#like andrew’s afraid of heights so that’s why she plays goalie

[afurtivecake]

had a dream where exy was an even crazier sport. instead of combining lacrosse and hockey, it combines lacrosse and parkour. instead of being totally flat on the ground, it’s played with thick foam platforms suspended from the ceiling. and players can jump from platform to platform and even use the wall as the surface to jump off of. basically it introduces the element of vertical movement to exy where players are prioritizing agility rather than power. contact is only allowed if you’ve got both feet on the ground. the goal is basically a large pot you have to fling the ball into. the goalkeepers have to defend this goal from ALL angles. when above the ground, you’re only allow to carry the ball one step; you HAVE to pass. that is, unless you’ve stolen the ball from your opponent, in which case you are allowed to carry the ball no more than five steps. Defense mainly stays on the ground. also, in my dream it was a sport played predominantly by women.

[ravenvsfox]

Have you ever written/ would be interested in writing a fic where blue, Ronan, Adam, Gansey, Noah, and Henry join the foxes?

(a real live crossover, I’ve never done this in my life lmao!! btw I didn’t know how to write a ghostie into a PSU sports team so I’m afraid noah’s not in this one)

“That’s a bad omen if I’ve ever seen one,” Dan says mildly, shielding her eyes from the sun. Neil follows her squinting gaze to the border of the baking sidewalk.

There’s a raven watching them from the dust, glossy wings folded out a little like it’s preparing for flight. It’s pinprick eyes are black beads tossed into pitch fabric, near invisible.

The foxes watch it preen and hop towards them. Neil gets a sinking feeling that it isn’t wild, that its strut and challenging eyes must belong to some rotten nest.

They’re grouped at the entrance of the court: Dan installed at the edge of the parking lot with a hand on her hip, Allison splayed all over the wall wearing sleek white shorts to match the paint job, Andrew and Neil tipped back into the sun-sharp grate of their car. The others are dotted along the unruly grass and perched over cars, sweating through the wait for fresh teammates with fresh problems.

The raven cocks its head and paces closer. Nicky coos at it. Matt tells it to fuck off good-naturedly.

“How about you go ahead and fuck off first?”

Neil looks evenly over to the source of the voice, feeling trepidation slither down his neck like ice under the collar.

A boy walks towards them with an unfriendly mouth and a mangled cut-off t-shirt, tattoos and scars jostling for a place on his body. He looks like what Neil expected when he first heard of the foxes. He looks like the popped blade of a box-cutter that someone forgot to sheath. He has a vicious BMW at his heels like an afterthought.

“Dibs,” Nicky says, breathless.

“Oh, sorry, I was talking to the bird,” Matt explains.

“And I was talking to you,” the stranger replies, holding eye contact until it feels like a raw vein pinched between fingers. The foxes shuffle and kick up dust and exchange looks.

“You’ve gotta be one of our new recruits. No one but a fox is going to start shit over a raven,” Dan says, half smiling.

“He’s defending her honour,” someone says, and their attention all swivels again.

The newcomer walks up with his hands clutched in his pockets, smiling with a third of his mouth, eyes serious and deep-set in his tan face.

“Adam,” he introduces, expression jumping. “That’s Ronan. He likes to make bad first impressions. It’s his favourite sport after exy.”

Adam winds and locks into the space at Ronan’s side, and they bump fists in a way that’s more brushing knuckles than anything else.

“Parrish,” Ronan says thinly. “They already insulted Chainsaw. We have to drop out.”

Neil can feel Andrew watching their interaction with hooded eyes.

“She probably deserved it,” Adam says. “You usually do.”

“Aren’t you bringing the rest of your hick pals?” Allison asks, scanning the perimeter of the parking lot, scarcely registering the thready challenge in her own voice.

Ronan takes a step forward and Adam yanks on the leather bracelets snaked around his wrist. The raven flurries in the dirt, unsettled by his agitation, and then swoops up to anchor herself on Ronan’s shoulder.

“Ronan,” Adam pronounces slowly, like he’s not in any hurry to stop him. “Don’t waste your limited attention span. We knew this was going to be how they are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicky asks. “I’m very personable.”

“Of course,” Adam says kindly. “We’re just used to less— bluntness.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ronan mutters, and Adam twitches a smirk.

“People like to trick you into accepting an insult, where we’re from.”

“I can gift-wrap my shit-talking if you’d prefer?” Allison says, and Adam narrows eyes at her for a second.

“Tempting,” he says.

“Can’t make any promises for Josten, though,” she continues. They look over at him. Neil blinks back, not bothering to disprove her.

“Hey beautiful,” Nicky calls to Ronan from his spot on the grass. He’s cross-legged, leaning back on his hands, obviously bored. “What position are you?” He lilts position into a proposition. Ronan blinks and Adam stiffens and Nicky smiles, enjoying the tension. “You have the arms for offence.”

“Yeah,” Adam says woodenly. Neil can see Adam’s hands curl, stiff when they straighten out again. He recognizes the sticking muscle and bone of a person who’s had to practice packing their anger into a box and sliding it back on a shelf. “He’s a striker. I’m a goalie.”

Neil snorts, and Andrew moves his head to the side, a slow, hesitating shake.

Kevin nods. “Your stats are good. You work best with your friend Richard, the both of you.”

Ronan snorts. “Oh, please call him that.”

“I’d like to see you on unfamiliar turf,” Kevin continues, undeterred. “It looks like you’re in a rut, based on your tapes. You’re too static, you rely too much on each other.”

“We always win,” Ronan argues. “We rely on each other because we’re a team. Don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept.”

“Raven boy’s a bitch,” Matt laughs. “I like him.”

“Not mutual,” Ronan says icily. The raven tucks it’s beak into his buzzed hair and makes a mournful noise. He puts an absent hand to her side.

“You’re coming in late to a developed team. You can’t expect your group dynamic to fly here,” Kevin says. Neil nods without thinking.

“Too fucking late, I’m already expecting it,” Ronan says, eyes flickering between Neil and Kevin like he’s considering who to punch first. “And we didn’t exactly come here for the Pig-orange uniforms, fuckass. We know how the team works. We liked the way you fight when there’s a 99% chance you’ll lose.”

“Pig orange,” Aaron repeats incredulously, at the same time that Renee asks:

“Is that a crucifix?” She jostles the conversation off its tracks without really trying. Her eyes are kind and critical, hooked on the inked cross hugging Ronan’s ribcage, peeking out of the deep slit in the side of his shirt.

Ronan eyes her, gaze fixed on her necklace and the rebellious rainbow fan of her hair. “Yes.”

“You wouldn’t know he was a Catholic by the mouth on him, but Jesus has more of his attention than I do,” Adam says wryly. It’s an odd, hasty sort of interjection. He runs hands over his own arms like he’s cold, and Neil considers that he hadn’t planned to reveal so much.

“We’ll have to go to service together,” Renee says sweetly, and Ronan nods unexpectedly.

They’re all skirting around this new dynamic that’s too big to touch, fumbling through a warped, antagonistic set of pleasantries, and the strangled zip of a caught engine rips closer. A car in blazing fox orange kicks and screams around the corner and into the parking lot.

“The cavalry,” Ronan observes flatly.

“Nice to see that Gansey still thinks he’s important enough to be fashionably late,” Adam replies, and Ronan makes a face.

“Don’t say ‘Gansey’ and ‘fashion’ in the same sentence.”

The car rolls up, parks smoothly and then takes its time straightening up. The doors scream and slam open and closed. The contents of the car turns out to be a trio of drastically different kinds of people — a boy in a viciously orange polo shirt to match his car, a girl in what looks like three skirts of three different lengths, and a boy with hair taller than Matt’s, collar crisp and pale against his tan neck.

“Hello,” the first one calls warmly. “Very sorry to be late, we were a titch held up in Henrietta.”

“Is he for real?” Matt asks genuinely, and Adam laughs, delighted.

“They’re not buying the southern charm, Gans,” he says.

“I can’t imagine why not,” the girl says, shoving Gansey in the side until he stumbles mid-stride. “It’s so natural.”

Gansey looks flustered by the time the three of them reach the group, but he takes the time to clap Ronan and Adam on the shoulders. The girl hip checks Ronan as soon as she’s close enough, and he wrangles her into a chokehold. Renee laughs, impressed or endeared by his form.

“We’re very much looking forward to playing with you,” Gansey says earnestly.

“Are we sure he qualifies as a fox?” Nicky asks. “He’s very—uh. Perfect.”

Gansey looks greatly disturbed by this, and the girl rolls her eyes.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Renee says, smiling a little, and Gansey sends her a cracked, grateful smile in return. It’s drastically different from the spectacle of an expression he’d been sporting until now.

“Anyway,” Dan says loudly. “Good to meet you, welcome, etc. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other this year. Remind me who’s who?”

“Oh, pardon me, I wasn’t—” Gansey starts, and the girl reaches up to slap a hand over his mouth.

“That’s Gansey trying to put his foot in his mouth. I’m Blue, this is Henry.”

“I’ve heard good things,” Henry says. “I’ve heard a lot of bad things too, all of them legendary.”

“’Blue’?” Allison interrupts. “That’s not a very funny joke.”

“Interesting. That’s what I keep saying about your team,” Blue says narrowly, and Dan laughs, startled.

“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

“Oh, a couple, at least,” Blue replies. Gansey smiles at her like he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

“You’re a striker,” Neil guesses, speaking for the first time, and Blue cocks her head at him.

“Dealer,” she corrects.

“Backliner,” Henry says, waving. “Best defence in Virginia.”

“Striker,” Gansey says, gesturing to himself. Ronan reaches over to knock fists with him, and Gansey grins as he accepts. Neil remembers reading something about a striker duo with history and balance, and they’re wearing that legacy all over them.

“Should’ve known,” Neil says mildly. “You don’t have the height,” he tells Blue. She bristles.

“And you do?”

“I use this height to my advantage. Do you?”

“I use everything I have to my advantage,” she grits. Neil suppresses a smile.

“We’ll see.” He privately thinks that some or all of these new recruits are going to burn out as soon as they realize that they were paddling in still waters, and now they’re facing a tidal wave.

Dan jumps back in to introduce their side of the team, and Neil lets the mindless back and forth rush around him without any information really finding purchase in his brain. Andrew is dead silent at his side, but Neil can sense his interest from the way he keeps shifting position, near imperceptible. Ronan’s taken to chewing on his wristbands, and Andrew’s eyes are caught up on the silver fingers of scar tissue at each of his wrists.

“Twins?” Henry asks, pointing two fingers at Aaron and Andrew.

“Guess which one’s evil,” Matt jokes.

“Trick question,” Dan tells them conspiratorially. “It’s both.”

“There’s power in twins,” Blue says sagely, like she’s repeating an old family adage. Andrew pushes off of the car and walks towards the door to the court, apparently out of patience. Neil watches him go distractedly.

“Can we see the court?” Adam asks, and Neil glances back to find his eyes fixed on the stretch of the building, twitchy and eager. He has the unsettled look of someone who’s been living outside of his comfort zone for long enough that he shakes when he faces it again.

“Oh fuck, please let’s go inside,” Nicky says, wobbling upright and brushing grass off on his shorts. “I’m burning to death.”

“Lucky we’ve got a replacement backliner,” Aaron says. Henry cocks finger guns at them, absurdly. Nicky considers him, lips pursed, and then looks back at Aaron.

“But do you have a replacement cousin?”

“Cousin?” Gansey asks, curious. “Excuse me but you don’t look— I mean you—“

“Stop,” Blue says, holding the bridge of her nose.

“Come on,” Dan laughs, sidestepping conflict. “We’ll give you the tour.”

_____

Neil finds Andrew in an aisle seat halfway up the rows facing the plexiglass cage of the court. He understand immediately that he wanted to be removed but present, to have as much physical upper ground as possible.

He shifts and relaxes when Neil sits next to him, and Neil considers that he also picked this spot so that the two of them could speak.

“What do you think?” Neil asks.

Andrew says nothing. The new foxes file into the box below, and Neil watches Ronan go immediately for the racquets stored against the wall. Henry is already shoulder to shoulder with Nicky; they’re like two springs set off at the same time.

“We need to keep an eye on Ronan, I think,” Neil continues, seeing the madness progress and evolve, seeing the court bloom fuller than it’s ever been.

“Not him,” Andrew says. Neil follows his steady gaze all the way down to Adam, who’s turning a slow circle at centre court. He can’t tell if he’s awestruck or judgemental, and he’s unnerved to find that it might be both.

“He’s hiding something,” Neil agrees. Ronan brought his raven inside with him, ridiculously, and it circles and lands on Adam’s forearm. The five of them are strange in a new way; they’re a shape Neil’s never seen before.

“Richard,” Andrew starts, mouth curling, “can’t decide who he wants to be.”

Neil doesn’t point out that he was the same way when he came to the foxes. “I don’t like that they’re already a team. I don’t know if I can unmake them so that things fit better.”

“You cannot unmake people like them. They think their weaknesses are strengths.”

“I can,” Neil argues. “What do you think I was doing all last year?”

“Ruining my life,” Andrew guesses.

“Taking you apart. Reprogramming.”

“You did not succeed.”

“We did,” Neil says. “We won.” He looks out into the activity below and finds Gansey and Matt peering up at them. Gansey waves and smiles like he’s in a parade. Renee and Blue are stooped together over something, but Neil’s sure he’s imagining the glint of a switchblade.

“I wonder if they realize how hard this is going to be. This isn’t Richmond.”

“Henrietta,” Andrew corrects.

“Even worse,” Neil grimaces.

“We’re inviting Adam to Columbia,” Andrew says suddenly. It’s disarming to be let in on his plans, like his carefully cultivated filter is missing. Or maybe Neil is his filter, now.

Neil looks sideways at him. “I have a feeling that Ronan won’t let him go alone.”

“I have a feeling he doesn’t need to be let,” Andrew replies.

They peer back down at the team. Ronan grabs Adam’s hand and kicks Blue in the shin when he passes, apparently trying to rustle up some sort of three-on-three. Neil stands on instinct, watching the exchange of racquets between hands, the freshly printed jerseys, pristine orange on white. Lynch. Parrish. Sargent. Cheng. Gansey. Excitement leaks up into the stands.

“I’m gonna join,” Neil says, distracted, feverish. He’s so antsy to feel this new team’s skill set held against him like a threat, so different from tapes and talk and promises.

“Win,” Andrew says, and Neil grins at the challenge.

“They’re just more ravens,” Neil says. “I’m not worried.”

Part Two  Part Three