#Neil: little to no concept of attraction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gringolet · 2 years

Note

A month before our story starts, Castiel informed Dean he was going on vacation.

“I’m going on vacation,” he informed. “In Miami. Don’t look for me, I will be drunk.”

“No, you won’t be,” said Dean, paying about a quarter cup’s worth of attention. “You never drink with me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t drink. And maybe Miami will tell me something about myself.”

“That you hate the heat?”

“I lived in Jerusalem for a time. But you wouldn’t remember.”

“Oh, you’re just being dramatic.”

But Dean wouldn’t remember. And he didn’t remember that Castiel had already filed his PTO request the month earlier (“You don’t need to file PTO to me, I’m not your boss. And you aren’t even going anywhere.” “Yes I am, I’m going to Miami.”). So when Cas turned up gone the morning of October 16th, Dean panicked.

“It’s not like he lives with us,” said Sam. “He’s probably just wandering around somewhere. We’re not angel keepers.”

“We’re not brother keepers,” Dean corrected, smugly. It wasn’t often he out-Bible trivia’ed Sam. “Because we aren’t going to, you know— clobber each other to death with sticks.” When Sam didn’t respond immediately, he frowned. “Right? You’re not going to clobber me to death with a stick, right, Sam?”

“Look, I don’t think you need to worry about Cas.”

“That’s not an answer about the stick bit.”

Sam gave him a long look and then one very brief pat on the shoulder. “You need to get your mind off of this. Let’s go on the road, yeah? I’ve heard New York needs some hunters.”

“City? Eugh.” Sam had always been trying to get them to take trips to NYC together, for inexplicable, out of character, reasons. Dean had always thought this was a thinly veiled trick to get him to sit through a musical production and the concept made him nervous and vaguely threatened. “Alright, one of your gay little Broadway shows. And then look for Cas?”

Sam frowned at his brother. “Dean, how many times do I have to tell you, just because I starred in a high school production of RENT doesn’t mean I’m gay. That was a stage kiss.”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever.”

“And even if I was, that would be an unproductive and unsupportive way to speak to your gay brother. I, personally, would never make fun of a family member for his attraction to men or otherwise.” Sam looked at Dean. “I mean, what would Cas think?”

Dean squinted. “Um. Okay.”

“So New York then?”

This time Dean went for the double combo of squinting and shrugging. “Sure. I hate New York. Sure. I guess.”

So New York it was.

They had been in New York for two days when Sam’s incessant fiddling around on the internet paid off. “I think,” he said, worrying his lower lip in concentration, “that there might be some sort of haunting in a record shop a couple miles from here. Some of the more serious true crime Subreddits are speculating about a serial killer hunting there, but… take a look at this.”

Dean accepted the laptop he was being handed and squinted at the screen. “Four people beaten to death in two months?” he said after a moment’s reading. “Really? Serves them right for buying vinyl, I guess.”

Miasma Records was a dingy basement level shop, with the general smell and air of a dive bar at 11 o’clock in the morning. They seemed to only sell BritPop records and Bob Dylan, with a small collection of buckets labeled things like “funny guys.”, “sex.”, and “things that remind you of the Mountain Goats but we don’t have the Mountain Goats.” Dean didn’t know who the Mountain Goats were. “Funny guys.” was just a handful of stand up comedy albums from the 1950’s, plus one with no cover art that was Sharpied over with a drawing of a cartoon cactus. Dean looked discreetly in the “sex.” bucket, only to find that every single record was Neil Diamond’s ‘Hot August Night’. He held up the first one and made eye contact with the bored-looking teenage clerk.

“Really?” he asked. “Neil Diamond?” The clerk shrugged and went back to scribbling on his arm with a pen.

“Hey, is that Neil Diamond’s ‘Hot August Night?’” said Sam, wandering over and peering over Dean’s shoulder. “I love that guy!”

“Oh, god, Sam.” Dean cringed. “Please tell me you aren’t going to buy this — wait. Cas?”

In the very back of the BritPop section, a trenchcoated figure huddled over a stack of records. His hair was blonde — did Cas bleach his hair? Did angels even need to do that, or could they just snap their fingers and boom, Justin Timberlake circa ‘99. Not that Dean followed Justin Timberlake closely.

“Cas, what are you doing here?”

He didn’t turn around, instead inspecting a Manic Street Preachers album. ‘The Holy Bible’. Of course.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s what you think it is, buddy.”

Cas — no, definitely not Cas — turned around then. “Oh? Enlighten me,” he said, in a pronounced accent. It was something British— Dean didn’t care to differentiate between the types.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You ask that to every stranger you meet in a record store?”

“Just the ones wearing my friend’s coat.”

The man’s eyebrows crept to his hairline. “Wow. Your friend owns this coat? That’s fascinating. Here I was thinking I bought it at Marks and Spencer as a teenager. Why don’t you give me his number so I can get it back to him?”

Dean almost had the instinct to be embarrassed. Of course it wasn’t Cas’ coat. But he wouldn’t be shown up by a bleach blonde Brit in the middle of a trashy vinyl shop. “What are you doing on this side of the pond anyway, London?”

“I’m from Liverpool, mate,” said the man, after a brief pause indicating that Dean had committed some horrible transgression against his dignity. “Unless you want me to be from London.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Sam had made his way to Dean’s side. “I’m sorry about my brother, he’s—” Sam glanced to his side. “Passionate about coats.”

“A man must have some hobbies,” the Brit said generously, and turned back to the Manic Street Preachers.

“We need to solve this case soon, Sammy,” Dean said under his breath, turning away from the Britpop corner. “I don’t think I can tolerate much more vinyl shop customer action.”

“We barely know what’s going on. Let’s scout some info first. Hi!” He looked up at the record clerk and leaned politely on the counter. “Could my partner and I ask you a few questions about your shop here?”

The clerk, who looked like the sort of young man who thought chemistry was a ‘soft science,’ gave them a suspicious look. “Yeah…?"

“When was this store established?”

Blank stare. Blinking. A faint perplexed look. “Uh—”

“Jordon, what’s going on out there?” a voice called from the room behind the clerk. After a moment, a very elderly man hobbled out, squinting at the customers. “Well? What’s going on out here?”

“I was asking this— nice young man— about the history of the store?”

The old man’s face split into a wide grin. “Oh! Well, isn’t that nice of you?” A pause. “I said, isn’t that nice of him, Jordon?”

Jordon rolled his eyes. “So nice.”

The old man eagerly shook Sam’s hand. “Gordon Orgney. What can I answer for you?”

“Hold on,” Dean said, his finger swivelling between the clerk and the owner. “Your names are Gordon and Jordon?”

“He’s my uncle,” said Jordon the clerk miserably. This didn’t explain anything.

Sam cleared his throat with a look of slight annoyance. “I was wondering when the store was established?”

“1969!” said Gordon triumphantly. “I said to myself, Greenwich Village is going by the wayside, yes I did. That’s what I said to myself. I said, soon it’s going to be nothing but hipsters and artistes. Got to preserve something of the original, I said to myself. I said it.”

Sam nodded, while Jordon grew increasingly annoyed.

“Right,” Sam said. “And has there ever been anything strange going on in the building? Any crime? Disappearances?”

Gordon’s expression shifted instantly. “You tell your cop friends that I have nothing to do with all those bodies! It’s just a coincidence. I never even heard of them until the papers came out, and now everyone’s knocking down my door about it. It’s that damn Darnielle…” He trailed off and walked entirely away from the counter, back into his office, and locked the door.

“Well,” said Sam. “That was quite the answer.”

“Don’t mind him,” said Jordon. “He just hates John Darnielle. He thinks he caused all of the world’s problems with his combination Christian/Heretic music and the fact that everyone expects the store to carry his albums.”

“Who’s John Darnielle?”

Jordon’s eyes lit up. “You don’t know the Mountain Goats? Oh man, you’re gonna love this. Hold on, I think I have an extra tape.” He rustled around in the cash register drawer and pulled out a faded cassette tape labeled “Goat tunes.” “Got it! Here, do you have a tape player?”

The Impala had one, so Sam nodded, but Dean narrowed his eyes. “We’re not playing that in Baby.”

Sam elbowed him as he took the tape from Jordon. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be a great mix.”

Jordon nodded and then leaned forward. “Between you and me, don’t worry about this place.” He shifted his eyes to somewhere behind them and back. “There’s nothing going on here.”

There was no more they could get with the Brit lurking irritatingly close. They left.

“Dude, have you heard this?” Sam yelled from the Impala in their hotel roof parking lot. Dean was sitting on the hood, attempting to look laid back, but he was sliding very slowly and it didn’t really have the same effect.

“I refuse to listen to this, Sammy.”

“It’s incredible. I mean, he’s the most brilliant lyricist in the 21st century. Have you heard his song cycle about failed love and divorce? It touches your soul.”

“I don’t relate to the concept of divorce,” said Dean. “I’m not a child of divorce.”

“But you could be a parent of divorce,” said Sam. “You never know.”

“What are you talking about, man? I’d never get divorced.” Dean looked offended. “Marriage is about, like, love and everything.”

“Next you’ll say it’s between a man and a woman.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not— are you sure you’re not gay?”

“I don’t have to be gay to support gay marriage, Dean.”

“That’s not what I even— dude, you’re the one that brought it up. I hate when you find weird music. I’m going to get a coke.”

Miasma closed at 9pm on Sundays. Dean thought this was wildly optimistic for how late people would still be coming to a record store that serviced maybe three niches of music listeners total, but it gave them the cloak of night to break in.

“There has to be an easier way to do this,” groused Dean, hanging halfway through a very small window. Below him, Sam let out an exhausted sigh.

“Do you need me to push your legs up?”

“No! No, I don’t.”

With a monumental amount of exertion, Dean managed to haul himself through the window and avoided breaking his neck on the way down. Sam followed with much less fanfare. The inside of the record store was not as dark as they had expected, and for a second both thought that the clerk had simply left the light on. “So, what do you figure we’re looking for, Sammy?”

That was when someone coughed with an incredible amount of sarcasm, and they discovered that the lights were in fact on because the pair of them were not the first trespassers of the night. “Come here often?” said the weird blond man from earlier that day.

“Um.” Dean exchanged looks with Sam. “This is private property.”

“Not yours, though, if I’m correct.” The man cast a look over the store. “Doesn’t seem like your scene. Well, maybe yours.” He gestured to Sam.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, my apologies. John Constantine. You’ve never heard of me, and if you’d like to continue living your lives at an average, not dead rate, it’ll stay that way.”

The Winchester brothers exchanged a look. It was a look that, to them, very clearly communicated the sentence: oh, this man doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. For Sam, this was an expression of earnest concern. For Dean, it was not. “Yeah? I will say, I’m not used to getting called average.”

Constantine quirked a smile. “Okay. What are you then? Or shall I find out later?”

“What?” Dean furrowed his brows at Constantine, then turned to Sam and continued to furrow them. “What does that mean?”

“All in good time. So tell me, why should I be so impressed with you two?”

“The several apocalypses we’ve saved you from, for one.”

Constantine looked bemused. “Right. Anything else? We’ve all been around the apocalypse block a few times, boys.”

“Sam and Dean Winchester,” Sam offered. He shoved Dean to the side, who was beginning to fume. “Are you a hunter?”

“I don’t kill animals recreationally, no.”

Crossing his arms, Dean shot Constantine a look that indicated: I know you think you’re so funny, and I disagree. “Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that over here in the good old US of A, we’ve got a good hand on any… problems.”

“A good hand, eh?”

“Uh, so, I think we’ve all gotten a bit tense here,” Sam said, turning to look at the door as though someone would enter and defuse the situation. He did not in fact expect anyone to be there, and was thus very startled to find a young man who looked like an off-brand Beatle, but slightly more whimsical. He wore a ragged black coat and an expression like he was looking behind Sam to see if the bus was coming. Sam took a step back to avoid bumping into him. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.”

The young man’s eyes drifted over his face without entirely settling anywhere. “Don’t think twice, it’s alright.”

Dean gave an incredulous scoff. “What is this, your sidekick?”

Constantine cocked his head at the same time as the young man met Dean’s eyes and said, “It ain’t me, babe.”

He stiffened. “I don’t know who you’re calling babe, pal, but it better not be me.”

“No, I ain't lookin' to fight with you,” the man said, and opened his mouth to continue, but a voice cut in before he could say anything.

“Don’t listen to him… I am not a fan… I try to ignore him.”

The man who had suddenly appeared in between Constantine and Dean looked a bit like a sailor, or at least what someone who had only ever heard of them from the packaging of Gorton’s fish sticks might describe as a sailor. This effect was mitigated by the fact that he was wearing cargo shorts and no shoes. Dean cursed. “Ghost! Fuck!”

“Don’t speak too soon,” said the moody young man.

“Another Side…” the sailor said, as though it were a normal name, “...shut up...”

“Oh Christ,” said Constantine. “It’s Bob Dylan.”

“Who?” said Sam.

“I don’t need your organization,” said Another Side of Bob Dylan, scornfully and quotatiously.

The sailor sneered at him. “You can do better than that.”

“Right.” Before anyone could say anything else incomprehensible or dramatic, Constantine spread his hands out. The overhead light flickered in accordance with his narrative importance. “If we’re all quite finished being abysmally Woodstock, I think perhaps we ought to have a little chat about this situation.”

Another Side exchanged a patronizing look with the sailor, and then raised an eyebrow at Constantine. “Something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is.”

“Shut the fuck up!” yelled Dean, who hated artists on principle. “Shut up! We’re hunting some kind of murderous ghost, and somehow I doubt that Knockoff Jimi Hendrix or— whoever the fuck you are— would haul off and beat three people to death over the last couple months, yeah?”

“I’m David Crosby…” said the apparent ghost of David Crosby.

“Who?” said Sam again.

Constantine spun around like a cat on the prowl and stalked over to a box labelled ‘drugs,’ flipping through the records before pulling out one marked CROSBY, STILLS, NASH, AND YOUNG. He lifted it up suspiciously. “Are the rest of you in there, then?”

For a second no one responded. Then a very sad British voice said. “Croz doesn’t let us out. I haven’t seen the sun in twenty-five years… I just want to see daylight again.”

Constantine blinked. “I’m just, I’m not going to deal with that.” He put the record back and the voice faded away.

“Is there anyone here that we can talk to, like any normal human being we can speak with?” Dean asked, exasperated.

“Mm… Swift…” said Crosby, pointing to the box that read ‘linda please come back’.

Dean wandered over to it with the rising suspicion that nothing good was going to come of this affair and rifled through. The only record with the name Swift on it was Taylor Swift’s ‘Red.’

(Dean listened to Taylor Swift with a devotion approaching religion. He did not tell this to anyone.)

It took a second for the ghost to apparate. In that time, Sam said, “Hold on, Taylor Swift isn’t dead. Or wasn’t, last time I checked.”

Dean’s heart plummeted. “God. She must have been murdered since we last read the news. That’s— that’s fine, you know, I don’t listen to Taylor Swift at all. So it’s fine.”

This was an inopportune thing to say right as the ghost of Taylor Swift manifested in front of him. Fortunately for Dean, she had eyes only for Another Side of Bob Dylan, and the eyes were very angry ones. “You!” she hissed, one finger flying out to point at him with malice. “All that time in the storage cabinet in the back of the store together when the owner accidentally ordered multiple copies of us… and now you say you won’t talk to me? How can you be so casually cruel? Do I mean nothing to you?”

Another Side held up his hands forlornly and shrugged at her. “It’s all over now, Baby Blue.”

“I’m Red! And as for the rest of you, I won’t say anything if he’s there!” In a poof, she vanished.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Anyone else?”

“Visions of Johanna are now all that remain.” Another Side nodded as if this made perfect sense.

It took them a few minutes to track down what on earth he was talking about, because after that he got into a protracted argument with David Crosby about the best types of drugs to take right before a recording session. How he did this speaking only in lyrics was a mystery, but Crosby seemed to understand and, moreover, disagree vehemently. Finally Sam heaved a relieved sigh and lifted up an album cover. “Do you think this could be it?”

The front of the album was inked with the portrait of a woman in profile, the name “JOAN” stencilled beside her in an art nouveau font. Another Side hummed thoughtfully.

Johanna— Joan— appeared on the stool behind the register, picking absentmindedly on a guitar. She looked up, then scanned the three non-ghosts in the room. “Oh,” she said, looking a bit skeptical. “I don’t suppose you want to interview me about my own contributions to the folk rock genre?”

“Shit! That’s Joan Baez!” Constantine opened his mouth, closed it again, and pointed in awe. “When I spent a year hanging out with hippies, all of them wanted to marry her! Hello, Joan Baez! Do you want a cigarette?”

She gave him a once-over. “From you? No.”

“Oh.” Constantine looked down. He now appeared slightly self conscious and shoved the cigarette back in his coat pocket. “I’m sorry.”

“Anyway,” said Dean, who did not know who Joan Baez was and did not care, “ma’am, would you be inclined to explain why on earth a bunch of famous ghosts are all hanging out in this piece of shit shop?”

“I mean,” she said, exchanging glances with Crosby and Another Side. “We’re folk rock musicians. Where else would we hang out?”

A new voice popped up, light and wistful. “Greenwich Village…” said a just-manifested woman who looked like what would happen if you googled ‘folk singer stock image.’

“Good point, Judy,” Joan said. “There’s always Greenwich Village.”

“Enough about Greenwich Village!” snapped Sam, who had had enough of feeling like he wasn’t artistic enough to keep up with the conversation. He was generally the most hipster person in any given room, and the current situation was unbalancing to him. “Ms. Baez, this may come as a surprise to you, but strange things have been happening in this record shop and the fact that you— a ghost— are here is probably related. Can you tell us anything about that?”

Joan nodded. “Not really.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Well, actually, maybe I can. Can you get my guitar?”

“What?” asked Sam. “That’s not really— you have it?”

“No, I don’t.” The guitar that was previously in Joan’s hands was no longer there. “Are you trying to gaslight me?”

Sam wasn’t. Dean didn’t know what gaslighting was. Constantine didn’t care. “Alright, love,” he said, crossing his arms. “If we get your guitar for you, will you give us some answers about the dead bodies that have been cropping up around here?”

“Maybe so.”

Another Side coughed, breaking the spell of Joan’s intense stare. “My friend(s),” he said, effortlessly pronouncing the punctuation, “you’d better leave.”

Joan held up a peace sign and disappeared. The rest of the musicians followed suit in an instant, leaving Constantine and the Winchesters alone in the record shop.

“Well,” said Constantine. “Shall we?”

“What, all together? Do what?”

“Find Joan Baez’ guitar. Were you not listening?”

Dean scoffed. “I was a bit distracted by the sexy hipster chick! The one with the long hair, not the mysterious ghost.”

For a long second, both of them stared at him. “They were all ghosts, Dean,” said Sam.

“What? Oh, fuck, nevermind, then.”

The three of them placed any records back in their extremely specifically named boxes and made their way back out of the small window onto the street.

A long while after they had gone, a dozen or so hazy figures popped back into existence inside the shop, glancing at each other nervously.

“Not good…” said Crosby, his form flickering slightly from the strain of keeping Stills, Nash, and Young imprisoned in their case. “I think… this is bad…”

Joan Baez heaved out a sigh. “So what do we do?”

“God said to Abraham, kill me a son,” Another Side of Bob Dylan said, with a meaningful look at one particular record hanging on the wall. Its ghost was notably invisible, as he was feeling very embarrassed.

Judy Collins favoured him with a wry smile. “Like Judas of old,” she said. She was always the only one who humoured his determination to only speak in quotes. Everyone else thought it was annoying, which it was, and nonsensical, as he did not even stick to quotes from songs on his own album. “We lie and deceive.”

“Oh… shut up…” jeered David Crosby, and no one wanted to deal with him, so one by one they faded away.

The time was 11:34pm, and the patrons of The Lonely Rabbit Bar, Disco, and Armenian Delicatessen were suffering the presence of three very confused occult detectives. They had decided that drinks were in order after the perplexing interaction they had had, and also that since neither party was inclined to give up the chase, they might as well work together. Constantine flagged down a deli worker and leaned on the glass to chat.

“Augustus, the usual please. And a sample for the two of them.”

Augustus nodded and slipped to the back, beginning to clean the large and very sharp looking cheese and meat slicer behind the counter.

Dean stood uncomfortably in the area between the deli and the disco room, but not quite in bar territory. Sam was looking intently at the pickled goods in the display fridge. He had recently become quite the pickled goods enthusiast since being gifted a book on how to put things in jars and age them, and had a small pickling station running out one of the bunker’s many empty rooms.

“So are these salt-brined or vinegar-brined? Maybe fermented?” He asked another deli worker, who stared at him like a deer.

“I think we put them in things.” The deli worker walked away without waiting for a response. Sam looked vaguely embarrassed.

“They’re paid minimum wage, love,” Constantine advised. “Don’t expect enthusiasm. Anyhow, since I’m being so kind as to take you to the best bar, disco, and Armenian delicatessen for at least several blocks, I think you two should tell me just who you are.”

“I don’t know what a delicatessen is,” Dean said defensively. He pointed to the writing on his hat, which read ‘Women Want Me, Demons Fear Me.’

“I see,” said Constantine, who didn’t. “What do you know?”

“Women want me, demons fear me.” He pointed to the hat again.

“Sam,” Constantine said, turning away from Dean without comment. “What do you know?”

“Uh, I know how to handle situations like this,” Sam said, with an impressive amount of acumen. “I can assure you we can deal with a little haunting. I’m sure you have some experience, but—”

“—we have more,” Dean finished, with a smirk.

Augustus came back then, with two bags of Armenian string cheese. One of them — so massive it looked comical even next to Augustus’ 6 foot frame — he handed to Constantine. The other, a smaller but still impressively sized quantity, he handed to the Winchesters.

“This is a token of my— friendship is a strong word. My decision to bear with the two of you. Trust me, it’s taking a lot of self-restraint. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop patronizing me.”

Dean, who had never considered a non patronizing approach to anyone, stifled a scoff. “What do we get out of bearing with you?” he said.

Constantine pointed at the string cheese.

Sam shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen, Dean? He obviously knows his stuff.” He took a bite of the string cheese. “And this is remarkable.”

“Isn’t it? Anyway, drinks are on you two.”

Neither of them quite new how to object, so they didn’t. After a long, uncomfortable silence filled with vague Armenian disco music and the sound of chewing,

thats all we have so far. happy birthday.

love, rey and ev <3

enjoy

evelyn my dear friend evelyn. rey whos scheming mind i would know was behind this even without the signoff. i dont know what to say. the fact that this ends in the middle of a sentence. the fact that you decided the best place for the john constantine/supernatural/60s folk crossover fic was my medieval literature side blog. the presence of the orgneys. 10/10

#long post #what do i even —

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thelostsullivans · 1 year

Text

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Lucas “Luke” Sullivan O’Doherty Born: December 18th, 1985 Age: 37 Hometown: Austin, TX, USA Current location: Wherever, man Gender / Pronouns: Cis man Sexuality / Attraction: ??? / ??? Occupation: Collegiate baseball coach / former minor league baseball player / schemer Family: Bobbie O’Doherty (mother), Neil O’Doherty (adoptive father), Kelly Sullivan (biological father), Bullet Sullivan (half-sister), Frankie Sullivan (cousin), Robert Sullivan (paternal grandfather)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Eoi.n Ma.cken Hair color: Brown Eye color: Brown Height: 5′11

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: Gentle when needed, adaptable, persuasive, proactive, resourceful, adventurous Negative Traits: Impulsive, somewhat amoral at times, defensive, volatile, sometimes devious

BIO

Long before Kelly Sullivan found himself back in New York and incarcerated, even before he shacked up with his wife and settled down to have a kid, he briefly called Austin, Texas his home. If only for a few months, but in that short amount of time, he met a woman, fell in lust and her bed, sweet-talked her out of a large sum of money and disappeared from her life. He left her heartbroken, angry, and unbeknownst to either of them at the time, pregnant. Luke grew up never knowing about that man, another having stepped into place to fill a bit of that void. Neil O’Doherty was a good man overall, dependable, though not always the softest with his wife when she needed it. He believed in tough love more than he should and it showed in some of the fights they had, particularly concerning Luke and how he was raised. Nothing earth-shattering, but Bobbie was very protective of her son and tended to turn a bit of a blind eye to him when he messed up. But the pair loved him, loved him enough to shelter him from his true heritage of crime and deceit, even when Kelly returned to Austin hoping for safe harbor, a mistake that earned him a good beating and sent him on his way. From that day on, Luke questioned things, his life, his mother, his parentage. Tacitly at first, for years anyway. High school came and went, Luke having done well enough to graduate toward the top of his class, but that wasn’t his greatest success. He loved baseball, something Neil had gotten him into, and excelled from Little League into high school, so much so that he was scouted by the Texas Rangers in his senior year. They wanted him to develop more skills, discipline, and have a somewhat normal collegiate experience, so they brought him into their minor league team and asked that he attend a junior college while doing so. It wasn’t Luke’s ideal situation, but it was something and something good, that he had earned for himself and that made his parents proud, so he jumped at the chance. It was the first step to the majors, after all, or it would have been had he not gone astray. During his first year playing, his father fell ill. Cancer. Terminal. Neil, one foot in the grave, told him the truth, fearing that he’d die and Bobbie would never be honest— I may not have had a part in your conception, but you are my son and always have been. That news threw Luke for a complete loop, caused an upheaval within him that he never saw coming. Not only did his studies suffer, but his mental health took a hit that it had never received before. To cope, Luke began partying with his classmates and teammates, drinking, doing drugs, and fucking as much as he could to get himself numb enough to function. What he hadn’t accounted for were the random drug tests that the team endured without warning and when his first surprise one came back dirty, he was promptly booted from both the team and his school. The disappointment was enough to drive a final wedge between Luke and his parents, and after Neil died, he took off to sort himself out. After years of struggling and working hard, Luke finally found himself in good place, overall. He reconnected with his mother, forgave her for never coming clean regarding his biological father and his family, and vowed that Kelly Sullivan would pay, in one way or another, for how he’d hurt Bobbie. From then on out, while continuing on the straight and narrow and securing a job closer to his own dream career than away from it, he did all the digging necessary to track Kelly down and get close enough to his world to shake it up.

#( luke. / && bio. )

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64bitgamer · 1 year

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peaceoutofthepieces · 2 years

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25 and 31 Kandriel!!!!!!!!

25. “I could kiss you right now!”

31. “Kiss me.”

Neil ran a hand through Kevin’s hair and tried to think of the most tactful way to ask the question. Then he remembered he was not known for his tact, and Kevin was even worse.

He ended up bluntly asking, “Did you really never do anything with Andrew?”

Kevin’s eyes shot wide open from where he lay next to Neil. The lax, catlike carelessness he always succumbed to under Neil’s petting disappeared in an instant. Neil might have thought the tension came from fear, that Kevin would have been worried Neil was asking out of anger, if Neil hadn’t been so plainly curious and Kevin’s cheeks weren’t flushed red. “I—what? No. Why would you think Andrew—no. Of course not.”

“Let me rephrase,” Neil ventured. “Did you ever want to do anything with Andrew?”

Kevin’s mouth opened.

Neil reminded him, “Remember we agreed not to lie to each other anymore.”

Kevin’s mouth closed.

Neil hummed.

He didn’t know why the thought was still stuck with him. Renee had been quick to shut him down the first time he mentioned it, but it had seemed the most logical conclusion to him. He could have told himself it was because he couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want Kevin, but he hadn’t wanted Kevin like that at the time, either. Or he hadn’t known, at least.

He’d been like Andrew, then, in the sense that Kevin was to him more of a need than a want. Neil had tricked himself into thinking Kevin represented everything he wanted, but that wasn’t it. Neil wasn’t even Neil before Kevin; only a persona that was never meant to become a person. Neil had always needed Kevin, because everything Kevin gave him was what allowed him to exist. Kevin was a lifeline. Neil had been prepared to cling to him with sharp claws and bared teeth before he thought of using a soft caress and parted lips.

He’d thought he and Andrew were the same then, but now he still couldn’t let that feeling go.

“Did you ever try?” Neil asked.

Kevin shifted, but not enough to dislodge Neil’s hand from his hair. “Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know. I’m not trying to interrogate you, or anything. I’m just…curious.”

“Is it because you don’t get casual attraction?”

“Just because I don’t experience it doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept, Kev. But you and Andrew could never be casual.”

Kevin blanched. “That’s not—“

“It is true. You care about each other too much.”

“Andrew doesn’t care about anything,” Kevin muttered, automatically.

Neil noted Kevin made no denial of his own feelings, and smiled inwardly. He tugged Kevin’s hair. “That’s not true.”

Neil had seen enough of Andrew caring firsthand to accept anyone suggesting otherwise. Andrew might have played his protection off as promise-keeping, but he wouldn’t have bothered with promising anything if it meant nothing to him. It was clear he cared about Aaron, regardless of how messy the feelings were. He even cared about Nicky, as little as he acted like it.

And he cared about Kevin. Neil knew the feeling well enough to recognise it in the others, and Andrew was not an exception.

Kevin sighed through his nose. “Maybe. But you’re closer to Andrew than I ever was. He doesn’t—he’s never talked to me like that.”

Neil shimmied down from his sitting position and curled on his side next to Kevin. He realised that Andrew talked to him about things their other teammates would likely never hear, that there was an inexplicable trust offered through their game of truths. But Neil didn’t talk to Kevin like he talked to Andrew, either. That clearly didn’t mean he didn’t care.

“You never tried anything because you didn’t think he wanted you to,” Neil concluded.

Kevin didn’t answer, which was confirmation enough.

“You’re stupid as shit.”

“Thanks, Neil.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s why I’m amused. You’re the most oblivious one here. Whatever you’re getting at is wrong.”

“Or you’re extra stupid because I’m the oblivious one and even I can see it.”

“Just spit out what you want to say, Neil.”

Neil huffed. “I know you want to kiss Andrew, I’m pretty sure he wants to kiss you, and I’m more okay with that than I think I’m supposed to be.”

Kevin blinked at him. He attempted to say something, then blinked again. Then he said, “Oh.”

Neil didn’t like the way it sounded. “What?”

“You like him,” Kevin said triumphantly. “You want me to kiss Andrew because you want to, too.”

Neil stared at him. His hand fell from Kevin’s hair. “What.”

~^~

Neil never liked admitting that Kevin was right about something, because Kevin was extra infuriating when he was being a smug little shit, but sometimes he was so obviously right that there was no way around it.

Apparently, this was one of those times.

It wasn’t that Neil had a burning desire to make out with Andrew. He’d never even considered it. But once Kevin mentioned it, he let the idea into his head, and he couldn’t say he disliked the thought. Kissing Andrew, he thought, would feel oddly natural. He found that he wanted to know exactly how it would feel.

More than anything, he wanted to know if Andrew would let him. Neil knew that Andrew trusted him to some extent; he trusted Neil to keep his mouth shut, to not use his past against him, to take in his bitter truths unflinchingly.

Andrew’s body was in a whole other realm of off-limits, but he trusted Neil with that in tiny portions, too. He let Neil grab his hand or touch his shoulder. He let Neil close enough, on occasion, to lean their shoulders or knees together. Not entirely intimate, but casually close. He never pushed Neil away.

A kiss would be a level of trust Neil felt dizzy at the thought of reaching.

It was only in part due to Andrew being quite attractive. He was the strongest person Neil knew, and he looked it. The soft sweep of his hair and curve of his face balanced any hardness in his expressions. The cocky quirk of his brow or fierce line of his lips were equally intriguing, depending on the circumstances.

Neil wanted to kiss him for the same reasons he liked kissing Kevin.

He just liked them.

It was leading to a whole plethora of embarrassment, with too many incidents of Neil being too obvious with his newly discovered crush. Such as right now, when he didn’t even realise his eyes hadn’t left Andrew in a good ten minutes until Andrew said, “Staring.”

Kevin looked up from where he had his head buried in a textbook and glanced between Andrew and Neil. Kevin was next to Neil on the couch where both of them were attempting to study, and Andrew had claimed one of the beanbag chairs and a game controller. Neil had no idea what he was playing and only heard low bouts of rapid gunfire. He couldn’t tell if Andrew was being considerate of their studying attempts or any possible panic the louder noise would bring. It was dangerous enough to consider Andrew considerate in the first place.

Neil searched for some excuse or just a simple apology and found no words would leave him. Instead he kept staring at Andrew, only now he was blubbing silently like a fish.

Kevin dug his elbow into Neil’s side just as Andrew turned to look at them. He caught the movement before setting an unreadable gaze on Neil. “What,” he demanded.

Neil resisted the urge to glance at Kevin for help and just shook his head. “Didn’t mean to, just zoned out.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Why would I even lie about this?”

“Because you’re embarrassed that you got caught,” Andrew said bluntly.

“I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Tell your face that. Surely you can feel a blush that bad.”

“Maybe I’m frustrated you’re asking stupid, pushy questions.”

“I’m not asking you anything.”

Neil tossed his hands up. “You asked why I was staring.”

“So you were staring.”

Kevin wrapped a hand around Neil’s before he could pull his hair out or lunge at Andrew in his frustration. Both options were becoming equally likely. “Andrew, now you’re just trying to be annoying.”

Andrew turned his heavy, calculating gaze on Kevin instead and Neil breathed easier. “Oh, Kevin. You know I don’t try.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Neil muttered, just to be a shit.

Andrew’s eyes shot back to him. After another moment of consideration, he hummed and turned back to the TV. “Fine. You’ll tell me eventually.”

To anyone else, it would have sounded menacing. To Neil, it was a reminder of that tentative trust, of an unexpected but unwavering patience. To Neil, it was another reason to want to kiss him.

Kevin’s heavy gaze wasn’t as effective, but it was equally annoying in its knowing. Neil gave him a glare that he hoped conveyed ‘you’re no more subtle’.

~^~

He was proved right during their game the following week. It was not the roughest of their matches, but violence was almost always a factor for the Foxes and Kevin was most often the primary target. All the teams had realised quickly that Kevin hadn’t returned to his left hand as a one-time trick, but was playing with it more and more often this season. It was also clear that Kevin was more wary about it. They hadn’t expected this team to be vicious, so Kevin felt comfortable enough trying. It had started well, but desperation was a violent motivator.

There wasn’t much Neil could do to help Kevin when his own backliner mark was barely letting him breathe. Kevin seemed more annoyed than worried, but Neil’s chest was growing tighter even while his anger sparked.

Moments later, he watched Kevin’s mark slam down hard on his racquet, and Kevin dropped it like he’d been burned.

Neil knocked past his own mark and crossed the court to shove the wide-eyed player away. “The fuck is wrong with you, asshole?”

“I wasn’t actually trying to—“

“Save it,” Neil snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Go anywhere near him again and I’ll kill you. Understood?”

He allowed himself to smile, and the backliner paled, which was good enough for Neil. He whirled away in favour of going to Kevin, only to find Andrew already there.

The goalie had Kevin’s hand cradled in his with Kevin’s glove tucked under his arm. He tilted Kevin’s hand this way and that in a slow examination, gripping carefully with his fingers and rubbing softly with his thumbs. Neil knew he was purposefully showing Kevin with the positioning, but it was pointless. Kevin’s eyes were stuck on Andrew’s face, wide and warm like the red flush spread across his cheeks.

Neil slid a hand over his shoulder and Kevin’s gaze shot to him. “You okay?”

Kevin looked to Andrew, who stared steadily back at him. Kevin nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah.” Then, quieter, “Thanks.”

Andrew flicked a dismissive hand and glanced over Kevin’s shoulder. Neil followed his gaze and found the backliner very pointedly not looking at them.

“I handled it,” Neil said.

Andrew didn’t look entirely convinced, and Neil was almost waiting to see the flash of a knife. Instead, he dropped Kevin’s hand and looked calculatingly at Neil. “You handle it,” he echoed, an inch off toneless. Then he turned and headed back towards the goal.

Neil blinked, but ignored it in favour of focusing on Kevin. “You don’t have to play the rest. Dan or one of the freshmen can—“

“And let you have all the glory?” Kevin demanded. “As if.”

He leaned down close to Neil, lips just slightly quirked, and Neil knew he was fine. He rolled his eyes and pushed Kevin’s face away—it was too gentle to be considered a shove. “Fine. Try actually making yourself useful, then.”

If Andrew slammed the ball down the court so it thwacked off the backliner one too many times to be coincidental, neither Neil or Kevin were going to mention it.

They might have agreed it was hot in some ridiculous way, though.

~^~

Neil was more confused than surprised when Kevin cornered him in the locker room after all the others had left. He was a little surprised when Kevin pressed him to a wall and kissed him like his life depended on it rather than saying anything. Neil kissed back, because he wasn’t an idiot, despite popular opinion, but he had to say something when Kevin’s lips trailed down his neck.

“What is this about?” Neil asked. “I sucked out there.”

Kevin sucked on his skin in response. “You weren’t at your best,” he admitted.

“I know this isn’t comfort, so what? Motivation?”

“Did you see the final save Andrew made?”

Neil was even more baffled now, and Kevin’s teeth scraping over his tendons wasn’t helping the muddled connections in his brain. “What?”

“Never mind. I know you did. You watched him too long afterwards. I watched you.”

“Uhm.”

“I watched him, too.”

“Hang on. You’re attacking me because you’re hot and bothered over Andrew?”

Kevin huffed. “Don’t pretend I’m the only one.”

“I’m not—I wasn’t—that’s not the point.”

Kevin paused, retreating so he wasn’t touching Neil. “Sorry. I didn’t even think you wouldn’t want—“

“I didn’t say that,” Neil cut him off. He set a soothing hand on Kevin’s shoulder, then slid it around to the nape of his neck to draw him down closer. Kevin stooped to Neil’s height without any resistance and let himself be kissed. “I just mean. We shouldn’t use Andrew that way. Without his permission.”

“I’m not going to be thinking about Andrew much longer if you keep doing this.” Kevin tapped Neil’s bottom lip, and Neil nipped at his finger. “Not going to be thinking about how you supposedly sucked out there either.”

“What, if I suck in here?”

Kevin pulled away from him with an irritated look. “Really, Neil?”

“What? I thought you liked when I talked about it.”

“I never like when you talk. It never ends well.”

“This could.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh, come on, Kev.”

“You really do have no chance with Andrew if you genuinely think that was a good line.”

“Well, I don’t anymore, and that doesn’t sound like ‘not thinking about Andrew’. Andrew would probably react the same way you did—“

“With complete and utter disappointment.”

“—and oh look, you’re still here,” Neil finished pointedly, raising a brow.

“For how much longer, it depends. Do you know how to stop talking for more than five minutes?”

Neil shrugged and kissed Kevin’s chin. “I’m sure,” he kissed Kevin’s neck, “that you can find some other ways for me to put my mouth to use, if it bothers you so much.”

Kevin hummed low in his throat. “That was better. Not by much,” he added. “But better.”

~^~

Neil started to wonder if he should be getting jealous of how frequently Andrew came up with Kevin, but he realised it wasn’t so much that it happened more often as that it was a different context, and both of them were equally guilty of it. Some of it hadn’t changed all that much, with Kevin ranting about Andrew’s lack of motivation and Neil ranting about how Andrew was simply an asshole.

But then Kevin would rant about how it was particularly unfair because Andrew was so good when he just tried, and Neil would rant about how much Andrew clearly did care underneath (way, way underneath as it may be) and how frustrating it was that he wouldn’t just let them care about him. Which wasn’t really a big change. Only now, it was given a lot more notice.

By both them and Andrew.

He stared them both down over the tray of drinks on their table. His silence was more demanding than any question might have been, and Kevin was tipsy enough to squirm in the face of it.

“Stop,” Neil told Andrew. “He’s skittish enough without whatever it is you’re trying to drill into him.”

Andrew quirked a brow.

“Or get out of him.”

“Maybe I should do both. Drill into him until I make something come out. How does that sound, Kevin?”

Kevin choked on his drink. Neil rubbed his back as he coughed and wondered why the hell he was being so awkward. “Uhm,” Kevin said.

Andrew’s other brow raised to join the first.

“Just leave him alone,” Neil sighed.

“Not doing anything you two don’t do to me.”

Neil and Kevin shared a look. “Sorry,” Neil said.

“I don’t want your apologies.”

“Right. You want nothing.”

Andrew gave him a dark, weighted look. Almost expectant. But there was a warning there, too. Neil didn’t know what any of it was for.

“We’re nothing,” Kevin muttered, then downed the remaining half of his drink.

Neil and Andrew stared at him, Neil incredulous and betrayed and Andrew—

Amused?

“What?” Kevin said defensively. “He says it all the time.”

Neil blinked, then stared at Andrew.

Andrew sipped his drink. “Who knew one of you had a brain cell after all.”

Kevin almost dropped his glass. “Wait—“

“What,” Neil said.

Andrew rolled his eyes, and Neil nearly fell off his stool when a weight suddenly dropped across his back. Nicky draped an arm around him and leaned half on Neil, half on the table. Aaron reappeared next to Andrew and lifted a quarter-filled glass with a frown.

“Why’s everyone looking so serious over here?” Nicky demanded. “And where’s the next round?”

Andrew downed the rest of his drink and slowly set it back on the table, giving his cousin a bored look. “There isn’t one. We’re done.”

Aaron turned his frown on him. “What? Since when?”

“Since just now, when I’ve just told you.”

“We never leave this early.”

“That’s untrue.”

Aaron huffed. “Not without a reason.”

“Blame these two,” Andrew dismissed, nodding his head at Kevin and Neil. The two were still too lost to say a word in defense.

“I call nonsense,” Nicky butted in, too loud in Neil’s ear. “Kevin wouldn’t cut his drinking time short! Tell him, Kevin.”

Kevin stared owlishly at Andrew as Andrew got to his feet, and didn’t say a word.

“Kevin’s cutting down on his drinking,” Andrew said. “Aren’t you, Kev?”

It didn’t sound much like a question. Kevin looked into the half-full glass still in his hands, set it on the table, and nodded. Neil looked incredulously at Andrew and just caught the satisfied curl of his lips. Neil didn’t think Andrew was interested in Kevin’s sobriety as much as he was checking how well Kevin responded to a request—and how much ground he was willing to give.

Neil wondered why he wasn’t being equally tested and if he should feel somehow left out, and considered that maybe it just wasn’t the right opportunity. But after giving it some thought, he realised Andrew probably already had enough of his answers.

“Oh,” Nicky said, eyes wide and apologetic as he leaned around Neil to make gooey eyes at his boyfriend. “Good for you, Kev.” He patted Kevin’s hand, a gesture that barely made Kevin twitch, but gained a slight scowl. The expression smoothed out again as Neil leaned against his side and, consequently, away from Nicky’s heavy hold.

Aaron didn’t seem as convinced. He narrowed his eyes at Kevin. “Why? You’ve seemed happy drowning yourself the rest of the night.”

“He needs some way to put up with your presence,” Neil said, finally tearing his attention off Andrew long enough to find his voice. “He won’t have to once we leave.”

“Aaron,” Nicky hissed. “They want to go. They have better things they wanna do.”

“Like what? Give drunk commentary to an exy match they’ve already seen ten times? Go straight to bed?”

Nicky’s eyes glowed. “Probably!”

It took a moment for Aaron to realise, and then he screwed up his nose. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Andrew pumped his brows at Kevin and Neil behind his brother’s back, then bumped past him to kick him into motion. “Nope. You’re outnumbered, now move.”

Aaron grumbled a likely unkind response, but they all followed Andrew outside. Nicky detached himself from Neil and clung to Aaron instead once Neil wrapped his hand around Kevin’s wrist.

Neil and Kevin settled in the sitting room until Aaron and Nicky were safely tucked away in their rooms and Andrew came looking for them. He stood in the doorway with crossed arms and waited.

“What did you mean?” Neil finally asked. “When you said Kevin was right?”

“I didn’t,” Andrew said. “I said he had some brain cells. Well, one, at least.”

“Which means he said something right.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Andrew,” Kevin snapped, exasperated. “Just tell us what the hell you’re talking about, will you?”

“No. You two are going first.”

Neil glanced at Kevin. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can finally admit what all the staring’s about.”

Neil’s mouth went dry. “I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else you’re looking for.”

“He wants you to tell him you like him,” Kevin said, watching Andrew steadily.

What the hell?

That smug curl to Andrew’s lips was firmly in place once more. “If you’d rather go first, be my guest.”

Kevin’s cheeks slowly turned red, but his silence only gave Andrew time to prowl towards him. Kevin sat up straighter against the couch cushions and stretched a hand towards Neil. Neil covered it with his own, but made no move to interfere.

Andrew raised a brow expectantly.

“I hate you,” Kevin muttered, then let out a breath. “But I like you. Turns out I have a thing for petty, annoying assholes.”

Andrew’s huff could’ve been a laugh, by his standards. He leaned down so his face was hovering inches from Kevin’s, and placed a hand on the backrest by Kevin’s head to keep his balance. He tipped his head in Neil’s direction. “Don’t worry. We both know exactly why you like us.” Kevin swallowed thickly, and Andrew leaned so close their noses were almost touching. Then he asked, “Yes or no?”

Neil curled his hand around Kevin’s. Kevin breathed, “Yes.”

“Hands to yourself,” Andrew ordered, then kissed him.

It was interesting, somehow, watching Kevin from this perspective. Neil could note all the little things he missed when they were kissing, like how Kevin’s face scrunched up a little before it smoothed out as he relaxed. How his jaw noticeably slackened when Andrew curled a hand around his neck. How the line of his throat stretched as he looked for more contact.

He’d never seen Andrew kiss anyone before, but he imagined it often. It was better than he expected. He’d thought Andrew would be demanding yet carefully controlled, showing experience. But there was a furrow between Andrew’s brows and a slowness to the movement of his lips that showed how tentative he truly was.

Neither of them had ever looked more beautiful.

Kevin’s hand twitched in Neil’s, and Neil locked their fingers together, helping him manage Andrew’s request, but Andrew was already pulling away. His eyes remained closed for a brief second, an affected gesture that Kevin missed in his own belated reaction. Neil, however, caught it, and could only smile when Andrew caught him watching.

Kevin blinked his eyes open. “Why’d you stop?”

Andrew tilted his head. “Greedy, are we?”

“Yes,” Neil said, as Kevin made a noise of disagreement. Kevin gave him a sharp look, then paled.

“Neil. I should have asked. And I shouldn’t have spoken for you like that, I—“

Neil cut him off with another squeeze of his hand. “Are you kidding? Kev, I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t,” Andrew said. When Neil turned to look at him, he added, “Kiss me.”

Andrew raised that brow again, and Kevin licked his lips, and that was enough for Neil. And if he thought seeing Andrew in action was something special, feeling it was even better—especially with Kevin beside him.

#kandreil #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #kevneil #andreil #kandrew #prompts #merry belated christmas #happy belated new year

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madtomedgar · 2 years

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Books read in April:

What Should Be Wild, Julia Fine: I liked it. The writing was good, it was a fun modern take on both family-focused gothic horror, fairy tales, and coming of age stories. I don’t really agree with the reviewer who called it a “feminist fairy tale,” but definitely a fun read. I liked that the author managed to disempower and brutalize her main character while completely avoiding anything that even looked like sexual violence. A good airplane read.

How Long Til Black Future Month?, N.K. Jemisin: In all fairness, she does warn you that short stories are her weak spot in her intro. And that is entirely accurate. I’m really, really glad I read some of her novels before I read this, because if I had read this first I would never read anything else she had written. Her novels are amazing and these are just bad. I think the problem is she thinks that because she has less time, she needs to keep her plots, points, and characters Tight and Simple, and that these stories must have plots and points. The stories are mostly very preachy, fable-like, Roddenbery-esque “let me beat you over the head with the moral of this story while acting like I’m smart or subtle.” They are disturbingly moralistic for the most part. The ones that aren’t feel very much like someone read way too much Neil Gaim*n and thinks that that’s something to emulate (sorry to his fans but I think his writing is... fine. Unfortunately he clearly thinks it’s soooooo clever and so does everyone else and that is an attitude I can’t stand). If you like kind of simple stories with obvious progressive values and usually kind of... “hope-punk”? endings, you will like this. If you are like me and like really good prose and messy, messed up characters and no resolutions, you will hate them.

The Hundred Wells of Salaga, Ayesha Harruna Attah: This is one of those unfortunate books where the concept is really good and is, tragically, way beyond the abilities of the author to execute. The prose is pretty basic, the progression of the plot is alternately haphazard and wooden, the characters, while clearly very different people, don’t have distinct voices, and while it’s clear the author is trying to do some really interesting things with power and gender and personhood and colonialism, none of it really lands. One character is supposed to be an intelligent and ambitious young woman chafing at being forced into the role of proper wife and political bargaining chip, but because of how she’s written, she mostly just comes off as arrogant and entitled, someone who thinks she’s smart and deserving but actually doesn’t understand anything. She is bisexual but her attraction to women is shoehorned in in a very awkward way and serves no purpose. You’re set up to think it’s going to go somewhere deeply messed up because she is intensely attracted to a woman she enslaves and is being (willfully? hard to tell) obtuse about the power dynamic. And it ends with her and the enslaved girl sniping at each other over, I shit you not, the (guy) slave-trader who previously owned the girl, and who also previously had an affair with girl 1. It tries to say a lot, but doesn’t seem to know how to say it, and ends up saying not much at all. Also fat is treated as a sin on par with wife-beating, and the way that was presented was deeply uncomfortable. There’s also a lot of graphic violence and sexual violence in this book, which wasn’t bad, but something to be aware of.

Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools, Jonathan Kozol: This is a fantastic book. It’s devastating, well researched, and very easy to read. I think if you went to a well-funded school in the US, but especially a well funded school in the US north of the mason-dixon line, you should read this book. Especially if you consider yourself progressive. Some of the views in the book are a little dated with regards to disability (and race), but overall it holds up.

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yesttoheaven · 3 years

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AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

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a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet #neil #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson imagine #tenet fanfic #tenet imagine #ives tenet #tenet #neil tenet one shot #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson one shot #neil tenet x y/n #x y/n #amor fati #eternal return

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i-never-even-wanted-to-be-here · 3 years

Text

It's Christmas and I'm thinking about Andreil. What else is new.

So Nora said that they never say I love you, which might make sense given their situation but we as a fandom collectively disagree. I know there's a lot of headcanons about this already but idc, I'll make my own.

I respect Nora's decision to not make them say any openly affectionate things because as we know neither of them think much of love.

What they have is so much more than that. They couldn't just say I love you to express all their feelings for each other. It wouldn't be enough.

Also, they both prefer expressing themselves with gestures and witty side comments. Saying I love you isn't important then.

So they don't say it.

Yet.

But when Andrew graduates and Neil is the last remaining member of our original Fox line, captaining the cubs, they can't show their love in gestures anymore.

They stay in contact through phone calls. Neil finally learns how to properly use his phone and regularly charges it. He also doesn't turn it off much because Andrew wants to be able to contact him in case he gets worried about Neil's wellbeing and wants to check if he's safe

Every night Neil would go up to the roof and sit where they had sat every night for years. And they'd talk about their day on the phone.

During all these years with the Foxes Neil has gotten a bit better with expressing his feelings and telling the truth. The Foxes taught him well and they're very proud of him for his progress.

But Neil still wouldn't get too sentimental with them. (He is no soft, fluffy baby and I will fight everyone who writes him that way)

Anyways, he'd sit on the rooftop and Andrew would be on a balcony or something. And they'd talk, mostly Neil would complain about captaining and Andrew would silently listen. Then Neil would get him to talk about his own day. They never say they miss each other but they both know.

That's their routine.

Normally, at the end of every call they'd just quickly say goodbye. No big deal.

But one night when Neil has to hang up because there's an important match the next day he says "Okay, I gotta go. Love you, bye" without really realising.

Andrew doesn't respond and Neil hangs up.

Andrew is confused. Did he just hear that correctly? Wtf?

Next time at the end of their call, Neil has to hang up again and says the same thing "Love you, bye"

Andrew sharply inhales, which Neil can hear over the phone. So Neil's like "what?"

"What did you just say?"

"I said bye"

"Before that"

"I said... Love you... I guess" That's when he realises he said it in the first place. He quietly curses Dan and Matt for having said it so often around him.

"..."

"Is that okay?"

"... Do whatever you want" Andrew sounds chill but actually he's super confused and his heart is beating faster.

"... Anyways, I'm cold, I'm gonna go inside now. Bye"

The next day Neil reluctantly says "Love you, bye" again. Maybe chuckling a bit to pass it off as a joke.

"Junkie"

From then on Neil says it more often. On most days he'll end the calls that way and Andrew kinda gets used to it. To both of them it's still a strange concept but they also know that what they feel for each other isn't only attraction anymore. If it even ever had been.

After years they finally move in together with the cats.

Neil doesn't have to say I love you over the phone every night as a part of their routine anymore so at first he won't say it anymore but they both find that they miss it and that it had actually been quite a nice thing. They've gotten used to it.

So sometimes when they cuddle he'll whisper a small I love you to Andrew at his neck and Andrew would tense up a bit.

If Neil said it during heated make out sessions, it would drive Andrew absolutely crazy. He'd bite out a "shut up" but Neil knows better.

Neil gets more and more comfortable with the word love. So when he's cuddling with the cats or lying with them on the ground he would bury his face in their fur and whine slightly distressed I love you's into them. Andrew always rolls his eyes but he secretly finds it endearing.

Neil goes for a run every morning and sometimes he picks up ice cream for Andrew on his way back to their apartment and puts it in the fridge.

One day Andrew gets up a little later and Neil has already returned from his run, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee.

Andrew goes to the kitchen and looks for something to eat. Then he notices the ice cream that Neil had bought before. He takes it and goes to sit with Neil on the other end of the couch. Ice cream for breakfast, yes.

They sit there, minding their business in comfortable silence, doing their individual activities like reading while eating or whatever.

Neil only spares Andrew a side glance as he acknowledges the ice cream.

Andrew picks up on it tho.

So he swallows once while trying to keep it together.

And mumbles a "Thanks... I love you"

Neil's eyes widen in surprise but he's not stupid enough to say anything. So he just smiles to himself, pleased and extremely happy to have gotten to this point in his life.

In conclusion, after a few years into their relationship nothing, Neil says I love you more often and Andrew says it very rarely. But they needed a lot of time to get where they are and they're very happy with the way their relationship works even if it's not understandable for others.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #andrew minyard #jerejean #neil josten #nora sakavic #tfc #the foxhole court #twinyards #aaron minyard #aftg headcanon

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cerullos · 4 years

Text

hello lesbian annie masterpost

“i had relations with my high school boyfriend. we did it to madonna’s erotica on the floor of his walk-in closet, but he wouldn’t let me look at it. he cried after and during. he’s gay now.”

“i like being repressed. i am totally comfortable being uncomfortable with my sexuality.”

exclusively demonstrates attraction either towards traditionally masculine, often older men who are romantically/sexually inaccessible to her (e.g. troy, jeff, vaughn and rich) or during play-acting scenarios (e.g. abed as batman, han solo and don draper)

represses her lesbianism because it’s impossible to reconcile with the heavily traditional/heteronormative lens through which she views sex and sexuality (e.g. her massive wedding scrapbook, her love of soap opera romance)

driven to outperform her peers in order to “compensate” for her perceived inadequacies: prescription drug addiction, not conventionally attractive growing up (and shunned as a result) and being a lesbian

“you’re the coolest girl i’ve ever met.”

exchanges a long look with britta during jeff’s “there’s nothing to stop any one of us from looking at any of the others as a sexual prospect” speech, and then gasps and looks away like she’s actively censoring her attraction

“i only kissed jeff to see if i could do it, because i wanted to be cool and sexy like you,” in reference to the trend of annie subconsciously pursuing men britta has been involved with, misinterpreting her attraction to britta as attraction to them

unable to say the word “lesbian” outloud (probably due to her conservative upbringing) but excessively questions britta about her relationship with her (presumed) lesbian friend and tells britta “i thought it was really cool of you to make out with her”

leans in to kiss britta at the valentine’s dance and is visibly startled and embarrassed when britta stops her

runs through an explicit lesbian roleplay sex scenario in front of neil and the entire study group and seems to thorougly enjoy doing so, despite her self-confessed extreme discomfort with sex and sexuality (like, shes incapable of saying the word penis outloud but she’ll mime fingering and spanking a woman? hm)

spends her night at the ballroom trying to impress the bartender (tig notaro, i rest my case) and later tells troy, “i pretended to be a different person. i did it because i’m not sure who i am.”

“bring it in for a boob bump ladies” you conduct intimate rituals to touch the boobs of other women.txt

gleefully dances with her little pride flag 😔

“but we love jeff!” “no, we don’t. we’re just in love with the idea of being loved. and if we can teach a guy like jeff to do it, we’ll never be unloved.”

when they’re all felt puppets and britta is stroking annie’s skin and saying it’s beautiful and soft and annie just goes “mmmmm” like she’s on cloud nine, did i hallucinate that? is this legitimately a sentence i just typed? nothing feels real anymore

holds the martini glass up to britta’s mouth as she drinks from it, hello???

“did you see her binder? pretty nondescript!”

chang telling annie and frankie to “get a boardroom” when they’re gushing over each other

in general: idolizes (and probably crushes on) frankie, because frankie is the first and only positive lesbian role model annie has encountered in day-to-day life; crucial proof that lesbianism isn’t some nebulous (and vaguely nefarious) concept, but the normal, lived experience of a woman she deeply admires

whispers “before this is over, you’ll beg for my forgiveness” with her mouth right up against britta’s ear, which was weirdly and unnecessarily homoerotic

re: jeff’s concept of what life might look like if annie stayed in greendale with him: “why is this a good choice for me? why doesn’t the audience feel sorry for me?”

in jeff’s vision of the future: turns her cheek to the side when jeff says “i love you” and tries to kiss her; “do you have any idea what i want?”

#there’s more but i’m too tired to articulate #add’em if you got’em 😔#community #annie edison #i can tag this now b/c the evil is defeated #long post //#ok truthfully i would love to put this under a cut but i AM mobile

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aftgficquotes · 3 years

Conversation

baseball is sexy, pt. 2

Andrew: I'm not sexually attracted to the concept of baseball-

Neil: Feel free to explain to me what that question is about, then, or how the fuck we're supposed to answer it--where's Justin Timberlake, I need someone to bring sexy over here and give me the fucking rundown about what it is-

Andrew: You know, if I'd played baseball instead of exy we never would've met-

Neil: No, because you'd have been a totally different person, I could never love a baseball player.

Andrew: See, I was going to say it's a good reason to get over your prejudice.

Neil: You don't even care about baseball! You don't care about it at all and you know it, you picked this question explicitly so you could pretend that people who run in neat little circles like the rules tell them to are anything you'd ever be into just so that I'd rant about it.

Andrew: You wanted something to argue about.

Neil: There is no argument to be had here. There is only the real answer, which is that the word exy is literally in the word sexy, and the fake and wrong answer, which is baseball. Jesus. Baseball. They barely even need helmets.

(Blame It on My Youth by youreyestheyglow)

#aftg #tfc #aftg quotes #tfc quotes #andrew minyard #neil josten

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ineffable-endearments · 3 years

Text

Okay. Now I'm going to submit some theories about how I think Crowley and Aziraphale specifically are going to go in the future of Good Omens.

Again, this post is not really...specific theorizing about plot events. It's big-picture stuff.

With that said, this post will get a bit heavy at times, in the sense that it will contain opinions that not everyone will like. It drifted into rambling about queerbaiting and all that stuff. I'm not going to spam anyone's dashboard with drama over it, but it's very possible someone else might try. It's also not really a negative post, depending on what you want to hear, I suppose. But if you're only in the mood to read fluff today, you'll probably want to pass it up.

Oh! Also it's very long, and sexuality is discussed in a vague way that doesn't involve any story elements or body parts.

For starters, I don't think Good Omens 2 - or even 3, if that comes about - is going to have anything explicitly sexual or romantic between the two of them, where "explicit" is things like the characters giving outright definitions of their relationship or outright discussing exactly what goes on between them, either on or off-screen. I also don't think there's going to be kissing or "hooking up" (come on...that person on Twitter shouldn't have even asked). Those actions are too blatant for what Neil has already said about the series. While they technically leave some room for interpretation, they probably don't leave enough.

I DO think it's quite possible other characters will continue to define the relationship FOR them and Crowley and Aziraphale will continue to not deny it.

As far as the queerbaiting debate, "is Good Omens queerbaiting"...it's gonna depend how you define it. I always learned that queerbaiting was basically where the creators intentionally make it look like a character is gay or otherwise queer but then swap that character development out for a cis identity and hetero relationship at the end. The point is that the "bait" leads to queer audiences being actively hurt. That's the behavior that seems awful to me, and I don't see Neil and company doing that.

However, I think it's far and away the most likely option that it will be left up to interpretation whether Crowley and Aziraphale are, you know, a buddy duo or a romantic couple or some sort of ineffable queerness all their own off-screen. So if your definition of queerbaiting is "the characters seem gay to us, but homophobes can tell themselves they're not," then yes, I think that debate will follow us to our graves if we let it.

I am a cisgender, possibly straight (?? demi/bi? I might never find out) woman. There is absolutely no way I could ever tell anybody, ESPECIALLY not gay guys and nonbinary people - the people Crowley and Aziraphale tend to resemble the most - how to feel about their treatment in the story. All I can offer is that I'm one flawed individual and there are things I have the emotional capacity to handle and things I don't. Crowley and Aziraphale as both a canon construct and a fandom pairing mean an absurd amount to me, and I can't hang around in spaces where people are constantly talking about how my own interpretations of them are not enough, or how the story is written with ill intentions. I don't want to stop anybody from venting about it, but I am going to be removing myself from those situations.

I like to imagine 1990 NeilandTerry, or TerryandNeil, as a sort of two-headed God who came up with Crowley and Aziraphale, set them loose on Creation, and now are watching them get up to way more ridiculous stuff in the brains of their fans than they'd ever imagined in the first place. I like to imagine them watching, amused and bemused, as their creations fall in love in thousands of universes, and saying, "Well, we didn't specifically Plan for this, but we did promise free will."

This is psychoanalytical toward a public figure and is therefore a bit dangerous, so please take it with an entire mountain of salt, but I sometimes think perhaps Neil sees some of his and Terry's friendship in Crowley and Aziraphale, and suspect that he wants to reserve the possibility that they could be platonic because he and Terry were platonic, while at the same time leaving room for the fans to have their own interpretations, too. Because if there's one thing that comes up really frequently with Neil, it's his belief in imagination and how much stories matter to people. He can have his little corner of the universe where A and C reflect himself and Terry, and we can have...literally anything we want, as long as we're willing to extrapolate just a little bit from canon. It's not even that much extrapolation! It's just "Yes, they love each other, so what exactly does love mean to you?" and if love means kissing, well then, if we can think it, we can have it.

Given that Neil has written LGBT+ characters before, I think he has non-bigoted reasons for wanting Aziraphale and Crowley to remain undefined, and given even the small chance that those reasons may involve the grieving process for a dead friend, I believe it is unkind to argue with him about it or hold his reputation hostage over it.

With that said, do I want canon kissing/hooking up/all that stuff we put in fics? Listen, I can't deny that I do! Personally, I'd be over the moon. I'd probably be so happy I'd have to go to the hospital to get sorted out. Even the thought of it makes me giddy and light-headed, because that physicality is a part of my own experience of love.

However, there are a lot of people who would feel left behind if that happened. Ace and aro people in the fandom whose love for their friends and partners is just as strong as mine, but who are sex-repulsed or just don't want to see kissing on-screen. The loss of Crowley and Aziraphale as a pairing who are extremely easy to interpret as queerplatonic would be hurtful to them, and I do not want to see them hurt like that. I don't think Neil does, either.

So, once again, the "best for everyone" option becomes a really strong canon relationship based in both narrative function and profound affection, which has genuinely thoughtful queer undertones and leaves open the logical possibility for romantic or sexual encounters but does not insist that they must happen. People, especially fans who are super invested, tend to have an easier time imagining scenarios that take place off-screen (e.g. kissing, sex) than they have erasing scenarios that they've already seen in canon (e.g., if someone wished they could continue viewing it as an ace relationship but they were shown "hooking up"). Also, while relationships are super emotional and extremely subjective, I'd argue that in a long-term adult partnership, the non-sexual connection is more important than the sexual one. As a fan, I'd prefer to extrapolate "they love each other so maybe they'd have sex" rather than "they're sexually attracted to each other so maybe they'll intertwine their whole existences together."

It probably isn't necessary to add, but I will anyway: I'm aware that Good Omens is sort of sacrificing social leverage - the ability to whack homophobes over the head with canon if they try to deny the show's queerness - and is thus not really contributing to making specifically gay relationships more widely seen and accepted. However, I don't think all stories have to invest heavily in every social issue they touch on for them to still be meaningful. I also do think Good Omens is an excellent example of a relationship that is extremely profound without being heteronormative.

I don't think the next season is going to be a rom-com. It will likely not even be a "love story," where the definition of "love story" is "a story that follows the development of a relationship and employs certain plot beats to make its point." Remember that conflicts and breakups are key to love stories, so if it IS a love story, then we're going to have to watch the relationship get challenged in ways some of us might have thought were already resolved in season 1! And while that could be thrilling and ultimately very good, it would also be likely to undercut some of the careful headcanoning and analysis we've already done. Any sequel is going to do that to some degree, but a second love story would probably do it a lot, with interpretations that people are even more protective of.

I'm sort of thinking the next season is likely to be a fantasy-heavy mystery, only because those are the two concepts Neil's introduction led with - an angel with amnesia who presents Crowley and Aziraphale with a mystery. Crowley and Aziraphale's connection to each other can still absolutely be a major theme! It can still be the thread stitching the plot together! It just probably, in my opinion, won't escalate and escalate and escalate like it did in season 1. And it will probably be woven in there among a lot of other plot threads that are, in many moments, louder. Still, I'd love to be left with the impression of these two existences, the light and the dark, subtly becoming more intimate, subtly growing more comfortable in this shared place they've chosen in the universe, gradually starting to behave like they know they aren't alone in the world anymore, all while other things happen to and around them.

Nonsexual physical intimacy - a really great hug, or leaning together on the sofa, or a forehead touch, or something like those, something that could happen in a lot of different kinds of relationships but is undoubtedly based in deep trust and affection and a desire to be close...that's the dream, for me. Oh, how lovely it would be.

Of course, I could be just absolutely, embarrassingly wrong about all this. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

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