four of the crown jewels, but he needs the last one. The other four mean nothing if he can’t complete the crown.

So he has to join this contest.

He looks at Jacob and Kevin, both of whom stare at the piece of paper on the dusty ground with similarly grim expressions. Looking at them, a familiar sensation of unease grows in his mind, a tingling suspicion that someone is missing.

Which is impossible. Yes, Sunwoo left a hole in the group that can’t be filled, not even by Jacob, but this feeling is something different from the grief that still grips his heart every time he remembers the death. And then he inevitably remembers knives ripping through flesh, blood pooling on the ground, watching the life drain out of Mage Han’s eyes next to Sunwoo’s already blank expression –

Enough. Juyeon pulls himself out of his thoughts before he can spiral. This feeling isn’t the same as that of Sunwoo’s absence. It’s more like someone or multiple people are supposed to be here, helping him, which makes no sense. Hwanwoong and the others never could have stayed, and Juyeon certainly wasn’t going to drag High Mage Jung along. Jacob might really have committed murder then.

So no one can be missing. No one.

But ever since Juyeon woke up, thorn wounds completely healed after a dream of ruby roses and pain, he knows someone is. And he’s pretty sure he knows who – the shade who healed him, whose face he almost saw but didn’t because his body decided to wake up right then and there.

Which doesn’t make any castles-damned sense.

“Someone has to go.” Kevin’s voice breaks Juyeon out of his thoughts, brings him back to the present problems that have nothing to do with unnamed shades and roses. “And Juyeon’s the best at swordplay. Especially dual blades.”

Juyeon winces. It’s true, he can handle a sword and a dagger extremely well. He just much prefers the stability of a single one.

Besides, dual blades are an Ivory citizen’s weapon of choice. Normally this wouldn’t pose problems – royalty of both kingdoms, especially those who take the knight’s oath, often learn to wield multiple types of weapons – but even wearing white makes Juyeon want to crawl out of his skin, now. Using an Ivory weapon instead of his own?

A grimace crosses his face that he can’t shove away.

“It could be a fake,” Jacob interjects. “In fact, it probably is – why would Somin use the real stone, especially when we already have the other four?”

“Even if it’s a fake, we could get something from it,” Kevin argues. “Traces of magic, maybe. A mage would have had to create it, so couldn’t we track the traces again?”

Jacob frowns. “That took so long last time, though.” He sighs. “I’m not saying we have other choices. But if we could figure out something else…?”

Juyeon shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s another option.” His mouth thins as he presses his lips together. “She wants me to come, that much is obvious. Somin watched me practice when she used to visit the kingdom. She’ll expect me to get to the end of the contest, even against other highly-trained soldiers and generals.”

“You could just be being pig-headed and arrogant,” Kevin says, lips raised in a teasing half-smile. “What if she doesn’t actually think you’ll make it, huh? You have that much faith in your abilities?”

“You –” Juyeon punches Kevin in the arm, unable to force back the smile growing on his face. “You’re one to talk. Didn’t Wang call you one of the most pathetic students he’d ever had?”

Kevin sniffs. “I throw knives better than you ever will.”

“Are you two done puffing your chests around?” Jacob interrupts, cutting Juyeon off from arguing further (which he really couldn’t, anyway – Kevin has the best aim of anyone he’s ever met). He’s smiling too, though, and a wave of gratitude washes over Juyeon at Kevin’s ability to lighten up the mood. But the smile slowly disappears as he opens his mouth again. “Juyeon, if you’re going to do this, you can’t show up with your face on display. Attending the contest is bad enough, but parading around in the open is even worse.”

“Dust masks.” Juyeon turns to Kevin. “Can you make something that’ll hide my face well enough?”

He nods. “Just give me a day, I’ll have it ready. In the meantime, you need to somehow find a pair of dual blades to practice with.”

Well, that’s an issue. Juyeon’s just about to frown when Jacob points to a few lines on the poster he hadn’t read yet. “Blades will be provided so no contestant has an unfair advantage.”

Relief, then anxiety fill Juyeon’s chest. “Which means I’ll have to make another appearance to sign up for this and pick out my size.”

Kevin’s lips thin. “Show up first while wearing the mask. It’s all you can do.”

“And if someone asks?”

“Then say the roads are too dusty.” Jacob coughs. “Which they are.”

It’s a bad plan, not well thought out and far from foolproof, but if worst comes to worst, Juyeon has long legs and knows the capital well enough to get around and maybe hide.

“Well.” Juyeon sighs. “Anything’s better than setting a hill on fire.”

“Queens,” Jacob mutters. “We really need to stop using that as a baseline to judge our bad plans.”

. . . . .

Kevin follows Juyeon to competition registration. It isn’t too hard to stay inconspicuous among the masks most people are wearing, but Kevin keeps his head lowered and gaze alert all the same. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch them before Juyeon even enters his first swordfight.

But it’s hard when dust keeps flying into his face with every step he takes. Even when he deliberately tries to place his foot down with as little force as possible, it floats into the air with a deceptive grace that itches his nose and makes tears spring in his eyes.

Queens, it was never this bad all the other times Kevin visited, and he’s traveled here a lot over the past few years. Under the previous queen, the roads, though still dusty – it’s inevitable, especially in the dryer months – were much cleaner.

It’s not just that. Even here, in the square, the usual bustle of chatter and cheer sounds so much more subdued than he remembers. When he was younger, he and Changmin and Juyeon would come here on their visits to wreak as much havoc as their tiny bodies could handle. They’d get caught, eventually, but people were always up for a joke or a prank.

Now, though there’s still noise, the level is nowhere near where it used to be. Everyone’s face looks drawn, taut, a little wary, even, as they exchange coins and goods.

An unpleasant tingle runs down Kevin’s back. The current queen is probably too focused on the war at hand to care for her citizens. A scowl crosses his face as he thinks of Somin sitting high and mighty in her palace or wherever she is, directing people to do the dirty work for her.

One of his angry feet kicks a cloud of dust into the air. Kevin starts coughing again. Pawns and kings, it couldn’t get much worse than this, could it?

Just ahead, Juyeon approaches a large white building. Kevin stops where he is, standing idly by a small store as Juyeon flashes him a look that he returns. He disappears into the doors.

Now all there is to do is wait.

Heart in his throat, Kevin does his best to look casual as he lingers in the town square, vaguely gazing at several of the stalls as he tries not to catch anyone’s attention. No meeting eyes, no staring, no looking interested –

“Excuse me?”

Castling queens.

Kevin braces himself, expecting some random Ivory citizen to maybe ask him why he’s loitering around without buying anything. An excuse pops readily onto his tongue as he turns, a slight, wary smile on his face to mimic those of the others prattling around the square –

In the name of the Board and all that is holy –

It takes all of Kevin’s effort not to widen his eyes, not to curse, not to show anything in the face of Lee Jaehyun, a boy he once used to know, a boy he used to play around with on his visits to the Ivory Kingdom. As they grew older and took on different duties, they saw each other less – in fact, the last time they talked was probably a couple years ago – but there’s no mistaking it. This is Lee Jaehyun, the youngest general of the ivory army, knighted when he was just sixteen.

Juyeon himself wasn’t knighted until seventeen, and he’s one of the best fighters Kevin knows. If Jaehyun is here…

Smile. Breathe. Change your voice. Kevin prays the disinterested expression on his face from before hasn’t left as he looks at Jaehyun with veiled curiosity, heart pounding. Thank all the higher orders that he’s wearing a mask. “Yes?”

“You just seemed a little lost.” Jaehyun smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Is it just Kevin’s paranoia, or does he look suspicious? “I wondered if you needed directions somewhere.”

A brief laugh forces itself out of Kevin’s throat, stilted and deep and nothing like his normal snorts and giggles. Good – even less chance of Jaehyun recognizing him. “I don’t, but thank you.” He jerks his head toward the registration building. “Just waiting for a friend.”

Jaehyun nods. “Not signing up yourself, then?”

“Oh, no.” This time, Kevin doesn’t need to lie. “I don’t have the skill to compete against generals of the kingdom.” He cocks his head, feigning interest. “Are you?”

The smile on Jaehyun’s unmasked face tightens, but he nods. “Yes, I am.” He laughs, short and forced. “Who wouldn’t want the glory?”

“Glory,” Kevin repeats, trying to decipher the unreadable look Jaehyun wears. “Is that what matters, then?”

His tone must have been more accusatory than he meant, because Jaehyun’s eyes narrow slightly. Kevin curses internally, about to backtrack, but Jaehyun has already opened his mouth to speak again. “To some,” he says, pose deceivingly relaxed. “Why? What do you think matters more?”

Kevin’s heart is ready to pound out of his chest with anxiety. Sweat beads on his forehead and under his ivory dust mask as his mind races for a neutral answer. Jaehyun just waits, face impassive.

“Care,” he finally replies. “If I had someone under my care, I would put them before anything else, even glory.”

It’s true. He doesn’t need to lie about how he feels about Jacob. About Juyeon.

About Sunwoo.

Pain stabs his chest, pain that he does his best not to show as Jaehyun nods appraisingly. “I agree,” he says, surprisingly. “We are lucky to have a king who cares for us in the way you describe.”

Kevin tries not to raise his eyebrows too high at Jaehyun’s choice of words. King. Not queen.

Does this mean Jaehyun doesn’t care for the queen, either?

It could be. Jaehyun never exactly wanted to play with Somin when they were kids, even though he regularly got into shenanigans with the former queen. Even though she’s ascended the throne, it’s possible that the feelings remained.

With that, it crosses Kevin’s mind to reveal himself and enlist Jaehyun as an ally. But there’s too much to risk with that. They’re so close to completing the crown, so close – they can’t afford a single mistake. Besides, Kevin only has guesses to go by. He doesn’t know anything concrete about Jaehyun that’s recent enough to mean anything.

And also, Juyeon’s just exited the building, two new blades in hand. There’s no time.

“There seems to be a line forming,” Kevin remarks idly. “You should probably take your place before you’re here all morning.”

Jaehyun glances back, almost uninterested, before nodding. “Probably.” He sighs. “Well, it was nice meeting you…”

Queens. Kevin needs to think of a name. “Jihoon,” he spits out, wincing internally at how similar it is to Juyeon’s fake name (seriously, Jiyoon and Jihoon? Come on, Kevin), but it’s too late to retract it because Jaehyun’s already nodding.

“Jihoon.” Jaehyun smiles. “I’m Jaehyun.”

I know.

Kevin doesn’t say that, though, just returns the nod. “Good luck, Jaehyun.”

He means it. Because though Jaehyun might be good, Juyeon has skill, too. And he has something else that Jaehyun doesn’t.

Desperation.

And as horrible a feeling it is to have, Kevin knows with a grim certainty that Juyeon’s going to need to channel as much of it as he can.

. . . . .

When Juyeon learns the Lee Jaehyun is going to be competing in this tournament, he almost wants to give up right then and there. He may be good, but Jaehyun is a prodigy. There’s a reason why he was knighted so early and rose through the army ranks so quickly. His participation basically cuts Juyeon’s chances of winning in half.

Never mind that his chances already weren’t very high.

And then there’s the fact that Jaehyun spoke with Kevin, singled him out of an entire town square as someone to talk to. Though Kevin says he’s pretty sure Jaehyun didn’t recognize him or he probably would’ve said something, Juyeon can’t shake it off that easily. Jaehyun’s smart. He isn’t a general for nothing. If he talked to Kevin, he suspected something. Why else would he give up his position in line for a chat?

A cursory scan of the day’s duels brings Juyeon slight relief. He isn’t fighting against Jaehyun – in fact, he’s in a completely different bracket – which means that he might just make it to the last day if no one catches him. Might.

And then he’ll have to fight Jaehyun, or whoever managed to beat Jaehyun. Though to be honest, if there’s someone else at the top, Juyeon might back out right then and there. Jaehyun is that good.

But if it’s Jaehyun he ends up fighting, there’s a much higher chance of recognition. Which is also not good.

Taking a shaky breath, Juyeon readjusts the dust mask covering his face, trying to drown out the noises of the growing crowd as he steps into the arena. Kevin’s talented fingers have come into play again for the simple piece of cloth, sewing it tight enough around his mouth and nose that it won’t come loose while giving him enough air to breathe. If no one looks too closely, they won’t root him out.

Hopefully.

Juyeon breathes in. Breathes out. Dust swirls around his feet as he walks forward to meet his opponent. Already he’s forgotten the name – it wasn’t anybody he recognized, he remembers that much – and from the stuttering gaze on the boy’s face, he gathers that it won’t be too difficult to beat him this round.

He’s right. The boy – whatever his name is – has some skill but not enough, not the type that Juyeon’s honed over years of training in multiple forms of swordplay. Within minutes, he disarms his opponent, two blades thudding to the dusty ground, and his sword rises to rest against his throat.

Cheers rise as Juyeon lowers his arm, accepting the boy’s hand in a firm shake. Vaguely, he hears his fake name being announced as the winner, but already he’s slipping into one of the tents, exiting as fast as he can, then disappearing into the crowd, unnoticed.

He doesn’t find Kevin or Jacob. They said they’d be here but didn’t tell Juyeon where for fear of accidentally giving them away with a stray glance. Instead, he finds a relatively empty space at the junction between two streets, sits down, and closes his eyes to rest.

The afternoon passes in the same manner, then the next day. Juyeon almost loses his fourth set – he doesn’t recognize the move his opponent uses and it throws him off-kilter when he loses his dagger – but in the end, he manages to flip both blades out of the other’s hand with a wild sweep of his sword that sends the audience into a frenzy. Stonily, he ignores his opponent’s glare and the way she tries to crush his hand with her grip, though his heart pounds for hours after.

Two days gone. One day left.

The third afternoon, Kevin sends him off with a face whiter than usual, fingers trembling at his sides. Jacob doesn’t look much better, huddled into his red cloak as he wishes Juyeon luck. Both put on a brave face, trying to smile as Juyeon slides the blades into his belt, but their worry is obvious.

He can’t blame them. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. Because today, Juyeon’s going to be in the most danger he’s been throughout his two short weeks in the capital.

The crowds will be bigger than ever. There’s a far smaller chance of Kevin and Jacob being able to whisk him out of a tight situation. Somin herself will preside over the final duel as he fights beneath her throne. Well, not her throne because that’s a huge piece of white marble and ivory that can’t easily be carried out of the palace, but she’ll be there.

And to top things off…

A familiar figure stands in the center of the arena, blades already drawn. Even from this distance, confidence radiates from his body, from the slight smile on his face and the easy way he holds his weapons.

Juyeon swallows.

He’s fighting Lee Jaehyun.

. . . . .

Anxiety can’t even begin to cover how Jacob feels as he watches Juyeon enter the arena. Shouts, alternate cheers and boos, follow his footsteps forward into the center of the large, dusty plain.

Jacob doesn’t join in. Neither does Kevin. They only watch silently from a far edge of the crowds, fists clenched so tightly that his nails start biting crescents into his palms.

Pawns and kings. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. If he feels this anxious, how must Juyeon feel, standing under watch of his biggest enemy, facing one of the best (or possibly the best) swordsmen in the two kingdoms, knowing there’s a very sizable chance that someone will either root him out or he’ll simply lose?

Juyeon doesn’t seem to show any worry or anxiety as he tosses his sheaths away, but maybe that’s just because Jacob is so far away. He wishes he was closer, but in the event of things gone awry, he and Kevin need to be able to escape as fast as possible.

If he was alone, standing closer might be an option. He doesn’t need a door just to shift on his own. But with Kevin here, he does.

And he can’t exactly create a door in the middle of a crowd.

A horn sounds. Jacob’s head jerks up.

Kevin’s hand finds his as the first crash of metal rings through the air.

They fight fast. All Jacob can see are flashes of silver, the afternoon sun glinting off the blades and nearly blinding him several times. Two blurred figures weave in and out of each other, barely distinguishable from this far away, and try as Jacob might to pay attention, sometimes he loses sight of Juyeon’s dark hair in the clouds of dust that whirl up from their feet.

Blades clash. Cheers sound. Jacob can barely hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears, can barely feel a thing besides Kevin’s hand clenching his in a death grip. Vaguely, as Jaehyun nearly lands a hit on Juyeon, who just manages to spin away, Jacob wonders if his blood will still be circulating in his fingers by the time this match is over.

One strike blocked, a feint parried, another slash dodged. The duel drags on and on – Kevin mutters something about sundown coming before it’s over and Jacob almost laughs, hysterical and wild with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins – and then –

Juyeon knocks the sword out of Jaehyun’s hand, sending it flying high into the air.

A scream builds in Jacob’s throat as Kevin lets out a pained wheeze. Maybe, just maybe, Jacob thinks, Juyeon has a chance to win this. Castling queens, he needs to –

But Jaehyun catches the blade.

He catches it.

Jacob nearly falls over entirely as the general resumes the fight, barely looking like he’s broken a sweat. Juyeon stumbles and Jacob almost releases his previous scream. He manages to regain his balance, though Jacob can tell even from here that Juyeon’s shaken.

Who wouldn’t be, after all? No one could blame Juyeon after that sort of stunt.

But he can’t afford to be shaken. He needs to move, to fight, to win this for the stupid onyx stone that’s probably a fake anyway because they need all the information they can get, even if it means putting the Onyx prince himself in a direct line of danger –

The dagger falls out of Juyeon’s hand. Jaehyun kicks it, sending the blade skittering across the arena.

Kevin’s nails begin cutting into Jacob’s skin.

Juyeon continues the fight. He’s already fought and won against another girl who managed to disarm his dagger hand, Jacob knows, so there’s a chance, a tiny chance that he could still make this. As sweat stings his open eyes, he prays, he prays to every higher order of the two kingdoms, pawns and kings, please let Juyeon win this –

But Jaehyun isn’t the girl from before. And with the first trip, the first tiny stumble over a stone or a rut in the ground, the general flips the sword out of Juyeon’s hand. It falls to the ground in a cloud of dust.

The tip of a blade inserts itself under Juyeon’s chin.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for juyeon he needs it)

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Critters: The Making of a Comedy Horror Cult Classic

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Rupert Harvey knew he was on to something with Critters after one memorable test screening. Specifically, it was the scene where the Critters, who had already been terrorizing the Brown family, were standing on the doorstep of the family’s home talking in their guttural language with subtitles translating for the audience…until one of them is blown to gooey bits by a shotgun blast (wielded by none other than E.T. mom Dee Wallace), and the other lets out a subtitled “Fuck.”

“It totally destroyed the audience,” Harvey recalls. “They just howled. We lost the next scene because they were laughing so hard and I thought: ‘Okay, this is probably going to work.’”

It had already taken a lot of work for Critters to get this far.

Bringing Critters to Life

Released on April 11, 1986, the horror comedy about a small town and farm-dwelling family under attack from little furry space aliens with a taste for human flesh was unfairly dismissed by some as a Gremlins knock-off.

But that did a disservice to the unique tone of Critters; a sci-fi comedy featuring belly laughs alongside genuine moments of terror. A film that owed as much to 1950s sci-fi B-movies as it did anything else, with its tale of picturesque Americana under attack from aliens.

It also overlooks the film’s quirkier narrative aspect like the pair of shapeshifting alien bounty hunters who arrive on Earth to hunt the Critters down, with one of them assuming the form of a popular Jon Bon Jovi-esque rock musician.

This surreal sci-fi tone, coupled with the copious violence, occasional bad language, and general unpredictability of it all helped give Critters the feel of a rebellious younger brother to the more mature Gremlins.

To many, it was the cooler, edgier movie and one that boasted underlying themes that remain universal to this day.

More importantly, the accusation of imitation was incorrect. If the two films were related, it wasn’t by design with screenwriter Brian Dominic Muir first writing the script for Critters back in 1982, two years before Joe Dante’s film hit cinemas.

“I don’t think I saw Gremlins until we were in post-production,” Harvey, who produced Critters and worked on two of its three original sequels, tells Den of Geek. “It was certainly not something we were thinking about very much at the time, if at all.

We were dealing with very different creatures and the fact that they were so different in concept meant I wasn’t terribly bothered by it. Gremlins were these mythical, earthbound, magical beings whereas Critters were extraterrestrial. People who say there are similarities are just influenced by the fact Gremlins was such a huge success, but it was a much bigger budget movie.”

Muir’s script didn’t see the light of day for nearly three years before he showed it to friend and fellow budding filmmaker Stephen Herek who developed it further. That was where Harvey came in.

The three men met while working on Android, a distinctive low budget sci-fi film Harvey was producing alongside independent movie trailblazer Roger Corman.

“Brian gave me Critters to read and l loved it,” Harvey recalls. “It was an archetypal American story about foreigners invading the homeland. It’s quite prescient given the current state of politics in America. There was this quintessentially American setup with this almost pioneering family struggling through adversity to come out the other side.”

35 years on, that notion of protecting the homeland is one Harvey feels is reflected in the inward-looking politics increasingly prominent in America and the UK today. That sentiment was already bubbling under the surface when Critters came out in the Reagan-era of the 1980s.

“It was novel to look at that then through the lens of Critters,” he says. “No one was seeing the film in those terms but that human fear of outsiders coming in has always been there and has been a fundamental part of cinema and drama since forever.”

Harvey agreed to develop the film under his production company, Sho Films. Though he mulled over an offer to produce a low budget version of Critters with Corman, everything changed when Bob Shaye and New Line Cinema came calling.

Writing Critters

“New Line was really a mom-and-pop operation at that point. They hadn’t made A Nightmare on Elm Street yet. They weren’t the New Line of today, but Bob offered to double our budget, so I did the deal.”

Even so, Shaye took some convincing on the choice of director.

Herek would go on to helm Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, and a string of big budget Disney movies in the years that followed but had never directed prior to Critters, having previously worked as an editor.

“Stephen, to his credit, even though he had no leverage other than a script we wanted to make, absolutely insisted that nobody would direct it but him and if he didn’t it wouldn’t get made,” Harvey says. “He stuck to his guns and there was never any shift in that position on Brian’s side. I had to convince Bob on several occasions to go ahead with us and, even during production, to actually stick with Steve. But we were all very glad that he did.”

On the writing side, Harvey enlisted Sho Films’ in-house writer Don Opper. A fellow Roger Corman acolyte, Opper had written and starred in Android where he also worked with Herek and Muir.

He was seen as the ideal candidate to work alongside Herek after Muir became unwell.

“Brian, unfortunately, became quite ill not long after we started making Critters,” Harvey says.

Muir was reportedly battling Hodgkin’s disease at the time. Though he recovered, the writer, who often wrote under the pseudonym August White for Full Moon Entertainment later in his career, sadly died from cancer aged 48 in 2010.

“He was a very sweet, nice man,” Harvey recalls. “In Brian’s absence, Don worked with Stephen on polishing the script. One of the ways was to enhance the family and their relationships.”

By then the distinctive looking Opper had also been cast in the pivotal role of Charlie McFadden, the town drunk and a conspiracy theorist convinced the fillings in his teeth are picking up signals from outer space.

Like a cross between Randy Quaid’s deranged pilot from Independence Day and Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade, Charlie would eventually emerge as a fan favorite, appearing in each of the three Critters sequels.

He was one of several quirky locals introduced early on in Critters with much of the first third of the film dedicated to establishing the Brown family, their farm, and the characters of the fictional Kansas town of Grover’s Bend where the Critters land.

In one picture postcard scene of the perfect nuclear family, the Browns gather round the breakfast table in a primary colored kitchen, blissfully unaware of the approaching danger and disruption to follow.

That slow build-up may be less commonplace today, but it’s something Harvey believes was crucial to the success of the film.

“That was one of the things that appealed to me about the script,” he says. “If you set that up properly and the audience is in there with you. They gain an understanding of the family dynamic right away and they are engaged. It helps you then feel for each one of them subsequently…The rules are the same, and they have been since the first Greek dramas; storytelling is still about humans and the human condition. Just making stuff about what the monsters are doing has no appeal.”

Critters came during a time when horror comedies were commonplace in multiplexes.

“Studios started to notice in test screenings that the audience response was often bigger when you capped a scare or moment of high tension with a bit of wit or humor,” Harvey explains.

Post-screening surveys bore this out; using humor to emphasize or punctuate a terrifying moment drew a bigger response from the audience. Regardless of the visceral impact of the scare itself. It made it more memorable to viewers.

The Cast of Critters

It helped that Critters boasted an impressive cast to bring the script to life.

Blade Runner’s M. Emmet Walsh appeared as the grouchy local sheriff while Dee Wallace, who had starred in E.T. only a few years earlier, was also convinced to sign on as the Brown family matriarch Helen. Billy “Green” Bush was cast as the hardworking man of the house Jay Brown with Nadine van der Velde as his high school teen daughter April.

Despite some impressive names, Harvey ranks the casting of future Party of Five and ER star Scott Grimes in the role of mischievous central teenage protagonist Brad Brown as the most significant. It’s Scott who first discovers the Critters and Scott that begins to fight back against them using his slingshot and potent firecrackers coming off like a hellish Kevin McCallister from Home Alone.

“Scott was tailor-made for the role,” Harvey says. “He was at the center of the craziness and he had the audience’s sympathy and support because no one was paying attention to him.”

For all the acting talent on display, however, much of the movie’s success rested on the tiny shoulders of a few hedgehog-like puppets.

“The biggest challenge was making the Critters appear to be a viable threat as the antagonists,” Harvey says. “We were really fortunate that we found the Chiodo Brothers.”

A trio of siblings who specialized in stop motion and animatronic work, the Chiodos were relative newcomers to the movie business and would go on to projects like Elf and Team America: World Police.

“We knew from the script we were dealing with a fur ball that got around fast by rolling around and was all teeth and voracious,” Harvey says. “That was the extent of the design parameters. They came up with the drawings and the details as to how they would work.”

Harvey cites the Critters’ distinctive, almost limbless design as both a blessing and a curse.

“From a construction and manipulation point of view, they were relatively straightforward,” he says. “But from an action perspective, there was not a lot you could do with them.”

While other projects, like New Line’s later Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies, would struggle with glitchy animatronics, there were no such problems with the Chiodos’ creations with each running impressively well thanks to a crack team behind the scenes.

“Even though the Critters were fairly simple creatures, there were times for some of those shots, when we had 10 guys running different cables and things to them to get them right,” Harvey recalls. “They had eye movement, mouth movement, lip movement even their little arms and legs move because these things needed to look as believable as possible. But it was still tough to make these things that rolled around something scary and frightening rather than cute and laughable.”

That was where Billy Zane came in. A good horror villain needs a good victim. Cast in the role of April’s unsuspecting boyfriend Steve Eliot, the then unknown Zane ended up falling afoul of the Critters in arguably the film’s standout gory death after encountering the furry fiends while enjoying a makeout session in the family’s barn.

“It was the first thing he’d ever done. I think he’d arrived in L.A. a week before,” Harvey says, recalling how uncomfortably hot that barn scene was for everyone involved. “It was 100 degrees in the barn. He had little furry creatures stuck to his stomach and was covered in fake blood. It was so hot and sticky. We stayed there for the whole day, getting all the inserts and various other bits and pieces to make the scene…But that setup in the claustrophobic space of the barn helped to make the scene much scarier because we could set it up in a kind of way that made the punchline, the payoff, much more visceral.”

The Bounty Hunters

For all the machinations of the Critters themselves, it’s their pursuers from outer space, the two faceless bounty hunters, who almost steal the show.

Especially after one decides to take the form of fictional hair metal superstar Johnny Steele, the singer of “Power of the Night” a song so pitch-perfectly cheesy, you had to wonder if Steele is a real artist rather than musical theater actor Terrence Mann.

“I went to see Terrence who was appearing in Cats on Broadway. He’d been suggested by a friend and was seriously interested in doing the film,” Harvey says. “We had a friend in New York who was in the music business and had a recording studio. He put together some tracks and we created this imaginary band that he stole the identity of the lead singer from.”

Despite some striking similarities to artists of the time, Harvey insists Johnny Steele wasn’t set up as a deliberate lampooning of any one artist.

“The band was generically inspired by particular bands of the time,” he says. “There wasn’t any one group or individual. We were post punk and before real heavy metal. There was more of a glam goth influence.”

Teaming up with Charlie and Brad, the bounty hunters eventually destroy the Critters though it comes at a cost to the Browns, with the family home blown-up in the process. It was a powerful symbol of the way these invaders had shattered their lives but not their spirit. Unfortunately, New Line Cinema didn’t like it as an ending.

“Bob wanted it changed so that the house was rebuilt in the end but I was against it so we had a few arguments about that, but it was Bob’s money, and we did it and it came out very successfully.”

Shaye and New Line would occasionally prove tricky customers, with Harvey often forced to traverse the familiar pitfalls of independent filmmaking.

“We were in production and things were really tough and there was one point in time when Bob and I sat down in the trailer and he explained to me some things that I won’t go into,” Harvey says. “Things were very tricky for a week or two financially, but they sorted themselves out. That was a typical attribute of an independent movie. ‘Oh God you’re spending $150,000 dollars a day, can you spend $100,000?’. Not unheard of but no fun at the time.”

For all the trials and tribulations of the film, cast, and Critters themselves, however, he has fond memories of working on the film.

“We weren’t stuck in Los Angeles in some smoke-filled space,” he said. “The set was built on Newhall Ranch, this huge bucolic area of land outside of L.A and there we were for five weeks shooting in relatively hot temperatures.”

Critters Sequels and What’s Next

After a quick turnaround in editing, Critters was released in cinemas, proving to be a hit with over $13 million made at the box office off a budget of $3 million. This kind of success made sequels inevitable.

Though Harvey was unavailable for the second film, he returned for the third and fourth movies, which were filmed back-to-back and released direct to video.

“By then video cassettes were a huge component to New Line’s early success and helped finance the Nightmare on Elm Street and Critters sequels and all of the other movies that they then started making in order to become the powerhouse they became,” Harvey says. “I think it funded something like 40 to 40 to 50 percent of New Line production for that period of time.”

Harvey was initially hesitant to get involved, citing Shaye’s wishes to make the sequels for even less money than the first film. However, he ultimately relented after agreeing to film them back-to-back.

Harvey has mixed feelings about the two sequels, particularly the third movie, which he had conceived as being “much darker and much more violent” than what eventually made it to the screen.

“I wanted to do a George Romero homage for the third film,” he says. “I was very much interested in the claustrophobia of the tenement building in New York City, that kind of atmosphere. Boy, did it ever turn out differently.”

Having also agreed to direct the fourth film, which was set in space and wrap up the franchise, he found himself too busy to oversee work on the third movie.

“It was different. I didn’t have as much to do with Critters 3 because I was directing the fourth film. We were shooting back to back. We had a week down in between the two. All the time we were shooting Critters 3 I was prepping Critters 4.”

While the fourth film featured both a young Angela Bassett and Brad Dourif on top scene-chewing form, the third entry has become among the most noted in the years since thanks to the presence of a young Leonardo DiCaprio in the main role.

“It’s the movie that shall remain nameless on Leo DiCaprio’s resume,” Harvey jokes.

He doesn’t have a lot of memories about DiCaprio on set though there was already a sense he was destined for big things.

“One day he told me he needed some time off. He had to go and audition for this movie. After he came back I asked ‘How did it go?’ and he said ‘Robert De Niro is really great’. he’d been off auditioning for This Boy’s Life…And of course, when he did that movie, it was like, ‘Holy shit. Well, where was that actor when we were making Critters 3?’”

While Leo is unlikely to return to the Critters franchise anytime soon, Harvey, who had no involvement in a recent TV revival, believes that there is life in the old furballs yet.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“It’s not a franchise that’s going to go away,” he says cryptically. “Whatever comes next needs to be something that is responsive to contemporary sources. I can’t really say too much about it, because nothing is final. All I can tell you is that I don’t think this is the end.”

The post Critters: The Making of a Comedy Horror Cult Classic appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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disneytva · 6 years

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Variety Interviews with Bob Iger reveals more details on Disney+ on Feb 5 also 20th Century Fox IPS will remain as a ‘Seperate Imprint’ Post Merger

Early this morning Variety interviewed Robert Iger on Disney+ & 21 Century Fox . Variety say that more details on Disney+ will be out on Feb 5 since The Walt Disney Company is having its 2019 call .20th Century Fox IPS will remain as a ‘Seperate Imprint’ Post Merger

Inside Disney’s Daring Dive Into the Streaming World

Bob Iger has repeatedly called it the “highest priority” of the Walt Disney Co.

The launch of Disney Plus has become the talk of the entertainment industry — for creatives, for tech mavens and for Wall Street — as production and development of original series and movies accelerate for the streaming service, slated to debut in the U.S. by year’s end.

Disney, under the leadership of chairman-CEO Iger, has re-engineered its operating segments and reshuffled its management ranks to prepare for its streaming future. The Burbank media giant has made big investments in technical infrastructure. And Iger rocked the Hollywood establishment in 2017 with his dogged pursuit of Rupert Murdoch’s 21st Century Fox entertainment empire. He was hunting for the kind of IP that can help drive Disney Plus and future platform offerings, and lend itself to exploitation through Disney’s well-oiled franchise machine.

Now that the Fox acquisition is near the finish line, with a projected close by March, industry sources say pressure is mounting inside Disney’s film and TV units to grapple with the force of a number of headwinds at once. They’re tasked with stepping up their overall output — significantly in the case of its movie units — at a time when they’re also bracing for what will surely be a massive process of integrating the contingent of Fox executives who will make the transition.

Layoffs of duplicative staffers are expected to reach into the hundreds, perhaps thousands. Adding still more drama, the end of the Fox merger limbo starts the beginning of a potential rivalry between Kevin Mayer, the Disney veteran overseeing the Direct-to-Consumer and International division, and Peter Rice, the long-serving Fox executive who is the incoming chairman of Walt Disney Television, to succeed Iger as CEO. A senior Disney TV executive described the atmosphere at the Burbank studio as “tense.”

It’s become clear to Disney watchers that Iger — who says he plans to step down when his contract expires in 2021 — has staked part of his legacy on proving that the empire can strike back against Netflix and the upstarts that have so dramatically disrupted Hollywood’s old order. Insiders say the chief executive has been taking a strong hand in leading programming check-in meetings with the company’s various divisions.

Questions about how it will manage the transition from traditional distribution models into the walled garden of direct-to-consumer services are so numerous that Disney has scheduled an Investor Day presentation on the topic for April 11. The company is also hoping to dazzle with a demo of the service and a sneak peek at some of the programming in the works.

Wall Street sources say Disney will have to shed light on three key points in pitching the streaming strategy to investors: how much it will spend on content, how much traditional licensing revenue will be lost by keeping more of its content in-house, and when it expects the bottom of that investment cycle to come before a return to growth. That’s a tall order.

“It’s going to be years until they start to recover their investment in streaming,” says Hal Vogel, veteran industry analyst. “They will be forgoing high profit margin revenues and moving into a very competitive arena with Netflix and Amazon and probably Apple. Investors are focused right now on the dream of seeing everybody move into streaming. But we need to know more about what the pain points are for these companies and how much they are willing to lose.”

More details about Disney’s investment to date in its Direct-to-Consumer operations will be forthcoming on Feb. 5, when the conglom reports its fiscal first quarter earnings. For the first time, the company will break out financials for the Direct-to-Consumer and International division. Disney earlier this month disclosed that the unit recorded a loss for the first nine months of 2018 of $738 million in operating income on revenue of $3.4 billion, most of which came from Disney’s international channels.

Disney is up to the huge challenges ahead, in the view of RBC Capital Markets senior media analyst Steven Cahall. He estimates the company will devote about $500 million to original programming for Disney Plus in 2019. “Disney spends more on content than anyone else globally. It has decades of experience in making excellent content, it has a huge balance sheet with low leverage and it’s a brand that’s known the world over,” Cahall wrote in December.

RBC research pegs Disney as the biggest spender among media giants on content, with a projected $23.8 billion for 2019, or $16.4 billion excluding sports-related properties. Disney’s total spending to fill its pipeline amounts to 22% of the estimated $107 billion in global content spending among the largest media companies. AT&T and Netflix are next on the list with $14.3 billion and $14 billion, respectively, per RBC.

Disney declined to comment for this story.

With so much on the line, insiders are increasingly scrutinizing the programming plans for Disney Plus as well as the team assembled to execute the service. There’s little doubt that the streaming venture will rise or fall largely on the popularity of its original content. In that context, questions have been raised in the creative community about the absence (so far) of deeply experienced programming executives at the top of Disney Plus.

Disney’s approach has come into sharp focus as its largest traditional competitors — NBCUniversal and WarnerMedia — in recent weeks have tapped veterans Bonnie Hammer and Kevin Reilly, respectively, to lead programming for streaming efforts that aren’t nearly as ambitious at the outset as those of Disney Plus.

Ricky Strauss, who spent the past six years as head of film marketing for Disney, was named president of content and marketing for Disney Plus in June. Agnes Chu was tapped to oversee content shortly after Disney disclosed its intent to launch the service in August 2017. She’s a senior VP who was a story and franchise development executive at Walt Disney Imagineering. She worked as VP in the office of the chairman-CEO and was a close aide to Iger from 2013-16. Before that, she spent three years as director of daytime and current programming at ABC, where she supervised “General Hospital” and primetime comedies “Malibu Country” and “Don’t Trust the B—- in Apt. 23.”

Leading the charge at the top is Mayer, with the Direct-to-Consumer and International division created last March to house Disney Plus and its eight-month-old counterpart ESPN Plus. Mayer had been head of corporate strategy and business development since 2005. He’s been Iger’s right hand on the studio acquisition spree — Pixar, Marvel, Lucasfilm and most recently 21st Century Fox — that turbo-charged Disney into the world’s largest media company.

Strauss and Chu are each accomplished executives who are known to be well respected by their peers inside and outside Disney. They obviously have Iger’s vote of confidence. But there’s no disputing that neither has extensive experience in managing high-end TV series productions. Strauss served as head of production for Participant Media before Disney. Chu worked in documentary production before joining Disney in 2008 to develop digital content.

Iger has been weighing in on plans for big-ticket projects such as “The Mandalorian,” the first-ever live-action “Star Wars” series, which is sure to be a big selling point for Disney Plus. While Disney has bluntly stated that its streaming service will not try to match Netflix in terms of sheer volume of originals, sources say Iger has of late pushed the team to stoke the development pipeline to ensure a steady stream of fresh content can land on Disney Plus in the months after its launch.

At the same time, sources say Iger sees much of the creative spark for Disney Plus as coming from the creative teams behind the studio’s four content brands that will populate the service: Disney, Marvel, Lucasfilm and Pixar, as well as Fox’s main operating units, including FX, Fox Searchlight and National Geographic and its prestigious documentary vault.

A source close to the situation says there was a belief that executives from backgrounds other than traditional primetime TV might be better suited to building a new-paradigm programming operation. Chu’s team has been augmented in recent months with the hiring of Sarah Shepard, formerly of Smokehouse Pictures, as VP of scripted content and Marvel alum Dan Silver as VP of unscripted.

“We have the luxury of programming this product with programs from those brands or derived from those brands, which obviously creates a demand and gives us the ability to not necessarily be in the volume game, but to be in the quality game,” Iger told Wall Street analysts in August.

Insiders say the thinking is that as a strictly VOD platform, the programming management needs of Disney Plus are different from that of a traditional network with a development and greenlighting hierarchy. And it has been emphasized that feeding strong content to Disney Plus is meant to be a holistic effort among all of the company’s content-producing units. Marvel, Lucasfilm and Pixar have long operated with a great deal of autonomy in plotting their film and TV projects, albeit with support from the Walt Disney Studios operation headed by Alan Horn and from network partners.

On the series side, as development began to ramp up last year, there was confusion about how Disney Plus would handle dealmaking and the always-contentious issue of profit participation points for talent. Disney ultimately settled on a formula for “buying out” points up front — much as Netflix, Amazon and HBO do — because there will be no aftermarket sales of the titles to split among participants. Sources describe the Disney Plus formulas and pay scales as generous for Marvel- and “Star Wars”-branded productions — “They’re spending real money on those shows,” says one top TV agent — but that other productions are offering less lucrative deals than comparable projects would likely command at Netflix or Amazon.

Others say the structure at Disney Plus has made it a little unwieldy to make deals for shows and also more difficult to pitch concepts and talent to the service. “Do you pitch Agnes? Do you pitch Jeph [Loeb, Marvel’s TV chief]? It’s not clear yet which door gets you in,” says another veteran agent.

Original movies are slated to be a big part of the Disney Plus lineup. At first, industry sources say the message from the Disney Plus team last year was that it was looking for modestly budgeted movie concepts. Then came word that it is open to projects with a wider budget range of $20 million to $60 million. Sean Bailey, president of motion picture production for Disney Studios, is playing a major role in liaising with the imprints and helping to steer the movies strategy. Other projects are coming from the seasoned team at Disney Channels Worldwide, which has long produced telepics.

Strategy adjustments and dealmaking hiccups are hardly unexpected for such an expansive start-up effort. Sources close to the situation point to the hiring earlier this month of Fox alum Joe Earley as exec VP of marketing and operations for Disney Plus as recognition that more heft was needed to prepare for the launch. Earley had a 21-year run at Fox Broadcasting, rising to chief operating officer for Fox Television Group. He spent the past three years as president of Gail Berman’s Jackal Group shepherding TV, film and legit productions. Earley will soon be joined under the larger Disney corporate umbrella by a host of former TV and film colleagues from 20th Century Fox.

Walt Disney Television chairman Rice and Disney Television Studios and ABC Entertainment chairman Dana Walden, the Fox executives who will take on the top TV leadership roles at Disney (excluding ESPN), will be involved in feeding content to Disney Plus through their oversight of the combined ABC Studios and 20th Century Fox Television operations. Disney’s master plan for how Disney’s and Fox’s existing production units in film and TV will be integrated — or whether they will remain separate imprints — is still being sorted out.

“There are a lot of [Disney and Fox executives] out there still waiting to see where they’re going to go,” notes a TV industry vet.

Corporate integrations on the scale of Disney and 21st Century Fox are famously fraught with unexpected obstacles (think AOL-Time Warner). Political battles and turf wars are commonplace in any such melding of operations, particularly those with such distinctly different corporate cultures as Disney and Fox. The perception that Mayer and Rice are in a foot race to the CEO suite — rightly or wrongly, that’s the conventional wisdom in Hollywood — could add a wrinkle to the mandate for DTC/International and Walt Disney Television to work together in the enlarged Disney sandbox.

Executives in Burbank and Century City are bracing for a post-merger roller-coaster ride. The industry is waiting to see how Disney marshals its brand firepower for the streaming age. Disney’s board of directors no doubt has its eye on how the Disney Plus launch process plays out across the company as it evaluates successor options for Iger.

“It’s going to be Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride around here for a while,” says a longtime Disney insider.

#Robert Iger #Bob Iger #Disney #The Walt Disney Company #Disney+#Disney Plus #FOX #20th Century Fox #20th Century Fox Television #20th Century Fox Animation #Fox 21 Television Studios #21st Century Fox #Blue Sky Studios #Fox Searchlight Group #FOX Searchlight Pictures #FOX 2000 Pictures #Fox Animation #FX #FXX

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transgenderboobs · 7 years

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Do you write kevineil? If you do 18 for Situation and 24 for the sentence!! Thank youuuuu

i Do write kevineil !! i’m still getting the hang of their characters b/c this is only the Second time i’ve written them but like. i’m trying my hardest and i love them ! :’>>

18 - Someone’s birthday + 24 - “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

On the morning of February 22nd, Neil awoke to a bleak morning. There was rain hammering the windows, and everything outside looked gray and cold and uninviting. It looked like the world itself was practically begging Neil to stay in bed, but practice would start in an hour and if Neil wanted to get any kind of run in he had to get up now.

Neil almost skipped his run entirely when he moved to get up and Kevin’s arms tightened around his middle, Kevin himself letting out a faint groan of dissatisfaction as Neil extricated himself and climbed down. Kevin didn’t wake entirely, but that was no surprise. He slept like the dead, and wouldn’t truly wake until the alarm for practice went off.

Neil grabbed his clothes as quietly as he could and changed in the bathroom as not to disturb the others. He made his way out to the living room, pulled on his shoes and closed the suite door quietly behind him. He took a second to steel himself, and then took the stairs down to the ground floor and headed out into the rain.

Even Neil couldn’t stay out in weather like this for too long; especially after all the rain almost made him slip and fall twice. After the second near-miss, Neil slowed down to a jog and turned back towards Fox Tower. By the time he made it back to the dorm, Nicky and Aaron had migrated over from their own dorm to catch a ride in Andrew’s car, and Andrew had the coffee maker brewing. Kevin should be up by now, too, but there was no sign of him in the living room.

“Jesus, Neil,” Nicky said when he heard the front door close, “Please tell me you didn’t actually go running in this.”

“Where’s Kevin?” Was all Neil said to that, figuring his dripping hair would be answer enough for Nicky.

Nicky sighed and shrugged. “Still asleep,” he said. “You know Kevin. A nuclear holocaust couldn’t even get his ass out of bed.”

Neil frowned. It was true, Kevin was impossible to wake, but Exy was usually the only thing that could get him up. “He’s going to miss practice,” Neil commented, trying to mask the faint prickle of unease in his gut.

Nicky shrugged. “Yeah, probably. He gets weird on his birthday.”

Neil blinked. He tried to remember if Kevin had been at practice on this date last year, but with all the mob drama and pressure to beat the Ravens and healing form Riko’s abuse the months of January through March were a complete blur to Neil now. “It’s Kevin’s birthday?”

“Yep,” Nicky confirmed, and then hopped to his feet when Andrew meandered over to his side with a full cup of coffee and a bored expression on his face. “He’ll be fine tomorrow if we give him some space,” Nicky assured Neil, putting a hand on his shoulder and turning him towards the door as he and Aaron followed Andrew out the door.

Neil hesitated, half wanting to stick around, but if he needed space Neil could give him that, and he followed the cousins out the door and down to the car.

Neil’s thoughts kept drifting back to Kevin during his classes, and things didn’t improve when Kevin was absent from afternoon practice as well. Jack and Sheena constantly pushing his buttons during the entirety of practice didn’t help, either, and for once in life Neil couldn’t wait to get off the court.

Once Dan dismissed the team, Neil showered as quickly as he could and skipped the ride in favor of walking. He didn’t think he could stand being crammed into a crowded car right now; even if Kevin’s absence meant he’d be awarded the front seat. The rain had calmed down enough by now that Neil could make it back to the Tower without being soaked, so he jogged his way down Perimeter Road and back to the dorm.

Andrew’s car was already in the parking lot when he returned, but Neil found the suite empty when he got there. Neil figured Andrew was up smoking on the roof. Neil found Kevin wandering out of the bedroom, presumably after hearing the door open and shut. Kevin was still in his pajamas, which were really just sweats and an old T-shirt which was just a little too small for him. Normally Neil would’ve had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the little strip of skin between his shirt and his pants, but the dead look in Kevin’s eyes got his attention this time.

There was a moment, barely a fraction of a second, where they both just stood there, frozen in place, and then Neil crossed the room to stand in front of Kevin. It was pretty much an established fact that Neil was shit awful at the whole comfort thing, but whatever was eating at Kevin was obviously serious, and he had to at least try.

Luckily, Kevin seemed to know what he needed better than Neil did. Kevin had to bend down to do so thanks to their height difference, but he wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist and buried his face against Neil’s neck. Neil stood on his toes so Kevin would have to stoop less, putting his own arms around Kevin’s shoulders. Neil wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but he didn’t mind.

An hour or so later, and Neil was sitting with Kevin on the couch. Kevin was curled up on the cushions, his head in Neil’s lap while Neil ran his fingers through his hair. They hadn’t spoken since Neil got home from practice, but Kevin seemed to have relaxed from just having someone to lean on.

But Neil couldn’t just let the silence stretch on forever. He wasn’t exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. And he needed to know what had brought on Kevin’s breakdown today, so he could do what he could to prevent it in the future, or at the very least know better how to be there for him.

“Kevin,” Neil said, his hand going still in Kevin’s hair. “What is it about today?”

He didn’t need to be any more specific than that for Kevin to know what he meant. His fingers tightened around Neil’s thigh, his nails digging into Neil’s jeans. He was quiet for long Neil was almost sure he’d have to give Kevin another little prod to get his answer, but finally Kevin sat up so he could look at Neil while he explained.

Kevin’s jaw worked for a second, that haunted look returning to his eyes. “It’s idiotic and trivial,” Kevin said.

“Who cares?” Neil asked. “It’s a big enough deal to make you have a meltdown in the middle of the week. That hardly sounds idiotic and trivial.”

Kevin scowled, like he always did when he knew Neil was right. He glanced around the room like he was double-checking that they were the only ones there. “Think about it, Neil. Think about what day it is. Think about the fucking date.”

So Neil did think about it, and he was a little ashamed to admit how long it took him to figure it out. “February twenty-second,” he said. “Two-two-two.” Neil didn’t believe in fate or luck or anything like that, but he couldn’t help but think that if it was real it was truly unkind to Kevin Day, it seemed.

Kevin nodded, a grimace on his face. It looked as though it physical pained him to say what he said next. Maybe it did. “It feels like I was born to be second,” Kevin said, subconsciously lifting his hand to trace the tattoo on his cheek. “Like I’ll never step out of— his shadow.”

Neil had to fight back an unexpected spike of anger. Kevin didn’t need that right now. He sighed, willing his temper to back off at least for a little bit. It helped him to picture the broken look Riko had worn the moment before his brother had shot him.

“Kevin,” Neil finally said, choosing his words carefully and taking Kevin’s left hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb along the pale scars. “He was never better than you and he never would’ve been, even if he was still alive,” Neil told him. “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

“I know,” Kevin mumbled, “It’s just hard to believe sometimes. Especially today.”

Neil nodded. He wished he had something better to offer Kevin, some way to ease his fears, but all he could come up with was, “Well. The day will over soon enough.”

The reaction he got from Kevin certainly wasn’t the one he’d been expecting. He actually managed what sounded like a snort of laughter. It was more dry than actually amused, but it was better than nothing. “What if it’s not any better tomorrow?” He asked.

Neil sighed, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Kevin’s lips. “Than we deal with that when or if we have to,” he suggested. “And I will be with you to make sure it doesn’t get this bad again.”

Before Neil could pull out of Kevin’s space entirely, he slipped his hand up to cup Neil’s cheek and leaned back in for another kiss. Neil wrapped his arms around Kevin and pulled him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Kevin rested his head on Neil’s shoulder and leaned into him, eyes closed. He let out a shaky breath against Neil’s neck. “Thank you,” he said.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Neil told him, hiding his face in Kevin’s hair. He’d proved to himself last year that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Kevin’s wellbeing. Kissing and being a shoulder for him was hardly Neil’s idea of an imposition.

#kevineil #aftg #kevin day #neil josten #loverboy writings #kevneil tag

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littlerose13writes · 7 years

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The Trouble With School by LittleRose13

Words: 4,166

Read it on AO3

It was Ginny’s idea originally to send the children to the local muggle primary school. She found the idea fascinating and was keen for her children to learn about the muggle world as much as possible before they started their magical education. Harry hadn’t considered the idea until Ginny suggested it when Albus was only days old. His only reservations came from his own experience at any school that wasn’t Hogwarts and Ginny gently reminded him that this would be different.

They went to visit the school, Ridge Oak Primary, with four-year-old James in tow (Al was with Mrs Tonks) who thought the school was the most wonderful place he’d ever visited. He was won over by the brightly coloured display boards and smiley teachers who laughed affectionately when he told them confidently he was a wizard who could do magic. They agreed to try it out but the second any of the children seemed unhappy, they would take them out of school.

James flourished at school, making friends easily and impressing his teachers with his above average abilities. Magical children tend to outstrip their muggle peers and Harry and Ginny glowed with pride at every parents’ evening. It also meant that, for six hours of every school day, the house was calm and peaceful and free from the squabbling and over-zealous ‘playing’ James tended to get up to with Al.

When it came to the time two years later when Albus was old enough to start school, he confidently told his parents he wanted to go too and be just like James. It was somewhat of a theme of Al’s life that he always wanted to be just like James. The teachers commented at parents’ evening that Al was quieter than his brother but also possessed the same abilities and was settling in well.

By the time Lily started, the headteacher was well acquainted with Harry and Ginny, having had them in her office a few more times than the average parent. The problem was, James was starting to get a bit bored of being top of the class and mastering the muggle work with no problems. This, combined with his magic starting to show, made for a few awkward conversations about just how the class hamster had ended up in Mr Mullen’s lunchbox when James had been seen with it last or precisely who was to blame for Mr Mullen’s car mysteriously disappearing from the car park and turning up round the back of the football field.

Harry wondered how his son, not even old enough to have a wand yet, could sometimes cause him more stress than his job as Director of the Auror office, answering only to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“It’s that Mr Mullen’s fault.” Ginny hissed as they left the headteacher’s office after yet another awkward meeting. “He doesn’t give James enough of a challenge, no wonder James is bored, he never acted up like this in year four.”

“Also, our son is a wizard.” Harry muttered in a low voice with a grin.

“So’s Al! We don’t get these problems with him, even with the accidental magic.” Ginny retorted in a whisper as they were shown out of the school by the smiling receptionist.

Albus’ accidental magic was another situation entirely. Where James seemed to channel his magic in frustration towards his teacher, Albus seemed to react magically when he was worried or scared about something.

“At least his teacher seems to understand him a bit more.” Harry sighed, thinking back to the memory.

Although Harry and Ginny had attempted to explain away Albus somehow managing to summon all of his teacher’s marking pens into his school bag after a particularly difficult maths test, Harry felt that Miss Emerson hadn’t been fully convinced. She had found it extremely difficult to understand why the normally polite and delightful boy had seemingly turned to thievery and she was even more confused as to how he had ended up with every single pen, even the ones she kept in her desk at home. Poor Albus had been mortified when he had to apologise for taking all of the pens. Miss Emerson had kindly accepted his tearful apology with some confusion while Harry looked on, feeling extremely guilty and already planning what treat Al could have.

“We’ll talk to James at home about reigning things in a bit, how’s that?” Harry offered as they walked around the side of the school building towards where the classrooms let out at the end of the school day.

“I’ll get Lily, you get the boys.” Ginny nodded and headed off towards the infant classrooms while Harry hung back, waiting on the playground for his sons. It wasn’t at all common for both Harry and Ginny to be at the school at the same time, Harry had had to take time off work to attend the meeting with the headteacher and he’d left one of his Aurors, Kevin Fenwick, in charge of the department in his absence.

Despite knowing he looked like a muggle, Harry always felt people were watching him more than usual when he collected any of his children from school. He didn’t dare think that it could be because their children came home talking about what ‘naughty James Potter’ had done that day.

The classroom doors started to open, the teachers scanning the faces of parents and directing children towards their various adults. James came careering around the corner, a huge grin on his face as he spotted Harry and came bounding over.

“Dad! I didn’t know it was your day to pick us up? Where’s mum?” he thrust his book bag into his father’s hand and bounced up and down on his shiny, black school shoes.

“Mum’s collecting Lily.” Harry said shortly and James stopped bouncing.

“Oh. You’re both here.” He said in a small voice.

“I assume you can guess why.” Harry said, slightly unsure how stern to be with his son. James bit his lip nervously. “We’ll talk at home.”

James stared down at the ground, kicking his shoe against the concrete as the crowds of children started to filter away. Harry gestured for James to follow and James didn’t dare stray from Harry’s side as they both walked towards Al’s classroom door, from which he was the last child to emerge.

“There’s Dad, Al.” Miss Emerson pointed to Harry and guided Albus towards him, catching Harry’s eye. Harry’s heart sank, what had happened now? “There’s a first aid slip in his bag, he bumped his head at lunchtime.” She gave Al’s hair a fond pat and Harry felt relieved that was all it was.

“It’s Miss Emerson’s birthday and look! She made us cupcakes!” Albus proudly presented the cupcake out to Harry. James threw a jealous look at his brother and his smiling teacher and his colourful classroom and his cupcake. Miss Emerson spotted the look and turned back inside the classroom for a second.

“Happy birthday Miss Emerson.” Harry said awkwardly as he took Al’s bag from the hand without the cupcake in.

“Would you like one too, James?” she was holding a tray of spare cupcakes out and looking at Harry for permission. Harry gave her a nod.

“Thankyou!” James said politely, selecting a cupcake.

“And here Al, take one for Lily too.” She smiled and placed another cupcake in Albus’ empty hand. Harry didn’t need to ask how Miss Emerson knew his other children’s names despite it being her first year at the school. If Al chatted away to her about home as much as he chatted away to Harry about school, it made sense that his teacher would know his brother and sister’s names.

“See you tomorrow Miss Emerson!” Al called over his shoulder as the three Potters began to walk away to meet up with Ginny and Lily.

“Am I in trouble?” James asked bluntly. “Because I swear it wasn’t me! Mr Mullen hates me…”

“Do you still like going to school?” Harry asked his son, taking him by surprise. He had discussed it with Ginny and they reminded each other of the promise they’d made when James was four. He didn’t have to go to muggle school and he certainly didn’t have to go if it was making him miserable.

“Do you still enjoy it?” Ginny asked when James failed to respond.

“I like my friends, and I like playing football at lunchtime almost as much as Quidditch!” he said enthusiastically.

“You don’t… tell your friends about Quidditch do you?” Harry asked, suddenly concerned.

“I’m not stupid Dad!” James huffed and saw his father’s expression and grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I do like school. Anyway, I’ve only got one more year before Hogwarts!”

“I love school!” Al said serenely, looking up from his book.

“That’s because you have Miss Emerson.” James said unkindly. “I wish I was in her class. I hope she teaches year six next year.” He stared off into the distance wistfully.

“Sorry James, year two.” Ginny said, reading from the letter the school had recently sent home with the teachers for the following year. “That means she’ll be Lily’s teacher.”

“Not fair!” James sulked for the rest of dinner.

Despite his reservations, James settled well into his final year of primary school and was acting up a lot less with his new teacher. He had happily told his family over breakfast about the science experiment he was planning to carry out that day and Harry thought fondly of the memory as he arrived at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for work.

His in-tray was already full and three paper memos flapped around his chair. Harry grabbed them as he sat down, reading each one in turn. Two were standard and uninteresting but one caught Harry’s attention.

Harry, Are you free this morning? Don’t worry if not but I’m not sure who else to talk to about this. Kevin

Harry confusedly scribbled a reply back, telling Kevin to drop by any time before twelve, wondering what his recruit needed to talk about.

Kevin Fenwick had come fresh from Hogwarts into the Auror training programme. He’d kept his head down and got stuck into the training, earning himself a spot as an apprentice on a high profile mission. Although he was only just twenty-three, he was one of Harry’s most trusted Aurors and was rarely seen not sporting some grizzly injury from the field.

There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Kevin, the memo clutched in his hand as if he had sprinted over as soon as he had received it. His cheeks were pink and there were bags under his blue eyes. His dishevelled, dark hair gave the impression he had been running his hands through it.

“Kevin, sit down.” Harry nodded to the spare chair and Kevin threw himself into it dramatically.

“What would happen if I quit?” he blurted with no preamble.

Harry blinked, taken aback. “Well, for a start, I’d have a seriously big hole in my next mission team. But mainly, you wouldn’t work here anymore.”

Kevin nodded as if deciding what to say next. “I don’t.”

Harry gave him a questioning look.

“I don’t quit.” Kevin continued. “Probably.”

“Probably? Kevin, are you not enjoying it here anymore?” Harry felt like he was asking James if he was still enjoying muggle primary school.

“I love it here!” Kevin’s head snapped up, offended. “I don’t know what to do.”

He gave Harry a desperate look and Harry felt a protective urge over the younger man. “Start from the beginning Kevin.” Harry presumed Kevin was perhaps doubting himself as an Auror, an experience he had been through and could offer advice on.

“It’s my girlfriend.” Kevin replied, stunning Harry.

“Your… girlfriend?”

“Yes, my girlfriend, Isabella. Her name’s Isabella. She’s my girlfriend.” He repeated himself erratically. “Well, I don’t want her to be my girlfriend.”

“Kevin, have you come here to ask for advice on how to break up with your girlfriend? Because I’ll tell you now, I am the worst person to-”

“Break up with her?” Kevin looked shocked and seemed to replay his own words in his head. “Oh! No, I mean, I don’t want her to be my girlfriend because I want her to be my wife.”

“And you… aren’t sure how to propose?” Harry suggested, feeling more confused by the second as Kevin twisted his hands in his lap.

“She’s a muggle.” Kevin said in a small voice, looking up at Harry. “She doesn’t know I’m a wizard.”

“Ah.” Harry said, grasping the situation.

“She thinks I’m a policeman. It’s been easy to hide it, my parents are pretty good at remembering not to mention magic. She thinks I went to boarding school; my Hogwarts friends invented one we all met at. I’ve stripped my apartment of anything obviously magical, even the fireplace is disconnected from the floo! But I don’t want to hide it anymore, I love her and I want to marry her and she says she loves me too but she doesn’t know who I truly am and what if she leaves me when she finds out?”

Kevin said all of this very quickly. Harry was still not entirely sure how he had ended up on the receiving end of this conversation.

“I wanted to ask, legally, do I have to tell her? Because I swear, I’ll snap my wand in half and go and live as a muggle if that’s the only way to be with her!”

“Ok, Kevin, calm down. You do not need to abandon wizarding society just so you can marry your muggle girlfriend. Your first step here is telling her what you are, if you love her, you can’t hide this from her.”

“I do love her.” Kevin said with a watery smile.

“I’m going to put you in touch with my brother in law, Percy. He’s married to a muggle. Maybe he can give you some advice on how to tell her? But Kevin, only you know if it’s right to tell her or not.”

“Thanks Harry.”

Kevin Fenwick was the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve and it became rather clear to Harry how the encounter had gone when, days later, Kevin bounded into the office with a huge grin on his face and Harry found a wedding invitation in his in-tray.

Harry stuck the wedding invitation on the fridge and Ginny smiled at it fondly. “It’s nice he’s met someone.” She sighed. “Will we all go?”

Harry shrugged. “Might be fun, a muggle wedding.”

“I know all about weddings!” came Lily’s excited cry from the kitchen table where she was making something. “I’ve learnt all about them at school.”

“Have you?” Harry replied, moving around the table to sit with her. “What’s that you’re making?”

“It’s a painting for Miss Emerson!” Lily said proudly, looking for Harry’s approval.

Harry stared at the painting, which seemed to depict a plate of pink sausages adorned with glitter. As this was nowhere near the weirdest thing Lily had ever painted, Harry wasn’t too surprised and didn’t find it difficult to express how beautiful it was and what a wonderful artist his daughter was.

“She can put it next to the blast ended skrewt you drew her last week.” Ginny said to her daughter, sharing a smirk with Harry. “She must be amazed at Lily’s imagination.” She muttered into Harry’s ear as she passed him.

“Probably expects it after the issue with Al’s homework last year.” Harry teased his wife.

“We don’t talk about that.” Ginny scalded, tapping him across the shoulder with the tea towel in her hand.

The year before, Albus had come home with his homework task: to write down everything he already knew about the Second World War, ready for the class’ new topic. Unfortunately, it had been Ginny’s turn to help with the kids’ homework and Albus had arrived at school the next day with his homework explaining everything he knew about the Second Wizarding World War including a detailed diagram of a scene from the Battle of Hogwarts. They had managed to pass it off by saying Al had misunderstood the homework task and thought he had to write a story. Miss Emerson had been bowled over by Al’s imagination and attention to detail.

Chuckling at the memory, Harry helped Lily roll up the strange creation for her teacher and instructed the boys to put their school shoes on so they could leave in time.

The day of Kevin’s wedding came round quickly and Harry was thankful everything had gone off without a hitch. They’d had quite a time of in the office recently and there was a period of time when it looked like Kevin would be out for the scheduled date.

Now that Kevin’s soon-to-be-wife knew he was a wizard, it was much easier for him to explain away some of the stranger things that happened to him but Harry doubted he would have been forgiven for missing his own wedding.

“Kids, one last time, what do you have to remember?” Ginny straightened Al’s collar as she spoke.

“No mentioning magic.” James replied in a bored voice.

“It’s a muggle wedding.” Albus added.

“Behave like we do at school.” Lily put in.

“Excellent.” Ginny praised them.

Kevin Fenwick’s wedding to his fiancÃ©e Isabella would be predominantly a muggle, due to the fact that the bride came from a huge family, all of whom were muggles. Kevin’s smaller family, his Hogwarts friends and some other fellow Aurors were the only witches and wizards in attendance.

The Potters hadn’t been invited to the wedding ceremony itself, only the reception. Harry and Ginny were secretly pleased as they knew their children would not have sat still for an entire muggle wedding ceremony without loudly wondering where the magic was.

The venue was dressed smartly with fairy lights hung from every possible surface. Albus was staring at them, waiting for them to move, and it occurred to Harry that he probably thought they were real fairies like they decorated the house with at Christmas.

There was a large, shiny dance floor and Harry could see James almost itching to take his shoes off and go skidding across it in his socks. Lily, meanwhile, was proclaiming everything to be ‘absolutely beautiful’ and ‘just like we learned at school’.

The music dimmed and a voice spoke over a microphone. “Presenting, Mr and Mrs Fenwick!” Everybody clapped as Kevin entered the room, his smiling, blonde wife on his arm, looking pleased and proud.

“He looks happy.” Ginny commented and Harry grinned at her.

“Mummy, who’s that lady?” Lily asked loudly, as the new couple started to dance together. A few people at their table laughed at her comment.

“That’s Kevin’s wife, Lily.” Ginny explained calmly.

Lily peered at the couple as they twirled a bit closer to their table.

“No it’s not!” she said, again loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.

“Who else would it be dear?” Ginny asked, amused by her daughter.

“That’s Miss Emerson!” Lily stated.

“What?!” Harry and Ginny both said in unison, staring at their daughter then looking straight back up at Kevin and his wife who were dancing, oblivious. “That’s not Miss Em-”

Harry stopped himself when he realised that Lily was absolutely right. The blonde in Kevin’ arms was in fact Lily’s school teacher. The school teacher both he and Ginny had worked tirelessly to keep magic from for so long. The school teacher who now very clearly knew all about the wizarding world, now she had just married into it.

“Are we at Miss Emerson’s wedding, Daddy? She told me all about it when I made her that card with her pretty ring on the front. I drawed her whole hand and her sparkly ring.”

Harry turned to his wife. “You know how it was your turn to have the next awkward school conversation?”

“Oh Merlin no, Harry. We’re doing this one together.”

They waited for the first dances to finish, all the while avoiding eye contact with the couple and preventing Lily from running up to her teacher in the middle of the dance floor. When the dancing had become much more informal, the newlyweds stood to one side, greeting various guests. Harry and Ginny shared a look and stood up to deal with this new, slightly awkward situation.

“Miss Emerson!” Lily cried gleefully, running to the bride and grabbing at her forearms. She looked down in shock at being addressed by her teacher name and smiled uncertainly when she saw it was Lily Potter.

“Lily! What are you doing here?” Miss Emerson held her gently and looked up, spotting Harry and Ginny. “Hello.” She said, slightly awkwardly, Kevin watching the exchange in confusion.

“Sorry.” Harry said as he came closer, “Lily, come away.” He removed Lily from Miss Emerson. “Er, congratulations.”

“Thankyou! You must know Kevin then.” She said simply, glancing around from Harry to Lily, then over to Ginny and down to Albus in her arms and James who hovered behind. Her eyebrows raised a fraction and her eyes widened. “Oh my God.” She breathed.

Harry knew that in that second she had guessed how they knew Kevin. Kevin’s sheepish look and mumble of 'how did you know?’ was interrupted.

“This explains everything!” she exploded, a huge grin on her face. “Lily’s paintings and Al’s homework and their grandad being so fascinated with my pencil sharpener and James. Oh yes, of course, it all makes so much sense now!” she seemed to be battling with some internal monologue. “You’re all wizards aren’t you?” she looked around at the Potter family, as if daring them to deny it.

Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Lily from behind.

“I can’t even imagine how this would go down in the staff room!” she was grinning from ear to ear. “Oh if only I could tell Mr Mullen that everything James had done was magic. You should have seen him absolutely seething in the staff room last year, it was hilarious!”

James grinned proudly then caught his mother’s eye and let his face fall.

“And my pens last year!” Isabella Emerson reached out and gave Albus a warm hug. “I knew you didn’t steal them, Al. I just knew it wasn’t you but I couldn’t explain how I knew. And it was your magic wasn’t it?”

Albus nodded shyly. “You’re my best ever teacher.” He whispered.

“You’re my best ever teacher Miss Emerson.” Lily said.

“Mrs Fenwick now.” Isabella laughed, still looking around at each of them in bewilderment. “Mr Mullen didn’t stand a chance did he?” she grinned at James.

James shrugged. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, you can come to me if any more accidental magic happens while you’re at school. I can smooth things over.” She said kindly, smiling at James. Harry considered her words and shared a look with Ginny. It would be hugely beneficial to have a teacher in the school who understood that what the children could do was magic.

And so, when James’ teacher was off sick and Mr Mullen covered his class and somehow ended up with his pants on the outside of his trousers part way through a maths lesson, Miss Emerson (Mrs Fenwick now but it was hard to remember to call her that) swore he’d accidentally arrived at school like that and it had nothing at all to do with James Potter.

And when the headteacher expressed her concern at Lily’s behaviour on the playground, (because, really, she could have sworn the child was flying?) Miss Emerson offered to speak to her parents instead which ended up being a very pleasant chat over a cup of tea, during which Harry and Ginny amusedly answered some of Isabella’s more interesting questions about the wizarding world.

And when Al’s current teacher stumbled across the infamous war homework and expressed concern at the kind of films Albus was being allowed to watch at home, Miss Emerson explained how bright and imaginative Al really was. She then read the homework piece again, this time fully understanding what she was reading, and later she showed it to Kevin and he told her all about the war and the impact it had made on his family.

And the following year, when James was at Hogwarts, he got the shock of his life when he came home to find Miss Emerson (and Kevin) had come for dinner. She entertained him all evening with tales of Mr Mullen’s more amusing reactions to James’ magic.

And years later, when Isabella and Kevin had a child of their own, and Isabella found herself trying to explain to Darcy’s teacher just how exactly her daughter had been elected onto the school council she so desperately wanted to be on, despite not having been on the ballot paper, she realised just how lucky the Potters had been to have her.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #ginny weasley #james sirius potter #albus severus potter #lily luna potter #fluffy fanfiction #potter family #mywriting #full fic #hinny #harry x ginny #spot the canon character #sunlitfirewhisky #thetroublewithschool

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luobingmeis · 7 years

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hawk in the raven nest, chapter ten

A/N: thank you for reading!!! these past two chapters have been a tad short, but i promise the next one is a lot longer. reblogs are appreciated!!!

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The locker room became a place where Nathaniel and Andrew could just be. Somehow, despite being the center of everything the Ravens’ lives consisted of, it was where they had the most privacy. It was ironic, the place being the epicenter of their destruction also being the only place where it was just the two of them.

They met at night, right after their evening practice, and Jean was usually doing his schoolwork at that time. The other Ravens let the Top Five (Four) do what they pleased, so they didn’t question Andrew and Nathaniel’s disappearance from the Nest. And Riko… Riko barely left his room if it wasn’t for practice or general things he needed to live. Living a life without Kevin -and, therefore, no one- had forced him into isolation.

All in all, their plan was going well.

Right now, though, the plan wasn’t the first thing on Nathaniel’s mind. Instead, it was Andrew sat next to him. The boy’s words still rang clear in his mind. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you. A part of Nathaniel thought he dreamt that, that there was no way that happened and then life continued like normal. That this mutual trust for each other and this interest - interest? Was it interest? - that flowed between them was just some figment of Nathaniel’s imagination. But if that was a dream, Nathaniel had been asleep for a very long time.

And Nathaniel didn’t have dreams. He just had nightmares. And this, Andrew , was no nightmare to him. To others, yes, but to Nathaniel, Andrew was one of the few people he had left in the world.

Nathaniel had never had the experience of liking someone. It was just unrealistic to the Ravens. In the Ravens, people hate-fucked. Not many people left with a stable relationship ahead of them. And the Top Five, the Perfect Court, was not meant to have petty distractions such as someone to return home to. It was fame with the curse of loneliness, but fame always seemed much heavier a gift than the price of being alone.

However, with Andrew in the mix, and Nathaniel’s realization that, while he kept Andrew’s interest, Andrew kept Nathaniel’s too, perhaps to just have the option at something more wouldn’t be so bad. Nathaniel knew what Andrew said: there was no use in ever bringing up attraction. It would get nowhere, and get them nowhere. But now that Nathaniel was just given a taste at what something more could be, who something more could be, he was addicted. Even with Andrew’s vocal affirmation that he despised him, he couldn’t help but want more.

“I can feel you staring, Wesninski,” Andrew said, his eyes on the lockers in front of him.

“My sincerest apologies,” Nathaniel said, obviously not sorry. He quickly jumped to another topic, “So ninety percent of the time you want to kill me?”

“Ninety-one,” Andrew answered simply.

“Oh, the number increased?”

“As numbers usually do,” Andrew said.

Nathaniel brought his knees to his chest and rested his elbows on them. “What’s the other nine percent?” He thought he had an idea, but he wanted to hear what Andrew had to say for it.

“You were only supposed to be an option because the Ravens let no one else in,” Andrew said, avoiding Nathaniel’s question and turning his head to look at him. Nathaniel didn’t mind though; this answer seemed much more interesting. “If the Ravens disappeared, you were supposed to go with them. Now that they are on the path of vanishing, you should be, too.”

“And yet, here I am,” Nathaniel said, his voice quiet and eyes on Andrew. “If we actually get through the Ravens, I plan on staying.”

“You’re nothing outside the Ravens,” Andrew bit, his eyes narrowing.

“Good thing you want nothing.”

The first thing Nathaniel’s mind registered was Andrew leaning into him. He then prepared himself to be shoved away. He did not expect Andrew’s lips to be pressed against his.

Andrew kissed like Kevin always wished his played: passionate, hard. Nathaniel could feel his lips bruising but he felt a buzz running underneath his skin and his heart was thumping out of his chest. He could feel Andrew’s warmth radiating off of him and Nathaniel’s mind was running so fast that the only word he could get straight was Andrew . Nathaniel didn’t know beforehand whether or not Andrew’s lips would be soft, and they were surprisingly more than he expected.

One of Andrew’s hands was loosely holding onto the collar of his shirt, enough to make a presence but Nathaniel still had the ability to move if he pleased. He had no intention of moving, or at least not moving away.

It was when Nathaniel reached out to him that Andrew pulled away. Their faces remained mere inches from one another. Andrew’s held no immediate signs of distress, but the sudden tension in his shoulders and his hands pulled to his sides set off the thought in Nathaniel’s head that he did not want to be touched. Nathaniel dropped his hand.

They were both breathing hard, and Nathaniel’s eyes kept falling to Andrew’s lips. But he wasn’t going to make any forward advances if Andrew was the one who pulled away from him. Maybe it was best for the both of them that this kiss was stopped; the Ravens could so easily ruin them, and this… whatever he had with Andrew remained the only thing untainted. If they stopped this now, the Ravens would never have the chance to get their claws around it.

But Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care about that right now because Andrew was still only inches away from him and Nathaniel found no tension in his own body and for once his mind was not focused on fighting or fleeing or death or destruction, but on a pair of lips against his.

Andrew was the one to break the silence. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I should go back down there,” Nathaniel said quietly. “We’ve been up here for a while. I have work I need to do.” Not that he was worried, but his brain was still trying to remember how to think coherently. Currently, the only thing his brain could form were thoughts on the little work he had to do for his classes. And Andrew, but that was not something necessarily new.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Andrew said boredly as he sat back against the lockers.

“I’ll try,” Nathaniel said. He pushed himself up and was glad to find that his legs still worked.

He was able to avoid his fellow Ravens when he got back down to the Nest. Riko was in his own room, and if his teammates noticed his absence, they seemed to not care. Only Jean raised an eyebrow at him when he entered, but Nathaniel acted like he hadn’t seen that.

So that was the other nine percent.

#aftg #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #nathaniel wesninski #hawk in the raven nest #stuff i write

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newstechreviews · 5 years

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The northern side of Chatuchak Weekend Market feels a bit like Noah has hit hard times and decided to offload the entire contents of his Ark. In wooden cages, bright-plumed fighting cocks squawk and peck. Around the corner are snakes in plastic takeout containers, prices scrawled on them in sharpie. Hairless squirrel kits snooze in a pile as a meerkat and giant iguana gaze on. A pygmy monkey leaps about with a furious scowl, perhaps indignant at the 30,000 baht ($950) price tag fixed to his enclosure. Across the narrow alleyway, a lynx prowls restlessly within its cage. “He’s 250,000 baht [$7,900],” says the heavily tattooed market trader. “This one is only five years old, so will double in size. He’s a male but I have a female too.”

Given the sheer number and variety of exotic creatures on sale at Chatuchak Weekend Market, you’d think it was hidden in some jungle border town between failed states. In fact, it’s directly in the middle of the sprawling Thai capital of Bangkok. Chatuchak ranks number three on TripAdvisor’s list of top tourist attractions in the city, owing to its 15,000 stalls that hawk everything from bolts of silk to golden Buddha amulets and wooden furniture. Bangkok is already the world’s most visited city, and third most globally connected place in Asia, with an estimated 22.7 million international visitors in 2019. This is evidenced by the perspiring tourists — more than 60,000 each weekend day, according to estimates — that throng Chatuchak’s green-roofed labyrinth. They shop for spices, T-shirts and trinkets, but it’s easy to wander into the euphemistically named “pet” section.

From Bangkok, the holidaymakers jet off home—to a world still reeling from the COVID-19 virus outbreak that began in a live animal market in China’s central city of Wuhan and has since spread globally, sickening nearly 118,00 and killing almost 4,300 people in what the WHO has now declared a “global health emergency.” The outbreak, a novel coronavirus which experts believed jumped from an unidentified animal to humans, has shone a spotlight on China’s consumption of wild animals and penchant for “warm meat”—the term for animals that are transported live to markets and slaughtered to order.

AFP/Getty Images This handout photo shows a Royal Thai police officer holding a slow loris during a raid with wild life rescuer at the Chatuchak market in Bangkok on March 22, 2008.

Severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) emerged 17 years earlier from a market in China’s Guangdong province—on that occasion via civet cats—and the Chinese combination of live, wild animals, poorly regulated animal husbandry and unsanitary butchery is “a perfect storm for viruses to emerge,” says Kevin Olival, an evolutionary biologist with NGO EcoHealth Alliance, who has been researching emerging pandemics for over a decade. China’s government has taken note and introduced new regulations on the rearing and sale of exotic animals. (Though, given lax enforcement of previous curbs after SARS, only time will tell whether they hold up.)

Still, the “pet” section of Chatuchak market in Thailand is just one example, among many scattered around the region, that demonstrate the potential health risks are not just Chinese. Across Asia, lax regulations and poor enforcement can be readily exploited. In Chatuchak, traders say their animals were acquired lawfully, and many proffer documentation to prove it. But forgeries are easy to obtain and difficult to spot, says Steven Galster, founder of Bangkok-based wildlife conservation NGO Freeland. It’s also tricky to prove whether papers truly correspond to specific animals.

According to Galster, who conducts regular inspections and raids at Chatuchak alongside Thai police, unscrupulous traders “launder” poached exotic animals alongside domestically farmed ones. Farms also like adding wild creatures to their breeding stock to widen the genetic pool. Galster says the same supply chains that fed Wuhan also provide animals other “sleeping timebomb” markets around the region. “They are warm, crowded and just perfect for another disaster,” says Galster. “And we know it’s going to happen at some point.”

According to Pongsakorn Kwanmuang, spokesman for the Bangkok Metropolitan Administration (BMA), the exotic animal section of Chatuchak operates in a legal gray zone since it sits on land owned by the State Railway of Thailand. As such, and despite the absence of any discernible divide with the rest of the 27-acre market, “The BMA has no authority over such property apart from those prescribed by the related local laws and regulations, which do not include the monitoring and policing the sale of exotic wildlife,” says Pongsakorn, adding that the BMA regularly patrols, cleans and disinfects the sections of the market that fall under its jurisdiction. The State Railway of Thailand did not respond to requests for comment.

Getty Images An employee walks past the closed Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market, which has been linked to cases of coronavirus, on Jan. 17, 2020 in Wuhan, Hubei province, China. Local authorities have confirmed that a second person in the city has died of a pneumonia-like virus since the outbreak started in December.

Another big risk is mixing live, wild animals with intensively reared livestock, as was done at Wuhan’s now-shuttered Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market, where COVID-19 is thought to have originated. Raising pigs, cows and chickens en masse makes it difficult to spot when one or two animals get sick, meaning infections can spread quickly and silently across a herd or flock. Experts say that demand for “warm meat” is one of the main reasons why diseases such as avian flu and African Swine Fever have proven so tricky to stamp out, given the huge movements of live animals all around and between countries.

In addition, studies suggest overuse of prophylactic antibiotics—a common practice in modern intensive farming meant to prevent rather than treat disease—can suppress animals’ immune systems, making them more susceptible to viral infections. In many of Asia’s live animal markets, blood, feces and other bodily secretions can mix freely. Melissa Nolan, an infectious disease expert and professor at the University of South Carolina, says she once observed a slaughter market in the Philippines where butchers “stood ankle-deep in blood with just flip flops on.” Under such circumstances, she adds, “There’s so much potential for multiple different pathogens from a blood-borne and viral transmission perspective.”

Such markets are common all over Asia, from Colombo to Kuala Lumpur and beyond. Live fish splash water from plastic tubs over neighboring live turtles and shellfish. Countertops are red with blood and guts brought forth by razor-sharp filleting knives. But while the presence of butchery at such markets adds another element of risk, pet markets like the one at Chatuchak are also problematic. Chaotic, cramped conditions weaken animals’ immune systems, producing an environment where viruses can mix, swap bits of genetic code and leap between species. In this way, they can present “as much of a risk factor” as markets where butchery takes place, according to Olival.

Housing together many different kinds of animals—wild, domesticated and many not native to that particular locale—gives more opportunities for viruses to jump between species. SARS, for example, actually originated in bats—which tend to be riddled with pathogens—then jumped to civet cats, which acted as the “amplifying host” before making the jump to humans.

Such zoonotic pathogens have caused nearly every pandemic in human history, including the 1918 flu pandemic, which killed between 50 and 100 million people worldwide and began in birds. Then there are HIV, Nipah, West Nile, Ebola, and so on. Without closing down markets that host wild creatures, whether for consumption or as pets, Nolan says she’s “very confident” that the next serious pandemic is just around the corner.

But even closing those markets would not be fool-proof. After all, every square meter of the planet hosts some 800 million viruses. Middle East respiratory syndrome (MERS) continues to crop up in the Middle East due to human contact with camels. Ending the consumption of unpasteurized camel’s milk would go a long way toward stemming the outbreaks, though only the culling of all 1.5 million camels on the Arabian peninsula would permanently solve the issue, says Prof. Michael Osterholm, an epidemiologist at the University of Minnesota. “And that just isn’t going to happen.”

Ultimately, problems emerge wherever humans come into close contact with unfamiliar animal populations, which is fed by the destruction of natural habitats. It is believed the West African Ebola outbreak emerged when a child unwittingly ate something contaminated by the droppings of bats that nested in his village, possibly due to nearby deforestation. Outbreaks of Nipah virus—which has a fatality rate of up to 75%—are increasingly breaking out near date palm plantations because carrier bats love to sit in the trees. Lassa fever spreads via infected rats.

The next pandemic could even emerge in the U.S. While China is well known as the world’s top consumer of trafficked wildlife, less reported is the fact the U.S. is number two. Outside Denver, the National Wildlife Property Repository, run by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, is a 22,000 square foot warehouse teeming with ivory, tiger pelts and stuffed reptiles. But the service also deals with a large quantity of smuggled live animals. Indeed, a 2003 outbreak of monkeypox across six U.S. states was traced back to an illegal shipment of pouch rats and other rodents from Ghana to Texas for the exotic pet trade—just like the one carried on at Chatuchak.

So while banning the sale of wildlife, reducing the mass transportation of live animals, and ensuring high standards of butchery hygiene can all mitigate the possibility of another pandemic, there will always be a risk as long as people and animals mix. “We can’t get rid of the bats or abolish farms,” says Osterholm. “So the only choice we have is to develop vaccines that can protect people.”

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nickireadstfc · 8 years

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The Foxhole Court, Chapter 8 – The Hangover: Neil Josten Edition

In which Neil has a hangover that could kill a man, attempts to actually kill a few men (read: the monsters), Wymack is still the best person alive, and Andreil engage in some Totally Straight Bro Time™.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

So, last chapter was a train wreck. I’ve had lots of you coming up to me trying to restore Andrew’s honour and telling me it wasn’t all his fault, but still. The monsters have lost some serious sympathy points in my books.

(I’ve also been told it gets worse, which, might I add, is not reassuring what the hell.)

Let’s get crackin’ and see if our boy Neil is still alive.

As soon as Neil could breathe again, he twisted and shoved Nicky as hard as he could. He was too sick and weak to push Nicky off the other side of the bed, but the boots he was still wearing would leave bruises on Nicky’s arms and chest.

Alive and kicking, pun absolutely intended.

Also, GOOD. Hit that fucker.

My initial love for Nicky is going through a serious dilemma right now, by the way. On one hand, he’s still the comic relief, which I love, he’s funny and loud and a much-needed ray of sunshine in this otherwise pretty depressing monster squad. On the other hand, he does not seem to understand consent, which goes against every principle I have.

He might have to settle as the Problematic Fave. We’ll see.

“Hey, hey,” Nicky said, trying to deflect him. “It’s fine. Ouch! Relax, will you?”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” Neil said savagely.

I have a strong feeling Neil says everything savagely. That’s like saying Andrew said something murderously, Seth said something angrily, or Renee said something gently and glitter rained down from the sky, the sun bursts through the clouds and angels sang of everything good in this world.

It’s like, duh, that’s how they function.

“He’s awake?” someone asked from the door.

Neil snatched the alarm clock up and hurled it at the new arrival, who ducked out of the way just in time.

Attempted Kill Count: II.

Aaron and Nicky try to make him feel better by offering him water and food, and carrying him since he can hardly stand due to his Massive Cracker Dust Hangover, an act of niceness that I am totally not buying.

You drug him and were planning to do God knows what with him if he hadn’t had himself knocked out in time, and now you’re trying to play good Samaritan? Y’all can exit stage left.

“Drink up,” Nicky said. “You’ll need all the water you can get today. Crackers’ll dehydrate you like nobody’s business.”

Neil answered by upending his glass on the floor.

“That’s mature,” Aaron said.

Neil threw the glass at him.

Attempted Kill Count: III. Neil is on a roll today.

Neil, smart runaway that he is, does not buy the monsters’ Samaritan act either and instead does what I’d advised Nicky and Aaron to do: Exit stage left, that is to say, he gets the fuck out of there.

As soon as he’s in the vicinity of a payphone, he calls Matt and the other not-entirely insane people on this team, which is pretty much the only sensible thing to do in this kind of fuckery.

“I’m in Columbia with Andrew.“

“You’re – what?” Matt went from half-asleep to wide awake in a heartbeat. The alarm in his voice only made Neil feel worse. “Jesus, Neil, what the hell did you do that for? Did he–“ Matt aborted that and asked again, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Neil lied.

The fact that this is alarming news to Matt and the gang is fucking alarming news to me. Please don’t tell me this is what happened to Matt last year. Please.

Also, Neil “I’m fine” Josten strikes again.

I am instantly proven right as we find out that yes, this is exactly what happened to Matt last year. Poor Billie Joe. You just rose so much in my sympathy ranks. <3

Neil truck-hitchhikes home which we are skipping because it is, frankly, it’s not that interesting. However, as he gets home, it is time for my undisputed fave to appear again:

Neil wasn’t quite ready to face Andrew yet and he didn’t want to deal with his teammates’ curiosity over his prolonged absence, so he went to Wymack’s apartment instead.

Clearly, Wymack is the solution to everything. Glad my boy Neil and I are on the same page here.

“You should have called me,” Wymack said. “Me or Abby or any of the upperclassmen. All you had to do was say you didn’t want to stay with Andrew. Any of us would have come and gotten you.”

Neil stared at him, to startled to respond.

Hello, and welcome to our popular show Neil Doesn’t Realize People Actually Care About Him, episode 1 of a billion.

Wymack apparently has some strong feelings about Andrew and Neil not killing each other entirely, which is why he calls down Andrew for some Quality Bro Time™ with his bf Neil – in typical Wymack-y manner.

Neil heard [Wymack’s] furious voice loud and clear.

“You have five seconds to get your retarded psycho ass to my apartment! You even think about telling me no and I swear to god I’ll throw Kevin’s contract down a garbage disposal.”

My dude, maybe think twice about using the R-word. Otherwise, what level of i c o n i c. #dicksoutforwymack

Andrew, miraculously, follows that kind invitation instantly, and this is where stuff gets good.

“Have a nice stroll?” he asked, interrupting Wymack’s tirade.

Neil returned his cold stare with a heated “Fuck you.”

Wymack snapped his fingers in front of Andrew’s face, trying to get Andrew to look at him instead of Neil.

Tough luck, buddy, have fun prying those two apart. The fuckers even switch to goddamned German to have some private one-on-one time, ahem.

Pity Neil has to reveal his secret language superpowers so early in the game, though. I was waiting for the epic moment where Neil chimes into a Kevin/Andrew/Nicky conversation in fluent German just to deliver a savage burn.

“How about I start with your parents?”

“Good luck,” Neil said, feeling cold all over. “They’re dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

He said it so casually, like he was asking for the time, that Neil could only stare at him for a minute. (…) Then he remembered who he was talking to and asked, “Did you kill yours?”

What the fuck, you guys. How is this even a conversation they’re having. Who on earth just asks stuff like that.

The twins didn’t know who their father was, and only Aaron grew up with their biological mother. Andrew was surrendered to foster care when he was just a few days old.

Oh. In hindsight, this explains why Andrew referred to their mother as “Aaron’s mother” before, but more importantly: What the fuck, why.

Who does that to a child, heck, who does that to a baby. Surely it’s gotta be healthier for twins to stay with each other? What the hell, Minyards.

Also, how did they pick which twin to keep and which one to give away? Like, “oh, this one looks much nicer, this one looks less like it wants to murder you as soon as you threaten its favourite rattle, better take this one and chuck the other one in the realms of Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind”.

What the actual why.

Did I say this was where stuff got good? We’re not done yet, ho boy. This is where stuff gets really good:

“I didn’t kill my parents,” Neil said. (…) “Riko’s family did.”

OH SHIT OH SHIT HE’S TELLING HIM STUFF OH SHITTTTTTTTTTTT.

What follows may be the first real, pure, top-of-the-line Andreil scene we get to witness. Granted, Neil only gives Andrew the half-truth, leaving out some key details, but essentially, he pours his heart out in front of him. And I don’t only mean the whole factual side of things, but also stuff like “I’m too jealous of Kevin to stay away from him” and “He’s got you at his back telling him everything’s going to be okay” which I wish I’d made up as examples except those are actual quotes from the book.

And, might I add, not only is he confessing that stuff to one of his mortal enemies right now, he is also confessing that stuff for the first time ever to anyone at all.

I’m dead.

Andrew reached up and forcibly uncurled Neil’s fingers from his mouth. He pushed Neil’s hand out of the way and stared Neil down with nothing between them. Neil didn’t understand the look on his face. There was no censure over Neil’s crooked parents or pity for their deaths, no triumph over having backed Neil into admitting so much, and no obvious scepticism for such an outlandish story. Whatever this look was, it was dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole.

“Let me stay,” Neil said quietly. “I’m not ready to give this up yet.”

Did I say I was dead? I just got fucking reanimated, lived a brief period of happiness, and died again.

WHAT LEVEL OF GAY SHIT. I know it gets even better later, [frieza voice] this isn’t even their final form, but I can’t help but be happy at the first glimpses of canon Andreil.

I am LIVING.

Maybe Andrew’s night out in Columbia had been awful, and maybe he’d never want to say these things out loud, but having the air cleared between him and Andrew to some degree took an enormous weight of his chest.

Fsshgshsgdsjgjscjjs.

My sad baby boy Neil gets some peace and relief and breathing room I cannot believe.

Andrew didn’t look at Wymack. “Neil wants to come with me.”

A day ago, those words might have been an order or a threat, but today Neil heard only truth. He’d chosen the Foxes. He’d chosen to trust Andrew, whatever that meant and whatever consequences it brought down the road. There was no reason or need to hide behind Wymack now.

Are y’all seeing what I’m seeing………… are those…….. first traces of friendship and peace……….. w h a t

As much friendship and peace as you can get with the messed-up murder maniac, at least.

I’m so happy, you guys.

This does not make up for the problems of last chapter (especially my boy Nicky and I still have a bone to pick), but it makes me tentatively look towards an eventually positive future for our angry babies.

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing, but he thought perhaps he liked it.

Couldn’t have said it better.

#tfc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #it's the return of dicksoutforwymack!!#dicksoutforwymack #edit: edited the parts where I used the m word as I realized it was Not Fucking Okay

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Kevin Can F**K Himself Shows Why The Laugh Track Needs to Die

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The title card for the new AMC series Kevin Can F**K Himself isn’t accompanied by a jaunty tune or a wild sound effect. When the title appears on the screen, it’s soundtracked by a smattering of aggressive laughter. Creeping up below the laughter is a distressing screeching noise, meant to indicate the rapidly fraying sanity of our heroine.

So it’s quite fitting that Kevin Can F**K Himself makes a compelling case for why laugh tracks (or canned laughter) need to die a quick death. The series centers on Allison McRoberts (Annie Murphy), a woman trapped in a marriage to the titular Kevin. Kevin is an infuriating man-child. He throws keg parties on his wedding anniversary, spends obscene amounts of money on sports memorabilia, and treats Allison like an accessory. He is emotionally abusive, often making Allison feel worthless by telling her things like she’s a bad driver or that she never finishes things so that he can keep her all to himself.

Approximately a third of the series takes place in lala sitcom land in which the lighting is abundant, the set is clearly facing an audience, and Kevin is always there, chewing up the scenery like Pac Man chowing down on glowing dots. However, whenever Kevin exits, Allison finds herself in a more contemplative and complex (aka: single-camera) existence. The trouble is she doesn’t have much of an identity anymore because her entire life has hinged on being Kevin’s long-suffering wife. The juxtaposition of the sitcom world against a more realistic setting serves to illustrate just how jarring and unnecessary canned laughter is to a TV show. When we watch dramas, we don’t hear people bawling over the sad parts or gasping during the shocking moments. Nope. So why do laugh tracks persist?

As an early millennial, I grew up in a world in which laugh tracks were the norm. From “Must See TV” on NBC in the ‘90s to the vintage sitcoms on Nick at Nite, comedy was always served up with a heaping side of giggles and guffaws. Historically, the sitcom cadence did rely on a call-and response reaction as they actually were often filmed in front of a live studio audience, but it was rare that the responses that made it to the final episode were genuine and uncut.

To be clear, when I’m referring to canned laughter here, I’m not just referring to the prerecorded kind. Sure, that might be the official definition, but even the laughter we hear from live studio audiences is goosed in some way prior to airtime. The practice of “sweetening” the laugh track, or adding in favorable reactions to amplify certain jokes has been in practice for decades, and it’s still in use today. While the creators of a show might be able to proudly say that the reactions came from an actual audience, the reactions are almost always tweaked in post-production in order to punch up the jokes that the creators or network want to land. Therefore, the laugh track on all of your favorite sitcoms is a lie.

An argument could potentially be made that the practice of adding in a laugh track might make people feel a sense of camaraderie or community with others watching. And this is somewhat true. In a 2011 article on laugh tracks, NBC News noted a 1974 psychological study in which it was found that people laughed more frequently if they heard canned laughter following a joke. These types of social cues can make individuals feel comfortable, but they can also promote conformity. Looking back on the history of sitcoms, it sure seems as if laugh tracks have been complicit in keeping misogynistic and racist messaging at the forefront of comedy.

Kevin Can F**K Himself plays with this idea in every frame of its sitcom world. Nothing is actually very funny within the brightly lit walls of the McRoberts’s house. As previously established, Kevin is simply awful. He’s a huge loser. Yours truly wanted to throttle him, Homer Simpson style, during every scene he was in. Yet, since the sitcom land dictates that Kevin is a damn delight, the audience plays along.

(It’s worth noting here that Kevin Can F**K Himself was filmed in front of a studio audience. However AMC tells us that, due to COVID restrictions, the audience was small and far away, so the laughs were not picked up on the audio. Therefore, much of the laughter you hear on the show was added in post-production.)

The dynamic between Kevin, Allison, and the viewers in the studio is an exaggerated version of a tableau that has been unfolding on our TV screens for decades. We see a harried, hot wife play a straight man to a dumpy doofus husband, and we’re all supposed to think it’s simply hilarious. It’s worth noting that Kevin Can F**K HImself cribs its title from the Kevin James’ sitcom Kevin Can Wait, in which the series unceremoniously killed off James’s first super hot wife on the show (Erinn Hayes), only to replace her with his prior super hot sitcom wife, Leah Remini. Because women are oh so very interchangeable in the sitcom world, the laugh track on that show never skipped a beat.

Canned laughter has historically enabled the entertainment world to lift up mediocre men such as Doug Heffernan (Kevin James), Raymond Barone (Ray Romano), and Kevin Gable (Kevin James, again) at the women’s expense. For ages, only a very small handful of white males were allowed to create content as showrunners, directors, and writers at networks. As they had control over the laugh track, they became the arbiters of what was funny and what was not funny. They got to shape reactions according to their worldview, painting the schlumpy dudes as heroes and the women as eager sidekicks.

While there are oodles of examples of the long-suffering wife throughout sitcom history, we rarely think of these women as victims. All in the Family is considered a classic, but Archie Bunker was viciously verbally abusive to his wife Edith in almost every episode. Sure, it was a different era (and Archie surely isn’t intended to be a role model), but take away the laughs, and what’s left is a depressing portrait of a red-faced husband straight up screaming at his beleaguered wife. And don’t even get me started on The Honeymooners classic line, “to the moon, Alice!” Ahahahaha, yes, spousal abuse. Hilarious. Well, the laugh track thought so, anyway.

In more recent years, verbal abuse on sitcoms focusing on husband-wife dyads has given way to a more subtle form of emotional abuse. Often, this appears in the form of financial abuse in which a spouse spends or hides money from the other in order to keep them in their place. In Kevin Can F**K Himself, Kevin consistently spends money without consulting Allison first. In one episode, he even proudly states that a recent purchase cost “more than our wedding, but less than our car.”

This type of abuse has played out in sitcoms forever. Doug Heffernan often hid his spending from Carrie, Raymond Barone invested in a go-cart venture without telling Deborah, and even Fred Flintstone stole money from Wilma’s hidden stash (yep, The Flintstones was a cartoon, but it inexplicably also had a laugh track). These transgressions are generally perceived to be harmless on screen, leading to those canned laffs and a resolution in 30 minutes or less, but in real life, this type of clandestine behavior in relation to finances can be catastrophic, trapping an unhappy wife in a relationship with no means to escape.

Even TV series that didn’t utilize the wife/husband premise – notably Frasier and Friends – often used audience laughter to support misogynistic punchlines. Friends notoriously used the laugh track to support harmful jokes about fat shaming and transphobia while Frasier’s archaic attitudes towards women were often played for comedy. Personally, I will never ever get over how Frasier Crane treated Roz Doyle, slut shaming her at every turn for over a decade when, in fact, Frasier was sleeping with half of Seattle with nary an eyebrow raise in his snooty direction. (Sorry, rant over. But, seriously, Peri Gilpin rules. #JusticeForRoz)

Laugh tracks help normalize these behaviors. If you’re not laughing at the joke when everyone else is, something must be wrong with you. Women have faced this exact dilemma since the beginning of time. Laugh along or be judged as cold and unfeeling. Be in on the joke or be tossed to the side. This truism is even noted in the recent HBO Max series Hacks in which aging comic Deborah Vance (Jean Smart) confesses to a newbie comedienne why she makes fun of herself in her own act. With a wan smile, Deborah says, “I realized they would rather laugh at me than believe me.”

These are the same exact challenges that Allison finds herself facing in Kevin Can F**K Himself. When Kevin is around, Allison tries her best to play the role she’s been given so that he won’t make her life even more miserable. No one believes or cares that Kevin is awful because they think Allison is lucky to even have landed a man at all. The series overtly illustrates that these types of stories have always just shrugged at viewers, telling us, oh well, boys will be boys, while women’s suffering is shoehorned into punchlines instead of taken seriously. Rather than confronting the thorny reality of disentangling the institutions that lift the Kevins up and keep the Allisons down, the sitcom world treats women’s pain like a joke.

After years and years under Kevin’s oppressive thumb, Allison isn’t laughing anymore. She’s full of rage and ready to break free. When we see her in her life without Kevin, there are no prescriptive beats dictating what’s funny and what’s not. And it’s so refreshing. Life can be funny! Sometimes Allison is funny in her real life too! Annie Murphy is also very very funny! And yet, even in the absence of a laugh track, viewers can pick up on the funny. Because in this modern age of entertainment, viewers are savvy enough to know what they feel.

As canned laughter has slowly disappeared, TV has opened up to more nuanced emotion, allowing viewers to discover and explore the highs and lows for themselves. It’s probably not surprising to learn that the few existing series that do still use laugh tracks, such as United States of Al and Bob Hearts Abishola – both airing on CBS and both created by Chuck Lorre – have been critiqued for leaning on racist and sexist stereotypes. Oddly enough, an urban myth has been circulating the internet for years, claiming that everyone on laugh tracks is actually dead because the recordings were made so long ago. As modern audio engineers now update their recordings regularly, this is not true, but the truth is that the laugh track itself is soon headed to an unmarked grave in the entertainment cemetery alongside tube televisions, Smell-O-Vision, and home video rentals.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

With critically acclaimed comedies such as Schitt’s Creek (also starring Annie Murphy!), Fleabag, and The Good Place getting laughs without any pre-recorded assistance, home audiences are getting more savvy as to what’s actually funny and what’s just a cheap shot. In addition, social media and the ubiquitous sharing of memes have effectively displaced the laugh track, as people can now actually be part of an interactive community with others, watching and reacting to the same show at the same time.

In Kevin Can F**K Himself, canned laughter has finally taken its rightful place as a relic of the past. The chuckles and chortles that pepper the series are a knowing nod to a bygone era in which TV series tried to force the funny on viewers instead of letting them find their own way. Finally, laugh tracks aren’t in on the joke; they are the joke.

Kevin Can F**k Himself airs Sundays at 9 p.m. ET on AMC.

The post Kevin Can F**K Himself Shows Why The Laugh Track Needs to Die appeared first on Den of Geek.

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newstechreviews · 5 years

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AFP/Getty Images This handout photo shows a Royal Thai police officer holding a slow loris during a raid with wild life rescuer at the Chatuchak market in Bangkok on March 22, 2008.

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