#jean moreau on the other hand is a wet cat

[disastersappho]

andreil isn’t black cat golden retriever- it’s more like rodent 4 rodent. absolutely feral, they match each others freak and will go for the throat

[exyrpf]

Exyblr Dashboard Simulator based on what I personally see on sportsblr:

1/?

👑 girlbossriko follow

how many bro jobs do you think it took before riko moriyama and kevin day realized that uh.....maybe this wasn't just a bro thing

👢exyinaphonebooth follow

how many times do they have to come out and say they're like brothers before you freakos stop shipping them

👑 girlbossriko follow

????? do i know u

#it's a tumblr post about two exy players that you'lll never meet in your life it really isn't that deep

558 notes

💃fox-me-up follow

ngl that newest fox is kinda 👀

#psu lb #exy lb

8 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 talk-exy-to-me

The NARRATIVE that kevin day and neil josten have........son of exy! scouting the rookie-est of rookies from fuck knows arizona........no listen you dont GET IT winning is EVERYTHING TO KEVIN and he would risk it on the foxes? And NEIL? who has only played exy for a year! NEIL Gets his attention!!!!! And hes good and he's getting better every game and he keeps bitching about kevin's ex on live tv BUT WAIT!???? NOT QUITE WHAT YOU EXPECT! Bc then neil shows up with a number on his cheek BECAUSE WELL it turns out they've known each other since they were KIDS! how is everyone not insane w me THEY'RE LITERALLY PERFECT

#where r my fellow njkd truthers #how r u all not here with me this isnt even the start #kevneil #210 #psu #njkd

102 notes

☀️ usctrojanny

every smiley blonde striker (jeremy knox) needs a brunette wet cat emotional support backliner (jean moreau)

#jerejean #usc trojans #i'm just saying 🤷‍♀️

58 notes

👸🏻 kevindazed follow

did he just......

👸🏻 kevindazed follow

guys please tell me i'm not insane

👸🏻 kevindazed follow

HE'S NEVER BEEN????? SKIIING???? KEVIN WHAT DOES THAT MEAN ?????? KEVIN PLEASE

#i i'm going insane i will literally die if someone doesn't explain this to me HE'S NEVER BEEN SKIING?!!!!

407 notes

🧚 goalie-stan

oh....i'm feeling so weak......it'd sure be nice to have a big strong goalie (renee walker) hold me up (renee if you're free on tuesday i am also free on tuesday.........on tuesday this tuesday, any tuesday?)

#literally passing out just thinking about her holding me don't call don't text i'm busy

84 notes

🌄 softkevinday follow

do u think if u offered kevin day essential oils to heal his hand he'd beat you to death

#it'd be hard for him bc he only has one hand but he could probably do it #legally this is a joke don't do this

284 notes

🗣️ jeremyknoxes follow

feeling normal

215 notes

📜 realexyblog

actually exy rpf is fine, i asked kayleigh day herself and she told me it was fine

112 notes

🐋 sexyexy

'exy is a stupid name for a sport' have you considered that a) i don't care and b) it's named that solely so i can make sex jokes about it

11 notes

🏳️‍🌈 gay4stickball follow

is he, ya know *mimes jerking off* an ncaa exy player

#i don't believe that straight exy players exist

56 notes

🙈 ittybittyminny follow

Andrew Minyard!!!!!!! 🥰🥰 short king!!!!🤏🤏😋😋 Awwwwwwww the scrunkly!!!!! 🤗🤗🤗 My boinky boy!!!!!🥺🥺 Crinkly doo,,,,shronkle scrimblo......🥺🥺🥺 rb if you'd scrunkle!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

📖 sapphic-exy follow

he literally killed someone

🙈 ittybittyminny follow

And? God forbid women do anything

#also no proof he did that #yeah there's proof his twin bro killed someone but that's not the same bc theyre different people #almost killing someone doesnt count

807 notes

🐦‍⬛ edgarallenexy

got told i'm problematic for liking the ravens? THAT'S LITERALLY MY SCHOOL OH MY GOD

2 notes

🌸 softexy

Kevin Day - A Study

#kevin day #psu foxes #palmetto foxes #exy #web weave #poetry #psu foxes #palmetto #edgar allen

378 notes

[aftgficrec]

Dragon/Magical/mythical AU pretty please 🥺

There are just so many aus with magic, mythical creatures and fantasy out there! We’ve put a small collection together here, and you can find more in our previous recs as well as under our fantasy tag (see below). The fantasy tag is under AUs. - S

Also see...

supernatural compilation here (see top of post for further recs)

fantasy aus (with dragons!) here

HTTYD/Dragon!Andrew aus here

new/fave fantasy fics here

fave fantasy fics here

Neil as a fantasy creature here

andreil shapeshifters/soulmates/omegaverse here

long fae/magic aus here

magic/urban fantasy aus here

Neil with wings and lots of magic here

werewolf!Andrew here

fairy tale aus here

staff recs may 21 - mermay here

Greek mythology aus here

‘Spun Like Gold’ here

‘On Dragon's Wings (Under the Blue)’ here

‘Imp’ here

Of Smoke & Bone by wishbonetea [Rated M, 23905 words, incomplete, last updated Sept 21]

In general, Neil Josten managed to keep his two lives in balance. On the one hand, he was a nineteen year old art student in Prague with a part-time job in a mostly-normal coffee shop. On the other, he, Allison, and Renee worked for an inhuman creature, running errands in exchange for wishes. For the most part, these two lives rarely intersect. But it's fair to say that the Foxes bring their own brand of trouble, and Neil's two lives soon start to collide.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: recreational drug use

little ghost by redskiesandsailboats [Rated G, 5224 words, complete, 2021]

Everything comes with a price.

He should have known.

All of them should have.

But that’s the thing about hope.

Sometimes, if you let it grow past a spark, it’s so bright that it’s blinding.

Or: the one in which there is a quest with dubious guidelines, a ghost with an aversion to names, and a hero who never asked for any of this, but he keeps his promises anyways.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder

Our Liminal Souls by glowingbee [Rated E, 27352 words, incomplete, last updated July 21]

Neil Josten doesn't believe in Gods, ghosts, nor destiny. If there is anything he has come to believe from years of out running certain death is that, firstly, not even a perfect utopia can protect everyone and second that everyone dies alone. A born wizard with a need for adrenaline, Neil knows he can only protect himself by learning combat, languages, and magic by participating in academic tournaments that are intense physical, magical, and psychological tests that honor their lineages of magic and otherworldly-given powers.

A lapse in Neil's plans securing his passage to his next hideaway has him dumped onto the world-stage of collegiate magic tournaments after being contracted to a high-profile A1 tournament court shadowed by recent suspicious deaths and a secretive court. Neil runs the risk of his secrets finding him before he can even begin to make sense of his invisible ties to his new teammates' own pasts and deciphering strange dreams that haunt him of mother's last moments.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: blood

From The Ashes by tigerrlilyy [Not Rated, 4482 words, incomplete, last updated May 21]

After spending his entire life on the run, the death of Neil's mother throws him into a world where he's being hunted by dragons and a lot of people are wanting to see his blood spilled.

That is until he's whisked away to a special school for people just like him where he meets the beautiful asshole Andrew Minyard who seems to have a burning hatred for his existence the minute he steps foot in the school.

To top it all off? Andrew's a dragon. A dragon who wants him dead.

tw: violence, tw: minor character death, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Fang and Stake by darkbluebox [Rated T, 2658 words, complete, 2020]

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream: his quarry beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the splintering chunk of wood through his chest and be done with it.

Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced abuse

you hit me like a vision by paleromantic [Rated G, 2181 words, complete, 2019]

Andrew opened his mouth, closed it again. “Uh, who the fuck are you?”

The man blinked, and underneath him in the water Andrew swore that he saw something moving, a quick swish under the water every once in a while. He had auburn hair like red that had cooled in the pale spring sunshine to a duller brown, and when the sun caught it it turned to copper. “You can call me Neil if you’d like, I live around here.”

BITE by poetatertot [Rated M, 23338 words, incomplete, last updated Sept. 2019]

Nathaniel was terrified. A hulking mass, all bristling fur and slavering jaws, stood and stared back at him. It was greater than any man—greater than any raven-shifter he’d ever seen. It was massive.

“Fox,” he breathed.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse

A Midsummer Night's Fib by NachtGraves [Rated G, 3620 words, complete, Andreil Week 2018]

Neil doesn’t know why he did it but Nicky wasn’t going to quit and Allison had her phone out with that plotting gleam in her eyes and Dan and Matt were looking at him in certain ways and he just blurt it out: “I’m going with Andrew.”

Ouroboros by ANEMONEXVI [Rated M, 34420 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2018]

“I don’t have any desire to be part of a group of rebels who aid townspeople and give warmongering nations the metaphorical finger,” Neil stoked his words with distain, hoping to discourage the group into the short version of the conversation he knew they were trying to have.

...

With no time to grieve the violent death of his mother, Neil finds himself alone in an unforgiving land with a heavy target on his back. In his aimlessness he encounters a group of roguish crusaders, The Foxes. A team of misfits who attempt to work together to bring peace to nations or peoples in crisis. And they want to recruit Neil for his rumored illusory magic.

But Neil's magical lineage doesn't speak of subtlety and he can't afford to catch any unwanted attention.

A roughshod fantasy/magic/government intrigue/familial drama/torture/mental and physical healing/aliens/ saga

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: cannibalism, tw: blood/gore

what light tastes like by knoxxed (badmatch) [Rated T, 6516 words, complete, Aftg Exchange 2017]

Los Angeles is Jeremy Knox’s frown of concern whenever Jean pushes himself to the point of strain, the delighted grin when Jean surprises him. It’s cat fur being one more reason to stop wearing black.

Los Angeles is Jean never once being asked to confirm or deny who or what he is.

Los Angeles takes some getting used to.

(urban fantasy AU)

A Natural History of Dragons JereJean AU by @rhododendronbeware [tumblr, 2020]

- Jean Moreau only ever wanted to study dragons but instead he gets married off to Riko Moriyama to pay off his family’s debt.

Art

Demon Neil by EstaVS on deviantart

winged neil by @mistykaru [tumblr, 2021]

demon andrew by @mistykaru [tumblr, 2021]

[hittcr-a]

talk about damien and eliot

dubrovnik, croatia; 1998

             it was twilight. the sun barely setting beneath the horizon, waves from the sea occasionally obscuring what was left of it. eliot spencer, young, hair cropped close to the scalp, nursed a glass of something that was trying very hard to be whiskey in the corner of a dimly lit bar. the smell of the ocean, fishy and salty, and just a little bit like freedom, clung to his nostrils and helped mask the burn of what eliot was almost sure was lighter fluid. a dead man. that’s who he was supposed to be. his last mission with the special forces had him in africa. training the mali army. shoulders still stung, even though the wound was mostly healed. just because he was supposed to be training didn’t mean he didn’t see combat. they’d discharged him with a purple heart. and that particular medal sat in front of him, staring at him as he finished his drink and ordered himself another one. 

               he hated that he had a cane. and the way he gripped the handle of it as he tried to ease himself gently out of the back booth, facing both doors, knuckles white, brow set, told the whole world that he’d just as soon beat somebody with it as he would walk on it. as soon as they’d handed him his papers… eliot disappeared. he’d sent a letter to his father, missing in action, it said. he would not be returning to oklahoma. instead… croatia. where the salt water could spray his face as he leaned heavily on the guardrail of the porch that looked out over the beach. the waves kissed the shore and disappeared as darkness settled over the coast. eliot’s cane rested beside him, the damp wood a much better support, bad knee relaxed as he nearly draped himself over the rail to trail his fingers in the sand. instead, he looked over the ocean, wanting so very badly not to feel like a small rowboat in the big open sea, wondering what the fuck a wounded man like him was going to be doing for the rest of his life, when the only thing he’d been good at for the past seven years was running and hurting people with his hands. 

               perching a cigarette between his lips, eliot spencer let out a long sigh. esau stone, missing in action, wounded veteran, stood where he had moments before. he carded his fingers through his hair before fumbling with his lighter.  only he needn’t bother. eliot’s ears pricked the moment someone set foot on the porch. esau disappeared. eliot was there. just eliot. the man seemed to notice the way eliot’s shoulders tensed, even the one that was still healing, the way he turned his head just a little to get his ears a little closer to what was happening. he stopped. eliot’s fingers gripped at the rail of the porch before he turned a little bit more to get his eyes on him. 

               tall. dark hair. dark eyes. straight nose. and a smile like a cheshire cat, glinting in the starlight. eliot’s free hand, injured shoulder and all, had moved to the knife on his belt. the well dressed man in the doorway of the bar held his hands up, what eliot assumed was supposed to be a soothing gesture. 

              “there is no need for that, i assure you, friend.” his voice was smooth, gentle, and very croatian. eliot wanted to relax, but he couldn’t. not with the near predatory gaze with which the man was staring at him. the hands lowered, smoothing out the front of his suit before he took a cautious step forward. eliot didn’t move. not yet. “i am not here to harm you or any of that nonsense. you are eliot spencer, yes?” 

                 the pause was long enough that the other man could assume that he’d been correct. eliot wet his lips and finally offered a nod. curt. short. and to the point. yes. he was eliot spencer. the man reached into his pockets and produced a small book of matches, offering to strike one for eliot. he said nothing. neither of them did. the silencer had settled back on the porch, but this time it was heavier. eliot could feel the energy in the air, the way it made the hairs on his arms stand on end, the way it made his spine tingle. he knew. something was about to happen. and when the flame lit the end of his cigarette and the long fingered man blew out the match and settled much more comfortably than he should have next to him, eliot knew. this man, was going to change his life. 

                 in the quickly growing darkness, eliot’s bright blue eyes met the dark, tinged green ones of the much taller man beside him. that dimpled smile was back, wide and damn near excited. and he spoke again. “my name is damien moreau, and my sources tell me that you are looking for… something.” that last word resonated in eliot’s chest in a way he wished that it didn’t. he blinked slowly, as if telling damien moreau that he was at least interested in what he had to say. “it just so happens that i might have just the thing for you. you see the position just opened up, and… well it feels almost like fate, doesn’t it, eliot?” and that was the moment that eliot spencer knew he was completely and utterly fucked. because a small smile tugged aggressively at the corners of his lips until it won, and through a plume of smoke sent the ocean’s way, he finally replied, 

              “oh i’m listenin’, mr. moreau.” 

three months later

                 damien moreau treated the armchair like it was his throne. his legs were crossed over one another, fingers laced together in front of him, elbows delicately perched on the arms of the chair as he surveyed his… subjects.  eliot spencer stood beside him, hovering just behind the right arm of the chair, fingers clasped behind his back. the air was tense, but that smile on damien’s lips told eliot that something fun was about to happen. the seated man craned his neck to catch eliot’s eyes, that wide smile on his lips and he gestured with his head towards their current clients. “perhaps you’d like to show them what happens when people try to strong arm me, eliot.”                   the chuckle was near instantaneous, “of course, mr. moreau.” and eliot moved with purpose and ease around the table to take their  agitated client’s arm. with a solid crack that resonated in the office, eliot twisted the damn thing back until the man’s fingers twitched. and damien moreau clapped his hands a few times until eliot shoved the man forward as if to tell him that wasn’t even half of the pain he could inflict.                  “thank you, eliot.” 

belgrade, serbia; 2000

                   long fingers trailed up his spine, warm through his shirt, and for a moment, eliot could forget the sounds of public unrest on the streets below his hotel room. damien moreau wore that smile he wore when he was particularly pleased. like a cat who’d just figured out how to get the cream, and however much of it he wanted, too. “enjoying the view, eliot?” and truth be told, he was. belgrade was a vast city. full of… everything. but that wasn’t why damien moreau was here. “are you going to watch the election with me?” and eliot turned his head just a little so he could catch the way the sun cast shadows on the smooth face of his employer.                    “i was thinkin’ about… tryin’ that bakery across th’ street from us.” and damien said nothing. at least not at first. his lips quirked downwards just a little, brow hardening at the thought of eliot disappearing for a few moments. the enforcer was quiet too, watching the change of expression. “or– - i dunno. that’s alright. i’ll just…” not do that. and stay here with damien so they could watch what kinds of things those long fingers had pulled for the right price.  this election was going to be… interesting to say the least. damien’s smile returned, gentler this time, sweeter, almost.                    “we’ll get room service,” came the response, and the fingers on eliot’s spine moved to his shoulder and then back down to his waist for a  gentle pat. damien moved, fingers slipping into his pockets back towards the center of their lavish room, leaving eliot by the window for now, the smells of fresh bread wafting in through the window. “i’ll make you a deal, eliot spencer.” that caught eliot’s attention. he lifted an eyebrow as he fixed moreau with a cool stare. “you sit with me, watch the election… we’ll celebrate afterwards.” but the tone damien had taken suggested a certain kind of way of celebrating and that smile of eliot’s, just as twisted and eager as moreau’s, slipped onto his lips.                      without another word, eliot moved to ease the door that led into the hallway closed. damien didn’t much care for closing doors. nor did he care for knocking, eliot was beginning to discover. before he could turn around  again, damien’s long fingers were in his hair and his lips on his ear, voice low and near teasing. “you need a hair cut, mr. spencer.” and the way he said it  sent shivers down eliot’s spine. “you could have left the door open, you know.” and the man was gone again, seated on the couch with the television remote in his hand and a devious glint in his eyes. “no one is going to say anything to the likes of you or i. everyone knows what you can do, eliot. what your hands can do…” eliot’s breath caught in his throat.                      it was an invitation to open the door again, let the whole hotel see what they were doing. eliot suspected it was a power trip for damien, knowing that no one could touch him. not when eliot was present in any case. eliot wet his lips and moved sit beside damien on the upholstered couch, jeans extra dark on the light fabric. they didn’t call it the white city for nothing. damien cocked his head to the side just a little and raised an eyebrow in eliot’s direction, lips quirking up just a little. “you know… i would much rather you be on your knees, eliot.” it almost sounded like a suggestion, but eliot knew better by now, and that smile on his lips grew as he slid onto the white plush rug artfully placed in the center of their suite.                      eliot’s calloused fingers moved up the length of his thighs, moreau’s legs parting for him as if inviting him in again. he knew how to play the game by now. he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his white button up and glanced up at damien’s face from where he sat. one hand settled on the man’s belt, the other resting lightly on his thigh. eliot’s smile widened just a little when their eyes met and damien’s fingers found his hair again, blunt nails gently scratching at his scalp almost encouragingly.                    “let’s see if you’ve gotten any better with that mouth of yours, eliot.” there was a pause as his belt clinked open and the zipper to his dress pants was undone. “oh, and eliot…” there was a pause. eliot glanced up again and damien’s fingers found his chin. “if this does not go according to plan, this little election… i trust you’ll take care of it? we have a deal, after all.” and damien moreau did not like to be disappointed. the fingers on eliot’s chin moved to caress his cheek, and eliot’s smile only widened.                      “whatever it takes, damien.” 

denpasar, bali, indonesia 2001

                     eliot’s arms were crossed over his chest, looking as intimidating as possible. damien poured himself a drink. eliot had a beer on the table that was remaining untouched for now. chapman stood by the door, well dressed, over eager, hands on a gun on his belt. they’d nearly finished unloading their current shipment. eliot could smell unrest in the air, but he couldn’t do anything about it. nor did he want to. his own fingers flexed where they were crossed, and he glanced at moreau, asking for permission. the taller man shook his head and moved to take his seat, glass in hand, clearly very unimpressed with the guns being trained on him. “we helped ferry these to you, you know. in some places that would earn a little respect for the sheer amount of power i have.” he sipped his glass near pointedly. nobody moved. nobody dared to. eliot shifted. “eliot, did you bring that knife i gave you?” the enforcer’s lips quirked up and a stiff nod followed that particular line of questioning. eliot always had it on him. one of the few signs of affection he ever got from the man seated just behind him. “why don’t you show it to me?”                       so. this was where they were going. eliot’s smile widened. he moved, fingers slipping into his pocket to pull the knife out. it wasn’t large or very intimidating on it’s own, but as soon as eliot flipped the damn thing open, wood handles and silver finish glinting in the noon sun, the hostiles froze. there were four of them. each and every one of them had a gun trained on moreau. their guns. the guns they had given to these people in this country, or rather, four people in this country to do what they pleased with them. the money was good, the lack of ability to trace it back to moreau was even more of a reason to actually pull this job. but everyone in their right mind knew that dealing with damien moreau meant dealing with eliot spencer. eliot spencer, the man who could use a knife like it was an art form, who took ears as warning signs for people that didn’t pay debts, for people that told damien moreau no. eliot glanced at moreau, that excited glimmer in his eyes as he did so. and this time… this time damien nodded.                        blood stained the cobble stones by the time eliot was finished and the air stunk of gunpowder. three men to make an example. this last one had to get rid of the merchandise and the bodies on his own. if they could even be called bodies anymore. eliot was very thorough. he wiped his blade clean on the trousers of one of the dead men and closed the butterfly knife with a clink before he calmly made his way back to moreau’s side. he’d finished his drink by now and had simply watched eliot do his work.                      “i trust we will no longer be having any issues, hmn?” the last man had pissed himself the second eliot had felled the first body. he was trembling, eyes never leaving eliot’s blood speckled face, stains on his dress shirt, the way his shoes had left prints as he made his way back to his boss. the man said nothing. he nodded, enthusiastically. and damien considered that good enough. he rose, and there was just a hint of bitterness in his voice when he stooped to breath against the shell of eliot’s ear, “you could have been a bit neater, spencer.” 

mali, africa; 2002

                       eliot spencer watched the helicopter take off without hesitation. and he hated that it stung. he hated that he could see moreau’s silhouette in the window and he didn’t seem the least bit concerned that eliot was left behind. again. eliot hated that it wasn’t the first time this had happened. he hated that the suit he wore was itchy and constraining and he hated that now, more than ever, he wished he had something more than what moreau had given him. because he was going to die here. he could feel it. he should have never come back here. as far as eliot was concerned, this place was cursed. he was cursed.  and the worst part of bleeding out into the african grasses all by himself… the worst part was… he’d be crawling back to moreau just as soon as he figured out how. because eliot couldn’t help himself. 

new york, new york; 2003

                       moreau looked over the footage thoughtfully for a moment. eliot fought the shaking of his hands by clasping them behind his back. he knew what he was going to do. damien moreau looked up at him, eyes dark, nearing angry. he looked the same, to eliot. five years hadn’t done much of anything except allowed him to buy more expensive suits. and bathrobes. he wasn’t covered in scars like eliot was. and eliot didn’t want to be cowed. not this time. damien’s eyes flicked back to the screen and he watched as eliot carried out the worst order he’d ever given the man. “you’re not getting soft on me, are you, eliot?” and the way he said it was almost like a song. damien moreau didn’t even have to look at him to know the answer. and as the eliot on the screen took that child’s life, and looked at his blood covered hands, eliot let his eyes fall closed for a moment. because maybe he was going soft. but that girl looked a lot like his sister had and that girl didn’t deserve to die. and when he thought about it, a lot of the people eliot had killed hadn’t deserved to die. and that blood on his hands, now rubbed raw and spotless, would never actually be cleaned off. his mouth was dry and he fixed moreau with a hard look.                        he was leaving. everyone could tell. just by the way his shoulders were squared and the way he fixed damien with that look, like he wanted to rip him to pieces, or burn him to the ground, or… something… moreau lifted an eyebrow as he settled back in his chair, fingers curled around a glass, without a care in the world. “you are getting soft on me.” a statement. not a question this time. “where will you go, mr. spencer, where i will not find you?” a test. eliot’s hands weren’t shaking anymore. that was a threat. he folded his arms over his chest and looked damien moreau right in the eyes. “oh you can find me, moreau. you just ain’t gonna be touchin’ me.” because damien moreau was just a man. and he was only as good as his enforcers. damien moreau was a very well connected, well funded man. and he was losing his best enforcer. eliot wet his lips and took a challenging step forward. “you come after me, you come after my family, i’m burning this whole fuckin’ thing to the ground, damien. and you know i don’t bluff.” sure eliot didn’t have any real contingencies lined up. but he was his own contingency.                        moreau scoffed, one hand gesturing to the sky, the other clutching his drink with white knuckles like he wasn’t just a little bit afraid that his favorite toy might break him in half right now. eliot spencer didn’t bluff. but… nobody walked away from damien moreau without consequences. “you’ve put me in a rough spot, eliot.” but then… wasn’t that the point? eliot said nothing. damien was quiet for a moment and for a brief second, eliot thought that perhaps he might see a little remorse in his eyes. it vanished before he could verify. “where will you go first, eliot spencer?”                       the hollowed out bits of him reminded him that this was exactly where he’d been when moreau found him. at least mentally. lost. adrift. without direction. he spoke before the thought could fully form. “myanmar.” he could find something out there, he was sure. unrest was brewing, there was a war happening of some kind, as far as he knew. but it was time. because he didn’t recognize his insides anymore. and when he looked in the mirror… he didn’t know who he was looking at. his hair was tickling his ears now and eliot thought that maybe… he could smell change somewhere. wafting in through the pool house window, diluting the chlorine. damien moreau leaned against the poolside table thoughtfully for a moment, thinking it over. he could go after eliot’s dad, and jake, and his sister (who apparently was getting ready to have her first child), and his grandmother. but all moreau was picturing was eliot spencer sneaking into his room at night and putting that very pretty knife to his throat and slicing without a second thought.                        damien blinked and took a long sip of his scotch before he gestured for the guards near the doors to stand down. “alright, mr. spencer. i believe you. perhaps you feel you’ve out grown me. go on. get out of here before i change my mind and kill you on the spot for trying to leave.” and truth be told, eliot was surprised that he hadn’t. perhaps there was some small part of damien moreau that actually held genuine affection for him. it was a long shot. but there was hope. eliot lingered for just a moment more, as if expecting damien moreau to turn on him like he had the man eliot had replaced. but he didn’t. and eliot unfolded his arms. he turned on his heel and made towards the door and nobody moved to stop him, and the anxious coil in his stomach wound tighter and tighter until the sun hit his face and the fresh air filled his lungs. the fight died in his fists, and eliot took a deep breath as the door closed behind him. he was a very lucky man.                      “what’s next?” he mused to himself for a moment, rubbing at his face. “myanmar.” that was what was next. he glanced back towards the door one last time before giving his shoulders a shake. myanmar.