#I’m going to have a cavity by the 14th at this rate ^^;;

[softskiesahead]

14 days of lukeyaya 5/14 <33 :DDc <3

the notes appeared rather suddenly one day. Middle school yaya had no clue where they were coming from, but she accepted them pretty quickly. After all, they were always sweet and kind, and put her in this light she wished she could see herself in. she'd find them on her binder, in her bag, on her desk, anywhere really. the only issue was... they were never signed.

the mysterious notes always talked about her in a way that felt so personal. so loving. she wanted to know who the culprit was so badly, both so she could thank them and find out why they were doing it to begin with. rosa teased her, saying maybe someone in the class was in love with her from afar, or something romantic like that. luke always stayed quiet, though he never seemed to like the implication that there was someone out there flirting with her.

either way, no matter who it may be doing it, they were pretty constant, and always seemed to have something lovely to say about her. sometimes theyd even be cut into the shape of a little heart, or other times decorated with sweet little stickers. unfortunately, there was nothing that was quite personal enough for her to pinpoint one person as the sole perpetrator.

she got used to them not being there anymore one day, just as she had gotten used to them being there before. a part of her missed them when they were gone, because it was nice to think about someone who cared so much to put all that effort in for her. but with the re-entrance of her old friend luke into her life again, armed with a cute glitter pen and a stack of sticky notes, he was ready to bring back a tradition he adored doing so long ago.

secret admirer luke …. :<< he probably has such a hard time keeping up a straight face but yaya and rosa assume it’s just his annoyance that he can’t scare off this admirer like he does with anyone else interested in them (it’s a best friend duty <3 he can’t have his closest friends with people who could hurt them !!) but secretly he’s trying so hard not to grin when he sees yaya smiling softly at the most recent note ……

hhhh you put the cutest most canon things in my inbox like it’s nothing ;;;;

yaya 100% keeps the notes btw. probably in a journal or scrapbook. when they are to appear again - it doesn’t take a detective to figure out who is always over and has a key. she probably finds out it was him back then too when she teases him (lovingly) about the newest note and brings it up as a memory, “remember when I got notes in middle schoo-“ and has her realization halfway through (followed by a long hug and a soft kiss)

[aftgficrec]

hi! I wanted to ask for canon compliant fics that are set after the books where neil and andrew are not trying to actively hide their relationship but the press still believes they hate each other, thank youuuuu

Most Minyard-Josten rivalry fics feature Neil or, occasionally, Andrew as the instigator, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy at least some of the fics mentioned here.  The following tags may also yield more results: secret relationship, minyard-josten rivalry,* coming out. - S

*NB: this tag is not working. We are puzzling it out and don’t want to hold up this answer any longer. We’ll edit the link in here when we fix it. UPDATE - tag is working!

Also see …

‘no going back now’, ‘All Eyes On Us’ and ‘rottweiler smile’ here

‘That Isn't Nothing’ here (now complete)

‘Neil’s second year in the pros’ here

‘Space In-Between’ here

‘coin toss universe’ series and ‘Andreil: Into The Future’ series here

Secrets and Honesty by fullyvisible [Rated T, 42780 words, complete, 2021]

Part 1 of the Better Together series

Neil and Andrew aren't on the same professional teams, but that doesn't mean they're any less together. When a photograph gets taken out of context, they decide to go with it, as long as they're both having fun. And they are. Right?

heart shaped hatred by WICKEDP0WERS [Rated G, 4780 words, complete, 2021]

The Minyard VS Josten Rivalry continues once more in the latest Ducks VS Pythons Regional game. Held on February 14th, the two teams will face off after a grueling season filled with defeats and victories. These two high ranked Exy teams will battle it out on the court, filling fans of the game with excitement seeing as these two talented teams are going to give everyone a run for their money.

Josten, Starting Striker for the Colorado Ducks was asked about his thoughts on his upcoming rematch with long time rival and ex-teammate from the PSU Foxes, Andrew Minyard. “It’s not really a face off between me and Andrew. The Pythons are a great team and I could say that the Ducks are as well,” Josten said. “I would say it isn’t personal but I can’t wait to beat Andrew Minyard for the next game. I’ve got a score to settle with that angry midget. I can’t wait to see him on the court.”

Minyard-Josten Rivalry by Rory_writes [Rated M, 194879 words, incomplete, last updated  Aug 2021]

My take on the Minyard-Josten Rivalry/Pro Andreil!

A long collection of sequential scenes throughout Andrew and Neil's lives, post books.

Including, but not limited to, my interpretation of the Minyard-Josten Rivalry, the old Foxes playing with kittens for a YouTube video, so much soft and sweet Andreil you will get cavities, and headcanons I have been thinking about all year.

(Not complete, but still being written)

tw: transphobia, tw: racism, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: homophobic language

Catch Me If You Can by cleopatras [Rated T, 2683 words, complete, 2020]

Months ahead of joining Andrew's team after graduation, Neil accidentally lets an insult slip on the Kathy Ferdinand show. Thus, the Minyard-Josten Rivalry was born, but in all honesty, that couldn't be less accurate.

The Crooked Kind by youreyestheyglow [Rated G, 10512 words, complete, 2020]

Neil went pro a year ago--and not on Andrew's team. The problem: they're private people, and when the press takes their declarations of hate at face value, Andrew and Neil find themselves unwilling to end the rumors.

tw: mentions of canon typical violence

Reputation by lemonicee [Rated M, 7729 words, complete, 2020]

The rise and fall of the Minyard-Josten Rivalry.

Usually when Neil starts shit in a post-game press interview, he does it on purpose. This time, he really just meant for it to be a joke.

“How do you feel about the possibility of ending up on a team with a former Fox teammate?” is the next question.

“Great,” Neil answers, sincere. “I would love to play with Matt or Kevin again.”

“What about Minyard? Would you sign with Atlanta?”

Neil says, “Andrew? He’s a nightmare.”

He knows it’s a joke. His team knows it’s a joke. Andrew will know it’s a joke.

The press does not seem to know that it’s a joke.

Minyard vs Josten ;) by introvertedtiger [Rated G, 2102 words, complete 2019]

ever since Neil and Andrew had gone pro and started playing AGAINST each other, the media thought they hated each other. in reality they’ve been married for two years and Neil’s getting bored of the rivalry and is finally ready to change the name on his jersey.

tw: homophobia

minyard-josten rivalry by @butallmystars [tumblr, 2021]

here; this is just for you. my brain is currently mooning over the minyard-josten rivalry troupe so I offer you this….

Andreil coming out to the public by @kevindayslefthand [tumblr, 2020]

Okay so I think the way it happens is that rumours are going around about them dating and loads of those celebrity gossip shows are talking about it because a) their cats look identical and b) the minyard josten rivalry us looking more and more like suppressed sexual tension rather than hate

Rivalry?? by @itsstickball [tumblr, 2019]

(pt. 2, pt.3)

It starts, like most things these days, with Neil’s Instagram.

Neil Josten is Cheating by @wilsherejack [tumblr, 2018]

Neil Josten wears a gold band around his left ring finger and is absolutely cheating on his partner.

the name game by @permets [tumblr, 2016]

what happens when neil and andrew change the names on their jerseys

tw: implied/referenced abuse

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (1/?)

Masterlist

Summary : A tired, fed-up archaeologist takes a spontaneous trip to Romania, hoping the Wallachian mountains, the nature, and the silence, will help her resource herself. She didn’t expect getting caught in a storm, didn’t expect finding shelter in an old castle, and didn’t expect for it to be inhabited.

Rating / Warnings : General Audiences, no warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 1/? (1404 words)

Author notes : This is the first part of god knows how many. Ask me if you want to be in the tag list ! Comments, feedback, and sharing are very appreciated, as this is the first thing I’m actually posting :) Hope you enjoy !

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A streak of silver split the sky open, slithering out along the heavy clouds a moment before fading into darkness. Crouched in a small cavity I could barely fit in, I buried my face further into my scarf. The pouring rain had cut through all my layers of clothes. I wondered if I would ever get any sensations back to my toes. Or my fingers. Would it have killed me to check the weather this morning? It would, wouldn't it? My phone still stubbornly refused to give out any signal, and it was a 7 hour trek back to the nearest village. I was, as we like to call it in academia, royally fucked.

According to my map, there were no man-made structures anywhere close-by, which made sense as the Tourist Office map carefully outlined that the entire zone was restricted. Something about wolf attacks. Or was it bears? If you ask me, some sheep got eaten by a local dog, superstition got there and that was the end of it. Then again, if you tempt me with a quiet, people-less trek in the middle of nowhere, well, of course I'll bite. Even if I could get help, I had no idea what kind of trouble I'd be in for going so far into The Forbidden Mountain. It wasn't like I could sit here forever, at least not if I wanted to finish my life in any other way than hypothermia, or lightning-roasted like a crisp chicken wing. I stood up, only banging my head on the rocky overhang a little, and tried to get back to the path. I mean, if there was a path, there had to be at least some kind of lodge. Right now, I'd go with any kind of creepy little cabin, as long as it had a roof.

Raising my head, I suddenly noticed a flickering red light, through the blinding white of the lightnings. A campfire? Unlikely. Maybe the cabin I hoped for, and with company. Maybe an axe murderer. Who knew? At least, that way of dying would be original. Would make for a sexier news title than “dumbass french tourist dies struck by lightning in mountains she was clearly told to keep out from”.

Struggling not to slip onto the muddy, mossy wet stone as I paced forwards, I couldn't help but shiver under the biting cold wind and the pouring rain, stinging my face like so many needles. Considering the deep darkness the heavy clouds cast on the mountain, it would be a minor miracle if I didn't die, tripping on a murderous root before I reached the salutary orange light.

Rather than sinuous path I had followed all along my trek, I noticed a smooth, very worn path, almost straight through the forest, even though the stones were leveled by trees every once in a while. I figured it had to lead to something, and started following it. After a moment, it came to a clearing that led to a more desolate part of the mountain Even the tall pine tress that already had replaced the tortuous oaks seemed to vanish, if you didn’t account from fallen trunks and dead stumps. Raising my head, I used my hands as a visor to ward off the rain. I noticed what I'd been calling a cabin was way too big to be called that. Perched on a rocky outcrop, it didn't need much protection considering the cliffs surrounding it. It almost looked like one of those optical illusions, with impossible stairs and unlikely architecture. The vacillating light was still there, casting an orange glow through the windows. If there was no axe murderer, there had to be a vengeful spirit of some kind. There, knew I should have taken some salt with me, or a giant cross, or a ouija board.

Not deterred by the sinister appearance of the building, I kept on going through the path, sinuously climbing up the mountain ridge. It finally came to a plateau as my legs were about to give out. Out of the cover of the trees, the rain seemed even worse, and I struggled to even walk. All around, ruined houses of wood and stone had crumbled, as if abandoned for centuries. I usually enjoyed ghost towns, but this one made me fairly uneasy. Was this the actual reason the mountain was restricted? Did I walk into some kind of biohazard situation? Just in case, I raised my scarf to cover my nose, as if it would do any good if I were to catch the plague or something. Except for the howling wind and rain, and the occasional deafening thunder, everything was silent. No one lived there, as far as I could see, except for the light, further up, in the castle. I wondered if I should just take shelter in one of the houses, and call it a day, but the possibility of a warm fire was over any kind of haunting this might involve.

I paced down the street. Some of the buildings seemed like they housed a large variety of artisans, before. Glass bottles full of unidentified, mostly rotten things, or dried herbs, some half faded paint on wooden signs hanging above the main entrances. Felt even more uneasy. Some doors, hanging open. Carts with broken wheels, still loaded with crates. Didn't look like anything was pillaged. What the hell happened here? When? Not like the weather would allow for a newspaper to survive, but… On the ground, near one of the shops, a glint of silver caught my eye. Small coin. Squinting a little, I was able to make out the crest. Local, obviously, maybe 14th, 15th century? Well, that would explain the decrepitude of the place. 

At the end of the “main street”, a gigantic hardwood door was the sole opening of the stone wall defending the castle. It was in a surprisingly in good shape, considering the rest of it. It still looked like it hadn't moved in a while, left ajar, barely enough to let me through. It opened on a vast yard, all but the central path invaded by weeds and saplings, the walls overrun with ivy and moss. My heart thumping hard into my chest, I approached the main entrance, two carved wooden doors standing atop a few stairs. Gathering all my courage, I lifted the bronze hand figure, and knocked down three times on the door. I heard the sound resonate on the other side. I waited a moment, and as I was about to knock, the door clattered loudly, before slowly swinging open in a long, ominous creak. Hesitant, I took a deep breath, and slipped into the hall. Seeing no one, I pushed the door back, and it clicked as it closed. Maybe I had just locked myself in. Well, I was raised to be polite and close the doors not to let in drafts, something that still applied to axe murderers and their homes. Apparently.

“Hello ? Is anyone home?”, I asked in a very approximative romanian.

No response. Someone had to have opened the door, right? Right. The hall was eerily quiet, considering the rain hammering at the windows. Surprisingly enough, everything seemed rather clean. No dust, or overwhelming presence of spider webs, no broken windows as far as I could see. I put down my heavy bag on the floor, against the main door. At the end of the hall, a large corridor ran deeper into the castle, softly lit by the same orange glow that led me here in the first place. I decided, despite my howling preservation instinct, to go toward the light, drawn like a moth to a flame.

I tucked my dripping wet hair behind my ears. Being out of the storm made me realise just how cold I was exactly. My clothes were completely soaked, sticking to my skin like a layer of ice. I didn't bother even looking into my bag for a change. The corridor was long, and the windows on the left wall gave a vertiginous view of the valley and the forest, illuminated only by the intermittent lighting strikes. The trees were so far down below I elected to keep my eyes away from the abyss. My every step echoed on the polished stone tiles as I hesitantly made my way forward. So much for being discreet. I felt watched, but put this on the count of my paranoia.

The corridor ended on a large room, a bit bigger than the main hall. At the end of it, a very large fireplace was lit, which explained the whole thing. From the ceiling, chandeliers made of unusually large deer antlers projected twisted, shifting forms on the walls.

“Is anyone here?”, I asked again, still bound on butchering the romanian language.

No response, again. In front of the fireplace, a terrifyingly large bear pelt was laid on the stone floor, along with a couple of armchairs and sofas. The walls were covered in large tapestries. Above the hearth, a large, bigger than life-size portrait of a man, standing proud, a hint of a smile on his lips. The colors were faded, and the paint had started to crack and chip at the corners. Trusting by his clothes, I would date it somewhere at the turn of the 19th century. The way it was painted made me feel like he was looking straight at me, which made me feel even more uneasy than I already was.

“I always thought it was a disputable likeness.”

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Tag list : @carydorse @thewondernanazombie @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @battocar @moony691 @mjlock