#Andrew hides his feet like Neil hides his scars. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainshorter · 3 years

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We all know that airport scene where Neil calls Wymack to pick him up after he got back from the ravens? Imma write that in Wymack's point of view just because i can, i want to and also because I've recently seen a beautiful art piece from this scene by @lunapiq

Trigger warning: abuse, wounds, self harm, and just all terrible things be careful with reading this.

Wymack was sitting comfortably on the couch, feet on the table and a bottle of scotch in his hands, the TV was on quietly. It was ultimately relaxing, no press, no Abby, no Betsy, no troublesome fo--

He wasn't even finished with the sentence in his head or his phone rang. He grabbed it and flipped it open. Neil's name was on display.

Wymack picked up after he let it ring for a while, "You have a good reason to be bothering me on a holiday?"

There was a soft sigh on the other side of the phone. "I didn't know who else to call." Neil answered. Wymack almost didn't recognise the voice on the other side. He sat up turning the TV off. "Neil?" Wymack's annoyance had changed into worry, "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright. I know it's kinda sudden but can you come get me? I'm at the airport." Neil said. "Stay there, I'm on my way." Wymack answered and he hung up. He was up on his feet and grabbed his keys.

Wymack couldn't help but wonder what had happened, was it Neil's parents? Did his big dumbass mouth get him into a fight again?

Wymack would lie if anyone asked but he drove a little faster than the speed limit. He knew something was terribly wrong if even Neil admitted he wasn't fine, and he claimed often he was fine even if he wasn't.

Wymack arrived at the airport and he parked his car. He walked towards the entrance but he spotted a figure sitting on the curb. Coach had only recognized the kid because of how Neil-like he was sitting, Wymack knew how all of his foxes looked just by looking at how they walked or sit. Everything else about what Wymack thought was Neil, was different, at least everything Wymack could seem, his hair wasn't black anymore, it was an auburn colour. The kid was covered in bandages.

Wymack crouched down and touched Neil's shoulder with a hand. "Up." Wymack said and he helped Neil up to his feet.

Neil looked at him, blue eyes instead of brown eyes scanned Wymack's face absentmindly. Wymack managed to hide the shock and he helped Neil into his car.

Wymack got into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. He had questions but he waited till they got home.

The kid that looked like Neil had fallen asleep and Wymack had no choice but to carry him upstairs, he could have waken him up but the kid looked tired enough already. He somehow managed to get them both and Neil's bag into the apartment without much trouble.

Wymack grabbed his desk chair from his study room and sat down in the livingroom. Wymack sipped the scotch till it was almost empty and then he closed the cap on it.

Wymack waited patiently for Neil to wake up and when Neil finally did he watched Neil push himself up while groaning.

His face wasn't the only thing bruised up then, Wymack thought.

"I'm sorry." was the first thing Neil said and Wymack had to fight the urge to roll his eyes instead he answered, "He sounds like Neil, but he doesn't look like him. I'll take your explanation from the top without a side order of bullshit."

Neil looked at Wymack quietly before reaching up to his hair.

"No." Neil eyes went wide. Neil stood up and stumbled to the bathroom. Wymack not surprised at all. Neil looked at the mirror and grabbed the sides of the sink. Wymack watched Neil from the doorway. Neil's expression went from confused to concerned to terrified and Wymack noticed he stopped breathing as he gaped at himself in the mirror.

"Breathe." Wymack stepped forward and put a firm hand against Neil's back. Neil started to panic more and Wymack didn't have to think about the next thing to do. He fished a cigeratte and lighter out of his pocket and he lit the cigeratte. The snap of the lighter made Neil turn his head to Wymack and he grabbed the cigeratte from his hand.

Neil's breaths were deep and raspy, like it hurt when he was breathing. Eventually Neil started to cough loudly, which turned into laughing. Wymack didn't know why he was laughing but Neil sounded a little hysterical. Neil covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound.

"Neil, i need you to talk to me." Wymack tried to interrupt the laughter, it worked.

"I think i pulled my stitches." Neil said after he caught his breath again, "I feel blood."

"Where?"

"Everywhere." Neil started to clumsily undoing his coat buttons, Wymack slapped his hand away and helped Neil. It was a struggle but they managed to get Neil's coat off. Neil moved on to pull off his gloves. He put the top of the glove into his mouth and he tugged, Neil winced. Wymack noticed the expression on his face and he pried the gauze and tape off his cheek.

Wymack's stomach turned slightly at the sight and he went still, "Neil, the fuck is on your face?"

Neil freed his hand from the glove and touched his fingers to his cheek where the black 4 was tattooed.

He looked at the mirror again and the colour that was left on his face, now completely dissapeared. Wymack was stunned and had certainly not expected a violent reaction. That was the only reason why Neil managed to push past Wymack and Neil shot to the kitchen. Wymack immediately followed and by the time he got into the kitchen Neil had pulled a knife from the wooden block on Wymack's counter. Wymack reacted quickly and seized Neil's wrist before he got to reach the knife to his face. Neil fought back, but Wymack knew Neil didn't stand a chance. He was hurt and bruised, he was panicking because of the thing on his face.

Wymack slammed Neil's hand down om the counter until he lost grip on the knife. Neil reached for it again but Wymack pushed Neil to floor. He put both arms around Neil tightly, there was no way Neil could get free. Wymack felt a pang in his chest, he didn't want to hold his foxes down like this, especially when they were already hurt but he had no choice. Neil still tried to fight Wymack off of him but it was no use.

"Hey," Wymack sounded calm as ever even though in his head it was a emotional mess, "Hey, it's alright." Wymack knew these words weren't necessarily true but at least Neil was safe now, safe with him. "Neil." Neil stopped wriggling in Wymack's grip, his hands held onto Wymack's shirt, one on his sleeve the other crumbled to a fist in the front of his shirt. Neil trembled in Wymack's arms. "Help me." Neil gritted through his teeth.

"Let me." Wymack responded softly. Wymack waited for Neil to catch his breath.

Once Neil's breathing was back to normal Wymack shot a question at him, "What the fuck happened? Last i heard you were spending Christmas with your uncle."

"I lied." Neil responded, "Andrew's coming back to us on Tuesday, all right? If Easthaven hasn't called Betsy yet to arrange the ride they will soon." Wymack was confused, "They called yesterday but what does Andrew have to do with this?" Wymack asked.

"Everything that matters." Neil responded.

"That's not an answer."

Did this have anything to do with before Andrew got taken to Easthaven? When they were in Andrew's house in Columbia? Wymack thought.

"I'm sorry." Neil responded softly. Why did Neil always felt the need to apologise, Wymack didn't know, "Shut up." Shut up, there is nothing to apologise for. There was a silence for a couple of minutes before Wymack spoke up again, "Can i let go of you and trust you to behave or are you going to try to cut off your face again? I want to check on your stiches."

"I'll behave." Neil nodded.

"Forgive me if i dont trust you." Wymack said but he let go of Neil slowly. Wymack took Neil out of the kitchen, away from the knives and sharp things.

Neil couldn't take his shirt off himself Wymack realised that even before he gestured Neil to pull off his shirt. Wymack stood up to get a pair of scissors. Neil held perfectly still as Wymack cut through the front of his shirt.

Wymack didn't say anything about the scars all over Neil's body, but his blood started to boil, he kept his cool for Neil. Wymack scanned Neil's body with a clinical eye. He got rid of the bandage and surveyed the damage underneath them. Wymack stood up and left the room to get a wet towel and also to put himself together. He knew Neil wasn't okay and he also knew who might have done this judging by the four on his cheek but he hadn't expected it to be that bad.

Wymack was there to give his foxes a second chance, to help them, to protect them, he'd failed to do the latter. Wymack went back to Neil with the wet towel and the first aid kit.

Neil tried to take the cloth from Wymack but his hands couldn't keep a grip on them. Wymack pushed Neil's hands out of the way and scrubbed the dried blood from Neil. "One day we're going to talk about this." Wymack said in a low voice.

"After we beat the ravens, then I'll tell you whatever you want, I'll even tell you the truth." Neil answered weakly. Wymack wanted nothing more than to punch the one who'd hurt Neil. But seeing Riko lose in the finals would be a little satisfying too.

#This was so painful to write #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #the foxes #the foxhole court #nora sakavic #andrew minyard #david wymack #coach wymack #Tfc #the raven king #Trk #the king's men #Tkm #Pain #Trigger warning

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codename-adler · 4 years

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foxes + onesies (9/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Kevin

every Fox has bad days

some bad days begin with a specific feeling

when Andrew feels ghost hands as he wakes up, when he feels his body too tight for his bones, or hid bones too big for his body

when Neil feels every sound like a knife to his skin, when the scars on his face feel like phantom pains, when he feels a grown man moves too fast, too close to him

when Allison feels jeans cling too much to her thighs, when her shirt brushes too much on her abdomen, when she feels the food she ate resting in her stomach

some bad days begin with a specific date

when it’s the anniversary of Tilda’s death, and Aaron cannot be in the same room as Andrew, no matter how far they’ve come

when it’s the anniversary the Boyds’ divorce, and Matt can’t leave Dan’s side for one second, no matter how strong their relationship is

when it’s the anniversary of Mary’s death, of Evermore, of Nathaniel’s last birthday, of Baltimore, and Neil can’t take a single look at himself in the mirror, no matter how many times Andrew worships his face with his mouth and his fingers

or, when it’s the anniversary of Kayleigh Day’s death, and nobody remembers, not even Wymack, and Kevin is all alone with this grief that is other, unlike any other he carries everyday, unlike anything he can compare to, and he doesn’t know how to feel anymore

Kevin vividly remembers that day, and he sees it luring around the corner as August approaches

but this time, there is no more Riko to worry about, no more mafia to be scared of, no more Ravens to antagonize him, no more Master to punish him for even attempting to grieve every year

and no more alcohol to make him forget

Kevin quit drinking the day they won championship, they day Riko was killed died

it’s been a year and a half, now, and Kevin still wants to drink the minute things get hard mentally

(it’s also been a year and a half since the Foxes started getting onesies, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, and only Allison remembers that summer where it all started)

so when Kevin enters his bad days, his bad weeks, the Foxes are used to his mood swinging back and forth between Queen of Assholery and Feral Fox

but Kevin isn’t

he isn’t used to feeling all of this, to always think, and think, and think, until everything inside his head is as loud as the outside, until it’s all too much

yet he’s still expected to go on

still supposed to function, to perform, to be a decent human being when he’s not even sure he even feels human anymore

and so when Kevin snaps, the Foxes are supposed to be used to it

they’re not

nobody is

it’s summer practice

the 9 Foxes came in early, before the two new recruits arrive

Kevin is in the middle of yelling at Neil, who is very much yelling back at him

there’s that moment very full of testosterone where each of them throw away their gloves and helmets and sticks

they’re an inch from each other’s face and then Kevin suddenly… stops

he completely stops

his face goes blank, his feet move him back, his arms go slack

he looks at Neil, and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could find an answer to a question he doesn’t know he’s asking

Neil, who has never learned to watch his mouth after all the trouble it got him into, keeps tearing into Kevin

Kevin keeps backing up and Neil keeps pushing further

but apart from his backwards movement, Kevin doesn’t react

pure apathy doesn’t suit him nearly as well as it did Andrew

the other Foxes are so silent, that between two of Neil’s breaths, they can all hear him whisper

“Stop.”

but Neil doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t want to

it gets so out of control, even Wymack has to step in, on the court, when he sees Kevin so unresponsive

it gets so bad, eventually Neil, too, stops his yelling and just looks at Kevin

and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could understand the question Kevin is asking an answer for with his pleading, green eyes

“Stop… Just- stop. I can’t- anymore… “

Kevin shakes his head and looks at the floor as hatred and hurt grip his guts

he takes another step back

suddenly he jerks his head back up and looks at Neil

“I hate you. God, I hate all of you.”

he looks at all his Foxes

then leaves

Kevin Day leaves the court

behind his back, he doesn’t see Matt holding back a furious yet teary-eyed Dan

he doesn’t see Renee leaving her goal to join Andrew’s side, her big racquet blocking his way

he doesn’t see Nicky putting his hand on Neil’s shoulder, squeezing in empathy

he doesn’t see Allison throwing away her racquet against the plexiglass wall with all that she’s got, fuming and hiding her tears

he doesn’t see Wymack matching over to Neil, a whole speech ready to give Neil his piece of mind

and he certainly doesn’t see Aaron collapsing to the ground, his hands holding his head and gripping his hair, his breaths shallow, his jaw clenched shut, his eyes dry yet red-rimmed

but from behind Kevin’s back, none of them see him either

they can’t see him losing his breath as he starts running away

they can’t see him clenching and unclenching his left hand

and they certainly can’t see him crying

the week that follows is undeniably tense between all the Foxes

that week also coincides with a lot of events

there’s the new Foxes’ arrival

there’s the start of classes

there’s the mandatory psych session with Betsy before Exy season starts

and there’s August 27th

Mom’s accident

Kevin remembers the day vividly, he truly does

he remembers because the week of the accident, he was supposed to start school for the first time, on September 1st

he had picked his outfit for the first day, he had new red Exy-themed shoes, he had even planned the lunch he wanted to have that day in his lunchbox (spaghetti squash casserole. yeah, weird kid.)

on August 27th, Mom didn’t come home

on August 27th, he went to the Moriyama property

on August 27th, he settled into a weirdly well-accommodated room that fit both him and Riko

on September 1st, he woke up with Riko and they prepared for their first day

on September 1st, Kevin wore his planned outfit, put on his red shoes

on September 1st, Kevin did not have spaghetti squash casserole

she left him nothing but an aversion for squash, red shoes, and Exy

which brings us as to why, on August 27th, as all the team is mandated to talk an hour with Betsy Dobson, Kevin Day volunteers to go first (with Aaron volunteering to go second and be the designated driver for the pair)

none of the Foxes have really talked to Kevin since the previous week’s outburst

Kevin has no other outlet for this painful day

it’s either talk to Betsy, or ruin 496 days of sobriety with one vodka bottle

the only words exchanged between Kevin and Aaron, on the drive to Reddin Medical Center, are, surprisingly, from Kevin

“Somebody should get you a new goddamn car.”

he doesn’t elaborate further than that, but Aaron looks at him strangely

his car really is garbage, though

once arrived at their destination, Kevin doesn’t wait for Aaron and bursts in Betsy’s office without warning

it takes at least half an hour of Betsy talking before Kevin gives up his silence

everything was already there, he just had to open his mouth and let his words fall

Kevin: I’ve been sober for 496 days. I’ve been thinking about my Mom’s anniversary for the past few weeks. That’s today, now. And last Friday, I told Neil, then the whole team, that I hated them. Care to unpack that for me?

Betsy: I can help you sort some things out, of course, Kevin. But this is your baggage. I’m afraid I can’t do this without your help. Why don’t you tell me more about this hatred you feel towards your teammates?

Kevin: I dont. Hate them. I don’t… I hate what they do to me. How they treat me. Their double standards. How they forget, how they dismiss. Mind you, I’m well aware of my asshole status. I know I am. But them… they’re… they’re mean. Vicious. They cut and stab and don’t care about what’s underneath. They don’t care that I helped them get the title of Champions. They don’t care that I was there every step of the way, that I was right there beside them when we played the Ravens, when we won. They don’t care that Riko died, that he once broke my hand, that I was legally kidnapped, that I went through hell and still lived to walk on my own two feet. They don’t care that I, too, once had a mom. They don’t care that my Mom died. They don’t care. To them, I’m still just a cunt. It’s unbearable. They don’t give a shit and I’m so, so tired, Betsy. I’m not asking for much. I just want… I want- I want them to let me breathe. I want them to realize that, I’m just like them. I’m a Fox. I’m a Fox as much as they are. I wake up everyday, and feel all this weight on my shoulders, in my stomach, on my heart, but I carry on anyways, and I don’t know why, but I do, just like them. Is that so hard to grasp? Is that so hard to accept? What am I doing wrong, Betsy?

Betsy: Oh, Kevin…

the rest of the session passes in a blur

Kevin talks about how every time he takes a photograph, he thinks of Kayleigh, of how brightly she smiles in all the photos Wymack has of her, of how he wishes he could take pictures of her with his own camera

Kevin talks about how every strong woman in the Irish folklore he reads about wears Kayleigh’s face

Kevin talks about how he thought Thea had been a bit like her, and how, in the end, she hadn’t been at all, she was her own woman, a woman he didn’t know and didn’t love, and how he thought he had lost a bit of Kayleigh again when they separated

Kevin talks

he talks

and Betsy listens

when his time is up, Kevin’s voice is hoarse with exhaustion and sadness

he lets Aaron in as he decides to take a run back to Fox Tower

his mind tries to guilt him into going back to the court, but between facing the Foxes after that and isolating himself in his dorm, Kevin knows what’s best for him

he is only disturbed in the late evening, when Wymack enters the dorm

even Neil, Andrew and Nicky hadn’t come back yet

Kevin knows something is wrong

Wymack isn’t supposed to be here

Wymack: Day… Listen, son.

Kevin sits up on his bed

Wymack: Argh, I’ll cut the bullshit. It’s Abby. There’s been an accident. Her car’s fucking scrap metal now. She was brought to the hospital 45 minutes ago, I just got the call. She’s going into surgery. We’ll all visit her in the morning.

Not again

Not Abby

What the fuck is this life?

Wymack: Number Seven wants to see you now. Don’t ask me why, I don’t wanna know. I’ll let her in, don’t make me regret this. Sleep good, son. I’ll see you tomorrow.

he opens the door, takes one last look at Kevin’s tense form, and leaves as Allison comes in

she’s wearing her giraffe onesie tied at the waist, with an oversized WALKER 09 t-shirt

she stands in front of Kevin until he looks up at her

Allison: Scoot over. We’re watching The Crown.

and Kevin, dumbfounded, lets her and moves

he finds himself quite intrigued by the storyline, enough to only worry about Abby with his fingers, fiddling with one of the giraffe’s horns

after the third or fourth episode, Allison starts to talk, eyeing Kevin’s fingers playing with her onesie

Allison: Wanna know the latest gossip? Even Andrew has a onesie, now. God, I can’t believe this is a sentence that exists. Andrew Minyard owns a fucking onesie. Do you know what that makes you?

Kevin stays silent, eyes fixed somewhere not quite on Ally’s laptop screen

Allison: That makes you the only Fox without one.

Kevin: Oh, so now I’m a Fox? Didn’t seem that way earlier. Or, like, ever.

the dealer chooses her next words very carefully

Allison: Just because we hadn’t seen it yet, just because we were too busy stuffing our heads up our asses, doesn’t mean you weren’t a Fox… I know, I know. Hard to feel like one when the others give you shit non-stop. Been there, done that. And now I’ve done it to you, too, and I’m… Sorry. We’re dysfunctional, there’s no changing that. But- We can do better. We’ll try, promise. I think you’ve made quite an impression on Betsy today, ‘cause we all received a good talk from her during our sessions. I mean, don’t expect Andrew running in to apologize, but, you know… Something about Betsy turning severe makes you re-evaluate your life choices. We’ll do better, Day.

Kevin looks at her, then

really looks at her

and nods

yet just as he turns his attention back to the screen, Allison leaves the Netflix page and googles “onesie adult”

Kevin: Oh, no. Absolutely not. Nope.

Allison: Oh, yes, yes, yessss!

but then, of course, there’s a knock at the door, and Allison gets up, opens the door, lets the person in, whispers something, and leaves

just like that

and oh

It’s Aaron

Aaron: So… Allison tells me you’re finally getting yourself one of those stupid pajamas too?

Kevin: I am not. What are you doing here anyway? The others will be back soon, I assume.

Aaron: Well, it’s my shift…

Kevin: Your what now?

Aaron: No, it’s not like that! We just… We thought you’d want some space because of… today… But then Abby… We didn’t want you to be alone.

Kevin: Really. Who’s “we”?

Aaron: The proud Palmetto State Foxes’ Exy team. All of them. You know, Dan, Matt, Renee, Allison, Andrew and Neil, Nicky… Me.

once again, Kevin can’t help but stare, deeply surprised

Aaron: Andrew and the others will be back for the whole night, but for now, it’s my turn. I wanted to take the first “watch”, but Allison said she had business to do with you. And I’m not getting in the way of that woman.

Kevin honest-to-God snorts

Kevin: If by “business” she meant bullying me into buying this onesie shit, then you should have gotten in her way. I’m not doing that. It’s fucking dumb.

Aaron: Hey!

Kevin: Aaron Minyard, don’t tell me you’ve participated in this madness…

Aaron: So what if I have? It wasn’t exactly on purpose, but I got one. And you don’t. So really, who’s dumb here?

Kevin: What is it??

Aaron: Not telling you.

Kevin: C’mon…

Aaron: Nope. You can’t bribe me. I’m not telling you shit. However, what I can telling you, is that it feels kinda wrong that we all have a pajama and you don’t…

Kevin: Oh my God, fine! What did the others get?

Aaron: Well, besides Ally’s giraffe, we got a tiger, a dinosaur, a teddy bear, you’ve seen Nicky’s unicorn nonsense, and I’m not quite sure about Andrew’s… Oh, and Neil’s is a fox, obviously. That predictable dumbass.

Kevin: Okay, well, I want a fox too.

Aaron: No, Kevin, you can’t.

Kevin: What? Why not!?

Aaron: Because. Neil’s already got a fox. Do you want to be a copycat AND a predictable dumbass?

and so until 1 AM, Kevin and Aaron bicker about each of Kevin’s suggestions (a Palmetto Foxes onesie, a USC Trojans onesie, an Irish-themed onesie, a white fox onesie, a gray fox onesie, and so on…)

when Andrew, Neil and Nicky come back into the dorm, Kevin’s almost laid all the way down on his bed, his head resting on Aaron’s elbow, as Aaron is sitting right next to him, laptop propped on a pillow and his fingers scrolling away

Aaron looks at Andrew, sighs, and looks at Kevin

they nod to each other, before Aaron gets up to go back to his dorm

Kevin sits up correctly when Aaaron is gone and Andrew approaches

Kevin pretends not to notice and googles one more idea, “brown fox onesie”

as he scrolls down and down and down, Andrew looks over his shoulder

and points at one picture

Andrew: That one. Now go to bed. We’re getting up at ass-o’clock tomorrow.

for the third time this evening, Kevin is shocked

he does look at Andrew’s pick attentively, though, and decides to go with it

that night, even if images of Abby covered in blood plague him for at least an hour, Kevin falls asleep to the memory of Aaron’s skin against his cheek, which somehow translates into dreams of Kayleigh resting both her hands on his cheeks as they sit in a field of wildflowers

a couple of weeks later, Kevin doesn’t tell the team his onesie has arrived

but he is forced to admit it when, for Halloween, they organize a huge party for themselves only, where they decided to wear their pajamas as costumes for the night

Kevin feels so stupid in his outfit

he even had to buy a LARGE because he’s so fucking tall

but it still feels… comfy… warm… not so bad…

maybe this can work for him…

it’s only when he steps into the girls’ living room that a problem arises

Aaron: What the fuck is this.

Kevin: Hum… A brown fox? Technically, Neil’s is orange, so you can’t shit on me!

Aaron: That- That’s not a fox, Kevin! What the fuck.

Kevin: Okay, well what are you then?? A mutant mouse?

Aaron: What are you- Oh my God, you don’t know what Pokemons are.

with that, Aaron turns around and yells for his twin

Aaron: ANDREW JOSEPH FUCKING MINYARD. YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU? YOU BASTARD.

he storms off yelling

Kevin only reunites with Aaron at the end of the night, on the girls’ balcony, both sober

Kevin: You know, for someone who pushed me so much to do this stupid thing, you’re not being very nice about it. I know you wanted me to be “original” or whatever, but it’s not like I look like Neil! Why are you so upset?

Aaron: Kevin. It’s not a fox.

Kevin: Oh for God sake’s Aaron, you-

Aaron: It’s a Pokemon, Kevin. They’re like little monsters, kind of, and it’s a videogame, but there’s anime, manga, and collectible cards and… I used to- I used to collect those. Before. I lost them, now, but see this? This is one of them. It’s the main Pokemon, actually. His name’s Pikachu.

Kevin: Okay… Who am I, then?

Aaron: You… You’re Eevee.

Kevin: And what’s “Eevee”…?

Aaron: Pikachu’s girlfriend.

and oh.

Oh.

Kevin: Andrew didn’t tell me… The little fucker. I thought- Sorry. I didn’t mean to be another pawn in one of Andrew’s little games. Why did he do that to you?

Aaron: I think you know why.

Kevin looked at Aaron

Aaron looked at Kevin

Kevin: Fuck.

Aaron: Yeah, that.

Kevin: What?

Aaron: Nothing!

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin slowly invaded Aaron’s space until his back touched the railing, and placed one hand on each side of the backliner

Aaron looked up at Kevin

Kevin looked down at Aaron

Kevin: Okay?

Aaron: Okay.

and Kevin grabbed Aaaron by the hoodie of his pajama, and pulled him close, closer, closer, closer, until their lips met, at last

it was a long-awaited kiss, a careful kiss, a kiss of home and yes and oh and warmth and safe

Kevin reluctantly pulled away and rested his forehead on top of Aaron’s, knowing they have very little time before the other Foxes found them snogging on the balcony like a goddamn cliché

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin: I’m gonna ask you something stupid, and you can’t punch me for it, okay?

Aaron: Fine, okay.

Kevin: Do you want to be the Pikachu… to my Eevee?

Aaron: YOU FUCKING MORON!

and with that, Kevin burst out laughing, as if the Foxes’ attention wasn’t already on them the second Aaron started yelling

Allison and Matt knowingly started whooping with their beers raised for a toast

Dan was facepalming hard, shaking her head, but smiling nonetheless

Renee smiled her genuine, angelic smile while clapping Nicky on the back as he choked on his drink

Neil, arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with contentment

and Andrew. Andrew had no reaction at all. at all.

he was looking at his nails, no knife in sight, no fucks given

which, in Andrew’s language, meant everything

and so that October 31st was one for the books, the books about the good days, the good feelings, the good memories

because the Foxes had those, too

Kevin Day had good days

Aaron Minyard had good days

Allison Reynolds and Renee Walker had good days

Dan Wilds and Matt Boyd had good days

Nicky Hemmick had good days

Neil Josten had good days

even Andrew Minyard had good days

God knows they deserve them

these onesies, as silly, as stupid, as corny, as childish as they may be, were a proof of that

a proof that the Palmetto State Foxes could be better, could do better, and could get better

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knox-knocks · 4 years

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a hunger inside

an among us au >:) tw: death and violence (no foxes die, only ocs)

read it on ao3

Andrew finds him in the hallway, attempting an escape through the vent in the floor. Andrew’s eyes flick to the corner of the room where the camera is, but it is dark and lifeless, no blinking red light to indicate that someone is watching. Of course, that is why Andrew chose to linger in this part of the ship, after all. No one is ever watching these cameras, so he is free to smoke his cigarettes in peace.

“The vents, huh?” he says and leans against the cool metal wall of the ship and lights the cigarette. He’s almost out. As soon as his job here is done, he’ll have to stop by the closest pit stop for another pack.

Orange jumps at the sound of Andrew’s voice, twisting around in the tiny space the vents allow. It’s not much bigger than him, and he has to wiggle through in order to get out. Andrew watches him, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, and takes note of the dark red staining his orange space suit, seeping into the fabric.

Andrew tips his head and behind Orange he can see two feet sticking out from the darkness, dripping the same red liquid that’s currently splashed all over him. Andrew is no idiot, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the liquid is blood and the legs belong to a dead man.

“Faster way to get around,” Orange – Josten, he remembers – says after a tense pause. Andrew can’t see his expression past the dark screen of his visor, instead his own unimpressed face is reflected back at him, distorted in the curve of the helmet.

Andrew has never seen the man underneath the orange suit. He’s been aboard the Space Enterprise for a couple months now and hasn’t so much as taken off his helmet. Which wasn’t a cause for alarm – not at first – because technically it was a rule that you had to be wearing your space suit at all times in case of emergencies, though no one actually did. Except for Josten.

What struck Andrew as strange was that Josten didn’t take it off even to eat. In fact, Andrew has never seen him eat with the others in the cafeteria, not once, in the months since he’s joined the crew.

“I suppose you’re the one the others are worrying about, then,” Andrew says and takes a drag off his cig before it dies. “The imposter.”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Josten says, neatly dodging the question. His voice is staticky over the mic, more artificial than human.

Andrew looks past at the victim half-eaten by the darkness. Josten subtly shifts his weight, an unsubtle attempt to hide the body, but the damage is done and Andrew has already seen it.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Andrew says. He stares at where he thinks Josten’s eyes should be, and meets his own even expression instead.

Josten doesn’t move so Andrew sighs and pushes up from where he’s leaning against the wall. Josten’s back straightens, and he makes an abortive move, as if reaching for a weapon. Said weapon must still be stuck in whatever poor sap whose blood saturated the floor, because Josten’s hands remain empty, and Andrew unstabbed.

“Go get cleaned up,” Andrew says and stubs out his cigarette against his fatigues. The ashes smear against the black fabric, near invisible. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” Josten says in that robotic voice of his.

“Because now you owe me one,” says Andrew.

“I thought we were even.” Josten mimes a movement reminiscent of raising a cigarette to his mouth, a clumsy mimicry in his bulky suit. “‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “But now I’m covering for you as well. So you owe me.”

It is eerie, the way Andrew can’t see his face to read his reactions, and wonders if this is how his crewmates feel about him. Andrew, always so tightlipped and apathetic, even when the crew started getting picked off one by one. He didn’t join up too much longer after the others, but he’d picked up on their unease almost immediately. Andrew doesn’t care though; he isn’t here to make friends. He is here to do his job.

Josten is the first to break. He turns, stiff, and walks down the hall to the sleeping chambers. Andrew watches him go and waits a few more minutes to give him a bit more time. He’s not really sure why. He could have left when he saw Josten climbing into the vent and pretend he never saw the body, or he could have simply reported exactly what he witnessed.

But it often gets boring on the Enterprise, and perhaps Andrew is intrigued, maybe he wants to see where this goes. Plus, it might come in handy to have the resident murderer indebted to him.

Andrew reports the body over the comm link and makes his way to the cafeteria.

_ _

It was Green who was killed, though Andrew never bothered to learn the man’s real name. The remaining crewmates are dragged from their tasks to deliberate over the murder, while Andrew watches over the chaos and waits for Josten to join them. In the end he points his finger at Red, who has no alibi except for her claim to be down in Navigation at the time of the murder. But the others do not listen and in their panic, they are quick to vote her out.

Her screams of terror and pleading are cut short by the hiss of the chamber door sealing shut. It is Yellow who slams the ejection button, and Andrew watches as Red is spat into the black vacuum of space. Yellow flinches when the air is forced out of her lungs and her blood boils in her veins, but Andrew does not.

Ten crewmates turn to eight in a day, and the others are soothed enough to go back to their assignments. At least until Andrew finds Josten stuffing Yellow’s crumpled form into one of the cupboards in Storage a few days later.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Andrew says smoothly, and Josten flips around, quite literally caught in the act. He’s still holding the knife, but he lowers it when he sees Andrew.

“I owe you two?” he says.

“One,” Andrew replies. Josten tips his head, a strangely animal action with the giant space helmet on. “I want your name.”

Josten hesitates.

“Your full name.”

“Neil,” he says slowly, as if trying it out. “Neil Josten.”

“Neil,” Andrew repeats, and he quite likes the taste of it on his tongue. It tastes a little of danger, like the iron-tang of blood. “Now show me your face, and we will be even.”

Neil is slow in taking off his helmet, and Andrew watches in rapt attention as the vents blow out a stream of oxygen and steam as the seals release and Neil twists the helmet off.

Andrew wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Neil looks normal. At least, he has a nose and a mouth, and reddish-brown hair falling into his eyes. It’s as his gaze is tracking the movement of his auburn curls that Andrew spots the reason Neil was so hesitant to take off his helmet.

His eyes are a bright, crimson red, glittering and dark under the fringe of his hair. Undeniably alien.

Andrew takes a step forward and grabs Neil by the chin. He brings his face down closer to his own and moves it side to side, studying him. Aside from the eyes, his face is also marked by deep gouges and circular scars on either side of his face. He is very attractive, and Andrew feels a slow, tight pull in his navel. He would quite like to take this man apart, bit by bit. Neil is silent as he lets Andrew look his fill.

“There’s a vent in the corner of the room, to the left,” Andrew says, releasing Neil’s face. “I’d be quick if I were you.”

Neil narrows those red eyes of his before reattaching his helmet and following Andrew’s directions. He has the vent open and one leg in when he turns back and says, “Why do you never talk to any of the others?”

Andrew gives him a thin, close-mouthed smile and says nothing.

He doesn’t report the body. He lets Purple find it, and he and Neil meet the others in the cafeteria together. His suit his clean, no traces of the blood that had been previously splattered down his front. His helmet is on, but he’s not the only one hiding their face so no one mentions it.

“Minyard,” the man in the white suit says. Andrew is pretty sure his name is Folkson or Falkner or something. His face his pale, eyes stretched wide, and his lips tremble as he talks. He’s the oldest out of all of them, and has taken the helm. “Where were you?”

“With Josten,” Andrew says. “We were clearing out the oxygen tanks in O2.”

“That’s not usually a two-person job,” Lime says suspiciously.

Andrew levels a look at her. “It is if you do it properly.”

“We need to figure this out,” Cyan snaps, and Andrew wracks his brain for their name. He comes up blank. “We’ve been getting picked off for weeks and we still have no fucking clue as to why.”

“They might not be human,” Pink says in his quiet voice, thin as a thread. He clutches his gloves in his hands, turning them over and over. “What if this is a game to them?”

Andrew hedges a look toward Neil but he is still, silent.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyan says, and rolls their eyes. “We need to stay focused before we lose the mission.”

“You give a lot of orders and not a lot of answers,” Folkson or Falkner gripes.

“I could say the same for you,” Cyan replies coolly.

Andrew lets them bicker. He said his piece, and both he and Neil are cleared. After all, Pink saw them on the cameras, and they were no one near the body when Purple found it. In fact, no one was around, and soon the suspicion turns to Purple. Their pleas fall on deaf ears as they are locked in the ejection chamber and Cyan presses the button.

The others whisper around them, desperate prayers to a God that has no place in the depths of space. Let us be right, they murmur. Please, this time, let us be right.

_ _

The first time Andrew kisses Neil, they are in the showers and he has just scrubbed the last of Falkner’s blood off of him. Red turns to pink as it runs off of him, over the white tiles, and down the drain. Andrew knows someone will stumble across the body and report it soon, but he doesn’t care.

Neil’s voice is different when he’s not wearing the helmet, and so is his gasp when Andrew pushes him against the still-dripping wall and presses their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He has a grip on his t-shirt, one in his hair, and he angles their mouths together in a way that has Neil scrabbling against the wall for support.

“Andrew,” he says, and the sound is long, drawn out. Neil tips his head back against the wall and Andrew mouths at his neck, his skin warm from the blood pumping life through his body.

Neil is a killer, the imposter among them, but his skin still bruises and his body still reacts to Andrew’s touch. He kisses him, again and again and again, each one harsher than the last.

Andrew only pulls away when Neil’s tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. He takes a step back. He needs to be more careful. He shouldn’t be letting Neil get close like this, it’s too dangerous. Too easy to slip up.

Neil’s eyes are blown, his cheeks flushed. “I think we should blame Lime,” he says, breathless.

Andrew presses another kiss to his mouth and resists the urge to sink his teeth into Neil’s lip. Dangerous.

Once under control, Andrew says, “There will be four of us left, after this.”

Neil nods, suddenly solemn. He almost looks regretful. He opens his mouth, closes it.

“Let’s go,” he says without meeting Andrew’s eyes, and Andrew has the feeling that he was going to say something else. Before he can ask, though, Neil is already pulling on his gear.

In the end, they can’t decide who to eject, and Lime is safe. For now.

_ _

“I didn’t do that one,” Neil says quietly, peering down at Lime’s twisted body at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck is broken, blonde hair falling over a face slackened by death, though still etched with fear. Andrew imagines her eyes widening, mouth opening in a scream as hands wrap around her throat, shoving her down the stairs. The image is not difficult to conjure.

“Must have tripped,” Andrew replies. He looks at Neil in the corner of his eyes, and a thrill goes through him when he sees the now-familiar bloodred of his gaze.

“I suppose we report this to the others,” Neil says the same moment Cyan enters the room with Pink in tow.

“Get away from him,” Cyan snarls, and it takes a moment for Andrew to realize that they��re talking to him. “He is the imposter. You – Orange.”

Desperation makes people clumsy, sloppy, and Andrew sees that they are very afraid. Neil looks alarmed – and extremely guilty standing over the body. Never mind Andrew was also caught red-handed, Cyan and Pink surround Neil and Neil only.

So they don’t suspect Andrew at all.

“You killed Gen,” Cyan says, voice shrill. They leap at Neil, and with Pink’s help they corner him against the wall as Andrew watches on. “And I’m willing to bet you were plotting to kill Black too. Lure him down and execute him here.”

“What of it?” Neil says through clenched teeth. Cyan has his arms pinned to his sides, and there is nowhere for him to go. They force him back, crowding him into the ejection chamber. Neil jerks in their grip, but Cyan holds tight. Pink grapples with the panel on the wall to open the door, but his shaking hands slide helplessly over the smooth panel. He finally finds a grip and gets the door open.

“Look at his eyes,” Pink cries. “I told you. I told you he wasn’t human.”

“Shut up,” Cyan grits and shoves Neil into the chamber. Neil struggles, bucking in a last-ditch effort to get out of Cyan’s grip, but it’s useless. They found their imposter, and now they’re going to kill him. His wide red eyes meet Andrew’s calm ones, and he rams his body into Cyan’s, desperate.

Cyan grunts at the impact and looks over their shoulder at Andrew. “Black,” They hiss. “Minyard, help – ”

Andrew smiles, revealing the rows of razor-sharp teeth he has so carefully hid from everyone until now. Pink sees it first and screams, but it’s cut off when Andrew lunges and sinks his fangs in his slender neck. Blood gushes into his mouth, and it tastes so sweet. Pinks chokes, hands fluttering ineffectually at his sides as Andrew tears out his throat.

Cyan watches with horror, but before they can do anything, Neil is already there, his arms wrapped around their neck. He forces their head back at such a steep angle that Cyan cries out in pain, and shakes them like a ragdoll. It is easy now that they have the element of surprise, and Neil snaps Cyan’s neck with ease. They slump to the ground and Neil stares at their body, chest heaving from the fight.

“You,” he says, still out of breath, eyes traveling up to Andrew’s. “You’re the other one.”

Andrew licks his lips, blood dripping from his face, his sharpened teeth, and Neil tracks the movement. “Yes,” he says simply.

Neil grins. “Good. I would have hated killing you.”

“You never would have gotten close.” Andrew steps over Pink’s still-twitching body and hooks his fingers in the thick collar of Neil’s space suit. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes are dilated, black enveloping red. “You already know my answer,” he says, voice heavy.

Andrew’s grip on him tightens. “Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” Neil says and Andrew yanks him in for a fierce kiss. Neil makes a sound low in his throat, guttural, and Andrew swallows it. He’s sure he nicks Neil with his teeth now that he’s not so concerned about keeping them hidden, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He is happy licking the blood from Andrew’s lips.

Neil’s eyes flash red and Andrew’s teeth bare in a sharp smile. Game over.

#aftg #tfc #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #mine #my writing

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i-did · 4 years

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HELLO 👋 I WAS SENT HERE BY PALMETT-HOES. What are your thoughts on the foxes + tattoos?? Originally it was Neil + tattoos but if you have thoughts of the other foxes too I'd love to hear them if you want to share 🥺

Okay, so I actually might try to become a tattoo artist and love tattoo culture. I also have already about 30 tattoos, some the size of my whole hand and some the size of a quarter, a lot of mixed and matched stuff. I also always try to think of the foxes in their timeline, so 2006-2007 era, and when I think said foxes would get tattoos in their life and why.

NEIL

First off: I personally HC Neil has keloid scarring and a lot of scarring so tattooing is hard on his skin. I have a friend who has more scars than I've ever seen on anyone else IRL before and we both love tattoos but even with him trying to prep the artist, unless they were a scar micropigmentation expert, they usually underestimated how hard it was going to be to tattoo on his skin. It's uneven and dense and doesn’t hold ink well. His non-scarred skin faired a lot better but his skin was something artists just weren't prepared for. I might get some micropigmentation on some skin grafts I got to even out the coloring and make it look more “natural” but I’m waiting to see if the pigment will settle and heal more first.

I personally don't see Neil ever getting a tattoo, and this bums a lot of people out lmao. I think his scars are too thick and too raised and it's too cosmetic and aesthetic centric for it to be something on his radar. On his skin that isn't touched by scars I think he would want to leave as be mostly out of neutrality. I don't see Neil as the type of sentimental tattooer, I see him thinking “well if it matters to me I remember it” sort of and him wanting to keep the really deep stuff personal just for himself and even another person putting it on him is someone else there. I think if he were ever to get a tattoo, he would be like… idk it would be the kind that says “yes I got shot, stop asking” over a bullet hole scar or like that one guy whos missing his leg and above it there's a tattoo that says “one foot in the grave” that's the only type of tattoo I can see Neil doing and even still I'm not convinced he would do it.

ANDREW

I don't ever see Andrew covering up his scars with tattoos either. I think he likes how the armbands can come on and off and be fully covered to not at all. He's not ashamed of them but he's private, and I think the tattoos could seem like he's trying to hide them when he's not-it's just nobody's business. I think if he were to get anything it would be American-traditional, it ages well, its classic, and doesn't really go out of style. Before the…. Let's say 80s, there weren't the different tattoo “styles” like there are today. It was just… tattoos in America. There was Japanese-style tattooing and then American-style tattooing, and since tattooing started curating its underground culture in the ’50s in America… those circles did not blend. They do now, but they sure as hell didn't then. So I could see Andrew with American-traditional because it's classic and I could see it appealing to him, but I could also see Russian prison tattoo style black-work something that appeals to him too. Get him some gulag tats. However if he had those, and since I currently HC him as white and with a buzzed or grown-out messy buzzed head, he would deadass look like a fuckin skinhead so... yeah lmao. Overall I don't see Andrew getting tattoos really, but if he would, American-traditional seems fitting.

KEVIN

Okay, so Kevin out here looking like a MF SoundCloud rapper with his single face tat and nothing else going on. I know it might be OOC but since his mom is Irish and I HC his dad as Maori (even tho in the canon Wymack likely has 90s new age tribalism, which is a complicated issue but instead I choose culturally significant tattoos over the tattoo trend that was largely popularized by a movie lmao anyways-).

So I think Kevin is the only one who dives into tattoo culture and bonds over it with his dad. If he just has the chess piece, it still feels like a branding, like a mark so distinct against the rest of him, but one full sleeve of Celtic knots and symbols and the other arm full of Maori's distinct tattoos of swirls and symbols could be a cool way for him to reclaim his own skin and have it not be something he did just to cover something up, but make tattooing something connecting him to his cultures and family.

NICKY

Nicky is the guy who got like, fierce, or pride, or something like that tattooed if he got a tattoo. I see Nicky getting a pride tattoo of some kind maybe and it being calligraphy or like if Nicky/Erik is a bear then he gets a bear paw. I could also see him getting his and Erik’s wedding date tattooed somewhere. I also don't see him as the type who didn't know how much research and shit goes into finding the artist for you, and kinda assumes you can go to just anyone and just walk in and then was like “wait what” when he couldn’t (or couldn't if he wanted to get exactly what he had in mind) so he probably got/gets tattooed by some non-homophobic apprentice, maybe even that apprentices first tattoo, and also since Nicky is Mexican and darker-skinned I doubt he thinks to put on sunscreen and the sun makes his ink lines bleed and so it doesn't age the best (it be like that).

ALLISON

Got a trendy tramp stamp to like, really stick it to her parents. Right on her lower back I bet it's the classic 2000s swirls and a butterfly and some of those stars, idk what they're called. If she was a young 20-year-old now tho she totally would have gotten a fine line tattoo, like not a tight three, a real 1 needle tattoo. They were seen as really nice back then and “so Cali” and like I could see /maybe/ her getting it done before she's 30 but they were not that common yet and like micro-realism is so new we still kinda don't know how it's going to age at all since tattoos before it have been designed they way they have for aging. Again if she got a micro-realism/single needle tattoo tho it would be something kinda basic like a butterfly or like a lion. I swear I've seen the same google image lion tattooed on a lotta people and like IDC it's your skin. But yeah, she gets the classic 2000s swirl butterfly and stars tattoo above her crack one night, maybe after a really bad phone call with her parents and she got drunk and pissed off. Maybe someone said she couldn't take the pain. (which btw, tattoos don’t hurt as much as they make them out to be in shows and shit, they can hurt tho)

DAN

I HC Dan as very dark-skinned, she's 75% black and 25% Sioux and grew up in a very very white area when outside her home on the res. Tattoo culture is still really sexist and really colorist, and at this point in history I think if she ever did want a tattoo, she maybe asked vaguely about it and they flat out said “I don't know how to tattoo on black skin” or “it doesn't go with my art” which… are shithole excuses and I think she thought, “well fuck u too” and never thought about it much since then.

RENEE

I HC as Renee as darker-skinned than Dan, and like the only places she could possibly get tattooed are maybe her palms, the bottoms of her feet, or her inner mouth probably. Some people genuinely are so dark that tattooing is hard, because it's based on the concept of black ink on a lighter surface, which is why scarification catches on in cultures where the skin is too dark to pigment with ink effectively. However, the idea of fuckin, 15-year-old Renee who is still Natalie with “PU$$Y” tattooed in her mouth kinda sends me. I think lil kid Renee thought she was gangster, and tbh she was, and I could see her getting some “fuck you/in your face” tattoo, especially if she was a lesbian in such a homophobic world, getting that tattooed is even better. We also know she got her back tatted in the EC with angel wings that look almost closer to dragon wings, so I imagine they show up as almost raised dark lines like scars from the untrained tattoo artist going way too deep, making it a cross between a tattoo and scarification, even if accidental. (also white ink really wasn't a thing yet and even now is still kinda hard to tell how it will heal, so that's why I don't think she gets any white ink tats)

MATT

He's a rich boy from NYC, he could really get like… whatever he wants. Once he's famous he can afford it that's for sure, but even before then he could with his allowance similar to Allison (even if on a completely different level). However, I doubt he gets anything lol. He's not particularly religious in my HC and doesn't have the same sense of being lost like I feel Kevin does with his own parents (I mean Kevin was raised like an orphan, kinda so it makes sense). I need to develop Matt’s background further on what it means to him personally to be a Filipino-American. I have several ideas about how his parents met in the Philippines and then came here but I would need to flesh out locations and then local cultures and then his parents said opinions on tattoos and then how matt would react to said opinions. I could see him possibly getting something for dan or his kids tattooed on. Which really makes me want to have him get his first kid's name tattooed really big or intricate somewhere like on his chest over his heart and then his kid comes out as trans and he's like “...fuck” lmao and gets it removed maybe and then redone or something. I see him viewing tattoos are personal and symbolic, and if he would get something it would probably be family-oriented, possibly Dan's portrait or like his baby's footprint which I've seen before.

AARON & SETH

Stick and pokes were not nearly as common then as they are now, and I feel like people kinda have to remember how taboo tattooing was then and still is now in a lot of cultures. My family is Not happy lmaoo. But it is what it is. Stick and Pokes were not a thing bored white middle-class teens did like I see them doing now. It was seen as super sketchy and I know someone who was 16 getting tattooed in a garage by someone who was both drunk and just out of prison for the first time, and that was seen as sketchy as stick and pokes at the time. I could imagine either Seth or Aaron having a failed and fucked up stick and poke tattoo, and out of the two of them, Seth seems like the drunk tat guy. Maybe once he got drunk and mad as fuck after Allison and him broke up and she said he didn't seem serious enough so he got her name drunkenly tattooed on his arm or something and then she was even more pissed because it was spelled wrong “YOU FORGOT THE SECOND L OMFG SETH.” (I can also imagine his future girlfriends don't love it lmao). I also love the idea of Seth just having Marvin the Martian or the Tasmanian Devil tattooed on his ass.

Anyways sorry for the lack of pictures but I didn't want to do that... so I didn't. I didn't go into niche tattoo culture and history like I was expecting myself to but this also got fuckin long. Might not be what you were hoping for at all but it is my current opinion on the foxes and tattoos. (This is also surprisingly free of my own personal aesthetic opinions on tattoos and that I'm kinda proud of ngl, since my preference is none of these, but also I grew up in a very different tattoo time than them)

#aftg #all for the game #ask #mailob #fig writes

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whatmack · 4 years

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i know you wrote about neils twin liam a while ago (which btw was amazing) but anyway i was wondering if you were gonna write a bit more about it including more about how andrew felt about liam being back in neils life since he felt like neil didnt need him anymore cuz his brother is back in his life and they both rlly close

Anonymous asked: will you be doing anymore HCs on neils twin brother

Anonymous asked: hey hru i know u posted about neils secret twin a while ago but i was just wondering if your planning on doing anymore headcannons fore them i understand it u dont want to have a great day stay safe

Betsy has seen a lot in her years as a therapist. Her job is not to chronicle, but to listen and to help, but if she were to spin what she’s learned down into one phrase it would be-- well. It would probably be something along the lines of kindness is seldom wasted or everyone has a story or appropriate support will always be more effective than incarceration, because there’s still a bit of the bright-eyed high schooler choosing her major left inside her, but another phrase would be that people are never as fucked up, or as normal, as they think they are.

For instance: she is sitting before two halves of two different pairs of identical twins, one whom has gone through deeply traumatic circumstances that are extraordinary and one whom has gone through deeply traumatic circumstances that Betsy wishes were not so common, and the thing currently making them snap at each other is that they’re jealous.

“I didn’t ask Andrew to take care of him,” Liam says, wound-tight and prim. It’s a deliberate contrast to how Andrew is sprawled over the couch, dirty sneakers kicked up on the cushions. Andrew’s posture, of course, is a deliberate contrast to Liam’s propriety. Betsy is fairly certain they both realize what they’re doing, but not how much insecurity it gives away.

Look how polite and controlled I am, Liam is saying. Listen to my clipped accent and my film-perfect posture. You trust me, don’t you? This is what people trust here? This is what you expect?

I am very scared, and I am trying to appear that I am not, because that is how I’ve learned to feel safe, Andrew is saying. Betsy can read him better. He’s been hers for longer, after all. “Neil made that choice on his own,” Andrew says out loud. “That surprise you? That he can think for himself?” Betsy hides a sigh, long practiced at the motion. She’s requested that Andrew refrain from stabbing people in her office, but Andrew’s glare is all dagger. Small steps forward are still steps. Liam’s lips flatten, and he glances down for just a second. It’s the same thing he does every time somebody calls Neil by that name. It’s also the same thing Neil does when somebody points out one of his lies. Betsy wants to explore that with Liam-- but not while Andrew is here. “Did it surprise you, Andrew?” Betsy asks him instead, keeping her voice stubbornly calm through the thorny field that radiates out from between the two boys. It’s not refusing to see the spikes. It’s refusing to be cut by them. “He’s an idiot,” Andrew says automatically. Betsy smiles at him. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d refuse to speak about Neil as well. Now it is Andrew’s turn to look away.

Liam shifts even further forward, jaw clenching. Before he can lash out, Betsy asks, “What are you thinking, when you hear Andrew call your brother an idiot, Liam?” She may as well have slapped him witha brick wall. His face, patterned so closely to Neil’s that Neil’s scars seem an awful taunting, closes even more. His eyes go from burning to utterly cold. “Nothing,” he says. Betsy stares back serenely. She’s cracked harder eggs than Liam Stuart. (David wouldn’t trust an outsider with his kids. It can take feral Foxes a while to remember that.) “Nothing,” Andrew mocks. He scoots down completely, so his feet are kicking the armrest. He knows Betsy doesn’t like it when he does that, which is the reason he does. Nowadays it makes her have to suppress a smile. “How wide does the abyss yawn, I wonder? Neil told me he was no one. Didn’t even mention you.” She will return to that with Andrew later, Betsy thinks; Andrew has called Neil nothing and nobody enough. She makes a note on her pad. Four eyes track her hand, suspicious. She lets the silence linger, lets the two of them feel that moment of unity against her. “Now, last time you mentioned Friday?” Betsy asks Liam, when the silence is about to snap. “You wanted to discuss plans with Andrew?” “My brother’s not going with you,” Liam says immediately. He turns his head for the first time this session to look full-on at Andrew. Small steps. “I know you’ve gotten used to doing whatever you want with him--” Andrew’s fists clench. Betsy leans forward, pitching her voice low, and firm. “Andrew. Liam has told you how he sees things. Is that what you think is true?” He breathes in and out, rapidly. His eyes are angry; he hates that he needs this kind of help. Eventually he flexes his fingers and clears his throat. “No.” Liam makes a noise of disbelief. The two of them do have a long way to go.

“I want you two to focus on the physical sensations in your bodies right now,” Betsy says. It’s time for a little bomb diffusion. “What are some of the things you can feel? Is there any tension, maybe? Anything you notice?” Andrew closes his eyes and concentrates, but Liam stares out the window, a crystal-clear refusal. Betsy wishes...she needs more time. She’s not going to rush him, but she can’t be sure that nobody else will. Neil sees himself as a wanted man. This is not, Betsy thinks to herself a little wryly, what he means.

#hmm #liam neeson's knees son #my fics #these sessions are very frustrating for all concerned #they're going to them because they love neil #but that is the only reason at all #Anonymous #liam: hes MY brother!!!#andrew: he's MY nothing!!!#neil: technically i think i belong to ichirou moriyama

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cinnamoncitric · 4 years

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Andrew had something hidden inside his chest. It was rare, so incredibly rare, for anything to breeze into the empty, dusty ribcage, with it's bones cracked and grimy. He could sense it with every breath his rotten lungs inhaled. The awareness of it's existence was glued to the walls of his mind, like a tingle that went unnoticed, from the tips of his fingers, until it overcame his entire body. The firefly did not ask, before settling right behind his sternum.

Maybe that was the root of the problem.

It would not have been a problem, if only it continued quiet. He could deal with the unstoppable itch to scratch it away, as long as it's wings stood still and no one else knew it was there. Of course, as most things in Andrew's life, that was too much to ask. (He wished it wasn't.)

He tried to kill it with cigarette smoke, holding it down in his lungs for so long he choked on the toxins swirling inside and the taste burned itself into his mouth. Could have worked, if smoking hadn't become an activity always practiced by two. As it was, even the acrid smell of it made the firefly's wings flutter. (He hated it.)

He tried to kill it with heights, sitting at the edge of the roof and letting his feet dangle from the edge as his hands held so tight to the floor his knuckles turned white. Let the undiluted, irrational fear wash over him, let the pounding in his veins drown out the sound of something else. The cold water of fear inundated his chest, but even that drained away. (The firefly stayed.)

He tried to kill it with anger, punching the walls, splitting his skin open in a stuffy room in the basement while pastel hair accidentally brushed against his cheek. The fire scorched his insides clean. Later, scarred hands would bandage his. Stop, they seemed to say, in their quiet language of welcomed touches. You have no need for anger. (The fire faded to an ember.)

And it would take only the meeting of eyes, the jagged edges fitting together. Shared cigarettes on the rooftop. Hands curled into his hair. The ghost of fingertips tracing his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the outline of his mouth. Only that. Only that, and his firefly – so fragile, so hidden – started to glow, letting the warm light spill from the cracks between his ribs.

Andrew told himself, time and time again, that no one else could see it. There was a wall of muscle, fat and skin that other gazes couldn't pierce. It was a lie – a hypocritical, incorrigible lie, – because Neil's eyes, as soft and shiny as he allowed them to be when there were just the two of them, had always been a knife. They cut deep, and then deeper, right through his core, until he spilled onto the asphalt underneath their running shoes. (Andrew let them.)

Neil couldn't see the actual firefly, Andrew knew – that one was still hiding behind his sternum. Only the glow, even if one was inherently part of the other. Sometimes it tickled, though, all the way up his throat, as if it wanted to fly away and cradle itself in Neil's ruined hands. He knew Neil would be immensely careful with it. And as much as Andrew wanted it to be gone, as much as he tried to get rid of it, he couldn't let it fly away yet. It was too fragile to live anywhere but in the contained emptiness of his bones. (He clamped his mouth shut.)

Apparently, there was only one way to get rid of his ridiculous firefly. Surprisingly, Andrew decided he could live with that.

#tfc hc #tfc fanfic #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg hc #aftg fic #aftg #all for the game #all for the gay #andreil fic #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #the kings men #the foxes #idk man sometimes i write #andrew's too much of a drama queen to just say 'love'#i hope this is not too ooc

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percontaion-points · 3 years

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Foxhole Court chapter 3

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 3

Exy was a co-ed sport, but few colleges wanted women on their lines. According to Fox lore, Palmetto State refused to approve any of the women Wymack asked for his first year. After the Foxes' trainwreck first season, they were a little more willing to listen, and Wymack signed three women. On top of that, he made Danielle Wilds the first female captain in NCAA Class I Exy. If Exy fans weren't kind to the Foxes, they were downright cruel to Danielle. Even her teammates were willing to shred her in public during her first year. The more outspoken misogynists blamed her for the Foxes' failings. Despite the controversy and with only Wymack at her back, Danielle held onto her position. Three years later, it was obvious Wymack made the right choice. The Foxes were still a mess but they fell in behind Danielle and slowly started racking up wins.

Casual sexism! Because you probably figured that it would show up at some point or another.

"Where's Andrew?"

"He just dosed up, so he's out cold somewhere. He's going to crash and reboot into crazy mode."

Casually mentions that this guy has been popping pills and drinking whiskey since they left coach's apartment.

If he gave his feet a direction, they'd take him running past all of his thoughts, and he'd be happy to let them.

Chapter 3 summary: They go to the stadium, which even Neil wonders at how much the school regretted having paid for it. Not because there are better things that the school could have bought with all that money, but because the Foxes fucking suck. At the gate, one of the faceless characters harasses Neil about his sexuality. And I know that this is supposed to be some GLBT+ novel, but at the same time, I can't help but feel more than a little grossed out over the entire thing. Not because of the thought of a guy hitting on another guy... it's because these drugged up assholes are pressuring Neil to talk about himself when he's made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want to talk about shit like if he has a girlfriend or if he swings for the other team.

They show him around the stadium for a while before they put on their gear and go out to the field to practice a little bit. And there's a lot of conversation, but I'm not going to lie to you: a lot of kind of went out of my head two seconds after the topic changed.

One of the twins had been popping pills and drinking heavily since they left coaches house. This guy seems like he has the most issues, and the others joke a lot about how he's almost never actually sober. Which... great. Casual alcoholism and various drug addictions.

When they go to get changed back into their regular clothes and shower, the others tease Neil over him not wanting to get into the open showers. They make a joke about how Neil must be covered with scars and bruises, if he's going to hide his body like that. HAHAHAHA CHILD ABUSE IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. /ALL THE GODDAMNED SARCASM. But Kevin tells Neil that they have closed shower rooms, so Neil takes a shower.

Then, they go over to Coach's girlfriend's house for dinner. Where they have more conversations that immediately leave my head as soon as the topic changes.

#All For The Game #Foxhole Court #chapter 03 #Yay sexism!#can we not #you could have written anything and you picked this #Aaron and Andrew Minyard #shitty people are shitty #Neil Josten #David Wymack #Kevin Day

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palmett-hoes · 5 years

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alright alright alright let’s pretend this isn’t almost a full week late. here’s my piece for the @aftgexchange for Valentine’s day. this is for @black-glasses-and-books, who asked for an Andreil diner au. This is actually the first fic I’ve ever fully completed in my life, sooooo whew. also a special thank you to @leahlisabeth for being incredibly patient with me despite having let her down no less than three different times

**warnings for blood, loss of bladder control, minor sexual assault, and major, violent retaliation for sexual assault. dub-con reminiscent of the books, and at length discussion of that dub-con**

Neon Lights at Night

An hour and a half north of Columbia - the armpit of the South - on the edge of the dying little town of Palmetto that hung onto the interstate for dear life, a 24/7 diner called the Foxhole lit up the night a hundred different shades of neon orange. It was the first (and sometimes only) attraction listed on the past three rest stop signs.

It was actually a few miles from the exit, but still bright enough to be seen from the road (though, really it could be seen from space). Luckily for Palmetto, most unfortunate suckers driving through the boonies ended up at the Foxhole, eventually trickling further into town for gas or souvenirs or a place for the night, or just to look at the rundown town with its dusty southern charm and its friendly but flinty-eyed inhabitants. None of them would come without the Foxhole shining on the hill like a will-o'-the-wisp.

The graveyard shift, though, saw very, very few of those curious people who came through during the day. In fact, it saw very, very few people at all. Maybe five or six a night if things were really hopping, but the owner - David Wymack - had made a vow that his diner would be open 24/7 for whatever poor bastards trickled in. It didn't matter if it was noon or midnight, dawn or dusk - any wayward birds would have a place to rest their wings. Usually the ones that wandered in past midnight were a mix of addicts, car campers, and down-on-their-luck folks with nowhere else to go and no money to get anything better. Sometimes a traveling worker pressing hard to get home to their family faster would show up while driving through the night to down some coffee, or parties of local teens across the whole county would hang out hours past curfew. It didn't matter who they were or why they were there or even when, the Foxhole had a seat and meal waiting for anyone that needed it.

That didn't mean it had to be well-stocked in the middle of the night. Usually a one-man staff could run the whole show no problem, and Wymack slept light and kept his phone next to his bed just in case there was one.

...

Andrew Minyard pulled into the Foxhole parking lot at 2am on a weeknight: the height of the slump. He was not an addict, homeless, a traveling businessman, or a local punk, so really he had no business being at a diner in the middle of nowhere an hour away from his house (Andrew rather notoriously sped). Except he couldn't sleep, and whenever he couldn't sleep, he came to the Foxhole.

He'd first stumbled upon the eyesore diner on an aimless midnight joyride four years ago counting mile markers in hopes that once, just once, he could sleep through the night if he numbed his brain. Like every other midnight moth to the Foxhole's neon orange flame, he'd ended up in the parking lot by happenstance and desperation, and found its doors open to him (a novelty, to someone who'd been thrown out of more homes than he could on his fingers).

He'd been the only customer that night. Just him, the grumpy old owner, the old record player, and the best pancakes he'd ever had. They hadn't spoken at all that first night. Andrew had just pointed to the menu and the owner had just nodded, and fifteen minutes later he was slowly tearing off chunks of his pancakes while the owner went about his business on the other side of the restaurant. Eventually, the carbs and lilting oldies music succeeded in making his eyelids heavy so he payed his bill and slipped out. He managed almost four uninterrrupted hours of sleep after he made it back to Columbia.

The routine took time to develop. Andrew didn't go back to the Foxhole for almost a month after that first time, and when he finally did (under the same sleepless circumstances) it proceeded much the same. In the entire first six months that he visited the diner he and the owner didn't exchange a single word. The old man would nod to him when Andrew came in and when he left, and eventually Andrew nodded back. Sometimes there were other people in the diner, usually not. Some faces showed up more than once, locals; most were strangers, interlopers like him. He'd worked his way methodically through the diner's entire menu, and never found it lacking, and told himself that was the only reason he kept coming back. Certainly not the quiet understanding in the owner's eyes that said, "You can hide from it here, whatever you're running from. I'll always be here. You can take as long as you need."

It pissed him the fuck off, actually. How dare that old bastard look at Andrew like he had any idea what sorts of monsters chased him out of bed each night to run himself ragged in order to sleep. He didn't know, and he never would. So fuck him for looking at Andrew like he ever could.

Yet week after sleepless week, Andrew slipped out of house and drove to the middle of nowhere just to sit silently in the aggressively orange diner and listen to the staticy jukebox with the hum of the hundred neon lights running underneath it.

...

Four years later and Andrew was a regular. His insomnia chased him there from his bed at least twice a week, and on Sundays he took Nicky and Aaron there for brunch. He had come to know Wymack and his very annoying son, Kevin. He knew the manager of the diner, Dan Wilds - who did not like him - and the local do-gooder, Renee Walker - who did. He knew the town regulars - and some of the not-so-regulars - that lingered at night. The Foxhole was his diner - his place.

In the last year especially, he'd been going increasingly often. Wymack should offer him a job rather than just waive his food bills for all the time he spent there. It started to feel like rather than the diner lulling him to sleep when he couldn't, he now needed it to be able to drift off in the first place. Andrew was never as relaxed as within the Foxhole's walls. It was the first place he'd ever felt truly... comfortable.

Maybe a bit too comfortable.

He hadn't been in three weeks now, and he was coiled tight as a spring, ready to snap, but with no release - just a constant pressure building and building. He had no appetite, was sleeping worse than he ever had, unable to sit still, and shaking out of his skin.

As he reached the exit ramp and got the first look at the ridiculously orange building down below, the brightest thing for miles, he went through a series of wild contradictions. His chest constricted but his shoulders relaxed. He could finally breathe, but there was no air. He almost turned around but instead tightened his hands on the steering wheel and pressed the gas peddle down further.

It took both forever and no time at all to reach the gravel parking lot. There was only one other car, a boxy old Toyota that Andrew knew well, which meant it was just him and the night shift.

He sat in the car for a long time and watched the diner from the outside. It either had a retro fifties aesthetic or had actually been around since the fifties, unchanged. It was covered in miles of orange neon tubing, dozens of signs, so many it was hard to identify any one picture. Wymack said he didn't care what it looked like, so long as people could see it. It looked like it was on fire.

Nothing moved inside. Eventually, Andrew gave up waiting for a sign, so he opened the door and got out of the car. He felt like he was walking up to his own execution, but when he stepped into the building it was the same flat, bright lights and checkerboard linoleum it had always been. As if nothing had changed; as if Andrew hadn't changed anything.

The Supremes floated through the air and someone was humming along while they clattered about in the kitchen. Andrew played dumb, pretended he didn't know who it was, that the car outside had been borrowed. But no one else ever took the graveyard shift. Even Wymack stayed home these days. So Andrew just stood there in the middle of the empty diner and pretended that someone else was about to walk out of the kitchen. Maybe Wilds - who would ignore him - or Boyd - who would try to make small talk that Andrew would ignore. Across the room, the pinball machine flashed and beeped, and Andrew stood rooted to the spot.

Feet scuffed the floor. Dan didn't come out of the kitchen. Neither did Boyd, Wymack, Gordon or anyone else. Neil did.

Of course Neil did, because Neil always worked the overnight shift. He had since he stumbled into Palmetto a year ago, scared and hurt and was immediately been swept up into the fold of Wymack and his Foxes. He didn't sleep much more than Andrew did. He liked the quiet at night. He got nervous around too many customers at once. He thought the scars that littered his face would scare people away.

No one else but Neil Josten would be working the Foxhole at 2 am on a weeknight, but god Andrew wished someone else was.

When Neil saw Andrew standing there he stopped in his tracks. He jerked like he'd been shocked and dropped the mixing bowl he'd been holding with a clang. Neil looked at Andrew with his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and slack jaw, unmoving, for what felt like forever.

Andrew didn't know what was going to happen next. He half-thought Neil would turn and run, like Andrew had three weeks ago, and half-thought Neil would yell and scream and rage at him, like he should have done three weeks ago. Instead, he just stood there and stared and stared at Andrew in silence.

The song on the jukebox changed, Nina Simone now.

Finally, Neil spoke, but all he said was, "You're back," at a whisper, like he was genuinely shocked. And of course he was. If it had been Neil that had run three weeks ago, he'd be halfway across the world by now. New name, new story, new everything. But Andrew wasn't the type to cut and run from his problems (or so he thought).

Neil tried again. "Andrew," he said with a voice so strained it hurt to hear. He wanted to talk about it, and of course he did, but Andrew - the weak fool that he was - couldn't.

What did he think would happen? That he would wander back in after tearing everything between them to shreds and Neil would act as if nothing had happened? That they would play pinball and split a milkshake and everything would be fine?

(Maybe he hadn't believed it would happen, but he'd wanted it to).

"Don't," he grumbled, hoarse; he would hold this off as long as he could. When Neil looked like he was about to argue, Andrew said it again, louder, more forceful. "Don't." And Neil backed down. Because of course he did. Because Neil listened to whatever Andrew said. Because Neil didn't trample all over the lines drawn in the sand between them.

They looked at each other for a long time. Dark bags hung under Neil's eyes and his skin clung too close to his face. Andrew knew he didn't look much better.

But Neil still looked good, in that wild, unreal way of his. He wore the god-awful orange pinstripe uniform that Wymack didn't actually make his employees wear but that Neil liked anyway and that Andrew imagined peeling off of him. His hair floated around his face where it escaped the tie holding it back. Andrew missed when he could play innocent about dragging it back behind Neil's ear. He couldn't do that anymore.

Pink and red hearts literred Neil's cheekbones, and belatedly Andrew remembered that it was Valentine's day, or maybe close? He didn't know, actually. He'd stopped keeping track of time in any way except "Five days since he ran away from Neil," "Two weeks since he ruined everything with Neil." Wilds or Boyd or someone was always putting stickers on Neil's face, over the scars he was so self-conscious about. They said it was because he was such a 'good noodle,' which was disgustingly stupid, but Neil never took them off. They made him smile. Andrew preferred stars or flowers or anything else. The hearts made Neil look too romantic, and that wasn't fair.

Eventually, Neil turned slightly and gestured back into the kitchen. "The stove is broken again," he murmered. "Wymack thought he was going to have to get a real repairman in soon, if you didn't-" he stumbled, ducked his head and broke eye contact, "If you didn't come back." He trailed off, then added, "Soon," softly, like an afterthought. Neil and his stupid, reckless faith.

Andrew couldn't say anything back to that. So instead he silently made his way around the counter and back into the kitchen, making sure to give Neil a wide berth even while he felt Neil's eyes on him the whole way.

The number two reason Wymack treated Andrew so well were his technical skills (the number one was Wymack's indulgent heart). Since he was a child he'd devoted considerable time and effort into being self-sufficient. That plus his memory and naturally nosy nature lead him to become a more than adept handyman. Plenty of his skills came from unsavory roots, but his history of theft, b&e's, and car jackings ended up expanding into more official skills during his stint in juvie and then his high school's tech ed department.

Wymack owned two ancient grill-top stoves that were always breaking down but that he refused to replace. He claimed they were like castiron, that he'd cultivated a seasoning on them and he would be damned if he got rid of it. The food just wouldn't taste the same. The first real conversation he and Andrew ever had happened with Andrew's waist deep in the things' guts. From there, Andrew had become the diner's unofficial mechanic, paid under the table in food. It was a good deal, and he'd weaseled plenty of good quality tools out of it too. After four years, there was hardly anything left in the Foxhole that he hadn't patched up, trouble-shot, installed, or rebuilt. (If he spent his down time watching tech specialist YouTube videos, no one had to know).

Wriggling under the stove with the toolkit Wymack left him was familiar. The terrible strained silence of Neil standing at his feet but not saying anything was not. The dead air hung heavy between them as Andrew worked, just the clank and squeal of metal on metal against the omnipresent background hum of the neon lights. Usually Neil would talk, would chatter about stupid useless things he'd seen or heard or thought that he was convinced Andrew would find interesting while Andrew played at irritation. Neil had a soothing voice, it almost didn't matter what he said, except that he was also very good at saying things that got a rise out of Andrew. The hollow silence echoed off the wall dropped between them.

He missed the sound of Neil's voice. He missed the dumb things Neil talked about. He missed hearing about Neil's stupid, batshit life. He missed Neil's fidgety body language and careful hands and his ringing laugh and pensive eyes and wicked smile. He missed Neil.

'Well too fucking bad, idiot," he thought to himself,"You can't have him back.'

Wrapped up in his self-pity, Andrew lost his concentration and when he yanked too hard on the stuck pipe obstructing the fuel line it came out full force faster than he expected. The side of his hand glanced off a sharp metal edge, tearing through his skin with a jagged burst of pain. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a gasp, dropping his wrench and curling his hand to his chest.

At his feet, Neil jumped in alarm, exclaiming, "Andrew! What happened? Are you okay?"

Examining his hand, Andrew found a gash along the thick side of his palm that was long but not as deep as he'd expected. Checking that he could still form a fist, and then deeming the injury superficial, he grunted back, "Nothing," at Neil, grabbed his wrench and went back to work. Blood dripped down his wrist and he would need to wash his armbands and shirt when he got home, but he was almost finished anyway. He could wait five minutes to get a bandaid. The pain righted his head, drove out all his pointless angst and grounded him in the moment. Maybe he deserved it.

Sliding out of the stove, he found Neil hovering uncomfortably close. Once he stood up Neil leaned in even closer, brows furrowed and mouth pinched down. He was too close, Andrew would have stepped back but he had nowhere to go, so instead he angled his head away at the other side of the room and refused to look at Neil.

"It should work now," he grumbled, and prepared to push past Neil to get some space.

But Neil, idiot that he was, didn't even acknowledge what he said. "You're bleeding," he said instead, reaching down for Andrew's hand. He didn't touch, just hovered his fingers near Andrew's wrist and watched his face for a sign.

And Neil's devotion to respecting Andrew's bodily autonomy was far more painful than his hand.

Andrew jerked his arm out of the way and shoved past Neil. "It's nothing," he growled.

Except Neil had also never tolerated Andrew's bullshit, either. He whipped around to get in Andrew's way, putting his hands up to hover in front of Andrew's shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. They were nose to nose. "Let me see," Neil demanded." Then his voice softened, worry and concern and all the things he shouldn't feel for Andrew - not ever, definitely not anymore - as he hovered his hands at Andrew's wrist again, "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," Andrew repeated, but he let Neil take his hand and raise it up to his face to examine the damage.

Andrew watched Neil's face as he looked. His hand was drenched in blood, but hand wounds bled. It wasn't worth getting worked up over. But Neil's brow knit together and he looked so goddamned concerned as he assessed the ragged wound.

He was so close. Their toes touched. Andrew could count his stickers and freckles and goddamn eyelashes. The last time they'd been so close...

And all at once it was too much. It all came back in the awful, hyper-vivid detail that Andrew's perfect memory rendered all his worst memories in.

...

He remembered the obnoxious customer that wouldn't stop hitting on Neil, some asshole on a business trip who thought his expensive suit meant he could do whatever he wanted to the poor country bumpkins in a diner in the middle of nowhere. He'd been slimy, lewd, and obviously thought he was very suave. He'd kept sliding his paws all over Neil every chance he could, over the backs of his hands and up his arms. No matter how much Neil had shaken him off, he'd kept grabbing and leering and whispering filth about what he could do, what he could offer, as if Andrew couldn't hear him. But Neil had warned him off already, and Neil was a big boy who could fight his own battles, he could handle himself once this sleezebbag finally stepped over the final line. Andrew didn't own him.

It hadn't stopped him from grinding his jaw and clenching his fists where he'd leaned against the counter, stroking the knives in his armbands and never taking his eyes off the two. It was when the bastard leaned up and whispered something in Neil's ear that made his eyes blaze and he had turned his back to storm away, and the sack of shit slapped his ass with a laugh that Andrew had finally snapped.

Neil had whipped around like a hurricane to tear the guy a new one but Andrew had been across the room like lightning. He'd snapped the perve's head back with a fist, felt his nose crack underneath it. Grabbing the guy's hand, he'd squeezed and twisted until something snapped. Then he'd pressed a knife against the pig's throat and held it there, cutting a thin red line against his nice white skin. He'd been screaming and crying and blubbering, getting blood and tears and snot all over his nice expensive suit, but Andrew had been unmoved. He'd been going to look piggy in the eye when he cut open his jugular.

Only Neil's hand waving placidly in his face had distracted him. Without letting go of his grip, Andrew had turned his head to look at Neil hovering to his side. Boredly, he'd drawled, "Let him go, Andrew. He's not worth the investigation."

Piggy had sobbed even louder, so Andrew'd pressed his knife a little more into his throat to shut him up, but hadn't taken his eys off Neil's. "He touched you," he'd snarled, voice deadly and precise.

Neil'd rolled his eyes, "And I was going to deal with it. You're not my fucking boyfriend, Andrew. Let go."

For a second Andrew had held perfectly still, then all at once dropped the blubbering coward like he was diseased. He'd fallen forward sobbing and gasping as Andrew and Neil had regarded him dispassionately.

Neil had leaned down until they were level, and grinned, "Well I'd say you've learned a lesson here about not touching people without their consent. Be grateful you get to walk away. Now," his voice had become razor sharp, "Get the fuck out of my diner."

When piggy hadn't responded right away and just continued crying on the table, smearing blood and snot everywhere, Andrew had grabbed him by the hair and dragged him - tripping and tumbling and clutching his broken hand - across the restaurant, throwing him bodily out the door.

Turning his back, Andrew's eyes had latched automatically onto Neil, checking for any hurts he might be hiding. He'd seemed unruffled, body loose and expression untroubled except for the overexaggerated scrunch of his nose where he regarded the booth where the son of a bitch had been sitting.

He'd looked at Andrew and whined, "He pissed himself, Andrew, that's so gross." When Andrew'd pulled up beside him and just shrugged, Neil had pursed his lips in a fake-annoyed scowl. "You know I need to clean that up," he'd complained, "I should make you do it, it's your mess." He hadn't, though. Neil had went to get the bleach and cleaning supplies, muttering under his breath just loud enough to make sure Andrew heard, "blood and piss, great, awesome. Dumb pervert has to go and make my night even worse, can't even face down a knife, what a -" until the sound of his voice had faded away.

Left alone, Andrew had taken stock of himself, feeling the tension still pulling his muscles. He had felt supercharged, out of control. Seeing someone lay hands on Neil like that had snapped something in him and he hadn't known how to handle it. He'd been on a knife's edge when he'd attacked, ready to tear the scumbag's throat out, and he'd still been on that knife's edge ten minutes later, while Neil had mopped, scrubbed, and bleached down the whole area, complaining theatrically the entire time. Andrew hadn't heard any of it, he'd stood stock still staring at his knife, tipping a drop of blood back and forth methodically across the blade. Looking at Neil had felt too dangerous.

He hadn't noticed the room had gone silent for a long time. Eventually, he'd looked up from his knife at Neil hovering in front of him, hair pulled back and latex gloves on, still holding the mop. "Hey," he'd murmured, to get Andrew's attention, and Andrew had searched his face and found nothing dark lingering there. "You didn't have to do that. I was about to give that creep hell, and I could've handled myself fine, but," he'd smiled a little, just a little quirk at the edge of his lips, and his voice had gotten too earnest, his eyes too soft, "Thanks, anyway."

Then he'd snatched the bloody knife out of Andrew's hand with a, "Now gimme that," and disappeared again.

Everything had gone blurry, Neil and his little smiles and his blue eyes and his sass and the snowflake stickers on his cheeks and the timbre of his voice had echoed all around Andrew, through him. So goddamn loud, until there hadn't been anything else.

Then Neil was back, all cleaned up, moving in high definition through an indistinct world, saying, "Maybe you should be my boyfriend." Then he'd laughed, like it'd been funny. He'd handed Andrew his knife back, cleaned, and Andrew hadn't even felf it in his hand, had just felt the elctric spark of Neil's fingers against his own. "Anyone tries to hit on me again, I can just go, 'Nah, that's my boyfriend over there, he's super protective' or 'Sorry, can't. I've got boyfriend. Yea it's really serious.'" Everything had started spinning, but Neil had just kept talking. "Oh! Dan and Matt and Alli are always tring to talk me into blind dates or whatever. If I tell them you're my boyfriend they'll finally stop! They'll also have a conniption. It's perfect-"

Something must have clued him in that something was wrong, maybe the look on Andrew's face, because he'd cut himself off abruptly. Then, hesitantly, he'd asked, "Andrew? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Then he'd been back in front of Andrew again, with his eyes and his hair and his scars and his freckles and his stickers and and and

"I'm just joking, alright?"

And Andrew had snapped.

He'd surged forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Neil's head and the other around his waist and dragged him in, crashing their mouths together in a paniced, frantic, broken-hearted kiss that would linger on Andrew's mouth until the day he died. He'd kissed Neil with all his wild, nameless emotions that he couldn't reign in anymore. He'd kissed Neil for all his smiles and his laughter and quiet understanding. He'd kissed Neil for all the times he'd thought about him as he fell asleep and then again when he woke up. He'd kissed Neil like he'd always, always wanted to.

And Neil hadn't kissed him back.

Neil hadn't kissed him back but hadn't... not kissed him back, hadn't pulled away, hadn't slapped him or yelled or run. Had gone completely still and soft in Andrew's arms, had let Andrew pull him so close and kiss him desperatly until he couldn't breathe anymore, trying to let him know "this is what you do to me; this is what I could do to you."

Then Andrew had pulled back with a jerk and a gasp and looked at what he'd done with the shock of a man who'd just pushed the button on the atomic bomb.

Neil's eyelashes had fluttered against his cheeks and his lips been parted, but when he'd opened his eyes they'd been nothing but dazed and confused.

"Andrew," Neil'd tried, shaky and lost, "Andrew, what..." Andrew'd felt the bomb go off.

"Why did you..." He'd seen the mushroom cloud; he'd still had a hand on Neil's waist.

"I don't..." No survivors.

So Andrew had thrown him backwards, had removed his hands from Neil like he burned to the touch (and he did, the feel of him was burned permanently into Andrew's skin), and run. He'd heard Neil call out "Wait!" behind him, but he'd already been gone. Out the door, in his car, and hitting the road as fast as his spedometer would allow, the trees and the signs and the asphalt blurring together into one bleak, gray blur as he'd smashed the speed limit to smithereens to get away from the worst, stupidest thing he'd ever done.

He'd kissed Neil without asking. Neil, who wasn't interested, who was all but repelled by sex and relationships, who would rather lie to his friends about a fake boyfriend than have them ask him about his dating life again. He'd kissed Neil without asking right after breaking a man's hand and nose for touching him. He'd torn everything between him and Neil to shreds, lit it on fire, and pissed in the ashes. He'd destroyed everything.

When'd he'd gotten back to the house in Columbia the sun had been just cresting the horizon, orange. He'd crawled into bed, numb, and pulled his sheets over his head. He'd wished he could fall asleep so he could never wake up.

...

He shouldn't have come back to the Foxhole. He should have cut his losses and let Neil go, let him recover and move on and hopefully never have to think about Andrew again.

But he was weak, so weak, and he'd come crawling back. And there Neil was, like a dream, covered in hearts, looking at Andrew like he cared he'd been gone, like he'd wanted him to come back, taking his hand, cleaning his wound.

It was all too much.

They sat across from each other at a booth with the first aid kit between them, Andrew's injured hand in both of Neil's as he cleaned off the blood, applied antibiotic, and wrapped it in a bandage. Frank Sinatra drifted over from the jukebox, low and sad.

Even once he'd finished, Neil didn't let go of Andrew's hand. He held it gently in both of his and ducked his head, avoiding Andrew's eyes. Then, he said, "I want to talk about it," low and solemn.

Andrew's shoulders tensed up immediately and he tried to jerk his hand back, but Neil didn't let go. He held on tight and turned his blue eyes on Andrew, blazing. "No," he hissed, "you don't get to run away again. You owe me an explanation at least."

Andrew stared at him, rocks in his throat. All he managed to ground out was, "I shouldn't have done it."

Neil looked sad at that, lost and confused. "Then why did you?"

Why had he? Because he was crazy? Because he was stupid? Because he was self-destructive? Because he dreamed about holding Neil's hand and running his fingers through his hair? Because it hurt too much to hear Neil laugh at the idea of them being together?

In the end, though, all he said was, "I couldn't stop myself."

Neil ran his fingers along Andrew's pensively. "So you wanted to-" he stuttered, "You want to- Kiss me, and all that stuff. You like me, like that."

Andrew was far too deep for denial anymore. He'd already dug his grave, time to lay in it. "Yes."

"You never said anything."

Andrew paused, took a long breath in and let it out slowly. Of course he'd never said anything. Just being in Neil's presence was enough - should have been enough - confessing would only have driven a rift of expectation between them. "There was no point," he said finally, "You don't see people like that."

"How do you know?" Neil snapped, and for a moment the whole world froze. But then it broke again just as fast. Andrew knew better than to get his hopes up. Why Neil was toying with him like this he didn't know. Maybe it was revenge.

"You said, Neil," Andrew reminded him, "Over and over. You don't feel that way about people."

Neil curled forward, tucking his chin to examine their hands, his fingers playingnervously over Andrew's. "What if I was wrong?" he asked, "What if I can feel that way?" He leaned his head back to look in Andrew's face beseechingly, "What if I do?"

If this was revenge, it was the coldest, cruelest kind. Andrew would rather Neil hit him, screamed at him, cursed his name and thrown him out than play these games with him.

And if he meant it? That was even worse. If the only way Neil could conceptualize a friend violating him like Andrew had was by tricking himself into thinking he felt something back, that was worse than any physical pain.

He extracted his hand from Neil's, lay Neil's hands down flat on the table and drew his own back into his lap. "I kissed you," he began, "And it was wrong. I didn't ask, I just took it from you." He spoke as callously and apathetically as he could, so his voice wouldn't shake, wouldn't betray him, "Don't try to justify it. Don't delude yourself out of some misplaced sense of obligation."

In an instant, Neil's face flared with fury. He slammed his hands on the table hard enough to shake it. "Don’t tell me how I feel!" he shouted.

Then the anger melted away as fast as it appeared, replaced with something nascent and vulnerable. He curled his hands together shakily. "I don't know what I feel," he whispered, "I don't know anything," Then he curled his hands into fists, and his voice became resolute, "But neither do you. All I know is I want to try again."

That was it, that went over the line Andrew had already pushed and pushed to the breaking point. He couldn't handle this anymore. He roared, rose out of his seat, "I fucking assaulted you, Neil!"

But Neil flashed right back, "You surprised me!" They met in the middle, raging, and both backed down. Neil slid his hands palms down across the table, entreating, never breaking eye contact. "I was shocked... and confused," he began, "But you didn't hurt me." Andrew recoiled, very slightly, even though he wanted to reach out for the hand Neil offered. "Whatever you think you did," he breathed," You're wrong. Whatever mistake you think you made, I forgive you." It tasted like absolution, too good to be true, and Andrew felt his body collapse in on itself in relief. He could breathe again, the vice on his chest released.

And Neil just kept talking. He nudged Andrew's fingers with his own, sliding underneath to take his hand. "I can't stop thinking about it, Andrew," he whispered, "About you." Slowly, he rose from his seat and swung around the table, leaning closer and closer. "When you left, I-" he faltered, face darkening, "And when you didn't come back..." he bit his lip, eye clouded. Then with a shake he continued, even more insistent than before. "That hurt, more than anything else. I was..." he was so close, speaking so softly, "Scared, that I'd never see you again." They were toe to toe, Andrew tilting his head back to look at Neil standing above him. He couldn't move. Neil cupped his hand between them. "I don't know what will come from it," he admitted, "But I have to try, okay?" He raised Andrew's hand up to his face, "I have to know," pressed it against his cheek, "So ask me."

Andrew was frozen, choking on his heart in his throat. He couldn't respond, couldn't move, could only stare wide eyed up at Neil.

Neil took a halfstep back and brought Andrew with him, tugging him to his feet until they were nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye. He hovered a hand next to Andrew's face, not touching, not yet. When he spoke, Andrew felt the breath on his lips, "Andrew, kiss me again."

He leaned into Neil's hand, felt it brush agaist his skin in a rush. He brought his other hand, dangling at his side, up and wrapped it around Neil waist, pulling him in until their lips were the only parts of them not touching. "I'm going to kiss you," he breathed, "Yes or no?"

"Yes," Neil said, eyes already falling closed, already leaning in the last inch.

So Andrew kissed him, and Neil kissed back.

#@aftgexchange #@black-glasses-and-books #aftg #andreil #fic #diner au #my posts

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otdiaftg · 9 months

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The King's Men - Chapter Three

Day: Thursday, January 4th Time: 7:20 PM EST

"What did I say yesterday?" Neil asked her. "Why did you react like that?" It didn't take her long to remember. "About the knives, you mean." When Neil nodded, she turned her hands over and considered her palms. "You remember I told you I used to be in a gang? There was a man there who went out of his way to hurt me. He liked knives and kept a half-dozen on him at all times. I couldn't defend myself by normal means, so I learned to fight with knives, too. I practiced for a year before I finally bested him. "'Bested'." Renee contemplated the word choice for a few moments before saying, "He didn't survive the fight. Boss helped stage the body so we could pin it on a rival gang and I was promoted. I kept the knives through my trial and my adoption. I wanted to remember what darkness I'm capable of—and what darkness I'm capable of surviving." "You did what you had to do," Neil said. "If he lived he would have come back for you." "I know," Renee said, soft. "There were other girls before I caught his eye; there would be girls after I left. But I didn't do it for the greater good. I did it because he wronged me personally and I didn't want to be afraid of him anymore. I regret what it did to me more than I regret the necessity of his death. I felt no horror when I watched him die. I was proud of what I'd done to him. "I told Andrew what I did," Renee said. "The next day while I was at class he broke into my room and took my knives. When I asked for them back, he said I was lying to myself. If I wanted to remember, I wouldn't hide the knives in my closet like a shameful secret I couldn't revisit or let go of. They weren't doing me any good, so he said he would carry them until I needed them again. "I let him have them because I trusted him not to use them," Renee said. "I thought he understood what they were supposed to be: not weapons anymore but a symbol of what we've overcome. I didn't ask him for his reasons. I knew he would tell me if he wanted me to know." The obvious answer was Drake, but it didn't add up quite right. Neil turned it over in his head, working his way through it, and thought about the scars on Andrew's forearms. Who had Andrew survived: Drake or himself? Neil wasn't going to share that idea with Renee, so he said, "So those knives he brings everywhere are yours?" "Were mine," Renee said. "He was right; I don't need them anymore. If you need them, he will give them to you, and I will teach you how to use them." She wasn't smiling anymore. Neil studied her calm expression and knew she meant it. She'd put her faith in mankind and her Christian piety on hold and show him how to cut a man open throat to groin if he asked her to. Neil was starting to understand why Andrew liked her. She was crazy enough to be interesting. "Thank you," Neil said, "but no. I don't want to be like—him." He didn't say he'd used knives before; one couldn't grow up a Wesninski without having a blade pushed into his hand. Nathan didn't have the time or patience to teach his son but he'd put two of his people to the task. Luckily Neil left home before he progressed past cutting up hunks of dead animals. "Of course," Renee agreed. She waited a moment to see if anything else was forthcoming, then got to her feet. "I shouldn't keep Allison waiting, but if you want to talk more later you know where to find me." "Okay," Neil said.

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps

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meanminyxrd · 4 years

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believe but its ab a redheaded runaway

alright so today i’m tackling ‘believe’ by hollywood undead. i think the vibes can fit both andrew and neil, but moreso neil in this connotation. as always, book spoilers ahead. i’ve been forgetting to put that lately.

let’s start w the chorus and opening of the song:

I can't believe that when I breathe

There's something good inside of me, just one good thing inside

So close to me, that memory

Of that one good thing inside of me, just one good thing inside of me, yeah

neil is, inherently, a selfish person before he gets attached to the foxes. think ab it: he cares only for his survival and nothing more, nothing less. that takes a certain type of apathy towards other people, which was taught to him by his mother. stay disconnected, stay safe. care for no one but yourself. when he starts seeing that the foxes care for him, and he’s just... playing them, essentially—lying to them about who he is and where he’s come from—he acknowledges that they’re never going to forgive him for ditching them later on in the year; specifically andrew, because he promised andrew he would stay. he feels like a bad person but it’s what he has to do to live. he wants to stay and play exy and be able to focus on something other than survival for once, but he knows it’s all just a play in his head. in the end its about his survival.

If I ran out the backdoor, nobody would stop me, but where would I go?

'Cause I ain't ever had a real home, so what do I know?

So I could keep running, hide until they find me, but what would that do?

If they could only know what I knew, what would it prove?

I should've seen the writing on the wall, instead I'm left to fall

'Cause the longer I'm away, the more we stay the same

Looking back, would've thought I knew it all

Instead I'm left to fall, did I throw it all away?

neil is a runaway. it’s how he’s managed to survive this long; running away and keeping on the move to avoiding his father’s men tracking him down. never leaving a trail, never staying anywhere for too long and never making any connections. when he leaves, there’s no one there to stop him both physically and metaphorically. no connections means he isn’t held back emotionally or by someone forcing him to stay. he’s never really had a home, being on the run his whole life. its all about survival, but neil signs the contract to palmetto, right? he knows he could keep running to stay safe but really, what would that do? is that really living? he wants to open up to people im sure, but what would that prove to them? in his mind it would just show that he was a bad person—dangerous. keeping kevin around is one thing; kevin is an exy star. he’s worth it. but neil? neil is nothing. why would they risk their life for a nobody?

saying he should have seen the writing on the wall alludes to all the hints that his father’s men left that they were closing in on him, however he ignored it just to be able to stay a little longer—play a little longer. instead he ignored it and fell. looking back on it he thought he had a handle on it and would be able to get away or at the very least accept his death, but it actually hurts. he got attached without realizing. and now he’s wondering if any of it was worth it. is this worth losing his life for? or, did he do enough w his time with the foxes and with andrew? or did he throw away that time for nothing?

Don't you know, little boy, they'll lay you to waste, man?

Little do they know every song has a lifespan

Never taken one, but I'm taking my last chance

To hold all we know and let go with both hands

So don't you know the clouds are made from concrete?

Right through the stone, can you hear my heartbeat?

Beats through my bones like the memory left me

Not for a second or a minute when I dream

I wanna go home like the home that I keep

You can dig six or sixty-six feet

‘don’t you know, little boy, they’ll lay you to waste, man?’ his father’s men want him dead and he knows that. they’re who he’s been outrunning his entire life (and i suppose the yakuza but he didn’t know that.) he knows attention is being drawn towards him by being in the public eye, so this is like he’s mocking himself, because he knows he’s taking a very big unnecessary risk. he’s never taken a chance in his life before because its always been about survival. but this time he is taking a chance. he’s taking a chance by joining the palmetto state foxes. but by taking this chance it is metaphorically the last chance he’ll ever take, because at this point he’s 99% sure he’s gonna end up dead by the end of it all. ‘dont you know the clouds are made of concrete?’ referencing that the only way out for him is by death. whether by someone else’s hand or his own. the only way this whole catastrophe is going to end in him being ‘at peace’ or ‘in heaven’ ie the clouds, is if he’s killed. digging 6 or 66 feet down implies ‘6 feet under’, again a death metaphor.

We could live forever, still your misery missed me

Hold this song together with a bottle of whiskey

Look into the mirror at the lines that time drew

See them painted white and the eyes that shine through

My heart beats heavy in an open chest

And I wanna say goodbye, but there's nobody left

he could have gone to his dad and flipped everything on his mom instead, or run off to live with his uncle, but the anger that his father had missed neil. yes, neil had his father’s temper, but his father was tainted with misery that neil didn’t get and he didn’t want any part in the crime scene of things. ‘look into the mirror at the lines that time drew, see them painted white and teh eyes that shine through.’ this part to me is in the mirror after the nest, when neil is first really seeing his scars, ‘the lines that time drew’ would reference like old age lines stereotypically, but in neil’s case i see it a reference to his scars because that’s what marks time for him—his scars. the scars that his dad and his dad’s men left. the scars that riko left. the scars he has just from living. the ‘eyes that shine through’ is because neil no longer has his contacts. when wymack gets him from the airport he has nothing of his disguise left. and god, is he tired of running. his heart is so heavy. he wants to be able to say goodbye to someone when he dies, but there’s no one left. his mom is dead and he has no connections other than, now, the foxes. but being in this mindset of its him vs everyone, he’s alone. he cant say goodbye to anyone but himself.

I broke it all, and I put it to the test

Put your hand on mine, and feel this emptiness

There's no beat in my chest 'cause there's nothing left

No, it ain't goodbye, it's a last caress

What's another dream? You can hardly sleep

Can you believe bad things only happen to me?

God knows one day you will finally see

That scars will heal but were meant to bleed

neil, by making these decisions, broke every self imposed rule he had for himself to stay safe. he broke the rules his mother had set in place prior to her death, and he tested the limits. he chanced trusting, if just a little. he chanced making a connection. specifically, with andrew. so this part is really andreil heavy for me. let me explain why.

this part is almost like the locker room scene when his father’s men were being security guards and he knew he no longer stood any chance. he says goodbye to andrew in that moment, and this last part is a big goodbye message to me.

he’s empty. he’s out of fight. he cant fight or he would risk the foxes lives too. there’s nothing left inside of him. he says thank you to andrew as a goodbye, but it’s not a goodbye, no, it’s a last touch, one last joy to share even if it’s small. ‘whats another dream? you can hardly sleep.’ what’s the loss of something you lose all the time? what’s the loss of something that doesnt matter? neil doesnt think he matters to andrew, and so what will his loss mean, if anything? why would andrew care? the ‘can you believe bad things only happen to me?’ is a mocking quote if anything; bad things have followed neil around his whole life, and though statistically its not true only bad things happen to him, it sure feels like he’s got the worst of it. and even in the off chance that andrew does miss him, the emotional scars will heal, even if it does hurt. because neil doesnt think he matters as much to andrew as he really does.

Do you realize I would lie for you?

Please, have my last breath, I would die for you

I know I'm no good, but my heart beats true

You know I'm gonna fight, though I might be scared to lose

You took me in, and I fucked it up again

An empty promise? No, I won't pretend

'Cause in the end we need someone to solve 'em

Nobody can fix me if I'm part of the problem

he would give everything to protect the foxes. he cares about them more than he’d like to admit. he may seem distant, but do they realize how far he’s willing to go to ensure their safety? first he went to the nest to protect them, right? now he’s literally going off to his death to keep them safe. he would lie for them, he would die for them; he would throw away everything he could and couldn’t have for them. he doesnt believe hes a good person, for putting them all in this situation, but he’s trying his best. his heart has the best intentions for the foxes. in that ‘goodbye’ to andrew, he conveys so much, and andrew obviously catches on that it’s a goodbye. but neil conveys that he’s gonna fight, even if he’s scared he’s gonna lose, even if he knows he’s gonna lose. andrew took him in after everything; after being sus of neil and then neil telling him half truths, and yet he’s fucking everything up again by going off to die. and empty promise? there isnt an empty failed promise because he made andrew break off the deal beforehand. in the end, andrew was the one who was helping to fix him. the connection he formed with andrew made him feel like he had a shot; like maybe they could outwit his father and he would be safe. however, this whole situation including himself couldn’t be fixed because he is a part of the problem. he blames himself for the foxes being a target so to keep them safe he will go off w his father’s men and remove the issue. no one can fix him and keep him safe if he’s the dangerous one.

uhhh yeah i hope you liked my breakdown! here’s neil’s playlist if you’re curious for more! see ya next time.

#neil josten #song analysis #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #playlists #songs #music

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100storiesin2020 · 4 years

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Chapter 8: Columbia, Part 2

Come read on AO3!

Neil checked the rear view mirror to make sure Ronan's BMW was still behind them before hopping out of the Maserati. He fetched an extra parking pass and handed it to Ronan through the window. "Follow Andrew to the parking lot. Blue, you can walk with them or come in with us." She hopped out as the two cars peeled off.

"So this is Eden's," she said as Nicky began an elaborate handshake with security. "How long have y'all been coming here?"

"Nicky and the twins used to work here," he said. "The staff remembers them, so we are able to get in without ID's and drink for free."

"Nice," was all she said as they entered. He directed her to go sit with the others and headed to the bar.

"Hello!" Roland called when he noticed Neil. He nodded his head over to their usual table in the corner. "I see you have a new face today. Will it be the usual treatment for them?"

"No," Neil said. "No drugs. Do throw in several extra drinks, though. We have another extra coming in with Andrew."

"Oh," Roland drew out, raising an eyebrow. "What's the story there?" Neil shrugged. He didn't really know why Ronan was there, actually. They had only wanted Blue. Roland continued to wait for an explanation, but finally realized it was in vain. "Alright then." He started to pull out glasses. "I'll give you your usual and a few undoctored extras. Do you have any idea what they like?" Roland smiled when Neil shook his head. "Bartender's choice, then. And a soda for you, as usual." He handed the very full tray to Neil. "Have a nice night!"

Neil navigated his way over to the table. Andrew and Ronan had arrived, and the booth was very crowded. Nicky had pulled up a bar stool to sit on, which made just enough space is everyone squeezed in. Blue was looking around interestedly, while Ronan was lounging as if bored out of his mind. Kevin reached for the drinks before they even hit the table, but Aaron didn't look up from texting long enough to notice.

"So," Blue said as Neil took his seat by Andrew, "You did say this was free?" Nicky excitedly launched into the story of how he had worked there. Blue nodded along as if she hadn't already heard. "Cool then. What's the most expensive thing here?" Nicky pointed out a swirly colorful concoction and Blue snapped it right up. "This is mine, then."

Ronan laughed. "You're not going to get drunk on a sissy drink like that."

"Good thing I wasn't planning to get drunk. Go to town, shithead." Ronan immediately kicked back several drinks. "And give me your keys before those give in." Ronan grumbled but handed over the keys. Somehow, he and Kevin were neck in neck for number of drinks consumed. How they were still alive, Neil didn't know. Eventually Nicky dragged Aaron and Kevin off to go dance, leaving Neil and Andrew alone with the freshmen.

Andrew immediately leaned across the table, looking Blue straight in the eye. "You're suspicious."

"You don't know the half of it," Blue replied, sipping her drink. Her eyes had gone tight, body stiff, like she was absolutely dreading this conversation. She didn't back down, though. This girl was made of steel.

"How do you know Mr. Gray?" Andrew asked.

Ronan leaned forward menacingly. "You don't need to know that."

Blue elbowed him before leveling a glare. "I promised to answer some questions about Mr. Gray. He kind of scared the shit out of Josten here. I can handle this. Go dance." When he tried to argue she shoved him out of the seat. He picked himself up off the floor, muttering curses, but did eventually leave. Blue turned back to them. "I believe I told you that he is dating my mother."

"Why is a small-town psychic dating a hit man, then?"

Blue was shocked. "You can't just say that were anyone can hear."

"This is a club. It's too loud for anyone to be listening to us without being obvious. Answer the question."

"He came to her to get a reading when he was in Henrietta... on assignment," she said with a grimace. "They apparently hit it off quickly. I kind of avoided learning the details."

"That leaves out the very important question of why a hit man was in Henrietta," Neil stated.

Blue glared at him. "All you two need to know," she said slowly, "is whether we're a risk. I know about the Butcher and the Moriyamas." Neil flinched. "Mr. Gray explained the situation and dynamics to me when I signed the contract. We aren't a target for them, and it's my understanding that you've got everything settled here. Is there anything else?"

"Can you protect them?" Andrew asked.

"What?"

"If something goes wrong, I will not protect them. That's up to you."

Blue nodded. "I've lost enough of my friends this last year. Nobody will touch them ever again." Andrew leaned back, satisfied, and went back to drinking. Blue sipped her drink for another minute or so and then left to dance.

"I think she'll be alright," Neil said in German. Andrew grunted. "She has the look of someone who isn't afraid to fight."

"She has scars," Andrew replied. "Around her eye."

Neil nodded thoughtfully. "Must wear makeup to hide them. What did you think of the rest of what she said? Nicky says she mentioned a friend dying recently, and she let slip that Gansey has died twice, whatever that means." Andrew hummed. "I think she has plenty of motivation to be on the lookout."

They sat there in silence for awhile, lights flashing on Andrew's blond hair. It still surprised Neil, sometimes, how much things had changed for him in the last year. He still hated crowds, didn't like loud music or drinking, but he liked Eden's. This was Andrew's territory, and with Andrew, he was safe. He was home.

His thoughts were interrupted by the others coming back to the table. Kevin and Ronan eyed each other as they both did more shots. Blue said something about fragile male egos and the two of them flipped her the bird, rather clumsily. They were both pretty drunk.

"Fuckin Gray man," Ronan muttered. What was that accent coming through the slur? "Someday I'll get even with him."

"You're already even with the person who matters," Blue replied. That was interesting.

"Fuckin Greenmantle deserved what he fuckin got." Neil could place the accent now.

Kevin did too. "You sound... you sound like my mom used to," he stammered. "Irish. Are you Irish?"

"Dad was Irish," Ronan grumbled.

"He gets the accent when he's drunk," Blue supplied cheerily. "It embarrasses the hell out of him." Ronan flipped her off yet again.

"My mom was Irish," Kevin said. "I haven't heard that accent since she died. She used to tell me all these old stories..." he trailed off softly. "I wish I could remember them."

"Did she tell you the legend of Finn McCool?"

"The giant?" Kevin asked hopefully. "I think so, that one sounds familiar. I remember a really sad story too. It was her favorite. Something about a girl who was supposed to marry a king but started a war?"

Ronan nodded. "Sounds like Deidre, at least if my mom told me the same stories yours did." Neil listened with half an ear as the two of them continued to swap pieces of folk tales. They had a few in common, and others they did not. Ronan seemed less sharp in those moments, less like a knife and more like a person. It didn't last long. Kevin asked Ronan something about his father, and the sharpness returned.

"That's our cue to go," Blue said as Ronan stomped to his feet.

"But I want to keep dancing!" Nicky said.

"No, she's right," Neil replied. "It's late, even for us. Let's go home." Neil helped a swaying Nicky while Andrew grabbed Kevin, and he saw Blue half dragging a protesting Ronan out to the car. Neil overheard something about pint sized freak and I could take him, but he didn't hear Blue's reply. Whatever it was, it made Ronan laugh wickedly.

Neil deposited Nicky in the backseat with Kevin and Aaron and hopped in front next to Andrew. They watched in the mirror as Blue forcibly shoved Ronan into the backseat and held the door open for the raven to fly back in from where it was perched on the roof. Blue climbed into the car and they all drove the 15 minutes or so to the Columbia house, making sure not to lose her. Neil watched Andrew drive as the drunk ones argued in the backseat. "Staring," was all Andrew said, eyes still on the road. Neil only grinned and kept looking.

They pulled up to the house, the BMW just behind. Neil hopped out of the car and unlocked the house door as the others spilled out of their cars, Nicky and Kevin lurching from side to side. Blue was hauling Ronan by one arm with the raven perched on her head. Aaron was mostly upright; he's started drinking less after Katelyn had asked him to.

"Alright Nicky," Neil said. "Don't forget you gave up your room for Blue."

"An act of pure chivalry," Nicky said with a laugh. "To the couch!"

"Aaron, Kevin is going to sleep in the armchair in your room."

"I remember," Aaron said with a shrug. That may have been the most civil exchange they'd ever had, Neil realized after a second. Kevin stumbled inside, complaining about how armchairs always hurt his back, as if he didn't end up on the floor half the time when he was this drunk.

Then it was Blue. "You're in Nicky's room," Neil said. "Just down the hall, second door on the left. We didn't really figure anything out for Ronan, though there's an armchair in the living room. Please keep the bird outside though."

Blue only shrugged. "I'll take him with me. I'll need to keep an eye on him, anyway. Scram, girl." Chainsaw cawed defiantly but eventually flew into the darkness.

Everyone situated, Neil headed up to the room where Andrew was already climbing into bed. Neil threw on his pjs and climbed in after. "Yes or no?"

Andrew thought for a moment. "No." Neil nodded; there were strange people in the house, and it was hard for Andrew to relax even with the bedroom door locked. He probably wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Neil turned off the light and was asleep quickly.

A few hours later he woke with a start as he heard a shriek and a thump downstairs. It sounded like Blue. Neil and Andrew both sat upright in an instant, hands going for knives but coming up empty. They grabbed the knives from the bedside table and ran down the stairs. Chances were that she had simply fallen out of bed, but after the hard lives they had lived it was difficult to ignore any sound that resembled a threat.

Neil gave a loud knock and called, "Coming in!" before opening the door.

Ronan was in the bed, just barely starting to sit up. He had scratches on his face and arms. Blue was standing over a... creature, her pajamas soaked with blood. The thing resembled a bat, almost, only bigger than a person, and it had wicked claws. Neil watched as it took its last breath before Blue plunged a pink knife into its eye.

She looked up at them, hair wild, eyes untrusting. Neil almost expected the knife to come for him next, but then her face settled, as if she had made a decision she didn't like.

"Do you guys know where we can hide a body?"

#a chainsaw in fox tower #trc #the raven cycle #aftg #all for the game #crossover #ronan lynch #blue sargent #andrew minyard #neil josten #nicky hemmick #kevin day #aaron minyard #columbia #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: drinking #this is columbia. you know the drill #no drugs though

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Text

After the Rain

Shoutout to Arch for pulling me into a superhero AU and making my night

Read here or on AO3 (Check for content warnings)

The last of Moriyama’s minions sinks to his knees with a wet thud. His black body armour hides the dark patches of blood spreading from the neat slit across his neck but does nothing to cover the faint gurgling that accompanies it. Neil boots the man over onto his back and waits for the stuttering rise and fall of his chest to peter out before he, too, sinks to his knees.

His blood mingles with the pooling rain as it hits the grimy pavement. In its reflection he sees Andrew, hanging above him from a long, thick tendril of webbing. Neil can’t read his expression with the mask in the way, but nonetheless senses that the man is far from impressed.

“You’ve got a little something there.”

“What?” Neil looks down to find a heavy-duty knife protruding from his chest. “Oh, yeah.” He winces as he wrenches it out, gritting his teeth to block out the crack of his ribcage re-aligning itself in its wake. The puddle he’s sitting in is turning a sickly shade of pink.

“Disgusting,” Andrew says.

“There’s a bright side.” Neil offers Andrew the knife, handle facing the man above him. “Free knife?”

Andrew swats the knife out of Neil’s hands. It clatters to the ground, spinning between the bodies like an absurd game of spin-the-bottle. When it comes to a stop, the blade is pointing to Neil.

There’s a hiss as Andrew loosens the webbing holding him up until he is on eye-level with Neil. He reaches out and presses two fingers to the open wound. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Neil swats Andrew’s hand away. “You get used to it.”

Andrew makes an irritated noise. “Maybe you do.”

“You don’t?”

Instead of answering, Andrew retracts his hand, hooking his fingers under his own mask and pulling it up to expose the lower half of his face. Neil’s eyes swallow the sight; a strong jawline, bristled with a pale five-o-clock shadow. Chapped lips pressed into a hard line as though concentrating on Neil’s reaction. Neil has never seen Andrew’s face in its entirety, has never asked, and Andrew has never offered. Neil wants to ask what changed tonight, but is afraid to break the strange, silent truce between them.

“Yes or no?” Andrew says. Neil’s eyes are transfixed on his lips as they move.

“Yes,” Neil breathes, not sure what he’s agreeing to but unable to care.

Andrew slips a finger under the hem of Neil’s mask. He pauses as he slides along the warped tissue of Neil’s scars before he continues, pulling Neil’s mask up to expose his mouth. The cool night air licks across Neil’s jawline.

A few blond curls have escaped Andrew’s mask at the back. Neil reaches up, lets his hand hover over the back of Andrew’s neck. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Neil’s fingers tangle in the soft curls. Andrew curls a hand around Neil’s head in return. With his other hand, he swipes his thumb across Neil’s chin, wiping away a stray trickle of blood. Finally, he pulls Neil in, and their lips meet.

Andrew’s lips are like fire after the cold night air. They nip the same way, sweet and warm and wet. The angle is strange, with Andrew still upside-down, but Neil has no frame of reference to judge it by regardless. Andrew runs his tongue over Neil’s bottom lip before sucking on it briefly, and the action pulls a moan from Neil’s chest. He doesn’t realise how hard he is tugging Andrew’s hair until he feels a gasp shake through Andrew in response. Panting, they break, Neil’s stiff, bruised fingers still tangled in Andrew’s hair like he’s forgotten how to let go. He takes a burning thrill of satisfaction from the sight of Andrew’s heaving chest, the realisation that Andrew is just as fucked up as he is.

“Careful,” Neil says, a smirk breaking over his face. His lips tingle with the weight of Andrew’s mouth. “It would be super embarrassing if you fell right now.”

Andrew tugs Neil’s mask down with a growl. “You’re the one who’s going to have a nasty accident if you don’t shut up.”

Neil hooks his fingers in the folds of Andrew’s mask and tucks it back under his chin in return. Bracing himself with Andrew’s arm, he pulls himself back to his feet. The knife wound is little more than a blistering red mark now, but the sensation still slices through him all the same. “Walk me home?”

“Call a taxi.”

“None of them will take me while I’m dressed like this. The blood makes them uncomfortable for some reason.”

“Pathetic.” Andrew flips over until he’s standing upright before Neil. “Come on. There’s all sorts out at this time of night.”

He turns and stalks down the darkened alley, and Neil, smiling, follows.

* Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed.

Bonus note: Neil is on a lifetime ban from every taxicab company in the city save one. He doesn't know what the last straw for Localcabs Ltd will be, but by god he will find it.

#andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #violence tw #blood tw #death tw #my fic #spiderman!andrew #deadpool!neil

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

part 2 to the assassin au! here’s p1 <<<333

warnings for panic attacks and neil plotting to kill kevin lol

Neil slid into the booth opposite a nondescript man reading the newspaper in his business suit, briefcase by his feet. That briefcase would hold only a gun and the list of Neil’s wrongdoings. He folded the newspaper down in favour of looking to Neil with a blank expression.

Ichirou was not pleased. And it did not do well to displease a Moriyama.

“Kevin Day is alive.”

“Yes.” Neil agreed.

“My father is dying.” Ichirou hissed. “The title of Lord will be passed down to me in a matter of months. I cannot risk such a liability, Nathaniel.”

Neil winced. “It is proving more difficult than anticipated. He has surrounded himself with vigilant protection at all times. I need more time.”

“Do not forget your place, Wesninski.” Ichirou snapped. “Get out of my sight.”

Neil didn’t need to be told twice and did just that.

He felt as though he was holding his breath all the way until he’d arrived back at his apartment. His hands fumbled for the keys, teeth grinding as he tried to unlock his door.

“Josten,” Came a familiar voice. Neil glanced over his shoulder. Andrew had a slight furrow between his brow, dressed casually with black frames balanced on his nose. “Are you alright?” Neil didn’t know Minyard wore glasses.

Concern.

“Quite fine.” Neil answered, shoving his key into the lock. “Just regretting every decision I’ve ever made that landed me in the position I’m in today.”

“Sounds fine.” Andrew answered.

Neil just shook his head, opening the door.

“Josten -” Minyard hesitated. Neil looked back at him: He scowled. “For fuck’s sake. Just come in.”

That was how Neil found himself sitting on Andrew’s couch, the knitting throw over his knees with a cup of herbal tea.

“You didn’t strike me as a tea drinker.” Neil offered, as Andrew sat down on a beanbag. They were all adults here.

“Kevin gets stressed.” He muttered, sipping on his own mug. Steam rose and fogged his glasses.

“I’ve never seen you wear frames before.” Neil noted. “Do you wear contacts usually?”

“I need them to see, Josten, so yes. It doesn’t bode well for a bodyguard to have a physical ailment that can be exploited.”

No, thought Neil, plans ticking over in his mind. It doesn’t.

“Are you going to keep looking at me like I’m some alien, or are you going to explain why you’re on the verge of a panic attack?”

Neil blinked. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure you know what that means.”

“Just some altercations at -” Neil smiled hesitantly. “At work.”

Andrew settled further into his beanbag, watching Neil over the rim of his glasses. Why did Neil feel like Andrew could see right through him? Why did he feel so vulnerable? There was no way this man could know anything about who he truly was, not when he was so careful.

Neil should get rid of him too. He was probably just as much of a liability to Ichirou’s position as Kevin was: The two had been friends since college, since Kevin had run from Riko in the first place.

Neil had to get rid of Andrew. He had to. I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a choice.

The mug clattered onto the floor, hot tea seeping into his shoes and the handle shattering upon impact.

“I -” Neil leapt to his feet, horrified at his loss of composure. Neil had killed before. What was another man and his bodyguard? What had changed? “I’m sorry, I -”

Andrew wasn’t pleased. “Relax. Go home and fucking - take a bath, or something. You need to chill out.”

Neil nodded weakly, wrapping his arms around his waist and rushing for the door. He couldn’t look back at the other man. It was the understanding that he offered in the corner of his eye. He wasn’t disgusted by Neil’s scars. He wasn’t put-off by Neil’s seemingly unfavourable job. He kept coming onto the balcony, time and time again, sharing quiet moments alongside Neil and answering Neil’s questions whilst offering his own questions in return.

Neil had posed as someone else to grow intimate enough with someone’s situation to kill them cleanly plenty of times. He’d just never gotten so...

Attached.

He slammed his fists onto the tiles of his shower. For a moment he saw blood pooling in his fists, the way that it tended to rest when he washed himself off from returning from a job.

This couldn’t last. He wouldn’t let it.

“My father was killed in prison.” Neil said, looking out to the sunrise as it blessed the easterly planes of New York City’s sky-rises. “So why the fuck does his ghost still haunt me?”

Andrew took a drag of his smoke. “Attempting to control your own mind will result in you running in circles.”

“I wanted him dead for so long.” He muttered. “But now that he is, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Andrew could understand that. When Aaron bashed Drake’s skull in, when Andrew strangled Proust, it was a moment of clarity: He would forever be free from the horrors they brought with them.

But with their departure came an open space, ready to be occupied by the next man who would try and take advantage of Andrew’s vulnerabilities.

“I killed the man who abused me whilst I was in rehab. I’m subconsciously waiting for someone to come and take his place, like it’s a job opening.” He flicked his cigarette butt over the railing. “There’s no reason why we think and behave the way we do. It’s just ingrained into us.”

He could feel Neil looking at him, gaze drilling into his cheek. He turned his head slowly, meeting Neil’s gaze.

It wasn’t pity. Or fear. It was just pure, unadulterated understanding.

The weight pressing onto Andrew’s chest eased, just a little bit.

Andrew was growing hedgier. Kevin and Thea’s wedding was fast approaching, and the needless press and public appearances had his head spinning. He wasn’t even the one being interviewed.

He was still no closer to figuring out who’d been in their apartment, and how, but Andrew would sleep with one eye open until he’d resolved this mess. He was sure someone was on their tail. Betsy insisted he was being overly paranoid, and demonstrated it was proof that he take some form of break from watching over Kevin, but it wasn’t like Andrew could up and leave. He’d come back and Kevin would be half-pulled into a drain with both of his hands run over by military tanks.

He worked grooves into the carpets. He’d set up cameras around the flat and building that only he had access to and controlled all the access points. It didn’t make him sleep any easier. He wanted to move houses. Kevin thought he was crazy.

Andrew knew he wasn’t crazy. He was perceptive, not crazy.

So, whilst he was pissed off about it, he wasn’t surprised when he got the call.

“You’re going to keep Day in his apartment. You’re not going to call the police. Do as I say and no one gets hurt.”

Andrew ground his teeth. There was only one party who could be responsible for this, and where the Moriyamas were involved, someone always got hurt.

Andrew kept Kevin in his room, walking out onto the balcony. With the three-foot gap between their railings, it was easy to chuck a pen around the corner to Neil’s sliding doors.

The man appeared, bemused and probably tired from a long Friday evening. “Andrew?”

Andrew hated him. Hated the quick to his eyebrows that Andrew noticed when Neil looked at him. “Look after Day. I’m going to hideout for this freaky fucking stalker.”

Neil blinked. “Did I miss something?”

“Weird shit around the place.” Andrew said dismissively. “Always."

“You’re going to have provide me some context, Minyard.” Neil challenged, crossing his arms.

Andrew grit his teeth and looked at the man. Why he trusted Neil was beyond him. He was still not sick of Neil’s inquisitive gaze: He wasn’t bored by his careful questions. Neil had traded quiet truths about hating his work and predispositions set by his family over cigarettes and mugs of coffee. Andrew knew he liked fruit and going for jogs and Exy. Neil, in return, knew Andrew had an awful sweet-tooth, a deliberating fear of heights, knife sheaths in his armbands, and that Andrew had gone to prison when he was younger.

Small, banal things, shared like golden artefacts between hesitant hands.

And yeah, the sexual attraction had been foremost and obvious, but it had dulled into something else. Something Andrew didn’t really understand. He wanted to kiss the slight frown off his lips and see if his curls would really fall through his fingers like he dreamed they would.

No, he thought. That was not a productive line of thinking.

“Kevin is in danger.” He said lowly. “Keep him in your flat. Watch over him.”

Neil nodded.

“Give me your number.”

“This isn’t how I imagined you asking me for my details, but I’ll take what I’ll get.” Neil grinned softly.

Andrew knew his ears were going red for no god-damned reason. He simply served Neil a flat glare and left him standing on the balcony.

“Climb from our balcony to Neil’s. You’ll hide in there until this blows over.” Andrew said, re-tying his shoelaces and checking his knives were in their sheaths.

Kevin sent him a startled look. “Who’s Neil?”

Andrew ground his teeth. “Next door neighbour.”

“Thea -”

“I’ll text her. Leave your phone with me: They could be tracking it.”

He supervised Kevin clambering across between the two railings with a slight race to his heart rate. Neil knew and understood, putting out his hands.

“It’ll be alright.” Neil said quietly. “I’ve got him. Go do what you need to do.”

Andrew nodded. He supposed thanks would be in order, but he wasn’t a thankful guy, and Neil didn’t strike him as someone who needed verbal cues to understand.

He crouched on the inside of Kevin’s room, right by the door with a knife at the ready.

Sure enough, heavy footsteps echoed around the apartment. Andrew held his breath, taking out his phone.

new message to: neil

someone’s in the apartment.

from: neil

where are you?

to: neil

in kevin’s room. waiting for them to come in so i can subdue them.

from: neil

i could take kevin away whilst they’re in the apartment. they wont be keeping an eye on cameras and i’ll disguise kevin to avoid any backup around place.

Andrew frowned.

to: neil

and if you’re attacked?

from: neil

i know you’ve seen the scars. i’m more well versed with this kind of stuff than you think.

Andrew pursed his lips. Neil’s multi-faceted nature had him going in circles, time and time again. He was unsolvable. Having Kevin out of the building would be optimal, but it would require Andrew placing a hell of a lot of trust in Neil. Trust he wouldn’t allow on anyone other than himself.

to: neil

you’d better make sure he stays in one piece.

from: neil

on it.

Andrew breathed a little easier, pocketing his phone.

The footsteps continued. He heard his bedroom door be tested: The attacker obviously tried to pick his lock and was unable to. It was an electronic deadbolt that Andrew could control from the outside on the one and only remote.

Andrew took a deep breath and stood at the ready.

The footsteps didn’t even approach Kevin’s bedroom, turning away immediately and continuing back to the living room.

Odd. They surely would check the room of their desired victim to see if he was there. After a few moments of quiet, Andrew slowly unlocked the door. Element of surprise be damned: He’d fucking get this person if it was the last thing he did. He had a promise to Kevin. He’d fulfill it.

There was no one there. They must have slipped out of the front door, silently, as Andrew slipped out of Kevin’s room. Andrew lowered his knife and grit his teeth. What was this fucker’s game?

He pulled out his phone. Neil had texted him.

from: neil

nothing encountered on the way to the garage. driving now. will text you when secure.

He didn’t want to text Neil to tell him to come back if that was what the assailant was waiting for. Instead, he rummaged for Kevin’s phone and made a call.

“Hello?” Jean’s voice was familiar. He hadn’t escaped the Moriyamas for years after Kevin had, being inducted into the main branch after Ichirou murdered Riko. He’d worked out of his debt, becoming a coveted Exy star in southern California. Andrew hadn’t spoken to him in years, but it was the only man who’d been exposed to the inner working of the Moriyamas.

“Someone is trying to kill Kevin. What do you know?”

“I haven’t been involved in you-know-who’s business in years, Andrew.” Jean countered.

“You still know more than we do.” Andrew countered. “Why now?”

Jean was quiet for a moment. It sounded like he was getting out of bed, walking into an adjacent room. His voice was low, the French accent pronounced when he talked this fast.

“Kengo is dying. Illness that they just can’t resolve. Ichirou would be eliminating any loose ends in anticipation of the change-over.”

Andrew grit his teeth. “Who would he send?”

“I can only think of one man.” Jean mused. “He has a highly trained assassin who takes care of such public and convoluted matters. I met him once and it was enough. That was after years of working with the main family.”

Andrew waited for Jean to continue. It took Jean a moment.

“Nathaniel Wesninski, is his name.” He said, voice so quiet it was difficult to hear. “Kengo’s Butcher had a son, who became Ichirou’s most powerful weapon.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s unmissable, really. Not great for an assassin. Short, red curls, blue eyes. He always wears clothes to cover the markings left by his father, but his scars are truly awful. Some are even visible through shirts pale or tight enough.”

Andrew’s stomach bottomed out. He hung up on Jean and closed his eyes.

Fuck.

He couldn’t tell Neil he knew who he was. He had to find them before Neil could slit Kevin’s throat and dispose of his body so thoroughly that he’d never be found again. Andrew had made an enormous mistake in trusting that man: It was the least he could do to get Kevin out of his own mistakes.

to: neil

still driving?

from: neil

secure now. got the guy?

Andrew shook his head.

to: neil

yeah. police are coming now. i’m on my way.

from: neil

right. good. see you soon.

Andrew needed to find out where this signal was coming from and fast. He was running against a clock that had ticked into over-time eons ago. In the midst of uploading the IP address into a program on his laptop, his phone began ringing.

Renee.

“Why is Jean telling me to keep an eye on you, Andrew? What have you done?”

Andrew ground his teeth together. His jaw ached with the tension in his neck. “I may or may not have let Kevin go galavanting off with an assassin charged to kill him. I’m working on it.”

“Oh, good lord.” Renee murmured. “I’m - nowhere near you. How can I help?”

“I’ll handle it.” He insisted.

He heard Renee’s sad smile over the phone-line and wished she were here to spar with him. He really needed to punch something. “Whoever claims you’re heartless is a jealous liar. Call me soon, alright? Be careful.”

He hung up on her. He didn’t need her self-love preaching bullshit. He needed to concentrate.

A signal rung out from fifteen minutes ago, pinging a tower in the industrial sector of upper New York. It was too close to the rich estates of business tycoons that Andrew knew housed the Moriyamas for his liking, so he collected his coat and car keys.

His phone began to ring. neil flashed across the top of his screen and he gripped the phone, anger rippling across his skin in hot flashes.

He hated being taken advantage of. This was exactly why trust never came easily to him, and he should have fucking known better.

He answered the phone and grit out “You’d better have a good explanation for this, Wesninski.”

“Andrew,” Kevin breathed. “It’s me. It’s me. I’m fine. I’m alive.”

Andrew covered his eyes with his hand. “Where are you? What’s happening?”

“Neil drove me to this warehouse and cuffed me to a pipe in the corner before I could fight him. Then he looked at me for like five minutes, yelled fuck at the top of his voice and threw a tarp over me and told me not to move or he’d shoot me. I heard voices and cars and gunshots: When everything was quiet I threw the tarp off. Neil is gone, but a bunch of men are bleeding out here. Moriyama men. They’ve got M’s on their knuckles, I - I think Neil’s gone rogue or something.”

Andrew let out a muffled sigh of relief. “Stay where you are. Hide under the tarp. I’m coming.”

Kevin and Thea sat to Andrew’s right. They all perched on the edge of the couch, watching the news.

“Business man Kengo Moriyama died this morning before police could glean a statement regarding his son’s involvement in the mass shooting at a Moriyama leased warehouse on the outskirts of New York City two months ago. FBI’s Chief Wymack and his team have found evidence of premeditated murders at Ichirou’s hand, including that of the supposed suicide of his brother Riko Moriyama approximately seven years ago. Encrypted video evidence has been provided from anonymous sources that police refuse to disclose. Ichirou Moriyama and many of his closest affiliates are in custody, charged with extortion, theft, tax-evasion and money laundering, involvement in trafficking circles and many cold homicide and disappearance cases.

More has been uncovered about the Moriyama business, including that of Nathan Wesninski’s true identity as Baltimore’s infamous serial killer, the Butcher, with evidence showing that Wesninski and Moriyama were heavily involved business partners...”

“Turn this shit off.” Thea muttered, nudging Kevin’s shoulder.

Kevin sighed, rubbing his eye. “I just can’t believe they’ve been so neatly backed into a corner. I never thought they’d be successfully prosecuted.”

“There’s no way they’re getting out of this, now.” Thea reminisced. “Someone pretty close to Ichirou must have turned over a new leaf.”

Andrew said nothing, keeping his hands clasped together over his mouth.

Kevin looked at him and sighed. Andrew still hadn’t forgiven himself over the Neil/Nathaniel mess and anything to do with the Moriyamas lured him into a quiet, volatile state of mind. “I’ll get Indian takeout.”

Thea answered the door forty minutes later, and a familiar voice echoed from the hallway. Andrew was on his feet in an instant.

Neil looked a little sheepish. There was an enormous scar curving from his eye down to his jaw and burns covering his other cheek in a careless pattern. He held out the food.

“Beef and chicken korma?”

“What the fuck do you want?” Andrew asked, brandishing his knife. Thea looked between them, baffled. “Did you kill the take out guy?”

Neil shrugged. “I’ve been granted immunity by the FBI. Only took six weeks and needless wading through bureaucracy, but I’m free now. And no, I didn’t kill the take out guy.”

“I’m going to leave,” Thea murmured, taking the take-out from Neil’s hands and shuffling further inside.

“Why are you here?” Andrew stepped closer, holding the knife closer to Neil’s throat. “You should have known better than to show your face after everything.”

Neil put up his hands. “I know. But I didn’t actually kill him, did I?”

“Congratulations.” Andrew snapped, sour. “Would you like a fucking sticker? A certificate?”

Neil’s lips quirked into a sad smile. “I grew too attached. The idea of hurting him - or you - was intolerable. I’m a terrible assassin, I know. I just wanted to make sure you’re all okay. I’m sure I’ve helped the FBI lock up all the potential Moriyama trouble-makers, but I’m forever paranoid.”

Andrew looked at him.

He shrugged awkwardly. “Seems like you’re fine. I’d best get going.”

He turned around and took a few steps towards the elevator.

“Wesninski,” Andrew called, against his better judgment.

Neil winced. “I changed my name. Legally. It’s Neil Josten, now.”

“Josten.” He amended. “Come in for dinner.”

Neil looked at him, unsure. “Kevin won’t shit himself?”

Andrew shrugged. “It’ll be amusing.”

Neil looked at his feet before letting himself smile, just a little bit. Andrew still wanted to kiss it off his lips.

“Make the wrong move and I’ll kill you.” Andrew murmured into Neil’s ear as he stepped through the threshold of Andrew’s apartment.

“Undoubtedly.” Neil said easily. “I’d let you.”

“Idiot.” Andrew growled.

The glitter returned to Josten’s eye, and Andrew decided then and there: It was a terrible decision, and Josten was a terrible man, but their jagged edges fit together without unsure gaps and abrasive overlaps.

“Did I read your cues wrong, or do you actually want to kiss me? Because I can understand why you’d be a little conflicted, and I was never sure if I was projecting my own confusion and doubt onto you and hoping you felt the same -”

Andrew shoved a kiss against the corner of Neil’s lips, pulling back just as quickly as he’d leaned forward and surveying Neil’s old t-shirt and ratty jeans with distaste. “You truly are bad at your job.”

Neil grinned.

(why did i write 6k for this stupid idea lmao its such a mess)

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #assassin!neil #bodyguard!andrew #sorry if they're ooc technically its like a few years post college #idek man #enjoy #jem writes

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