#the camera really did Neil’s eyes dirty like. why

[emry-stars-art]

Hold up. Neil is back

Read chapter 14 here :D

(And I tried to draw it from their perspectives as well):

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Capital Centre in Landover, MD, USA - November 29, 1977

(x)

A fan filmed the first couple minutes of the show on a silent Super 8 camera, but he was caught by a security guard and the film was confiscated.

Another fan recalls the band took a 30 minute break in the middle of the show, and started the second half of the show with Tie Your Mother Down. He also says they performed both Spread Your Wings and It's Late.

Here is a review of the show from the next day's Washington Post. It reveals that the band have swapped Keep Yourself Alive with Now I'm Here. The former now follows Bohemian Rhapsody in the setlist, as it had earlier in the year.

There is a great story on Brian May's website by Tracy Chevalier, who attended the show as a youngster:

It started with a champagne toast and ended with a limo pulling away into the night. In between these two gestures symbolising glamour and sophistication, I lost my virginity. Not in the technical sense (that would take another few years), but in other ways. At my first ever rock concert — going with four friends to see Queen at the Capital Centre in November 1977 — I got an eye-opening peek at elements of the adult world, with its power and its limitations, its glittering artifice and dirty reality, and it demonstrated how little I knew and how much I had yet to learn about life.

I was ripe for it; overdue, really. I had turned 15 the month before the concert, and though people thought I looked older than I was, I was remarkably naive and unworldly at that age. Despite a few character-building events in my childhood — the death of my mother when I was almost 8, the experience of being a minority in DC public schools — I was so unsophisticated, so unaware of the world, that I didn’t even realise Queen was an English band until the lead singer Freddie Mercury appeared in a tight white catsuit on stage at the Capital Centre, raised a glass of champagne at 18,000 screaming fans, and toasted us with “Good evening, Washington” in a fruity English accent. I was stunned. Then I started screaming.

I had been a Queen fan for a couple of years by then. A Night at the Opera was the first LP I bought, and I could sing every word of every song. I don’t remember how I was introduced to Queen — though I do remember hearing their biggest hit, Bohemian Rhapsody, on the radio and being impressed by its audacity. It sure beat the hell out of the Beatles, Bob Dylan and Neil Young, which had been my older sister’s staple music diet. By 14, I was writing Queen lyrics on the desk where I sat for algebra class, swapping them back and forth with a boy I had a crush on, and daydreaming of guitarist Brian May kissing me.

The concert was part of Queen’s News of the World tour. While not a great album, especially after the double whammy of A Night at the Opera and its follow-up, A Day at the Races, it did produce two of their best-known songs, We Will Rock You and We are the Champions, which drop-kicked them firmly into stadium anthem territory. Appropriately, the concert began with the lights going down and the primitive, effective, impossible-not-to-join-in-with BOOM- BOOM-CHI, BOOM-BOOM-CHI, BOOM-BOOM-CHI intro to We Will Rock You rolling over the audience. Everyone immediately jumped up out of their seats and began to stomp and clap along. I, too, stood and stomped and clapped, watching in awe as people began flicking their Bic lighters, a gesture I had never seen before. What, were they going to set light to something? I had tried not to act surprised earlier when people nearby started smoking grass in public, but now was there going to be a riot? What other illegal things would go on that night? Then a spotlight picked out Freddie Mercury, who began to sing, “Buddy you’re a boy, make a big noise, playin’ in the street, gonna be a big man someday . . .” and I thought, “Jesus H. Christ, that is the loudest noise I’ve ever heard! Is that legal?” The wall of sound terrified me, and I wanted to cover my ears, but I didn’t dare, as it would have been a very uncool thing to do. I think I looked around for the exit, wondering how many people I would have to climb over to escape the sound. It was just so goddamned loud — exhilarating, yes, but painful, too, dangerous and overwhelming. I wavered between loving it and hating it, but knew it would be uncool to hate it, so I’d better try to love it.

Towards the end of the song the single note of an electric guitar began to hum louder and louder under the chorus we were all singing and shouting, and Brian May stepped into the light to add his distinctive sound, ending We Will Rock You with low, long-sustain, three-part harmony chords, overlaid with a high melody he made fuzzy and metallic by using a coin as a guitar pick. I adored Brian May. He was the reserved, straight guy (literally) to Freddie Mercury’s camp high jinks — tall, dark, good-looking, with long curly hair and a melancholy pensiveness that made every teenage girl want to comfort him. At this concert he was wearing a silvery white jacket with long, pleated wing sleeves; that combined with his mop of curls should have made him look effeminate, but instead he was deeply sexy.

I loved Freddie, too, for his outrageous antics, his riskiness, his joy at performing and glorious indifference to how ridiculous he looked wearing glittery leotard jumpsuits, eyeliner and a mullet, prancing and strutting and posing, twitching his hips, smacking his lips and otherwise hamming it up. But even without being conscious of Freddie’s sexual preference — I hadn’t yet met anyone who was openly gay — I instinctively sensed he was not to be lusted after. For all his extrovert, welcoming stage presence, he was clearly playing a part, which served to hold us at arm’s length; whereas Brian May’s taciturn moodiness was clearly himself served up raw.

Thank God for Freddie, though. Without him, no one would have moved on stage: Brian May was not a dancer, John Deacon, in time-honoured bassist tradition, stood solidly in one place throughout, and Roger Taylor was trapped by his drum kit.

To set us at our ease, after We Will Rock You Freddie toasted us with a glass of champagne — “Moët et Chandon, of course,” after the reference in the hit Killer Queen. My friends and I heard this and screamed and clutched one another. He mentioned Moët et Chandon! That was our champagne! He was acknowledging us! I swear he made eye contact with me, 200 yards away and over the heads of thousands.

For we had done what we thought was the most original and extravagant gesture (for 15-year-olds) a fan could make: we had sent a bottle of champagne backstage. We’d pooled our money and gotten an older sister to buy it for us — the same sister who had been obliged to drive us all the way to the Capital Centre, smirking at our overexcited fandom. We’d even made our way to the stage door down a loading dock at the back of the arena and reluctantly handed over the precious bottle to a bored roadie, who said he would take it to the band. We’d had our doubts about his reliability, and his jadedness had dampened our enthusiasm a bit: had we really blown all that money — $20, which in those days meant 20 hours of babysitting — to have some unshaven jerk with a beer belly swill the precious liquid? But clearly the roadie had pulled through for us, for there was our champagne in Freddie Mercury’s hand, and he was referring to Moët et Chandon in his pretty cabinet, the lyrics we had so cleverly quoted in the note we sent along with the bottle. We were sure we — among the many thousands — had managed to get through to the band.

If we had bothered to look around rather than feast our eyes on Brian and Freddie (I’m afraid John Deacon and Roger Taylor never got a look-in from me), we probably would have seen other clusters of fans also screaming and clutching one another during Freddie’s toast. But we didn’t look around or harbour doubts, or we ignored them. It was only much later that I allowed myself to consider the veritable champagne lake that must have existed backstage at every Queen concert. Tip to rock stars: want a free truckload of champagne wherever you go? Sing a song that mentions some — preferably name-checking a more expensive brand to ensure better quality — and watch it pour in backstage every night from adoring fans. There must have been a hundred bottles from fans back there, not counting the stash the band may well have brought with them in case Portland or Houston or Detroit weren’t so generous. No wonder that roadie looked so bored — he’d probably been put on champagne duty that night.

Freddie’s toast worked its magic, though, giving me the connection I needed to negotiate a place within the strangeness of the concertgoing experience itself: the weird, scary power of a crowd; the mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment at collective participation; the physical discomfort of standing for two hours when there’s a perfectly comfortable seat behind you. It is one of those tricky, unresolved tensions at concerts: are we there to listen to the music or actively respond to it, participate as a group or answer our needs as individuals? It’s an issue I’ve never entirely resolved — from Queen onwards I have spent concerts going in and out of myself, losing myself to the music and spectacle one minute, the next minute overly conscious of myself clapping or singing or screaming, and wondering why concerts have to be such an uncomfortable physical ordeal.

I was taken aback by the sound of Queen’s music live: not just the volume, but the familiarity and also the strange rawness of the songs. Studio albums have all the mistakes airbrushed out, the layers added in, the balance between players carefully calibrated, like clever dialogue in a play without the awkward pauses and unfinished conversations you get in real life. Queen albums were highly produced, multi-layered affairs. Live, the music was necessarily stripped of a lot of the choral mixing, more raucous, simpler and much messier.

The band wisely didn’t dare attempt to reproduce in its entirety the long, baroque confection that is Bohemian Rhapsody. For the infamous operatic middle section, the band members left the stage as the studio recording played. Freddie and Brian then changed costume, and, at the word “Beelzebub”, all four men popped out of a door in the stage floor and joined live again for the heavy metal section, fireworks going off, dry ice pouring out, everyone going berserk, me in tears of excitement. It was one of the best live moments I’ve ever witnessed. Indeed, I was spoiled by seeing Queen play live before anyone else; for sheer exuberant theatricality, no one else has come close.

The concert ended with an instrumental version of God Save the Queen and once more the flicking of the Bics, which, no longer the virgin concertgoer, I understood now as a gesture of tribute. My friends and I weren’t finished, though. Emboldened by Freddie’s toast, we decided to go to the stage entrance again and say hello. I still choke with embarrassment when I think of it. When we got there, a black limousine was pulling away, our heroes and their entourage inside, and we were left with the detritus: older, dolled-up, hard-bitten groupies who had followed the band around and not made this night’s cut. I stared at one, at her long, bleach-blond hair, her miniskirt, her bright red lipstick. She glared at me briefly; then her face went slack as she dismissed the idea of me being any sort of competition. In fact, I had not really taken in that there was a competition, that the girls (and I?) were here to spread our wares and catch the attention of one of the men, and then . . . And then? I hadn’t thought it through at all. I wouldn’t have known what to do with such a man as Brian May if he even so much as looked at me. All I knew was that I was way, way out of my depth, that even if I had eluded the roadie minding the door, there was no way I was ever going to get past a woman like this.

The contrast between the sparkling theatricality of the concert and the gritty reality of the backstage, with its dirty concrete, anonymous faces and unfulfilled dreams turned my stomach, and almost ruined the night. I wished I hadn’t seen it, because it reminded me that the show was a fantasy, while it was my aching feet and the roadies’ boredom and the groupies’ hard desperation that constituted real life. As I stood watching the limo pull away and the unsexy women stand about, licking their wounds, looking for a ride to the next city and another chance, I felt as if a door had been kicked open a crack on to a world I knew nothing about: the seamy underbelly of the concertgoing experience, a mix of sex and power and exploitation, of cigarettes and poorly applied make-up and long, cold nights waiting to be noticed and defining yourself by someone else’s attention. If that was grown-up life, I didn’t want to know about it. I wanted the champagne toast, but not the limo. Not yet.

Fan Stories

“I had just turned 16 a few weeks earlier. I was absolutely 100% in love with Queen (since age 13 when first hearing Killer Queen on the radio) and therefore could hardly believe my sister's friend, who worked with her at the Roy Rogers restaurant at the mall, who said she knew Freddie Mercury's girlfriend, Mary, and that she was going to get a backstage pass and would try to get one for us as well. Well, just before the concert she met my sister at a pre-arranged point (inside the venue) and said that she was unable to get us the backstage passes. You can imagine my disappointment and my thinking at this point that this girl was not telling the truth about knowing Freddie's girlfriend (it seemed too good to be true to me to begin with). Then after the concert, which was great of course, we were depressed (my sister and I - but especially me) at not getting to meet them, so we decided to wait for their limo to come out of the underground parking area at the Capital Centre. When it emerged we got so excited we decided to sprint to our big blue station wagon and follow them. With my learner's permit only, I followed them at probably over 80 miles per hour - I remember it being the fastest I had ever driven but I was determined not to lose them - to a restaurant somewhere in DC. At that age, I didn't have my bearings around the city. We didn't want to freak them out so I think we just watched them go inside from our car. Then we ended up waiting outside in the cold air for I think around 2 hours - anyway - enough to turn my nose red and make my lips and toes numb. We weren't allowed in the restaurant - and there was a bouncer from Liverpool out front that prevented us from even going in the lobby to warm up. At one point Roger came down the stairs into the lobby and I smiled at him and he smiled back and started over to the door - but was stopped by another man who grabbed his arm. So then he just continued downstairs to the bathroom, and ignored us when he went back up the stairs. When they finally emerged from the restaurant, I was frozen in more ways than just the temp. Brian said, "It's a bit cold out here". One of them (I don't know who because I think I was in shock) said, "So, were you at the concert?" And we said yes. My friend who was hardly a Queen fan grabbed the attention for herself by shouting "That was the best concert I've ever seen!" or some such thing. I was so embarrassed not being able to think of anything to say in my stunned condition. Freddie looked at me briefly then looked over at my sister. He nodded at my sister but he never stopped walking to the limo. Brian walked over to me and said something like, "Did you enjoy the concert?" and I think I mumbled something like, "Yes. It was fantastic." Then all I could think to say was "Can I have your autograph?" He said "Sure" and ended up giving me the autograph and his pen. So I had to tap him on the arm to get his attention to give him his pen back. "Here's your pen." Can you imagine - here I am meeting my idols and all I can say is this? This all happened within about 20 or 30 seconds it seemed, and they all got into the limo quickly - they seemed pretty tired. I can't remember if they had one or two limos. All four of the members were there and I think a couple of other men - probably manager and driver(s). Freddie didn't say anything, just acknowledged us without a smile and got into the limo. John did the same. I remember thinking Brian was pretty tall. I stood very close to him. I am almost 5 foot 9 and he towered above me it seemed. Of course the hair probably added several inches! The best part of the story I guess is that my sister's friend, the one who knew Mary, said that when the band got back to the hotel they said there were some "nice working girls" waiting outside the restaurant. I guess they thought we were older - we were only 16 and 17 and still in high school of course. We were dressed very conservatively and with long coats.

My sister's co-worker said that she was good friends with Mary, because their families had been neighbors, and so was happy to get to visit with her. Also she said she thought that Freddie was the nicest member of the group, but very shy.” - Donna13

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 19 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic.  In this chapter:  Paul has a nightmare and finally starts to confess to Gene. (Yes, there’s finally some smut again.) (Author’s note 6/24/2020: Smut has been revised! Thighsex imminent.)

           In his dreams Paul was always himself. Sometimes he was eight years old, in the school playground, hearing his classmates singsong "Stanley the one-eared monster" to the tune of Rudolph, and sometimes the classmates would turn into a whole stadium full of people, thousands, cackling and pointing, while he stood onstage and couldn't say a word. Sometimes he was his own age, walking off a plane, or at a photoshoot, stripped down and bare-faced and afraid as soon as the cameras started.

           That night he was seventeen again. He knew because the T.V. was on in the living room, Neil Armstrong on the screen in all his astronaut garb, sticking the flag up on the Moon's rocky soil. Julia was there, for once, sitting beside him on the couch.

           "Do you think it's real?" she said, and he looked at her, disgusted.

           (of course it's real)

           "Do you think it's real?" she repeated, and he thought she must not have heard him. He put his hand to his face, touching the start of his sideburns—something new he was trying, something he'd need to shave before school started back up, but for now, it was cool. He'd seen them on rockstars, but rarely in person, and never on someone he knew, until that guy he'd met a month back. Gene. But Gene was too fat in the face to pull the look off. They would look better on him, once they grew out.

           (it's got to be real. why would they waste all that time and money on something that wasn't real? why would they be so stupid?)

           "You tell me," Julia said, and her face and build shifted, dark hair bleaching out to light brown, pockmarks and freckles sketching across her face, Carol's face, Carol's voice now, Carol's hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Why don't you tell me, Stan?"

         (i don't—)

        Another shift. Carol's face melted down, skull pushing outward, hair going shaggy and wild. Her nose forced out and flattened all at once, muzzle emerging. A lion's face on a man's body, a man's voice coming through its throat.

           "Are you going to tell me?"

         (please)

          (please, take it off, i'm sorry—i'm so sorry—)

           "Is it real?"

          (please)

        (what're you saying, i don't understand)

           "Is love real, Stan?" Marbas' voice was oddly soft as he curled his hand around Paul's suddenly much more narrow shoulder. Tapped it, then Marbas' still-human fingers moved to trace the sides of his smooth, bare face. "Or—let's put it differently. What she felt for you, was that love?"

           (i)

            (i don't think you can love someone you don't know)

           But you've made your fortune pretending." Marbas' lips pulled back, revealing teeth as long as his thumbs. "And so has he."

          (he?)

           "The man in your bed." The demon pushed Paul's hair behind his left ear. "I've cursed greater men than you. Byron. Shelley. More. Watching you was hardly entertaining in comparison, until he came along."

         (don't hurt him)

          (please don't—)

           "Do you really love him, Stan?" Marbas didn't give him time to answer, tugging at a curl, longer now than it had been minutes before. Paul couldn't feel a centimeter of what was happening to him, could barely do more than watch and breathe as his body warped before him. "Why? Because he was kind to you?"

          (i don't know)

           "Because he had the qualities you lacked? Or because you didn't believe he'd want you?"

          (i don't know!)

           The demon wasn't letting the point go. Neil Armstrong still in the background, the sound of the T.V. tinny. His shoes off to the side on the dirty carpet. The plugged-in fan on the coffee table. Everything, everything the same in that little apartment but him.

           "You won't tell me. You won't tell him. What I wrought on you really makes no difference." Marbas touched the center of chest, full and heavy before the demon even moved his finger towards it, and Paul realized, just from what he could see of his body, that he was still seventeen after all. The weight he'd had back then was there, the stomach flab, the too-thick thighs. Every bit of him dumpy and unattractive, no definition, nothing worth wanting. "Even if you'd always had this form, you'd have kept your silence. You'd never have given yourself up."

          (i can't, i just can't—)

           "Then you want to remain as you are?" The demon's mouth twitched again; he seemed almost to smile, fingers toying with Paul's shirt.

          (of course not!)

          (you don't understand!)

           "Paul? Paul, wake up."

           He opened his eyes. Gene was there, leaning over him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a book and a newspaper on the other side of the bed. Gene had stayed with him.

           "What time is it?"

           "Noon. Are you okay?"

           Paul nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down, he realized he was still in last night's dress. The nightie's straps beneath it, amazingly, had stayed in place, though the sleeves of the dress had slid a bit. He swallowed, the memories of the night prior trickling in like a drizzle before a thunderstorm, replacing the fragments of his dream, and tugged the sleeves back up to his shoulder.

           "Did I say anything strange?"

           "You were getting kind of twitchy."

           A glance at the kicked-askew bedsheets told Paul that was an understatement.

           "I'm sorry."

           "No, I'm sorry. I should have stopped you."

           "From kicking in my sleep?"

           "From leaving last night."

           Paul looked over at him.

           "What could you have done? Chased down my car?"

           "I could've grabbed you when you were going out the door." Gene grabbed the book—it was one of his old self-help numbers from high school—and set it on the nightstand, possibly the only attempt at putting something away that Paul had ever seen out of him. "Or I could've done what you wanted. It's my fault."

           "It's not your fault at all. You got me out of there." Paul shifted until he was on his side. "If it hadn't been for you, I…"

           "Mary-Anne was taking care of you."

           "She… she was, wasn't she? She must've thought I was so stupid." He shook his head. "I don't know how you knew where to look for me."

           "I didn't. It was just a guess."

           "I shouldn't have gone off. I guess I wanted to… I don't know what I wanted." Paul paused. "I'm okay. I promise."

           "Are you sure nothing—"

           "Nothing happened." Paul tried to smile, weakly. "I wouldn't still be in this shape if something had."

           "If anybody touched you, then—"

           "It's fine. I'm fine."

           "Paul, you're not fine." Gene swallowed. "Somebody spiked your drink."

           Paul didn't answer for a long moment.

           "Nobody spiked my drink."

           "What?"

           "I said nobody spiked my drink. I took the 'ludes myself."

           He didn't want to look Gene in the face. He didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust there, now that he knew that Paul had drugged himself when he was already in danger. That he hadn't been innocent. That had to have done it for Gene. Wrecked any chance of leftover fondness or want.

           "Why?"

           "Because I couldn't stand the thought of fucking some random guy sober." Paul exhaled. "I didn't realize I couldn't stand the thought of fucking him trashed, either."

           "Paul—"

           "It's okay, all right?"

           He was surprised when Gene gathered him up in his arms. His breaths hitched, all of him just tightening, tightening up at first. Gene almost let go then, but then Paul grabbed him, burying his face against Gene's neck.

           He didn't deserve that kind of comfort out of Gene after what he'd done. Worrying Gene. Risking his own safety. He knew it, but that didn't make him any less greedy for it. He remembered, in blurred-out fragments, Gene's hold on him in CBGB last night, Gene's arm around him in the limo. Gene wiping his face off with the towel. He remembered leaning into all that warmth, too 'luded out to even quite understand it, only recognize that it was there for him, despite everything.

           Hopeless. So hopeless. But he kept holding on anyway, grateful, pathetically grateful, holding on longer than he should have, breathing in the scent of Gene's skin. Closer than he'd ever let himself get before. Closer, maybe, than he'd ever get again. Gene hadn't even gotten dressed yet, was still in his boxers, and his bare arms around him felt so good, so reassuring, it almost hurt. Paul shut his eyes and peeled himself away, not wanting to wait for Gene to let go first.

           "It's really… it's okay."

           And then he got up. He felt more clearheaded than he'd expected. Peter had told him 'ludes kept him from waking up with a hangover after a night of partying, but he'd never really believed him until now. Except for the acrid taste of vomit and morning breath still in his mouth, he felt… bizarrely enough, he almost felt refreshed, physically. He crossed over to the master bathroom, brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash before returning to the bedroom. He walked over to the closet door, where the other blouse and dress that he'd bought still hung from coathangers. "I… I'm gonna get dressed. Which one do you want?"

           "Paul, they're your clothes."

           Paul chewed on his lip and took the dress off its hanger, lining it up level against him. The hem fell two or three inches above his knee. He turned around, dress in hand, and started to head back to the bathroom, but Gene spoke again before he got there.

           "Don't wear things just because you think I'll like them."

           "I'm not."

           "Paul." Gene got up from the bed. "I gave it a lot of thought last night. I haven't helped you out like I needed to."

           "Gene, all you've done is help me out."

           "I've hurt your self-respect. I told you what to do. I made you dependent on me."

           "I was depending on you way before this. You just didn't realize it."

           "Not that way." Gene walked up to him. Paul draped the dress over one arm like a waiter's napkin. "I made you feel like you had to—to wear things, to do things, to keep my attention. I never should've—"

           "That's not true."

           "Yeah, it is. Last night, before you left…" Gene's gaze lowered to the floor before lifting back to meet Paul's. "I didn't know why you were acting like that. I'd thought you wanted me."

           There it was. There it was, closer than Paul had ever dared to put it himself. There was his chance. He could shut it all down right now, seal off any hope of Gene ever getting close enough to hurt again, do what last night had, somehow, failed to manage. Drive Gene away with an assurance that what he'd done, he'd done out of practicality. Tell Gene he'd used him all the way around, that every flirt, every kiss, had just been a means to an end. Lie to him the way he couldn't lie to himself.

           He had to struggle to keep looking Gene in the eye. The nerves that the Quaaludes and drinks had destroyed were all back again; he was keenly, so keenly aware of what he stood to lose. Gene's expression was guilty, almost penitent, and that hurt, too, but—maybe there was something past that. Maybe there was still some desire left in him. Maybe, even, if it wasn't the same as what Paul felt, it would still be okay. Paul wanted to believe that. He took a breath, and said three words.

           "You weren't wrong."

           "What?"

           "I did want you."

           "C'mon, Paul. You know my ego could use a little knocking down."

           "I did want you. I do want you."

           "Paul—"

           It felt like he was walking through water, every movement artificially slowed down. Two steps to close in on Gene. The reach of his hand to touch Gene's face, the morning stubble he hadn't yet shaved, tugging his chin down to kiss him. Just once, quickly, softly. Gene didn't stiffen up, didn't draw back, but he didn't answer immediately, either. As he broke the kiss, looking at Gene, trying to gauge his expression, Paul realized, offhand, that he'd had to raise up on the balls of his feet just to reach him. He hadn't even noticed.

           "You're not gonna want me after. I know that."

           "I don't know that I'd say that."

           "I would." Paul's mouth crooked upward, only a little wobbly. The words seemed to spill out of him like the water from a burst dam. "That's why I acted like that. That's why I left, because I knew."

           "Paul, listen—" Gene started, but Paul cut him off.

           "It's okay. I… I haven't treated you right. You've been real good to me and I—" Paul shook his head. "Let's try, all right? If you still want to—I wanna try."

           "I—"

           "I don't think I could go all the way yet. But I wanna be with you."

           "Don't push yourself. Especially not after last night."

           "I'm not pushing myself."

           "Paul, I'm serious."

           "I'm serious, too."

           Gene didn't answer for awhile. Paul felt frozen in front of him, biting back a thousand more words, swallowing every impulse to spill his guts even further. He wouldn't hold eight years of want over Gene's head like a ransom that needed to be paid. He wouldn't beg Gene again. He wouldn't yell at him, or throw a fit. And he wouldn't—he wouldn't give himself up, any more than he had already. He couldn't.

           Gene's hand touched his cheek. He seemed to be thinking. Gene always seemed to be thinking. Paul took a few quick breaths, until Gene bent his head and met Paul's lips with his own. Warm lips he'd already half-given up on touching again. Paul kissed back hard, suddenly desperate, arms looping around the back of Gene's neck. Beyond eager, beyond grateful, wanting to erase the memory of last night on the bed. Touching him the way he'd wanted to before. Kissing him the way he'd wanted to before, the way he'd done when they were dancing. Gene's tongue was in his mouth, one hand tangling against in his hair while the other tugged him tight against him.

           Paul was getting wet, like before, trying to grind against Gene like he still had a dick, like any movement of his hips right now, standing up, was granting him half the friction it was giving Gene. Gene was tugging him backwards before long, back towards the bed. Paul let him. His whole body felt hot and just on the verge, already unraveled over so little. Gene eased him into sitting on the bed and he scooted backwards, swinging his legs across the bed.

           Gene didn't go for the zipper of his dress this time. He seemed almost cautious, only kissing him on the mouth and neck, not yet even groping his chest. Paul reached behind him, sliding the zipper down, down, sliding the dress off. More purposely exposed than Gene had seen him until now, nothing remaining but the thin, purple nightie and panties. He was trying not to squirm as he felt Gene's gaze on him, but he couldn't seem to help himself, fingers curling around the nightie's hem. When he'd put it on late yesterday afternoon, he'd realized how short it was, the hem only barely skirting the upper part of his thighs, and how the silky material strained against his breasts. It had sort of warmed him, then, made him feel a little hopeful, a little desirable. Now, he wasn't so sure.

           "Do you like it?"

           "Yeah. It looks good on you."

           "I got it for you."

           Gene hesitated.

           "That's what I mean, you don't need to wear things to—"

           "I'm not—"

           "What… what I mean is, you had my attention already."

           Paul felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that. Gene didn't seem to be waiting on an answer, anyway, one hand sliding up his thigh, beneath the nightie, tracing the soft skin there and the spreading wetness on his panties. His other hand went for one breast, squeezing it, sending another surge of need through Paul's body. He'd tried groping his own breasts a few times, before Gene came, never getting anywhere with it. It had been about as pleasurable as rubbing a hand against his knee. But now that Gene was touching them, tweaking one already-hard nipple and then the other, Paul found himself groaning, back arching. On some level it was almost humiliating, to be crying out over so little. Gene's other hand had only barely started rubbing him through the damp fabric.

           Gene tugged Paul up on his lap before long, Paul's legs splayed on either side of him, the nightie bunched up above his hips. Gene's erection was rubbing up against him, too tantalizingly close to be avoidable now, and Paul held his breath, half-expecting Gene's slow strokes to stop entirely, but they didn't. Paul grunted a bit, tugging the elastic of Gene's boxers down just enough to free his dick.

           "Lemme suck you off," he urged, starting to scoot back, although the twitch of Gene's fingers, finally sliding beneath his panties, made it almost impossible to want to get off of him for that long. "You haven't gotten a damn thing out of this yet."

           "I don't know about that." Gene was smiling, running his fingers against his slick folds, Paul pushing his hips forward to meet them. "Just give me a hand here. I've got a great view."

           "C'mon, you… you can't just want a handjob." It had to be disappointing enough just keeping it to fooling around in the first place with him. Paul hadn't even been brave enough to take off the nightgown. Paul grasped Gene's dick anyway, almost unprompted, his own strokes firmer and more assured than he'd expected. He watched Gene take a deep breath, his cock already twitching a bit in his hand. "I've blown guys before, I'm not a virgin there—"

           "Maybe later." Gene grinned, pressed a kiss to his throat. "You know, I never actually got to see you relax the other night." His finger ran lightly across the edge of his clit, too lightly.

           "You felt it," Paul protested, distracted. It was already getting hard to concentrate. He didn't want to halfass it, especially when part of him could still barely believe it was happening at all. Especially when he knew, from rare, scattered conversations early on when they'd toured, that Gene tried to avoid masturbating much—which had always struck Paul as weird. Gene's selective orthodoxy and hang-ups were so baffling. He shifted, rolling his hips harder against Gene's fingers and hand.

           "Let me see it."

           Oh. Oh. Paul was crying out again, cursing as he tried to focus, keep a rhythm going despite his own arousal. The precome already dripping from the tip was gratifying, Gene's breaths getting ragged, but he didn't know if it was enough. Gene kept watching him, watching his face. Every high-pitched sound that came out of Paul's throat was hotly embarrassing, not in the least because Gene was quieter in comparison, while Paul's moaning was only ever covered up when his lips met Gene's. But Gene was getting less cautious now, groping his breasts beneath the nightie instead of just through it, the skin-on-skin sensation almost overwhelming. His other hand, caught between Paul's thighs, was certain, slipping along his folds, finger running small strokes against the hood and clit.

          Gene was already closer than he was. Paul could tell that by the feel of his dick in his hand, and the expressions crossing his face, making him redouble his efforts. Paul’s vision swam, his own concentration faltering far before Gene came, groaning lowly, spurting mostly in his hand and on his dick, a bit of come ending up on Paul’s bare thigh. Paul let go, bracing his damp hand on the bed, leaning forward. Gene’s own hand had gone almost still between his legs. The blissed-out look on Gene’s face almost made up for it.

          “Hey, Paul, you haven’t—” Gene started, fingers moving again, not quite as intently as before. Paul grabbed his wrist, tugging it back.

          “Wait. Let’s try something else.”

          Gene looked a little confused but moved his hand away, starting to rest it on his leg. Paul shook his head.

          “Not there. I need that.”

          “You need that?” Gene furrowing his brows post-coital would’ve been funny, if Paul wasn’t battling his own arousal. The heat was starting to rise in his cheeks as he took Gene by the wrist again, setting it on the sheets. He wasn’t quite able to look Gene in the eye again yet, so he ran his fingers against the warm, soft fabric of his boxers, rolling up the hem of one leg slightly, mouth pursed.

          “You’ll see.”

          Paul closed his eyes briefly, breaths heavy, and scooted in closer, shifting until he was straddling one of Gene’s thighs. He made only a token effort at wiping his right hand off on the sheet before clasping both hands around the back of Gene’s neck, as he started to rub himself against Gene’s leg.

          Gene’s lips parted in surprise. Unbelievably, he actually looked like he didn’t know what to do at first, hands taking awhile to find their way back to Paul, one resting on his shoulder while the other slipped back under the nightie to rove over his stomach and back up to his breasts. Pairing that with Paul’s own grinding made it all the more intense, stimulation almost overwhelming. His damp panties were barely a barrier, exactly the extra friction he needed as he rocked his hips in short, quick bursts. Every so often, his leg would brush up against Gene’s dick—still soft for now, but still its own sharp thrill. Warm. As long as he was this close, this wet, he wasn’t nearly so worried about how letting him, about how actually fucking, would end it. It was just something else spurring on his arousal, a promise of something to come.

          “You’re killing me, Paul.”

          “Yeah?” Paul’s mouth twitched into a small smile as Gene tugged him into a kiss.His legs were clamping tight around Gene’s thigh nearly of their own accord, amping up the pressure, concentrating it. Paul was panting and groaning again before long. His clit was throbbing, the wetness that had already soaked through his underwear going past it, making Gene’s bare skin and the edge of his boxers slightly slick.  Easy to push and rub up against, find the exact right rhythm to leave him breathless.

          But it wasn’t quite enough until Gene pulled him forward just a bit, just until Paul found himself panting against his neck. Paul sped up a little, hips rocking, moans and curses all he seemed able to manage as the pleasure built up, closer, closer. He realized, dimly, that he was starting to finally get used to this body, figure out what he liked now, how to get off. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not that it mattered right now. Gene was still watching, his gaze, the unfettered, needy want there making Paul feel heady. Looking him right in the eye was better than before, better than it had been in the dark. He cried out again, sharply, as he finally came, clutching Gene hard as he rode out his orgasm. It was a few seconds before he let go, Gene’s grip on his shoulder not loosening up until Paul relaxed his legs again.

          “Gene,” he said. “That… that was good.”

          “Yeah? Good.” Gene grinned. “You look cute when you come.”

          Paul glanced down reflexively at the comment, shaking his head. The spunk on his hand and on the sheets was long since clotted up. He started to get up from Gene’s thigh, a little shakily, straightening his underwear and pushing down the nightie with his clean hand. He felt a little like apologizing—it couldn’t have been that good for Gene, who probably hadn’t had a chick stop at a handjob with him in ten years, and Paul knew he couldn’t have been that fun to watch get off, either, if only because of what it wasn’t—but Gene didn’t look unhappy with the way things had gone at all. He looked pleased, maybe almost sated, running his hand almost possessively down the wet spot Paul had left behind on his thigh and boxers, rubbing the fluid between his fingertips. Paul’s face felt hot as Gene brought his fingers to his lips.

          “You taste pretty good, too.”

           “Aw, c’mon, Gene--”

          “You do.”

          Paul shook his head, but his heart was beating a hard, hopeful cadence at the words. He didn't quite feel sated. There was a weird leftover warmth in him, a deep-down feeling that he could probably go again without much trouble, but he felt like he'd asked too much of Gene already. It'd probably be another ten minutes at least before Gene could get hard again.

           "Uh. Lemme get you a towel or something, then we can… I don't know, I can fix some toast…" Paul trailed, awkward as all hell, starting to scoot off the bed. He'd forgotten how to handle anyone in the after. Gene, especially. Gene looked at him as if he were about to laugh.

           "You'll really leave it at that?"

           "I'm not leaving it at anything." Paul tried to rearrange his face into as bland an expression as he could, too keenly aware of how tightly he was still pressing his thighs together. Gene laughed, tugging him back up by the arm, back nearly into place on his lap. He wasn't facing him head-on this time, at first, but he turned his head, a vague sort of hope making his pulse flit. "C'mon, Gene, I know you can't—"

           "You have a hard time enjoying anything, don't you?"

           Oh, God. Just like last time, Gene was picking the worst point possible to start asking questions. Paul hesitated.

           "I enjoy plenty."

           "You're still soaking." Gene had gone for the hem of the nightie, tugging it up and pressing a finger against his panties, making Paul twitch anew. "I bet you could go again. Maybe more than once."

           "I don't know— "

           "You wanna try?" Gene leaned in, kissing the top of his head. Just as easy and thoughtless as if they really were together. As if this wasn't going to evaporate the second Paul gathered up enough nerve to give in entirely.  Why shouldn't he be thoughtless about it? I want you was all Paul had managed to own up to.

           Paul shoved those thoughts aside as hard as he could, and turned around entirely, tracing his hand down Gene's chest. Gene, to his credit, barely winced at the cold, not nearly inadvertent smear of come from Paul's hand.

           "Depends. Would you go down on me for it?"

           The glint in Gene's eye gave him away long before he even licked his lips.

[madamsixx]

Beyond The Leather Chapter 26: Sight Seeing In London

February 16th, 1986

I listened back stage as the girls all ran one by one to poke their heads out of the curtain. I started wondering what was going on. I walked towards the curtain and heard them fawning over some guy who was sitting in the audience.

"Hey Mel who are the girls looking at?" I asked with curiosity.

"Take a look for your self. He's so fucking hot." She grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the curtain to look.

What the hell the girls are staring at Vince! I popped my head back in and shook my head. Girls and Vince Neil. I was happy though that he kept his word and came. Last night I went to Motley's last show in London. It was very fun I enjoyed my self. It was time for us to start our cat walk.

I came out of the curtain and strutted down the runway. I side eyed Vince and sent him alittle wink while walking. I turned and posed then walked back. Today I was feeling good and I felt like nothing could bring me down.

After the show I got dressed and came out to meet Vince.

"Soooo how did you like the show?" I asked.

"Well I liked the models, I could care less about the show." He laughed. "I think I slept when the guy was talking and woke back up when the girls started coming out."

"Seriously Vince." I slapped his arm. I turned around to see all the girls looking at me and Vince. "Listen I'm going to introduce you to them. But no dirty buissness." I warned him.

After I introduced Vince to the girls, he headed back to the hotel and I headed to the reception. The limo dropped us off back at the hotel. The girls wanted to have a little fun at the hotel restaurant. I was down for some fun but I wanted to call home first. I headed up to my room, when I got out of the elevator Nikki was standing by my door with a big side bag.

I wonder what he wanted? I walked towards my door slowly watching him. He looked really sad.

"H...how was the fashion show?" He asked almost whispering.

"Good." I say cossing my arms.

He nodded his head and put his hands in his pockets. "I um...I know were not on good terms but this is my last day in London. I was hoping I could take you out?"

I wasn't in the mood to hang around him. After that argument we got into and finding out that Nikki shoots up drugs, I just felt like I wanted to enjoy the rest of my night drama free. Because in truth since he has been here there has been nothing but problems between us.

"I don't think that's a good idea Nikki." I say walking passed him. "I'm hanging out with my air head models tonight." I say unlocking my door.

He chuckled and rubbed his hand through his hair. "You may not beleive me when I say this because I have said it to you so much." He says blocking me from going in. "But I am sorry, I'm a fuck up and I don't mean to be. But I am."

I'm trying to not look at his face he just looks so sad and it's killing me.

"Mani." He calls me while grabbing my jaw for me to look at him. "I need to take you out tonight. Please." He Softly speaks. "It's my last day here. Please." He pleaded again.

"Where would we go?" I sigh.

He smirks at me. "Some where that will require you to bring a big coat." _____

We got into a limo and it pulled us into a secluded parking lot. I looked out the window and saw a huge bus. The limo stopped and I opened the door and saw the tour bus. I can't believe he still booked it. I wanted to tour London so bad on this bus.

"Nikki I can't believe you still did this." I said excitedly.

"And we have the whole bus to our selves." He grabbed my hand pulling me towards the bus.

"Hello Mr. Sixx and Miss. Darlington let me help you on the bus. The tour guide stuck his hand for me to take helping me get on the bus.

I climbed aboard all the way to the top. It was a cold night. Good thing he told me to bring a big coat. But I could care less about that. The fact that he still went out of his way to do this, considering our argument made me push all those thoughts about us not hanging around each other away. I sat in the front seat and he scooted in beside me.

"Ok so our first stop is going to be the Clock Tower." The tour guide said.

The bus started moving and I was all smiles. "Nikki I'm so happy thank you!" I giggled.

"Well I did have a day off so I figured why not plan something." He smiled at me.

"When did you book this? Was it in the morning?"

"Yeah I did. Actually Cheap Trick's Rick Nielson introduced Tommy and me to one of Tommy's favourite drummers, Roger Taylor of Queen." He explained.

"Oh wow, Tommy must have been excited.

"Yeah he was. Well Roger takes us and Cheap Trick singer Robin Zander to this Russian restaurant in London we drank infused vodka and dined. I asked Rick where he would take a pissed off girl to make her happy on a tour bus. And he told me about these special places to go."

"Aww Nikki." I hugged him. "Well it worked cause I'm not pissed off any more." I nudged him.

"And here we are at the Clock Tower." Our talking was interrupted by the tour guide. "Big Ben is the nickname for the Great Bell of the striking clock at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London and is usually extended to refer to both the clock and the clock tower. The tower was designed by Augustus Pugin in a neo-Gothic style. When completed in 1859, its clock was the largest and most accurate four-faced striking and chiming clock in the world. The tower stands 315 feet 96 m tall, and the climb from ground level to the belfry is 334 steps. Its base is square, measuring 39 feet 12 m on each side. Dials of the clock are 23 feet 7.0 m in diameter.

"Oh no I didnt bring a camera." I pouted

"Good thing I did." Nikki grabs his bag and pulls out a Polaroid camera. "Here stand there."

I get up and pose for him. "Now one of me and you." I lean forward to grab him. He gets up and turns the camera to face us and snaps the picture.

"Alright loves next were going to Tower Bridge buckle up love birds it's going to beautiful." He smiled.

I sit back down and me and Nikki look at each other and start laughing like school kids.

"London is so beautiful. Especially at night." I whispered.

"Yes you are." Nikki hums and puts his arm around me.

"So am I not beautiful during the day?" I raise a brow.

"Oh..uh...yes of course." He stutterers.

"I'm messing with you Sixx." I say leaning in and kissing his cheek.

"Here we are Tower Bridge is a combined bascule and suspension bridge in London, built between 1886 and 1894. The bridge crosses the River Thames close to the Tower of London and has become an iconic symbol of London. As a result, it is sometimes confused with London Bridge, about half a mile upstream."

Tower bridge was so beautiful. The lights made everything look like it was pure gold. We drove slowly under the bridge and I honestly just couldn't believe I was here. I got up to look down at the water. It was calm and steady. The lights also made it look gold as well. I heard a snap and turned to face Nikki.

"Mr. Sixx did you just take a picture of me?" I smiled.

"I did princess." He smiles.

"Alright were heading to the next stop!" The tour guide yells again. To be honest he was giving me a headache.

I made sure to tuck every single one of the pictures in Nikkis bag. I was so afraid of loosing them. I wanted to remember this night. We sat back down and he wrapped his whole arms around me.

"Alright and the next place were heading to is the coca cola London eye. You will love this one."

"What do you say we ditch this sucker and go street sight seeing." Nikki whispered in my ear.

"Hell yes!" I laughed.

Once we stopped. I looked up and saw a huge round lighted red circle. It was beautiful. There were blue buildings lit up behind it and boats growing in the water.

"This place is-"

"Hey sorry I have to take a piss." Nikki got up interrupting him. He grabbed my hand and we got off the bus.

"Alright don't be long kids were on a tight schedule." He pointed at his watch.

We walked down towards the coca cola London eye. And I smiled as I walked underneath it. Nikki started snapping pictures of me laughing and giggling.

"Nikki look a fair!" I darted towards where I saw the lights and the ferris wheel.

"Woah Mani slow down." Nikki laughed chasing after me.

"Nikki look at this place. Oh my God we can go on rides, get cotton candy, play games, win prizes." I rambled on and on.

"Hey hey hey come here." He grabbed my hand pulling me towards him. I made a pouty face at Nikki. He sighed, "I'm sorry I sometimes forget that your still really young." He laughed humorously. "You want to go on rides?"

"Yes." I smiled with all teeth showing.

We went on almost all the rides, ate a lot of food, and took a lot of pictures.

"Step right up folks, this game is to test your strength. You have to take the hammer and hit the button as hard as you can. If the meter goes all the way to green you can win this big stuffed bear." The game maker said.

"Oh Nikki look at the bear. It's so cute!" I squealed.

"You want that bear princess?" He looked at me and smiled.

"Yes I do." I leaned on him.

"Woah Nikki Sixx! Wow I'm a big fan!" The game maker shouted.

"Alright princess." Nikki handed the game maker the money and took the hammer. He lifted the hammer behind his head and smashed it down on the button.

"Oooooh sorry Mr. SIxx, better luck next time. Hello sir step right up come try and win your girl a bear." The game maker says while signaling to the next person.

"Thanks, I'm going to win that bear for you sweety." The guy goes to take the hammer from Nikki.

"Fuck off I'm winning that bear for my girl." Nikki yells pulling the hammer away from the guy. He pulls more money out of his pocket and hands it to the game maker.

"Nik it's ok." I laughed nervously placing my hand on my neck while people stared at us.

"Hey ass hole you had your turn already!" The man yelled.

Nikki lifted up the hammer and smashed it again hitting it harder this time. The meter went all the way to green.

"Yay Nikki!" I squealed jumping into his arms and kissing his cheek.

Nikki dropped the hammer and grabbed the bear from the game maker. "Here you go princess." He says handing me the bear. Could this man be any more sweeter.

we leave the fair and catch a cab to head back to the hotel. I open the door and let Nikki inside. I place my bear on the couch and take off my coat and take Nikki's coat to hang it up.

"I only have cranberry juice to drink, you ok with that? I asked Nikki walking to my kitchen.

"Yeah that's fine." He says plopping down on my couch.

I bring him a cup and pour myself a cup as well and sit down across from it.

"Thank you for today I had a really great time Nik. And I love my bear." I smiled and kissed the bear.

"Its no problem doll. I just didn't want to leave things bad between us. I'm sure once we got back to LA you would have probably ignored me."

There was a pause between us for a while. I couldn't read Nikki face, it seemed like he was holding back in wanting to say something to me.

"I need to tell you something." We both said at the same time.

"Oh uh you can go first." He says to me smiling.

"Ok...I um." I put my head down and dry swallowed. "I'm very very sorry for what I did when I was with my friends." I looked back up at him. "It was.. it was very rude of me Nikki. Theres no excuse for my behaviour and you didn't deserve that. I'm very sorry. And I also want to say sorry for my out burst when you came here last time. I hope you can forgive me." I spoke softly.

Nikki got up from where he was sitting and moved the bear so he could sit beside me. He kissed the top of my forehead, "I'll always forgive you." He caressed my cheek. "Mani I." He paused and brushed his hair back. "I really care about you. And you mean the world to me. I want to be your-" "friend!" I inturrupted. He looked startled when I spoke up and said that.

"I want to be your friend too!" I placed my hand on his hand. "I think us going back to hanging out like we did before will be really great. I miss our friendship and the long talks. And I care about you as a friend as well. Your friendship means a lot to me." I smiled and kissed his cheek.

Nikki turned away from me and moved his hand away from mine. He brushed his hair back again. "Ok." He spoke lowly. He then got up, "I'm going to head to my room." He started walking towards my door. I got up and walked behind him. "You don't have to Nik, you can stay here a little longer." I calmly spoke to him.

He just kept walking ignoring me. He opened my door and I grabbed his arm gently to pull him back. I turned him to face me and I cupped his cheeks in my hands and gave him a slow sweet kiss on his lips. He tensed up and wrapped his arms securely around my waist pulling me towards him not wanting to let me go. I pulled away and smiled.

He sighed, "Mani please just-" "tell Rick Nielson I said thank you, for telling you about those beautiful places you took me to. I really enjoyed my self." I caressed his cheek and pulled my body away from him.

He nodded his head then walked out of my room. "You know actually I did thank him." He turns around and looks at me. "I pissed on Rick Nielson's black rubber coat back when we got back to the hotel." He smirks then continues to walk to his room.

I walk back into my room closing the door behind me. I had to do it this way. Nikki shoots up drugs and I can see that he is already addicted to it. That night when Andy brought Nikki to my room. His arms told me the whole story about his lifestyle. And me getting mixed in with that type of life style won't look good. It's not just about my career it's about my well being. I can't take care of a drug addict, I can't have a life with a drug addict, and certainly can't bring home a drug addict. Plus I'm too young for him. I do have feelings for him, but I'm going to have to tuck them away in a dark place. I told him we can be friends but if he calls me up and wants to hang out or do something I'll have to ignore him. My plan is to slowly distance my self from him. I know... I sound like a bitch for saying that. But the reality is who wants to be associated with a junkie?

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Erin and Ania are like holy fuck I can’t even. But for real Neil sees Abby as a mother figure in the book so like is it the same for Ania? Andrew too? Idek I just need to know their relationships with everyone

It’s time I map out their relationships anyways lol so thanks, love!

Let’s start with the lovely Ania 

Dan, Allison, and Ania are roommates. It’s tough after Seth’s death bc Ania has to face her all the time. Erin tells Allison her theory too so Allison is avoiding Ania so :////

Dan is essentially what Matt was to Neil. She sees Ania and her first thought is ‘baby’. She adopts her so fast. Every morning before class, she’ll pinch Ania’s cheeks and kiss her fingers, chef-style Idk man. It’s just something my mom does to me ok. Let me be soft. 

Renee rooms with Erin so Ania isn’t comfortable with her. Anyone that can spend the night in a room with that girl has to be hardcore. 

Allison also gives Ania a lot of shit about her wardrobe. At some point it starts to get to her so when the monsters head to the mall, Erin catches Ania drifting towards the girl’s section on her own. She’s high so she follows her around, prodding her about it. When Ania tells her, there’s this moment where Erin’s drug haze parts for a second. Ania could have sworn that she saw anger flashing in Erin’s eyes for half a second. She shrugs it off until Allison shows up at the dorms with a bruise on her jaw. Erin knows Ania hides her body bc scars and bc she doesn’t like men staring at her. She refuses to let Allison shame Ania into doing something she doesn’t want to. In general, Allison and Ania have a rocky relationship because Erin keeps interfering. After Christmas, the two of them end up getting along a lot better bc they bond while Allison covers Ania’s bruises with makeup. Also after Christmas, Ania and Renee trade dorms so she and Allison aren’t in constant contact. Part of their friction was due to the amount of time they spent together. A lot of things have happened to Allison this year and the fact that she constantly has to see the source of a lot of her problems makes it hard for her to heal.  

I’ve considered Fem!Nicky but I personally prefer Gay/Lesbian solidarity between him and Erin a lot better so yeah (However if you want me to run a few Fem!Nicky hcs, hmu and I’ll do it. She won’t be a part of the fem!verse but it would be fun). He’s exactly the way he is in canon. However, he is constantly trying to set Ania and Erin up and Erin? Doesn’t? Stop? Him? She’s so desperately in love with Ania that if Nicky wingmanning for her is what it takes to win her over, then she’ll take it. She also has a really dirty sense of humor. The jokes he makes fuel her late-night fantasies. 

Aaron is disgusted with Nicky and, more importantly, himself. Ania is incredibly beautiful and he’s incredibly straight. He doesn’t like her bc he’s so gone for Katelyn. That doesn’t make Ania any less pretty. He finds himself staring at her all the time but so does every other fox so he doesn’t feel bad. 

Katelyn thinks Ania is hot. She’s bi but leans heavily towards guys. It takes Aaron a long time to unlearn his homophobia but he manages it because Katelyn is bi and he couldn’t possibly hate anything about her. Once Riko is gone and Ania is safe, she starts to develop feelings. I mean, she always had feelings but now she doesn’t try to suppress them. She lets herself want to be friends with people. Katelyn happens to be at the top of her list. While the twins are with Bee at their sessions, Katelyn and Ania hang out. Sessions are only an hour/hour and a half long so the girls just grab a soda together or go window shopping in Reddin. I hc Katelyn as a genuinely sweet VSCO girl. Let me have this! Ania has a grunge/goth aesthetic because Erin buys her clothes for her but she thinks Katelyn’s clothes are cute too. Erin wants to hate the thousands of scrunchies and anklets she finds strewn across the dorm but they make Ania so happy. Once on a double date, on Bee’s insistence, Katelyn catches sight of a bubblegum pink scrunchie in Erin’s hair. It’s a stark contrast to her all-black outfit but it’s really cute. When Aaron goes to grab their drinks from the barista, Katelyn tells her so making sure to stay well out of Erin’s reach. Erin just grunts and turns to look out the window. The twins don’t blush with their whole face. Instead, their ears turn red. With Erin’s hair pulled up and out of the way, Katelyn has no trouble seeing her burning red ears. It’s progress! 

Ania spends a lot more time out at Evermore as a kid than Neil did. As a result, she was really close to Kevin and Riko. She only knew Jean for like a month before she dipped. I got a request for Fem!Jean so you’ll see Ania’s relationship with Jeanie soon. Kevin sees her as a baby sister. He and Kayleigh were actually at the hospital when Ania was born. There’s a baby photo back at Kayleigh’s old house of 3yr old Kevin carrying a newborn Ania. He’s crying rivers in it. There’s an actual video of it as well. In it, Kay asks him why he’s crying. “She’s sho shmall!” little Kevin sobs. “Can I keep her? Pleashe, mom. I’ll be nice to her and take care of her and I’ll tell her I love her all the time.” You can hear someone laughing in the background. The camera pans across the room to reveal Wymack sitting in a chair by the door, cackling

TANGENT BUT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT WYMACK FOR A MINUTE! So Wymack and Kay are friends with some obvious benefits. He flips his shit when Kevin is born because what if that’s his kid??? Kay is just like, I was with a lot of guys and brushes it off. She’s lying through her teeth. Wymack is the only man she’s ever loved. Tetsuji is salty and I will go into this in another post but I think that Tetsuji really hated Kevin because he was Kay’s son but not his. I absolutely believe that Tetsuji was in love with Kayleigh Day and was pissed when she had a kid. Anyway, Wymack flies out to Ireland a lot to check up on Kay and Kevin because Kay is crazy. How could the inventor of exy not be? It’s literally murder lacrosse. He goes out to make sure Kay isn’t overworking herself and bc Kev has no father figure. Kev grows up knowing Wymack and absolutely adores him. When Kay dies, Wymack wants custody of Kevin. Kay knows who the Moriyamas are and recently she and Tetsuji have been fighting a lot. She’s scared that something is going to happen to her so she writes her will and emphasizes that she wants her son sent to Wymack if she dies. Her fight with Tetsuji comes to a head and the car ‘accident’ happens. It’s not an accident. Tetsuji ordered her killed in a fit of rage. He’s devastated when it actually happens. He loved her and now she’s dead. Well, who’s fault is that, ya dumb bish? He flies out for the funeral and so does Wymack. Tetsu finds the will first and is anger. He has it burned and has Nathan forge a new one where he gets custody of Kev. It breaks Wymack’s heart bc now he thinks Kay didn’t want him around Kev. Kevin is five and he’s crying because his mom is dead and now he can’t live with Wymack. He calls Wymack Dad and Wymack can’t do anything about this. Instead, he just hugs little Kev close and tells him it’ll be okay. Wymack tells Kev that Tetsu has a niece his age. Maybe Kev and Riko can be friends. Maybe they’ll even get married. Kevin says that’s disgusting and Wymack laughs a hollow laugh. Anyway, that’s how Kev gets shipped to Evermore. Tetsu doesn’t allow Wymack near Kev bc he knows the truth. The reason why Wymack always has a sports channel on because he used to keep it on in case Kev ever showed up. He watched every one of Kev’s games and interviews and everything. Wymack doesn’t get to be there to watch Kev grown up so he just watched from a distance. I'm not crying you are. 

Wymack is a father figure to Ania and Erin. He’s there when Ania is born bc he went to visit Kay and Kev who were in Baltimore to meet baby Nathania. Kay carts him out to the hospital to meet her too. Nathan Wesninski was not in the room when his daughter was born. He doesn’t even meet her until she’s six months old. Wymack is the first man Nathania meets and she doesn’t even know. Mary didn’t want to hand Nathania over to Wymack but she and Kay are friends and she knows that he’s her baby daddy. Wymack doesn’t recognize Ania because he only knew her for a month when she was a newborn. Of course he doesn’t recognize her. However, he thinks about her a lot. She’s actually the first baby he’s ever held. He didn’t get to hold Kevin until he was two. Wymack treats Ania the same way he treats Neil but he puts in a bit of extra care bc he knows about Millport incident. 

Abby is definitely as much of a mom figure as she was to Neil. However, after she shows her her scars, Ania gets a lot closer to her. She refuses to tell her things but when Erin gets sent to Easthaven, Ania has a hard time staying at the dorms. She spends all her time at the court bc she has to. She hides in the library bc it’s the one place she wouldn’t see Erin anyways. She crashes at Abby’s a few times because there are times she can’t stand the thought of going back to the dorms without feeling the brush of Erin’s hand on the back of her neck. 

Oh. That’s a thing. Every night after midnight practice n Kev has gone to his room, Ania says goodnight to Erin. Erin will trail her hand across the back of Ania’s neck as she passes in response. It makes Ania shiver because her neck is as much of an erogenous zone as Erin’s is. Erin always watches it out of the corner of her eye bc God it’s the most amazing thing she’s ever seen. It makes her feel. Ania doesn’t really realize???? She’s so dumb. She knows it makes her feel good but she just can’t for the life of her figure out why. 

It’s time I addressed the real psycho lesbian… While Erin’s is a facade, Riko is genuinely psychotic. She’s seven types of crazy. Actually, it skews a little more yandere but I will go into depth about it in the Fem!Jean fic. Rn, I’ll try to keep it short. Riko has her first crush when she’s eight? Nine? She kisses her crush on the cheek when she’s ten and Tetsuji… doesn’t take it well to say the least. The bit about it’s easier to remain straight? It’s the thing Kevin hears Riko say to herself every morning in front of the mirror. Regardless, Riko never gets over that first crush. Riko will never not miss Nathania Wesninski. When she finds out who Ania really is? She loses it. It’s fate, she tells herself. She will have Ania or die trying. Christmas at Evermore is a thing so I mean, I guess she does have Ania :( But she wants Ania to love her. She tells Ania as much and Ania spits in her face. :)

Most of Erin’s relationships are the same except for the Matt and Renee thing I covered earlier. The only other one that changes is Kevin. I know I say this a lot, but she really thought Ania and Kev would be a thing. She says no to Kevin for everything bc she’s petty.  Kevin has always gotten everything that he wanted handed to him on a silver plate. Now he’s taking the one thing she really wants.  If he gets Ania, he can’t have anything else. Again, I’ll cover her relationship with Jean later. 

Thanks again your ask <3

Edit: I'm really tired and have a quiz tomorrow but I forgot to talk about Cleo. I'll make a separate post about her so stay tuned for that!!!

[caranfindel]

Recap/review 14.05: “Nightmare Logic”

THEN: Maggie. Lucifer brings her back to life but she's not okay. Maybe Jack can help us stop all the evil in the world. But then what would we do? Michael is making super monsters. The hunted become the hunters.

NOW: Maggie? Are they really still trying to make me care about Maggie? {sigh} Fine. Maggie is on a hunt, all on her own, in Claremore, Oklahoma, which she calls "delightful" but I'm pretty sure she's being sarcastic. She's in what looks like a mausoleum, hunting what she thinks is a ghoul, and we know all this because she took a camera out of her bag and started talking to it. She's wearing light pink pants that are gonna show ALL THE BLOOD, so you can tell she's still a newbie. And then the ghoul gets her. Bye, Maggie?

Title card!

Bunker. Sam seems to be leading a small hunting class. He wraps it up quickly when Dean comes in, and it seems like he still feels uneasy being a leader when Dean's around. Which makes sense. Dean's been the leader all of Sam's life. For his part, Dean actually seems to enjoy watching Sam in this new role, although he's a little sarcastic about things like hunter check-ins ("that's adorable!"). He asks Sam if he's getting any sleep, and we know the answer is "no" because Sam doesn't really answer. He's got 16 hunters on case, not including Cas and Jack (who are in Sarasota) or Mobby (who are in Texas.) You know, I'm okay with Cas being gone, but I'm not okay with him taking Jack with him. Just saying.

Dean thinks the new people don't need this much help, since they all survived a war, but Sam explains that a war is not hunting. Which begs the question, why are they all hunting anyway? Sam's right - the angel war wouldn't really prepare them for hunting monsters. So why are they doing it? Just because they live in the bunker now, so they have to be hunters? Is that why Maggie's out there in her damn pink pants trying not to get killed again?

As Sam's talking, he gets a notification that Maggie missed check-in. Ruh roh! {Sidebar: Seems like having to call in at a pre-scheduled time would be really inconvenient for hunting, so I've decided this just means she has to check in at least once every 24 hours.} Next we see the guys in the library, with Dean calling Maggie and not getting an answer as Sam works on the laptop. He has pulled up footage from Maggie's bodycam, which surprises Dean and me, but Sam says having the new hunters watch each other hunt is the best way to learn. You know, I'm thrilled with Sam's little vocational training program here, but I think the best way to learn would be to send the newbies out with experienced hunters, instead of sending them on their own and putting bodycams on them so everyone else can watch them die. But what do I know?

Sam says the bodycams upload directly to the server, so I guess Maggie had wifi in a mausoleum somewhere in delightful Claremore, Oklahoma. Of course, if Sam provided them, they'll have wifi everywhere, so let's not concern ourselves with minor details. They watch the ghoul from Maggie's POV, and Sam's clearly upset and afraid she's dead. Dean points that she might be okay, because 1) they didn't see her die, and b) ghouls are scavengers that don't normally feed on the living. Sam says "Yeah, but remember the ones that killed and ate Adam and his mom? And were eating me alive before you killed them?" No, he doesn't say that. But he should. Someone should. Instead he just asks why a ghoul would attack her. Because it's a monster, Sam.

(Hey, remember when Sam was tied to the table and the ghouls were eating him? That was a good episode.)

But this one has several good points too, including the fact that Sam looks like he might be growing the beard again. (I know he's not. Let me dream.)

Cut to a nice transition video of the Impala zooming down the road, and then the brothers in the cemetery where Maggie was last seen. Dean comments that a private cemetery must be nice, because it would be convenient. Yeah, when you die as often as these two, a cemetery in the back yard would be handy. On the other hand, they're usually not buried, so. Maggie was working this cemetery in the first place because some kids said online that a walker tried to end them. Sam then tries to mansplain (Samsplain?) walkers to Dean, who is very aware of what they are.

They enter the mausoleum and go down a flight of stairs. Damn, this thing is big. I've seen little mausoleums in cemeteries before, but nothing like this. They find drag marks on the floor. "But no blood," Dean says, "which means Maggie could still be alive." But those pink pants are gonna be really dirty.

(Hey, remember the last time Dean and Sam and Maggie were in a dark underground place, and someone got attacked and dragged away? That was a good episode.)

(Are you really doing this again? We get it. The show repeats itself and has frequent subtle and less-sutble references to older, better episodes. Can you stop now?)

(Fine. Geez.)

Sam doesn't think that's likely, because "ghouls don't take prisoners." I mean, I guess Sam wasn't technically a prisoner when he was tied to a table, but he does at least have to acknowledge that they won't necessarily eat you quickly. Dean's being oddly optimistic, saying that it might have taken her elsewhere to eat her, and maybe "hasn't finished the job yet." So, maybe only her arms and legs have been eaten? Well, that's encouraging. They're interrupted by a groundskeeper, so Sam introduces them as Harrison and Byrne (Talking Heads, so that had to be Sam's choice, not Dean's) from the Historical Preservation Society, sent by the city who wants to make the property a historic site. Oh, and can they speak to the owner?

When we get a view of the house, it's overgrown by weeds and out-of-control shrubs, so I think that groundskeeper needs to concentrate more on his gardening and less on who might be lurking in the convenient private cemetery. The somewhat geeky owner is very excited, saying he always knew this house had historical significance. He invites them in, but is surprised to see them, since it seems like the two who are already there should be enough. Whaaa? They walk into the living room to see the other two "historical preservationists" - Mary and Bobby.

And Bobby is wearing Michael's hat! RUN, BOYS, RUN!

Sam pointedly says he wishes they'd checked with "the main office" before coming all the way out here. {Sidebar: You know, the Show plays fast and loose with geography on a regular basis, but I like that Sam and Dean came from down Kansas and Mary and Bobby came up from Texas and they met in Oklahoma in a completely plausible timeline.} Bobby says they don't need permission from the main office to look at houses, "especially when the main office is run by a bunch of idjits."

OH WHAT THE HELL FAKE BOBBY! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS.

Mary pulls Sam away for a private talk while Dean questions the owner, Neil. But it turns out he's not actually the owner, he's only the nurse the owner, Mr. Rawling. Meanwhile, Mary explains to Sam that she and Bobby had been talking Maggie through her hunt, giving her pointers. (Gee, maybe you shouldn't have sent her off alone, Sam.) When she stopped texting, they got worried and came to check on her. Sam asks if they found anything, but before she can answer, Dean calls Sam into Mr. Rawling's room. He's unconscious, in a hospital bed, and they both agree that he looks exactly like the ghoul they saw on Maggie's video. (Which is odd, but what's even odder is that Mr. Rawling is getting a blood transfusion. Why?) If the ghoul is here, they wonder, where's Maggie?

Cut to Maggie, alive and conscious somewhere. She's strung up by her wrists and surrounded by blood bags. Hmmm. Looks more like a djinn to me.

Back at the house, Neil explains that Rawling had a stroke. Just then, Rawling's daughter Sasha shows up. She is considerably less excited to hear that the National Historic Preservation Society is interested in the house. She doesn't even know how long her father has lived here, and she's just here to wrap things up before he dies. She says it's been "a really long week," so I guess the stroke happened recently. And I'm pretty sure old Rawlings would still be in the hospital if his stroke was that recent, so put another check in the "odd" column. Sam does his best empathetic face, but she doesn't want to deal with the National Historic Preservation Society right now and asks them to leave.

Have you ever noticed that when Jared narrows his eyes a little bit, it emphasizes their tilt? Because I have.

The team regroups at the Impala. On the one hand, I like them working on their hypotheses and eliminating monsters based on their extensive knowledge. On the other hand, none of their extensive knowledge seems to have much basis in canon. First Bobby declares Rawlings "not a ghoul" because he "checked him out pretty good back there" and didn't find any bites. So I guess you stripped the old guy down under Neil's watchful eye, Fake Bobby? I don't think so. Mary suggests a shifter, but Dean says shifters don't hang out in graveyards. Sam suggests possession, which Nasty Fake Bobby dismisses because a demon wouldn't have put him back in bed after using his body, and he sprinkled him with holy water anyway. Dean calls him on his even-grumpier-than-usualness...

Something on your mind, Bobby?

Yeah. Your brother. He let Maggie come here when she had no idea what she was walking into. She wasn't ready.

Oh, come on. When is anybody ever ready?

You are or you ain't. A real leader would have seen that a mile away.

Well, okay then! Clearly I was at fault for accepting AU Bobby so quickly. He's not our Bobby at all. He's not just adorably surly, he's mean. And he's wearing that hat. And now I'm seriously starting to wonder if this is really even Fake Bobby. Did he pick that hat up at the church, after Dean took it off? Is that when Michael made him his vessel? Is Michael that attached to the damn hat? Is the hat a possessed object? Something evil is afoot, and THE HAT IS PART OF IT. I'M SURE.

This is a pretty scene, but my favorite part is Dean's "why are you being mean to my Sammy, old man?" face.

Mary smacks Fake Bobby back down, and then says they should split up. She takes Sam. Aw, this is twice that she's pulled Sam aside to take care of him. I like anyone taking care of Sammy. As she and Sam walk, she tells him not to listen to Bobby, but Sam wonders if he's right about everything. She says no, he's born to do this, and he could respond with "Actually, the only thing I was born to do was to be Lucifer's vessel," but he doesn't.

Mary continues, saying that if Bobby can't see what a natural born leader and generally awesome human being Sam is, it's not the only thing he's missing. Oh god, is she talking about what I think she's talking about? Do I even want to KNOW what Bobby is missing? Sam thinks the same thing, and segues into a talk about their relationship. Mary says that ever since they've been back (from AU Land, I guess), Bobby hunts all the time. "He won't take a break, not even for s-" and I swear to Chuck I thought she was going to say for sex, but she says "for a second." And then they have this exchange:

Bobby's not open like your dad.

Wait. Like MY dad?

Okay, at least he's not like your dad was when I knew him.

Oh my Chuck, Mary and Sam are talking about John. Poor Sam, who wasn't even allowed to talk about his mother for most of his life, now gets to talk TO her. About his father. Someone hold me. It's also funny and sad that the John he knew is so, so different from the John she knew. And now I'm imagining drunk Sam and Dean telling stories about their childhood, and Mary being absolutely horrified.

Anyway. Mary says Bobby has "walls" and she doesn't know if she can handle that, "if I even put myself out there again." Oh, wait, so she wasn't out there? So she and Bobby aren't actually in a relationship? They're just flirting and making googoo eyes and hunting together? Huh.

Sam makes an uncomfortable face, and she realizes he's not the best audience for this discussion, and it's all very weird and sweet. I'm going to stick with Mary and Sam rather than going back and forth like they do in the episode. Sam tells her that "our Bobby" wasn't very open either, at least not at first, and that he had to kill his wife and they had no kids. And Fake Bobby's walls are probably there for a good (bad) reason. Oh, Sam. You know about walls and reasons, don't you? He suggests that, if she cares about him, she won't give up on Bobby and his walls. Then they see something that looks like a pile of cloth. It's a jacket or something, and it comes with a pile of IDs - FBI, DEA, Forest Service. Must be a hunter!

Meanwhile, Bobby and Dean are having this talk:

You think I was too hard on your brother back there.

He's doing his best. He's doing better than his best. This whole hunter 5-0 thing, he's killing himself over it. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep, he grew himself one of those Kenny Rogers beards... no offense.

How much do I love Dean standing up for Sam, noticing everything he's doing? SO MUCH. I mean, I'm sure part of it is the classic "no one gets to talk smack about my little brother except me," but part of it is that he really is proud of Sam and what he's doing. And really is worried about him.

Dean and Fake Bobby come up on an old shed and open the door. It seems to be full of pelts. Dean goes inside, but Bobby sees a man in the woods and runs off toward him. Without saying anything to Dean. Dammit, Fake Bobby. Dean finds a body. Must be a dead hunter! He turns toward Bobby, just now realizing he's been left alone, and then something attacks him from behind. It's the old man Rawling ghoul! Dean grabs something off the windowsill, I can't tell what, and stabs the ghoul with it. The ghoul dissolves into dust. Huh. Weird. Bobby returns to find Dean covered in ghoul dust.

Back at the house, Sasha is going over some paperwork when she hears noises that seem to be coming from upstairs. She goes up and wanders down an oddly angular hallway. She opens a super-squeaky door and a vampire leaps out. On first watch, I only noticed the teeth, but on rewatch, it's one of the AU-style vampires, with the big pointy ears. She flees and falls {Sidebar: At this point, The Husband asked why women are always falling when they run away from monsters; I said it's the high heels} but as she cowers on the floor and awaits her doom, she realizes nothing is after her. The vampire is gone.

Sam and Mary are back at the Rawling house, and while it was bright daylight when they were wandering around and Sasha was being attacked, it's dark now. She explains that whatever she saw couldn't have been real, because it looked like a vampire, and Sam tells her she's not crazy. She gets the "monsters are real" speech, and Neil is more disappointed that they're not from the Historical Society than he is to learn that monsters are real. Then Dean shows up.

You're not gonna believe what I found in the shed.

You hunt monsters!

Oh, good. You told them.

What did you find in the shed?

Dead guy.

Hee! This little scene just cracks me up. Dead Guy matches the fake IDs, and Sam tells Dean they think something is killing hunters. Mary notices Bobby's gone, and Dean says he went to get something out of the truck. Alone??? She runs out after him. Dean tells Sam about Ghoul!Rawling attacking him, and Sasha's all, "he's right there," and Dean turns toward Rawling but all we can see is the foot of his bed, so I'm fairly sure it's going to turn out he's not right there after all. (Spoiler alert: I'm wrong.) Sam tells Dean about the vampire, but since the vampire didn't feed on Sasha, and the Ghoul!Rawling "died weird," Sam suggests maybe these aren't monsters at all (relieved sigh from Neil) but some kind of manifestation (not-relieved, confused looks from Neil and Sasha) like B.J. Hunnicut Fred Jones, who made all the Looney Tunes violence.

(Hey, remember when Fred Jones made the Looney Tunes violence, and Dean's gun had a flag that said BANG? That was awesome.)

(I can't help it, guys, the Show is feeding them directly to me!!!)

Sasha assures them her father is narcissistic but not psychic, and Dean wonders why he would manifest a vampire to scare his own daughter. Well, I mean, sounds like he was a bad father, so. When Sasha tells them what happened, Dean notices that she was scared away from what she was investigating, which is probably the reason the vampire was... manifested. Sam volunteers to go upstairs and investigate. Dean hands him a machete.

Downstairs, Dean sharpens another machete while Sasha downs some pills, and I know how you feel, Sasha. I've felt like cracking open the Xanax this week myself. She vents about her father and reveals that, because he was gone all the time, she was the one who found her mother after she (I assume) killed herself. "You what the most ridiculous part is?" she says. "I worshipped him when I was a kid. Didn't know any better. He's the only family I have left." Oh, gee, who else in this room can relate to that? Dean offers her some advice, which is to let it go. "The past is... nothing you can do about it now, so. It's just baggage. Let it go, you'll feel a lot lighter." She asks if that's what he does, and he says "I try. Every single day." Oh Dean!

Upstairs, Sam walks carefully down the oddly angular hallway (really, it makes NO SENSE) and opens the door Sasha had been peeking through. It's access to the attic. Sam peers around with his flashlight find finds old toys and a spooky taxidermied animal and blood bags and Maggie, strung up like the victim of a djinn. He pulls a needle from her neck and she wakes up, saying "it's here." There's a growl behind Sam and then the AU vampire attacks. {Sidebar: I wonder what kind of PTSD flashbacks Sam's going to have the next time he tries to go to sleep?} Sam hits it with the machete and it explodes into a cloud of dust, just like Dean's ghoul.

While all of this is happening, Mary goes outside and finds Bobby isn't at his truck. We see him walking in the dark, and then the man he ran after earlier comes out from behind a tree. His eyes are burned out.

Daniel?

Hey, Dad.

OH SNAP.

Bobby is shocked to see him, since apparently he died in AU Land. He kicks the crap out of Fake Bobby and then pins him to a tree with an angel blade through the shoulder, even though he doesn't stab him nearly hard enough to go through the tree, and even though Bobby remains completely level instead of hanging from that point. Mary shows up and Bobby yells at her to run. She shoots Dead!Daniel instead, but bullets don't do anything. As Dead!Daniel chokes Mary, Bobby pulls the angel blade out and falls down from the tree. He says "I'm sorry" and stabs Dead!Daniel with the angel blade, which causes him to explode into a cloud of dust.

Downstairs, Dean and Sasha go into Rawling's room, where Neil is fiddling with something. Dean finally asks what I've been asking the whole time, which is, why is the old man getting a blood transfusion? Neil says it keeps up his iron. Dean gives him a funny look and then asks Sasha to go make him a sandwich. She's all, what, seriously? He mouths go and flicks his eyes at Neil and she finally gets it and she's all, yes, that sounds like a great idea, I will go make you a sandwich.

He's so not subtle at all. I love him.

Dean pulls his gun and says he recognizes the rig now, from when he was hooked up to it. "You're not giving him blood. You're taking it." We see a flashback from "What Is and What Should Never Be," with Dean strung up in the djinn's warehouse.

(HEY! REMEMBER WHEN DEAN WAS CAPTURED BY A DJINN AND HAD THAT WHOLE DREAM LIFE? THAT WAS AMAZING.)

{Sidebar: The thing is, this would never work. The blood bag is hanging above Rawling's head. If you've ever given blood, you know the collection bag is hung below the needle. Your blood's not going to flow upstream. Gravity, people.}

"You're a djinn," Dean says. "But you knew that already, didn't you?" says Neil, as his eyes flash blue and his tattoos briefly appear. Dean asks why he's going after hunters, and he says "Because you told me to! Is this still part of the game?" Um, whaaa? Neil thinks Dean is Michael. The Michael who told him to set up a trap for hunters. He thought this was just a test. The new power Michael gave him is the ability to read minds and see nightmares just by touching his victim. And he can bring those nightmares into the world and make them do whatever he wants. Rawling's nightmare was dying alone in this house, and Neil is making it come true. Maggie's nightmares were the AU vampires. Ah, that explains why the monsters disintegrated - they weren't real. And it also explains why the AU vampires were over here. They came from Maggie's head.

Dean is still threatening Neil with the gun, and Neil says it won't kill him, and he's pretty sure Dean doesn't have a knife dipped in lamb's blood. (Silver, Neil, it has to be silver.) Dean does what I always wish they'd do in a "your mere gun won't kill me" situation, and shoots him in the knee, cause it's gotta slow him down, right? But it doesn't actually slow him much. He lunges for Dean and says he won't hurt "Michael's favorite monkey suit," but he does want to see his nightmares. He smacks a hand on Dean's forehead and is horrified. Neil backs away and says "you... you..." and then Dean says "I don't have a blade dipped in lamb's blood, but I can improvise," and smashes Neil's skull with a bookend. Okay, but. If that would work, why would you need a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood? Isn't it a lot easier to destroy the head?

It does work, but Neil has some evil plot to reveal before he dies. "You think I'm the only one? The only trap? He made dozens of us. Just out there, waiting for you, and your family." Dean shuts him up with the bookend, and then unloads his gun into him for good measure.

So, let's talk about this. What did the djinn see? I mean, Dean's been to Hell. His nightmares are pretty awful. Was that it? Or was it something else? Something, someone, maybe, hiding deep inside?

Aftermath! Dean pulls the needle out of Rawling's arm. It's daylight now, so I wonder why he waited for the sun to come up before ending the poor old guy's misery. He tells Sasha that he'll come back around after the djinn's poison wears off.

Back to the bunker, which is full of refugee hunters. Everybody joyfully greets Maggie and her dirty pink pants. "You did this," Dean tells Sam. "You got her home." Sam smiles, but it's quick and kind of sad.

Elsewhere in the bunker, Mary is bandaging Bobby. He tells her that he was a hunter in AU Land because his wife was killed by a monster, and then his son Daniel was taken by angels because Bobby got him involved in the angel war. He feels guilty about it, but it's not like the kid would have been safe even if he hadn't been fighting. Bobby always thought he'd die in the war, but he didn't (does that mean he considers the war over? he's never going back? because there's still a bunch of angels over there), and now he's "considering other options." So the constant hunting has been a way of trying to get killed. Nice of you to drag Mary into that, Fake Bobby. She tells him she's not letting him give up, and they'll find another way to live.

Sam's reading at the map table (wearing that magnificent red plaid shirt) when Dean comes in with a couple of beers. He says he talked to Maggie and she "can't wait to get back in the saddle." Sam's surprised to hear it, and I'm surprised to hear that Dean was the one to have this conversation with Maggie. How close do you suppose they are? Because really, the most time they've spent together was the long walk to Dayton after Sam was killed, and I can't imagine Dean was a pleasant companion. I'd think she'd be terrified of him at this point. Anyway. Dean says "she learned from the best," and again, Dean noticing and commenting on Sam's actions just makes me melt into a happy little puddle.

Sam's red plaid shirt also makes me melt into a happy little puddle.

Bobby and Mary come in and say "we need to talk," and the next thing we see is Sam arranging for them to stay at Donna's cabin. Which OF COURSE has a garden gnome. Bobby calls Sam aside and Sam is SO NERVOUS to be talking to him alone, and dammit, Jared, you break my heart on a regular basis. Bobby says "this job is no picnic, and I don't know if I ever really had it in me, but you do." You know, I think it's great that people are acknowledging what a good hunter and leader Sam is. But I just can't forget how much he didn't want to do this. I know he's accepted it now, and he claims to love it, but when someone tells him he's good at it, his smile is too tentative, too fleeting. I'm probably reading too much into it, but to me it says "Yeah, I'm good at the one thing I tried to get out of doing, yay me."

Mary and Dean say their goodbyes, and he actually seems to be okay with it this time. We do get the sad piano music, so we know it's significant. But the door slams shut and Sam doesn't flinch, so all is well.

(Hey, remember that time Mary slammed the door and Sam flinched? I loved that.)

Bye, Mommy! Bye, New Daddy!

Next we see the guys calling every hunter they know, warning them about super monsters. "Use the buddy system," Sam insists. Dean feels guilty about the whole thing, and says he knows it's not his fault, and he's trying to move on from "what I - what we - what he did," so it doesn't sound like he's moved on much at all. Sam says they'll work harder.

How, Sam? You get three hours of sleep a night.

Then I'll sleep two.

Oh Sam! I love his "I will do anything you need, even if it kills me" determination. He insists they'll find Michael and kill him, and Dean asks how. Sam brings up Monster!Kaia's spear again, and WHAT ABOUT THE FREAKING ARCHANGEL BLADE???? WHY HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN IT????? But the scene ends with Dean sadly walking away (something else I love? Dean's "I'm gonna pretend I believe you can fix this but I know you can't" expression) and Sam sadly biting his lip and oh, so much sad.

So much pretty, pretty sadness.

So! A little bit of nonsense, but mostly a pretty decent episode. I do wonder why they brought up Jack's powers, and the possibility of "ending all of this," in the THEN, since it wasn't addressed at all. But we got Chief Sam getting the respect he deserves. Some nice brotherly stuff. But most importantly, this episode made me realize that if monsters are the Big Bads this season, that means mytharc episodes can also be MOTW episodes. Praise Chuck. This could turn out to be a pretty decent season after all.

Please help me stay unspoiled, thanks!

[misssophiachase]

Finally! Part 4! So sorry for the delay. I was stuck on song choices believe it or not. Thanks to musician @garglyswoof for brainstorming with me. And to @romanoffsbite for this delightful cover. 

Beauty and the Beat

Part 4: Give Me One Reason

Neil's Bar, Indio CA – 3 years ago

"When you said bet, I assumed it was going to be less one sided," she drawled, taking in the interesting surrounds of the local karaoke bar. Klaus couldn't help but grin at the raw sass he remembered so well and just how good she looked in mini denim shorts and a sly smile.

"Everyone likes a bit of karaoke," he reasoned, pointing to a nearby booth.

"Yeah, especially a chart topping musician," she shot back.

"Chart topping? Has someone been researching Klaus Mikaelson?"

"No, Mister Third Person," she replied bluntly, taking a seat and gesturing to the waiter for service. "Your sister mentioned it actually, think she's quite the fan. Not surprising given she's related and kind of has to like your stuff, or pretend to anyway…"

"Hey, hey," Freya objected from a neighbouring booth. Klaus had barely noticed where his band mates and family had gone when Caroline appeared. "I heard that and it's only like fifty percent true."

Klaus wasn't surprised, his siblings had this way of pretending not to care in public, even Freya who had joined the family fold late but had picked up on their idiosyncrasies quickly. It was then Klaus knew they were definitely related.

When he'd stumbled upon, not only his sister but the woman he'd been dreaming about for four years at Coachella, he wasn't quite sure how to approach it. In fact, his response had been scattered and somehow he'd challenged her to an unknown bet in the space of three unexpected and stressful minutes.

Klaus loved a wager, in fact he'd won many over the years against his bandmates but suddenly he felt a little self conscious. Caroline Forbes had that effect on him. To say he'd been following her career closely over the past two years was an understatement. He all but stopped at hanging photos of her because it was both kind of stalkerish and Kol would never let him live it down.

"This isn't about my stuff," he implored, hoping that his family hadn't done too much damage.

"So what's the bet, Mikaelson?" Katherine Pierce appeared from out of nowhere. Klaus fought the urge to roll his eyes at yet another unhelpful interruption given it was her best friend.

"Kat." Caroline replied. "I know you get bored easily but we've made more than a few friends tonight."

"If you're talking about the band I've already made some predictable judgments," she offered, taking a seat next to Klaus and startling him somewhat. "Those two are in love with your sisters," she gestured between Enzo and Lucien.

"How do you…"

"The only reason I know your sister's name is Rebekah is because Enzo wouldn't stop yapping on about her, well until she appeared. Lucien, on the other hand, was unable to speak because he couldn't stop staring at Freya. And don't even get me started on Kol, he needs a leash, a muzzle and that's only for starters."

"She's good," he offered, shrugging his shoulders and sending Caroline a coy smile. "Do you hire her out for parties?"

"I probably should, god knows it would make us lots of money."

"I could probably analyse this particular situation unfolding before me too but given my precarious position as Caroline's bestie I'll pass," she chirped. "So, what exactly are the stakes?"

"We both perform a song of choice," Klaus suggested, passing her the folder of songs. "Best crowd reaction wins. Although given I'm a singer I'm more than happy to..."

"Don't you dare, Mikaelson," Caroline shot back. "I don't take pity." Klaus was fairly certain he liked her even more at that point. He'd planned to go easy on her but given the confident smirk on her face Klaus was excited for the challenge and what he'd win at the end of it.

"Not gonna lie, you've probably bet the most competitive person to a dare," Katherine whistled. "Good luck, I only hope the terms aren't your first born."

"I'm game," he murmured, trying to ignore just how adorable she looked trying to work out what to choose. "I'll take a date."

"How extremely predictable," Caroline scoffed, taking a brief moment to stop perusing the song list and gaze into his blue eyes.

"And you?"

"I really need my hedges trimmed," she smirked. Klaus couldn't help but feel his erection begin to grow beneath the booth. "And I really hate washing too."

"Washing," Klaus coughed, trying to reconcile exactly what her terms were and if they were just code for something else more untoward.

"Yes, you know domestic chores? Why? Afraid to get your hands dirty?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," he growled. "Are you afraid to lose?"

"I don't ever lose a bet," Caroline boasted. She might of had the upper hand earlier, but he had every intention of winning no matter the consequences.

"I'd be offended if I wasn't so damn aroused right now," Katherine purred, looking between them and sauntering away.

"She's definitely unique," he chuckled, hearing her melodic laugh mixed with his was a welcome development. Although they'd technically met now three times, the moments had been so fleeting and having the opportunity to really get to know her was making Klaus excited for what might be.

"Niklaus! Hello? Anyone home?" He was broken from his memories, his eyes finally focusing on the demanding, blue eyes of his sister Rebekah. Then he remembered it was present day in Miami still and that showtime was imminent.

"No need to shout, little sister," Klaus scowled, suddenly finding the nearby bass guitar interesting and plucking at its strings. After make-up, the rest of the band had dispersed. It was something they liked to do before a big show just to collect their thoughts even if Kol maintained it was because Klaus was always way too grumpy before a show. He'd never admit it aloud but for this show he was probably right.

His nerves were in overdrive, the adrenaline pumping furiously as he pretended not to care but every muddled thought and emotion was focused on one thing. Caroline. Seeing her on the television coverage earlier had only increased his anxiety ten fold. 

It was no surprise given the effect she still held over him. Yes, she was beautiful but Klaus could decipher every expression down to the most intricate detail. In that last clip she was smiling but behind it Klaus could tell she was willing the news reporter to go away and, at the same time, think of more original questions. He couldn't help but relate given he felt the same way since the cameras trained on him upon their arrival.

"How are you doing?"

"If I needed a therapist..."

"You'd be paying a lot more than I'm charging, believe me," she muttered, taking an impromptu seat next to him. As much as Klaus liked to pretend he was independent and unfazed, Rebekah was the sibling who could always see straight through him. He pretended to hate it but secretly it was an emotional outlet he needed and couldn't be more thankful for his little sister, even if she did like to interfere. "So, I'll repeat my previous question...How are you doing, big brother?"

"Says the sister who insisted I take this gig in the first place," he growled.

"No, says the publicist who insisted you take the gig that will catapult your band into the stratosphere," she offered by way of explanation. "Your sister, on the other hand, might have had an ulterior motive."

"Ulterior motive? Are you saying my greed loving publicist slash sister can help me teleport to another continent? I've heard Australia is nice this time of year."

"What did I tell you about trying to be funny from a publicity standpoint?"

"Probably the same thing I uttered about adding matchmaker to your growing list of job duties."

Klaus was annoyed but at the same time couldn't imagine anyone but Rebekah handling their affairs, sure she meddled incessantly and was difficult but that only meant more support and rewards for the band. Rebekah's loyalty was never in question and Klaus wasn't one to trust easily so it worked well.

"I asked you then and I'm going to ask again, what aren't you telling me?" She asked, choosing to ignore his previous comment.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, hoping the interrogation would end soon given Klaus was about to take the stage.

"Yes, you do. Stop being so bloody childish, Niklaus."

"If you need a project I'd suggest you and Enzo have a lot to talk about, little sister," he murmured knowingly, watching her cheeks colour, it was basically a compulsory reaction when it came to them. What he still couldn't understand was why they still weren't together after so much time.

"You always were good at deflection," she shot back defensively. "There's never any shame in admitting that you're regretting your decision to break up with the girl of your dreams, you know just saying."

Caroline and Rebekah's relationship had started off rocky, mainly because she was so protective and no one was good enough for her big brother but Caroline, in her persistent and charming nature, had won her over. Klaus was so happy at the time but now it was as if all his siblings were all against him since the break-up. He wouldn't admit it aloud but he really didn't blame them.

"Rebekah..."

"And the fact you let go of the thing that made you so happy will always be baffling. She loved you and, surprisingly enough, you loved her too, Nik."

"If I admit it, then it's true," he murmured, a brief moment of vulnerability washing over him before he continued. "Things change, Rebekah. People change."

"Do they?"

"Well, given your unwillingness to accept Enzo, I figure you know more about that than anyone." Rebekah didn't respond immediately, it was the usual response when he raised the E word and she tried to brush over it in every conversation. They were just too alike.

"Touche, stubborn ass," she admitted, albeit reluctantly. "But just know I'm here for you tonight."

"Don't tell me I'm interrupting a tender, Mikaelson family moment?" Kol teased, entering the room and grabbing his drum sticks from the couch possessively. "Because it's no longer even marginally cute and the fact I have my shit together over you both is kind of pleasing right now, not gonna lie."

"Kind of pleasing," Rebekah drawled. "Give me a break. All you talk about is Bonnie's unrequited feelings, Kol."

"I'm not here for a pity party, I just came back for my bass," Lucien joked, taking it from Klaus and placing the strap over his head.

"Where's Freya?" Rebekah asked pointedly. No one could miss the blush that crossed his creamy cheeks.

"How would I bloody know?" He grumbled. "Last time I checked we're here to do a job. Stage Manager tells me we're on in five." Klaus inhaled sharply, not quite sure if he was ready but given the expectation he had no choice. He just hoped his poker face was better than the one he was practicing in the mirror earlier.

Klaus wasn't someone to get too invested in anything, but as he watched her sashaying towards the stage he knew he was a goner. He'd been desperate to see her for years and now she was here. With him. And he couldn't have been happier.

She approached the mic, somewhat apprehensively, her blue eyes widening at the size of the crowd that had gathered for karaoke. "Evening all," she greeted. "I'm just gonna put it out there, I made a bet and you all need to help me win." Klaus shook his head but couldn't help but smiling at the same time, she played dirty and he loved it. As the opening musical strains began a smirk took over his face.

"Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body..." It was Faith by George Michael, one of his favourite songs and he wasn't gonna lie, those lyrics were causing a few twitches below. More than that her voice was impressive, Klaus decided then and there it was heavenly. Suddenly her quick acceptance of the challenge made sense. He probably had no chance but suddenly he didn't care and decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.

The crowd erupted, Klaus applauding just as loudly as the rest of the room. Right now he didn't care if he lost, he just wanted to see her sing again. Unfortunately it was his turn. As she walked past him, he grabbed her hand and whispered in her ear. "You want my body, I get it, Forbes."

"That was only the first line," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "There's a lot more to my story." He knew that of course. She'd been hurt by someone but wasn't ruling out moving on, something Klaus couldn't be more happy about.

He approached the stage, more nervous than a usual gig. The music began and he lost himself in the lyrics, hoping his message came through as clearly as hers. Winning the bet was secondary to what he wanted to achieve. He wanted her to stay in his life and not disappear again for years.

"Give me one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around," he rasped, his eyes firmly trained on hers. He lost himself to the Tracy Chapman song and expectant crowd, knowing that however this turned out their connection wouldn't be broken this time, win or lose. And that's all he cared about.

[nickireadstfc]

The Raven King, Chapter 8 – Epic Ass-Kicking, Pt 1: We Get Our Asses Kicked

In which – surprise! It’s Ravens vs Foxes Death Time™! Featuring: American colleges Doing Too Fucking Much, me thinking up crack AUs at the worst times, Kevandreil pulling some sweet (read: badass) moves, and Kevin being No 1 Proud Dad.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

So, after the absolute sassfest two chapters ago and the gigantic dump of backstory last chapter, I thought this chapter would be a bit shorter, a bit more chill, a nice lil interlude before we get on with the fuckery again.

Well.

HO FUCKING BOY.

DOES NORA HAVE NEWS FOR ME.

           October arrived without warning. Neil knew their match against the Ravens was coming up fast, but it still startled him when he realized they were already a week into the month. The game was only six days away.

Where did that come from.

Seriously, a few chapters ago Neil was still angsting about having to leave the Foxes after the Raven game, it seemed like the absolute end of the journey, and now it’s just… Here?

I AM NOT READY I DID NOT PREPARE WHAT IS HAPPENING.

To start this ride off, we are once again reminded of how fucking extra American colleges can be.

For real. They do not fuck around when it comes to school spirit.

Lawns are trimmed. Floors are scrubbed. Banners are hung from every square inch. Cheerleaders don’t sleep for days. Neither do bands. They have motivation parties. The mascot disturbs classes just to promote sportsball. They clean the fucking pond.

Seriously, these two pages read like the textbook definition of Doing Too Much.

Fucking chill.

           Thursday was when Dan finally started to lose her cool. (…) Seeing people finally rally behind her and her team flustered her. She kept a brave face in front of the cameras, but she spent Thursday night in Matt’s bed.

My daughter :’(((((( you’re the best you’ll be fine don’t worry.

Hey, speaking of Doing Too Much: Remember when I was raving (hah) on about how Extra and Dramatic™ the Ravens were?

           Kevin tried explaining Raven synchrony earlier this week, but Neil almost wished he could forget that story. (…) They were all enrolled in the same undergraduate degree and took their classes together in groups of three or four. They weren’t allowed to go anywhere without taking at least one teammate with them. They weren’t supposed to socialize with anyone outside the team.

What the actual fuck.

Why is Extra and Dramatic™ always paired with borderline abusive in this series. Why.

           Their intense lifestyle, forced integration, and vicious punishments put them on a whole different scale than any of their opponents. They were, in short, the complete opposite of everything the Foxes knew and understood. Tonight’s game pitted a hive mind against a fractured bunch of rejects.

That last sentence is one of my favourite sentences in that book so far.

Also, what the actual fuck.

My dudes, I’m starting to get the sinking feeling y’all are getting your assess whooped big time tonight.

           “Can you do this, Kevin?” Abby asked, searching his face for any sign he was okay. “Can you play?”

           “If I am breathing, I can play,” Kevin said. “This is my game, too.”

Well, at least now we know what Tattooface McExtra over here is getting engraved on his tombstone.

If I am breathing, I can play, jesus fuck. My eyes are doing somersaults in their sockets right now.

           “Neil, get at least five points or I’ll have you running marathons every month until graduation.”

           Neil stared at him. “Five points?”

           “You got four last week.”

           “We weren’t playing Edgar Allan last week, Coach,” Neil said.

           “Irrelevant,” Wymack said with a jerk of his hand.

Gotta love him. What a dude.

           Wymack clapped his hands at his team until they fell in line.

           “Let’s do this,” he said. “The sooner we kill these bastards, the sooner we can get roaring drunk at Abby’s place. I spent all damned morning stocking her fridge.”

GOTTA LOVE HIM. WHAT A DUDE.

#dicksoutforwymack

           Neil looked up into a sea of orange. (…) [The Raven fans] had come in all black and took up an entire reserved section directly opposite the Foxes’ bench.

It is at this point that I have the idiotic realization that the Foxes and the Ravens together form the Wilde Kerle colours.

Why.

Why is my brain like this.

To all non-Germans reading this: Die Wilden Kerle (literally the wild guys/the wild bunch) is a German children’s book and film series about a ragtag football (meaning soccer) team. They are basically 10-year-old punks that stick it to the man, live and breathe football, and wear a lot of black and orange. They were huge around the time I was in elementary school and are probably the books that influenced me most as a child, aside from Harry Potter.

(The books were massively better than the films. Fight me.)

They look like this.

If anyone writes me a Wilde Kerle AU of TFC I will literally pay you in Ben & Jerry’s. No questions asked. This is the most bullshit AU idea I’ve had in a long time and it works.

Alright. Shut up, brain.

TIME TO FUCKING GO.

           [The Ravens’ fight song] was a dark and heavy tune, an intimidating message of death and domination. The Ravens took their image seriously. Neil guessed they had a lot of intensive counseling in their futures.

Even in times like this, the Josten Sass™ cannot be tamed.

And they’re taking their spots, holy shit you guys, we’re actually doing this. I’m not ready.

           [Riko] stopped at Kevin’s side. He took his helmet off, but the cheer echoing off the court walls drowned out whatever he was saying. Kevin unstrapped his own helmet and hooked it over his fingers as he answered.

What did they say, what did they say, I need to know.

I also have the feeling I’ll find out soon enough and I will not fucking like it.

That Fucker™ also hugs Kevin shortly before the game starts. I want to punch him. 

Get your dirty abusive hands off my dramatic idiot.

Alright. Is it starting yet?

           Neil closed his eyes and breathed. He locked away everything he was, burying his father and Nathaniel and the Moriyamas into a mental safe for later. (…) He wasn’t Neil right now. He wasn’t anything or anyone but a Fox, and he had a game to play.

IT’S FUCKING STARTING.

And from the beginning on, as expected, this game is not messing around.

           Neil almost lost track of the ball as it shot between the Raven strikers. (…) Riko moved in a blur, and the goal lit up red. The buzzer sounded to signal the point and the crowd screamed. (…)

           They were only two minutes into the first half; it was the fastest anyone had ever scored against Andrew.

Well – fuck.

Ain’t that motivating.

The Ravens have come to collect their aforementioned ass-whooping, I fear.

           Riko wasn’t going back to the starting spot but was headed for Andrew. Andrew moved to meet him and they faced each other with just the goal line between them. Andrew waved off whatever Riko said to him with a careless waggle of his hand, but Riko didn’t leave.

Seriously, what is it with That Fucker™ and talking to my boys at the most inopportune moments?

Fuck off.

The game continues, and I take back everything I said about orange sportsball games earlier: I bloody love this. I can’t quote anything because it is just too much, but this time I am actually invested in the game and it’s thrilling.

I mean, the Foxes are so, so outplayed by the Ravens. But still. Exciting.

I have to quote one thing, though, because it is the most awesome thing anyone does this chapter:

It’s Episode 1 of Kevandreil Pull Badass Sportsball Shit Together!

           It wasn’t against the rules for goalkeepers to leave their goals, but it was extremely ill-advised considering how big their goals were and how fast a ball could move. A goalkeeper only risked it in extreme cases. Apparently tonight was one of those nights.

Oh shit vas happening??

           Neil only needed a second to realize Andrew was sending the ball to him, and his heart beat with savage triumph. (…)

All those long nights learning Raven drills had to pay off here. The perfect rebound wasn’t just about getting the ball to hit the right racquet; it was getting there at the right angle so Kevin wouldn’t have to aim. (…)

           It was the same trick the Raven strikers had been pulling all night, but the Ravens weren’t ready to see it from Neil and Kevin. (…) The Raven goal lit up red when Kevin slammed the ball against it.

FFFFUUUUUUUCCCKKKKK YEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH.

           Kevin’s smile was fleeting but fierce. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. It was the first sign of approval Neil had gotten from him since they’d met and Neil felt it like an adrenaline boost.

After that, the game turns violent pretty quickly – which my brain thought to comment on with a brilliant rendition of the Weather Girls while reading.

It’s raining cards, halleluhja!

And then, it’s over as fast as it begun and sadly, yet unsurprisingly, the Foxes get #owned, leaving them with a thirteen-six score. Which, you know, sucks because that’s a seven point gap and that’s also thirteen points on a bastion of a goal.

But which also fucking rules because hello, SIX POINTS against the absolute Douchemasters Of Exy™ themselves.

           As Neil watched, Andrew leaned over to pick his racquet up. He tried, anyway. He only got it a foot off the floor before he lost his grip again.

           It reminded Neil of their first practice together, when Neil almost blew his arms out playing against Andrew.

Shit, that seems like lifetimes ago. Has it really only been a few months?

Man, time flies when you’re busy with angst, drama, and gay shit. :’)

           The Ravens had taken an incredible hundred and fifty shots on goal; it was unbelievable Andrew had only missed thirteen of them.

A FUCKING HUNDRED AND FIFTY.

Hello, I’d like to file a request to Andrew Joseph Minyard? I’d for him to formally LET ME LOVE HIM.

Nobody who doesn’t care about this game plays like this. Nobody. Don’t ever tell me Andrew doesn’t give a shit. He can’t move his arms anymore, for chrissakes.

Kevin, bless his idiot heart, knows exactly how to deal with the situation at hand:

           “So,” Kevin said, “did you have fun?”

           Andrew was too tired to put any heat in his words. “You are despicable, Kevin Day. I don’t know why I keep you around.”

Ma frickin BOYS. <3

Sadly, we are not left off the court to lick our wounds (with vodka, preferably) before That Fucker™ has added his irrelevant shitty commentary.

           “I cannot thank you for tonight’s game because I can’t call this debacle a game. I thought I knew what to expect when we came here tonight, but I am still embarrassed on your behalf. You have fallen so far, Kevin. You should have stayed down and saved us the trouble of forcing you back on your knees.”

I was about to go into a rant about That Fucker™’s endless shittiness and lack of any sportsmanship – but! But!! BUT!!!!!

           “I’m satisfied,” Kevin said.

UHMMM. What?

           It was the last response any of the Foxes expected from him. They forgot about Riko in favor of gaping at Kevin. “Not with their score or performance, but with their spirit. I was right. There’s more than enough here for me to work with.”

MY DUDE. MY BOY.

I’M SO???????

Kevin ‘Stoic And Mighty’ Day finally praising his team and being proud of them nobody fucking tOUCH ME :’)))))))))

If Kevin finally grows into the No 1 Fox Dad he was destined to be (after Wymack obvs) I might actually light myself on fire.

Y’know. I’m, like, cool with all this.

           Kevin only smiled, slow and sure and pleased, and offered Andrew a hand. Andrew looked at it, then at Kevin, and let Kevin haul him to his feet. Renee was ready when Kevin let go and looped her arms around Andrew in a fierce hug.

A HUG.

Renee you actual angel from the heavens, somebody finally gave this boy what I have been waiting for for chapters now – somebody hug that sad aggressive bean, and somebody did.

#hugsoutforandrew, this is the realest shit, get it trending, I’m not okay.

Is the irrelevant shitty Raven nuisance still there?

           “One man cannot carry you that far,” he said, sounding torn between incredulity and disgust. “Even you are not stupid to believe that. You should give up now.”

           It was a threat, not friendly advice, but Kevin said, “One is enough to start with.”

Okay. Okay.

Kevin Day, an anxious mess just two chapters ago, being openly threatened by his abuser and proudly sassing back right to his face, with the strength of his fierce ragtag team at his back.

This may be my favourite Kevin moment of this series so far.

That Fucker™ fucks off after that, and the Foxes are left for traditional post-game pep talk with grumpy dad Wymack.

           “You should be pretty fucking proud of yourselves right now.”

           “Proud of that mess?” Aaron asked, tired and annoyed. “We were destroyed.” (…)

           “I’m proud,” Allison said, earning a startled look from Nicky and a half-smile from Wymack. She turned a condescending sneer on Aaron, looking more like herself than she had since Seth died. “This is only your second season with us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand what a game like this means.”

And welcome back, Allison! <333

Fucking finally. Nothing like a bit of good ol’ arch-enemy Exy smackdown to get over your dead boyfriend grief.

And to close things off, Wymack puts the cherry on top of all the good things that have happened this chapter:

           “Starting next week everyone’s finally back in their proper spots. If you two can run a full game against Edgar Allan, you’re ready to take on the rest of the season alone. Everyone else: thank you for your patience and cooperation while Kevin and Neil got adjusted. Renee especially – you’ve been a damn good sport this year. Welcome back to goal.”

YEAAHH BOOOOIIIII.

Nicki happy. Nicki out.

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[ravenvsfox]

86 and andreil??

86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?” (I combined this with a prompt from foxpaws10 from ages ago based on this post, and I kind of warped both of your prompts i hope this is still okaaay basically it’s doctor andrew and that’s all u need to know)

His morning is a string of disasters that begins with covering the ER in the Sunday rush of hypochondriac elderly and fussy children. It’s one long stretch of kicked over paint buckets, a mess you can’t ignore, splattering the walls and getting on his shoes.

Andrew chose surgery almost entirely for the distance of it, the sterility of a room with a slab of meat, a tray of knives, and a sickness he can actually cut out.

He’s a doctor because he can be, and patients sometimes like that he doesn’t speak a word to them, like silence equals genius.

He likes that there are some patients that come into the ER unconscious and leave the OR unconscious, and all he has is a problem and a ticking clock. He always solves the problem. He thinks maybe it’s because he is one.

The sinking ship of his Sunday in the emergency room goes from slippery to debilitating with one patient.

Two showy ER doctors with their lab coats off and their sleeves rolled up go into the private room they’ve cordoned off, and they both come out looking pinched in the face with their stethoscopes clenched in their fists.

“He’s a fucking disaster,” one of them says, leaning up against the information desk with his eyes still pulling back to the closed door of the room.

“I know. I thought, I dunno. That the news was exaggerating.”

Andrew tilts his head and listens without making any move to leave his post, filling out inane charts as illegibly as he can.

One of the residents chances a look at him and Andrew makes a point of catching him. The guy startles, then juts his chin.

“Maybe you’ll get along with him, Minyard. He’s as crazy as you.”

“You’ve mistaken the hospital for a playground,” Andrew says mildly. “Give me his chart.”

“What?”

“His chart.”

He looks at his friend, mouth slack, and then the one holding the chart holds it out like a dirty rag.

“He’s Boston’s starting striker,” he stage whispers. Andrew takes the clipboard and ignores him, scanning the details. “We’re not supposed to let any patients know.”

“That Neil Josten is causing a scene ten feet away from them?” he says, and the men titter uncomfortably. “Why should he get the luxury of privacy?”

“How did you—“

“The news is available to everyone, Bryant, you fuck.” He rounds the desk and makes for the closed and shuttered room, dropping the chart in the receptacle outside.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to practice,” someone says behind him, and then someone else, softer, scornful: “surgeons”.

Andrew wrings the door knob and finds himself abruptly face to face with the singular most swollen person he’s ever seen. He’s obviously bolting for it, his gown gaping at the neck and someone’s stolen shoes jammed on. Andrew scans the defiant face, the shock of red hair, the near invisible trail of blood from an incorrectly removed IV.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

Andrew watches Neil Josten— and it is him, one of the handful of strikers on Boston’s team and certainly the most newsworthy — size him up. His eyes run the same circuit Andrew’s would if he were looking to fight his way out: door, threat, surreptitiously behind him for a weapon, back again.

“I’ll drug you,” Andrew says simply. Neil’s good eye, the one that isn’t purpling, goes narrow.

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“‘Allowed’ is relative.”

“You mean you don’t do what you’re told,” Neil says, smiling sort of grotesquely with one side of his face rebelling against the other.

“I meant what I said,” he says, bored. “Are you done arguing?”

“Not really,” Neil says.

“Okay,” Andrew replies simply, and leaves the room.

He walks coolly back to the catch-all desk he was doing charting at and sits. Eyes swarm.

He’s flipping open the nearest file when the door across the room opens.

Neil walks out and about four staff swoop to intercept him, but he’s not running anymore. He points at Andrew. “Bring him back in here and don’t even think about touching me, and I’ll cooperate.”

Andrew regards him evenly, something darkly interested buzzing in his fingers. He stands, slowly, watching Neil’s uneven shoulders and his slouchy stance. He’s favouring his left side, and Andrew can spot the cracked rib from here, can clock the grit in Neil’s teeth a mile away.

“Sit,” Andrew says, “down.”

Neil frowns, turns, and disappears into the room. The ER is as quiet as it’s ever been in the face of the scene they’re creating. Andrew crosses the stretch of the main floor back to the exam room, the silence bolstering his weird, twitchy anticipation.

Neil is sitting almost cross-legged on the bed when he gets there, and Andrew gives him a look.

“You shouldn’t be bending your knee.”

“How would you know?” He seems like he’s genuinely asking.

Andrew doesn’t reply, just walks to the bedside and studies his newly bare feet awkwardly tucked into the cradle of his purpling kneecap.

“It’s bad,” Andrew says. Neil nods, unfazed. Used to it, Andrew’s mind supplies. He can see the warp of an older scar scrabbling for a place under his disaster of an eye.

“Will I be able to play?”

Andrew looks up into his intensely focused eyes, then lets his gaze drift away again. “Ever?”

“Soon,” Neil corrects, impatient.

“No.” He tugs Neil’s leg out from underneath him and listens to his intake of breath. “Not that it matters.”

“What?” Neil asks, genuinely alarmed.

“Exy is lacrosse and hockey’s bastard, without any of their finesse.”

“Oh fuck you. If you want to fight—” he starts, and Andrew jerks Neil’s leg back into its socket.

Neil yells, and then swallows it so suddenly that it sounds like someone’s paused him. Andrew looks sharply at him, noting the strain of his jaw, the cap on his own reaction, too instinctive to be anything but practiced.

“What the fuck,” Neil hisses. “You can’t insult my career and then break my fucking leg.”

“I can,” Andrew says. “I didn’t. Your leg is fixed.”

“Did you go to medical school?” Neil asks. “Or is provoking your patients self taught?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies. Neil huffs and Andrew reaches for the tie of his gown. Neil goes instantly stiff under his reaching hand. Andrew’s stomach rips, an overfull grocery bag.

“Yes or no?”

Neil looks up at him with his one glacial eye, mouth set in a straight line. “Yes,” he answers warily, tense but tolerant. Andrew sits with the intimacy of that interaction for a beat, and then he peels Neil’s gown down to his waist.

Neil stiffens, and Andrew knows he’s meant to react to the battlefield on his body but he stays silent. The bruising gets bad on his right side, and the thatch of old and new injuries is almost impossible to figure out, like a magic eye illusion.

He feels along Neil’s ribs. This is usually where an ER doctor would ask the patient to ‘tell me where it hurts’ but Andrew’s never needed to be told. He can tell the second Neil hurts and represses it, stomach jumping.

“Your rib is cracked.”

“I know,” Neil grits.

Andrew finds another tender spot, the focal point of a bruise, and he takes his hands away. He can’t remember seeing a sports injury being so full-body. He looks up to find Neil frowning at him.

“What did this?”

Neil swallows and eases himself back into the pillows. “I play Exy for a living.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

They stare at each other, the buzz of equipment all around them. There’s a physical imbalance in neil being half naked while Andrew’s clothed, incapacitated versus healthy, sitting versus standing, and it lodges between them.

“I’m walking out of here,” Neil says finally. “If there’s nothing else.”

Andrew slips a prescription pad out of his pocket and scribbles down a string of medications and instructions. Neil’s face is blank with confusion when he takes the paper.

“Enough refills to get you through the next three months.”

“I’m not planning on losing any more fights,” Neil says, and shoves the paper back at Andrew, who lets it flutter to the floor.

“But you’re planning on starting them,” he replies, not really a question. Neil doesn’t argue, and it rings in his ears like a victory.

Andrew walks out of the exam room and only realizes how completely engaged he’d been in Neil when his regular static creeps back in.

He works through the ER restlessly, catching Neil at the desk with discharge papers five minutes later and ignoring the eyes on him.

He sweeps back into the abandoned exam room when Neil Josten is safely out in the parking lot, finding the sheets still mussed and the prescription gone from the floor. A shiver goes through him, the severance between him and his patients slipping completely through his fingers.

____

He watches Boston’s next game (as follow up, he tells himself). He tracks Neil’s form and his natural gait, the way injury sits in his back pocket as if it’s completely separate from his presence in the game.

He plays hard, and physically pushes the cameras away when they try to capture his post-game flush, his ugly blue bruises. Andrew wonders if he’s taking the pills. He wonders if exy gear holds Neil together the way Andrew’s armbands do. He wonders who’s punching Neil’s face.

Neil comes into the hospital twice more in the next month.

Andrew’s obligated to call someone at this point, Neil is a battered husband or a gang member or a psychopath to the people in this hospital, to the eyes that narrow and pity every time Neil hobbles in. They widen back up when Andrew starts descending from the OR to drag Neil off to exam rooms.

He does it because Neil starts throwing punches if the ER docs try to touch him. Because the sight of him scares the people in the waiting room. Not because Andrew doesn’t trust anyone else’s hands on Neil. Not because he likes the way Neil mouths off and lets Andrew practice medicine that doesn’t spare feelings.

This time, Neil’s already lost in a jumble of pillows and a haze of morphine when Andrew hears that he’s in the hospital. Andrew takes the chart right out of a nurse’s hands.

“He’s mine,” he says simply, and she sputters and frowns and leaves.

“You’re starting to eat up my time,” Andrew says to Neil, who’s head lolls and mouth strains like the overextended strings of an instrument.

“I’m a vacation for you,” Neil says. “You stop pretending not to give a shit when I’m here.”

Andrew stops, page sliding between his fingers. “Funny, I don’t see head trauma on your chart.”

“I’m right,” Neil says. “There’s something behind your eyes.”

“You’re high,” Andrew corrects.

“When are we going to—“ Neil breaks off into a fit of coughing, both hands struggling out of the blankets so he can hold his quaking chest. Andrew moves in instinctively.

“You need to breathe.”

“Glad medical school taught you something,” Neil wheezes.

Andrew lowers the bed so that he can reach over Neil and take one pillow out from under his head, easing the stress on his ribs a little. He frowns at a gash leading down Neil’s collar, and grabs a suture kit from the shelves along the wall.

Andrew snaps on gloves and preps Neil’s collarbone after a cursory ‘yes or no’. His restraint breaks in half about halfway through stitching Neil’s skin closed. “Stop letting them do this to you.”

Neil’s whole face changes. He looks suddenly younger, a kid who’s been called out in class. “I made a deal,” he says, and Andrew waits. “I can’t break it.”

“Then make a better one.”

Neil breathes out through his nose, tilting his head back. “I’m fine. I just have to keep winning.”

And Andrew doesn’t understand the situation beyond rumours he’s heard about Kevin Day and a warped system pulsing under the surface of Exy, but he knows what survival looks like. Neil is what survival looks like. “This isn’t winning.”

Neil twitches a sad smile. “It’s not dying.”

Andrew’s temper pitches at how blasé he sounds, like he doesn’t care if he gets better or not. “Get out of my hospital.”

Neil laughs, infuriatingly, pretty eyes clashing with his crooked, cruel smile and his shattered glass cheek.

“Take me out,” he challenges, the innuendo understated but there, a rock upsetting a creek. Andrew’s nerves kick and scream. “Or am I ‘eating up your time’? Do I have to make an appointment?”

“This is an emergency room,” Andrew says flatly. “Do whatever you want.” Neil smiles wryly, then starts to struggle upright.

“I’ll be back eventually,” he warns. “Get me my trusty AMA forms.”

“No,” Andrew says, and grabs Neil’s phone off the side table. He thumbs his contacts open and enters his own number in. “You call me next time. Preferably before whoever’s beating you up undoes my work.”

Neil looks stupidly caught of guard. “Why do you care?”

Andrew blinks. “You’re my problem.”

“You looking for something to solve?” Neil asks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already solved you.”

Neil searches his face and something in his eyes thaws. “I’ll be back,” he repeats. “You’re a good doctor.”

“You are a terrible patient,” Andrew replies, gritting his teeth when Neil struggles into pants and winces with his whole body.

“I’ve been told.”

“Call that number,” Andrew says.

“I’ve been told that too.” Neil pulls his t-shirt on next, and shoulders his bag onto his good side. “I will.”

He limps to the door and turns with his hand on the frame, squinting down at his phone screen. “Andrew?” He looks up. “Thank you. For the honesty. And the stitches.” He doesn’t wait around for a reply, just disappears from the doorway and out towards the front desk. Andrew finds himself looking at the indent Neil left in the pillows for a long time.

The next time Neil comes in he’s unharmed, and he asks for Andrew by name.

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Only Time Will Tell

Nikki’s here! And once again, all my author’s notes are on the Ao3 so check them out there!

[Read on Ao3]

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you two until she gets here?"

"We're sure, David," Max said, crossing his arms.

"I mean, if you really want me to stay here, I can!" David insisted. "I have all the time in the world to wait!"

Max looked at him. "...You were going to take pictures, weren't you?"

David's smiled widened as he held up the camera in his hands. "It's been five years since the three of you were together! It's a perfect opportunity to snap a few for the scrapbook!"

"Absolutely not," Max said. "Not in a million years."

"But Max—" David sighed heavily. "Alright, I get it. You kids don't want an adult hanging around and ruining your fun. You wanna be all grown up, right?"

"If I say yes, will you leave?"

David chuckled and started the car. "Just call me when you need to be picked up, or if you need anything—"

"David, holy shit, just go home!"

His smile widening, David rolled up the car window and headed out of the restaurant parking lot. Max let out a sigh once the car was finally out of sight. "God, I thought he'd never leave."

"Are you okay, dude? Neil asked. "You seem pretty crabby today, even moreso than usual."

"Your face is crabby," Max said, kicking a rock at his feet.

"Come on, man, what's wrong?" Neil asked. "You can tell me."

Max shrugged. "I don't know... I guess I'm just a little nervous about seeing Nikki again."

"You need to talk about it?" Neil asked, as he took a seat on the curb and patted the spot beside him.

"What are we, in the nineties?"

"Hey, do you see a bench nearby?" Neil pointed out.

"...Fair point," Max said, taking a seat beside him.

"So why are you nervous about seeing Nikki?" Neil asked. "It's only Nikki."

"Yeah, a Nikki I haven't seen in five years," Max pointed out. "People change, Neil."

"Trust me, I've been talking to her for about a year," Neil assured him. "She's still the same old Nikki. And it's not like either of us changed much since camp, right?"

"Yeah, except for my declining mental health," Max pointed out. "But I guess you have a point. I mean, my anxiety's still being annoying as shit, but that helps a little bit."

"Do you...like, have a crush on Nikki or something?" Neil asked. "Is that why you're so stressed about seeing her again?"

"What? Ew, no!" Max said, making a face. "She was like my little sister, dude!"

"Yeah, that's what they all say!" Neil said with a laugh.

"Shut the fuck up!" Max said. "Besides, how do I know you aren't the one with a crush on her?"

"Trust me, I'm not."

Max raised an eyebrow. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? What, do you have a crush on someone else?"

A light blush spread across Neil's face as he looked towards the opposite end of the parking lot, but he remained silent.

"...Neil?" Max asked.

Still no response.

"...Oh, my God, you do, don't you?!"

"Hey, there she is!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"No, I'm serious," Neil said, pointing. "That's her."

Sure enough, a white truck had pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and both boys stood up as it came to a stop near them. The passenger door was kicked open by a booted foot, and the culprit leaped out of the truck and landed in front of them with an excited cackle.

If Max hadn't known in advance that the person before him was Nikki, he would have never been able to guess if his life depended on it. Or at least, not at a first glance. Unlike Neil, who's appearance had remained fairly similar with only minor changes, her curly, mint-green pigtails had been replaced with a light-blue, side-shave haircut that covered the left side of her face. And instead of red overalls, she now wore a black-and-blue (a light, cobalt blue that matched her hair) varsity jacket that Max would expect some generic jock meathead to wear, denim jeans that had clearly seen better, less dirty days, and heavy, black boots that had been worn down with time.

But as Max looked closer, he knew there was no mistaking that wide smile or that 'I once ate twelve pine cones in one afternoon and would probably wrestle Bigfoot in match to the death if you dared me to' look in her eyes. A kind of look that could only be described as 'Nikki-esque'.

"Thanks for the ride, Anderson!" she said, turning back to the driver of the truck.

"Anything for you, Niks!" he said enthusiastically. "You need a ride home later?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, Mom was in one of her moods before I left. I might crash at someone's house if I need to. Either that, or head back to the school and sleep in the locker rooms again. Let me get back to you on that."

Anderson gave her a wave before she slammed the door shut and he drove off. With a wide smile, she spun around on the heel of her boot until she was facing Max and Neil. "Hey, nerds! Didja miss me?"

"Nikki, I saw you last week," Neil pointed out.

"That's still enough time to miss me!" Nikki said, her smile growing bigger as she approached them. "At least, I hope it is. Plus, I was more talking to Max, anyway."

Max stared at her in stunned silence for a moment before he opened his mouth: "You...are taller than me."

"Huh?"

"You're taller than me," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What the hell, when did that happen?!"

Sure enough, now that the two of them were standing face-to-face, Max could tell that Nikki was a few inches taller than him. Not as tall as Neil, but the difference was still obvious.

Nikki laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Well, damn, I guess I am!"

"I told you he didn't grow at all since camp," Neil said in an amused tone.

"You're both assholes!" Max griped. "Freakishly tall assholes!"

This comment made Nikki laughed harder. "God, it's so good to hear that angry voice again! How've you been?"

"Other than hurt over being betrayed by the people I trust?" Max asked, his mouth curling into a smile. "Depressed, mostly. Or pissed off. Or tired. Or a mix of all three."

"Yeah, Neil told me everything that happened," she said, her smile fading for a moment before returning instantly. "But I'm happy to hear you live so close now! And with David?! We can hang out just like old times!"

"Wasn't that kind of what we were supposed to be doing today?" Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah!" Nikki said with a laugh. "But I mean, we can do it all the time! Speaking of which, let's head inside because I am starving! Also I can get us the best table in the restaurant while wearing this." She tapped the front of her jacket proudly. "Athletic discount, baby!"

"That's a thing?" Max asked, as the three of them approached the restaurant entrance.

"Yeah, I guess it's some kind of tradition between the high schools in the area and Goldberg's," Nikki explained. "The football teams came here so often after games that they eventually decided to just start giving everyone a discount for the good business. All you gotta do to get it is wear your varsity jacket."

"That sounds like it could backfire horribly," Max pointed out. "What if someone steals your jacket and tries to take advantage of the perks?"

"They also have a list of names of people on each team," Neil spoke up. "It seems like a lot of effort on the restaurant's end, but hey, I get my burger for half-price when I'm with Nikki, so I'm not going to complain."

Max shrugged as he followed them into the restaurant. The idea still made no sense to him, but he definitely wasn't about to pass on paying less for his food.

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

"So...football, huh?"

"Youngest player on the team in about ten years," Nikki boasted proudly. "Coach is also the school's PE teacher and, well, he saw how good I was in that subject and how much energy I had. He suggested the idea of letting me join the team to my mom, and she signed me up. I think it was just to keep me out of the house more, but hey, I get to tackle people and the amount of football field dirt I end up rolling in on a regular basis keeps my allergies at bay, so I take what I can get."

"Your mom's still giving you trouble?" Max asked.

Nikki fiddled with the straw in her drink. "Eh, depends on the day usually. And if she's in an especially bad mood, I usually tend to crash at someone's house for the night. Or, like I said earlier, just break into the school locker rooms and sleep there."

"That's awful, Nikki. I'm sorry."

Nikki shrugged. "Hey, life sucks sometimes, but I got my teammates to look out for me, and now I got both my best pals from camp to hang out with! And also..."

"Oh, here we go," Neil said with a knowing smile.

Nikki's smile also widened as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. After scrolling through her photos for a moment, she held it out in front of her for Max to see.

It was a picture of her and two other girls, cheerleaders by the looks of their outfits. It looked liked the picture had been taken after one of the football games, one that their team had won if Max were to judge by the rest of the football team cheering in the background.

"That's Cody and Natalia," Nikki said fondly. "It's me and my gals~!"

Max raised an eyebrow. "So, when you say your gals, do you mean..."

Nikki put her phone back in her pocket. "So, do you remember how back at camp, I was, like, completely obsessed with Ered? And how cool I thought she was and all that jazz? Turns out there was a reason for that."

"...Okay, so I'm pretty sure I know what you're hinting at," Max said slowly. "But I just want to make sure I'm not, like, being super offensive for immediately going there—"

"Yeah, I really, really like girls, Max," Nikki finished for him. "Like a ton. I mean, the day that I realized that I could actually date the cool girls I used to look up to was one of the best days of my life!"

Max stared at her. "That...actually does make a lot of sense the more I think about it. I mean, no wonder you were so hung up on trying to impress Ered."

"Yep! Turns out I'm just super gay!" Nikki said cheerfully. "And it's awesome!"

"Well, I'm happy for you, Nikki," Max said. "Even if you are a horrible traitor. I mean, first you're taller than me and then I find out you're a Cool Kid who's dating other cool kids? Damn, it's like I have no idea who you are anymore!"

Nikki snorted and flicked a fry at him. "Oh, shut up, you big jerk! Or should I say little jerk?"

"Ha! I should have used that when I first saw him!" Neil said with a laugh.

"No, you shut your fucking mouth!" Max said, pointing at him. "You already poked fun at my size, you don't get to do it again!"

"Oh, there's definitely something fun about your size, alright," Neil said. "Get it? Fun-sized? Small?"

Max gave him a look. "By the way, you never answered my question from earlier, dickhead."

"What question?"

"The one about you having a crush on someone?"

Neil's smile fell and he quickly distracted himself with his drink in an attempt to dodge the conversation, a motion that Nikki did not miss. "Oh, you asked Neil if he had a crush?"

"Yeah, while we were waiting for you," Max said.

"And what did he say?" she asked, casting Neil a knowing smile.

"Shut up, Nikki!" Neil hissed.

"...Wait, does Nikki know who it is?!" Max asked in disbelief. "Nikki, come on, spill the beans!"

"Sorry, Max," Nikki said innocently. "My lips are sealed unless he decides to talk about it. His business, not mine."

Max looked back at Neil. "Come on, man! I won't laugh, if that's what you're worried about!"

"I'm not worried you'll laugh," Neil explained. "I'm worried you'll question my taste in people."

"...What, is it a guy?" Max asked. "Because if that's it, I'm not gonna—"

"It's not that!" Neil said. "I mean...well, it is, but it's not. And it's not...really a crush anymore, since we're actually dating."

"Alright, so you've got a boyfriend. That's cool, good for you," Max said. "Do you wanna tell me who he is?"

Neil sighed. "...So, remember when I told you that the most exciting thing I did this year was go to Comic Con?"

"Yeah," Max said. "What, did you meet him there?"

"Well, I was walking around the con," Neil continued. "I...may have passed by the DnD area at one point."

"Your boyfriend's a DnD nerd?" Max asked. "That's not that weird. I mean, I'm surprised that you of all people would date someone who's interested in magic and dragons and shit. I mean, remember how pissed off you were with Harrison and his bullshit?"

"...You know, it's funny you should mention Harrison," Neil said, sinking lower into his seat while Nikki buried her face in her sleeves in an attempt to hide her uncontrollable giggles.

Max looked between them with slight confusion, before something began to click into place. "...Neil."

"...So, Harrison was at Comic Con..."

"Neil."

"And we might have talked. A lot."

"NEIL."

"And decided to get dinner together."

"Okay, you need to back up and explain everything, because what the ever-loving fuck, Neil?!" Max asked in disbelief. "Harrison?! You're dating Harrison?!"

"Look, I know what you're thinking," Neil said. "And I know you don't like him—"

"Oh, I don't give a shit about him one way or another," Max said. "Sure, the guy made me the butt of one of his tricks, but after all the shit I've been through, it's really not worth holding a grudge over, you know? But, like...don't you hate the guy? Didn't you once spend an entire day trying to disprove his trick, to an almost-obsessive degree—"

Max paused mid-sentence. "...Okay, so am I the only one here who didn't have some kind of gay crush on someone at that fucking camp?"

"What about Preston?" Nikki asked.

"What about him?" Max asked, eyeing her. "Guy was an over-dramatic dickhead who wrote shitty plays."

"Uh-huh," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Put those the fuck down," Max said, squinting at her. "Let's get back to the main topic here, which is Neil and Harrison being a thing. Which I'm fully supportive of, don't get me wrong. But like...there's irony, and then there's big, science-nerd Neil dating Harrison!"

"I'm still not sure how it happened, honestly," Neil admitted. "I mean, I saw him at the con, and...I don't know, maybe I've grown up since camp or maybe he's grown up, or hell, maybe we both grew up. But he's honestly not as big of a prick as he used to be. I mean, I still have no idea how he does his tricks and I do plan on getting that out of him one of these days but at the same time, it's like...even if I don't, I still like being around him."

"You don't care about figuring out his magic tricks because it's how he sends you gifts," Nikki said knowingly, as she took a bite of her burger.

"He does what now?" Max asked.

Once again, a light blush spread across Neil's face. "Every couple of days, I'll come home from school and find something on my desk from him. There's no way he'd be able to get into the house to leave it for me, and my mom doesn't...really know about him yet so he can't leave them with her—"

"Oh, yikes. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Neil said sadly. "But he usually gives me stuff for my lab, like new beakers or test tubes. Or he'll send me stuff he thinks I might like. Once he left me this really neat 'potions' kit, which I'm assuming he left in an attempt to sort-of merge my love for science with his love for magic. I thought it was sweet, and it turns out, there's actually a lot of chemistry involved in potion-making."

"Gayyyy," Nikki said with a laugh.

"Oh, shut up, Nikki," Neil said, glaring at her. "Like you're one to talk!"

"Hey, I've got two girlfriends and even I'm not as gay as you are for him," she said.

"All jokes aside," Max said. "It is pretty cool that he makes you so happy. It's pretty cool that both of you are dating people who make you so happy."

"Speaking of happy," Nikki said. "You definitely seem happier too, Max."

"I do?" Max asked with genuine surprise.

"I mean, back at camp you were always angry and always trying to ruin David's life," Nikki pointed out with a shrug. "I don't know, you seem a lot more relaxed now that you're actually living with him."

"Yeah, well...he doesn't exactly have much of a bar to clear when it comes to being a decent guardian after all the others I went through," Max said. "Plus, it's David. You know he puts a hundred-and-ten percent into it, even if no one asks him to, or wants him to."

"Would it kill you to give him a compliment that isn't followed by an insult?" Neil asked with a smirk.

"Hey, I did it when we first talked in study hall," Max said. "That's enough complimenting him for one week."

Nikki laughed. "I always liked David, even back at camp. He was a ton of fun."

"Is there no end to the traitorous acts from you?" Max asked dramatically.

"No, and also I really think you should message Preston," Nikki said. "Honestly, the two of you would get along."

"I don't have a crush on Preston, Nikki!" Max insisted. "Besides, I doubt I'd be lucky enough to find anyone else from that summer in the area. I mean, I still can't believe I managed to find both of you and David all in the same area. Hell, Neil meeting Harrison at one of the biggest cons in the country probably makes the most sense out of any of this."

"Let's all be real," Neil said. "Anyone parent willing to send their kid to Camp Campbell for the summer wouldn't be willing to shell out the extra cash to send them to a camp out of state. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone from that summer lived somewhere nearby."

"Yeah, that's a fair point," Max said. "God, that camp was shit."

"I don't know," Nikki said. "We all met each other because of it. I can't hate it for introducing me to some of my best friends."

Max smiled at her. "Okay, now you can't call Neil the gayest thing here, because that was the gayest thing I've ever heard in my life."

"That's homophobic."

"...Is it really?"

"Nah, not really," Nikki said, laughing again. "Mostly because you're right."

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

"I told you she hadn't changed."

Max's smile widened as he continued to watch Nikki text away on her phone. "Yeah, okay, you were right. She's still Nikki."

"Also, uh...sorry for not telling you about Harrison before," Neil said.

"Hey, I get it. You were worried about what'd I'd think," Max said. "I mean, I'll make fun of you for dating Harrison, but not because he's a guy. It's because it's fucking Harrison. But if I go too far, just let me know and I'll back off."

Neil smiled and nudged his shoulder playfully. "Well, you're taking it better than my mom would."

"Yeah, I really don't like your mom," Max said with a scowl. "Or Nikki's, for that matter. You two deserve better."

"Okay, don't kill me for saying this, but you really sounded like David right there."

"...Ew," Max said, making a face. "But speaking of him, he wanted to know if either of you wanted to stay the night. I think he's probably more excited about me having friends to hang out with than I am."

"I'm in," Neil said. "And Nikki did say she needed a place to stay for the night."

"That's true," Max said, before turning his attention to Nikki. "Hey, Nikki! You wanna spend the night?"

"Sure!" Nikki said excitedly. "Mom's still in a mood, anyway. Plus I want to see if your room's as edgy as that sweater you're wearing."

"Hey, Hatred of Red Olives is a good band, and fuck the both of you for making fun of them," Max said defensively, as his eyes drifted to the car pulling into the parking lot. "Also, David's here."

David honked the horn enthusiastically as he came to a stop in the parking spot beside them. "Hi, kids! Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, it was fine," Max said. "Also they said yes to the sleepover thing."

David let out a noise of delight as he lifted the camera into view. "Oh, I knew they'd say yes! There's going to be so many scrapbook opportunities tonight!"

"If you snap so much as one picture of me, I'll throw your camera out the window," Max said. "And not any of the house windows, I'll chuck it right out of the car while you're going fifty."

"Hi, David!" Nikki said, waving at him. "Long time no see!"

"Hello, Nikki!" David said. "It's so wonderful to see you again! I almost didn't recognize you, you've grown so much!"

"It's great to see you, too!" Nikki said, smiling. "Honestly, it's a little weird. I half-expected you to be dead by now."

"Nikki, I'm not that old," David said, amused.

"No, I mean, I just never saw you living past twenty-seven for some reason," she said. "I don't know, maybe it's because of how many times I saw you get hit by a bus. Or hit. Or stabbed. Crushed. Mangled. Maybe I just subconsciously thought there'd come a day where you'd suddenly stop being invincible and crumble like a house of cards."

Max had to restrain himself from doubling over in a fit of laughter at her comment and the surprised look on David's face. Okay, Neil had definitely been right about Nikki staying the same after all these years. And not just her, but Neil, David, even Max himself...

A wave of realization washed over Max, as his thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had shared with David the day he'd been placed in his care. How a lot of things might have changed over the years, but a lot of things had also stayed the same.

The idea had definitely been comforting to Max at the time, but he hadn't been entirely sure if he could really believe in it. He knew just how much people would and did change with time, he knew that no matter how good you thought you had it, there was always a way for life to royally screw you over.

But as he stared at the three of them, he could almost feel that worry in the back of his mind disappear for good. The worry that kept telling him it wouldn't last, that there was always a chance that one of them (or all of them) would eventually get sick of him like everyone else, or that he could easily lose them like he had lost his parents.

But for once in what felt like a lifetime, he found it easier to push that worry away. He knew it would rear its ugly head again in time. But for now, he had a parent who cared about him after so many proved to be uncaring. He had friends he could trust after a year of having little to none.

Nikki was right. He was happier. Happier than he'd been in a long, long time.

"...Hey, David?"

"Yes?"

"...Maybe we could take one picture. Just because I know you'll cry if I don't agree to it and I don't want to deal with that all evening."

David's eyes lit up. "Of course! And it's such a perfect moment for one! I mean, look at the sunset—"

"Don't make me change my mind," Max said, with a look to the others. "Neil, Nik, you guys alright with a pic?"

"Sure!" Nikki said. "Only if I can get a copy. I'll put it up in my locker, next to the picture someone took of me pulling a live possum out of the school dumpster."

"I can't think of a higher honor," Max said with a smile.

"I'd like a copy of it, too," Neil said.

"Of course you can all get a picture," David assured them, as he held up the camera again with a wide smile. "Alright, everyone get close together and give me a big smile! That means you too, Max!"

"Haha, I could still toss your camera out the window on the way home," Max said, glaring at him.

David shook his head and held up the camera. Max couldn't resist giving him the requested smile as the picture was taken, even if he knew David would never let him live it down. He never wanted to forget how genuinely happy he felt in this moment, and he was willing deal with a lifetime of David fawning over how 'sweet his smile looked' or 'how happy he was' or some other overly doting bullshit as a result.

Plus there was always the option to hide David's copy later. Now that would definitely make him happy.