#i like to believe neil is more surprised by the fact that andrew is wearing his tshirt rather than that he's drinking whiskey at 7am

[nothatsmi]

Good morning. Can I serve you anything? Coffee, tea, whiskey?

I'm posting that after Kevin's morning routine post cause it makes sense.

The sad thing is that I would have made Muse animatics on them if I didn't have that much work. I swear some of their song fit so well (especially Undisclosed Desires and Newborn, for those who know), I'm probably gonna have to something about it eventually.

I have to notice the domesticity they're soaked in once they move in together, it's just so easy to picture...

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #palmetto state foxes #i like to believe neil is more surprised by the fact that andrew is wearing his tshirt rather than that he's drinking whiskey at 7am #like #andrew is confortable enough to share clothes without asking #it does not go unnoticed #i know it's not suposed to be something crazy but it's yet another proof of trust and affection #these bastards started sharing cars and houses before sharing clothes #noah's aftg series

[xlady-saya]

an unconventional crossing [fic]

Relationships: andrew and aaron, andreil, kateaaron

Summary: Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

Tags: twin bonding, lots of references to how they’re whipped af, discussions of past abuse/addiction 

Read on ao3!

Aaron is only a little bit ashamed that his first instinct is to run far away when he turns the corner and sees his brother standing there.

At first, he thinks he might be dreaming. It's past nine on a school night, and the brightness of the store burns his already tired eyes. The switch from the darkness outside to the stark white tile and fluorescent lights makes Aaron squint. His brother is more like a grainy, black smudge in front of him, and Aaron lingers on the double knots of Andrew's combat boots and the shiny item in his hand. Soup. A can of soup. That's also what Aaron needs.

For Katelyn.

And like that, Aaron remembers why he's here. In fact, he's pretty sure there's dried snot on his sleeve where Katelyn mistook him for a tissue. It's disgusting, but given the bookstore fiasco of last year—which Aaron has repressed and will take to the grave—it's not the grossest thing they've witnessed from one another.

In sickness and in health and all that...he guesses it still applies to boyfriend and girlfriend, too.

It's why he's here now, prepared to stock up their mediocre medical supplies. It does not explain why Andrew is here. He looks around a few times, then looks back, and expects to be alone in the aisle. But Andrew is still there. Holding soup.

The grocery store is practically empty apart from a few people picking up alcohol or extra junk food for studying binges, which only adds to the dream-like quality of it all. This is...not where he's used to seeing Andrew—this is not how he's used to seeing Andrew. Which is nonsensical, because everyone needs groceries.

He kinda just figured Andrew survived off chocolate.

He clamps down on the urge to leave; it's an old, pathetic need, and one he no longer wants to encourage. He freezes in place instead, and reflects. Classic, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Aaron hates how much he listens to Bee now, but with all the leaps and bounds he and Andrew have made, random things can still be hard to navigate.

Grocery store trips, he guesses, are included in that.

The habit of bolting whenever his brother is in the same room as him is not one he likes, but it's a knee jerk reaction he hasn't completely gotten rid of. A ghost, latched onto his back. But that's okay, because he's sure it's the same for Andrew too. The need to keep Aaron at a distance, when they've been doing the exact opposite.

He spends a lot of time with Andrew now, more than he'd probably admit if asked. They study together, silently—that hasn’t changed. But even now there's an occasional greeting or a mutual scoff when someone in the library is being annoying. Andrew will help Aaron review his exam flashcards, or Aaron will form a post with his hands so Andrew can flick paper goals. They play videogames with Neil and Katelyn, they have lunch together… Their sessions no longer feel like a chore.

Standing in this soup aisle, Aaron realizes he couldn't have asked for more, would've never asked for even a fraction of it a few years ago. Now he can't imagine his life without Andrew slotting into it somewhere, whether it be on miniature golf double dates or Nicky's failed family baking nights.

It's startling, but not unwelcome.

Still, it's odd to see his brother looking so...normal. Silly.

Aaron is aware now that Andrew is a regular person with fears and wants, just with unorthodox methods, different roots...but he can't help but always think of the cool, blank stare. He thinks of Andrew leaning against a wall, smoking, not giving anyone the time of day. Including Aaron.

Especially Aaron.

It takes him a second to remember the nerd who sulked after getting beaten in Mario Kart, or the one who apparently threw up after Disneyland from one too many churros.

(Neil told them that story).

He certainly doesn't think of the man who walked all the way back to the dorm because Neil sent him a crying emoji and a 'I cut my finger' text.

But that's the real Andrew, too. There’s always more underneath all the closed off, reserved portions laced with barbed wire. Andrew has finally allowed Aaron to see that.

This Andrew is, once again, a far cry from cool and collected. This Andrew looks tired, not as put together. He's wearing wrinkled jeans that clearly need a wash, Neil's hoodie (stained), and seems .2 seconds away from throwing the store's entire inventory into a dumpster fire.

The spell is only slightly broken, and Aaron catches himself smirking.

His brother glares at the can of soup like it offends him, reading the label before putting it back on the shelf and grabbing a different brand to see if it's anywhere closer to his standards. Whatever the hell those might be.

Unfortunately, dating Neil has made his brother even more perceptive than before. Probably because Neil can smell trouble from miles away, and then he goes and seeks out said trouble to jab at it with a metaphorical stick. The stick is just an endless stream of cuss words and insults.

Needless to say, Aaron isn't able to enjoy this comical sight for long.

Andrew's gaze darts over to where Aaron is standing at the end of the aisle, and Aaron can see the exact same reaction run through him. The tension seizes his brother like a snare, and there's that all too familiar step forward, like Andrew is ready to turn around and disappear.

But then he doesn't. Andrew remembers what Aaron does, and then it's gone.

What they didn't account for was the awkwardness. Again, they aren't trained for grocery store encounters.

Andrew doesn't exactly nod at Aaron, but he inclines his head just so and turns back to the soup, staring into some void Aaron can't see. He's not sure if it's an invitation, but it's as good as he's going to get.

Aaron's sneakers squeak on the tile and he stumbles, but ultimately ends up at the edge of his brother's bubble, staring at the soup right along with him.

Progress.

Aaron sighs and grabs Katelyn's preferred brand. It's the chicken soup with the extra big chunks of chicken and the flatter noodles. Katelyn likes them because they're 'chewier,' and Aaron just thinks it's weird. But what she wants, she gets, because how is he going to deny his sniffling girlfriend as she whines miserably in bed?

Come to think of it, they're probably here for the same reason. With how much Neil and Katelyn see each other outside of games and general Fox gatherings, it would be no surprise if they both came down with the same cold.

Which means they probably need the same things. Soup, cold medicine, tissues.

Aaron freezes as he glances at the soup, feeling his brother's imposing presence beside him. For someone so obsessed with not being noticed or talked to, Andrew doesn't do a good job of hiding. He's like a cliff or a mountain, steady and bulky. A road block.

Aaron should leave. He has what he needs, so he can move on. He doesn't have to wait for Andrew; they don't have to shop together.

But then why does it feel so weird to weakly wave goodbye?

Aaron raises his hand only to stop mid-motion, thwarted by his own thoughts. Andrew tracks the movement. God, this is even more awkward now. They aren't usually like this anymore.

Maybe it's because they've realized the same thing.

Here they are, both making sweetheart runs in the middle of the night. It should be mortifying, but part of it feels strangely natural.

Probably because there's always a comfort in knowing they're the same in this way.

They both have their suffering partners waiting for them, but despite that, Aaron doesn't know how to broach the subject.

Bee's words from some faraway session echo in his head: "It might help the both of you to try talking about your partners with one another under more casual circumstances."

Aaron nearly scoffs, just like he did then.

Yeah, sure. It's the one area they're not great at, and it’s easier said than done.

It's not that he hates Neil anymore, and he has his suspicions that Andrew's opinion of Katelyn is at least a calm respect, though he's not sure when or how it happened. They spend time together as a group, and, in some cases, separately.

Aaron will tutor Neil or help him through difficult game levels, or Katelyn will be the one to help Andrew with the snack runs when they go to the movies. It's...fine.

No, it's great.

Aaron just still has a hard time acknowledging it.

But this? This they don't do. They don't talk about Neil and Katelyn together unless it's for therapeutic purposes during their sessions, and even then it's caked in wariness.

Aaron wonders if they're afraid of ruining the progress they've made by unintentionally starting a fight, but he's never known Andrew to be that caring of those things.

Perhaps it's simply too vulnerable, too exposed, to show how much they care. Even when it's so obvious.

Aaron notices Andrew finally settles on one of the more premium soup brands, and yeah, alright. Painfully obvious.

Aaron has always pushed that piece of Bee's advice away, procrastinating, because surely it can't be that important. But it is.

Ugh. It probably is.

So this time, rather than avoiding it, Aaron figures he might as well show Andrew up by taking the first stride. Talking about Katelyn is easy. She's everything to him; he could wax poetic all day about her. He knows her class schedule, her favorite subjects, her dreams.

With that in mind, Aaron confidently spins the can around at the same time he opens his mouth in Andrew's direction, and smoothly says, "You know, Katelyn likes soup."

And what a stride he takes.

Fuck me.

“Uh. When she’s sick, I mean. And other times but—that’s why I’m here. Sick soup.” The can falls from his hands and he barely catches it in time. He doesn't think he could add that to his mortification without giving up and running out.

It wasn't a lie. She does like soup, even if it's the really disgusting kind, but it's not a fact that evokes any groundbreaking emotions. It certainly doesn't bridge the gap.

Andrew turns to squint at him in that way—the precursor to a full on dismissal. Aaron's not sure why he's even still here, but maybe now his respect for Aaron now extends to telling him off with words. Aaron braces for it.

He watches the exact moment Andrew opens his mouth to tell Aaron he doesn't care, but it never comes. It's rare to see Andrew hesitate; someone so methodical and cautious doesn't tend to question his thoughts when he's sure of them.

But Andrew stops, mouth hanging open for a beat too long before snapping shut.

And Aaron doesn't know what it is, doesn't feel like blaming it on the twin telepathy theory...

He just knows Andrew remembers, same as him. Probably better than him.

Andrew can hear Bee's advice too, far away and obnoxious, ringing in his head.

His brother turns back to the soup can, smoothly over the ridges under the bright blue label. Hm. No, can't be. His brother isn't that sappy.

A few moments pass where Aaron can't move, kept in place by some invisible orbit, waiting for...something. Just that alone makes it all so surreal; he never used to expect anything from Andrew.

Yet, Andrew keeps surprising him with how much more he's willing to do now. For Aaron. For both of them. His brother sighs eventually, staring at the shelf in front of him, and begrudgingly replies, "Neil won't even admit he's sick. He didn't want me to come."

It's stilted, clearly forced out, but Andrew did it. He returned the gesture. And if there's one thing Aaron knows about his brother, it's that it's the closest thing he's going to get to a chance. Excited for some inane reason, Aaron almost doesn't process the words. But oh, he gets it. Neil is so fucking ridiculous, Aaron can't stand him. It makes sense his 'I'm fine' routine would stretch to this, too. Aaron almost wants to see the state of him, fever high and unable to move without his sweat sticking to the blankets.

His face sours, and the instinctive insult creeps to the edges of his mouth. Andrew watches, waits for it, and Aaron nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. Being hostile to Neil is more playful nowadays, but it's still a reflex. If he does that here...part of him just knows whatever is happening will effectively be cut short.

He clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet and willing his glare to go away.

"That...sounds like him," Aaron forces out. It's the best he can do, but it probably still sounds judgmental.

God.

Why are they so bad at this?

"He's an idiot," Andrew replies with a nod, so softly it almost doesn't sound like him. Aaron almost scoffs. Here he is trying to be considerate, but Andrew scolds his own boyfriend anyways. Aaron should've known better than to bother.

He slides his gaze over to his brother again, and that train of thought effectively stops. There's a tightness in Andrew's jaw, and an antsy quality to his stance. Aaron replays the words, and realizes Andrew's voice is different from the usual monotone, the uncaring inflection. It would be neutral still, to most people, but Aaron can sense that it's laced with something strong, self-directed. His brother's hands tighten around the can with a vice grip, and Aaron should really be better at detecting Andrew's concern by now.

Suddenly, he gets it. "He didn't want me to come."

It must be grating for someone like Andrew, who despite the vibe he tries to give off, does nothing but look after his own. It's the worst with Neil, because his motivation is borne from an intense emotion Aaron can't even associate with their relationship. It's too much, too theirs. He feels uncomfortable trying to define it when he's never heard Andrew actually say the three words.

Still, it's all consuming. It's real.

Nauseatingly so.

And it must be particularly infuriating, because Andrew's need to protect Neil isn't the result of a deal at all. He wants to. Wow, he probably hates that he wants to.

It only gives Aaron some satisfaction; it is Neil they're talking about.

Andrew's frustrations bleed through the cracks a little more, and he harshly brushes a hand through his bedhead. "His cold is just going to get worse if he keeps it up."

Ah, so they're still sharing. Aaron can do that. It's a welcome distraction; he can only take so much of thinking about his brother's intimate relationship with the most infuriating person on the planet.

Aaron looks down at the tile, lining his feet up with the edge of the blocks as if he's walking a tightrope. "Katelyn tried to go to class this morning. She didn't want to miss her lecture," he says, and tries to act like it's no big deal. He sways a little, and swallows the lump in his throat, because these are not things he gives away to anyone. It's just as exposing; as soon as he'd found out, he'd walked her back to her dorm and helped her change into pajamas. She passed out almost instantly, her fever spiking. Too much care, too much worry. Aaron had paced the floor a good twenty minutes, debating an urgent care visit.

He's just as pathetic as Andrew, but he wouldn't dare stop if it means looking after Katelyn. He bites his lips and shrugs, as if it's not as emotionally revealing as it is. It probably doesn't work. "I was so mad. Uh, you know how it is."

No kidding—they both just accidentally revealed it. Aaron never thought 'hopelessly enamored' would ever be associated with his own feelings, much less Andrew's.

But there's really no other explanation with that one.

"Oh?" Andrew tilts his head, as if daring Aaron to continue. It's dangerous territory, but that's what they deserve for addressing an old therapy issue in the middle of a grocery store. They might know their feelings are the same, but verbally acknowledging how is a different matter.

So continue, Aaron does. Neither of them are getting out of this one.

Won't Bee be proud?

Petulantly, Aaron glares, and loses his balance on the wire. He promptly spirals down. "Yeah, well… You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

It's a dare, a provocation. It's also ill-advised, but he can't be more mature in every way. There's no way Andrew can refute it and have Aaron believe him. He's been trapped into the truth.

Andrew tenses and glares back, expressive for how much he tries not to be. Aaron is more used to that now too. On the subject of his striker, his brother can't keep up the expression. It melts back into a reluctant calm, and his sigh is relenting.

Right.

A store intercom rings above them, something about how they really need someone up on registers. It's grounding in a way; Aaron grabs a few more cans and stubbornly throws them into the basket by Andrew's feet.

They're in too deep at this point. This is now a joint trip, as painful as it may be. Andrew looks down at the basket, which as of now holds both their soup choices and a candy bar Andrew must've snagged along the way.

Andrew squints, looking back up at Aaron, and surprise, surprise...

"I need the extra strength cough syrup."

He avoids answering altogether.

Aaron sighs; he saw that coming, but Andrew's trapped himself unknowingly.

"That's more expensive, you know," Aaron says, a playful lilt to his tone.

Andrew glares, but he must admire Aaron somewhat for the payback, because he finally admits: "It's better for him, it's also the only one with the flavor he tolerates," Andrew grits out, and no amount of bravado can make that sound anything less than....oh, completely fucking whipped.

So, Andrew gives some more as a war prize. "I need the tissues with the lotion too."

Aaron suppresses his snort (also, for real, those can't be necessary), and dutifully leads them to the next aisle.

--

Andrew ends up convincing him that the lotion tissues are superior, so one point for him or whatever.

They still don't know how to do this, and they don't get a lot better at it over the course of the following forty-five minutes, but they continue dropping the most mundane facts in hopes it doesn't give too much away.

But it always does.

Andrew makes a sharp turn with the sole intention of making the basket stab Aaron in the knee, and Aaron kicks it in return. Then he realizes where they are, and the words pour like shots.

He wonders if it's a consequence of therapy, that he ends up flaying himself open for Andrew in the hopes that he'll be given honesty in return. He's learned that lately, it's more effective than he once thought.

"Katelyn...hasn't been drinking much lately," he starts slowly when they pass through the alcohol aisle. It's a far cry from the boring 'favorite color' facts he's been trading thus far, but it hits him like a blow. It's not that it hasn't been on his mind, he just hasn't had a chance to talk it out because...

Part of him kind of doesn't want to. The person he talks to is Katelyn, and he's not quite ready for this discussion.

But tonight's that kind of night.

The aisle is a shortcut, nothing more than a connector to the medicines on the far side, but Aaron falters. The brands and bottles all stir up confusing memories for him, some fun, some not so much. The colored glass warps his expression like liquor warps his mind, and his body is already swimming through molasses to keep up.

Mixing drinks with what he used to do was never smart, and Aaron's thankful he's where he is now. He's not so reckless, but he indulges from time to time. Katelyn used to also, but lately she's been finding more reasons not to. And that's okay. He's never pushed or questioned it, but he can't help but wonder. He pauses in front of the daiquiri mixes. Katelyn's favorite.

The action makes Andrew wait for him, regarding him from the end of the aisle for a long moment. Then, in another act that shouldn't surprise Aaron but does, Andrew comes back for him.

Aaron's closed throat feels less tight. What did he call Andrew earlier? A road block. No, maybe he's more like...a steel beam, every once in a while. Supportive, but it could crush him in an instant. It's not Andrew's intent, but he'll take it. "I know she's never been a drinker, but part of me thinks it's because she worries about me."

And there it is.

He's aware he should be angry, just a little. But he can't be, because the worry and judgment come from a place of honesty, commitment. Aaron won't say he hasn't had the same fear—the fear of falling back down a different hole of addiction. He's better now, more responsible. He couldn't imagine ruining their lives like that, but he and Katelyn are pragmatic people. He knows it's hard to keep control in those circumstances, to rise above once he's caught in the trap. It wouldn't be all his fault, but he's susceptible and they both know it. She would stand by him as much as she could, but Aaron's honestly not sure if he would want her to if it ever came down to that.

That's not fair, and that's why he's determined to not let it happen.

Katelyn's precaution, intentional or subconscious, is just her protecting him in return. It's what they need to work on, what they need to talk about, before it's twisted into a misunderstanding.

But revisiting old wounds is not what Aaron is good at. At least, not right away.

He's not expecting Andrew to say anything; it's not his business and his black and white worldview probably prevents him from seeing it that way. In his mind, Katelyn is in the wrong and that's all that matters.. If anything, Aaron expects that statement, but then—

"She shouldn't," Andrew says, nearly admonishing. Aaron's gaze snaps up, and Andrew glares at the bottles in front of him to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd usually grab that particular brand of whiskey, but today he doesn't. Then, after a moment: "Knowing her obnoxious levels of optimism, she's probably trying not to. But that's her problem."

Andrew’s words are strained, but no less meaningful. He doesn't do comfort, and that's not what this is. Aaron knows a few things in that moment; the first is that Andrew definitely does not agree with Katelyn. That's fine. He never asks his brother to understand everything about his relationship anymore. Aaron certainly doesn't understand parts of Andrew's. The second thing, arguably the aspect he cares about more, is that Andrew clearly knows something Aaron does not.

Andrew isn’t offering a pat on the back, only what he knows to be factual.

He feels involuntarily exposed this time, and forgets that sometimes it's simply the way it has to be to move forward. Aaron nearly growls. "How—"

But Andrew simply sends him a look that reads don't ask. Aaron should know the answer.

Neil.

It's been a while since Aaron has felt a sharp slap of disdain for the redhead, but it shoots through him in the moment before fizzling out. Of course. Why wouldn't Neil know? Why wouldn’t Neil confide in Andrew about it?

Aaron always liked to think it was a shared strength, that he and Andrew could trust their partners so completely, give or take some setbacks. But it seems this time he's the one lagging behind.

He glares at the floor. He doesn't know how to feel. Why Neil possibly knows about this issue before he gets to address it himself is something he wants to feel rage over, but he just can't. It's not like confronting Neil at the cabin or in the dorm hall. He doesn't have the energy, and he knows he doesn't want to.

It's not...like that anymore.

Just knowing Katelyn has someone to talk to is enough, because that only means eventually, she'll talk to him too. And can he blame her? Here he is, telling Andrew.

Andrew, who feels as much sympathy as a log on most days, is still trying his best to give Aaron the truth.

Leave it to Andrew to rip off the bandaid, and Aaron feels the sting. But he needed it. It's the only thing that reminds him it'll eventually be okay.

It's quiet for a few moments as Andrew looks back at the bottles, tracing the curvy scripts. There's a steadily building tension in his frame; at first, Aaron thinks it's repressed hostility towards Katelyn, but far from it.

Andrew's struggle to give in the same way is all too apparent in his words.

"Neil and I drink sometimes, just when we're together," Andrew forces out evenly. He reaches out to spin one of the security tags on a particularly large bottle of vodka, tracing the ears of the rabbit logo afterwards. Aaron flinches a little; he didn't know that. His brain catches up just enough, letting him know that Andrew is giving this to him in return for his own vulnerability, so he should at least listen. Flexing his jaw, Andrew's tone loses some of the smoothness. "Last time...something happened. With me. He's been hesitant ever since."

It sounds like Andrew is chewing glass, and Aaron knows better than to ask for an elaboration on the ‘what’ that happened. Hell, Andrew exposing the reason for his and Neil's weekend getaways is most likely more than Andrew wanted to share in the first place.

Andrew won't answer anything Aaron asks, but he reads into it enough. "You miss it," he says, and again it feels like they're on a level playing field.

Andrew glares his usual 'I don't miss anything' glare, but doesn't actually say the words. Instead, he turns back in the direction of the medicine aisle, and throws the words over his shoulder.

"I hate losing control," he states. "Neil is a reason I hate it less."

Translation: Yes, I miss it. But Neil is just as stupidly worried as Katelyn.

It goes unsaid that they ended up with worry warts for partners. Aaron gives up trying to analyze anymore; there are things about his brother and Neil that are impossible to grasp. But Aaron is learning more and more that their relationship has similar flaws to his own, that they have their own challenges to wade through.

And if one of them can manage, so can the other.

Aaron walks away from the aisle feeling less stuck—the quicksand around his ankles turns to water, easy to wade through.

He's not sure how many more of those confessions he's going to get, but he won't take them for granted.

Later, when they're passing through the candy section for Andrew's stockpile, the facts turn lighter. "Katelyn only eats the red starbursts, it's cute," he says, unable to hide his dreamy smile as he throws the red starbursts pack into the basket. She won't be able to taste them yet, but whatever, it'll be a welcome reward in a few days when her sniffles are gone.

Instead of the apathy and dismissiveness, Andrew holds the gummy bears in his hand at arm's length. Like they offend him. Aaron was wondering why he's even considering them. They're not even close to Andrew's usual brand of cavity inducers.

"Neil never finishes his gummy bears," Andrew says, and seethes a little over the word 'his.' Of course, it's Neil's fault that Andrew has to spend money on the bland treats Neil doesn’t even love. But Andrew puts them in the basket anyways. "Last time he was bored, so we built a fake set for them."

Aaron blinks, following after Andrew towards the registers. "Like...for a play?"

"It helped him study for his lit exam."

Somehow, it's impossible for his brain to conjure up an image of Andrew building a gummy bear Shakespeare set, but he supposes weirder things have happened. He wonders if Andrew indulges Neil by doing voices, or if he recites the lines in his normal dull monotone.

Aaron hides a smirk at the thought. "Nerds."

He takes them back to the medicine aisle last minute due to the guilt tripping from Andrew for buying the cheaper brand of cough syrup, and figures he might as well stock up on bandages too. Exy is a violent sport, and he's not quite sure why he plays it.

"Bandages are over there," Andrew says, pointing deliberately at where Aaron is clearly already looking. Dick. "Don't buy the cheap brand, they gave Neil a rash."

Aaron scoffs. "Guess you would know best, with how much your boy gets scraped up," he says, but he still listens. Once more, he notes that Andrew's suggestion is several dollars more. He really does spare no expense on anything, especially for his boy toy—boyfriend. Boyfriend.

"He's never as bad as the other person," Andrew remarks offhandedly, but Aaron gets stuck on the comment. Before, he used to not pay attention to anything Andrew said that didn't make sense to him, writing it off as unimportant. It's amazing what he can pick out now that he actually processes the words. In this case, it's thinly veiled praise for his violence-prone boyfriend.

Aaron's no idiot; Neil has to at least be somewhat capable at throwing a punch, and who knows what else.

It's appealing, watching someone you love trade blows. Aaron himself never fails to feel a rush of adrenaline and adoration when Katelyn rushes to his defense.

It would make sense for Andrew to enjoy watching Neil be his typical chaotic self. But for whatever reason, that logic doesn't compute with what he knows about Andrew's protective streak—especially where Neil is concerned.

And since he doesn't know how to put that all into words, he says: "I don't know how you don't kill anything that tries to touch him."

That's how he thought it worked, how he's seen it work. So why all the fuss about letting Neil fight his own battles, when it's clear it eats at Andrew like a vulture picking at his intestines?

Andrew regards him slowly, looking at him like he's grown two heads. Right, because Aaron is supposed to be able to parse through all their weird layers. He rolls his eyes.

"I will when he asks," Andrew responds calmly, and before Aaron can open his mouth he holds up a hand. "And he does."

Again, a warning laces his tone: don't ask.

Aaron huffs. Fine. He guesses he'll believe it for now. Come to think of it, he's been seeing less and less of Neil's insistence to handle shit on his own. Just the other week, he seemed to give up too easily when arguing with a jock from another team, and Andrew had stepped in a moment later.

He had thought Neil looked a little too happy about that.

Tracking him still, Andrew shrugs in such a careless way that he'd think Neil had taken over his body. "I know he doesn't need it. And yes, it's annoying."

Aaron's not so sure. It's scary how Andrew can read his mind sometimes, can connect the dots of the intricate roadmap between them. He sees things from a distance, sees it all, while Aaron is the one who forces them to actually zoom in and take in the landscape. Piece by piece, he forces them to explore.

"So why do it?" he asks, frustrated, but Andrew only picks up the blue can of chicken noodle and waves it in Aaron's face.

"Soup."

Fine, don't tell me.

He figures this is just Andrew's way of saying he's done with the abnormal sharing for the night, but then he realizes. Soup. Motherfucking soup? Aaron had said—

"You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

Son of a bitch. Does Andrew always have to be so cryptic and non-linear?

That's the explanation. It's the obvious one, the one Aaron could already infer. But the confirmation is staggering. Andrew wants to protect Neil; more than that, he likes to. That's the difference. He never would've admitted that before. It doesn't matter how capable Neil is or how appealing it is to see him fight. At the end of the day, they both have some weird thing about it.

Aaron feels nauseated. He’s learned too much. Again.

"Is that really so hard to say, Andrew?" Aaron huffs the next moment though, so he guesses he must be more upset than he thought. "You know, I'm trying here."

He only has so much tolerance for his brother's ways. He can detect them better now; he can see the ins and outs. But sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes he wants to be given things in the same straightforward way he gives them. It's childish, it's selfish, but fucking hell, Aaron isn't perfect. He knows it won't happen, but if they're still being truthful, then Aaron can at least let Andrew know that it's hard sometimes.

It's hard to do this, but it's worth it. So he won't stop. Andrew just has to put up with his bitching every now and again.

At 10 p.m., he's reached his limit.

Andrew beats him to it, throwing up a barrier for Aaron's rage to smash into and fizzle out into nothing. "Are you going to scream your undying love for Mrs. Minyard to me, then?" he asks, and Aaron jumps back. Andrew's anger simmers, barely, but his words are cutting. "I am trying too."

They've both been trying so damn hard the past year. And for what?

Well—for a lot, actually. They've certainly gained more than they've lost.

And like that, Aaron's made Andrew give more than he was maybe willing to tonight. The guilt sits somewhere in his gut, but he can't regret it. Because Andrew still confessed. Andrew still held out his hand, just a little. Like he's been doing for months.

Aaron can't begin to imagine how horrible it must be, for someone like his twin to acknowledge the effort he's putting in. It sounds ridiculous, but Aaron should get it better than anyone right? That it's hard to admit you have faith in something when not much in your life ever lasted before.

Taming his own outburst, Aaron clenches his fists at his sides. Slow, measured. "I know, but—"

"You're suddenly so hung up on listening to Bee, what happened to her affinity for patience?" Andrew says, nearly mocking, but Aaron knows it's not some flippant comment. He means it. He's telling Aaron to back off, and while he respects it most days, he feels too close to a revelation to listen.

This is never easy, and it shouldn't be. Not for them. They always knew that, even before they were fully convinced they could get any farther than silent videogame marathons and nods from across the room. Before they thought they would ever keep in touch past college.

Now, Aaron knows there's no way they won't. They're just...fighting. They're having a typical, moronic squabble. It's not a setback, it's not a threat. Aaron has to repeat that over and over in his head, and it somehow makes snapping back less menacing.

"Asshole," he bites out. "You just want to get out of it. You know it's...it's fine to just say those things, it's—"

"Normal?" Andrew asks, and yup, that's definitely mocking. Aaron's not sure what that means, what's in Andrew's head about the word or Aaron's connection to it, but it doesn't matter.

"Yes," Aaron says with a laugh, disbelieving. He paces to the end of the aisle and back. He knows he's just as thick headed, and that's what hurts the most. Embarrassing. "It's normal to just admit you think your dumb boyfriend is cute, and talk about him because to be honest, it's obvious already how much you want to!"

It's potentially unfair; he never expects normalcy from Andrew. He doesn't want it anymore, apart from getting to act like brothers and argue without the fear of exploding and fucking up everything. Aaron wouldn't dare ask Andrew to be normal in any situation, but this is different. He's not saying it's normal or necessary for society's standards, or because other people do it. He's saying it's fucking normal because Andrew wants it to be. Hell; Aaron's been watching his twin bite his tongue and keep back details from Aaron all night. No shit, Andrew will never share the private feelings—the ones he keeps close, just between himself and Neil. But goddamn, if he wants to tell Aaron about Neil's weird gummy bear Macbeth monologue, he should just go for it.

For a while, Andrew stands there, tight lipped, until finally: "I don't care what's normal." For a brief moment, Aaron thinks he's lost this round, that the point escaped Andrew completely. But his twin is smart. Stubborn, and infuriating too. But smart. With a sigh, Andrew relents, though not without resistance in his voice. "I care...that it's us."

Aaron holds his breath, waiting for Andrew to refute it or storm away. But he doesn't, and Aaron can exhale.

Yes, duh. Neil and Andrew...no one will ever mistake them for anything remotely close to normal. They've built their own version of it though, and Aaron only hopes that in time Andrew can expand the definition to include this. That he'll be able to indulge himself however he wants, like Aaron does with Katelyn. That he'll be able to talk about Neil without worrying about how it reveals his feelings. Because Andrew hates sharing Neil, but he wants to trust Aaron enough to offer bits and pieces.

And Aaron wants to do the same. It's been a rough first attempt, but an attempt regardless.

And anyways, Aaron won't tell him tonight, but one day he's really going to have to let his twin know...

Andrew's feelings haven't been well hidden for a long time.

Until then, they have to deal with the awkwardness they created, standing in silence as an old lady walks through the aisle and regards them warily.

They should've saved this for their session. Whoops.

Pathetically, for the sake of doing something, Aaron grabs a thermometer (he needs one of those, right?) and throws it into the basket. Awesome.

In return, since that's the glorious theme of the night, Andrew tosses in some bandaids. The patterned ones. They're pink and cutesy, and make him think of Katelyn, wrapped in her fluffy pink towel after yet another hot shower to clear her sinuses.

He doubts Neil is faring better. They should get back.

At the thought of Katelyn, Aaron smiles. It brings him back to something softer Andrew said, though just as peculiar. He never fails at that.

"Why do you call her that?" Aaron asks, breaking the silence. It's gentler this time, less of a shatter and more of a push. When Andrew blinks, Aaron waves his hand. "Mrs. Minyard."

It gives Aaron a funny feeling in his chest, not necessarily good but also not bad, and he pushes it away to deal with another time.

Andrew's expression gives nothing away. That’s always the case, but even more so this time. It's blank, but he blinks slowly, chewing on his words in the way Aaron hates. Well, he supposes no one can quit cold turkey.

"A feeling," Andrew answers, and doesn't elaborate. He looks down at his own hand for a moment too long, flexing his fingers, then turns away like it's nothing. Aaron doesn't have enough braincells left to figure out what the fuck it's all about.

"Come on, let's go," Andrew says. Aaron feels like after all that, he has to put himself out there at least once. He has to prove to Andrew it's okay. It's okay to do this and trust him with this, so he'll believe in Andrew too.

"I do. Love her, I mean," Aaron says, mumbling the statement petulantly. He's a natural grump. It’s unavoidable. However, when Andrew turns back, he clears his throat. He can't say this without enthusiasm, without conviction. It's just not possible. He thinks of Katelyn's sugary sweet smiles, the croak of her voice after she cheers him on too hard. He thinks of it all—of tears staining his sweater, of being held while shedding his own. He thinks of calloused hands, rife with paper cuts from too many study guides, and the way she whispers each goodbye, because she secretly hates them. All of that and more, too much to contain in the word, but he tries. "I love her so much, it feels like saying it cheapens it somehow. I...don't usually, unless we're alone. But I do."

And it's humiliating to say to this person—his brother, someone who he's always held at an emotional distance. But he can't hope to bridge this gap any other way; he can't hope for more of Andrew's steps forward if he doesn't take his own.

It's a formula they're familiar with now. It's one he hopes they never stop using.

And just when he thinks it's for nothing, Andrew nods. Once, subtly, but he does.

"I understand," he offers, and there's a heaviness to the statement Aaron doesn't get. But it's enough. He wants to tell Andrew it's enough, but Andrew meets him halfway. "Neil told me people don't have to say it, if they know it's true. He's infuriating like that, but he's right about people's idiocy."

Aaron has a feeling 'people' is being used as a stand in there, but he doesn't comment. He's well aware he doesn't have to say it, that saying it changes nothing about how he feels. But—

"I guess he's right for once," Aaron comments lazily, and throws Andrew a smug smile. "But I still want to."

He likes to. And that's all there is to it, sometimes.

So if you one day want to, I'm all ears.

Even if it's not the three words, if it's just some offhand comment about Neil's fighting skills, or where he and Andrew went on a date...he'll listen.

It'll be gross, but he's got plenty more anecdotes to throw back. He despises admitting when Bee is right, but he'll give her credit this time.

They have their people, and they should be able to talk about them.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed forward. "Don't give him that much credit," he mutters, and no, Aaron wouldn't dream of it.

They don't mean to sync up their steps as they walk. It just happens.

--

"Oh, hang on," Aaron says out of the blue as they stand in line. He's thankful he has some control of his reflexes, as he almost smacked Andrew in the arm. They aren't there yet.

But nevermind that. Priorities. Next to them is a toy stand, one of those three tier ones grocery stores always put near the registers because little kids can't resist hounding their parents for one. This one in particular has a good selection of tiny stuffed toys, and Aaron spies his jackpot almost immediately.

It's a spotted, light pink kitten with giant eyes. It's soft, and so absurd looking. Whoever designed it probably tried to think of everything cutesy they could before sewing it onto the plush. In short, it's the kind of sappy, adorable thing Katelyn will love.

Proudly, he picks it up and holds it in front of him like he's a genius. He sort of is.

He's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so disgusted in his life, which is saying quite a lot. Aaron's smugness increases.

God, it's minuscule. It fits in his hand perfectly. If he's lucky, Katelyn will squeal even through all the snot.

He's not sure why Andrew decides to humor him. He must be in a better mood than Aaron thought, since he eventually asks: "Why?"

Aaron is all too happy to explain. He holds the kitten up to Andrew's face as if tempting a rabid rottweiler.

"Ah—what? It's cute. Katelyn loves stuff like this," he explains, but his next words have a softer edge. It happens against his will, and he blames it on Katelyn entirely. Knowing this ridiculous thing will bring her some joy is more than worth the twelve dollar price tag. "It'll make her feel better. Like a gift, ever heard of one? I've seen Neil's growing wardrobe. He's not buying his own clothes."

Andrew's expression sours further, but he doesn't fight the statement right away. He should know he can't. The clothes are only one example; Aaron's also seen the jewelry and various fox-themed knick knacks Neil has lying around. Idiot.

Instead, Andrew bats the kitten away. “Clothes are required, especially when you live out of one bag your whole life," he comments, but it doesn't expose him any less. From the smug grin on Aaron's face, Andrew must sense it. He points at the kitten harshly. "That, however, is pointless."

Aaron's grin falls, but he's unwilling to give up. Andrew obviously doesn't see the full picture in this case. He holds the kitten close to his chest. While he normally hates these things too, it's been designated as a gift for Katelyn.

Therefore, it's sacred.

"It's adorable. Katelyn will go nuts over it, and I'll take sick kisses over no kisses," Aaron points out, and delights in the moment Andrew tenses. Haha. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear that in this context," Andrew mutters, but turns back to the stand with significantly less annoyance.

Aaron is having too much fun.

"I'm just saying, Neil would probably hate this shit on its own..." he adds, and leaves the rest unsaid. The implication is clear. Neil could give a rat's ass about gifts and stuffed toys. But coming from Andrew?

He'd probably burst, like a loser. And whether or not Andrew likes to admit it, it's a weakness. He can't resist evoking that reaction from his jock boyfriend.

Still, he tries. "Neil would never be interested in this," Andrew says, and reaches out to grab one of the toys roughly. It's a little stuffed lamb with snow white wool, and it’s even smaller than the kitten. In Andrew's large, murderous hands, it almost seems to be crying out to Aaron for help.

Andrew stares at it for an impossibly long time, and then it's their turn. Aaron takes the basket from Andrew's stalled hands and tries not to make any wheezing sounds from how heavy it is. Andrew was carrying that shit for an hour?

"Well, how would you know?" Aaron throws over his shoulder as he dumps the contents onto the conveyor belt. He looks at the lamb, at how stupid it looks, and wonders when he himself got so soft. He's not sure what it's a consequence of, but it doesn't feel bad.

No reason to question it.

Andrew turns to him and arches a brow, and Aaron delivers his final punch.

"Neil's probably never had a stuffed animal before," he remarks, doing his best to impersonate Neil's shrug. The ones Allison has tried to force on Neil in the past don’t exactly count. Then, because they share the asshole trait, Aaron adds: "I mean, living out of a bag and all."

And oh, Andrew's glare could send their world as they know it straight to the depths of hell. He squeezes the lamb in a death grip, but notably doesn't let go.

Aaron's spine tingles from Andrew's intense, vengeful stare on the back of his neck as the cashier rings them up, but whatever revenge he gets will be worth it. He figures it can't be too bad when Andrew offers him a ride home, and the silence is more peaceful than anything else.

They walk to the dorms with the stuffed animals pressed under their elbows. If they both end up sick a few days later, neither of them choose to bring up the cause.

#all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil #kateaaron

[nekojitachan]

How to Steal a Million pt2

So, here’s another part of this story, no clue how many more (at least a few?). More Foxes appear! Yay!

Uhm, lots of bantering, very mild violence, some swearing, think that’s about it? Oh, and obvious some dubious life choices/actions here.

*******

*******          

“I mean, can you believe it?” Neil asked as he tugged on his bangs while seated on a stack of new tires in the middle of Matt’s garage while his friend worked on the Ferrari. “He keeps cackling about the damn postcards and ticket revenue and… and he’s insane!”

“Uhm, you know that those are your genes, right?” Matt’s deep voice drifted out from underneath the sports car, followed by a yelp when Neil gave his right calf a kick. “Hey! Not funny,” he complained as he scooted out from beneath the car, frowning face smeared with grease in a couple of spots and ridiculous hair covered by a bright orange bandana (also smeared with grease).

“Huh, I was thinking much the same thing,” Neil muttered as he glared at his friend. “You’re supposed to be commiserating with me, not insulting me!”

“Okay.” Matt took a deep breath as he sat up on the floor dolly thing and dabbed at the mess on his left cheek. “You’re upset that Stuart isn’t selling one of his fakes for once? I don’t get it.”

“He’s basically parading around a fake in front of thousands of people!” Neil hissed as he waved his arms about, upset that Matt wasn’t following. “What if they realize it’s not the real thing?”

“But Stuart’s really good at what he does,” Matt argued as he looked about for something.

“He’s a forger and a thief.”

“Says the guy who showed up earlier with a stolen Ferrari – I don’t think you have the strongest argument here, Red.” When Neil’s glare went up a notch, Matt held up his hands in a placating manner. “Hey, not throwing any stones, but you can toss me the rachet wrench near your left foot – you know, the thing that makes the ‘rrrrch, rrrch’ sound when you turn it?”

“I know what a rachet wrench is by now,” Neil mumbled as he picked up the thing and tossed it (lightly) at his friend. “And I stole the damn car because I’ll most likely need the money for when Stuart and I flee the country in a rush sometime within the next week – which I shouldn’t have to explain myself to the person who’s currently modifying it so it can be sold to some crime lord with an ego problem.”

“Victor’s a decent guy for a crime lord, and I don’t want to hear any bitching from a Hatford,” Matt threw back at him. “’Oooh, look who’s slumming right now’,” he called out in a high-pitched voice as his head waggled from side to side. “’Let me break out the tea and crumpets and lots of sharp knives’.”

“You’re an ass,” Neil laughed as he got up to tug the bandanna down his friend’s face, as well as to muss up his gravity-defying hair; it was then that Dan, Matt’s girlfriend, walked in on them.

“What did I tell you?” she called out as Matt wrapped his damn gorilla arms around Neil’s hips. “If you’re finally going to make a move on the boy, wait until I’m here to join in.”

“Eh?” Neil blinked at that odd statement while Matt laughed and, after giving him a smack on the ass, pushed him away so he could stand up and go give Dan a kiss – carefully, since she was dressed for a ‘day’ of work, in a fitted pant suit that hid the holstered gun and various knives on her person, as befitted her job as a well-regarded bodyguard. “How was work?”

“Horrible. I was half-tempted to shoot the whiny bastard myself, no wonder his company’s paying people to keep him alive.” Dan rolled her eyes as she unbuttoned her jacket to reveal the white shirt beneath it (and the leather straps of her holster). “Just had to keep focusing on the paycheck.”

“That’s what I love about you, always thinking ahead,” Matt said as he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Should get a nice cut from this latest job, too. Then you can take a break from assholes for a while and work on your charity cases.”

“Yeah, Renee’s already got a couple names lined up for me.” A pleased smile lit up Dan’s face, wiping away the exhaustion and bitterness from before and highlighting a beauty she rarely enhanced with makeup. “Can’t wait for a nice vacation from the bastards.”

“Well, you do live with Matt,” Neil teased, and laughed when the tall freak attempted to kick back at him.

“Such a troublemaker,” Dan remarked as she came over to tousle his hair. “And did you bring this in? I thought you were more into cons with Allison and some B&E these days, not back to stealing cars.”

“He’s convinced that Stuart’s finally done something stupid enough to bring the police down on them,” Matt explained as he sat down on the dolly. “I’m not gonna complain since I get to work on this beauty, earn some money and get in Victor’s good books.”

At Dan’s curious look, Neil sighed. “He got it in his head to allow our copy, the fake copy, of the Cellini Venus to go on display at the Kleber-Lafayette Museum.”

“What?” Dan’s dark eyes went wide and she ran her hands over her dark brown, short curls in a sign of frustration. “There was a lot of activity around the museum today, them preparing for a big event that the asshole complained about having to miss because of some other commitment.”

“Yeah, they’re having a party tonight to kick off the collection, something like that.” Neil returned to the stack of tires and pulled his right knee to his chest as he thought about the whole mess. “Usually Stuart’s sensible about things,” he thought about that statement and sighed, “somewhat sensible, but all he’s babbling about now is postcards and cuts and other nonsense. I’m ready to throttle him.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” Dan gave a gentle stroke to his hair. “If you need to crash anywhere, you know you can stay with us.”

“Thanks.” He grimaced a little as he thought about the whole mess. “I hope he gets whatever this is out of his system without us getting into too much trouble. It’s gonna suck if we have to avoid Paris from now on.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Dan assured him. “You always tend to think the worst, too.”

Maybe because he was used to things going pear-shaped on him? Though to be honest, usually his family or his friends came through for him in the end. “Yeah, well, I remember a few close calls like the Saini con-“

“Aw, but some people would give almost anything to spend half a night trapped beneath a desk with Allison!” Matt declared from beneath the Ferrari.

“-or the Friedrich incident,” Neil finished with a scowl.

“I still don’t know how you and Renee managed to hide all those knives on your bodies and not rattle when you walked,” Dan confessed with a wince.

“We were just grateful that you did,” Matt called out.

“Well, is it too much to hope that this exhibition will end without me being stuck in a small space or knives being involved?” Neil asked as he stared at Dan with a hopeful look, only to feel the emotion die when she gazed back with pity. “Fuck.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but knowing your uncle and your luck? Get out the whetstone and be thankful you’re not claustrophobic.”

“Fuck,” Neil repeated as he reconsidered his stance on not drinking.

*******

Andrew fought the urge to tug at his bowtie for the eighth time that night and reminded himself that in another twenty-three minutes he could leave the boring as hell party; at that point, he’d already gathered enough information on how the place’s security worked, especially around a crowd.

He wasn’t that impressed with the Kleber-Lafayette Museum. Then again, he wasn’t impressed with much in life.

He ignored the interested look some woman dressed in a sparkling gold cocktail dress gave him as he snatched a glass of passible champagne from a tray full of them, and noted the unimpressed one he received from another young woman wearing an expensive as fuck Dior gown which had just been on the runway a week ago. It took his brain a moment to supply a name – Allison Reynolds, disowned heiress but still rich bitch extraordinaire, determined to live by her own rules and somehow able to get by in society despite that fact. Andrew raised his glass to her and was surprised when she arched an elegant eyebrow and raised her own in return.

After another lap of the main room (and another careful survey of the party’s attendees), Andrew stopped at his partner’s side; Kevin had undone his tie, but it had been a bit of a rough night once his old ‘friend’ had shown up. Andrew noted that there was a glass of water in Kevin’s scarred left hand and not alcohol, which meant that his friend had recovered from the shock. “Five more minutes.”

Kevin’s handsome face twisted with annoyance. “Some people enjoy being surrounded by works of art,” he said, voice rich with reproach. “The Kleber-Lafayette has quite the collection of-“

“Don’t care,” Andrew sang out as he rocked back and forth on his toes. “Seen one splattering of pastels, seen ‘em all.”

As he’d counted on, Kevin’s face grew flushed with anger. “You’re a disgrace to the profession,” he gritted out as he pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his right hand.

“No I’m not, I’m the best at what I do,” Andrew reminded his partner. “And three minutes, now.”

Instead of arguing, Kevin merely shook his head and finished his water, then set the empty glass aside on the nearby small table before motioning for them to leave (one minute early, such a reprieve). They were quiet as they escaped from the boring party, at least until they reached the Jaguar F-type Andrew was renting during their stay in Paris.

He removed the jacket to his tux and the damn tie before he slid behind wheel, relieved to be done acting ‘proper’ for the night. “It’s not the worse job we’ve had, but it’s not the best, either. They seem to have somewhat paid attention to us when we gave them the security review.”

“Somewhat,” Kevin muttered as he jerked his left hand through his hair. “When are they going to learn that it’s better to spend the money on everything we recommend? Whining about extra lasers doesn’t matter if someone walks off with a Monet and their insurance fees skyrocket as a result.”

“Not our fault if they don’t listen to us,” Andrew reminded him. “Speaking about artwork, I’m going to be busy tonight.” When Kevin glanced at him, he gave a shrug as he fished out his pack of cigarettes from the center console. “Something’s bothering me about that Venus statue.”

“The Cellini one?”

“Yeah.” Andrew frowned as he lit the cigarette. “I don’t like how Josten just so happens to find all these amazing pieces of artwork, which end up in private collections and so avoid any real tests.”

“But he signed the papers which allow the statue to be tested for insurance purposes,” Kevin reminded him.

“Hmm.” It would be a big scandal if the statue was found out to be fake, though, so Andrew would rather know sooner rather than later and warn the museum if there was going to be a scandal (and earn a bonus as a result). “I wonder if he knows that, considering all the documents he signed. Anyway, we’re here, he’s here, I want to take a look at his house since I’ve always been suspicious about his collection.”

“You’re suspicious about everyone,” Kevin muttered as he slumped down in the passenger seat. “I still remember what you did to the poor woman whose job it was to clean your hotel room in Barcelona.”

“Because she didn’t obey the ‘do not disturb’ sign, and don’t change the subject,” Andrew argued. “Was I right about Zhang?” He waited for his partner to nod. “What about Bambey? Riopert? Zimmerman? Abe? I can go on all night.”

“Whatever, just don’t get caught, the French police aren’t happy with you after the whole Devine case,” Kevin just had to remind him.

“Yes, but I was right about that one, too,” Andrew said as he flicked ash out the window. It was quiet in the car as he drove them back to the hotel for a couple of minutes. “So what did the bastard say to you, hmm?” He’d seen Moriyama talk to Kevin from across the room, but the bastard had moved on before he could reach his friend’s side.

“Just… a snide comment or two about me ‘slumming’, that of course I was only there for work and about me tending to a mess someone made as if I was the cleaning staff,” Kevin admitted as his jaw tightened in anger. “Enough to remind me of how much I hate him.”

Nothing new, in other words; Riko Moriyama was still the spoiled, sociopathic bastard he’d always been, but Kevin had moved on enough to no longer let him tear him down. “He’s nothing without his uncle’s name and money. Not even his own brother wants anything to do with him.”

“Yeah.” Being reminded of Riko’s many issues always made Kevin happy. “Oh, he seemed obsessed with the Cellini, now that I remember. Kept staring at it and asking the museum staff about it.”

Something to keep in mind in case Riko proved to be trouble, which usually was the case. “Probably saw a new shiny he wants.”

“Yeah.” As if not wanting to talk about the bastard any longer (understandable), Kevin changed the subject to a couple of potential clients he’d met during the evening, whom he planned to follow up with during the next several days. Andrew grunted in agreement since it would keep the man busy – that and Kevin always did better at that sort of thing than him.

Once back at the hotel, they went their separate ways; Andrew imagined that Kevin would call it a night since he’d be up early in the morning to hit the workout room, while he changed into a more suitable outfit for sneaking about and double-checked the address he had for one Stuart Josten. Then it was back out for some ‘fun’.

*******

Neil was in bed attempting to read a book which Renee had lent him on ‘living kindly’ (she tried, she really did, but somehow he doubted that he’d manage a similar conversion like hers) when an alert on his phone went off to inform him that someone had tripped a silent alarm he’d installed near one of the house’s windows. For a moment he debated calling Davis, who was out with Stuart at that awful party, to come back and take care of the problem, but it had been very frustrating couple of days so he figured why not deal with things himself and then call the man to clean up the mess? Plan (more or less) in mind, he reached for the gun in the nightstand before he decided on the knife beneath his pillow instead (less noise) then slipped out of bed dressed in a dark grey t-shirt and boxer-briefs. His phone showed that the opened window had been downstairs, so he snuck down the staircase, where there were faint sounds in the main sitting room.

It was dark, but Neil’s night vision was good and enough ambient light came through the windows for him to make out a short shape dressed in dark clothes doing something to the new Van Gogh forgery hanging on the one wall. As quietly as he could manage, Neil snuck up behind the thief, and almost was within reach when the man (?) took the painting down and turned around.

Neil had the impression of pale skin and hazel eyes gone wide in surprise before the artwork was dropped and the man (definitely a man) launched himself forward; Neil raised his arms to block and got the knife up as he was knocked onto the floor.

“Mr. Josten, I presume,” the asshole said as Neil struggled to regain his breath from the impact and a heavy asshole laid out on top of him, the knife held back a hair’s breadth from said asshole’s neck.

“Yes, nice to meet you, larcenous asshole,” Neil replied as he tried to close that tiny gap, but said asshole was strong.

“Such harsh words.” Larcenous Asshole’s voice was deep and, judging from his accent, he was an American.

“Well, you did break into my house and try to steal a painting. I’m merely calling a spade a spade.”

Larcenous Asshole clicked his tongue as if annoyed, his gaze never once roaming from Neil’s face despite the knife. “I was only taking one painting. You have so many, chances were good you wouldn’t even have missed it.”

“Right, a priceless piece of art like that, we’d never have noticed.” Neil swore that those almost golden eyes narrowed the slightest bit at his comment. “What was I thinking?”

“Like I said, you have so many,” Larcenous Asshole drawled. “And it’s not as if you’re really going to do anything about it, a rich fop of a boy like you.”

“Well, by that reckoning, I’m sure there’s so many other larcenous assholes out there, who’ll notice if I rid the world of one, hmm?” Neil gave the man his father’s grin as he put a bit more effort into moving his right hand, and was rewarded when the knife touched bare skin.

He was also rewarded by seeing another flash of surprise on the otherwise impassive face above him as Larcenous Asshole jerked back away from the knife; Neil used the distraction to bring up his right knee to land a blow which at least hit the man in the very upper thigh if not in the intended target and so gave him enough room to wiggle free.

Both of them scrambled onto their feet, Larcenous Asshole with a bit less grace and a lot of wincing, and somehow Neil wasn’t surprised when his ‘guest’ pulled a knife of his own. “Aw, is playtime over?”

Larcenous Asshole scowled at him, the look slight but definitely there (Neil was used to people giving him dirty looks). “You cut me and tried to knee me in the balls. What type of society fop are you?” he demanded to know as he fingered where the knife had (barely) cut into his neck.

“A society fop who knows how to defend himself and his home. What type of Larcenous Asshole are you if you can’t take a little abuse, hmm?” Neil asked as he fought the urge to flip the knife (well, flip or throw, one of the two – wait, L.A. was standing on the 16th century Persian, so go with ‘flip’ until the bastard moved somewhere better for bloodstains).

“I break into spoiled rich people’s homes, I don’t expect much of a struggle. Also, bleeding,” L.A hissed through clenched teeth.

“You say that as if it’s my problem. Well, actually, take a few steps to the right just in case I cut a little deeper than I thought, won’t you? That rug is priceless.” Neil made a shooing motion with his left hand.

“You are fucked up, which is saying something coming from me,” L.A. declared as he risked a glance at the blood on his fingertips. “Also, I’m thinking that you’re not going to call the cops or else you’d be on the phone already, and I’m not sure you want me dead despite the lovely threats otherwise. So are we going to flirt all night or is there a point to this?”

Dammit… he may be an asshole, but the guy wasn’t stupid; Neil couldn’t call the cops, not when the house was filled with forgeries, and he was hesitant to kill him outright when he wasn’t sure if the man belonged to a syndicate which might cause the Hatfords trouble in the future – there was something about L.A which made Neil think he wasn’t an amateur off the streets. Torn over what to do, Neil eyed him up and down a couple of times before he sighed.

“I’m not flirting,” he insisted, and when L.A. opened his mouth, flipped the knife into a throwing position. “Now, this can either end up in your eye or I can put it away, which do you prefer?”

L.A. gave him a narrow look for a couple of seconds before he huffed. “Away,” he said, deep voice tinged with something that might be respect as he waited for Neil to lower his weapon before he did the same. “Spare a band-aid before I leave?”

Neil considered the question for a moment before he motioned the thief to follow him to the kitchen. “Come on, can’t have you walking around all bloody and raise suspicion.” He wouldn’t risk the police noticing the man and then have them knocking on his door once the story about their little ‘adventure’ got out.

L.A. walked beside him (over an arm’s length away), careful attention paid to his surroundings on the way to the kitchen; he kept glancing at the various artworks on the wall as if making note of them, and then at the various items in the kitchen. Neil remained focused on the thief in return as he went to the one cupboard which stored the smaller medical kit, which he placed on the table (still out of arm’s reach). “There. I imagine an asshole like you is used to patching himself up after people try to kill him.”

The man’s eyes narrowed again, the only sign that the jab might have struck home. “Can we keep personalities out of this conversation? I think maybe you wouldn’t care to have yours brought up.”

“What? I’m an angel, ask my friends,” Neil announced as he tapped his knife on top of the table.

“Are you friends homicidal, too?” L.A. scoffed.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, no dead bodies around here. At least, not yet. Let me know if you’re willing to change that before I waste any bandages on you, hmm.” Neil motioned to the kit.

Now the look turned contemplative before L.A. pulled the kit toward him. “Sorry, don’t plan on dying tonight. Bad enough I won’t have a nice painting to fence as it is.”

“You can always try the Dhedins’ down the street, I hear they’ve an amazing collection of Degas.” Neil offered a version of his Uncle Will’s smile as he propped up his chin on his left hand.

“How thoughtful of you,” L.A. replied in a rather dry manner which belied his words while he opened the kit and took to poking around in it. “I think I’ll call it a night after nearly having my throat slit.”

“Quitter.”

The thief grunted as he tore open a disinfectant wipe then dabbed at the cut on his throat, which barely bled anymore. “I can honestly say that this night didn’t go as I thought it would.”

“I guess that tends to happen when you’re a Larcenous Asshole.”

“Andrew.”

“Hmm? No, I’m Neil.” Had the man hit his head at some point during their struggle? Was he on drugs? Usually Neil was good at spotting those things.

L.A. sighed as he used another wipe to clean up the blood. “My name is ‘Andrew’. I’m tired of you calling me that.”

“Why, it’s what you are. You steal things and you’re an asshole, hence Larcenous Asshole. If you want, I can call you ‘Kleptomaniacal Bastard’ instead.” Neil put up with being called a ‘smart-ass’ and ‘British demon’ and ‘spawn of hell’ all the time – it was ‘sweetie’ and ‘cutie-pie’ that got on his nerves, but he liked Dan and Allison and the others so he didn’t say anything.

That and knowing his friends, they’d come up with something worse.

For some reason, L.A. looked to be in pain even though he’d already put a bandage on his neck. “I’m beginning to wish I’d let you stab me.”

“Not here in the kitchen, these tiles are from the 18th century.” Neil shrugged when L.A. took to gazing at him as if he was insane. “What, I’m not going to sit through yet another lecture from my uncle about respecting antiques.” Not after he’d used the one Damascus blade to help Davis deal with an intruder who thought to make a name for himself taking out a Hatford.

L.A. muttered something about lunatics while he ran his gloved hands over the black cap covering his head, which dislodged it enough to reveal short blond hair. “All right, I’ve reached my limit of insanity for the night. Consider me suitably punished and that I’m now reconsidering my wicked ways.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

Neil was given a flat look as L.A. rose to his feet (he was pleased to note that the thief was shorter than him, a rare thing to discover, though he possessed a much stockier build). “Isn’t it past your bedtime, kid?”

That comment earned the bastard a rude gesture.

Neil followed L.A. back to the main room, where the man picked up a small leather bag filled with the tools he’d used to circumvent the alarm on the window (but not the one he’d missed on the lower wall) and whatever else he needed on the job. “Any problem with me going out the front door?”

“No, I’m sure it’ll be a novel experience for you,” Neil said as he pulled the door open. “Be sure to savor it.”

That time he was the one given a rude gesture.

“The Dhedins’ house is the white one with the black columns and the black and gold fence,” he called out as L.A. stomped through the door. “Be sure to pet the mastiffs for me, they love getting their ears rubbed.”

He was given the finger again. Huh, after he was nice enough to warn about the puppies, too.

Some people, you just couldn’t please them.

*******

Andrew groaned when he heard the barrage of knocking on his hotel door; at first he attempted to ignore it, except it refused to stop. Throwing the sheets aside, he stomped to the door and, after undoing the various locks, yanked it open to glare at his partner. “I have no qualms about killing you, Day,” he growled.

“Not enough sharp objects here to do it justice,” Kevin said without fear as he stepped inside; only the fact that he shoved a waxed paper bag bearing the name of the nearby bakery saved him, lack of enough sharp objects or not. “After all these years, you want to savor my death.”

There was some truth to that statement; Andrew had known Kevin for several years, ever since his first year in university, which he and his brother had only gotten into thanks to a ‘charity’ scholarship program run by Kevin’s father. It had been at the end of the first semester when Kevin had shown up on the man’s doorstep, broken and bloody due to what Riko Moriyama had done to him.

Andrew hadn’t been able to get rid of the pest since then.

“So, did you find out anything about Josten’s… what the hell?” Now that Kevin had opened the drapes and turned to face Andrew, he caught sight of the bandage on his throat. “What happened?”

“One Neil Josten,” Andrew explained as he fetched a caffeine drink out of the room’s fridge to go along with his chocolate croissant. “Let me tell you, those tabloid stories about Stuart’s nephew being some shy, meek kid who doesn’t like public outings? I wanna know just how stupid those morons are who wrote them, because there was nothing shy or awkward about that ‘kid’ last night.” Or much of a ‘kid’ at all, either.

“Wait, his nephew was home? I thought the house was supposed to be empty.” Kevin sank down on the bed when Andrew shook his head before having about half of the can of sugary coffee. “Shit, how did you get out of there? Are you in trouble?”

“Funny story, that.” Andrew’s flat tone made it obvious that it wasn’t funny at all. “Josten surprised me before I could do more than a preliminary check on one of the paintings, him and a nice, shiny knife.” Kevin’s eyes widened at that, probably as much about the weapon as for the fact that someone had snuck up on Andrew. “We had a bit of a pissing contest, but it became clear that he wasn’t going to call the cops so we backed off before it went too far. He thinks I’m a thief, but he let me go.” Andrew gave Kevin an intent look after that statement. “I might not have gotten any hard proof last night, but tell me, why would he have done that unless he didn’t want the cops to check out his place, hmm?”

“That… is rather suspicious. But I’m more concerned over the fact that he tried to cut your throat.”

Andrew waved that aside then tossed a piece of croissant into his mouth. “Tried, but didn’t.” A lot of people had tried to take Andrew down, but very few interested him as much as Josten did. No, there was something about the nonchalant way the young man had handled an intruder, had coped with the violence and been able to throw about quips at the same time, the mix of violence and intelligence and ‘go ahead, just try to fuck with me’ attitude that Josten radiated….

“While you’re out doing some work, find out about Josten for me,” he told Kevin.

“And what are you going to be doing?” Kevin asked as he stood up, already dressed for a day of impressing (bs’ing) people despite it not even being noon.

“Looking into his uncle and some other things.”

For a moment, it appeared as if Kevin wanted to ask if Riko was one of those ‘other things’ before he seemed to think better of it; he knew that Andrew wouldn’t let the prick fuck with him anymore. While Andrew doubted that Riko was in Paris because of them, he still would make sure that the man stayed as far away from Kevin as possible.

“Just make sure your work involves more than checking out new bakeries,” Kevin chided as he headed for the door. “Oh, and try to get some exercise for once. I’m going to tell Betsy and Aaron if I find out you spent the day holed up in some café with your laptop.”

Andrew gave him the finger before he shoved the rest of the croissant into his mouth.

*******

First part can be found here

Also, I think I’ll be posting one of the owed ‘you guessed right’ fics later tonight, too....

#nekojitachan fics #nekojitachanfics #how to steal a million fic #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #matt boyd #kevin day #dan wilds #oooh the flirting #snark #lots of snark #neil and his mouth #andrew's in trouble already

[fallingin-like]

november 23

the real folk blues by @annawrites [requested by @allforthebee]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this absolutely amazing and captivating fic that has the foxes as space bounty hunters and neil who is, as usual, and exceptionally skilled runaway. set away some time to read this fic as soon as possible, because once you start, you won’t be able to put it down until you finish.

this is such an entertaining, fun fic and you did an amazing job at balancing the softer moments with intense, action-packed scenes. at all times i was fully immersed in the story, you handled everything so well. i’m always a fan of your writing, so it’s not a surprised that i had a wonderful experience rereading this.

bits that stood out to me:

”counting stars has become a habit, something to subdue the memories” ah this is really cute and i can totally imagine canon andrew, lying on the roof of some building counting stars instead of trying to sleep

”renee cracks a chicken bone smile in the corner of her mouth” i have never heard this phrase before but i love it!

”there’s a collective intake of breath - andrew, who remembers every single bounty ever placed, can’t remember it ever being this big” for some reason, i love when this kind of thing happens. it feels so cool, knowing someone wants that character that bad and gets me excited for what kind of skills the hunted person has, to be able to evade the people looking for them (reminds me of john wick lol)

”nathaniel wesninski alias neil josten is a hacker, con artist, engineer and pilot” BLESS HIM FOR BEING SO CAPABLE AND SKILLED

matt’s infamous bell peppers and beef with no beef!!! that’s funny and i think about it surprisingly often

”renee pulls up a few more photographs of neil wesninski on the hologram screen. she deals them out like cards until they fan out in a neat timeline of faded hoodies and various iterations of the same polished smile, a mouth sharpened to cutting perfection… the eyes, in contrast, look consistently hunted” holograms and just this space tech is SO cool. i love seeing how the foxes view neil before they meet him. it’s interesting how many sightings they have of him, but also how blank he seems, when we all know that there’s so much personality under that surface

”the ISSP are a bunch of corrupt, incompetent idiots” LOL

”’tone down the optimism, day,’ andrew drawls. ‘we might start overestimating our chances’” agh i love your characterization of all of these characters and this is a great example of why! and i like that you used drawls, it feels very andrew-like

”andrew waggles his fingers lazily in the air” yeah this is andrew

woah i have never seen the art for this fic (i guess because i have the fic downloaded and i just read that version instead of going on ao3, the pictures must not have downloaded) but it’s great!

gasp, i love the idea of the foxes Dressed Up

ALLISON BEING BANNED FROM PLAYING!! “her former alias - lady luck, also known as poker alice” oh this is great. for some reason, them having reputations like this really excites me

”it’s in my blind spot” ANDREW this is so funny

ahhhh i can’t believE you added the “better luck next time” line in!!

okay so the whole action part of this scene is so intense, love andrew throwing the poker chip as a diversion, and neil pretending to give up for a moment before ACTIVATING HIS ARMED SHIP AND SHOOTING EVERYONE. ugh, hearing about neil being so good at what he does (steering, hacking, while taking off his jacket) makes me love this scene so much

”vowels rolling like a pair of dice” this is so good on its own, but paired with the casino scene that precedes it? stunning

”kevin values his ship, and his life, in that order.” i can imagine. i wonder, is there competitive racing in this au? i can imagine kevin being obsessed with that

thank goodness riko is dead, one less thing (on a list of many things) to worry about. whoop and i see that easthaven has passed, good.

KEVIN DAY WITH A METAL ARM AND A TRANSMITTER PLATE THAT COVERS HIS TATTOO YEAH

oh dang limb regrowth tech in this au? wild

”’minyard and the monster, how lovely to see you again.’ neil greets him through the once more hijacked comm. they’ve been playing this game for weeks now, racing each other across the milky way like starved lovers. even allison is starting to run out of lewd jokes” i find it so interesting hearing about this relationship that’s being built between them even though they basically never meet in person, the joking from neil’s side

these hints of andrew’s eye mods are really great, i definitely didn’t notice them as much as i should have when i first read this fic, but every time after that, i appreciate little details like these more and more

RENEE WITH A KATANA YES PLEASE

”andrew shakes off the last dregs of sunday sleepiness that cling to his lips like the skin on warm milk. neil wesninski might have become a game by now, but the malcolms still mean business” ohhh boy, even knowing what comes next i get nervous hearing this. i love the contrast between the softness of what sundays mean with the conflict to come, especially when you jump right into the action

”renee pants, her voice cool and slippery like broken tiles amid the crackle of static” oh i love this description

LOL i can’t believe that andrew got matt’s dessert rations and gets to invite neil to be a part of their crew

”missions are slow and neil’s face keeps showing up on big shot, though not for lack of people trying to hunt him down.” i don’t know why but i really like this!! you go, neil!

oh oh thank you so much for the way that you describe neil alone on his ship, his hoodies, gloves, “one sad-looking sock”, “the one sock he’s wearing has holes”, talking to himself, “yet he’s still inexplicably trying to shield his robots from andrew’s gun” so cute!

”eyes like the gleaming insides of a wire in the dark” this!!!!

the! cats! neil made his robots cats!!

NEIL HACKING INTO THEIR COMMS I LOVE HIM

”neil is like a live fish under his hands, constantly wriggling and sliding out of his grip, fingers twitching back toward his abandoned project like flies caught in a spiderweb” ahh squirmy neil is super cute, “neil shivers under the touch like he’s not used to being touched at all” this doesn’t surprise me. even if i didn’t have an idea of what his childhood might have been like (with mary and nathan, i imagine there was not very much affection), he’s probably been alone for so long, when would the last time someone would have touched him? i don’t think i would be able to handle it

ahh barefoot neil is always cute

SCARS no matter how many fics i read, i always love moments when neil’s scars are revealed

NEIL RUNNING LAPS IN HIS TINY SHORTS AROUND AND AROUND AHH

”neil slinks into the room late, looking tousled and a little sticky around the edges like he’s just woken up from a nap. he freezes when he sees andrew, stuck standing right in the middle of the projection, and only moves when dan throws a cushion at him” your writing actually paints scenes in my head which for me, a person really bad at visualizing things, is really impressive. it makes the experiences of reading exponentially more interesting, and doesn’t happen that often.

renee as praying mantis!! what a perfect nickname. is she religious in this au as well? i can’t remember if any religions even exist in this au (whoops i know nothing about cowboy bebop)

”she looks stiff and faded like old newspaper in the light of the kitchen lamps” what a gem of a sentence

me: sees the nickname gorilla and gets excited because i know some action is going to go down

”the three of them would just  about reach his head if renee sat on andrew’s shoulders and lifted neil up” THIS IS AMAZING. i mean, andrew and neil are tiny but they are not that tiny

”andrew begins tonelessly, tracing patterns into neil’s skin” if we ignore the fact that andrew is telling a terrible terrible story, this is so soft

”his breathing is viscous now, like syrup in his lungs. his left eye aches and the corner of his mouth twitches painfully into the ghost of a manic grin. he bites his tongue and it tastes like the word please” i am speechless but i really wanted to acknowledge this sentences lakjsdf

NEIL WINNING THE BET ABOUT BEING ABLE TO STEAL THINGS FROM THE VENDOR AND ROBBING THE MAN JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING. uGH you do such a good job of integrating humour like this into your story and having it fit the tone and pacing of the fic effortlessly.

excuse me how is it possible that you followed such a lighthearted scene with something so devastating as andrew explaining his past to allison and neil and have it still flow??? “because… i did not mean for you to get hurt” ANDREW YOU’RE SO GOOD

”he’s smoking outside and watching the dusk unfurl like an exotic flower when there’s a crash inside the store” this description is so gorgeous

what in the world, andrew i don’t even know how to describe you. he really just helps catch the robbers with his headphones on while choosing things to buy, killing a dude, then checking out, no big deal???? i understand neil’s attraction to him a little bit more now…

andrew and renee sharing clothes is now canon, please and thank you

oh no, lola is Bad News, especially when it comes to threatening neil’s family

NEIL PACKING ANDREW’S LEATHER JACKET AHH

”the bebop crew are basically overgrown children and react very well to the little sugary rewards for good behaviour” yeah this is very true haha

”’your blatant flirting woke me up,’ matt grins weakly. ‘can i have a lollipop too, neil?” i remember this whole scene so well, the second the infirmary was mentioned i knew it was lollipop time. matt, is basically how i feel right now HAH

woah wymack taking care of bonsai trees? i didn’t know i needed that in my life so badly. just like neil and the twins, so tiny :’)

uhm so, the tape that nicky sent to andrew? it’s actually making me cry (which is super rare for fics) “i hope you know that i love you”, “things aren’t so easy at the moment, and maybe they still aren’t easy for you watching this ten years from now, but i’ll always be there for you, and for aaron, too. i hope that one day we can be a family. happy birthday, my little piyoko, don’t eat all the cake by yourself!” i love this so much, and it makes me so sad and happy. this nicky is so good, and as much as i think andrew needed to see this, i think that i needed to read this more. thank you

nicky calling the twins his little piyokos, his lucky birds ;-;

the reunion scenes are so good, i really don’t think i can write anything that sufficiently describes how i feel. the way that nicky acts, the new relatives, older aaron, it all feels so right, so real.

andrea minyard deserves her own bullet point

neil just goes and makes all the police ships crash by controlling them remotely just for andrew to be hit by a moon rock?!?!?

”something irritatingly warm rises and swells inside andrew like yeast dough and he plunges his fists into it and kneads it into submission, twists it until all that remains is sticky, frothy anger” and “andrew sits down on a crate and prods at the yeasty mass still fermenting in his insides. the sudden bloating of anger has subsided to the usual starchy nothingness, but there’s a sugary residue of unease that he doesn’t want to examine any further right now” as much as i adore your jokes and beautiful descriptions of scenes, sentences like these ones that blow me away completely are why you’re one of my favourite fanfic authors. these are the kinds of sentences that i carry with me even after i am finished reading

”i can’t decide if you two are more like toddlers or like an old married couple… either way, it’s really bizarre to see andrew having feelings other than hate and destruction” LOL

thea is the coolest person ever

”kevin makes a noise like a dying dog” me too, kevin

NONONONONO ICHIROU AND JEAN AND EASTHAVEN

thank goodness neil is here

apparently i am very fond of the words “juice pack” and think it is cute. why? i also do not know

huh, riko naming his identity kevin king?? feels… not good

oh boy, lola is back

ANDREW CAN PICK OPEN HIS HANDCUFFS THANK YOU FOR THIS

is it bad if i am happy that all these people are dying (proust, lola, etc.)

NEIL AMPUTATES NATHAN’S HAND WITH A CLEAVER WHILE HE’S HOLDING A CLEAVER AND THEN KILLS HIM LDKSJFLK

oh dang, it’s stuart (i trust him)

andrew’s eye! thank goodness, because although it kind of sucks, it also Really Does Not Suck

”it’s stiff and awkward and neil quickly wriggles out of it. kevin must be really shaken up, because he tries andrew next. andrew waits passively until he’s close and then steps to the side at the last moment, smothering his amusement in a cough when kevin walks straight into the wall with open arms. serves him right for thinking even for a second that andrew would let him” LOL i love you, anna, so so much

money!! woohoooooo (or should i say woolonghooo okay sorry that’s like the world’s worst pun)

BELL PEPPERS AND BEEF WITH ACTUAL BEEF AND NO PEPPERS YES! what a great way to bring things full circle, even though it’s small

sweet dumplings filled with fruit? i am intrigued

THE SHIRT

i can’t not acknowledge the bit with the key, neil is too clever for his own good

we finally get to see bee! ugh i love the relationship between bee and andrew

”they may be marks of destruction, but they are still andrew’s; still proof of his existence” yeah (like a good yeah)

interesting about andrew’s memory not being as good without his left eye. does he have eidetic memory in this au? maybe it’s better if he doesn’t

i remember the first time i read this fic, in startling detail. this fic was so good then, and it has been just as good, if not better, every time i have reread it

it’s kind of embarrassing, but one of the things that i remember distinctly (among a lot of other things) is the noodles! reading this fic never fails to make me want to eat instant noodles

so one thing about me is that i am actually really bad at visualizing things. when i read stories, i can never imagine what a character looks like, i just see the feature that is being highlighted at the moment, and the second that sentence ends, that image is gone. like i just have a magnifying glass to someone’s face but i can’t piece together the parts. it makes it so that i often struggle with the visualization of stories. but something about your writing makes it easy for me to pictures scenes happening. everything is so vivid, and real (hence, the instant noodle cravings lol) and i love that so much. it’s so special.

the flow of this fic is amazing, the characterization is incredibly authentic and really helps with carrying the plot. you integrated lighthearted scenes with pure angst and awful things (easthaven) and i’m honestly curious as to the cowboy bebop episodes you took inspiration from. this fic was so well written, you are so skilled at introducing characters, locations, plot points, although i’m not familiar with this universe i wasn’t confused at any point. you explained everything without me noticing. this was just a breathtaking fic. thank you so much for writing this!!

#the real folk blues #aftg fic review #raelle writes

[sixinsultsago]

and you're jumping into the middle of it

Andrew as Medusa & Neil as... Neil

* * *

Imagine:

Someone's pulling a gun, and you're jumping into the middle of it.

You didn't think you'd feel this way.

* * *

The sun sunk low, a purple darkness steadily shaving away at whatever light remained. Neil was running out of time. He'd blown through the only town for miles; after discovering statues of several gods in the middle of town square, Neil knew he couldn't linger. The devout couldn't be trusted, his mother taught him that much.

His feet felt raw. Every step felt like the absolute last he could endure, but rest wasn't an option. If he sat down to catch his breath or rest his bloody soles, the sun would wink it's farewell and Neil would…

Well.

There was a temple at the crest of a hill, bathed in the orange light of sunset like an invitation. As if it was wished there. Mary's cold presence in the back of Neil's head screamed louder — the faithful were puppets, they couldn't help. His chances of surviving were better gambled against the dark.

Neil blocked her out. She wasn't here to see what he saw. The temple was in ruins: moss and vines grew from cracks in the marble and stone, scaling up the walls. Greenery swallowed the large owl carved at the front — the mark of Athena, and the final push for Neil. No one who worshipped Athena would allow that.

This temple was empty.

Neil pushed himself up the hill using willpower alone. Closer, the temple looked even worse. It was definitely in ruins. Neil wasn't sure if it was safe to sleep in, as the roof was cobwebbed with gaps and the heavy stone door was firmly shut.

No, humans couldn't live here, or pray here, or sacrifice here, and no god would lower themselves to walk on the wet, mossy floors.

Neil set his shoulder against the door, pushing until it dragged open. In the silence, the high-pitched groaning of the stone was painfully loud. Inside was empty — no one to disturb out of sleep, this was obvious from the outside. Neil couldn't rest yet. He used flint and steel from his pockets to light every candle he could see, taking paranoid glances out windows to check on the sun, but they were so dirty it was impossible to see out of them. Neil relied on his internal clock and worked faster.

He opened a cut on his arm and wrote protective sigils on the walls to guarantee nothing could come in while he slept. He barely finished when his arm was twisted, and someone slammed Neil into the wall.

“Oh, a visitor! You people never learn."

Neil grunted, trying to throw the person off. They didn't budge an inch. He had to be a demigod, then, or worse — like Lola.

But whoever this was, Neil didn't recognize them. A new lackey? That didn't sound like his father. After all, he kept things in the family, resenting strangers who tried to interfere.

The hissing made Neil freeze. It sounded like… snakes. A lot of snakes.

A puff of breath brushed past him, a facsimile of a laugh. “They did not tell you everything, I see, for the snakes to surprise you. Or did you forget about them? Such stupidity wouldn't be new,"

Neil gritted his teeth. His arm was still bleeding. He could — could — use magic, but his connection to Hecate was diluted. His mother was the witch. Neil's powers were subtler, and useless with the candles lit up and the sunlight runes scattered on the walls. This person spoke as if Neil should know him. So did he?

No. No, he didn't.

“Get off me,” Neil snarled, attempting to jerk his shoulder away.

His nose ground against the stone as he was shoved harder. “Who sent you?”

“What? No one sent me!”

“I am not so stupid to believe you. I said, who sent you?”

“Why would anyone send me? I'm nothing, I was just looking for somewhere to— shit!”

Neil's arm was twisted further. The voice still sounded bored. “I've heard this one before. I am not so generous as to let a stranger sleep in my home only for him to try and kill me in the night. You should give up while you're ahead.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Neil snapped, blindly kicking out his leg. Sadly, he missed. “And I don't know why people keep trying to kill you, but if this is how you greet strangers I'm beginning to understand the urge, asshole!”

A small forked tongue flicked against his cheek. Neil froze, reminded of the snakes. Were they around this man's shoulders? So close? He wouldn't let venomous snakes near his face, would he?

“If you're so confident you don't know who I am,” said the man, mocking, “why not face me?”

Before Neil could comment on the impossibility, he was released. Neil whirled around instantly, eyes cutting to the exit — the heavy door. The windows were covered in vines. Usually his divine blood gave Neil an edge over others, but this person was stronger than him: who knew what else was up his sleeves?

Reminded of the primary threat, Neil looked at his attacker. He was smaller than Neil — a novelty by itself — wearing a chiton made out of dark fabric. He was pale, probably from all the skulking around in the dark he did, Neil thought uncharitably, and had a full head of writhing black-and-yellow tree snakes.

The man stood a safe distance from Neil, arms crossed over his chest. One hand stroked along the leather gauntlets he wore. They looked full. Weapons? Was he armed? Neil's chances of surviving suddenly tasted bitter.

“I told you to face me,” said the man.

“You have — snakes,” said Neil, before viciously biting down on his tongue.

“What about them?” He replied flatly. The snakes let out a discordant cry. “I notice you have not looked me in the eye. Is there a reason? A lack of manners? An awareness?”

An awareness? Neil put that aside to judge later. For now, his sheer need to be contrary won out over self-preservation, and he lifted his chin and stared his attacker in the eyes. They were hazel. Nothing special, but still more striking than Neil's purposeful brown. A gift from his mother: a sheen of magic that covered Neil's real color.

The man flinched back. The snakes grew louder. Neil's question if the man was armed was answered when he found a knife at his throat.

The man peeled his lips back from his teeth, completely feral, yet his voice was controlled when he asked, “Who the fuck are you.”

“No one,” Neil tried, only to try again when the knife cut into him, “Neil! I'm Neil Josten!”

“Which kingdom do you belong to?”

“What — a kingdom?” Neil spluttered, “I've never even seen a castle before.”

“Then you're a pawn of the gods. That makes sense. Who else could be responsible for…” Their eyes met again. Neil couldn't read the flurry of emotions passing through them, but he was wary nonetheless. “You're a demigod, which is obvious. You would have to be just to open the door. Tell me your parent.”

“I'm not a—”

“Would you lie to me with a knife on your jugular?”

Neil would. Lying was something of a bad habit of his. If this man lived in this temple only to let it fall into disrepair, he couldn't be fond of the pantheon. This was Athena's place, one of the sacred. Neil couldn't tell him the truth and hope he'd be intimidated into letting Neil go. In fact, honesty seemed like the surefire way to get his throat sliced open.

So, Neil said, “Momus! My father is — that's him, it's Momus.”

“God of mockery,” he said thoughtfully, “It makes a certain amount of sense. What better way to mock me than to send his curiously immune son to my home?”

“What exactly do you think I'm immune to?” Neil asked, smiling thinly. “Your shitty attitude?”

The man blinked. “I believe you,” He said. The knife slipped back into his gauntlets. Neil couldn't resist. He said, “Do you have sheaths in there, or are you trying to kill yourself?”

“There is no need to convince me further of your parentage.”

“I'm not. I am just pointing it out. So — you aren't going to kill me?”

“That depends. Are you going to kill me?”

Neil shot him a look. “Do I need to in order to get a moment of peace? Because I'd rather avoid it.”

That seemed to do it. The man stepped back again, his body still rigid with tension but not a worrying amount of violence. Neil wasn't in danger unless he put himself there. He jerked his chin over Neil's shoulder, asking, “And what's the story behind your crafts project?”

Neil considered his words carefully. “They are protection runes. To keep people out.”

“You have a need for it?’

“I'm not fond of being hassled, no.”

“Hm. Okay." He tilted his head. Neil didn't enjoy the silhouette. With the snakes and all. "Andrew.”

Neil blinked owlishly. “What?”

“My name, fool. I do have one.”

“Obviously. I just wasn't—” Neil sighed frustratedly. He didn't know what this guy's problem was, but if it meant he could stay the night, Neil could put up with it. He met Andrew’s eyes challengingly. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.”

Andrew's lips curled up. Even that had an edge. The snakes were knotted up, docile, or presenting themselves as such. Neil didn't trust it. Neil didn't trust any of this.

“I have a feeling that you are a pathological liar, Neil Josten.”

Neil, unwilling to risk it, stared emptily back at him. Andrew looked away first, something complicated flashing through his face. “Be out by morning light,” Andrew told him, and stormed into the secluded priest's room, slamming the wooden door behind him. The lock clicking into place echoed.

Nothing more to be done, Neil laid down beneath a bench, and settled in for a restless night's sleep.

#aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #mine #idk?? #medusa au #ngl it feels like a betrayal to write a medusa au when andrew is a boy and medusa is my good old female rage icon #but also it fits his narrative #also i love them #the foxhole court #andreil fic #my fic

[maren-reads-books]

The Raven King by Nora Sakavic

With the Foxes having been hit with a major loss at the very beginning of the season, they have to learn how to cope with one less teammate while preparing for a perilous season. As they familiarize themselves with a less than ideal lineup they prepare themselves as best they can for their first ever game against the Edgar Allen Ravens. With pasts starting to come back to haunt the team they work their way though and try to push past it. As they work hard to succeed they grow closer than ever before and reveal things that never would have come to light if Neil wasn't on the team to stir things up and break boundaries. As they struggle and conquer together on the court and in their lives, the start to become a united front only for the events of the Christmas banquet finally force them apart. Will the team be able to survive or will they crumble under the pressure of their pasts?

--SPOILERS--

This review is a bit long so bear with me. I feel like this book is where the story finally starts to pick up and get interesting, more so later in the book but this book is definitely it. First off, i can't imagine the way the team is feeling after Seth’s death, they all have so many emotional problems (I’m looking at you Neil) that it must've been hard even if they weren't grieving. And I get it, Seth was an asshole and nobody really liked him but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't care about his death, I especially felt bad for Allison, she didn't deserve that. But I think in the long run (not to sound mean) Seth’s death helped bring the team closer together. And then in the midst of all this chaos, Andrew gets a call, the fateful call that will pretty much set up the entire book. It was great to learn more about the twins and their rivalry, but realizing that they’ve really only known each other for a couple of years was crazy, I can't imagine living most of your life not knowing someone was out there wearing your face. And yet they were both destined for crappy childhoods, like how much was fate messing with them huh? And then the decision to let Andrew be off his meds and play for an entire game comes along, that surprised me, but of course my crazy short blond son is willing to play along. And it works, but I'm sure Andrew felt horrible, but they won and that's what really matters, kind of. I know its not super important to the story but this part is important to me, they take Neil shopping. Finally! It seems crazy to me that he’s so resistant to people buying him anything, even something as simple as clothes, which is something that really needed to happen cause jorts? Really Neil? And the Andrew buys them matching phones?! So cute, also foreshadowing. Then the fated fall banquet arrives, where Neil starts to dig his grave deeper and deeper. First we find out that Dan used to be a stripper, but I’m so proud that she’s not ashamed fo what she did and isn’t going to let any stupid Raven get under her skin. And then we meet Jean, who of course goes on to list some of Neil’s other identities and therefore scare the shit out of him. I hated that Neil and subsequently Kevin found out that they knew who he was with all those people around, I can't imagine how that made him feel. And then after a little bit of antagonization from Riko, Neil snaps and gives his iconic, “You know, I get it” speech, like damn. One side of me is like ‘do you want to make things a little bit worse for yourself hunny?’ and the other side of me is like ‘yas go off on this abusive chauvinist asshole’ and then they tell Neil that really all along he wasn't running from his dad, he was running from Riko’s family and it's just like *boom* mic dropped. Again I can't imagine how truly afraid Neil was for his life at that very moment. His conversation about it with Kevin hit me hard, Neil’s been on the run for years, having someone know who he truly is must be the worst feeling ever, but he chooses to stay anyway, my boy has immense courage and probably a death wish but I'm so glad that that's what he chose. One thing I love the most about this book is the fact that Neil starts to form friendships, actual genuine bonds with real good people. It's crazy that he's never had real friends before but I’m glad that he's friends with these people, they're great in a messed up family dynamic kind of way. Learning the rest of the twins story from Nicky made me appalled, what kind of mother, let alone person could give up her kids change her mind but not have enough love or decenty in her heart to take both? Their story hurt my heart like you could not believe. And then Nicky implying that Andrew killed their mother(which he did but whatever) like damn, another mic drop. And then the topic completely changes form murder to ‘hey Nicky why are you gay?’ and Nicky’s answer is just hilariously on point for his character, the way he talks about Erik is just so adorable, I wish we got to see more of Erik in this series. But Nicky’s backstory is so sad! His parents are awful and I can't imagine what he went through before he truly started to love himself. Then their first game against the Ravens arrives. I was so nervous, I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat during this game. And even though they lost I was very proud of them, but I really just wanted to slit Riko’s throat. I hate him with all of my five foot one self. And then its Halloween and Neil (my magical boy) convinces the entire team to go out for drinks together, what an absolute miracle. But it's not all rainbows and sunshine, quite yet. Remember that call that Andrew got at the beginning of the book, well turns out the cop has come for a visit, how wonderful. But it's a very vague scene which again, is vital later in the book. But then we learn about Matt’s backstory. Like wow, lots of tragic backstories in this book amiraight? After Halloween Neil and Renee finally have in my opinion, a much needed heart to heart, or as close to it as two severely damaged people can get. And we get another backstory, wow, I think we're checking pretty much everyone off the list. Also I want to meet Kevin's girlfriend! I want to meet her now! Then another phone call that will set up the rest of this book. Nicky’s parents call to invite them over for Thanksgiving. What a mess, but Andrew, Kevin, Aaron, Nicky, and Neil all pile into the car and take a ride down to see the parents. But not before stopping by the Exy store to get Neil a new racket, which is also another crazy important detail. This book flows so nicely, even if the events that occur aren't nice, everything connects so seamlessly, it's perfect. And then we meet the parents, right off the bat I knew I would hate them and that they were only going to cause problems. Religion is okay, like Nicky says, it is an interpretation of faith, but people like Nicky's parents aren't willing to view it like that and that makes them dangerous, turns out I was right. Luring Andrew to Drake was cruel and horrifying. I hope they get sent away. The way Aaron defended his brother though, that kind of passion for someone you barely know is something that runs in the twins blood and that's the connection that will be vital to repairing their brotherhood. The way Neil tried to comfort Andrew, all that boy wants is to protect him. The description of Andrew being too high to even really process what had just happened to him, and the description of his laugh, it was enough to make me feel nauseous, it was such a descriptive and visceral scene. I don't agree with Aaron being arrested but whatever. But the fact that, after Andrew found out he was being sent away, he had enough trust in Neil to give Kevins care to him, like wow. That's such a big step in the right direction for their relationship. And I'm so gosh dang happy that Andrew is being taken off his meds, if they'd left him on them after what he went through I would have a serious problem. But Neil honey, your racket was used as a murder weapon and you want it back?! Like seriously? My boy needs some help, but he gets a new one so it's fine. Neil’s mission to fix Aaron and Andrew’s relationship? Such pure intentions for a boy with such a broken heart but it really shows how much he cares for these people, he has such a caring heart and has never deserved anything that he's gotten. The scene on page 269, yes I put the page number in there because it's important, when Neil asks the team if they are actually friends. Ugh, my heart did a little song and dance, I’m so happy that my broken boy has friends, and I’m glad that Aaron gets to keep Katelyn around, I like her, she's good for him. But the Christmas banquet arrives and doesn't bring any yuletide cheer with it. First things first, Riko admitted to being the cause of Seth's death, like wow didn't think that was going to happen but he's a cocky asshole so I really should have expected it. Second, he admits to setting up the thing with Drake and then tells Neil that he can have Andrew tortured/raped at his rehabilitation center if Neil doesn't cooperate. And so Neil sets off to Evermore for Christmas break, pretty much sealing his fate meanwhile the only one that knows is Kevin and Kevin can’t say a thing to stop him. I was literally screaming at my book by this point begging him not to go, but he's a stubborn little asshole. Okay, the fact that Riko put him in Kevin's place, was super symbolic of Riko’s insane personality. Then we find out that Kevin’s dad is Wymack? Like, uh, definitely didn't see that one coming, like never in a million years would I have expected that. I can't believe that they beat Neil to a pulp and then expected him to play? They're literally torturing this boy just to get him to play a sport, then Riko pulls out his knife and gets to work, and like Neil says Riko is “one seriously fucked up individual.” And then he’s home, honestly I think it works well that his time at Evermore wasn’t in the book, it makes it feel more real, I don't know how to describe it but it makes it feel like Neil tried to block everything out and then everything comes rushing back once he’s home. The fact that Wymack dropped everything to come and get him really goes to how how much he cares for these kids, they’re his family. Then coach offered to patch him up which was really nice of him but when Neil saw his tattoo and was literally ready to carve it of his face with a kitchen knife, you really get a peek into how much damage they truly did to him and how much he really cares for this team, that he's willing to put himself in danger just in order to stay with them. He's willing to fight his instincts to stay with his family, and that's what bravery looks like in my opinion. As I’ve said before and will say again, I love this series so much and would highly recommend it everyone.

-maren

#maren reads #tfhc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #books #book review #bookworm #bookreview #bookish #YA #YA novels #YA Books #ya fiction #sports book #sports fiction #andrew minyard #neil josten #kevin day #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #allison reynolds #renee walker #david wymack #matt boyd #dan wilds #andreil #exy #aftg #all for the game

[placetobenation]

Welcome to Seinfeld: The PTBN Series Rewatch! On a regular basis, JT Rozzero, Aaron George and Andrew Flanagan will watch an episode of TV’s greatest sitcom and provide notes and grades across a number of categories. The goal is to rewatch the entire series chronologically to see what truly worked, what still holds up today, what feels just a bit dated and yada, yada, yada it will be a great time. So settle into your couch with the cushions flipped over, grab a Snapple and enjoy the ride!

Best Character

JT: I liked Kramer the most here. He had some real funny lines and physical comedy throughout this one. His buried conversation enders are so good, especially slipping in that Newman was sleeping in Jerry’s bed. I also loved the delivery of his “for a fat man” line to Jerry. He was on his game in this one.

Aaron:  You’d think a pile of lesbians were fighting/lovemaking on stage if you were reading my mind, sifting through the depravity and listening to the “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry” chant. In an episode full of characters trying waaaaaay too hard, Jerry delivers with one liner after one liner. Imagine an episode where Jerry Seinfeld is the most grounded of the actors. This is it. Wait till you see the score.

Andrew: I think it was Elaine. The obsession with proving someone wrong, even at great cost to yourself, always gets me. Also, I’m a sucker for Elaine annoying people with a cigar.

Best Storyline

JT: I liked the blood the most. Jerry was annoying at points by being such an ungrateful bitch but he had some good dismissive lines and watching battle the Mandelbaums again was well done. And like I said above, I really enjoyed Kramer and this was the story he lived in for most of the episode. The meat sex stuff had funny moments but not much of a story to it and the Elaine stuff was fine too but didn’t have as many laughs.

Aaron: Polish, sausage, dancing.

Andrew: I’ll go with The Blood. I wasn’t a fan of any of the storylines, really, but the return of the Mandelbaums was my favorite part of the episode.

Ethical Dilemma of the Week

JT: If someone saves your life, you should probably not be a dick to them as soon as later that day.

Aaron: I’m going to go the opposite of JT and ask: even if you’ve saved someone’s life (which us debatable considering they were in a hospital full of blood) how do you live with yourself bringing a sworn enemy literally into someone’s bed? I get that these guys share a lot, but do they not even have a bed for that beast of a mailman to sleep in? If anything Kramer STILL owes Jerry favors for years of mooching and advantage taking. Has he ever borrowed that car without completely destroying it?

Andrew: What is the limit of the obligation when graciously accepting a gift from one’s parents? I’m going to say it’s somewhere short of “tying myself to a car”.

Relationship Scale (Scale 1-10)

JT: Kramer and Jerry, finally brought together by blood. A love made official. Relationship Grade: 3 Pints of Kramer/10

Aaron: George should keep banging that Vivian like a middle aged Neil Peart stuffing his face and trudging his way through YYZ. Relationship Grade: Boun ba ba boun ba baoun baoun baoun, ba ba baoun, ba ba baoun. Baoun badrrruuum. Down da down da down daaaaun. Dawn da down de daoun daounnnnnnn.

Andrew: I know the kid is presented as a burden, but I’m into the George and Vivian pairing. I just like the thought that there is a match for every kink out there. Relationship Grade: 10 sensual cured meats/10

What Worked:

JT: The plum diet seems like a good one; I always mark out for Morty saying “Mister Kramer”; Jerry’s point about responsibility is good one; George’s bus transfer excuse made me laugh; Jerry and George’s conversation about George bailing on Tara was really funny; Kramer going all in on calling Jerry fat in various ways was great; I enjoyed Elaine shoving Kramer into the bushes and smacking him with the broom as he yelped; I liked the payoff with the exacto knife, it was set up well earlier in the episode; Kramer demonstrating how he would rip out his kidney was great; Canadian Parliament; Newman sneaking in to watch the movie; Izzy putting the hurting on Jerry with his training was well done; the sausage making scene is a classic; Jerry calling George “Caligula”; Newman giving Jerry his blood was a good capper

Aaron: All of Jerry’s analysis and pleading with George to, for once think of someone’s else’s needs. The group screaming and Kramer’s messed up justification for needing to store so much blood in a blood bank. As someone who has watched Canadian parliament it busted me up to learn that Kramer not only watches, but records for later viewing. It’s not nearly as polite as one would imagine. Think more childish, with a lot of high pitched voices screeching “MISTER SPEAKER.” George’s series of lies, which inexplicably won over Vivian,  were great and the only thing that felt anywhere in the realm of reality.

Andrew: There’s not much to praise here, story-wise, but the episode still has some memorably great dialog. Kramer’s “for a fat man, you’re not very jolly” is excellent, and George and Jerry have some great back and forth in the diner (“I’m not suggesting getting rid of the girl”, followed by the “needs” line, is the high point for me). Elaine being compelled to prove her responsibility, and getting stuck with a permanent babysitting gig as a result, was well done. I enjoyed seeing the Mandlebaums again, and Kramer’s screen door callback got me.

What Didn’t Work

JT: Tara saying “love making”, eh; Jerry being so insanely afraid of Kramer’s blood was a bit much, just way too over the top; someone should pull a President Lincoln on that kid; I also thought Jerry was really ungrateful for Kramer’s blood, dude saved your life… stop being a bitch; who fucks a random at their kids’ birthday party?; The Izzy voiceovers at the end were terrible; why is Jimmy wearing that hat? Is it 1954?

Aaron: Is Jerry dead? They dragged him for a quarter mile which was way longer than it took to kill that dog in National Lampoon’s Vacation. This whole episode felt fake. If the paragraph above is what I felt worked then you can comfortably put the rest here. I know George has pulled some schemes but are we really to believe that a man whose entire mission in life has been to get laid, is now trading that for food and television? What kind of animal is this man? What’s wrong with Jerry? I get he’s a germaphobe, but he can’t be in a building with blood. A building???? Elaine would rather raise a child than tell a woman she barely seems to know or care about that she hates her son. Her son might be the most hateable character in western civilization. Even Kramer felt forced. I get he’s dumb, but blood in a car? Come on writers. Do better. I don’t want to go on any more. This was a mess. Also Mandelbaum sucked the high hard one.

Andrew: Vivian is wearing a gray pantsuit the first two times we see her, which seems pretty unimaginative. The dubbing of Mr. Mandlebaum’s dialogue at the end has always seemed really distracting to me.

Key Character Debuts

– Vivian

Iconic Moments, Running Themes & Memorable Quotes

– “That’s why we joined a program. We walk once around the block three times a week.” – Helen “And every morning I eat a plum.” – Morty

– “Did you give blood?” – Jerry “No, not giving. hoarding. I’m storing it in to a blood bank. Just in case.” – Kramer “In case of what?” – Jerry “Jerry, I know myself. If I’m out on the street and it’s starts to go down, I don’t back off until it’s finished.” – Kramer

– “I know, I’m glad I got to see him before he hit puberty and got, you know all lurchy and awkward.” – Elaine

– “Who wants to responsible? When ever anything goes wrong, the first thing they ask is: who’s responsible for this?” – Jerry

– “So, she didn’t appreciate the erotic qualities of the salted cured meats?” – Jerry “She tolerated the strawberries and the chocolate sauce, but eh, it’s not a meal, you know? Food and sex, those are my two passions. It’s only natural to combine them.” – George

– “Maybe instead of trying to satisfy two of your needs, how about satisfying one of somebody else’s.” – Jerry

– “You know, for a fat guy you’re not very jolly.” – Kramer

– “You? I’m more responsible than you are!” – Elaine “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to fill my freezer with my own blood.” – Kramer

– “Oh yeah, you’ve got three pints of Kramer in you, buddy.” – Kramer

– “She’s right, I heard Kramer got mugged out on the suburbs on a baby-sitting gig.” – Kramer

– “So, my blood is not enough. Would you like a kidney too, because I’ll give it to you? I’ll rip it out right here and stack it on the table!” – Kramer

– “So, the free love buffet is over?” – Jerry “I got greedy. Flew too close to the sun on wings of pastrami.” – Jerry “Yeah, that’s what you did…I can’t believe I got another session with Izzy Mandelbaum, he’s probably makes me box a kangaroo.” – Jerry

– “All right, Even Steven. Oh, by the way, when you get back to your apartment try to keep it down because Newman is taking a nap in your bed.” – Kramer

– “Yes it is. I find the pastrami to be the most sensual of all the salted cured meats. Hungry?” – Vivian

Oddities & Fun Facts

– Lloyd Bridges was nominated for an Emmy for his role as Izzy Mandelbaum

Overall Grade (Scale 1-10)

JT: This wasn’t the strongest episode we have watched and did fade at the end but there is some quality dialogue peppered all through this one. It is definitely an episode carried on the back of actors that know their characters and relationships on a top notch, deep level because it was often the timing and delivery that made the big lines pop. The Mandelbaum return was a nice surprise but that really just kind of ends too, as do all of the stories here. Nothing quite paid off in a satisfying way. Also, that stupid fucking hat that Vivian’s kid had on was obnoxious. Fuck him. I am off to box a kangaroo. Final Grade: 6/10

Aaron: This episode sucked. It felt like a different show devoid of the characters we know and love. The writing was forced and I feel worse for having watched this one. Final Grade: 1/10

Andrew: I didn’t really care for this one. None of the storylines do it for me, which makes it hard for me get into the episode. And there are no big moments to make up for the less-than-inspired writing. But there are some genuine laughs and quality dialogue to be found, so the episode isn’t a complete disaster. Final Grade: 6/10

#IFTTT #Place to Be Nation

[humongousvoidbear]

-You know how we all lose our shit whenever Neil kisses Andrew’s neck? Now imagine Andrew kissing Neil’s neck.

-It happens the first time when they meet each other after a month of being apart cos of their new team schedules.

-Andrew had been like the sharp edge of a glass the whole time, cutting everyone who annoyed him

-Just cos Neil wasn’t there to dull the edges

-Neil on the other hand was obvs a Mess™

-Like he’s anxious most of the time. The only time he feels right is when he’s on the Court or if he’s talking to Andrew

-They both hate the fact how dependent they’ve become on each other. Hate it more than the plague. They know it’s dangerous. Letting someone in. Letting one person know all your secrets. Missing someone. These kind of feelings aren’t for them. Then why can they not stop thinking about how long they’ve not seen or kissed the other?

-Neil knocks on Andrew’s door after that terrible month.

-Andrew is clothed in black and he’s wearing sweats. Some part of Neil’s heart clenches.

-Andrew is shook™ when he sees Neil but obvs he has a reputation to maintain and just asks, “What are you doing here?” I love my little asshole

-And Neil replies, “I’m not even surprised that’s your first question.”

-And he shoulders past Andrew and enters the flat.

-On the TV a rerun of one of Neil’s matches is going on. Andrew switches it off.

-“What’s wrong?”, Andrew asks. He can’t understand why Neil’s here. Can’t believe why someone would come to see him when they’re not invited.

-But Neil is looking at him with his blue eyes.

-And his eyes are so alive Andrew wants to rip them out so that Neil stops looking at him like that

-And Andrew hates the burst of feeling in his chest

-Wants to carve it out of his fucking chest

-And Neil starts walking towards him

-And Andrew is as still as stone

-And Neil’s hands are threading through his hair “Yes or no?” “Yes.”, Andrew replies.

-And then they’re kissing. It wouldn’t matter if the world was burning but the thing is, their world is burning. Burning with everything unsaid and everything they aren’t feeling

-And Andrew breaks the kiss

-He’s not felt this much in so long

-And his head drops down on Neil’s shoulder

-And Neil’s rests against Andrew’s

-Neil’s neck is right there. So Andrew turns his head by a fraction and touches his lips to it

-And Neil just stops

-Cos this is so much more than they had bargained for. This is crossing boundaries and signing treaties. This is Andrew, a man who fought so hard for this nothing, who would burn the world for the man in front of him, even if it destroys him to the very core, kissing his neck. It wasn’t supposed to be this. But it is bliss.

-And Neil breathes out “Again.”

-And Andrew complies.

((send me prompts!!)

#andrew kissing neil's neck makes me feel things #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #nora sakavic #hc

[mixeurants]

Devil wears Prada AU - TFC

Neil is on the run from his father, the owner of the biggest fur farm industry by day, butcher of Baltimore by night.

Neil is full of dark secrets he doesn't plan to ever reveal, but growing up as a fugitive is tiring, and Neil considers taking a break for a while, only a few months, nothing more. He finds a quiet place with Matt an Dan, through a crumpled ad pined to a board at the diner where he's waiting for the night to end.

It will have to be enough for what he needs. It’s only a place in an old sofa, crammed in a corner of the main room of their apartment. He doesn’t mind not having a room of his own, since they have a safe he can use to store his few belongings.  They don ‘t give him an explanation as to why they have one, in such a shitty place, and he doesn’t inquire. In fact, not a lot of information is exchanged between them. All he knows is that they badly need the money, and he badly needs to stop and just… Pretend to live for some time.

He doesn’t want them to ask questions or to start preying about his personal life, and they don’t. He’s content just getting up in the morning and go on a run until he comes back for lunch with Matt (who never stops acting friendly, and that’s something he can’t allow himself to question, because it seems like a can of worms he’ll be content staying far away from).

But that’s until Matt and Dan take it upon themselves to meddle with how he occupies his day.

« You’ve gotta have something to occupy yourself with !

-I do. I run.

-See ? That’s exactly what I mean. »

Neil really doesn’t, but he ends up giving up, too tired to keep arguing, and hoping deep inside that they’re right and an occupation is what’s missing in his life. So when later that day Dan mentions the assistant who got fired earlier that morning, Neil wonders aloud if he could apply for the job. His quiet words are followed by a sudden hush at the dinner table, Matt and Dan both looking at him with huge eyes, before erupting into laugher.

« You don’t even know where we work !

-I know what being an assistant means. You just have to answer the phone and take notes, bring coffee cups sometimes… Right ?

-Omg, Neil…

-Besides, you wanted me to get a job or something, right ?

-I did, but, that’s… Really not what I meant. 

-Neil, we work for a fashion magasine.

-Yeah, and ? »

Dan and Matt look at each other before eyeing Neil from head to toe, bending themselves over the table to do so. He doesn’t usually care about the way he looks like, besides checking his hair each morning to see if the roots are showing, but Neil stills feels a little insulted by their pointed stares.  Maybe that’s why he decides to present himself the next morning anyway, following Dan and Matt after they get ready for the day. They’ve ended up laughing about it together, joking about the drastic change Neil will make once inside Runway’s walls. Dan gently suggested he puts on « something less ragged », but she abandonned quickly after Neil answered that his other jean was in the drier in a flat voice.  

Once inside, Matt gives them a quick wave before going his way, and Dan takes Neil by the arm, both as a sign to follow her and a way to indicate that he was with her. She pushes him into a pristine, white office after a seemingly endless elevator ride. Her gaze instantly focuses on him, and while Dan and Matt’s made him slightly uncomfortable, hers only makes anger slowly rise inside himself.

« What is that.

-That is Neil, our roommate. And I need you to make us a huge favor, he wants to postulate as Day’s assistant.

-You are joking, right ? » she says after a long silence.

A few minutes of intense pleading and a bet later, Neil is led to the last floor of the building and left there by Alisson, who is « very busy » and has « no time for charity work ». Not for too long tho, because a tiny blond man enters shortly after, makes a beeline for the desk in front of Neil, sits down, takes a sip of the huge cup of coffee in his hand and finally looks at Neil, like he’d known he was there all along but simply couldn’t bother to care about it.

« Are you lost or something ? Go bother someone else about it.

-Alisson told me to wait here.

-That’s great. I don’t care. »

 Eventually Kevin gets in and apparently, that’s the guy who badly needs a competent assistant and « really is that so much to ask for ? »

That’s also a ghost from Neil’s past, and he might have sprinted away if not for the clear signs that Kevin has absolutely no memories of him. After some time spent monologuing about the incompetence of people these days, he finally focuses on Neil.

« Who’s that ? 

-A homeless hobo, obviously. I’m calling Seth to take care of him, Andrew answers.

-No, wait. »

Even Neil is surprised. Kevin quickly assesses Neil’s state of being, before asking a few questions. How fast can you run ? Do you think you could get downstairs faster than the elevator right now ? How long can you hold your breath ? Could you cut the line at the coffeeshop in case of emergency ? Even if that means pushing an old man on the floor ?

This is probably the strangest interview Neil’s been a part of, no matter it being his first one. He must do okay tho, because an hour later he’s sent to his first errand, despite Andrew’s exasperated lack of expression. Neil does notice Alisson slipping Matt some bills at the end of the day.

« So you got in ? No one believed it, you know, he tells him happily. How was it ? 

-Horrible. Kevin is a nightmare.

-You finally give up, then ?

-Are you kidding ? Of course not. »

He strides forward and misses the incredulous look on Matt’s face.

 ·         After a few weeks spent running in circles to complete Kevin’s impossible requests, Neil is taken aside by Nicky, who’s in charge of the mail and the Love Advice pages.

« Here, take this, he says giving Neil a huge bag apparently full of clothes. You should start wearing this starting tomorrow. There’s a lookbook, in case you don’t know how to wear some of it. » His face clearly says that Neil will be in desesperate need of that book.

« Thanks, but I already have clothes. Besides, if Kevin is unhappy about it, he can tell me himself.

-Oh, that’s… Don’t tell him I said it, but it’s actually from Andrew. Apparently he’s tired of seeing a dumpster on legs everyday, his words. In fact, I should beg you to wear them, I might be in danger if you don’t, » he adds, laughing.

Neil doesn’t quite know what to think of it, because Andrew seems to almost go to some extremes to show how much he doesn’t care about him. He wouldn’t have thought more about it though, if not for Nicky’s next words.

« He also asked that you stop wearing contacts, since you apparently don’t need correction ? » In his defense, Nicky does look sorry for Neil to out him like this. It doesn’t stop the chill Neil feels from following him on his way home.

  ·         Riko is editor-in-chief of the European branch of Runway, which is awfully close to Neil’s past for his own comfort. Closer, much closer than Neil might think, in fact. It shouldn’t be a problem, but then Kevin spends the whole day without getting out of his office, alternating between yelling at people on the phone and not-so-secretly downing shots. Neil would be happy about not seeing him all day, if not for Andrew mentionning in a sarcastic tone that he’s unhappy about being forced to add a section on the latest fur trend, and how « lovely » the reunion with Riko will be on that particular photoshoot.

Neil can put two and two together easily enough.

  ·         Wymack is the budget manager. Matt actually works the lighting on photoshoots, with Dan as a hairstylist. Alisson is the trend tracker and main designer. Renee, a quiet, nice girl Neil can’t bring himself to trust, is the official photograph of Runway. Neil also learns that, apparently, Andrew has a brother who’s dating one of the models ? Nicky tells him, as an explanation for the unbearable tension everytime Andrew walks into a room with one of the models, no matter which one.

He doesn’t actually understand Andrew’s job, at first. On paper, he’s supposed to be « the first assistant » to Kevin, but Neil never saw him doing any assisting. In fact, Andrew seems to make it a rule to always do the exact opposite of what is asked of him. He does answer the phone, but it’s a wonder to Neil how Runway can function when Andrew is so impolite during everycall that surely he’s sent more that one investor running in fury.

  ·         One night, when Neil’s tired enough to actually close his eyes and accidentally falls asleep after a whole day of running around to satisfy Kevin’s every desire, he’s suddenly jostled awake by the sound of a box slammed on his desk.

He lifts his head with some difficulties and is faced with a soup countainer and Andrew retreating to his own chair. He doesn’t look at him and goes back to his card games on his computer while telling him to eat before it gets cold. Neil has indeed skipped his lunch and dinner, as his stomach reminds him by growling, and it’s already past 2am. He certainly didn’t think Andrew would have noticed. In the end, he’s too hungry and thankful to question it further ? Things are back to normal the next day anyway, with Andrew scowling at him furiously when Neil greets him.

#tfc #andreil #the foxhole court #tfc fanfic #tfc prompt

[lanayrusea]

aftg gift exchange!

@callron hi i’m your person! i have no idea if this is what you wanted but it’s what i wrote so i hope you like it!! i tried to focus on neil since you said you love him (i also love him), plus renison. (also: i use v minimal japanese in this but in case anyone comes for me, just kno i’ve been studying it for six years. i still make mistakes all the time though lol)

ok please enjoy!! @aftgexchange

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning.

It was not a death match. They were not playing a nemesis, or even a friendly rival. They were not playing anyone they knew. It was a Japanese team from Fukuoka touring the States for practice, or fun, or murder. They were one of the first official college Exy teams on record, and had sent an astonishingly high percentage of their players to the Olympics. Kevin had nearly cried when Jeremy told him they shredded USC.

Simply, they were out of the Foxes’ league.

They would have stood a chance, Neil thought, with Andrew in goal, but Andrew was currently out of commission. No one was quite sure how he’d done it, but the monster had somehow managed to contract pneumonia. He was over the worst of it and had returned from the hospital, but still refused any drugs beyond those that were absolutely necessary. Wymack nearly blew a gasket the last time Andrew opened his mouth to complain about being sick. It hadn’t been pretty.

So Andrew was on house arrest, or Fox Tower arrest. Renee had filled in seamlessly during the local scrimmages scheduled that week, but Neil could tell the team had silently come to terms with the fact that their match against Fukuoka would be, in all likelihood, a wreck.

It was not a game meant for winning.

Even so, Neil began to feel his usual nerves in the hours before the match, though there was nothing at stake other than the Foxes’ largely nonexistent dignity. The game wasn’t even going to be broadcasted. From a spectator’s perspective, Neil figured, if you were going to watch your team get slaughtered, it might as well be by another team you knew. Losing to strangers was just embarrassing. And you couldn’t say, Oh, next time. At this point, the only thing keeping the Foxes in the game at all was their determination, as always, to put up a good fight. Wymack had little to say during their pre-game meeting—mumbled something or other about pyrrhic victory—and set Dan on them instead.

“If we can do anything,” she said, “we can make them remember what it cost.”

Renee nodded and said sensibly, “When you put down a dog, the dog still bites.”

For a moment the Foxes stood frozen, then glanced around at each other, all wearing the same expression: Did she really just say that? Am I nuts?

Allison was the first to recover. “Renee, sweetest, we’ll work on your analogies. Dan, don’t worry. We’ll give ’em hell.”

“Do the Japanese have hell?” asked Nicky.

“I will box your ears,” said Kevin evenly, though the question hadn’t been directed at him.

“Do it after the match, Queen Elizabeth,” said Dan. “Okay. We all know our jobs. Renee: don’t even worry about what happens past half-court. Backliners: work extra hard. Neil: dance. Kevin—” He shot her a vicious look, but she didn’t back down. “Don’t overwork your left hand. It’s not worth it.”

Wymack made a noise of agreement. Kevin bristled but said nothing.

“If you need to get mad, get mad. Fuck it, you should already be mad—this is plain unfair. They’re three times our size. There’s no stakes in terms of our actual season, so if you need to punch someone, just make sure I don’t beat you to it.”

Appreciative laughter.

“I know our hopes aren’t high,” Dan said, “especially after hearing what they did to Kevin’s idol—”

Several people said several different things at once. Dan powered through.

“—but I still think we have a chance offensively. Defense: every pass you guys intercept, every shot you block will be a victory, and it’ll make victory against the blockheads in our league that much easier. Neil, Kevin: I want three goals each from you.”

“And?” Neil said, knowing what had to be coming.

“And,” Dan continued, “I know threats of extra drills and runs don’t scare you, you masochistic bastards, so if you don’t score enough, you’ll take turns in goal during our next scrimmage and let Renee and the monster laugh all they like.”

Neil’s jaw dropped. Nicky hooted. Wymack was grinning.

“That’s how it’s going to be?” said Kevin. He sounded riled, which, Neil realized, was probably exactly what Dan wanted.

She smiled. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

“Goddamn,” muttered Matt.

“Keep it together, Boyd,” said Allison.

Dan clapped once, and suddenly everyone was back at attention. “Alright, you heathens! I think it’s time we light this thing. We have nothing to lose, so let’s play like it. Hell—let’s make this the one game Andrew actually wishes he’d played. Renee, have I told you recently I adore you?”

“I adore you too, Dan.”

“Lovely. Coach?”

Wymack stood. “Dan Wilds, you’re a phenomenon. Strikers, that was no joke she just pulled. Three goals apiece. Get out there.”

Neil was going to have to ask Andrew about basic goalkeeping strategy.

The team from Fukuoka emerged onto the court at the same time, carrying their helmets under their arms as though to mirror the Foxes. They were called Hakuchō, the Swans. (“Their mascot is a swan? Isn’t that a little…underwhelming?” “Underwhelming? Have you ever met a swan?” “Have I ever met a swan?” “They’re vicious! They don’t give a shit whether you live or die!” “Are you implying that a swan has tried to kill you?” “Listen, those fuckers come out of nowhere.” “Are we all hearing this? Confirmation of Nicky Hemmick’s near-death-by-swan experience?” “DAN, ALLISON’S BEING MEAN TO ME!”) They looked impeccably prepared; their drills were immaculate. There was a certain quiet about them, too, the kind that came from confidence, not from lack of volume. The thought arose suddenly in Neil’s head: I want us to be that good.

He glanced at Kevin, who was grim with anticipation. Neil knew he felt the same.

Warmups went by fast. Neil listened to the Swans talk to each other, getting a feel for the easy, even sound of the Japanese language when it wasn’t coming out of the mouth of a mob boss. It was a stark contrast to all the languages he knew, which seemed to lean more heavily on consonants. Japanese sounded open-mouthed. He was listening to them rattle off calls and signals when familiar laughter caught his attention.

Neil looked around. Who—?

It was Kevin. He was a few meters from Neil, doing stretches he had made up for his left arm, but he had completely abandoned them and was now leaning on his racquet, stifling laughter. There were also two Swans nearby, looking bewildered. To Neil’s surprise, Kevin caught his breath and spoke to them.

He had completely forgotten Kevin spoke Japanese.

How did I forget something like that?

Neil was about to grab Kevin and get him away from the poor Swans, but unexpectedly, they began to laugh, too. He caught one word that sounded like English: pudding.

From near the goal, Allison said loudly, “I can’t believe it! The queen bitch is making friends!”

From near the Vixens, Aaron said, “Is he dying?”

Katelyn said, giggling, “Aaron.”

A whistle blew, and Kevin and the two Swans left for their respective sides of the court with a last grin. Neil jogged a few paces to catch up with him.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kevin said, then snickered. “God, I can’t even look at you.”

“Me?” Neil ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. The week before, he had run out of shampoo and, out of desperation, used some from an unlabeled travel bottle, discovering a split-second too late that it was old hair dye. He managed to scrub out most of it before it took, but his roots were still tinged brown. Allison had lent him some of her fancy princess shampoo in the meantime (“vegan, of course”), and now he smelled like mint and coconut. (Somehow, it didn’t exude the same kind of power on him as it did on Allison.) But he had thought the team was over teasing him about that.

“Strikers, get to your positions!”

That was Dan—she had lost the coin toss. They put on their helmets and hustled.

“It’s alright,” Neil heard Matt say. “This is still a game, folks! We can’t get discouraged.”

“Yeah,” said Nicky. “Instead, just think of how shitfaced Kevin’s going to get tonight and how funny it’ll be when he drunk dials Jeremy.”

Even Renee laughed at that one.

The whistle blew.

First half was a fiasco. Dan was ready to kill Aaron, who had maybe never cared less about the score of a game, but she stayed furiously silent during their halftime meeting. Matt was breathing hard; he had been running almost as much as the strikers. Allison had undone the numerous braids Renee used to keep her short hair out of her face and now combed her fingers through the waves of it. Renee did not speak or move the whole time, except to drink. She was conserving her energy.

Neil had scored two goals. Kevin had scored one. They were down three.

“Three,” Wymack said upon their entrance, “is not fucking bad.”

“It’s not good,” Kevin shot back.

“Whose fault is that?” said Allison.

“Everyone’s,” Matt said forcefully, before Kevin and Allison could get to each other’s throats. “That’s why it’s called a team.”

“Boyd’s right,” said Wymack. “There’s not enough incentive here. I was pessimistic before, and that was a mistake on my part, but I really think we can put a dent in these guys’ ego. There might not be any camera crews or flashing lights, but I’ve seen the reporters. They’re watching you. They’d be stupid not to.”

Aaron muttered something unintelligible. Neil and Dan glared at him.

“Look,” Wymack continued, “they’re everything we knew they’d be. They’re strong, they’re fast, there’s a fucking million of them. Defense, you’re doing great, but I need more from you. Aaron Michael Minyard, do not test me.”

Aaron scowled.

“Renee,” said Wymack, “I know you can give me more. I’ve watched you work for years now, and I can tell when you’re holding back.”

Renee allowed herself a small smile. It occurred to Neil that maybe she had been waiting for this—for the rest of her teammates to wake up.

Wymack looked around at them. “That goes for all of you. Where’s your effort? Neil, I know how fast you are. Kevin—one goal? Really?”

Kevin flushed angrily and opened his mouth.

“No!” Wymack interrupted. “Offense, you are where our win lies. Don’t just stand there looking surly. Show these assholes you’re the team that’s come out on top, time and time again. Knock them over the head with it. So what they’re incredible? They’re not expecting a challenge. And so far, you’re not giving them one.”

Neil knew he was right. Dan looked ashamed.

Wymack sighed. “You’ve played this game before, Foxes. You’ve played this exact game. How many damn times, I’ve lost count. Don’t make me start thinking you’ve gotten soft.” After a moment, he sneered. “How come no one’s thrown a punch yet?”

Allison grinned wolfishly. She was re-braiding Renee’s hair with deft, confident fingers. “Great point, Coach. Hemmick, don’t let them walk on you.”

Nicky looked startled to be addressed. “Hey, I’m a lover.”

Neil suddenly felt more awake. “No, Nicky,” he said, “she’s right. Their number four—”

“Kobayashi,” said Kevin.

They stared at him.

He shrugged. “That’s what it says on her jersey.”

Neil turned back to Nicky. “She’s taking advantage of your delayed left turn. Your weight’s not evenly distributed. I’m not saying fix it right now,” he added quickly, “I’m just saying don’t let her use it.”

“Switch spots with me,” Matt suggested. “You’ll have to pay closer attention to Renee but I’ll bet the advantages compile. We’ll see if we can trip them up.”

Nicky clicked his tongue. “Carpe fucking diem.”

Dan finally spoke. “Maybe we can turn this into a good thing,” she said thoughtfully. “They were wary of us at first, or at least our reputation, but now they think we’re no hot shit. They’re too good to let their guard down completely, but if we come out hard and fast maybe we can rip a hole in it.”

Neil nodded. “They won’t know what hit them. If they’re too shocked to respond for even just a minute, we can own the rest of the game.”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Well, we can,” he said pointedly, then glanced from Aaron to Allison and Renee.

Allison stiffened. “Yes, Highness?”

Neil said, “Kevin” at the same time Renee said, “Allie.”

“No fighting,” said Dan. “Defense is pulling their weight, and if they need help, I can always fill in. They’ve certainly blocked more shots on goal than we’ve made at this point.”

Warning whistle. The Foxes started putting their helmets back on.

“Now’s the time,” said Wymack. “They’re not invincible. Win it right now or go home and tell Andrew how lousy you are without him.”

Everyone groaned.

Wymack grinned. “That’s my Foxes.”

By all accounts, it was not a game meant for winning. But when had the Foxes ever listened to anyone else’s account?

It was not an important game. It didn’t determine their spot in a bracket. The only people who watched it live were there in person. Their opponent was an elite team from Japan whose business it was to slaughter anyone they were put up against. The reporters made sure to put all of it in their columns—maybe the USC Trojans had a rough day, or maybe the PSU Foxes got lucky for the thousandth time in a row. But there was nothing in it for them, and they still tried their damnedest.

And the Foxes still won.

That Renee Walker, one of the journalists said to another, shaking her head. I’m stunned.

I know, said the other. And we thought Minyard was scary.

Neil’s head was a blur by the time the buzzer screamed at him to stop running. He felt like he had been playing against USC again—it was ridiculously unfair how good these people were while still being so sportsmanlike. He was mad that he couldn’t be mad at them. They were so courteous. How could someone be courteous while ramming you into the floor with an Exy racquet?

Needless to say, no one threw any punches.

The Foxes got better every passing moment of the second half, but so did Fukuoka. Neil had been right: they returned to the game with just enough force to shake their opponent’s ground without blowing themselves out. And the Swans retaliated. Just as he began to recognize some of their strategy calls, they stopped using them. Kevin wasn’t playing like he was bored anymore. Aaron wasn’t playing with one eye shut.

And Renee. God, had she woken up. She was a queen on her throne and her soldiers let no one usurp her.

The final score was 8-7, and the last goal was Neil’s.

It was like waking up from a dream. He could see his teammates yelling something to him but the stadium was so loud he couldn’t hear them. He leaned on his racquet for a moment, then ran for the congregation at half-court. Kevin came up behind him and smacked him on the shoulder so hard he tripped. Dan’s laughter cut through the commotion.

“Kevin!”

“Sorry!”

Kevin helped him to his feet and ruffled his half-dyed hair. Neil swatted Kevin’s hand away, grinning, and then they were shoving each other around and then they were at half-court, and Matt was practically suffocating him, and he could hear Katelyn calling after Aaron and Wymack saying, “Natalie Renee Walker!” Matt released him to hug Nicky and he was immediately seized by Dan, who said, “Neil, you devil!” and let him go just in time for them to see Allison grab Renee’s face, pull her from the throng of Foxes, and kiss her full on the mouth. Unless he was much mistaken, the cheering intensified.

When Allison pulled away, Renee looked more flustered and more pleased than Neil had ever seen her, but she also looked like she was about to faint. Breathlessly, she said, “Allie, I love you—but I’m never playing like that again.”

Allison laughed and swept Renee off her feet.

Behind them, Nicky was laughing at Kevin’s expression so hard Neil thought he might fall over. Kevin looked dumbfounded.

“You, uh…okay?” Neil asked him.

All Kevin could say was, “Wow.”

“Nicky,” said Matt, “are you breathing?”

Nicky managed, “He had no fucking idea.”

They lined up for handshakes (Allison almost carried Renee through), then began to head back to the locker rooms. Neil was following Matt in to hear Wymack and get changed when someone called his number.

“Ten! Short boy!”

Neil whirled around to see Swan four, one of the starting strikers, jogging over to him. Kobayashi, Kevin had called her. She offered him a quick bow of the head and said, in lightly accented English, “Sorry for laughing at you, Josten. Before the game started.”

“That’s what that was about?” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I look ridiculous.”

“We have a word for that in Japan,” she said. “Purin-atama. It means ‘pudding-head.’ In Japan pudding comes with chocolate on top and vanilla on bottom, like your hair. But usually we do it on purpose. That’s what is funny.”

Neil grinned. It was funny. “Thanks for telling me. I’ve been called worse names.”

“Your team is amazing,” Kobayashi said. “I’m so surprised we lost! And you’re really fast.”

“Kevin is better,” he said, then clarified, “Number two.”

“Oh, he is good. When I sat on the bench I just watched him. His Japanese is pretty good, too. I was surprised he speaks.”

Neil almost said, I was, too, but caught himself. “He doesn’t use it much. I’m not sure he likes it.”

“Really? If he teaches me some drills I can teach him some curse words. He seems interested enough.”

Kobayashi glanced over his head, and Neil followed her gaze. Kevin was indeed watching them, not surreptitiously at all. His frown disappeared when he saw them looking back.

“Come on, kid!” he called, feigning nonchalance.

“Looks like they need me,” Neil said. “Good game, Kobayashi.”

“Otsukaresama,” she said with a smile and a nod. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, Ten. My team says we want to meet that infamous goalkeeper of yours.”

Neil laughed. “Oh, him.”

“Yes, him. They tell us you two are—what’s the polite way to say? ‘Involved’? Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s in bed with a bad cold because he refuses to take his medicine.”

Kobayashi smirked. “He’ll be in bed with more than that when we’re through with him.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Until next time?”

“Count on it.”

She gave him a two-fingered salute and returned to her Swans. And Neil returned to his Foxes.

#the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg #tfc #aftgexchange #callron #my posts

[markonasurface]

13/50 - “How can anyone not be afraid of love?”

Fandom: All for the Game/The Foxhole Court Characters/pairings: Neil, Andrew, Kevin, Nicky, Matt/andreil Summary:

A/N: Hope this is okay. I’ve been sleeping a lot so I tried to write this in between during the time I was awake so I hope it’s coherent? Also, I think I’m pleased with the last half or fourth or whatever of the fic. Like, pretty darn pleased. I hope you are, too.

Neil grabbed Andrew’s hand, still reveling in the fact that he was allowed to touch him. He followed him the short distance to the door, ignoring the looks passed between teammates.

“Stay,” Andrew said.

“Why?” Neil tilted his head and leaned in close.

“We won, the team is getting along, they’re celebrating.”

Neil furrowed his brows. “But you’re leaving.”

Andrew shrugged, unbothered. “I’m just tired. I’m going to sleep.”

“Me, too.”

“Stay.”

“Andrew.”

He stared Neil down until finally admitting, “I think I’m getting a cold. If I get you sick, Kevin might kill me.”

Neil snorted. “Okay, yeah.” He grabbed the back of Andrew’s head and pulled him close. Despite his words, Andrew kissed him back, hands coming up to rest on Neil’s waist. Neil pushed his shoulder gently and Andrew stepped back so that his back was pressed to the door.

“Get a room!” Nicky called and Andrew immediately put a hand up between Neil and himself.

The others joined in the teasing and Neil rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”

He turned back to Andrew and kissed him quickly. “Text me if you need anything.” When Andrew paused Neil rolled his eyes again. “I know what’s taking you so long. You’re deciding between ‘I won’t need anything’ and ‘when’s the last time your phone was even on?’”

Andrew cocked an eyebrow and Neil kissed him again. “I’ll come check on you soon.” He kissed him once more because he could, then opened the door to let him out.

Aaron and Katelyn were standing outside the dorm room with some other Vixens and Neil left the door agape. He went back to where the others sat on couches, drinking and listening to music.

“Oh, Neil, I love you!” Nicky cried dramatically, hanging off a freshman girl.

She pulled his face close to hers and breathed, “Andrew! I love you!”

“We don’t sound like that,” Neil said dully. “We’ve never said those words either so it’s all just really inaccurate.”

He sat next to Kevin, who as usual decided to seclude himself with his drinks. He didn’t want the conversation to dwell on their kisses but Nicky looked offended.

Finally, Neil said, “What?”

“You’ve been together for nearly a year!” Nicky said.

“So?” Neil fidgeted uncomfortably.

Matt ruffled Neil’s hair from behind and asked, “What are we talking about?”

“Neil and Andrew.”

“Oh, this should be good,” Dan slurred. She picked up her drink off a table and clumsily made her way over.

“What about them?” Matt pressed.

“They haven’t said I love you, yet,” Nicky whined.

Matt cursed. “Fuck! Dammit, Neil.”

“What now?” Neil asked impatiently.

“He just lost a hundred dollars,” Allison informed him cooly.

“Fuck off.”

“Neil, it’s been a year,” Nicky tried to squeeze in between Neil and Kevin. Kevin tried to shove him off.

Matt rested his chin on top of Neil’s head. “After seeing you guys after Baltimore. You know. When he wrapped you up and presumably bathed with you?”

Neil felt his face turn red. “What?”

“I bet you’d already said it.”

“What?” Neil spluttered. “Why would you do that?”

He felt Matt shrug. “He showered in our room. He came out wearing your clothes.”

Neil looked around the room, suddenly very aware of the audience they had acquired. There was a scale in Neil’s mind of Kevin to strangers. It varied sometimes, but most of the time it went Neil, Neil and Andrew, Kevin, Matt Nicky Aaron, the girls, the freshmen, the Vixens, complete strangers. He didn’t know if his scale measured uncomfortableness or just stated the fact of who was there but at the moment he didn’t care because they were at complete strangers.

“It’s not your business,” Neil said and shoved Nicky off of his and Kevin’s laps. “Leave me alone.”

Matt gave his hair one last pat before going off with Dan to his room. Kevin waited until everyone had stopped staring and started drinking and dancing before glancing at Neil.

In slurred and poorly conjugated French that took Neil a few extra seconds to decipher, he said, “You love each other though. That’s why the others are so surprised. It’s obvious.”

Neil considered ignoring Kevin, too, but gave in to his curiosity. “Is it?”

“Of course it is,” Kevin said fiercely. “You obviously have never seen the way you look at him.”

Kevin studied the contemplative look on Neil’s face. “Did you not realize that you love him?”

Neil pursed his lips. He grabbed the drink from Kevin’s hand and took a sip. He considered his words carefully. “I don’t think I know what - I - do you love Thea?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I risked punishment from Riko and the Master,” Kevin said. “I never stop thinking about her. I want to see her on the court but I also want to see her off the court? I don’t think I’m making any sense right now.”

Neil handed Kevin back his drink. “Too drunk for this conversation in - not English.” The last two words he spoke in English and Kevin gave him a rare smile.

“I’ll crash - here on the couch - or in Aaron’s bed.” Kevin looked around until he spotted the twin. “Looks like he’ll be going home with Katelyn tonight.”

Neil stood up and Kevin said, “Love is hard for us. Our pasts don’t mean we were never meant to find it. It’s a-a-a shiko (試行) - uh, shiren (試練). Not love - our - fuck -”

“I don’t speak Japanese, Kevin,” Neil reminded him without any heat. “Goodnight.”

“Oyas - bonne nuit!”

Andrew was blowing his nose when Neil locked the door behind him. He made his way through the dark to the bedroom and found Andrew in his bed surrounded by used tissues.

“Hey,” Neil spoke quietly when he returned with the tiny trashcan from under his desk. He swept the dirty tissues into the trashcan before sitting on the bed.

In the sparse light coming through the blinds, Neil could see Andrew’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He reached a hand out to touch his forehead and cheeks.

“You’ve got a fever,” Neil murmured and Andrew shivered. “Did you take anything?”

Andrew nodded slowly, eyes closing.

“I’ll sleep in your bed?”

Neil started to slide down so his feet could touch the ground but Andrew’s hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked at him quizzically.

“Stay,” Andrew croaked and Neil couldn’t believe how bad he’d gotten in the last hour. “For a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Neil kicked off his shoes so he could curl up on his bed next to Andrew. He absently stroked his fingers through sweat-damp hair.

“Are you okay?” Andrew asked and Neil could tell he was fighting sleep. “Tell me.”

Neil rested his hand on Andrew’s cheek.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

“How can anyone not be afraid of love?” Neil blurted quietly.

Andrew recoiled at the question, then forced himself to relax again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Kevin’s mother must have loved him but she died when he was seven. He was taken in by people who should have loved him but all they did was abuse him,” Neil’s voice steadily grew stronger. “And he had to hide it.”

Neil returned Andrew’s questioning gaze with a furious one of his own. “Dan asked her aunt to be her mother and all she did was nothing but discourage her. Matt’s mom loves him but she left him with his father who also loved him but let him get addicted to drugs and let random friends rape him. Allison’s parents love her but only if she looks how they want her to and acts how they want her to which makes me think they don’t love her at all. Nicky’s -”

“Stop.” Andrew’s voice cracked. Neil took a deep breath.

“My mother loved me.” he forced himself to continue despite the way his voice shook. “But she couldn’t stop him from hurting me. She didn’t even try because she knew it was no fucking use.”

Andrew’s hand came up to rest on his cheek, fingertips brushing against the round edges of his burn scars, but he waited for Neil to keep going.

“She loved me so much that she risked both our lives to get me away from him, away from the Moriyamas - from Riko. She died because she loved me,” Neil returned to a whisper, his hand gripping Andrew’s tightly. “But she hurt me, too. And I still fucking hate Aaron but now I understand what she did wasn’t exactly right either.

“Maybe somewhere along the way I started to associate love with pain -” Neil leaned his forehead against Andrew’s carefully. “But seeing Dan and Matt, Aaron and Katelyn, hearing Nicky talk about Erik ... the way that Coach and Abby take care of us - it confuses me. When the others talk about love and me and you, it scares me. I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you.

“But I love you.” The words slipped out and Neil squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

He expected Andrew to shove him away or swear at him or maybe even laugh. He didn’t expect Andrew to pull him close and whisper, “Yes or no?” - a question they only used in their most vulnerable moments - and press kisses to his skin.

“Don’t apologize for how you feel,” Andrew said, lips so close to Neil’s that he could feel every word. “Ever.”

#aftg #tfc #andreil #tfc fic #i think i might've made andrew sick cause i'm sick

[xlady-saya]

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 2]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

"What do you remember most about the night you were inducted into the hall of fame?"

Neil's suit collar feels especially tight as he descends from the podium, his body pulling him in one direction and one direction only. The smile on his face feels too tight, but the hoard of smiling faces and applauding hands around him don’t seem to notice. The rabbit instincts, as Andrew would call them, surge up aggressively. Neil hates public appearances like this, especially when the event is partly focused on him. He can only hope his speech wasn't too terrible.

People shout out their congratulations as he passes, but they all blend together like an oil slick meeting water. Pretty on the outside, but otherwise devastating to the fragile nature of his mind. Bright lights above bounce off full champagne glasses, creating a blurry horizon he has to squint at.

Years of public exposure has done nothing for his dislike of crowds, and he chases the feeling of Andrew's protective bubble. Warm, safe, home.

It feels like that one time Nicky dragged him to a party hosted by the baseball team in college, and left him to go hurl his guts out over the side of the house. At a certain point, Neil had been so overwhelmed he had hastily retreated from the drunk mob into the safe haven of the bathroom.

It's an eerily similar feeling, except this time his safe haven comes in the form of Andrew, suave and bored as he leans against the back wall. Much, much better.

Neil nearly trips over his feet in an effort to reach him, but Andrew is always one step ahead. As if sensing Neil's distress, Andrew extends a hand, and Neil refrains from rolling his eyes at the muffled gasp he hears somewhere in the back.

Catching a glimpse of them acting like a couple is akin to seeing a shooting star in the daytime, according to tabloids. In Neil's mind, they all simply don't look hard enough. Sometimes just the way Andrew looks at him makes Neil feel like they should be behind closed doors, with how it radiates off both of them. He's not sure why people don't see it, because surely Andrew's denials aren't believable. He's incredibly affectionate, if all his gifts and gestures say anything. And more than that...

At the end of any given day, if someone checked, Andrew's fingerprints would be all over Neil. Some on the back of his wrist, trickling down his spine and ghosting over his lower back, dotted along his throat.

Skin deep, with heat that travels even farther.

He takes Andrew's hand gratefully, letting himself be pulled in by the relief of that unparalleled shelter.

"You call that a speech, Josten?" Andrew asks, though Neil catches the spark that sets his eyes aflame. Good—Neil missed it. These events sap the energy out of Andrew like a vacuum, and he knows he only puts up with them for Neil's sake. Neil is happy to be a compact little battery when Andrew needs it.

Neil readjusts their hands but doesn't pull away, giving Andrew a small squeeze to pair with his smirk.

"Like you could do better," he snarks, but moves against the wall anyways, shoulder pressed to Andrew's. They've both bulked up from years with the pros, but where Neil will always be somewhat lithe, Andrew is stocky and built like brick. Neil sighs, breathing in the scent of Andrew's cologne and the subtle mint of nicotine gum.

There are still some eyes on them, but people are mostly looking at the next speaker. Neil can't make out Kevin or Thea in the crowd, but that's probably a good thing given what's about to happen. "You didn't even give a speech," he remarks playfully, a hint for Andrew to chase.

Andrew purses his lips, not taking it until Neil leans further into his space. Neil knows he has the advantage here; he's dressed in a fitted suit, personally picked out by Andrew, with blue accents that match their team (and additionally, his eyes). However, that’s not Neil’s biggest advantage, considering he's wearing the watch Andrew bought him for Christmas—the one with a rabbit stamped cleanly into the back of the metal face. 'Now you can't use your dead phone as an excuse,' Andrew had said, but Neil had seen through it.

Neil nudges him cheekily, gesturing to the room full of people.

"Surprised you're even here," Neil adds, feigning shyness in another effort to break through Andrew's (flimsy) blockade.

It works. Neil's not sure if Andrew's gotten softer over time, or if he's gotten better at this. Though he guesses he's the same. There are not many walls left for Andrew to scale on his end either.

"Don't be stupid," Andrew replies, firm and sharp. It sends comfortable shivers down Neil's spine, Andrew’s sternness causing the joke to evaporate. Even the insinuation that he'd miss Neil's crowning achievement...he won't allow it.

Come to think of it, Andrew's probably thought about it more than Neil. Neil worked so hard for this moment, to make a name for himself in the sport he adores. And he's proud of himself, he is, and he deserves to be in the hall of fame with how much he's fought. Yet now that he's actually here, surrounded by people who want nothing more than to sing his praises, all he needs is...

Neil giggles, whispering in quiet Russian. "You're proud of meeee."

Andrew huffs, but Neil powers on. "Admit it or...you know what will happen, don't you?"

"Neil."

"You look really handsome tonight—"

"Neil, I'm serious," Andrew tries, and while Andrew isn't the type to blush, the way his entire body stills might as well be equivalent to a fire. Neil's hand drifts to Andrew's lower back, because casual touches are second nature to them now. Instead of pushing away from the touch, Andrew's back bends for him, and Neil's gives a subtle press.

Truly, this is Neil's favorite tactic, complimenting Andrew. He'd learned in their last year of college that Andrew can't handle it, and the blond can try to say he hates it all he wants. But Neil never hears a 'no,' does he? "I love seeing the way the suit jacket fits over your shoulders. It reminds me of how strong you are. You're my anchor, you know? You always keep me safe, I feel like I can do anything if you're there. I love knowing this is real, that you're here with me and you'd fight to keep us—"

Neil jumps when Andrew turns on him, but his triumphant grin sits firmly in place.

Andrew leans him in to cut him off with a kiss, like he's accustomed to, but that's not something he's willing to give the paparazzi today. He takes Neil's hand again, glancing around. "We're leaving," he says, because he knows that's what Neil really wanted all along. Duh, Neil already knows Andrew is proud of him. "I've had it with this place."

Neil's body sings at the word choice, at the words unspoken: 'but not with you.'

"Mhm," he agrees happily. When Andrew had been inducted into the hall of fame, they'd ditched the ceremony even earlier than this. So it's about time. "What's the plan?"

Andrew doesn't miss a beat. He tilts his head in the direction of the far doors, and Neil zeroes in on them. He'd clocked all the exits when they first arrived from force of habit, so he follows along with Andrew easily. "Reporters are at the west wing entrance, we'll have to sneak out the service entrance past the kitchens. It's handled."

Neil smirks broadly, and lets Andrew lead the way. One advantage to being so short? It's a hell of a lot more efficient to duck down behind people. "Did you already make a deal with the wait staff?"

Andrew's expressions in public are still quite reserved and closed off, but Neil can feel the smug energy radiating off his back as they push through the kitchen doors. None of the staff even bat an eye. In fact, some of them are trying extremely hard to not look at them.

Neil looks at Andrew, brow raised.

"You'd be surprised what a couple autographs can get you," Andrew says, pulling them around a corner to survey the last stretch between them and the outside world. They should be in the clear, but the last thing they want is to run into a security guard or overactive publicist walking through these back hallways. Neil can't contain his excitement though, his leg thumping uncontrollably against the linoleum. Andrew pauses when he notices, and there's that flash of amusement Neil loves so much. "Control yourself, bunny."

"Stop making me wait," Neil shoots back, because he rarely has the opportunity to be this rebellious. As much as he cusses out reporters and fights people on the actual court, he misses the giddy mischief of sneaking around with Andrew. It's like making out on the roof all over again, or trying to be quiet during movie nights with Andrew's hand caressing his thigh.

It's exhilarating, and he can read Andrew's physical cues so well by now. The shift of his feet, the tension in his shoulders...It's like when he's about to block a shot with his bare hands, except this time he pulls Neil down the hall in a sprint.

He knows he's supposed to be quiet, but the best he can do is muffle his laughter with his free hand as he lets Andrew carry them out of the venue.

If Neil bumps into a cart of metal trays, they're long gone before anyone can react to the sound.

--

The Lotus comes to a stop in the empty parking lot of the old football stadium. It's one of their favorite places to escape to, a project the city keeps claiming it will repurpose but never does. The lampposts lining the giant lot still work, but there's not a car in sight, the old building dark and menacing. To Neil, it's just...theirs.

Neil stumbles out of the small car, missing the backseat of the Maserati. He wishes they were driving their new Maz instead, but it's Andrew's signature car, and they knew they'd need to lay low.

Ha. To think they'd be invisible in a car like this.

Again Neil has to right himself, his pants still sitting halfway down his thighs. He's glad Andrew thought ahead with bringing them a change of clothes, but the cramped space isn't the best for changing into jeans. He has a feeling Andrew did that on purpose, forgoing Neil's sweats.

Doesn't help that Neil's legs are jelly for other reasons.

Andrew slides out of the driver’s side with a lot more finesse, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he comes around. Helpless, Neil drops his arms and lets Andrew pull up his pants.

It's the little things.

Neil smiles when Andrew sighs, loading some of his weight on top of Neil. He won't call it a recharge, Neil just knows. Neil plays with the loose strands of hair at Andrew's nape, at peace in the piercing cold, no real landmark in sight apart from the decaying stadium. It's weird; it reminds him a lot of when he and his mother would camp out in abandoned lots. Vantage points from all sides, but the risk of exposure and openness were high too.

Here though, more than ten years later, Neil basks in the vulnerability, because nowhere feels unsafe with Andrew in his arms like this. He lets Andrew sway them back and forth for a bit, and yeah, this is preferable to the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and excessive applause.

His publicist will give him shit for it later, but he wouldn't exactly be Neil Josten if he didn't cause problems.

Neil smiles into the distance, watching the flickering of a nearby lamppost. "The movie starts in an hour," he says eventually, and Andrew nods into Neil's neck once before pulling away. There's no disappointment in his eyes, and he taps Neil's watch to the beat of a song Neil can't place.

Instead, he just zips up Andrew's open fly, smirking at the unimpressed stare he gets. "You're a nuisance."

"I know," Neil says proudly, and watches as Andrew goes back to the driver's side. He looks a lot cozier and harder to recognize now, dressed in Neil's Palmetto hoodie and jeans.

"C'mon, we need to grab food still," Andrew says, and at the reminder, Neil's stomach growls. If they had stayed an hour more at the event they probably would've been fed fancy catered meals, but that would've messed with their Friday tradition of greasy drive in food.

Neil knows they’re showing a double zombie movie feature today, and he does not want to miss it. He straps in just in time for Andrew to hit the gas, and doesn't even speak up about all the traffic laws they break to make it there on time.

--

"How mad do you think Kevin is?" Neil asks when Andrew is passing him his soda. He fits it snuggly in between his thighs, jumping from the cold. It can't be helped; the lone cupholder is reserved for Andrew's milkshake, in danger of overflowing from whipped cream.

Andrew turns back to the cashier at the drive thru, and their eyes are still on the verge of popping out of their sockets. They must be new. The other coworkers regard Andrew and Neil with warm familiarity, a little too used to the two famous athletes rolling up for food their nutritionist would not approve of. Andrew takes their bag from the worker without much acknowledgement of his shock, peeling off before they can so much as stutter a sound of disbelief.

They'll get used to it.

Greedily, Neil digs through the bag.

"I think he expects it by now," Andrew answers, uncaring. His eyes flick to the side when Neil's rummaging pauses, and Neil sends him a suspicious look.

"Two fries," he states, not quite a question, but a confirmation of what he's seeing at the bottom of the bag. Two orders of fries.

Then, in the privacy of their car, Andrew lets his feelings shine through. He rolls his eyes, but the edge of a smile plays on his lips. "Don't act like you don't eat half of mine. I got you your own for once."

A 'hmph' escapes Neil's mouth, and he holds a fry in front of his face. He can't exactly refute Andrew's claims, he is a notorious fry fiend, but...

He doesn't have to like it.

"Aren't I sweet?" Andrew says, mockingly, and Neil hates that the answer is actually yes.

"Salty," he corrects, surrendering to pop the fry into Andrew's mouth.

That's all he's getting from Neil's stash though.

The Lotus roars as Andrew pulls away from the stand and up the nearby hill. Most people at the drive in come early, eager to get spots closer to the screen, but they have a special spot far away from the throng of people. The hill only houses one or two other cars who have the same idea, spaced out far and free to talk or fool around in the backseats.

Neil never pays them any mind; it's hard to give attention to anything that isn't Andrew once the blond actually starts talking, offering theories about the plot or characters on screen he may or may not actually believe.

Neil has a suspicion Andrew just likes giving him more reasons to talk too.

The first movie is older, remastered but still carrying that grainy quality old horror movies have. The colors are subdued, almost rusty, and Neil's fixated by the way the flashes dance on Andrew's skin. Whether it be splotches of red or the ominous sunset, just before the eerie music begins, the scenes reflect in Andrew's golden eyes to the point where Neil can hardly follow the story.

Not that it matters, it's zombies. What more is there to get?

"Are you satisfied with the effects for once?" Andrew drawls, though surely he knows Neil's been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He doesn't put up a fight anymore when it comes to that, instead playing with Neil's salt ridden fingertips and drinking his milkshake.

Smiling, Neil lets his eyes drift to the screen. A show of gore and fake blood has him nodding, not nearly as affronted as he usually is. The woman on screen is a good actress, though movies will never get true anguished screams exactly right.

"Mm, practical ones are better," Neil says, commenting on the lack of CGI. Another good thing about older movies: they had to build the monsters themselves, had to spend a lot more time on the makeup and fake guts. It's slightly more unsettling, considering what Neil has seen and done, but less annoying than the computer generated stuff.

When Neil zones out too long, he feels a fry poke his cheek, and he opens his mouth automatically. Andrew watches him with a small smile. Neil's not sure when Andrew grew more comfortable smiling, but somewhere along the way they both got used to it. It's a subtle, quiet expression on the blond, but that's how Neil likes it. Andrew's personality will never be loud, never cheery like Nicky's or Matt's. But it feels like a secret, something reserved for those that mean a lot to the blond. Neil can never feel anything but pride when he sees it, when Andrew lets himself express a bone deep contentment for those people in his life.

For Neil.

"What is it?" Andrew asks, and Neil waves at the screen, bored with it all of a sudden.

"I'll never understand the point of people who approach the first zombie," he says, and he says this every time. And alright, he knows that's the only way to truly kick off the plot but it always rubs him the wrong way.

"It's not like they know it's a zombie, Neil," Andrew replies, in reference to the next unfortunate victim to approach the zombified man in the park. The zombie had been stumbling around, and the older lady simply couldn't help but ask if the man was alright. Being a good samaritan will get you killed every time.

Neil throws Andrew a look, aware that Andrew isn't so much inviting Neil's rant as much as he's poking it hard with a stick.

"Excuse me, I'm already wary of normal people walking around," Neil points out. And that's justified in his mind, given what he's been through. People are weird and should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. Neil's therapist, who he's begrudgingly getting used to, might not agree but Neil's not quite ready to fully tackle the issue yet. Instead, he gestures to the way the poor lady's face is now being eaten. "I see someone stumbling around like that? I'm not going near them! At minimum you should consider them drunk and violent."

Or at the very least: real fucking annoying.

"I think you have more survival experience than most people," Andrew says, but Neil knows he's not actually defending the character's stupidity. Andrew agrees, and his smile grows when Neil huffs.

For effect, Neil slumps back into his seat, arms crossed. When Andrew tries to reach for his hand, he playfully swats it away, doing his best to not show cracks in the mask he's wearing. It's a skill he learned from his boyfriend, the complete lack of expression. Problem is he can seldom keep it up for longer than a few minutes.

Neil eventually smirks, right on cue, turning over in the passenger seat so his body is facing Andrew. It's not nearly as seductive as he wants it to be, what with the food wrappers and wrinkly clothes, but he knows it's enough to be infuriating. "You think it's hot," he sing songs, and Andrew sighs.

This time, when he reaches out, Neil doesn't refuse the offered hand. On screen, more unassuming citizens are devoured.

The image of the crowd reminds him of the banquet, of his switched off phone that's probably blowing up with questions about where they are. It's another world at this point—the expensive suits, dinner, the rehearsed words.

Here in their car, sitting in the dark in his hoodie with his boyfriend's hand in his, Neil feels far more spoiled. That doesn't mean he's not appreciative though, and the weight of his accomplishment sits warm in his chest, flowing through him to remind him it's not a dream. He's alive, he's here, he's with—

"Yes," Andrew interrupts Neil's train of thought, voice nearly a whisper. "But your downfall is obvious."

That gets Neil's attention, though he does preen from the compliment. "Hm?"

Andrew shifts in his own seat, and for the first time that night, Neil realizes how tired the blond must be. His muscles slump with exhaustion, his eyes blinking away the strain, but it's a good tired, the kind you feel when you can finally relax and sink into your bed. Home. Neil experiences that a lot, when it's the two of them, and the scope of the feeling is only intensified by Andrew's words.

"You'd go back," he reminds Neil, because that's now something that can't be debated. Neil's breathing stutters, and he hears the unspoken words: for me.

It's no surprise that no matter how things change, Andrew's first instinct will be to chip away at something, to present a flaw to protect himself. Neil's not sure he's even aware he's doing it, the need to value himself as something lowly and not worth fighting for.

Neil will keep proving him wrong, time and time again.

"That's not a downfall, that's strengthening my team," Neil quips, and Andrew huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes.

But Neil won't let him get away with that. He picks the buzzing insecurity swarming around Andrew's head right from the air, and crushes it until there's nothing left. At least for the moment; with them it always comes back, they just get better at dealing with it.

"I mean it," Neil says, and it's not him being a shit like back at the banquet. This isn't a barrage of compliments to make Andrew flustered, and from the way the blond stills, he understands that. Neil's tone holds an almost dangerous quality, ready to slash anyone who would dare refute it. It's hollow, haunting; he would've been a much better actor for horror films than the ones in this movie. "Andrew, if you're with me, I can do anything."

That hasn't stopped being true, and he doesn't think it'll ever be the case. He won't ever be without Andrew.

Andrew doesn't tell him to be quiet or stop, just lets the words settle between them and mix with the suspenseful music from the screen. There's a muffled scream below from an open window as soon as the jump scare happens, but neither of them flinch. Andrew's gaze bores into him as the blond shifts in his seat, mirroring Neil's awkward pose.

They're both still so compact though, they make it work. Neil pulls their hands up onto the center console, rubbing the back of Andrew's palm.

"Hey," he says stupidly, after he's been staring too long. Andrew's gaze turns sleepy, gooey, if Neil will be so bold. Andrew doesn't respond to his earlier claim, and Neil knows parts of Andrew's language well enough to know that the silence speaks more towards his agreement than anything.

Andrew may not accept all of it, but he'll hold it close, he'll remember it and chew on it as much as he needs to. That's all Neil can hope for.

"Hi," Andrew whispers back, during a lull in the on screen violence, and Neil scoots as close to him as he can. He doesn't want to miss a single syllable, a breath.

Without much else to say, Neil lets the giddiness from before rise up, finally speaking on it. His smile is too much to smother, but he tries and fails. "We're in the hall of fame together."

In an instant Andrew's smile falls, but it's an obvious show. And he calls Neil dramatic; it's a shared behavior. Neil laughs uncontrollably from it, from the way Andrew shakes his head up at the roof of the car.

"Junkie," he mumbles, because there's not much more to explain.

Or so Andrew thinks. Really it's less about Exy in that moment for Neil. The part that makes him so overjoyed, that pushes him over the edge into bliss...

"I'm proud of you," Neil manages through the laughter, and repeats himself with a few reallys thrown in for good measure. But still, Andrew doesn't get it. Or he does, and he's being a shit on purpose.

"Tonight was about you, you know," the blond tries, tone suffering, but the itch of a smile threatens his blank facade again, and Neil's main job is to poke and prod it out of hiding. It's a fun game, no longer difficult. Not that he ever minded, not that he could mind anything about what makes Andrew...Andrew.

Neil looks up at the ceiling too, as if he can see through it, like he can see far beyond their universe and beyond the cosmos. They're so insignificant, he knows, but funny how these moments never feel swallowed up by the weight of it all. One day though, he supposes they'll fade into that nothingness, and that's why it's such a comfort to him, to know their names will be next to each other in some way beyond gravestones. "I know, but I just like to remind you. Everyone is going to remember you now."

Andrew is one person he doesn't want to ever be forgotten, for how he makes Neil feel...it would be criminal for that to even be a possibility. Neil huffs a laugh; Andrew's more the type to wax poetic, to say sappy bullshit and then try to act like he hasn't. But here Neil is, heart singing.

There will never be a way to leave that feeling behind as evidence, so everyone who ever doubted Andrew will know, but Neil can wish...Neil can dream. He can do whatever he wants.

Andrew tilts his head, his free hand casting itself forward, gesturing to the world beyond the screen, beyond the ends of the planet. "There’s no point in being remembered like that. When we’re gone, we’ll just be gone."

And in some ways, Neil agrees, or at least understands. Legacies only mean so much, can only withstand so much time. There will be other sports heroes, new rookies and players with their own accomplishments, their own time in the spotlight. But that's not what Neil means, not what he believes in. His fame is meaningless, it will wither and die. So will Andrew's. But...but, he's not afraid now to have that spark of want, the need to preserve as much as possible.

Though if he's being honest, and he won't tell Andrew because he's sure to refute it, there will never be as good a goalie. Neil knows that.

Neil grins gently, squeezing Andrew's hand to call his attention back to where it belongs. Andrew listens, always bends for Neil in some way. Andrew extends his free hand across his lap, and in sync, Neil lifts his leg to drape it across the console. Andrew catches his ankle gently, thumb resting in the dip of bone. Neil shivers; he's been treated with such care for years, but it's never easy to fathom all the way. Andrew's hands are weapons, and yet he cradles Neil like glass, like he's not the tainted mess he is under these clothes.

"Normally I would agree, but you’re kind of my loophole," Neil whispers, shrugging in that infuriating way, the one that communicates clearly that nothing Andrew says can convince him otherwise.

Andrew is familiar with it, and is no longer dead set on fighting Neil every step of the way.

"You're ridiculous," the blond says instead, tracing through Neil's jeans, over the memorized lines and scars of his calves. Neil wonders if he likes to do that especially in these moments, to remember Neil is real. He's not going anywhere. "I don't ever know what to do with you."

"Kiss me? That might help," Neil offers, and in the next moment Andrew is meeting him halfway over the console. Neil wasn't even aware he'd shifted so close, but then he's surrounded by just Andrew. There's a hand in his hair, tangling the curls, and his mouth opens for Andrew's like a switch has been pulled. It's automatic, a craving satisfied. Over the years, Andrew's kisses became predictable, the taste of him no longer surprising or laced with desperation. Despite all that, Neil thinks they're even better now.

It's an exhilarating feeling, to know someone so, so well, down to the press of his tongue and the slot of his lips.

Neil sighs when Andrew pulls away, breath hot and eyes lidded, and alright, maybe they're not completely predictable. Neil is always taken aback by how quick his body is reduced to jello, barely keeping himself upright.

It makes him brainless, makes him ramble, so it slips out again. "I want everyone to remember you," Neil breathes into Andrew's mouth, chasing him as he pulls back. Andrew's hand on his chest stops him, Andrew's stare as intense as ever.

It's quiet; Neil has no idea what's going on around him, either with the movie or the crowd. That's unheard of for him, isn't it? But he's not scared, or nervous. Eventually the instinct will come back, the urge to check the locked doors and look behind the car for things lurking in the shadows. But right them, it's just the two of them, wrapped up.

Andrew tugs on his leg, pulling Neil forward until his thighs hit the console, and looks disappointed they can't be glued at the hip. It's cute, but Neil bites his tongue on the comment. Andrew must sense it, because his eyes flash back up to Neil's face, reaching up to cradle it. Neil can predict that trajectory too, the way Andrew's fingers brush the burn marks.

"Idiot," Andrew says. "Only you get to remember me like this."

Damn you, Andrew.

The edges of Andrew's lips quirk up, triumphant in the face of Neil's stunned silence, but Neil refuses to admit he's won. Only...partially.

Neil will hold these moments for himself, close and free from prying eyes. He'll do that for as long as he can, covet them until he can't keep it in anymore. He supposes that's the best compromise either of them could ask for.

The swell of need in his chest intensifies, and he reaches forward to tug on Andrew's sleeve. It feels so dumb; he's allowed to touch more than this, he's allowed to grab and cradle Andrew's skin. But it's too much in the moment, and he tugs again, like he's right back in college.

"Home?" he whispers, unsure. Andrew looks around them, back at the screen and then at the moon hanging high in the sky. Technically, this is a double feature, and it feels almost wrong to pop this bubble around them. Neil's not sure he wants the moment to end either, not even when the credits for the first movie roll and early birds start to peel out of the lot. Headlights ghost over them, but the only move Andrew makes is to lean down and lower his seat all the way.

Neil, smiles, and knows exactly what to do.

They reach a silent agreement as Neil hops into Andrew's seat, fitting snugly against him as the new movie opens up:

No. Not yet.

~

Neil notes with amusement how the reporters sit, slightly more relaxed, like they're not quite ready to let go of their professional personas in favor of pulling their legs up. Soon enough, they'll get there. Neil's barely begun to scratch the surface, and he hopes their matching looks of disbelief will fade too.

Neil puts down his water, throat already aching, but if that's the price he has to pay so be it. He's been feeling extra lethargic today, underwater and tied at the ankles, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Rubbing his throat, he smiles. "We ended up really sore from sitting like that all night, but we didn't regret it," he says. The purr of the Lotus is so loud in his mind he almost expects for someone to roll up to the building in one.

Andrew had driven them extra careful that night.

Blake jots something down in his notepad, skims it, then crosses out something else. A question he no longer needs answered, perhaps. When he looks up, Neil is waiting. "That's where you went? You got a lot of flack for that disappearance."

Oh he did, lots of speculations; a feud with Kevin Day, a PR war, a statement about the sports climate.

Really, he'd just wanted some snuggles.

"I've caused worse scandals," Neil says, brushing it off. Compared to all the other segments he's had in the tabloids and news media over the years, including the reveal of his bloody family business, the hall of fame incident is far from important.

And honestly, Neil doesn't care about any of that. Rayah seems to sense that the sports talk won't get them anywhere, and she offers him a laugh. "Andrew wasn't very social, was he?"

Ah, good. They're learning.

Neil's demeanor changes, happily steered in the direction of Andrew, and he leans back. An understatement.

"Neither of us were," he replies, examining his nail beds. That's not entirely it though, and he knew it then too. He's not sure why he never called Andrew out on it, maybe because it was so obvious he didn't need to. "But...I think in that case he was just trying to protect me. I was tired from all the preparations all week. Even when I was young, Andrew wasn’t really keen on letting me stretch myself to my limits."

In fact, after his freshman year of college, no threats in sight, Andrew's protectiveness was even more apparent. Neil endangering himself was a thing of the past, and Andrew made sure to keep it that way. After Baltimore, Andrew simply wouldn't tolerate it. He was aware of Neil's exhaustion, his fatigue, and while he never babied Neil, he wouldn't stop himself from intervening when he could sense Neil would not.

The stress of the hall of fame ceremony sapped Neil clean of any energy, that final speech pushed him to the edge. So Andrew took his hand, and pulled him away from it.

The two reporters share a look then, and Neil gets that surge of annoyance. Andrew would tell him to calm down, that it doesn't matter, but well...

Andrew isn't here, and Neil can be as angry as he wants when people misinterpret their relationship.

After a while, Rayah clears her throat, cutting the tension. At least she has the decency to treat him with the same respect he's giving them and not lie. Neil was never one for politeness. "I'll be honest, it’s hard to imagine someone like Andrew Minyard being that way. He sounds so gentle when you talk about him."

Though the insinuation was clear: to everyone else, he was the exact opposite.

"He had a lot of sides to him," Neil responds, because it's better than the petty response of well he was. He supposes that's not fair, not to them and not to Andrew. He plays with the watch on his wrist, now a little dated and not nearly as shiny. He's pretty sure the time is off now, so he's still the rabbit, running late.

"He could be so caring, but he never gave up his firmness, or his no bullshit nature. Believe me, if he didn't agree with me, he would've let me know. He had a way of snapping me out of bad decisions...not always kindly," Neil says, still grinning.

"You sound like you didn't mind," Blake says, though the confusion is still clear.

Neil had been deceived and led astray so much in his life, forced to swallow lies and spit them back out. Being with Andrew was so freeing; he never had to worry about those things ever again.

"No, I...I loved that about him," he says quietly. He's having a bad time with words, nothing new there. It's hard to make it sensical without having experienced the relationship first hand. He wishes Dan were here, she's able to convince people of anything. Still, he pushes, he needs to explain this if nothing else. "No one ever bothered to see Andrew beyond the hard exterior. Like you said...you can't see Andrew as gentle. Well, he was seldom anything but around me as we got older. I trusted him not to lie to me, and to take care of me, and I did the same in return."

He realizes his voice is taking on a desperate quality, but he can't help it. He could fill books with anecdotes, times where Andrew held him close or was just an absolute pillar of comfort. Try as he might today, he knows he'll never say enough.

People will still remember Andrew primarily as an unfeeling ghost, as the person who punched other players or was quick to anger, though that was far from the truth. Unless Neil makes his case here, that'll never go away.

"It's not that either of you ever provided proof," Blake says, and flinches at Neil's glare. It's a fiery thing, he hasn't used it in a while, but he assumes it's still just as acidic from how guilty the reporter looks. He stutters, and backtracks as best he can. "And based on what you said, I totally get why! It's just—"

Rayah, who is far better at making a case for the public's idiocy, is quick to lean forward. "There were only a few moments people ever saw him act like he cared as much as you say," she tells him, and it's followed by a wince. "One of them...wasn't exactly happy."

Oh.

In an instant, Neil knows exactly what they mean. It was all over the place, wasn't it?

He almost forgets that; he was too busy drowning in his own terror. It was over forty years ago and yet the memory is so strong, the same pain shoots up Neil's legs. The nausea is faint, a reminder of how unbearable and sleepless the following few nights were. He remembers a sickening crack and the shout of people, the flash of cameras.

And Andrew.

Always Andrew, running towards him.

Yes, he supposes it's hard to challenge that moment between them, to categorize Andrew's actions as anything other than fierce protectiveness and worry. Yet when Neil thinks of that incident...what the public saw barely scratched the surface.

He can still feel Andrew's hands digging into his shoulders, can hear the slow footsteps walking into their home...

The room is quiet for a beat too long, and Rayah and Blake exchange a look. It's Blake that eventually clears his throat, and Neil regards him slowly, trying to shake off the beast of a memory.

It's over, it passed. But...it was important, so...

"Are we allowed to ask about that day?" Blake asks, voice small and gauging Neil's reaction.

He sighs; he can't exactly avoid it. There's lots more stories to tell after the fact that won't feel the same without the context, but there will be some conditions.

Neil nods once, tightly. He spreads it out in his head, and an old beat of paranoia surges up in him. Stupid. He's not that dangerous anymore, no one is watching him, no one is looking for him. But it has him looking at the door anyways, wondering if the room is bugged or lined with cameras he can't see. Well, he'll just be careful.

He flattens his hands across the blanket, chewing on his words. "I suppose it would be a disservice to what I'm trying to do if I didn't talk about it," Neil answers, gesturing to Rayah. "Go ahead."

Neil braces himself before taking the plunge, and gets lost in his past once again.

"The day you were injured, what was it like?"

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

[nekojitachan]

The Ghost in You ch3

Andrew POV scene (this is about halfway done, so maybe another week?)

very vague reference to Andrew’s past

*******

Knowing Josten’s preference for arriving early, Andrew reached the coffee house half before he’d told the man to meet him there, determined to arrive first for once. He ordered a large double mocha and a slice of chocolate cake then picked a table in the far back, away from the other customers with his back to the wall, and exchanged a few texts with Aaron and Nicky while he waited.

As expected, there had been some ‘excitement’ at work over… whatever the hell had happened in the one room with Dan and the new kid. The official story was faulty wiring and another nuclear meltdown on behalf of the kid, and if she was at anyplace other than Palmetto Services she’d probably be on her way out the door, doped to the gills as she was labeled too mentally unstable to go into foster care.

But she was at Palmetto Services, and it took more than sparking lights and flying chairs for them to abandon a kid in need. Dan was more determined than ever to reach her, and Andrew to figure out the truth behind one ‘Neil Josten’.

Especially since all the weird shit seemed to have started after Neil had arrived at Palmetto Services.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear – one Neil Josten walked through the door, dressed in worn, faded black jeans, running sneakers, and a large, navy blue peacoat which all but swallowed him up. He glanced around once he stepped inside the coffee shop, dark eyes darting about until he noticed Andrew in the back, then went to order something. While Andrew watched, he swore that some teenager too busy looking at his phone was shoved back a good two feet when he nearly walked into Neil’s back while he waited in line.

For someone who never was on his phone at work (that Andrew had seen) and refused to give out his number or personal information so his coworkers could message or contact him on various social media, Andrew was surprised when Josten used his phone to pay for his drink, then watched how he waited for the employee to set the drink down before he picked it up once it was ready. Hmm, did someone have a phobia? Andrew thought about all the times he’d seen Josten and couldn’t recall him willingly touching anyone.

Which made it interesting when someone tried to move their chair back from a table when Josten headed toward the back, where Andrew sat, only for that invisible… whatever around the young man to shove the woman back toward the table. Josten didn’t react, merely continued on his way and set his beverage down on the table then shrugged off his coat before he sat opposite of Andrew, appearing unconcerned at having his back to everyone.

“Minyard.”

Andrew pushed the empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair despite the slight twinge it provoked in his bruised ribs. “You have a thing for being early?”

“I was taught that it’s rude to be late,” Josten said as he wrapped his hands around his drink; he wore an overlarge dark grey sweatshirt with thumbhole sleeves, which only left the uppermost tips of his fingers exposed. “As is basically extorting them to talk to you.”

Andrew clicked his tongue together and fought the urge for a cigarette since the place was non-smoking. “Somehow I feel that’s a jab at me, but I distinctly remember us making a deal – a truth for a truth. So start talking.”

“Here. You want to talk here.” Neil’s fake brown eyes glanced around while his long, elegant fingers (well, the tips at least) tapped against the cup of what looked to be tea, judging from the printed label on it. “Brilliant.”

“Yes,” Andrew said as he switched to German. “Let’s begin with you telling me what the hell that thing was, yesterday, and don’t try to say that it’s bad wiring. I saw a chair hover in the air, and that’s not the first time weird shit has happened around the girl.”

Josten nibbled on his full bottom lip for a couple of seconds then shivered; Andrew sensed the air grow cold around them and the plate moved an inch before Josten shook his head. “It might be a bit difficult to believe.”

He didn’t seem surprised that Andrew knew German, but then again, Andrew was related to Nicky. It also spoke of Josten being highly adaptable, which was something that Andrew would have to remember for the future. “I’ve a very open mind.”

Josten scoffed at that as he brushed back the hair falling onto his face, which drew Andrew’s attention to the fact that his left cheek was swollen and red, as if he’d been smacked recently.

He hadn’t been injured when he left work yesterday.

“Open enough to believe in the supernatural?”

The question distracted Andrew from Neil’s face and made him think of the cross hanging heavy and warm around his neck before he opened his mouth and say that was ridiculous. Instead, he had a sip of his cooling coffee and remembered Renee telling him to take a ‘leap of faith’, remembered what had happened yesterday and the week before out in the parking lot. “So what is it? Superpowers or unnatural beings?” he asked instead.

It was quiet again while Josten’s gaze grew vacant for about a minute, then he shivered. “Yesterday… yesterday was what you’d call a poltergeist,” he explained as he stared at his drink as if afraid to look anywhere else.

“So a ghost.”

“No, not a ghost,” Neil snapped as he gazed at Andrew once more; for some reason Andrew took that as a victory of sorts. “Not exactly. That’s like saying a tiger is a housecat or a samurai sword is a utensil, it’s a grave misclassification.”

“And why is that?” Andrew asked, intrigued despite himself by… intrigued despite himself.

“Because… because a ghost can be harmless, can be an unfocused remnant. Not always, but sometimes, especially if their death was non-violent. Their powers also vary, it’s why you have some stories where all they do is appear now and then to people, or maybe you have things move around. Poltergeists?” Neil shivered again and paused to sip his tea. “They’re the basis of the more violent stories, of when people are hurt and things destroyed because they’re created out of violence and trauma. And if they’re attached to someone from their previous life? Then they’ll destroy whoever gets between them and that person or who they see as a threat to the person.”

Andrew wished he could have a cigarette while he thought about everything Josten had just said right then, and about what hadn’t been said. “This poltergeist is ‘attached’ to Amelia and protecting her.” Josten gave a slight nod. “It’s her brother, right? She keeps mentioning her brother’s name.”

“I believe so, which means that there’s a blood bond between them and makes it even more powerful.” Josten sighed before he had another sip of tea.

“How do you know all of this?” Andrew asked, then did some sighing of his own when Josten gave him a razor-sharp smile lacking in warmth.

“Ah-ah, I gave you quite the answer right there, so now it’s my turn.” Josten went to lay his left palm on the table but stopped the motion just short for some reason and wrapped his hand around the paper cup again. “You don’t seem to know anything about ghosts, yet something’s different about you this past week.” He studied Andrew for several seconds, his gaze intent, then let out a slight huff. “You’re wearing a ward, who gave it to you and why?”

Technically that was two questions, but Josten had been rather loquacious for once in regards to explaining about poltergeists so Andrew would let it go that time. Right then, he was curious as to how the young man had picked up on the necklace and why he was so interested in it… and hated how all his questions for Josten kept piling up. “A friend gave it to me.” When Josten regarded him with open disdain for that evasive answer, Andrew huffed. “You may have heard of Renee Walker, Reynolds’ girlfriend who’s off being a do-gooder right now. For some reason she felt that I needed a bit of faith and gave me the thing. I’d no idea that it’s a ward or whatever.” He moved slowly not only because of his ribs but to keep from spooking Neil. “What a coincidence that it’s kept something from slamming into me, ever since I put it on, hmm? My turn again. You have a poltergeist of your own or what?”

He kept his attention focused on Neil’s too-handsome face and noticed when the figurative walls went up, when those fake brown eyes hardened (was that a faint line of blue at the center?), the slight twitch to the sharp jawline – and how the table jumped a little.

“Not… not a poltergeist,” Neil admitted as if the words were forced out of him and the table thumped again. “But someone who watches over me.”

The admission surprised Andrew, who hadn’t thought that Neil would tell him the truth… but he supposed there wasn’t much else he could do, considering what had happened in the past couple of weeks. “What, you have your own Casper the not-so friendly ghost keeping you company? Who knocks people around when they get too close to you?” That was… that was insane, yet Andrew felt an odd sort of envy at the thought – what would his life had been like if he had something like that watching over him? What difference would it have made with Drake and the others? He felt a surge of bitterness for a couple of seconds before he forced the thought away, well aware that there was no changing the past.

Nei- Josten, dammit, gave a slight shrug as he once more took to staring at the cup of tea held between his hands, which he carefully removed the lid from the cup and set aside but didn’t sip from right away. “Says the man who came to a coffee shop armed with knives.” Josten glanced up again, and that time the darkness in his eyes wasn’t from the ugly contacts. “Your armbands are showing, and something tells me that they’re not a fashion statement, not with all the times I’ve caught you reaching for something on your forearms.” When Andrew went still at being called out like that, a hint of a smile hovered on Josten’s lips. “My choice of protection is just a bit more… unconventional and easier to get past metal detectors.”

So the man was observant, that was… yet another annoying thing to note down. There was also the fact that Josten could easily recognized armbands (and weapons hidden inside them) and needed a damn ghost to look after his ass, which only made him that much more intriguing. “And why would you need a ghost to look after you?”

The sharp smile made its return. “You already asked a question,” Josten reminded him.

“So I did.” Rare anger sparked inside of Andrew at being blocked like that and made him tap his fingers against the table while Josten sipped his black tea. “Well?”

Josten inclined his head a little and set the tea aside, then took to playing with the ends of his sleeves; he tugged them further over his fingers until they were all but hidden. “What do you plan to do now that you know about the poltergeist?”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he regretted not getting a second cup of mocha since it would help with the coldness surrounding the table. “Deal with it somehow.” He couldn’t risk it harming Bee again, or his brother and cousin let alone any of the children who came to Palmetto Services. “It’s too much of a danger.”

“Yes,” Josten agreed as his gaze grew unfocused for a couple of seconds. “As long as Amelia is there, it will lash out at anything it considers a threat to her, which will be most adults.” Then he stared at Andrew once more. “And me? What about me?”

Was someone worried about their own private Casper? “You seem to know an awful lot about this ghost stuff,” Andrew countered as he resisted the urge to tug on the cross which hung around his neck (as he mentally cursed out Renee for choosing such a bad time to go on sabbatical). “Do you know how to get rid of them?”

“And if I do?” Josten hedged, his expression perfectly blank.

What a shame, it seemed that despite their little game of ‘truth for truth’, Josten didn’t have much trust in Andrew. “You help me get rid of thing and keep your little Casper on a tighter leash, and I won’t say anything about your invisible friend.”

“You won’t say anything about me being involved in this or do anything about my ‘invisible friend’,” Josten countered as his eyes narrowed and the table ‘thumped’ again while there was a blast of cold air.

Andrew almost made a comment about Josten obviously being concerned about the kids if he was wasting time bartering like that… but he picked up on the tension in the young man’s shoulders and recalled how he’d been doing something in the room yesterday to fend off the poltergeist until Andrew had disrupted his concentration. Which implied that his concern was keeping Casper around as much as possible, along with the fact that he was involved in ghosts.

The first Andrew didn’t understand (well, other than people might not appreciate knowing that bad shit happened to them because of Josten’s ‘invisible friend’), but he supposed no one wanted to be known as the freak who saw dead people, or whatever. “Fine, it’s a deal,” he agreed.

He wouldn’t say anything… but Renee would be back soon enough, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t need to bring up Casper, not if she knew enough to give him the cross.

Josten regarded him with open suspicion for several seconds before he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll honor your word.” That was just a little amount of sarcasm there.

“Such a lack of trust,” Andrew chided, then clicked his tongue. “You’re the one who has Casper there try to shove a person’s ribs through their spine if they get to close yet I’m untrustworthy?”

“I told you that I was fine and you didn’t listen to me,” Josten argued. “But all right, let’s shake on it, okay?” he offered as he held out his right hand after he tugged his sleeve back enough to expose his fingers.

Andrew wasn’t big on touching people, but if it helped to speed things along…. He held out his hand and swore he felt some sort of tingle, almost like a pleasant pulse of warmth, when their skin touched; Josten’s fingers twitched against his and those false brown eyes grew vacant once again, the pupils shrunk to pinpoints (it was a ring of pale blue) before he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and pulled his hand free.

“All good now?” Andrew asked in English as Josten hastily tugged the sleeve back over his fingers.

“Yes.” The British accent was back in Josten’s voice as he wrapped his arms around his chest, as the cold grew stronger for a moment. “I think that’s enough for today.” The American accent slowly crept back into his voice, which made Andrew wonder which one was real since they both sounded authentic.

“Wait.” Andrew stood up but didn’t reach for Josten, mindful of what had happened the last time he’d done such a thing (even if he wore the cross). “What about the poltergeist?”

“I need to prepare a few things, it’s going to take a little time,” Josten said as he pushed away from the table without touching anything. He gave Andrew a curt nod as he grabbed his coat before he turned away, the cold leaving with him.

Andrew watched as some woman busy talking on her phone got pushed out of his way toward the door, which appeared to open right before he touched it, and couldn’t help but wonder just why one Neil Josten had such an attentive and over-protective ghost watching over him. Was it a deceased family member? The thought made him scoff, but perhaps. Or a childhood friend? A lover, perhaps? Josten certainly was attractive as hell, and Casper intent on keeping everyone away from the young man.

That possibility made Andrew frown as he stood in line for another mocha to help warm him up on his way home; was Josten haunted by a possessive, abusive lover? There’d been the swollen cheek that day and the scratch the previous week, not to mention how Josten kept to himself except for talking to Moreau.

Renee really needed to get her ass back to Columbia soon.

*******

#nekojitachan fic #ghost in you fic #andrew minyard #neil josten #neil sees ghosts #andrew's already falling

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

Part Nine of The Sam Diaries

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10507836/chapters/26359653

Andrew Minyard has never experienced luck. He doesn’t believe in it; luck, like destiny and fate and religion, seems to be based on the fanciful notion that there’s some kind of higher power that just really, really fucking hated Andrew as a child. He doesn’t much like the idea, though he supposes now the word will always remind him of the first words he spoke to Neil.

Regardless of whether he believes in luck or not, it seems the bad kind is intent on fucking up this day as much as possible. Neil’s close to a breakdown beside him, so the last thing they need is an interruption before they can get to their apartment.

“Are you Andrew or Aaron Minyard?” Andrew and Neil share a look trying to decide whether to turn around to face what is undoubtedly another stupid member of the press, or just say fuck it and run home. If Neil was on his own, he knew exactly what option he’d choose, but Andrew had never loved running like Neil did, and they’d had that whole meeting with PR…

They turn.

To both their surprise, though neither shows it, the person behind them is not a member of the press, but a woman with hunched shoulders, sleeves pulled over her hands and a wary look in her eyes. She must have been around the same age as the two of them, but the careful distance she keeps between them, and her wide-blown pupils make her look much younger. When Andrew just stares at her blankly, Neil following his lead, the woman huffs a sigh through her nose.

“I don’t want any trouble but I just thought… Well what are the chances of bumping into either one of you? I had to say something.” Neil narrows his eyes, something he’d been told by Dan made the freshman when he’d first become captain shit themselves. He is not in the mood for this crap right now. She doesn’t look like a die-hard followed-your-career-from-college Exy fan, especially as she’s said nothing about Neil, doesn’t even seem to recognise him, but he can’t think of another reason why she’d be looking for Andrew or Aaron. Andrew still doesn’t say anything, but Neil can almost hear the gears in Andrew’s mind turning, coming to the same conclusions as him. The woman does the same exasperated sigh again and holds her hands up in defeat. “Look, if you’re Andrew I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t know what you went through other than him, whether you went through anything else, but I know he was definitely bad enough.” The woman gives a small laugh that has very little humour in it as Andrew goes stiff. No, no, no… “And if you’re Aaron, I want to say thanks. I know you were doing it for your brother, but you killed more than just one man’s monster that day.”

There was only one man Aaron had killed.

Only one monster Aaron had destroyed.

The woman turns to leave, giving a little nod of her head. “Wait.” Andrew says, mostly apathetically but with more emotion in his voice than anyone outside of Neil has heard in years. He swallows thickly, and even though Neil is still frozen in horror from this and broken and wounded from talking to Eunoia, he feels the first ray of pride begin to thaw him out; stopping the woman from leaving was something the Andrew he’d first fallen for would never have done. This is only proved further by his next words. “Are you- Are you… Getting help? Seeing somebody about-” Andrew cuts himself off and tugs at the ends of his armbands angrily, annoyed at his inability to speak more coherently. Thankfully the woman seems to understand as some of the tension in her body eases.

“Yes.” She rubs a hand over her face and smiles a little, disbelievingly. “I, uh, almost didn’t make it out of university. You know how great this country is for mental health. Made a couple of good friends who got me to the hospital in time when I, uh, you know.” She says, gesturing to her legs. Neil hadn’t noticed before, but the shorts she’s wearing reveal scars on her thighs, one particularly deep one that runs way too close for comfort to the femoral artery. Thanks to his childhood, he can tell she’d missed the mark just by the placing of the scar (and obviously by the fact that she’s still alive; no matter how great her friends were, severing the femoral artery would result in death in a matter of minutes), but she hadn’t been far off. “Got myself sorted out a bit, after that. The government still pays for me to see someone but,” here she shrugs, “I’ve never trusted therapists.”

Neil shoots Andrew a look that says see; it’s not just me which Andrew ignores. Instead Andrew takes his time forming what he wants to say before responding. “I told someone what he’d done to me, and he promised that he’d stop Cass from fostering anyone else. I wasn’t thinking- It wasn’t a pleasant conversation and it didn’t occur to me until the day Aaron killed him that the person I told was lying about that promise too.” Andrew didn’t say sorry, Andrew didn’t believe in regret. But there’s something in Andrew’s eyes, something that Neil thinks he’d perhaps uncovered with Robin. Andrew had always accepted his part of the blame that Drake had been allowed to continue unchecked after he left the Spears, but the older he became, the more stories he heard, the more he let those stories affect him in ways he would never have allowed to even touch him as a university student, the heavier that blame sat on his shoulders. The woman sees that something, understands it more intimately than Neil did (because yes, there were other people, sometimes innocent, mostly not, who’d been seriously hurt because of him and his mother as they’d ran from Nathan, but as much as Nathan would always remain the main tormentor in Neil’s nightmares, he had at least never gone after someone else just to cause Neil pain. Threatened other people; yes. Did Neil believe he would have killed them? Definitely. But his preferred method was always just to kill his main target, so the collateral damage to Neil and Mary’s choices had been very minimal), and sticks her hand out for Andrew to shake.

He does so after a second of hesitance, and the woman smiles her barely-there smile again.

“My name is Rosa deRosales because my birth mother seriously did not love me, but I prefer to go by literally anything else.”

“Well, Literally Anything Else, this is quite possibly the shittiest thing I’ve ever had in common with someone.” Neil blinks.

Did Andrew just-

No.

He couldn’t have- He wouldn’t have-

But-

Did Andrew Minyard just make a dad joke?

  “Please, gorgeous, look at me.”

It has been ten strained minutes since Andrew and Neil had left the ice-cream parlour. Eunoia paces the length of the store, shoving the tables out of her way the first few times. Sam had waited for her to break the silence, but when her expression hadn’t changed while her pacing increased in speed and ferocity (to the point where Eunoia was almost stamping over her newly mopped floors), Sam had moved into her path.

Her head snaps up to look at him obediently but Sam knows it isn’t him she’s seeing. She keeps pacing until they were nose to nose and there she stops, the silence as tense and fraught with broken glass as a bombed city. “What do you want me to do?” He whispers, his voice strained and desperate. “Tell me gorgeous, what can I do?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Eunoia’s pleading voice reaches slowly through the fog in his mind. A nightmare. He’d had a nightmare, and now he doesn’t know where he is. Panic begins to race his heartbeat. “Tell me banana, what can I do?”

“Where are we?” He asks back, shakily, digging his fingers into his thighs harshly enough that he can ground himself to the feeling. Eunoia’s hands curl round his and entangle his fingers with hers. Huh, that works too.

“We’re in our apartment, in the kitchen. You had a nightmare but you’re safe. You’re here with me.”

“You won’t leave?” He trembles as she leads him over to the sofa and sits him down on it, sitting herself in his lap but thankfully not turning the lights on.

“Of course not. Do you want to talk about it?” He can hear in her voice that this has shaken her; his dreams were usually more the common garden variety types, not the existential-crisis-in-the-middle-of-the-night types. He strokes her thumbs with his soothingly.

“When I first asked my mum if there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want to have sex with anyone, you know that she said yes.” Eunoia’s hands tighten around his, barely constrained rage tensing her body. “She also said we could fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Eunoia exclaims hotly and Sam feels a little more normal when he smiles wryly, an unusual expression for him, usually so earnest and honest in his happiness.

“I didn’t think that at the time. I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be liked. Mum persuaded my brother to start taking me to all his parties, I don’t know how, probably said that she’d help him pay for his car or something. I hated them. They weren’t fun parties, and I don’t like large groups of strangers anyway. It was all drugs and drinking which is fine in small doses but everyone was reckless and doing stupid stunts. And there was so much sex. All the time, everywhere. There wasn’t one quiet corner in the house that didn’t have some people hooking up there. My brother would never stay with me, he’d always abandon me to go and have fun with his friends and I just-” Sam cuts himself off with a shudder and Eunoia disentangles their hands so she can pull him fully into her arms, head tucked into the crook between her neck and shoulder, legs wrapped firmly round his sides.

Sam squeezes her waist, inhaling her smell deeply, anchoring himself to the present. They’re alone; even if Sam turns on the lights it’d still be just the two of them. “I hate your mother.” Eunoia says, matter-of-factly, after they’ve been sat there for a while.

  Eunoia recognises the words almost against her will, a thread of awareness coming back to her eyes.

“Sam?” He leans forward lightly till their foreheads brush and Eunoia lets out a quiet agonised sigh. “Oh. Oh, my God. Sam.” She looks at the door where Andrew and Neil had gone and then down at her hands. “Fuck. Fuck!”

She spins away and sits at the closest table head in her hands. Sam doesn’t know whether she wants him to come over or not. “The FBI? Sam, what the fuck? Does he get off on hurting people?” She drums her hand against the table, loudly enough that the person walking their dog outside looks around for the source of the noise. “Agents? My parents weren’t, they weren’t- Fuck!”

“Why would they lie?” Sam asks gently, which is apparently exactly the wrong thing to say. Eunoia jabs a finger towards him, eyes narrowed.

“Just because you’ve got a boner for Minyard doesn’t mean he can’t be a massive asshole!” She snarls, picking the words that hurt the most. That’s the problem with letting someone know you. He flinches, because she knows he’s never thought about Andrew like that, that the whole thing was an inside joke between the two of them long before he ever met the Exy player in real life, that trivializing the stuttering way he’d tried to explain his fascination with the goalkeeper is exactly what everyone else has been doing to him his whole life but never Eunoia, never her.

He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to leave, but he also knows he can’t leave her. That’s the problem with falling in love.

Instead, he sits on the floor, leaning his head against the counter, and waits for things to get better.

N�����<��

#Andreil #My writing #Andrew Minyard #Neil Josten #tfc #aftg #My OC Sam #My OC Eunoia #TSD

[scarredsilk]

Something Real (Chapter Four)

Chapter Master-list tag list: @trashcan-filled-with-fandoms , @moonsandstarsaregay read on ao3

tw for this chapter: ptsd/panic attacks, knives/blood/graphic violence (all stuff from the past tho don’t worry)

In hindsight, Neil thought he could have probably handled that better.

He was just so swept up in Andrew and Exy that he lost sight of his goal. At first, Neil was fully set on telling Andrew his intentions. But as time went on, Andrew picked up on everything so quickly that Neil just wanted to keep teaching him, regardless if Andrew would join the foxes or not. Neil wanted to tell Andrew just that, but it was hard to get the words out with Andrews hands around his throat. Maybe it was for the best. Andrew had a reason for not telling anyone about Exy, and Neil wanted to respect that, even if he didn’t know the reason himself.

Still..it was hard to turn away from such talent. And Neil was convinced Andrew didn’t realize how special he truly was. No, he wouldn’t give up on Andrew that easily. Even if everybody else does.

Neil gave Andrew exactly twenty-four hours to cool off, but he couldn’t really wait much longer after that. The season was starting soon, and it would already be a hassle to sign Andrew this late. He made his way to Andrew’s room and knocked on the door tentatively.

Nicky swung it open, a smile immediately encompassing his face. “Neil! You’re just in time for movie night. Come in.”

Neil followed Nicky to the main room, where Aaron and Kevin were chilling on the couch. He didn’t see Andrew anywhere.

“Do you have a preference?” Nicky asked as he knelt in front of the DVD player. “I was thinking romantic comedy.”

Aaron groaned. “Again?”

“It’s either that or go with Kevin’s pick, and I’m not watching another Exy game tonight.” Neil heard Kevin huff and saw him slump further into the couch. “So, Neil, got any suggestions?”

“Actually, I was looking for Andrew.” All eyes snapped to him. Silence filled the room and Neil felt a bit impatient when no one answered him. “What?”

“What do you want with Andrew?” Aaron questioned, his voice cold.

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

Aaron fixed him with a dead stare that was so akin to Andrew’s that if they stood next to each other in that moment, Neil would not be able to tell them apart. Aaron wasn’t going to answer him, so Neil turned to Nicky. “Well?”

Nicky pointed to one of the bedroom doors. Neil muttered a small thanks but before he could take a step, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Andrew. His blond hair was ruffled with sleep and he was wearing pajama bottoms that hung too low on his waist. He yawned as he made his way into the main room.

Inexplicably, Neil blushed at the sight of him.

Andrew did not seem surprised to see Neil there, nor did he acknowledge him at all. Andrew began to make coffee without a glance in Neil’s direction.

Neil followed him to the small kitchen. He watched as Andrew poured water and added grounds to the machine. He opened one cabinet and had to go on his tip toes to retrieve a mug, and Neil adverted his eyes from the small patch of skin that revealed as Andrew’s shirt rolled up. He risked a look behind him and discovered Aaron and Kevin were looking at them.

Neil couldn’t talk here, not with them watching. “Andrew.” He said, his voice quiet.

When Andrew finally turned around, he had two mugs in his hands instead of one. He handed one to Neil, then made a motion that said, ‘follow me’.

 They ended up on the roof, the night air wrecking Neil’s body with chills. He was thankful for the mug in his hands and curled his fingers around the heat. Neil watched as Andrew sat on the cool concrete, his hands reaching for a pack of cigarettes.

“Do you make a habit of napping during the day?” Neil asked as he took a seat next to him.

“Do you make a habit of showing up where you’re not wanted?” Andrew shot back.

Neil looked down at the coffee in his hands. If Andrew really didn’t want him there, he wouldn’t have given him a mug. Neil was beginning to understand what Andrew said and did were two different things. No, that wasn’t it, Andrew was not purposely contradicting himself. He wholeheartedly believed in both of his actions, and he was always fighting which one was truer.

Neil took a sip of his coffee, his face scrunching up from the sweetness. “I wanted to talk.”

“You’re already talking.”

“About what happened. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I’ll admit, my intentions at the start were for you to join the foxes. In a way, that’s still how I feel. But there’s a stronger part of me that just wants to teach you and learn from you. If you never end up joining the foxes, that’s okay with me.”

Andrew, for the first time that night, looked at Neil. His face was calm and distant as always. “Why do you want me to join the foxes?”

“Because you’re talented—” Neil started.

“And no lying.”

Neil shook his head. “I’m not lying. But if you won’t believe that, then believe this: the foxes aren’t enough to win. We need a wild card, something that will throw the opposing team off balance. Renee is a great goalkeeper and so is Korin, but every team already knows their stats and what moves they rely on to win. You’re new and something they won’t ever expect.”

Andrew took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke filling the air between them. “What do I get out of it?”

Neil did not think he would have to explain that. “Glory.” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Satisfaction. A team and a future that’s real.”

“Real.” Andrew echoed, the word sounding less appealing in Andrew’s mouth. He took a sip of his coffee then set in on the ground next to him. With the combination of the dark and Andrew’s pale skin glowing from the moonlight, he didn’t look real himself. “I’m not interested.”

Neil could tell he was losing and any minute now Andrew would end his conversation. Neil wracked his brain for anything of substance. Andrew would gain all those things from the foxes, and not only that, but he would gain a second family. Neil could not imagine living without Matt or Dan or any of the other foxes. Neil felt grounded around them, less like a runaway and more like someone who laid roots. He didn’t know when he began to feel grounded around Andrew, and he didn’t know why he wanted Andrew to feel just as grounded. But the feeling was there, and it tugged at Neil to say something to change his mind.

Neil knew Andrew did not care about any of that, so Neil pulled the card he was saving all night. “Kevin.”

“What about him?”

“You really think you can protect him if we lose?”

The question hung between them and it was awhile before Andrew spoke. “Depends.”

Neil had only small snippets of what the contract was between Andrew and Kevin. The details didn’t really matter, all that mattered was that Andrew never broke a promise. And Neil relied on that one fact alone. “On what?”

“If Kevin keeps his word.”

“What does that mean?” Neil questioned.

“Why do you care?”

“Curious. I want to know you.” Neil admitted, more to himself than to Andrew.

“A truth for a truth.” Andrew said, dropping his unfinished cigarette off the edge of the roof. He raised his hands with both index fingers pointing upward. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

Neil felt a small pang of panic but figured this was probably the only way. “Fine.”

“I can only protect Kevin to an extent. If the foxes win, then protecting Kevin and his Exy riddled brain will be easy. But if the foxes lose then Kevin’s fragile ego will crumple, and he’ll crawl back to Riko like the weakling he is. He promised it wouldn’t come to that, but I’m not stupid.” One finger went down, and Andrew wiggled the other. “My turn. How did you get those scars?”

Neil did not have time to consider what Andrew had said about Kevin. All he could think about was the scars that littered his face and how heavy they suddenly felt. The foxes knew not to ask about them and it had been awhile since Neil had to give an explanation. The small panic he felt earlier, bloomed into something violent and Neil regretted playing this game. He stared down the mug in his hands and tried to work through it. “My father and his men.” Neil explained, his voice barely above a whisper. “The last time I ran into them, they weren’t so welcoming.”

He hadn’t told anyone the truth about his scars since they were cut into his face and he didn’t care to dive into that memory. Yet the pain of that day was crashing into him and Neil was back in that car, a knife to his face and Lola beside him.

Neil wasn’t aware of how long he was gone until a cold hand clamped his neck. “Neil, breathe.”

Neil took a few deep breaths and like a switch, he was back on the roof with Andrew.

Neil was afraid to look at Andrew directly, so he watched him from under his eyelashes. He expected to see pity or worry or whatever emotion Nicky or Dan usually made. Instead, he saw understanding mixed with a darkness that leveled Neil more than it should have. “For a price, I can protect you.”

Neil blinked. “What?”

“From them.”

“They-they’re dead.” Andrew hadn’t removed his hand and Neil didn’t particularly mind. They watched each other, the space between them closer than before. Neil thought that for Andrew to offer something like that so casually was incomprehensible. If his father had been alive, he could kill Andrew in a matter of seconds. “I don’t want there to be contracts binding us. Just truth.”

The darkness in Andrew’s eyes softened. After a pause, he gestured to his scars. “Can I touch, yes or no?”

“Yes.” Neil breathed.

Andrew’s hand shifted from his neck to cup his face. He trailed the longest scar with his thumb. Neil shuddered under his touch, his eyes fluttering close on their own accord. 

Then Andrew pulled his hand away and leaned out of his space. “I hate you. Leave.”

Neil stood, trying to compose himself as best as he could. Just as he reached the door to the roof, Andrew spoke up again. “I’ll consider your offer, Junkie.”

  Neil liked to imagine the bullets that ripped through his father’s chest also ripped through all his memories of him. That they shredded the thoughts into nothing more than shrapnel and blood. He imagined this, yet the memories never truly go away.

Sometimes, they’re dull. They are so faded and grey that when Wymack raises his voice, he doesn’t flinch like he used to. Or when Allison pulls him into a hug, he can enjoy it without his mother whispering danger in his ear. Sometimes his memories are nothing more than that—a memory.

And sometimes, on the bad days, they are upfront and center. They are loud and all consuming. They pull at Neil and nip at his ankles telling him to run, run, run.

Often, it starts with a nightmare. Neil wakes up with scenes of his father slicing him in half. He wakes up with the image of Lola cutting out Matt’s eyes. He wakes up with no hands and no legs and no heart.

He wakes up and for a split second, cannot tell if it was a nightmare or a memory.

Usually after a few heavy breaths, he can tell the difference. Still, the pain of nightmares blends with the pain of memories and Neil has a hard time with carrying them both.

 The same night he spoke with Andrew, his mind betrayed him. In his heart, Neil knows that he trusts Andrew. It’s a staggering thought, so his brain takes a while to warm up to the idea. He has a nightmare, which may be a memory playing on repeat, and wakes to his alarm in a cold sweat.

Neil takes a hot shower and the water soothes him a bit. He still feels little shaky when he finally makes it into the main room, but Matt’s face calms him instantly.

“Hey you. Aren’t you going to be late?” Matt asks as he shoves some folders into his backpack.

Neil shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t find my calculator and I think Ms. Predmore said something about a pop quiz.”

Neil walked over to Matt and lifted a textbook off his desk to unveil a calculator. Matt’s eyes widened. “How did you--?”

“I saw Seth steal it from your bag while he was studying last night.”

“Thank you, Neil!” Matt scooped him into a hug that Neil had no time to prepare for. “Okay, I’m off!”

Neil watched as the door closed behind him. He let out a few breaths and tried not to think about how his hug felt like two hands holding him down.

 When he was late, Neil hated the sheer abundance of students at Palmetto State University. Usually, he was early enough to beat the crowd and could steal a seat in the back, then slip out early to his next class. Today, he was maneuvering through the hallway and shimming through small openings just so he could make it on time. The noise didn’t bother him though, so he listened to other students’ conversations on the way to class.

As his classroom came in sight, relief flooded him.

“Nathaniel!”

Neil froze, several people knocking into him and shooting him a dirty look for stopping in the middle of the hallway. His blood ran cold. Had he imagined it?

“Nathaniel!”

Something’s wrong. His father’s men should all be dead. Neil’s heart pounded in his ears along with a ringing that told him he was close to passing out. Neil forced himself to calm down and turn around. He saw a girl approaching him and Neil wanted to close his eyes and escape, except his nightmare from last night flashed in his eyelids.

“Nathaniel! Wait!”

Neil braced himself. He watched as they got closer and wished he hugged Matt back this morning. He wished he wasn’t stubborn and had accepted Renee’s invite of walking him to class. He wished Andrew was there to put a hand on his neck.

Neil watched as whoever it was, walk right past him. He turned around, and saw the girl kiss some guy who had been standing directly behind Neil. “I called your name like ten times, Nathaniel.”

“Sorry babe, I had my earphones in.”

 Neil considered skipping the foxes practice that night. He felt like some skittish animal, ready to turn tail and leave at any sign of danger. However, skipping a practice would only hurt him in the long run. He couldn’t afford to miss with the season starting in only a matter of weeks.

As he changed out in the stall, he tried to settle down. I’m not Nathaniel, I’m not the Butcher’s son, I’m not lost.

The first half of practice went well. He was surprised to see Andrew in the bleachers, and it momentarily paused the uneasiness churning in his stomach.

The second half of practice did not go so well. Seth was getting on his nerves, along with Wymack’s yelling. He tried to focus on Andrew’s blank expression, except it was hard to see from a distance. He was distracted and slow and tried to take a shot at the goal, but Aaron was able to shove him into a wall with ease.

Neil fell on his face, the gear on his head pushing into his skin like a dashboard lighter. He could smell blood, could smell skin burning.

Distantly, he heard Kevin shout “how did you miss?!”

Neil didn’t know where he was. The events of the day finally caught up with him and he was back in Baltimore. I’m not Nathaniel, I’m not the Butcher’s son, I’m not lost, I’m not Nathaniel, I’m not the Butcher’s son, I’m not lost. I’m not Nathaniel, I’m not the Butcher’s son, I’m not lost.

He saw Renee approach him, but she transformed into Lola right before his eyes. “Nathaniel?”

Neil flinched away and held his head in his hands, I’m not Nathaniel, I’m not the Butcher’s son, I’m not lost.

“Nathaniel? What’s wrong?”

No, no, no. Don’t call me that!

“Call you what?” Sounds like Renee doesn’t look like Renee.

“Wymack! Get Bee!”

He hoped it wouldn’t hurt. He hoped it would be quick or he’d pass out from the pain. He hoped his father would show him mercy one goddamn time. Through the haze, Neil barely registered someone kneeling in front of him. He does, however, feel the cold hand on his neck. “Stop this.” A calm voice cuts through the air. He feels the hand leave his neck only to take off his helmet. “Neil, breathe.” Neil looks up, expecting to see his father, yet its only Andrew. Neil holds onto his blank expression like it’s a rope lifting him from a black hole. Neil breathes and breathes. Slowly, he comes back to himself.

When he’s ready, he looks around to see the foxes surrounding them. He sees Bee and Wymack with their arms stretched, preventing some of them from getting closer. Aaron is the only one looking at Andrew and not Neil.

“I’m fine.” Neil croaks out.

“Oh my fucking God—” Nicky starts, but Wymack shushes him.

He approaches Neil cautiously, and gestures for him to stand up. “Come on, kid.”

Neil looks at Andrew and they stand together. He does a small body check on himself, and notes that there are no gaping wounds, no burning flesh. He is fine, other than his shaky legs.

Neil follows Wymack and Bee out of the foxhole court.

#aftg #andreil #aftg fic #andreil fic #tfc fic #sr chapter four #my writing #yooo this chapter took me so long and it was the hardest to write

[titoslondon-blog]

New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.com/askhermore-to-zac-posen-gowns-galore-instyles-a-z-of-awards-season/

#AskHerMore, To Zac Posen Gowns Galore - InStyle’s A-Z Of Awards Season

A is for…#AskHerMore

A is all about the feminist #AskHerMore red carpet movement. Pioneered by Reese Witherspoon and Amy Poehler in 2015, it’s all about changing the way media (that's us too) talks to women and encouraging them to ask better questions than just ‘'Who are you wearing?'. Because quelle surprise women have views on politics and current events as well. B is for…Bliiiiiing

And a whole lot of it. From the now infamous $2.5 million 115-carat Lorraine Schwartz emerald drop earrings that Angelina sashayed down the Oscars 2009 red carpet wearing, to Cate Blanchett’s Chopard earrings, bracelet and ring combo that cost a whopping $18 million, when it comes to standing out at an awards ceremony, it’s all about the bling. The winner of our Ultimate Bling Award? Elizabeth Taylor, obvs. The queen of more is more, Taylor’s then husband Richard Burton bought her a 69.42 carat diamond ring for $1 million but, as Elizabeth puts it, ‘Even for me it was too big. So we had Cartier design a necklace.’ Well, as we always say, when your diamond’s too big to wear as a ring, whack it on a pendant and wear it to the 1970 Academy Awards around your neck instead. Understated, who?

C is for…Charlize Theron

Who knew that Charlize Theron was such a babe? Well, we did. An epic actress (she won an Oscar for her terrifying role in Monster), a style chameleon and repping on the red carpet for taller ladies everywhere, Charlize is the ultimate awards badass and we’re obsessed.

D is for…Diversity

With Meryl Streep’s Golden Globes speech addressing immigration straight on, and the 2017 Oscar nominations finally making progress against #oscarssowhite with a black actor being nominated in all four acting categories for the first time EVER, the awards diversity drought is officially over. Hooray!

E is for…EE Rising Star Award

Arguably the most exciting award of the year (because it involves majorly hyped new talent like Ruth Negga and Tom Holland aka Spiderman) the BAFTA EE Rising Star Award is so snazzy we throw a party for it every year. Check the deets HERE.

F is for…Fancy Dress

Bjork’s swan moment, Cher’s 1986 ‘Mohawk year’ and Rihanna’s Britney-meets-Egyptian bejewelled bodystocking – yup, when it comes to red carpet dressing there’s always one that takes it to that bit too far to the realms of fancy dress. And we look forward to that one every year, natch.

G is for…Gaga

When she’s not being carried along the red carpet in an egg, wearing yesterday’s beef tartare as a dress or performing an epic ode to David Bowie with glam rock costume changes to match, Lady Gaga’s generally stealing the limelight at any and every awards show. Case in point: accepting her 2011 MTV awards in character as her male alter ego Jo Calderone. Lady Gaga going method? Groundbreaking.

H is for…Hosts (The Weird, The Wonderful And The Awkward)

The fun part about awards shows? They inevitably have to be hosted by two celebrities that would never normally talk to each other but now have to share a stage and present funny quips and bits for hours on end. A recipe for success, non? Well, if you’re hilarious comedians and besties Amy Poehler and Tina Fey presenting the 2015 Golden Globes, then yes. But if you’re Anne Hathaway attempting to present the 2011 Oscars with a possibly stoned but either way totally out of it James Franco, then alas, no.

I is for…Insta Madness

If only Bradley's arm was longer. Best photo ever. #oscars pic.twitter.com/C9U5NOtGap

— Ellen DeGeneres (@TheEllenShow) 3 March 2014

If you didn’t see THAT group selfie at the 2014 Oscars, then what hole were you living in? Ellen’s celebrity studded Hollywood selfie broke the internet and started a new A-list obsession with Instagram. Just try and get through awards season without liking Chrissy Teigen’s adorable backstage pics with John Legend or Lily Collins asking your opinion on what Zuhair Murad gown she should choose. It’s all about the BTS (that’s behind-the-scenes) pics babe.

via GIPHY

J is for…Jennifer Lawrence Falling Over

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Doing a damn good impression of a weeble, Jennifer Lawrence can’t help falling head over heels for awards shows, literally. Tripping over her massive Dior gown on the way to receive her Best Actress Oscar back in 2013, J-Law’s tumble was surely the most Tweeted about awards moment that year. That, and her tripping over a cone. And every other time she’s totally stacked it. Jennifer, we salute your ability to power through embarrassment.

K is for…Kisses

Remember that time Angelina Jolie said she was ’so in love’ with her brother before kissing him smack on the lips at the 2000 Oscars? Well, we do. And tbh, it’s still weird. Between that and John Travolta’s surprise attack on Scarlett Johansson, awards season always seems to bring out the awkward affectionate sides of celebs (and their siblings).

L is for…Loser Face

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Some people can nail the perfect Joey from Friends gracious loser face, and others…well they don’t keep it together so well. Take Samuel L Jackson who, when losing the 1995 Best Supporting Actor Oscar to Martin Landau, could be see mouthing ‘Oh shit’ on screen. Or when Kanye, in true Kanye fashion, took things one step further by crashing Taylor Swfit’s VMA award win to defend losing nominee Beyonce’s honour thus beginning an A-list feud of epic proportions. A polite clap would have been fine.

M is for…Meryl Streep

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Officially the most nominated person EVER. That is all.

N is for…Novel Adaptations We’ve Never Read

Let’s face it, every year there’s a bazillion films nominated that are actually super intellectual novel adaptations that we’ll pretend to our ridiculously informed and cultural friends we’ve totally read but in reality we’ve just watched the movie and googled some original quotes. Soz, not soz.

O is for…Opening Numbers

Hugh Jackman’s adorable, if slightly awkward, dance number with Anne Hathaway at the 2009 Oscars, Andrew Rannell’s all singing, all dancing rendition of ‘I Believe’ from The Book Of Mormon at the 2011 Tony Awards and Neil Patrick Harris’ arguably best ever Tony Awards performance in 2013 are just a few of the awards show opening numbers to go down in history for the right reasons. We won’t mention the wrong ones.

P is for…Poor Leo

2017 aka the year Leonardo Di Caprio finally won an oscar. It’s fair to say a few people may have given up on it ever happening, including Leo himself. #poorleo.

A photo posted by Angel (@bri6427) on

Jun 30, 2016 at 8:40pm PDT

Q is for…Queen Bey

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If anyone else can announce their pregnancy on stage at the Grammys and bring a tear to our eye quite like Queen Bey we’ll eat our jauntily tipped purple fedora Destiny’s Child style. Lest we forget THAT game-changing Country Music Awards performance of Daddy Lessons with Dixie Chicks that we’ve listened to like 300 times. Ok fine, 500.

R is for…Red Carpet Hype

Fact – you can’t have an awards show without a red carpet, but where did it even come from? Why not a blue carpet? First thunk up by LA showman Sid Graumman in 1922, the red carpet made its debut at the first ever Hollywood premiere, Robin Hood, but didn’t make an appearance at the Oscars until 1961 when film enthusiasts watching on tv couldn’t even tell it was red because of the black and white picture. The epitome of you had to be there.

Fun fact – the carpet outside the Dolby Theatre where the Oscars are held is 500 ft long. Incidentally, just enough room for Jennifer Lawrence to fall over in.

S is for…Speech Cock Ups And General Weirdness

Part two of the awkward hosting section of our A-Z, it’s not an awards season if someone doesn’t mess up an acceptance speech, mispronounce a celeb’s name or send a worthy cause to accept the award on their behalf. Check out Miley Cyrus sending a young homeless dude called Jesse Helt to pick up her 2014 MTV Award (which he’s appaz now auctioning off, that’s gratitude for you), John Travolta classically messing up Idina Menzel’s name and Tom Hiddleston, god bless him, attempting to tell an inspirational anecdote and totally missing the mark. Oscar fails are our fave.

T is for…The Leg

Need we say more? Winning our award for best dressed at the 2012 Oscars, Angelina Jolie’s right leg made such a statement it even had its own Twitter account.

U is for…Ugly Crying

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Yes, it’s an emotional time for everyone, but there’s some that handle the sitch better than others. Gwyneth Paltrow was not one of them. We won’t even mention Halle Berry. Let’s just say we’d give them the Oscar for ugly crying.

V is for…Valentino

That iconic black and white dress Julia Roberts wore to win her Oscar back in 2001 that you always remember every time the Oscars rolls round again? It was Valentino. Cate Blanchett’s timeless one-shouldered yellow dress she wore for her 2005 Best Supporting Actress Oscar win? Yup, Valentino.Scarlett Johansson’s seriously major red dress that put her on the map? You guessed it, Valentino. When it comes to dressing like a winner (or dressing a winner, should we say), Valentino have got it down.

W is for…Wardrobe Malfunctions

via GIPHY

From Chrissy Teigen’s NSFW leg split to Geri Halliwell’s 1997 Brit Awards boob slip, a well-placed (pardon the pun) wardrobe malfunction gets you more column inches than actually winning an award. Our fave? J-Law’s gravity-defying dress tear that magically reattaches itself almost instantly. We geuinely don't know what happened there.

X is for…Exes

There’s nothing better than proving how totally fine you are about an overly publicised breakup by revenge winning an award literally in front of your ex. On the other hand, bumping into an ex on the red carpet isn’t exactly ideal. Oh Hollywood, you’re so small and incestuous and adorable. Brad and Angelina, we wish you good luck.

Y is for…Yellow

Black is so blah. If you want to make a statement on the red carpet it’s all about wearing yellow. Take notes from Reese Witherspoon’s post-Ryan Philippe break up LYD (little yellow dress) and Rachel from Friends fringe that was TOO good or Michelle Williams winning at life in a yellow custom Vera Wang dress that we’ve basically never got over. Nabbing the canary yellow torch and carrying it into 2017, Emma Stone’s red hair, pink lips, yellow dress combo is so chic it’s insane.

Z is for…Zac Posen

Bringing an air of mid-century couture to the often pedestrian fashion proceedings, you can bet your money on Zac Posen dressing the most dramatic, and high fashion celebrity on the red carpet. Noteworthy moment – Christina Hendricks wearing the widest emerald green skirt you ever did see before whipping it off to reveal a fitted mermaid tail gown underneath. And our girl crush hit new heights.