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ninyard · 3 years ago

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more stefan/andrew au? the last one was fucking amazing

(following on from pt 2 kinda following canon a lil bit but imagining their relationship panning out earlier than it did in the series? Fab)

Part 1 / part 2

“Andrew?” Neil was woken up by Seth’s pissed-off, tired moan. “Get the fuck out of here, you fuckin’ freak.” Neil heard the rustling of covers and Andrew’s footsteps coming into the room. “Yo, hey, are you deaf?!” It’d been a couple days since the incident in Columbia, and Andrew and Neil hadn’t really spoken since then. Coach had tried to get them to make up when Neil came back to his apartment, but his attempts futile. They’d only had a short conversation before Andrew got bored and left. All Neil got from Andrew’s lot since then was hostility and cold shoulders. Now, in the middle of the night, Andrew was breaking into the room of the three people he actively seemed to hate the most. Neil pretended to sleep, until he felt weight on the rungs of the ladder on his bed, and hands on the back of his T-shirt. Andrew practically pulled him off the bed, immediately waking him up from any bit of sleep he had left in him.

“Car. Ten minutes.” Andrew didn’t lower his voice for Neil’s half-asleep roommates. “I don’t like waiting.”

“I don’t care.” Neil retorted back in a hushed voice. “Leave me alone and let me sleep.” Andrew got real close to Neil’s face. The dim light of the moon outside the window showed Andrew unsmiling face. He was presumably sober, and Andrew sober was a much scarier sight than him being medicated and violent.

“Ten minutes.” He repeated again, matching Neil’s volume, hazel eyes burning a hole through Neil’s natural blue. Andrew put a finger to his lips and switched to German. “This is the only chance you’ll get.”

Neil had almost forgotten he’d spoken to Andrew in German in Coach’s apartment. He was startled at the sudden language change, and obliged when Andrew finally left the room. He got dressed underneath his covers as best he could, and decided against putting in his contacts, before jumping down off the top bunk.

“Bring that monster around here one more time and you’re moving out.” Seth groaned, but fully meant what he said. He turned around to face the wall and through the muffle of a pillow, Neil heard him say, “Now fuck off.” Matt, sleeping like a rock, was snoring on the other side of the room, totally unphased and undisturbed by Andrew’s swift entrance and exit.

Andrew was alone at his car when Neil pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands in a desperate attempt to stay warm, the door of the dorm building shutting behind him. It was freezing outside, and Neil hadn’t realised it was literally the middle of the night until he saw a clock in the hallway reading an early 3:54am. The wind blew leaves across the parking lot with a whistle and a rustle, the dry fall leaves swirling around like tiny twisters on the tarmac. The campus was silent, on the night of a weekday, so Neil didn’t expect anyone to be out. Yet here Andrew was, leaning on the bonnet of his car with a cigarette between his lips, smoke quickly disappearing in the biting wind.

“You never answered my question on our little night out.” He spoke through the smoke, as Neil approached closer. “We’re going for a drive.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Neil’s voice was groggy from his own interrupted sleep. Andrew didn’t answer, instead flicking away his cigarette and sitting into the drivers seat. Neil walked around to the passenger side and sat in. When he tried to warm his hands on the hot air Andrew had blowing through the air-con, Andrew turned the heat off. Neil was sure if Andrew was medicated he would’ve laughed, but he instead opted for watching the road as they drove in silence. Neil sat back and tried his best not to fall asleep. His head bumped about on the headrest as they drove, and every time his eyes started to close, his sleep cycle begging him to come back to rest, Andrew would snap his fingers in his face or lay a punch down on his thigh. After a short drive, they pulled up into the empty lot of some National Park Neil didn’t know the name of. He was too tired to pay attention to the signs, but figured Andrew wouldn’t bring him to a park to kill him or let him go. Andrew was a man of truth when he wanted to be; He wanted to know why he was on the run and Neil didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Why are we here?” Neil asked at the same time Andrew said “What brought a runaway to Oakland?”They both paused for a moment, but Neil knew Andrew wasn’t going to answer his question until Neil answered his.

“It was the first place she wanted to stop.” Neil spoke through a yawn. “The others before there made her too paranoid. It was the first time she felt like she could close her eyes and actually sleep without feeling like she was…” He thought about his words for a moment. The last conversation they’d had, he told him he was on the run, but Andrew already knew that. Neil thought he’d got through to him by giving him half-honesty, telling him his parents were dead. He never brought up Riko, or his family, instead choosing the option of trying to appeal to Andrew’s inner child, who remembered Stefan. It was a stupid choice, and Neil knew that the second he chose it. “She could sleep without feeling like she had a target on her back.”

“Did you kill her?” Andrew said it so casually it felt like murder was something so normal, like eating lunch or going for a walk. Like asking if he killed his mother was just like asking if he liked the taste of garlic, or if he was having a good day.

“No,” Neil answered. He’d been thinking about what he would tell Andrew about his life since he seen him in Arizona. Who was he before Oakland? Where did they go? Who was he running from? “Riko’s family did.”

And suddenly Andrew was interested. His face was a mixture of disbelief and boredom. Neil told him his manufactured version of the story; that his parents were killed by the Moriyama family, and that they’d been on the run since the execution of his Father. He kept out the part about the Butcher of Baltimore, or the fact that he was actually still alive, but Andrew’s mind was at work as Neil told the story. If he didn’t look awake before, he did now. Neil spoke for an hour, maybe less, maybe more, flowing from story to anecdote to answering questions that Andrew slipped in whenever he wanted. Neil answered it all with mostly-truths, redacting the stuff Andrew simply didn’t need to know. Neil was a runaway, his family were in some bad business, but Neil was the only one left.

“I really didn’t think you could get any more stupid, yet I am constantly surprised.” Andrew tutted as he shook a cigarette out of the packet, into his hand. He rolled down the window on his side and smoked out of it, seemingly unbothered by the wind that just blew the smoke back into his face. “You knew who I was, but you knew Kevin too? How forgetful do you think people are?”

“I don’t know,” Neil told him honestly. “I just- We were so young. I met Kevin years before I met you. I just didn’t think I was important to anyone.” Andrew laughed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. It was the sound of dismissal, as though he didn’t believe a word that spilled from Neil’s tired lips. “I didn’t think I’d ever be particularly memorable or mean anything to anyone. That was the most important thing to my mom.”

“What, being unimportant?” Andrew didn’t look at Neil as he spoke.

“Being forgettable.” Neil sighed, thinking about his mother’s words that had been drilled into his head. If you’re too interesting, you’re asking to be killed. Be boring. Be normal. Be forgettable. “You fucked that up for me.”

“See, you keep blaming me,” Andrew shook his head as he took a drag from the cigarette that had been half-smoked by the wind. “I didn’t fuck up your life, Abagnale, you did.” Neil didn’t get the reference, but he didn’t ask either.

“I don’t mean it’s your fault. You didn’t do anything,” Neil tried correcting himself. “I couldn’t help it when I was around you. And all I could do every second of my days after Oakland was blame you because I couldn’t deal with the fact that I let you in. Everything I learned, everything I’d done, you came along and turned the place upside down because I just had to know you. I had to.”

“Why?” Andrew looked at him with that same uninterested look he usually had, when a medically-induced smile wasn’t spread across his cheeks. “What made me any different to the hundreds of other kids I’m sure you met on your travels, hmm?”

“You were real.” Andrew scoffed. Neil frowned at that and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve been through this. Don’t waste my time getting to know me if you just want me to run. You want me to get lost in the park, is it? Is that why you brought me here?”

“Nothing better than some honesty with a view.” Andrew tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “How do you expect me to trust you when you’ve spent your whole life a liar? Be mad if you want, but I’m much less gullible now, you see. Once a liar, always a liar.” Neil sent Andrew a look as he hovered his hand over Andrew’s. When he just stared at it, Neil brought Andrew’s hand up to his collarbone where was a small, raised, pink scar sitting just above it.

“The motels phone.” Neil spoke quietly, as if Mary would hear, as if she was waiting to jump out from behind the car to take him and beat him again for letting his guard down, for being unforgettable. “It was the first thing she could grab when we got into our room. I never told her your name, and she beat me harder for it. I never wanted to let her anger ruin your name.” Andrew dropped his hand from Neil’s grip.

“Pretty unintelligent to take hits for someone you thought you’d never see again.”

Then Neil said, “I knew I’d never forget you.” Andrew tensed up at the almost-promise, and the memories came flooding back for Neil like a tsunami sweeping over every other thought he had. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” Neil almost reached out to touch Andrew before he remembered the boundary Andrew had set that night in Columbia. Neil didn’t have a right to touch him anymore, and he knew Andrew noticed as Neil’s hand lifted and then hesitantly fell. “Tell me something I don’t know about this Andrew. I’ve told you my life, tell me yours.” He gestured to Andrew, sat across from him with an almost-frown on his face and a thinking mind hard at work.

“This Andrew doesn’t give a shit about what answers you think you deserve.” He looked Neil up and down. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Why doesn’t Nicky know you’re gay?” Neil asked, instead of waiting for him to come up with something himself, it was much easier to get honesty from Andrew by prompting him. Neil watched as his jaw tensed for a second, thinking about the answer.

“Nicky is too involved in being the gay cousin to un-assume.” Andrew barely lifted his shoulders in the form of a shrug. “He hasn’t asked.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“I don’t ‘come out’,” He brushed off the thought with the flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes. “I don’t fuck women in my spare time. Who cares?”

“Yeah, sure, but-” Neil had started to speak when Andrew cut across.

“At least I’m out to myself,” He nodded towards him. “You, on the other hand? Was it just Stefan who was into it or is the unnamed you just in denial?”

“I’m not, like…” Neil hated the sexuality question. It was confusing and messy and Andrew and Andrew and Andrew. “There was no one after you. It’s only been you.”

“By choice or by mothers hands?”

“Neither. Both?” He wasn’t sure how to answer. “The foxes are the first people I’ve let get somewhat close since then. That’s the truth. I haven’t wanted to. I’m just not interested in anyone.” The except for you part was silent, but he knew Andrew had somewhat heard it when he sat back, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the door, as he took a deep breath that he tried to hide. Neil wasn’t even sure he was still into Andrew like that, because they were so young, after all. Andrew was still experimenting, and they never spoke about those kinds of feelings. They were friends who kissed each other because they wanted to know what it felt like. They kissed each other because maybe they thought they liked it. Maybe they’d have to do it again just to be sure. But that was so long ago, and so much had changed. Neil had had a crush on that Andrew, but this one? He wasn’t so sure. This one was harsh and mean, angry and unmoving. This one had been hard-boiled by life and wasn’t going to crack any time soon. He didn’t know if he felt things anymore. He didn’t know if Andrew was capable of a crush, or a kiss, or a simple, electric touch of fingers to skin.

Without a word, Andrew had switched on the ignition and idled the engine for a moment before pulling out and starting on the drive back to campus. Neil didn’t say anything else, he only rested his head on the window and watched as the morning sun slowly lit up the night sky, the dark navy blue taking over the black sky so slowly it was hardly noticeable.

He had pulled into his usual parking spot not long later, still not looking at Neil or speaking at all. He stayed still in the drivers seat after switching the engine off. Neil took that as his cue to leave. Matching Andrew’s silent treatment, he got up and shut the door without a word. Andrew had rolled down his window again, another cigarette already stuck between his lips. He watched as Neil walked around the car before he tapped the outside of his door twice to catch his attention. Neil spoke before he could.

“Give me a chance.” The wind blew his hair off his face, reminding him how cold it was, and why he should’ve worn a jacket. “Let me stay. I don’t have anything else.”

“Don’t be fooled into thinking I trust you.” He hung his hand out the window finally looking Neil in the eyes again. “It’s a matter of time before your egg timer runs out. Make use of it while you can.”

“I’ll bury Stefan forever, if you ask.” Neil offered in payment for the sudden change of heart in letting him stay, in cleaning his hands of the idea that Neil was after Kevin, or that he was a threat. “Say the word and we start fresh from today.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew took a long drag, one that felt like it was centuries long, like the sun would be up by the time he finished. He blew it out and raised his hands. “Kill what wasn’t real. Prove to me what was.”

Neil wasn’t sure what that invitation meant, but he didn’t ask Andrew to keep speaking. When they broke eye contact, he knew then Andrew wanted him to leave. Neil didn’t look back, heart racing, practically ready to burst out of his chest by the time he reached his dorm room. He opened the door as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb his peacefully sleeping roommates, and he crawled back into bed to try get some sleep before the practice scheduled for the morning. Instead of counting sheep, battling restlessness like a fight for his life, he thought of Stefan. He thought of the heart of Nathaniel that had gotten wrapped up in his blond hair and tiny frame. Neil fell asleep thinking about who he used to be, and what parts of that were real. What parts could he keep? His mind spent its last morsels of energy on dissecting Neil Josten, to make him feel a little more real.

The next time they saw each other outside of practice was when Kevin started coming to find him late at night to go to the court and practice together. Neil realised quickly he was going to become a night owl as a Fox, but it still took him a while to adjust to the late nights and early starts. But him and Andrew kept their distance; they didn’t speak if they didn’t have to, and their conversations were kept to a line or two each. They played their first match of the season, and Andrew had sent out shots for Neil like they were capable of working together. Then there was Kathy Ferdinand’s show, at which Andrew had hands all over him, holding him back from killing Riko on live TV. He had made a deal to protect Kevin, and then he was being psychically held back from doing so. Neil did what he couldn’t, and stood up to Riko, a conscious effort to gain his trust, to prove he was on the side of the foxes. Then there was that touch, that simple, light, barely-there touch, and Neil knew he’d won. He’d earned Andrew’s trust, at least for a moment, but that was all that mattered.

When Andrew ever-so-kindly reminded Neil later that Riko would find out about him, the original “Neil”, as easily as he’d strolled onto that stage to sit across from Kevin, there was no choice but to run. He couldn’t imagine any other option. His entire body went into fight or flight, and he struggled to sit still as Andrew held his collar and told him to stay.

“Why?” Neil asked, throat dry, hands shaking, after Andrew offered him protection for the year if he promised to stay. It was funny to imagine, as if there was anything he could do against the actual, guns-blazing, internationally dominating mafia. “Why would you help me?” Andrew laughed, and just about caressed Neil’s jaw in the most non-affectionate way possible. Neil felt his touch leave blood on his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Andrew was manic, and didn’t care. He looked as if he didn’t even feel the pain of a glass-shattering punch, and was actively enjoying the chaos that the morning had brought with it.

Andrew didn’t give him any sort of an answer until later that night, when he stepped into Neil’s space and told him to remember the feeling; Neil couldn’t run anymore. He had given his word to Andrew that he would stay, and as much as he had started to hate the Present-Day-Andrew-Minyard, he trusted him as a man of his word. Neil had killed the parts of Stefan that were untrue; all that was left was the real emotion he felt when he looked at Andrew. He was an asshole, but he was Andrew, and Neil trusted this five foot blond boy with his life. Perhaps it was crazy, perhaps he was officially, undeniable, finally signing his name on his death wish, ticking down the hours until his past caught up. Whereas running was his old line of defence, his current one was Andrew. Andrew was an unlit fire suddenly gaining embers, and Neil knew it was dangerous to let that fire grow. Especially when Andrew leaned over in Eden’s, crackers on his tongue, a drink in his hands, and whispered in German;

“Mommy’s not here to hurt you anymore.” Neil snapped his gaze towards Andrew, who was coming up on his high, speaking to Neil but watching the crowd on the dancefloor. His breath at Neil’s ear sent shivers up his spine, goosebumps on his arms. “My hands are open to have your back. Give it to me this time.”

#idk if this is bad #I can’t be subjective about my own content anymore #straight up I’ll delete it if someone tells me it’s bad lmao #andreil #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #andreil au #tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg fic #tfc fic #as per usual send an ask if u want more/have a specific Andrewstefan prompt

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bloodstainsontengensfloor · 4 years ago

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JJK Woman Appreciation Post II! ⚠️ Spoilers (duh)⚠️

Shoko Ieiri:

I’m torn between simping for her and begging her to adopt me.

Shoko Ieiri, the ultimate third wheel. She was in the same year as Gojo and Geto, and the three of them became fast friends. Of course, though, Gojo and Geto became even faster friends. The three of them are legit parallels to Nobara/Fushiguro/Itadori in terms of their friendship. She and Utahime also have a good friendship as seen in one of my favorite manga panels. Shoko is extremely special because she can used Reversed Cursed Techniue which allows her to heal people, and based on Volume 0, may be able to REGROW MISSING LIMBS?!

She’s extremely valuable to the story because of this ability and during the Shibuya Incident Arc, Principal Yaga expresses this importance. She is situated away from everything because if the enemy knew where she was, they would kill her first.

Shoko prefers alcohol over sweets, and stopped smoking for five years before starting again during the Shibuya Incident Arc. Because... yea I’d do the same. She is pretty serious and focuses on getting the job done. She is pretty laid back and chill, and presents a blasé attitude. In high school, she always avoided conflict and after seeing Geto after he, you know k!lled a bunch of people, she mocks him almost. I hope we get to see more of her and her character and that maybe the whole thing of her avoiding conflict gets overcomes. Her and Utahime will be the only adult mentors left in the series really, and I want to see how she would react in that role.

Utahime Lori:

Yes I do personally Headcanon these two as girlfriends. I honestly love Utahime because of the fact that she’s like the mother hen of a bunch of juvenile children who project their issues on other people.

When first introduced, she’s pretty calm and reserved. She stops the rival school from their battle of petty insults and gets easily irritated... when Gojo came. She has good intuition and when Gojo asks her to investigate the spy at Kyoto, she reminds him that she could be the spy before being insulted for being ‘weak’. We don’t know her cursed technique but obviously it must be pretty strong if she is the opposing teacher to Gojo. And speaking of the annoying idea of weak and strong in the Jujutsu world, Utahime also has a scar on her face. We don’t know where she got it from but she has it.

Momo talks about how a scar on a woman is a disadvantage for a female Jujutsu Sorcerer. I personally think that her lectur might have been influenced by seeing her teacher be put at a disadvantage due to this. We still don’t know too much about her, sadly, but she shows herself to be an entertaining character. Her attempt an a inspirational speech at the begining of the sister school exchange event displays her to be rather awkward when it comes to being comforting. However, it’s been established that the Kyoto school is like a family and that probably wouldn’t be possible without Utahime. Her caring nature is on display when she notices Miwa passed out in a dangerous zone.

Same thing with Shoko, I’m torn between simping and begging for adoption. Gosh I want Utahime and Shoko to be my moms dkekekek.

The fact that she loves Karaoke and wants Shoko to quit smoking 😭😳💙

Mei Mei

First thing first: her relationship with her brother will always make me uncomfortable-

Mei Mei is a grade one sorcerer who is on the side of money. Mood. I honestly don’t know her character that well, but she is really chill and has good inuition. She notices Maki’s strength and quickly realizes that Fake!Geto is.. well fake.

Okay but her cursed technique?? Allowing herself to control or share senses with animals, specifically crows is so cool and so convienet. Like during the Kyoto event, her skill was very useful and same thing during the Shibuya Incident Arc.

Although I don’t remember much about her character, I do know that she is very chill and laid back, but can be caring in her own special way. Well, by caring I mean complimenting Itadori on his skill, which is something that she didn’t have to do but did.

This reminded me that I need to reread the manga, and not just Gojo’s past arc because I miss Riko Amanai and I’m working on a nice post about Star Plasma Vessel Sus stuff, but Mei Mei is also just like... hot 😳.

Yuki Tsukumo:

She’s so cool, but so suspicious. A lot of people have pointed out that she was insturmental in Geto’s decline by introducing the idea of a world without jujutsu to him. Her Aethstic is cool with the motorcycle and the “what kind of woman is your type” question. I love how she is really cheerful but at the same time badass, two traits I feel like aren’t more commonly coexistent within female characters.

In the last or second to last chapter, she exposed herself to be rather... funny? Like funny in the fact that she’s kind of clueless half the time? Like the facial expressions she makes and how when things goes more downhill than she thought they would, she started to freak out a little.

I do think she is really interesting in the fact that she actively researches way to make the world a better place and protect people from curses in the best way possible. But... she’s still so suspicious.

Fun fact: her surname has the Kanji for 99... she got 99 problems-

Riko Amanai:

Missing you 😭

She’s probably one of my favorite characters. She was just a teenager who was lonely and for some reason kept on surviving while others didn’t. She was okay with giving up herself to... basically be the vessel, the puppet, to a powerful entity who’s been alive for over a 1000 years. It’s really bittersweet because the way I saw it, she was okay with being the vessel because of the fact that she believed that because she was the vessel, she had to be lonely in her life leading up to the Merge.

Riko has no cursed technique but was responsible for the Jujutsu world as Master Tengen’s vessel. She was spunky, cheerful, and... confused. Riko thought she had everything figured out but after forming close connections with Geto and Gojo and realizing how important Kuro was to her, she realized that she wanted to make more memories and not lose everything.

I’ll talk more about her in my Star Plasma Vessel post 😉.

Tsumiki Fushiguro:

Omg another one of my favorites because I love characters who are low key plot tools.

Tsumiki is Megumi’s older step sister who took on a very maternal role in his life. Megumi is very protective over her while at the same time very annoyed at what he believed was the hypocrisy of ‘good people’. Tsumiki is shown to be kind, caring, and well... just your normal teenage girl. She threw milk at Megumi after scolding him for getting into another fight. She just wants to see her little bro get the best life he could possibly get.

Tsumiki only did the test of courage because she ‘was worried’ and I feel like that just says so much about her character. And now? Well now she’s a vessel for some unknown vengeful spirit. And... do all vessels just get their hair pulled back??

And That’s all for now folks! Thanks for reading!

I didn’t edit this at all oh well, some times the first draft is all we have the energy to do-

#jujutsu kaisen #shoko ieiri #iori utahime #mei mei #fushiguro tsumiki #riko amanai #jjk anime #jjk #yuki tsukumo #😌😌😌#anime

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seoafin · 4 years ago

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I can totally see Gojo’s eldest daughter treating him like how Hori treats her dad in Horimiya!! Gojo’s daughter NEVER calls Gojo “dad” only Satoru and even when she first learned to talk she never called him “dada”…In fact the first person she called dada? Shoko…Shoko and MC think it's hysterical and Geto thinks it's karma because of how Gojo was such a playboy (*coughs* cheater *coughs*) before he settled down with MC 😂😂😂

In your poly au if MC has kids with Gojo and Geto i could picture Geto being the favorite amongst all the kids and all of them being kind of meh with gojo except maybe the youngest of the Gojo kids and maybe the youngest among geto's lol and gojo's depressed and keeps begging MC to have more kids just so someone actually likes him lol, and yes the thing with his eyes and babies sounds so cute kind of!!

YES

when celi and i were talking about the kids I literally said that hori and her father’s relationship is exactly the same as gojo’s relationship with his daughter 😭😭 (I guess you literally read my mind anon LOL)

all the children love geto so much. that’s their father!!! but gojo???

that’s not their father. that’s an uncle. gojo despairs. riko (the eldest daughter and the only one that inherited limitless and the six eyes) only calls geto ‘papa’ and started calling gojo ‘satoru’ when she was ten lmfao. gojo cried about it. every. single. day. later, she alternates between calling him ‘old man’ and ‘satoru’ and gojo can only wonder where he went wrong.

in fact, all the children call geto ‘papa’ or ‘dad’ but gojo......

the only one that can stand gojo and actually adores him is the youngest girl who calls him papa and clings to him when they go out. since she has a lot of siblings, she’s happy to get one on one time with her dad. gojo gets nervous thinking of her growing up and not needing him anymore. every time his children bully him gojo goes into her room and stays there, after all she’s the only one that ‘appreciates him’

rip!mc or geto have to always pull him out of her room (you can’t live in here, Satoru)

riko tells the youngest daughter to ‘keep him’

the youngest is also the only one that looks like rip!mc and inherits her cursed technique too bc gojo and geto’s genes are stupidly strong....

it’s horrible because both gojo and geto are wrapped around her finger and they always go all out indulging her in whatever she wants. she would be so spoiled if it weren’t for the fact that she also inherited rip!mc’s temperament. thank god for that.

except that she wanted an actual pet panda for her sixth birthday (yaga wouldn’t give her panda)....let’s just say rip!mc put an end to that real quick.

when riko was a baby she probably cried whenever gojo held her. but for papa geto she was always giggling and tugging on his hair with her chubby fingers. i actually really like the idea of riko’s first ‘dada’ being for shoko. so yeah, both gojo and geto were beat by the one and only ieiri shoko!!!!

unfortunately, as gojo is the only one in the world who also has limitless and six eyes, riko is forced to spend time with him. the one and only time they got along was when riko accidentally decimated an entire wing of the house by using purple for the first time. she was trying to get her brothers to stop fighting

anyway after it became clear riko wasn’t going to warm up to gojo, gojo begged rip!mc for another child, and geto wasn’t averse to the idea either. so it took....a couple (a lot) of tries for the youngest.

#the way i info dumped a lot of what i thought of w/ celi for the poly au LOL #im not sure if the first ask was referring to the poly au but let's just say that even in ripverse riko is going to call gojo 'satoru'#and be very unimpressed with him #they would have one chaotic family #everyone's chaotic but ultimately it would be a very very happy household #no angst in this au!! just happiness.#family au

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aceass1n · 3 years ago

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TW: mentions of abuse, alcohol

In Kevin’s defence, he’s never actually needed to DTR.

He and Thea had always had an...interesting relationship, one born more out of convenience than genuine affection. She’d been everything he’d convinced himself he wanted—driven, confident, more focused on her work than her boyfriend. He’d told himself that was fine. That it was exactly what he’d do, too, and that made it alright. They were right for each other.

But then he started...whatever he had going on with Jean and Jeremy.

And it’s not so simple anymore.

He wouldn’t be surprised if it was nothing but casual sex to them. They have each other, after all. Jeremy’s the one who’d helped Jean recover—or begin to recover—from all the abuse he’d suffered at Riko’s hands. Jeremy and the Trojans. It’s only natural that Jean would be closer to Jeremy, more in love with Jeremy. And it makes sense that Jeremy would gravitate more to Jean, who he knows more intimately than Kevin. They’d shared a dorm for two years by now. Of course they’re closer.

But that hasn’t stopped Kevin from wanting.

It’s easy enough to tell himself the sex is enough when he’s alone. The Foxes are the same as they’ve always been, loud and brash and chaotic. They leave him little time to worry about anything other than whether or not they’re going to win the next game, whether they’re working hard enough, whether he’s working hard enough. He has plenty to preoccupy himself with. Exy, and schoolwork, and drink, though he knows the last one will hardly be useful in the long run.

But then Jean and Jeremy come to visit, for a weekend, for a week. And every time, like a fool, Kevin lets himself get used to it. Not being alone. He lets himself relearn the way Jeremy laughs with his head thrown back and eyes bright, the way Jean kisses Kevin like Kevin’s something worth cherishing, the way they fall asleep, Jean at his side and Jeremy sprawled on top of them. His heart settles in place, a puzzle piece settling in place. He looks over at Jean, frowning slightly in his sleep with his head tucked in the crook of Kevin’s shoulder; wraps his arm around Jeremy. And he can breathe.

They meet in hotel rooms so the Foxes don’t catch on, though he’s sure at least Renee’s figured it out. An in-between home for an in-between love.

They leave after the weekend. They always leave. Kevin watches them go every time with the same sense of exhaustion, like the weekend had been a temporary respite against the anxiety. And the urge to drink comes back.

He doesn’t want to call it something as grandiose as love, but he can’t think of any other word for it.

Kevin’s not an idiot. He knows the Foxes are probably the last people he should be asking for relationship advice. Matt could probably help. Dan, too, but Dan would probably tell Allison, who’d tell Renee, who’d tell Andrew, who’d tell Neil, who’d probably tell Nicky because he wouldn’t even realize it was supposed to be a secret—

No. He can’t ask Dan.

Maybe Aaron? Aaron’s in a healthy enough relationship with Katelyn. They had a normal start to it, as far as Kevin knows.

Kevin sighs, flopping back on his bed. Matt first, he decides. And if that doesn’t pan out, then he’ll ask Aaron.

I can’t believe I’m even considering this.

He waits until after practice that day. Andrew and Neil don’t linger in the locker rooms as much anymore; Neil still isn’t completely comfortable with his scars, but he doesn’t wait until everyone else has left to change anymore. These days, Matt is usually one of the last to leave.

Kevin packs his bag slowly, painfully slowly, keeping an eye on Matt out of the corner of his eye. Watches as Matt claps Nicky on the back, chats with Neil. Get out, he silently begs the other Foxes, go on, get out, go back to the dorms, I need to talk to Matt—

Finally, he and Matt are the only ones left in the locker room. Matt whistles, oblivious to Kevin practically vibrating with anxiety five feet away from him.

Kevin clears his throat, fingers drumming nervously on the locker. “Hey, Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know if Dan was into you?”

Matt pauses. His eyes soften into the fond look he gets whenever he looks over at Dan. Kevin averts his eyes, still uncomfortable with emotions, even after four years away from Riko.

“I asked her out,” Matt says finally. He’s leaning against the lockers, his bag thrown over one shoulder. “Just, you know, d’you wanna go on a date with me?”

“And that worked?”

“Yeah, man. I mean, how else’re you gonna know? We’re not mindreaders.” A sly grin quirks Matt’s lips. “So. Who’s the lucky gal?”

Kevin’s face heats. “Fuck off.”

Matt laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just sayin’, I could put in a good word for you.”

One of them’s Jeremy Knox, Kevin thinks. He already thinks the world of everyone he meets.

“I can’t do that,” Kevin says. His chest tightens. “Ask them out.”

“Why not?”

They’re already dating each other. Kevin takes a deep breath, picks up his bag. He fights back his disappointment. He should’ve known better than to ask Matt. Matt’s relationship with Dan has been straightforward from the beginning. Of course he wouldn’t be able to give Kevin advice he could use.

The next person he tries is Aaron. He’s in a steady relationship with Katelyn, so he must’ve done this somehow, right? And he’d had to deal with the added complication of Andrew. Maybe he’ll be more helpful.

This one is slightly easier. He and Aaron share a class on Tuesdays, one he needed for his major and Aaron decided to take as an elective. He waits until Aaron’s taken his notebook out before asking, “How did you figure out if Katelyn liked you?”

Aaron stares at him, eyebrows shooting up. “Are you seriously asking me how to DTR.”

Kevin sinks down in his seat, . “You don’t have to be mean about it,” he mumbles.

Aaron coughs, lips twitching. “Oh, I’m not.” He glances around before asking, “Why’re you asking me? Just ‘cuz I’m dating Kate doesn’t mean I know how I did it.”

“Okay, yeah, but you must’ve done something. What’d you do?”

“I just agreed when she asked me out.” Kevin’s disbelief must’ve shown on his face. “What? You thought I asked her out? Dude, she’s way out of my league. I wasn’t about to risk it.”

Kevin smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Wonder why she asked you out, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole.” Aaron pulls out his pen as the professor steps to the front of the room. “Why’d you even wanna know?”

Because I’m in love with two of my best friends and I’m socially inept, he doesn’t say. Aaron is watching him carefully, like he’s trying to make sense of a particularly difficult problem. Kevin fights the urge to squirm.

Eventually, Aaron sighs. “Ask Andrew. Or the attitude problem.”

“Why the hell would I ask them for relationship advice?”

“They’re the only ones who’ll tell you to do anything other than ask her out.”

Kevin turns back to the lecture, fighting back frustration. His fingers are tightening around the pen; he forces them to loosen. Release it. It wouldn’t do to get a cramp this early in the day.

He sighs inwardly. Andrew and Neil. Well. He supposes he’s out of other options.

(there will be a part two, I’m just having a bit of writer’s block and been busy with moving so I haven’t had time to write it)

#kevin is a disaster but what else is new #kevin day #jean moreau #jeremy knox #kerejean #jerejean #kevjean #keremy #kevin x jeremy x jean #matt boyd #aaron minyard #the foxes #all for the game #aftg

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abduct-me-helen · 4 years ago

Text

Class 108′s Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 5.

“Marcy’s alive?” Jon asked incredulously, eyes wide in surprise. Martin stood next to him, and their height different was apparently “adorable,” or so class 108 had said.

“That’s what Annabelle told me.” Martin replied, thinking back to the conversation and searching for details in the way that she’d sounded. He knew he was dealing with the Web though; Annabelle was nothing if not manipulative and direct in both her overt and subtle actions.

“On the phone.” Jon raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“That’s where we talked, yeah.” Martin confirmed, his tone shifting as he looked behind them to see Elliot and Raphi snogging while the others, (minus Riko and Katie), chanted “make out! Make out!” over and over again.

Nope, he was not getting into that.

“How? Why is Annabelle keeping her alive?” Jon asked, pointedly ignoring what was going on behind them.

“She’s not, or at least that’s what she said. She thinks it has something to do with the End.” Martin told him wearily.

“That’s lucky for us.” Jon said.

“Why?”

“We’re coming upon the Corpse Roots soon enough.”

Martin perked up. “Are we going to, you know, go kill bill?”

Jon hesitated.

“Jon.”

“I don’t know, Martin. It’s-Oliver Banks rules over this domain.” He explained, gesturing wildly.

“So?” Martin questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I, I just don’t think…I don’t think he’s evil.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s a very benevolent ruler of a hellish fear prison.” Martin replied sarcastically.

“It’s just-he helped me. Wh-when I was,” Jon sighed, running his hand through his hair and taking a second to pause, “He woke me up.”

“Wow, what a hero.” Martin deadpanned.

“Martin?” Jon asked, amused and raising an eyebrow.

“What.” Martin said shortly. Jon made an amused noise, an all-too-knowing smile beginning to grow on his face.

“Yeah, alright; I know; I’m sorry.” Martin apologized quickly, sighing.

Jon was now smirking, voice full of amusement. “…Is there something you want to talk about?”

No, I’m-fine; it’s fine; everything’s fine! I’m sorry.” Martin said quickly, ducking away and speeding up his footsteps. Jon did the same to match him, a smug grin on his face.

“Martin…” His expression was like the cat getting the cream.

“I said it’s fine.” Martin snapped quickly.

“Are you jealous?” Jon questioned, oh so audibly smug.

“Yeah, Martin, are you jealous?” Raphi yelled, pulling away quickly before snogging Elliot once again.”

“Oooh…” The class’s eyes lit up, their voices in unison, getting higher in pitch as their call of smugness continued. Turning away from the couple, they advanced towards the two men who led the head of their group. Cal clapped politely at Elliot and Raphi as they broke away to join the rest of his peers in taunting Martin.

“Just-just, hey, why is everyone ganging up on me!” Martin cried indignantly. Elliot smirked, before starting a chant.

“Mr. Sims and Martin, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love-” Elliot grinned as he spoke, before Cal cut him off quietly.

“-Then comes marriage-”

“Then comes a baby in a baby carriage!” Tabitha finished, grinning with a smug glee.

“Don’t they have anything better to do then gossip about our teacher’s love life?” Riko scoffed, trailing behind the rest of the class with Katie at her right.

“…probably not.” Katie answered dully, looking on with something akin to judgmental fondness, as much as that could be expressed on someone who was as reigned in as her.

“…that’s fair.”

“I told you not to Know things about me!” Martin pointed at Jon, telling him off.

Jon laughed. “I really didn’t have to.”

“I-y-you-good. ‘Cause I’m definitely not.” Martin said stubbornly, looking ahead in defiance.

“Sure.” “Pfft, that’s such a lie-” “Are you scared he’s gonna steal yo’ man?” “PUT A RING ON IT MARTO!”

“Alright!” Jon agreed smugly, obviously taunting Martin.

“Look, I’m fine, alright?” Martin told him forcefully.

“You said.” Jon agreed, nodding with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, I did! And e-and even if I was jealous, I would be perfectly justified anyway, so!” Martin explained quickly, refusing to look Jon in the eye.

Class 108 was snickering, and Martin decidedly didn’t comment on that.

Respect your elders! he wanted to tell them. But he couldn’t control them, no matter how much he wanted to. They were teens.

Teens.

He sighed inwardly, mentally banging his head against a wall.

“But you’re not.” The fact that Jon’s amusement was almost tangible is one that Martin loathed.

“No! I’m fine.” Martin exclaimed.

“Hey, give him a break. I say murder is a go.” Elliot coos, and Cal laughs quietly behind him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rosie said, laughing.

“Riko agrees with me. Hey! Riko! You agree, don’t you?” Elliot raised his voice, gaining Riko’s attention.

“Oh, I’m not getting involved.” She told him, raising her eyebrow.

“Pfft, boring.” He said, sighing dramatically.

“Tch.”

“Look. Martin, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m not going to kill a man just because you’re jealous.” Jon and Martin continued to argue, both attempting, (and failing), to tune out class 108’s jeers.

“Why not?!”

Beat.

Martin deflated. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I know, I know.” He sighed, before pausing. “Please?”

Jon laughed and Martin’s lip quirked upwards.

“Let’s go apeshit! Let’s go fucking apeshit!” Tabitha screeched, pumping her fist into the air.

“Language.” Jon chastised, heart not in it.

Tabitha stuck her tongue out.

Cypress felt…strange. It was the only way to put it. The corpse roots were comforting, in their own way, and he looked on with a fondness that should have surprised him.

It didn’t.

He knew what the End was now, but he still thought of it as death more than anything else. And he found peace in that.

Or maybe it was the depression talking.

He didn’t really care.

But he was pulled in, interested and feeling an odd, almost tugging need to do something. He had no idea what that something was, but he knew he’d find out soon.

“-know, but I just, I need to. I can be ignorant when all of this is going on!” Tabitha said loudly, surprising Cypress out of his reverie. He turned, and saw that she was talking to Mr. Sims.

“Statements…Tabitha, they change you. I’m not sure-”

Ah, so this was what they were arguing over. Cypress had been worried too. Tabitha’s hunger for knowledge was not knew, but the desperation to get it certainly way.

Or maybe not. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it had always been there it to an extent.

“Please,” she begged, voice rising, “I just-I need to know. This world, it’s…it’s terrible. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You really think this will change anything?” Riko shot back acerbically.

“No, but it’ll make me feel better, so piss off.” Tabitha snapped, then sighed. “Sorry Riko.” She apologized.

Riko rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

Jon sighed. “Fine. Okay. You can listen.” Martin raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head. Tabitha cheered.

Cypress stepped closer. “I,” he paused, looking around before finalizing his thoughts, “I want to listen too.”

Jon was once again taken aback. “Why?” he said, incredulous.

Cypress shrugged. “I don’t know. I just,” he sighed, “I have my reasons, okay?”

Jon nodded slowly, sighing and motioning Martin to leave with the rest of the class, who looked on concernedly.

He waited a moment before he furrowed his brows and talked once again, looking up at the two students. “Once I start, I can’t stop. But if you get uncomfortable, at all, please leave. I won’t think worse of you or take offense. Agreed?”

Tabitha and Cypress nodded, but they both knew they’d stay, no matter how horrible it was. Jon sighed, and began the statement.

Report to prevent future deaths. This report is being sent to: The Great Eye that watches all who linger in terror and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze. And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself.

One: Coroner.

I am Oliver Banks, sometimes known as Antonio Blake or Dr Thomas Pritchard. I serve The Coming End That Waits for All and Will Not Be Ignored.

Two: Coroner’s legal powers.

I make this report under no authority; no regulation or act of law save the hollow power and grim responsibility given me by the Termination of All Life. With it, I may see and spread the hidden veins of destiny that wrap us close and draw us through the empty, yearning parody of meaning that we call life, knowing at all stages that the last and final point of this journey is a blank and futile end.

I have no power to stop it, and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming.

Three: Investigation and inquest.

On the first and last day of the age of the Beholding, I begin my vigil into the story of Cypress Evans.”

Cypress and Tabitha looked up, eyes wide.

“What?” They said in unison, before refocusing once again.

He was about thirteen when it happened. Or, rather, he happened. The tendrils of the lonely had clung to him, but that is not the focus of my tale. No, I suppose I’ll be blunt.

Cypress Evans killed himself.

Cypress grit his teeth, and Jon’s eyes were wide. Tabitha tried to get up, despite her curiosity, in order to preserve his privacy, but felt tied down to the roots like a string.

Cypress did the same, not wanting to remember the tale that was spilling from Jon’s mouth.

It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t write a note, but in the days before his first ending he gave many gifts to those he cared about. Gifts that were his belongings.

He even wrote a small will, though it wasn’t as if it was anything official. He was thirteen; he didn’t have much property of his own.

But that is not the important part. What is important, is that he succeeded. Cypress Evans was officially dead for about five hours. No one found out.

Tabitha inhaled quickly, and this was not unnoticed by Cypress, who looked down in shame. She took his hand and gripped it while she maneuvered him to rest next to her, huddled into a ball while he shook.

Because he woke up.

Her eyes widened once again, glancing at him in shock.

His arm was knitted back together by some sort of thin, clear thread. And he was alive.

He didn’t tell a soul.

It was about two months later when he tried again, a different method this time. He tried pills. So many pills. A lot of pills.

And so, Cypress Evans died for the seemingly second time. And for the seemingly second time, he came back.

He looked away. Tabitha could guess that he thought it was a failure on his part, but she was glad that it hadn’t worked.

And worried for him.

How had she not known? Did she not pay enough attention?

She bit her lip in thought.

He is one of many thousands, neither remarkable nor unique in his background and goals. He has spent the last three of those years acutely aware of his seemingly immortal state of being and in constant dismay over it. The thing was, Cypress never feared death.

He craved it.

And it was being denied from him, one time, then two, then three, then four, then five, and so it goes on. At some point, it became recreational, to not be anything at all. To end, even if temporarily.

Cypress clenched his fist, and Tabitha squeezed his other hand.

Do not worry, Cypress. I’m certain you’re listening to this, though I’m not sure why I’m aware of that face. That thought was not my own, and I’m acutely aware of a spider crawling down my arm, so I can only assume one of the Web’s ilk is involved with this. Never the matter, I wanted to tell you this. No matter how immortal you may think you are, all things end, even if it takes a very, very long time.

You can be reassured that one day, you will die.

Tabitha hated the look of relief that washed over him, but shivered at the thought of being manipulated. The Web, above all others, irked her, ever since her experience with Marcy.

Back to my account.

Cypress, now sixteen years of age, if not for the odd situation regarding class 108, I believe he would’ve found himself within my domain, traveling slowly and unremittingly along the length of the stretching Corpse Routes.

And to his delight, eventually ending.

The earliest he can remember being certain he was about to die was when, at the age of six, due to allergies, he passed out. It was from a spider bite. Not a poisonous one, mind you. It was just his allergies, putting him in the hospital for a few hours.

The oddest thing though, was that he didn’t mind. Cypress had already accepted the inevitability of death, with his father passing away from cancer about two years prior to the bite. He found it reassuring, relaxing even.

The point was, Cypress was comforted by death.

And so it continued for the next three years of his life. He would die on the weekends, crave the release of not existing as a reward for doing so during the week. He always came back, groggily and painfully.

He never liked that part.

Five: Coroner’s concerns.

The matters of concern are as follows:

a) Cypress Evans was affected by the Web at some point during his life. I do not know what the reason for that is, but it’s a concern nonetheless. I do not know why Cypress does not walk the corpse roots, just as I do not know why class 108 seems to have been spared from the domains. I, again, suspect the Web to have something to do with this.

b) This place is a limit on the fear that can be generated from them, as their pool is necessarily finite and ultimately, however slowly, it will be exhausted.

To be offset, this consideration will require the acquisition of victims from other domains as replacements, potentially inciting…bad feeling between those domains.

c) A metaphysical quirk of this new reality’s divorce from the traditional concept of time, and - one for which I have no further explanation, means that I do not believe new humans are being created or born.

The souls trapped within this transformed world are the only ones who will ever be here, and the presence of the Termination of All requires that-ultimately, that is what will happen.

However slowly, the domains of death will be removing sufferers from a closed system. However many thousands of years may be experienced in time, eventually this world will be left barren and empty.

d) When this happens, the Great Powers themselves will also fade and die, withering away into nothingness and releasing this reality from their grip.

I… do not know how I feel about this.

Six: Actions that should be taken.

None. Even if such a fate could be avoided, as it comes closer and the other Entities grow in their awareness of their own end, the grotesque ripples of their own impossible panic shall glut and feed my master, gorging it to the point where-perhaps it will even surpass the Watcher in prominence.

Barring that, I have no desire to be destroyed by other Avatars who are upset at what they regard as “stealing” human souls to walk the Corpse Routes. If it becomes necessary to intervene at some point regarding whatever web the weaver is puppeting, I will do so.

The others may take what actions they wish; they may plot and plan and tear themselves apart in an attempt to separate from the fate that they know they cannot escape, but they will fail. The currents of perception and reality may twist in whatever shapes they want, but none of them can ever render things truly eternal.

And I shall help, ushering on this final, blank emptiness. Perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned.

But I am too much of my Patron now, and my feelings cannot help but reflect the shadows of… anticipation that lurk within the grave. The End does not fear its own cessation, for it is the certainty and promise of all life, however strange, that it will one day finish, and that includes its own stark existence.

It shall be the last, and when the universe is silent and still forever, it shall, perhaps, in that impossible moment before it vanishes, finally be satisfied.

Seven: Your response.

Please, Jon, do not interpret this report as a plea for mercy or a call to action. I would have offered it willingly, of course, but to do so is no longer an option.

I only ask that you be wary. I do not know what, but I believe the Web is up to something. Bar that, I believe it to be controlling even you in a world where you wear the crown.

Finally, Cypress, know this. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.

I’m sure that brings you comfort.

Report ends.

Jon looked up, eyes widening as he regained control.

Cypress bolted.

“What the fuck happened?” Riko asked, sitting down across from Tabitha, gesturing to Cypress, who was in a clearing alone. Cal was sitting next to him but they didn’t appear to be talking.

Tabitha shook her head mutely, sighing. “It’s-I’m not going to intrude on his privacy. It was just-it was just intense.” She gestured.

Riko shrugged. “He isn’t dead. It’ll be fine.”

Tabitha knew that Riko was trying to comfort her, but those words made her bark out a bitter laugh.

Riko raised an eyebrow.

Tabitha sighed. “Look, basically the statement Mr. Sims gave was about Cypress, and for some reason Cypress and I couldn’t leave.”

“Wait, like you were tied down?” Riko asked incredulously.

“No, like…ugh. I don’t know how to put it. Yes, like we were tied down, but it was…more than that.”

“Oh, that’s revealing.” Riko said sarcastically.

“Hm.” Tabitha agreed, before looking behind her to see Jon approaching. He walked up the green hill before sighing, and running his hand through his hair.

He does that a lot, Tabitha thought absently.

“May I speak to you in private?” Jon asked Tabitha, who nodded. Riko didn’t budge, and raised an eyebrow.

“I was here first.”

Tabitha snickered. “Fair.”

Jon followed her until they came to a spot next to a tree, leaves waxy and tinted with the green light of the sky.

“So,” Jon awkwardly began, “I think it would be best if you didn’t discuss Cypress’…condition with anyone else. I know you wouldn’t,” he added, “I just wanted to make sure.”

Tabitha nodded. “No, totally, I get it.”

Jon nodded gratefully. “Do you think he’d benefit from talking to Martin or I?”

Tabitha tilted her head in thought. “Not really. He seems like the kind of person to wear his heart on his sleeve, but…I don’t think he likes to be vulnerable with people. Cal seems to have it covered already though.” She pointed across the clearing to where Cal and Cypress were silently sitting side by side against the trunk of a thick hickory tree.

God, she hoped it was a hickory tree. While watching her friends get chased around by a living tree-monster thing was funny, it was also terrifying.

“That checks out. Well, that’s all I wanted to speak with you about.” His eyes seemed to glaze over familiarly, though Tabitha couldn’t quite place where she’d seen that look.

Tabitha nodded warily as he got up and walked towards Martin, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

#tma #the magnus archives #teacher jonathan sims #teacher jon #tma fic #apocalypse field trip #suicide tw #past suicide tw #pills tw

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darkblueboxs · 4 years ago

Note

Any headcanons about Andrew and Jean getting to know eachother? Maybe they end up on the same professional team or something... But! I believe there gotta be some sort of understanding between the two, some sort of solidarity, due to similarities in their life experiences. Like how Andrew grew close to Renee.

Oh, these guys are a great combo. Very similar experiences, very different ways of dealing with them.

Here is how I imagine how their relationship would have unfolded if Jean had followed Kevin to Palmetto (I love Raven!Neil as much as the next person but we all sleeping on Fox!Jean...play in this space with me...)

· Depending on where we are on the tfc timeline, Jean’s arrival would have sent up a million red flags on Andrew’s radar. Riko’s little pet just happens to turn up on their doorstep after Kevin defects to the foxes? No, he isn’t buying it. Much like Neil, Jean would register as a capital-T Threat.

· And what does Andrew do with Threats? He takes them to Columbia.

· Now, Jean has spent years in the nest, watching Kevin run around at the heels of his brother owner and cowering in Riko’s shadow because at least there he was safe from Riko’s cruelty. Until he wasn’t.

· So Jean arrives at Palmetto, takes one look at the deal Kevin has made with Andrew, and thinks, no. Jean payed dearly for helping Kevin escape Riko, and all Kevin has done is run from the arms of one psychopath to the other. Andrew and Riko are both violent, unpredictable, dangerous, and have far too many knives upon their person at any given moment. Jean decides very quickly that there is no difference between the two. To see Kevin cowering in the shadow of another “protector” leaves a black, bitter taste in his mouth, but Jean does what he always has done when it comes to Kevin’s poor choices: nothing. He has no interest in becoming another plaything of one of Kevin’s “owners,” and he won’t rock the boat if it means putting himself in another psychopath’s line of fire.

· So, to start off with, there’s heavy misconceptions on both sides.

· When Andrew tells Jean he’s coming to Columbia, Jean does not object. He remembers Riko’s games, and assumes that Andrew’s work just the same: if Jean says no to this, he will undoubtedly face something far worse further down the line. In this case, he isn’t entirely wrong.

· Kevin may come with them to Eden’s, but Jean isn’t stupid enough to rely on his help or ask him what Andrew has planned for him. Jean is used to Kevin looking out for himself, and he knows that reaching out to Kevin will force him to choose between Jean and Andrew, which isn’t a choice at all. Instead, Jean enters Eden’s with only his assumptions about Andrew to guide him.

· He knows the drink Andrew brings him is spiked. Andrew knows he knows. Neither of them acknowledges it. Jean sends a silent prayer to anyone who may be listening and downs it in one without making eye-contact. He adds “involuntary drugging” to the list of Riko and Andrew’s common hobbies.

· It’s after the drugs hit that everything gets a little confusing. This is usually the part where the torture starts. Instead, Jean is dragged onto a dancefloor where an excitable latino with rainbow eyeshadow is insisting on teaching him the Macarena

· Jean is not good at the Macarena

· He isn’t sure how long he’s been stumbling around the dance floor when a hand clamps down on his shoulder and pulls him away, through a set of doors and into what looks like a staff room

· Jean doesn’t black out, per se, but everything does go quite shaky at that point. He thinks he knows what is coming – has a vague idea, anyway – and he isn’t sure if it’s the knowing or the not being sure that locks up his body. For a minute or so, it’s like he’s watching himself from the outside. He came to Palmetto to escape this. There is no escape. This is Jean’s life, and he is trapped in it no matter where he goes. He can’t survive this again. He can’t.

· Then there are fingers snapping in front of his face. “Do I need to pour water over your head?”

· Jean manages enough of a reaction to stop Andrew from making good on the threat. He still isn’t breathing right, still clearly in the throes of a major panic attack.

· And Andrew wishes he could find it suspicious – why be so afraid if Jean has nothing to hide? – but on the other hand, if this Raven is supposed to be some kind of sleeper agent, he has to be the worst choice in the world. He’s in pieces, and Andrew hasn’t even asked him anything, let alone made any kind of threat.

· And Jean has kept it together just enough to keep breathing in and out, but he’s still out of his mind on whatever Andrew gave him. He doesn’t even know what year it is at this stage. His mind is skipping to whatever straws he can grasp, and all he’s coming up with is the last time he felt like this, what Riko did to him, what Riko made others to do to him-

· And he doesn’t realise he’s been speaking out loud, pleading, begging, no, stop, don’t touch me, I don’t want to, please- until Andrew jerks away from him like he’s been burned.

· Andrew’s expression moves through several stages in quick succession. First, an awful, empty blankness, like Jean’s words have momentarily taken him somewhere else, another time, another life

· Then, searching. Calculating. Connecting.

· Understanding.

· And finally, less than a second but cutting through Jean than all the other expressions put together. The blackest, bone-deep rage, burning from deep within Andrew like an oil fire at the bottom of a well

· Not a spy, Andrew realises. A Runaway.

· And Andrew, curse his foolish soul, has always had a soft spot for runaways.

· “I’m not like them,” Andrew manages at last.

· Jean has no reason to believe him, but in that moment, he does.

· “So,” says Andrew, stupid, stupid Andrew. He doesn’t care what this broken, runaway Raven has to offer him, nor the threat he may still pose. Not now he knows what Jean was running from. Andrew has his rules, and there are some things he will never, ever allow. “Let’s make a deal.”

· That night, the monster’s newest recruit takes his first breath of air as a free man.

#aftg #tfc #the foxhole court #all for the game #Andrew Minyard #jean moreau #my fic #bullet fic #my asks #anon #it may be surprising to learn that I love Jean despite having never written anything for him until now #thanks for stopping by anon this was great

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ravenvsfox · 5 years ago

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what’s up what’s up what’s up, here’s rockband au chapter nine as promised!!!

Andrew hands Neil his t-shirt. It’s Saturday, and they’re in Neil’s room, shoulder to shoulder, moonlight quivering above them like a ladle-full of mercury.

“Walk me through it again.”

“Walk yourself through it,” Andrew says. “It’s not that complicated.”

Neil holds the shirt in a ball against his bare chest. “Closed venue. Metal detectors. Sixteen songs. Quick encore.”

“Riko’s not coming.”

Neil swallows, thinking of the number seven in bold, underlined. “He might.”

“I told you to stop believing everything he says he’s capable of,” Andrew says. Neil strums his fingers on the messy wad of his shirt. “He threatens ten people before breakfast. He doesn’t realize how defended you are.”

Neil turns his face into the pillow and screws his eyes shut. “It’s not really about him. It’s just—I don’t know. I trust my instincts.” He doesn't mention the final numbers in a drawn out countdown. He doesn’t rehash the details of Riko’s threat. It won’t change anything.

Andrew shifts and splays his hand over Neil’s jaw. “Don’t,” he says. “They lie.” He scrapes his teeth over Neil’s neck. His half-hour old yes hangs in every corner of the room like smoke. They’re so close, he feels like a shadow being painstakingly gathered up and rolled on.

He licks his lips so close to Neil that his tongue flickers against his skin, and his pulse reacts to the feeling, thunderously fast. He feels the brief pressure of Andrew’s hand on his wrists, and he makes himself go boneless beneath him.

Every time they do this, Neil replays everything a moment after it happens, stockpiling the taste of the frantic breath trapped between them, the hot, calloused hands up under his clothes. His mouth is perpetually gasping open, Andrew’s wet hair choked in his fists. He never used to want anything like this, so badly it could kill him. It could really kill him.

“Neil,” Andrew says. Neil chases his mouth, but Andrew sits up over him, slouched against his hip. “Don’t do this if you think it’s your only option.” “What do you mean?” Neil breathes.

“I don’t need this,” Andrew says, holding a hand down hard on Neil’s chest. “Neither should you.”

Of course I need it, Neil wants to say. I kiss you and I feel — the way music feels before it leaves my mouth. When it could be anything.

“I just want to,” Neil says, shrugging. Just. Like there’s something nonchalant about admitting it, like it’s nothing to him. He waits for Andrew to call his bluff.

He doesn’t. He just looks down at him, slides his index and middle fingers over Neil’s hipbone, and kisses his chest.

Oh no, Neil thinks. We’ve been so stupid.

His hands make the shapes of the chords, but he can’t seem to play them. His vision swims white.

He can hear what his part should sound like, the dark wind chime cacophony, big-band style backgrounds underneath the grind of furious twin guitars. He should be the food colouring bleeding into their batter.

“Play,” Kevin says bluntly. “This isn’t a read inside your head kind of deal.”

“Yeah,” Nicky says. “Share with the class.”

“One second,” Neil mutters.

“I’m serious, get out of your head,” Kevin says.

“Give me a fucking second,” he snaps. There’s a cool moment of silence.

“We’re never going to be ready for Saturday,” Aaron says, ducking out from under the strap of his guitar.

Neil’s ears burn. He plays some simple inversions so it seems like there’s something musical going on behind his eyes other than alarm bells.

“The rest of us are going to play,” Kevin says. “Catch up.” He slides his fingers down the neck of his bass like he’s slitting a throat. Andrew launches himself at the drum-kit, and Neil blinks at the time signature on his music, the little 6 stacked over the 8.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Play. Play. Play.

He plays a natural A instead of a flat, and the structural integrity of his first chord crumples. He blinks, disbelieving, at his hand, hunched over the botched note. He straightens all of his fingers. The song gallops on without him.

“Are you okay?” Nicky mouths. Neil frowns. His head is full of numbers.

It turns out the song isn’t very good without vocals or keys. Kevin is obviously aware of it, and his face is sour, clenched like a fist. Neil watches his pursed mouth, then Nicky’s concerned brown peach-pit eyes, and Andrew and Aaron’s uncannily synced expressions of disdain.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before the last note has completely died.

“Useless. That’s utterly useless to me,” Kevin says.

“I’m distracted.”

“Obviously,” Kevin says tightly. “Let’s go again.” They play for a minute. Andrew puts his sticks down suddenly, and the tempo trips over its own feet. He stands up amid the clatter of directionless instruments. “Jesus Andrew, fucking participate.”

He sidles out from behind the drums and walks wordlessly out of the room. Neil immediately gets up to follow, but Kevin catches his arm.

“This distraction, Neil, it’s poison. If you let it progress I will never forgive you.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything progressing,” he tells him.

Kevin’s grip loosens. “This isn’t a joke to me,” he says quietly.

“I guarantee you I don’t find anything about you funny.”

Kevin sighs and looks at the ceiling. “Okay.”

“Five minutes,” Neil says. He shakes Kevin loose and stalks out of the room, feeling a little shock of adrenaline lifting his feet.

Andrew’s waiting for him around the corner.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay,” Neil says.

“You’re not careless like this. Not about music.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not about this,” Neil says, gesturing between them.

Andrew narrows his eyes. “Riko’s not going to hire a hit on you at a public gig, and the more you obsess about it the more I think you might actually be clueless.”

“You don’t already think that?” Neil asks, surprised.

Andrew ignores him. “If you’re so afraid of losing your voice, then why are you going silent now?”

“It’s not just about my voice anymore. It’s about all of us. You—“ He searches Andrew’s face. “You must know that.”

“I try to know as little about you as possible.”

“Right.”

He watches Andrew’s tightly closed expression and wants so badly to screw it open.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew says.

“Just—distract me?” Neil begs.

Andrew considers. “From what?”

He steps closer. Andrew lets him. He doesn’t bend backwards in Neil’s blustering, wanting wind.

“From him.” He doesn’t say Kevin and his prying, or Riko’s posturing, or his father’s oppressive memory, but Andrew seems to understand.

He understands all the way into Neil’s space, and then he understands his mouth open and his thighs apart, and he gives him something to press down into, when the piano keys wouldn’t budge.

They sway. Music trickles through the halls from somewhere. Maybe out of Neil’s mouth.

“Oh,” someone says.

The interruption is a lightning strike, and it splits them in half. Andrew uses Neil’s chest as leverage to push himself backwards several feet. He’s overcorrecting, trying to close off his expression and hold his breath, wrenching a door closed over the vulnerability of being seen wanting something.

Neil sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and tries to get his equilibrium back, shifting from being deeply kissed to being shoved halfway across the hall.

“Oh,” Nicky repeats. “Oh, fuck, um. Sorry. We’re just—starting.” He holds a hand to his face, half laughing. “Oh my god.”

Andrew wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Neil and Nicky watch him breeze past them both.

“What the fuck, actually,” Nicky hisses. Neil shakes his head, speechless. “You’re— no, I can’t even talk about this.”

“Good,” Neil manages.

“Actually, wait, I definitely can,” Nicky says. “That’s my—Neil, you know that was Andrew, right? My cousin Andrew?”

Neil bristles. “Unlike you, I do actually try to identify a person before I kiss them.”

Nicky ignores this dig, and says, “so that is what you were doing? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

Neil gives him a look, and tries to walk back to the recording studio, but Nicky catches him by both elbows.

“No, no, no, no, I’m nowhere near done with this, oh my god.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Nicky moans.

“Practice, now,” Neil says, dragging him back with him.

“Then talk later, please, Neil, take pity on me.”

He ignores him, and everyone else, until he’s behind the piano.

He starts playing the sequence, pitch perfect this time, and one by one, the ensemble climbs in behind him.

If he doesn’t look up at them, it’s like nothing even happened. Andrew’s drums are full of space and Nicky’s guitar is urgent where Aaron’s is steady. Kevin’s bass is thick and sweet as syrup, and suddenly they’re good again.

In the shuffle of coming and going, he had completely forgotten to count himself in.

Before Monday can start, Neil tries to stop time.

He wanders the house in the twilight, hoping that the silence will somehow keep him preserved in place.

The oven clock blinks 5:00 am for what seems like a very long time. The humidifier in Kevin’s room makes a noise like wheels on asphalt, that silky, endless grind.

As always, Neil doesn’t have a destination. He pauses drowsily at the kitchen window and looks at the grey stucco of the house next door. He goes downstairs, pauses on the second to last stair, then walks back up again. He sits on the porch steps for a while, but it feels so exposed that he panics, fumbling loudly with the screen door on his way back inside.

He almost cries in the bathroom mirror, and then he pinches his fingers over his eyes until it hurts.

He nudges the door to Andrew’s bedroom open, but he’s soundly asleep for once, and it makes him want to cry again, to think of waking him. He eases the door closed.

“Hey,” Nicky says gently. Neil looks up, hand still curled around Andrew’s doorknob.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

Nicky looks sad. “Just checking on you. I heard you moving around up here.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Nicky smiles, crossing his arms and leaning sleepily up against the wall. “I listen pretty good, you know? It’s what makes me so invaluable.”

“Right,” Neil says. Then stronger, meaning it, “right.” He swallows. “Look, Nicky, I don’t really want to talk about—“

“It’s fine,” Nicky says, waving him off. He grins. “You’ll tell me everything eventually. They always do.”

Eventually. Neil tries to smile, or roll his eyes, or get angry, but he feels like he can’t move. If Nicky isn’t actively telling a joke he always looks like he’s about to, or like maybe he just did and you didn’t get it. It feels incongruous and cruel to do anything but laugh.

“Come sit with me,” Nicky says, nodding towards the living room. “We’ve got time.”

Neil peers around the dividing wall into the kitchen as they pass. 5:15, the oven reports. They settle into their usual spots on the couch and love seat, predictable as ghosts. Cold air presses in through the cracked window and makes the old leather crunch when he moves.

“Are you nervous?”

Neil looks back at him, distracted. “About what?”

“Saturday.”

Neil’s heart jerks, confused, before he remembers the concert. He feels like he’s been staring so hard at the details of the frame that he forgot the painting inside it.

“I don’t really get stage fright,” Neil says honestly.

“I know,” Nicky says. He’s smiling wryly, chin propped up on his knee. “You’re fearless. It’s obnoxious.”

“I’m not fearless. I just think it’s a waste of time to worry about the things I actually like to do.” “Sage wisdom,” Nicky snorts. “Trying to put Betsy out of a job?”

Neil shrugs. “I probably could.”

“Pff,” Nicky says. “I’m not sure you’re well-adjusted enough for that.”

“It’s a pseudo-science anyway,” Neil says.

“Uh-huh,” Nicky says, amused. His smile sags a little, and he looks away. “Um. I know I wasn’t going to make you talk about it, but—“

“Nicky,” Neil warns. “You didn’t even last five minutes.”

“I know, I know, I’m a gossip, whatever. Just tell me you’re not jerking him around, okay? Tell me it’s serious. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I pretty much raised that rascal.”

“It’s not serious,” Neil says, confused. “It’s not really anything. It’s just—a distraction. For both of us.”

“Neil, come on.”

“What?”

Nicky’s looking at him with wide-open disbelief, and Neil’s skin crawls.

“It’s obviously something.”

“It’s not,” Neil argues. He thinks of Andrew, hot against him, saying I don’t need this, neither should you. “I know exactly where we stand.”

“Really, because it seems like maybe you don’t, at all. There’s no fucking way this means nothing to him. I think there’s been something about you from the very beginning. He only writes lyrics about shit that’s like, in his bloodstream—“

Neil shivers, annoyed. “We don’t have feelings for each other just because you want us to. We have a deal. He’s counting on me not to get attached.”

Nicky studies him appraisingly. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yes,” Neil says, trying not to dwell on it. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Okay, fine,” Nicky says. “Believe what you want.” He pushes himself to the edge of the couch, and reaches out to pat Neil’s cheek. “Just be careful with each other, okay?”

“Andrew doesn’t need to be coddled.”

Nicky smiles, sideways. “Sure he does.” He stands, steadying himself on Neil’s shoulder. “We all deserve a little coddling, I think. Why not? It’s better than getting hurt for no reason.” He rounds the couch and makes his way over to the stairs to the basement. “I’ll try not to bring it up again unless you fuck up in a big way, okay?”

“Okay,” Neil agrees, relieved.

Nicky smiles. “Go back to sleep.” He nods back to the place where he found Neil skulking in the hall. “Believe me, waking Andrew up is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Neil shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”

Nicky wrinkles his nose a little, and scoffs, “I bet you have.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Neil narrows his eyes at him until he slinks back down the stairs towards his room.

He knows Nicky is wrong about this. Andrew agreed to stop writing about him, and Neil agreed to stop pinning his hopes on him in return. He would know, if Andrew wanted more from him. He thinks—no, he would know.

He sits in the chilly little sitting room, listening to that grumbling humidifier and watching the dark TV screen reflect the outside lights. Every corner of this place is familiar. It hurts to think of how much time he’s spent here, letting himself in, drinking and singing and kissing Andrew’s tired morning mouth. 5:30, the oven clock whispers.

He puts his hand to a crease in the couch, and thinks, hopeless, I want to stay.

Some nights, Kevin drags him back into the studio after practice. He forces him through vocal gymnastics and ear training until he can sing all of their songs a cappella and unwavering.

Kevin walks him through the empty halls with such purpose, like he’s fighting through a crowd that isn’t there. Neil wonders what it would be like, to have that self-importance baked into you. To feel like you’ve earned it.

He watches the arc of Kevin’s back as he tinkers with wires. As always, in the final days of the countdown, Neil wants absently to be somewhere else.

Of course he loves these sessions, honing his skill with Kevin, and he enjoys pacing through Palmetto when it’s a perfect empty labyrinth. But he doesn’t want to go through the motions of the same fight, and he doesn’t want to think about what they’re practicing for anymore, a tour that he is unlikely to finish.

He swallows stale bottled water and plonks his phone up on the piano where he won’t be tempted to check it.

“Are we ready?” Kevin asks. Neil shrugs. “Let’s try the harmonies in big blue.” Affectionately nicknamed by Nicky for its bluesy influence, a sound so rich and dark that it’s almost purple.

“Can we workshop the repeat? I’m still not sure what we’re doing with dynamics, there.”

“Not yet,” Kevin sniffs. “We need everyone here for that.”

“But I’m good on everything else,” Neil says.

“I decide when you’re good,” Kevin says, adjusting Neil’s microphone in front of him, like he’s a child who can’t fasten his own bib.

He can’t help it, his fists curl. “Right. Remind me why you get that privilege, again?”

“Neil,” Kevin says. “We don’t have time for this conversation.”

“For once we agree,” Neil says icily.

“I was one half of Evermore, remember? We weren’t the most popular duo in America because we wasted time bickering. We were an organization in every sense of the word. We each had our tasks and we completed them.”

“Do you think that’s what makes a good band?” Neil asks.

Kevin falters. “I—not anymore, no.”

“We’re better than Evermore because we fight. For everything.”

“We’re not better than Evermore,” Kevin scoffs.

“That depends on how you define better,” Neil says. Kevin looks away. He can’t seem to hold eye contact; his face always splinters under the heft of the other person’s gaze, like thin ice underfoot.

“I try not to think about before.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, feeling his stomach sink. “Yeah, I understand that.”

“I—“ Kevin starts, twisting the plug at the root of his bass, rocking back so he’s sitting on the nearest amp. “I know you’re hiding—something. From us.”

Neil nods. “Okay.”

“And it’s weird because, there’s a lot of shitty stuff about you that you don’t bother to hide.”

Neil snorts, feeling unusually lenient with Kevin, almost enjoying his sharp mouth.

“So I’m kind of thinking… whatever it is must be really bad.”

“Interesting theory.”

“Are you denying it?”

“I can’t be bothered to lie to you, Kevin. Most of what I say goes over your head anyway.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin says, but he’s kind of smiling.

“All you need to know is that I’m committed to Ausreißer. I will be until the very end. Will you keep practicing with me until then?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, reaching out and knocking awkwardly on top of the piano. “Every night.”

Neil has never had trouble telling the twins apart. The way they hold themselves is entirely different; Aaron’s shoulders are always at a contrary angle while Andrew’s are straight across. Aaron is sour where Andrew is bitter—there’s a crucial difference there. The armbands help, but he likes to think he could tell them apart in a snowstorm, bundled up across the street.

He also has disdain for Aaron where he has respect for Andrew, and he hasn’t teased those feelings completely apart yet.

When he walks out of the record shop on main street and sees Aaron walking with an unfamiliar woman, he stops short. His fingers bunch in the plastic handle of the bag swinging from one hand.

“I thought you had an appointment with Dobson,” he calls. Aaron looks around guiltily, and his arm shrivels away from the woman’s shoulders. “And unless this is her...”

“Neil,” he says stiffly. “This is Katelyn.”

She waves cheerfully. Neil ignores her. “Is there a reason you’re lying to the team?”

Aaron rolls his eyes, and makes a show of relaxing back into Katelyn’s side. “It’s none of your business, at all, as usual.” He tries to steer them past Neil on the sidewalk, but Neil sidesteps back into their way.

“Andrew doesn’t tend to like outsiders.”

“Do you honestly think I’ve forgotten that?” Aaron hisses. He seems embarrassed, and Neil can see his hand consciously gentling on Katelyn’s shoulder. “Can you—“ he looks at her apologetically. “Just give us a second, okay?”

“Of course,” she says sweetly. “Wave me over if you need extraction,” she says, quieter, and he smiles secretly back at her. Neil frowns as Aaron kisses her on the temple, and ushers Neil back under the awning next to the record shop.

“I know what Andrew’s opinions are on this, probably better than you do,” he starts.

“So why are you still doing it?” Neil asks.

“Why are you fucking my brother?” Aaron returns. His irises look exactly like Andrew’s do when he’s frustrated, more like an absence of colour than anything else. Neil shivers, though the noonday heat is still tense in the air.

“How is that relevant?”

“So you are then.”

Neil squints at him. “Just tell me what to think about this so I can stop talking to you.”

“Nice,” Aaron says sarcastically. “Don’t act like you’re above this. You’re breaking the rules just as badly as we are.”

“What rules am I breaking, exactly?”

Aaron looks nervously back at Katelyn. “You should’ve spoken to Andrew about this, not me.”

“Believe me, I would rather be talking to him, but you’re the one who just showed up here with a secret.”

“Look, just pretend you never saw us. I’ll pretend your obsession with my brother isn’t physically repugnant to me.”

“I don’t have time for pretending,” Neil snaps. A passing bicyclist startles at his raised voice, and one pedal briefly spins out. “I don’t have time for whatever is keeping you and Andrew apart.”

Aaron scrutinizes him for a long moment. There’s something surprisingly sharp about his expression. “Whatever problems we have were here long before you got here, and they’ll be here after you’re gone.”

“You’re right,” Neil says. He can feel the frustration bleeding out from his face, wetting his collar, flooding the street. “What a waste.”

He tugs his shopping bag up around his wrist like a bracelet and sets off in the opposite direction from the one Aaron had been walking in.

Later, when he’s listening to Ausreißer’s first studio album on a borrowed CD-player, he can’t stop thinking of the family they have so clearly always been.

Their sound was chaotic, angrier than it is with Neil. Andrew’s lyrics are about missing something you’ve never had, and Neil emphatically thinks yes, without really understanding why it resonates with him.

Nicky and Aaron and Andrew had only found each other six or seven years ago by Neil’s count. They had been slung together with Kevin from circumstances that looked entirely incompatible on paper, but harmonized when they were spoken aloud.

They hurled things at each other like pottery that shattered into colour and powder; they demolished their glass houses and stood hand in hand in the rubble; they flattened all of that gravel into smooth open road.

Neil knows they play better, now that the music is all pointed in the same direction, but there’s something about this snapshot of who they were that’s so compelling. Teenagers who didn’t know they were all feeling the same terrible things. Even though they sing about hollowness and regret, it’s so obvious from the outside that they weren’t alone at all.

Neil clutches the jewel CD case to his chest, lying in the dark, and wonders if the five of them look like that now, always at odds but completely in tune.

They have brunch at the Foxes dorm on Thursday.

Neil has long been charmed by the cream and sunshine corners of their house, the huge monstera plant in the kitchen, the teacups full of wrapped candies on every surface, the orange living room wall with a couple of framed music awards hanging above the couch.

It’s lived-in in a completely different way from the monsters’ strange storm-cloud pocket in suburbia.

Wymack and Abby have been invited to keep the peace. It’s interesting to see the way everyone from Foxes relaxes with them posted at the dining room table, while everyone from Ausreißer get the slightest bit stiffer, possibly out of some warped kind of respect.

Almost nothing happens, all morning. It’s a tableau so appealing that it’s almost ugly. It already feels like a memory.

Neil watches Renee and Nicky setting the table, and Matt threatening teasingly to pour coffee in Kevin’s lap. Wymack’s voice when he calls the rest of them to the table is commanding in a way that startles Neil less than it used to. Dan jumps when Neil does though, and they share a look.

“He has such a dad voice, it’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, pretending to understand.

“No one even think about leaving this table without a good reason,” Wymack says. “Anyone bringing animosity to breakfast gets a boot in the ass.”

“You promise?” Nicky says.

“Don’t be gross,” Aaron says. Allison laughs. They tuck into french toast and peaches and whipped cream from a can. Matt made the bacon too crispy, and even the smell of it is nauseating.

“Neil, are you freaking out yet?” Matt asks.

“What? Why?” Neil asks. He can feel Andrew peering at the side of his face for a fraction of a moment.

Matt’s smile quirks, turning on its side. “Big concert on Saturday? Live debut of your very own songs? Ringing any bells?”

“A few,” Neil says awkwardly. “I’m in denial.”

“Mm, he is,” Nicky says around a mouthful of fruit. “About so many things.” He’d definitely smoked a little weed bright and early this morning, and it’s made his lips dangerously loose.

Neil glares at him, but Dan’s focus is already cranked in tight. She puts down her knife. “Like?” she asks.

Neil shrugs.

“What, is it a sex thing?” Allison asks.

“Uh-uh,” Wymack says. “Vetoed.”

“You can’t veto conversational topics in our house,” Dan argues.

“I can, I am, change the subject.”

“Boring.”

“How’s the mixing on the collab going?” Kevin asks, reaching across half of the table to get at the orange juice.

“Done,” Matt says proudly. “Chopped and screwed. Signed, sealed, delivered, etc.”

“Collab?” Abby asks, interested.

“Neil’s featuring on a Foxes track,” Renee says, smiling around her napkin.

“We’re set to drop it on Monday,” Allison adds.

He wonders if they’ll still release it, once he’s gone missing. He thinks again of his echo, the proof of his relationships with all of these people, fossilized in mp3 files and kicked around the radio forever.

“That’s exciting,” Abby says. “Kind of outside your rocker comfort zone though, isn’t it Neil?”

“My ‘comfort zone’ is pretty narrow,” Neil says flatly. “But music is music.”

“I suppose so,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “It’s not like you don’t have the voice for it.”

“And anyway, genre’s a beautiful thing,” Dan says twirling a fork full of pineapple in the air. “It’s made to be fucked with.”

Matt raises his glass in mock toast. “Here here.”

“I still haven’t heard this song,” Kevin complains.

“You haven’t earned it,” Allison says.

“Play it for him,” Neil hears himself say. He can’t catch the thought before it flutters out of him. They all look at him. “I want to hear what he thinks,” he admits.

He half looks at Andrew, who is slouched back in his seat, drowning his french toast in syrup and jam. Neil suspects that he’s the sort of person who would put ice cream on breakfast foods.

Neil can see a little moth-eaten hole in the shoulder of his t-shirt. There are mismatched seat cushions tied to the dining room chairs, and Andrew’s is orange and blue gingham.

“Play it, play it,” Nicky says.

“Okay, fine, but only because Neil actually asked,” Dan says.

Allison hums. “Neil’s superpower. Asking nicely.” He looks up at her, but she’s looking past him.

Dan starts to stand, but Renee scoots back from the table and waves her away. “I can pull it up for you,” she says. “I was just playing it while I made breakfast.”

There’s a little set-up in the far corner of the room, a couple of monitors and speakers, a keyboard, a microphone. Renee tugs her skirt primly underneath her and sits in the rolling chair, sliding home at the desk.

Neil watches her click through a few files and toggle the volume controls. The longer it takes her, the more his hands start to shake. He hides them under the tablecloth. Andrew’s knee presses against his, hard.

“Ready?”

Neil almost shakes his head.

“Just don’t offer unsolicited critiques,” Dan says. “It’s a done deal, no more tweaking allowed.”

“Yeah, Kevin,” Matt says pointedly. “If you comment on the timbre or whatever the fuck, you’re uninvited to brunch.”

“Please, he’d love that,” Nicky jokes. “He loves insulting people and hates social obligations.” He scruffs the top of Kevin’s head teasingly but his hand gets slapped away.

“Just hit play,” Wymack commands. Renee does.

The house floods with music.

kidnapped by two pomegranate halves

the seeds won’t let me go

walked thigh-deep in the ocean

I’ve never been this slow

I have to die tomorrow

but for a minute I could grow

here in your garden.

don’t don’t watch me go

it’s so much worse if you know

I really thought I was home

and the lights stay on

but there’s no more show

and don’t watch me go

it stays a yes if I don’t say no

it was dangerous to fly so low

But worth it not to be alone.

Neil sits through it, embarrassed and relieved at once. It’s like a love letter being passed around the room to be read.

He knows most of them will listen only to the tune at first, the same way he knows that Andrew is memorizing the lyrics as they are sung.

Everyone in Foxes had assumed that he was writing about something that had long since happened, so he managed to dodge their concern. They’d been excited, contributing, unspooling then re-spooling his rhyme scheme so it was tighter, vacuum sealing his ideas to the shapes of the notes.

And the music is exactly right, dark and rolling with the lushness of a thunderstorm.

Neil and Dan sing together, caught up in these tricky, wonky harmonies that almost grate but resolve sweet—like the burn and flush of hard liquor. Matt, not usually one to sing, is a counterpoint in the bass below them.

The guitar gallops next to the bass, pinched together with layers of electronic effects. Renee’s muted violin comes in halfway through, building up to a crescendo, making everything feel urgent and serious, and then the tension breaks — the instruments all drop out, but Neil is singing so hard that he’s almost shouting, Dan’s voice pinned up underneath him, the rest of them humming, like a machine, or like a mother soothing her child to sleep.

“Oh man,” Nicky whispers.

It’s not pop, but it’s not rock either. It’s an outlier on the album that Foxes put together and it’s meant to be that way, more of a marathon of sounds and feelings than a formulaic piece of music. It’s a risk, they keep telling him. Their audience might not ‘get it’.

He loves it in the particular way that you love the limb that’s about to be amputated. You have it, and you’ve always had it, and you won’t have it again.

Nicky leans over and fishes his hand out from under the table to be held. “You’ve outdone yourself, Neil Josten.”

“I haven’t heard you sing like that,” Kevin admits, nose in his drink to hide the compliment.

“You have,” Neil argues.

“He has,” Aaron agrees, unexpectedly. “You’re just too busy admiring your own playing to notice.”

Nicky squeezes his fingers. “Those lyrics—“

“Okay, give us compliments now,” Allison says.

“Well it goes without saying,” Nicky starts, but he says it anyway, lauding the production, Allison’s warm alto, Renee’s switch from drums and synth to violin, and the a cappella section in the heart of it all.

Andrew is silent next to Neil, but he is pulling a loose thread from his cloth napkin so it contorts around one tense point.

He’s never heard the conversation get so animated between these two groups, so much so that it kind of doesn’t feel like two separate groups at all.

At some point, Kevin says, “maybe we should all try working on a track, if it gets these kinds of results.”

“Seriously?” Matt asks.

“I’m not moderating that recording session,” Wymack says, looking exhausted at the thought of it.

“We can all take care of ourselves, it’ll be fine,” Dan says flippantly, and Neil thinks, yeah, of course.

They’ll be fine.

“Are you planning on going somewhere?” Andrew asks.

Neil looks up from his notebook. He’s been sitting at the kitchen table in his sweatpants while the rest of the band flits around the house collecting shoes and jackets and dugouts full of stale weed. The doors keep opening and closing, but he thought they’d finally left for Eden’s Twilight.

Andrew stares him down, backlit from the hall. He has the sudden thought that he can’t remember the last time he saw Andrew have a drink.

“I told you,” Neil says, “I don’t want to go to a club the night before our concert.”

“Don’t watch me go / it’s so much worse if you know,” Andrew recites. “I want to know where you think you’re going.”

Neil’s eyes flit towards the foyer. “Are they just waiting in the car for you?”

“I asked you a question.” His voice is dangerously close to colour.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or who’s going to come for me, but someone will, and I’m worried that it will end badly for more than just me.”

“Worried enough to write a song about it.”

A moment passes between them in which they both think of what else is important enough to write songs about.

“I never expected to be here forever,” Neil says.

“You should’ve thought of that before you signed with us,” he says. Neil shrugs, miserable. He had thought about it, and he’d decided they were worth every feverish moment of risk. “I’ve told you I won’t allow the Moriyamas to get to you,” Andrew continues.

“I don’t think you should promise me that.”

“It’s part of the deal.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have a deal anymore,” Neil says, too loud. Andrew stares at him. “Maybe we should call it off.”

“You’re a special kind of suicidal,” Andrew says. “There’s no reason for you to let them win before they have even come.”

“I need to fight for myself,” Neil admits. “I need you with me, and behind me, but I can’t keep holding you in front of me.” Andrew stands perfectly still, a muscle straining in his jaw. “Let me go.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.”

Neil almost laughs. “For once, I’m not. There are people in my life that I want to protect. So I’m going to do that.”

Andrew steps just barely closer. “You can’t change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” Andrew says simply.

“Thank you,” Neil says, leaning back in his chair, wrung out with relief.

Andrew walks all the way up to him, and Neil’s loose neck tips back to keep him in view.

A hand slips up to hold the back of his head, a tight, familiar grip.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

In a moment of weakness, Neil wets his lips and says, “you trust me?” His heart is so far up his throat that he imagines he can feel his molars digging into it when he talks. His hand finds the bottom of Andrew’s sweater and tangles in the hem.

Andrew winces, spectacularly, an entire chain reaction of eyebrows and lashes and wrinkled nose. He reaches down and pulls his hand away, but it takes him too long to let go of Neil’s flexed fingers.

For days afterwards, Neil will replay this suspended moment, in which they are connected at the hand, and Andrew can’t bring himself to deny that he trusts him.

He gets the last text in the countdown halfway through final rehearsal at the venue, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. There’s no follow-up, no phone call, no shadow in the window. He turns his phone off.

The more day that they manage to chew up and put behind them, the more the anticipation turns into confusion, and then droops and dissolves completely. They have a show to put on, and he is tired of being threatened.

They’re playing the same auditorium in Colombia where Neil saw his first Foxes show, the same place where he received the first text in the countdown. Backstage is exactly as he remembers it, cooler and darker than the rest of the building, lined with equipment and snaked with wires. This time though, their custom Ausreißer drum-kit is centre stage, and their set-up is as organized as a well-laid table.

He keeps making grinning eye contact with Nicky and remembering that under any other circumstances, he would be hyper-charged with good adrenaline, a wind-up toy trembling to be let go.

He warms up so thoroughly that he could pour his voice straight through a sieve and nothing would catch.

The sound check is a bit bumpy, and it’s always jarring to be mid-song and get the signal to stop. He never knows how much he should be performing, in practice.

Eventually, the curtain is dropped, and the five of them are corralled into the dressing room at the very end of a ropey backstage hallway. Neil sits cross-legged on a worn leather couch and lets Nicky apply make-up to his face. He often did his own before he joined the band, when he was concerned with sculpting his face and covering scars, but Nicky’s toolkit is entirely different — eyeliner and smoke.

Kevin shrugs on his custom jacket, fitted, leather. He’s warming up under his breath, always. Aaron’s been ready since lunch, and he sits with his combat boots dangling over the arm of a chair and a book balanced on his knees. Neil’s watching though, and he can see Aaron running through fingerings with his left hand. Andrew isn’t in the room, which means he’s smoking somewhere.

They’ve done so many shows, but it feels like a different art now, somehow. He thinks of the words that Andrew has written for him, the chord progressions that Kevin fed him every night until he spoke in notes instead of words. He thinks of the moment before you perform, when the crowd is a runway and you are a plane.

For the first time all week, he wants time to move faster.

______

The show grins and spits in the crowd’s faces.

It’s filthy and fast-paced and polished, and the sound and energy could prop Neil up even if his body gave out.

They’re sold out, and the audience never stops arcing up to try and touch them; all he can see is a forest of arms forever and ever.

He loses his mind a little bit, somewhere between their opener and their eighth song. His hair works itself out of the stubby little ponytail that he’s knotted it into, and his eyeliner melts off under the stage lights. Kevin does some improv so excellent that Neil holds his microphone up to the bass, and feedback screams like a sixth band member. Andrew hammers the snares so hard at the end of their third song that the momentum forces him up out of his seat.

They take a mid-show break, and a nervous employee tells them that the crowd is getting out of hand. Nicky replies that they’ve obviously never been to an Ausreißer show before. Kevin tells them to call in more security. Neil thinks, how did he ever think that Riko could get him here, through this thicket of fans?

The second half of their set is somehow even rowdier; songs devolve into sheer noise, and Neil has to grab at his ear piece and concentrate to stay on pitch. They’ve organized posters and chants, and action ripples constantly through the venue.

His anxiety spikes, somewhere under the thrill of performing. He looks back from the keyboard towards Andrew, who raises his chin at him. There’s a noise like something shattering, at the back of the hall. Something feels wrong.

Nicky’s laughing, unaware, spritzing a beer into the audience, and Aaron is playing fuller chords to make up for his absence. Kevin takes the melody in this one, and he’s holding the mic tenderly with both hands.

Finally, they play the song Neil wrote, and he’s half in and half out of the euphoria of it. He’s coasting from uneasy to sickly, but it’s the biggest crowd they’ve ever played, and the music is snapping together so perfectly. It might be better than their studio version. It’s the most frightening thing he’s ever done.

They careen through their final songs, to raucous applause.

Backstage is an ice-cold haven, and Neil droops gratefully into its open arms, accepting a water bottle and holding the back of his hand to his feverish forehead.

He blinks hard in the new darkness, listening, detached, to their fans begging for an encore.

They’re in a loose circle, debauched and exhausted. There’s no point in trying to talk through the noise, so they breathe together, and nod, and gather themselves back up.

Four fifths of them are back on stage in a riptide of joy that sounds painful, when a stage-hand gestures violently for Neil’s attention.

He jogs up and hands him an open flip phone. Neil looks down at it, then back into the person’s nervous face.

“It’s for you,” they mouth.

A shiver rakes viciously down his back. He takes the phone in one frozen hand.

There’s a text that reads:

Come find me in your dressing room, Junior.

And then,

You really should have answered my calls. Too late now.

He can’t see. His whole world falls on its side. He drops the phone. He can’t hear the noise it should make when it connects with the floor, like maybe physics isn’t working, and he thinks--I’m dreaming.

He manages to look out at the stage, where it feels like everyone in the world is looking expectantly at him. He looks back towards their dressing room.

For a moment, it’s hilarious. He was safe and invisible, and then he clambered up on stage and sang himself raw for months. He was constantly recorded, and photographed, and trackable.

He wonders if he could’ve even performed like he does, without the fear at his back, if part of him was using the band as another means of running away. He wonders why they let him live this long, what kind of mercy could possibly live inside his father.

He walks unsteadily towards the dressing room, ears ringing. His legs don’t belong to him. He tells the stage-hand—something. To vamp, or excuse him. He doesn’t even know.

He’s been pacing this hallway all day, he knows it creaks and moves with you, but the sound is all swallowed now.

He wrings the doorknob, and presses inward, expecting the barrel of a gun, expecting some impossible amalgamation of Riko and Nathan and all of their muscle combined.

The dressing room looks the same way they left it.

He scans the table full of their belongings, and the wall of mirrors. His breath is so loud in the stillness of the room. He thinks wildly that it was all a cruel prank, or a misunderstanding.

And then he sees her grinning, cheshire reflection in the dark. He whips around.

“Lola,” he chokes.

“Oh, good. You do remember me,” she says. There’s a gun in her hand with a silencer screwed into the barrel, and she’s holding it casually at attention, the same way one might hold a lazy cigarette.

“You can’t be here,” he says.

“I very nearly wasn’t,” she says. “I didn’t have a backstage pass. I can’t decide if you’re an idiot, for choosing to stand directly in the public eye, or if you were counting on your position affording you extra… protection.” She shifts, and Neil can see now that there’s a corpse at her feet. She nudges it with her shoe. “Anyone you know?”

He nearly throws up. His body roils with terror and fury, and his voice is thick when he says, “you’d better hope not, for your sake.”

She laughs, delighted. “Have you decided to fight back? Your father will be so pleased.” She stands up. “Hate to cut this short, but we’ve got places to be, rockstar.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly think that you can get me out of here that easily. My band is literally waiting on stage for me.”

“That’s why you’re going to finish your little set, and then you’re going to come find me in the parking lot. Oh, and this guard was a dud,” she says, nodding at the crumpled body that Neil can see now is one of the hired security guards who had been controlling the crowd. “So I hired you some specialists.”

He shakes his head again, thoughts racing. “They won’t just let me go.”

“I think they will, with some persuading,” she says.

“Don’t touch them.”

Lola wiggles the gun teasingly against his chin. “Don’t make me.” She moves past him, trailing her nails along his shoulder as she goes. When she opens the door, he can see the looming figures of Jackson Plank and Romero Malcolm, decked out in all black. The thrill of music and cheering bursts back into his ears. He’d almost forgotten where he was.

Lola tucks her hair behind her ear and her gun into her waistband. She smiles at him, and he has the sick feeling that the whole time he’d been thinking of the daily texts as the dwindling digits on a time bomb, Lola had been relishing in every number.

“See you soon, Junior.”

#man I hope this is coherent this is the longest story I've ever written and it's uhh hard to hold everything in my dome #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #rockband au #tfc fanfic #mine #long post

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fors-nat · 6 years ago

Text

Neil’s kidnapping from Andrew’s perspective

I know you all talked about it a lot. But I am obsessed with Baltimore reunion scene, and what was going on through Andrew’s mind, and I need to get it out of my system. So it means long post Sorry

• So let’s start with their ride to the game. With that ride where Neil asked Andrew to break his promise, to let him fight for himself • That fucker knew that shit was coming; he knew it was day 0 on that sms countdown. He did not know exactly what it was, but still he knew exactly what he was doing • He expected trouble and he did not want Andrew to be hurt in the middle of it • But Andrew doesn’t like breaking promises. Even if people do not want those promises anymore (*COUGH* Aaron *COUGH*) • But, let’s face it, he doesn’t know how to say “no” to Neil • Then Neil asks him to actually try this time at the game and promises that Andrew can have whatever he wants in return • Now, who can say “no” to THAT? • Andrew would never ask anything Neil is not comfortable giving, but still, imagine the possibilities! • So this is what he’s doing (imagining the possibilities) after they win the game and everybody is ecstatic, and then Neil comes in from the shower, pale as a wall • Andrew is the only one who notices that there is something wrong with him • He looks for answers in his face, and there is some sort of complicated emotion, fear, hesitation • And there is also something about his “Thank you, you were amazing” that makes his heart clench painfully • But the “security guards” are rushing them out, and anyway, they will have time to talk on the bus, or on the roof when they’re back • And then there is a riot • Andrew loses sight of Neil for just a second and then he’s – gone

• He tries to catch glimpses of him through the crowd, but he’s short and he can’t see between the bodies • He has to make sure Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky are fine, too • His eyes keep searching for Neil, and as the crowd disperses, he grows more and more anxious • There are police and ambulance, and somebody is telling him to come and get his bruises looked at • He shoves them off, moving through the parking lot, looking into the ambulance cars, and police cars, scanning the crowd • Neil isn’t there • He calls his phone, but he does not pick up • A thought flashes through his mind that breaking their promise meant not only that Andrew doesn’t have to protect Neil anymore, but it also means that Neil doesn’t have to stay. • He is free to run. • He keeps calling and soon hears the familiar ringtone. • There is a short relief • Then terror • Because knowing Neil Josten, finding his bag abandoned in a middle of a parking lot is actually scarier than finding his dead body • Andrew picks up Neil’s phone, flips through his history and sees an incoming call right after the game. He calls the number, but the line is dead • He then flips through his messages and finds the one that says “0” • It takes him a moment to connect the dots – and all his world fills with uncontrollable rage

• The bag and the phone were both messages for Andrew • The abandoned bag meant that he did not go willingly • The abandoned phone meant that he was not calling for help • And “Thank you, you were amazing” meant a goodbye

• Nope • Andrew takes none of that • Fuck the promises or promises to break the promises • He hates him so much • For all his secrets, and all his lies, and for coming every day to the roof and not telling him about the threats, for making him feel again - for everything • He searches the whole parking lot, the entire stadium, over and over, looking for SOMETHING, begging his eidetic memory to be useful for once, to show him something that will tell him which way to follow • Somebody comes looking for him • They haven’t seen Neil too • They see the bag and the racket, they start asking questions • He’s ready to kill whoever’s the closest, blinded by rage and panic • Waymack is the one who drags him to his senses and gets some answers from him • Then there is police, hospital (he still never lets anyone touch him) • Renee takes away the knives when she hears the story • Andrew calls every hospital in the city over and over again in case Neil was delivered somewhere passed out – but there is no news • Kevin is maniacally restringing Neil’s racket, he is all shaking • Andrew thinks that Kevin is thinking of Riko • Was it Riko? • He binge smokes and tries to piece together everything that happened, replaying in his mind everything Neil ever said. • Andrew is afraid, he is so afraid that he doesn’t know how to deal with it, it’s worse than the roof, than the flights, then the falling. It’s way, WAY worse than being afraid for himself. • He decides that next time he sees Neil, he’ll nail him to the wall with his knives and leave him hanging up there until he spills every last one of his secrets • A thought creeps into his mind: “What if there is no next time?” • He chases it away and concentrates on trying to breathe. • Then the Coach gets a call. He takes it in the next room and when he comes back he rushes them on the bus • “Neil?” Andrew asks. “We are coming to get him,” says Coach • When the Foxes start to bombard him with questions, he just threatens to leave them behind and walks away • Andrew is the first one on the bus (clenching Neil’s bag because nobody could take it from him) • For a moment he feels like he can regain his self-control, because no matter what, they are coming to get Neil • However, when Wymack starts the engine, the Foxes all gather around him and start asking • Waymack does not know much except that Neil is in Baltimore for some reason, and the FBI want to see them for questioning • Kevin can’t hide his surprise when he hears that Neil is alive • Andrew glances at his face and it’s suddenly very obvious • “Hey, Kevin,” he says calmly, and Kevin flinches from his voice. “What do you know?” • Kevin tries denying knowing anything, but what he does not understand is that he is of no use to Andrew unless he starts talking NOW • The next thing he knows is Kevin coughing and cowering on the floor between the seats. Lots of hands are dragging Andrew away from him, while Kevin rubs his neck • (Let’s all take this moment to thank Renee for taking Andrew’s knives earlier) • Kevin starts talking in a hoarse voice • And what he says is making Andrew even angrier • Because he knew, he knew, he knew the entire time • Everybody Andrew ever promised to protect betrayed him. Aaron with his girlfriend, Neil with his lies, Kevin with his silence • Waymack has to stop the bus until the Foxes manage to subdue Andrew • Renee pushes him in a seat by the window and sits next to him • She starts talking about random things, trying to distract him, but he’s not listening • He is watching the road ahead and fights with the urge to push the Coach out of the way and get behind the wheel • He wishes to be in his car and floor the gas pedal • He needs to get to Neil faster • Because he hates him SO much • He vows to fucking kill him if he’s still alive by the time he gets to him • He is also willing to sell his soul to Renee’s God or any other entity if they promise to keep Neil alive until he gets to him • It feels like forever to get to Baltimore, and they go straight to the FBI • FBI try to ask their questions, but they are drowned in the ones the Foxes have • Which are all basically “Where is Neil?” • Andrew low key appreciates every single one of the Foxes at this moment, seeing how they are all ready to fight for one of their own • They all fold their arms, declare that they won’t say a word until they can see Neil, and then just glare • Even Aaron says that he can’t remember anyone named Neil Josten, but maybe he’ll remember when he sees one in person • Andrew is not patient though. He wants answers NOW • They tell him he won’t be able to see Neil, that it’s impossible. That it’ll never be possible, that the person named Neil Josten doesn’t even exist • For a split moment Andrew remembers the time when he kind of hoped that it was true, that Neil was just a hallucination, a side effect of the drugs • But now – he can’t stand to hear it • So yeah… that’s where he snaps again • There is yelling and guns clicking, and the only thing stopping Andrew is Waymack’s back suddenly appearing in front of him, between Andrew and the gun, and some other hands are clawing at him, trying to keep him in place, and the touch infuriates him even further • He tears himself free with a violent jerk as he hears Waymack saying that none of them will go anywhere until they see Neil, and none of them will talk until they see Neil • They try to keep reasoning with him and threatening him, but Waymack just shoos the Foxes out and they go back to the bus • Except Andrew wouldn’t go • These are the people who have Neil. Leaving them and “waiting somewhere else” feels counter-productive, so he stays. Obviously. • In the end Abby takes the bus and gets the Foxes to a hotel • Waymack stays with Andrew • They stay there for hours, refusing to answer any questions and insisting to see Neil like wind-up toys that only know one sentence • Finally they get what they want • FBI will bring Neil to a hotel, and the team will have a limited amount of time for their “meet and greet” • They go back to the Foxes and Waymack repeats the story to the rest of the team with all the rules they mentioned • Then they just wait • Soon the FBI come again. The agent says that they will be allowed to see Neil one person at a time • Except Andrew • Who will not be allowed to see him at all because he is way too dangerous to be allowed near such a valuable witness. • Now, I am pretty convinced the ensuing rage outburst is how Andrew actually got his bloody eye and ended up handcuffed to the Coach. • And then they tell the Coach to go move the bus because it attracts attention blah-blah-blah. • And Andrew despite his objections is forced to go with him. • And – what do you know! – what a coincidence! – that’s the exact time Neil arrives. • Andrew realizes it when they go back and he notices all the extra security around the hotel. • So he starts running. • Waymack – bless him – runs too. • They are stopped before the door, and the FBI try to lecture them again or remind the rules, or mention that they are already breaking the “one at a time” rule or whatever • So Andrew slams him into the door • And Waymack who is also fed up helps him push by into the room

• And there he is. • Neil is there.

• And what’s the first thing Andrew sees him do? • That’s right: fighting an FBI agent who’s pulling a loaded gun. • It takes Andrew a moment to fight his way to Neil who is hunched over his bandaged hands in pain. • And the moment Andrew puts his hand on the back of Neil’s neck a wave of relief washes over him – so intense he feels his face twisting in a weird way • Neil is trying to straighten up, so he pushes him down unless he sees it. • He then takes a couple of steadying breaths, blinks a couple of times and kneels beside him. • Andrew is feeling so many things, as he is tugging Neil’s hood off • And for someone who’s used to feeling nothing this is too overwhelming. • Neil is looking at him, his expression is hard to read because of all the bandages, but his eyes are sharp and his stupid mouth is commenting on his bruises, like they are worth any attention at all while Neil himself looks barely recognizable. • Andrew starts peeling the bandages off Neil’s face the same way he’s been peeling lies and secrets from him for the last year. • Seeing his wounds is like a punch in the gut • It takes him some time to process what he sees • He thinks that he will kill whoever did that • He thinks that this was the very thing Neil was running from. • He thinks that he took too much upon himself when he promised to protect him. • He thinks that he was not realizing what he was asking him to do when he told him not to run. • He thinks that Neil almost got killed because Andrew did not want him to disappear from his life. • He feels furious and helpless and very-very small. • Neil startles him off this train wreck of thoughts and memories with “I’m sorry”, and Andrew barely catches himself before he hits him. • He needs some outlet for his anger; he wants to hurt someone, to destroy something. • So when the FBI chooses this moment to lecture him on his behavior, Andrew thinks: “Perfect,” and starts to get up to turn this room into a bloody massacre. • Neil’s bandaged hands shoot up to his face, and the fact that he’s not touching him - not really trying to stop him, but ASKING him to stop - is what makes Andrew comply. • He can never say “no” when Neil asks for something. • Nobody ever really asked him. They tried to guilt him into doing something, bribe him, bully him, manipulate… • Nobody ever just asked the way Neil did, and Andrew doesn’t know what to do with it • So he sits down and watches Neil shoot a cold look at the grown men with weapons and the power, he listens to him calling them out on their bullshit and making them do what they are told. • And he thinks that Neil should have been the one to make deals with people and promise them protection • Like the way he fought for Kevin on national TV. • Like he spent two weeks being beaten into a pulp in Evermore to protect Andrew. • Like he chose to get killed instead of putting Foxes in danger. • Like he fought a person with a gun a minute ago. • And he suddenly realizes that nothing matters: the lies, the secrets – any of it. • Different names, ragged clothes, contact lenses, lies about his past – nothing could change who he was as a person. • Andrew suddenly realizes that there is no going back. That he is hopelessly lost to this weird lying exy obsessed junkie with a martyr complex. • It’s scary, but somehow okay. • “The attitude problem was not an act”, he says as the handcuff drops from his hand. • “Am I at ninety four yet?” Neil asks stupidly, as if Andrew’s mind has place for anything else in the entire world. • And then he tells him about Lola, about the dashboard lighter, about his father, and Andrew almost can’t bear to hear it. He can’t bear to hear about people touching him, hurting him. • When Abby tries to intervene he knows that she means well, that she means to help and to heal, but it’s not like he can control himself just yet. • “Get away from us” is not a threat, it’s a warning. He can’t bear to think of anyone else touching Neil right now, and he cannot help it. • But Neil is tugging at his hair demanding his attention, and he draws his gaze back to him when Abby (and the Foxes – just in case) takes a few steps back. • Then Neil’s disfigured face twists in fear and pain and Andrew can hardly make out his voice when he tells him about the witness protection. • “If you tell me to go, I’ll go” he says, probably not knowing how painfully Andrew’s fingers are fisted in his hoodie, not knowing that the only way Andrew will let this happen is over his own and a couple more people’s dead bodies. • “You are not going anywhere” he says, inviting the Foxes to a fight. • And then he just has to watch it unravel…

• Neil invites him to go with him to the FBI like there was something that could have kept Andrew from doing so • He does not think that he can let Neil out of his sight ever again, but that problem will have to be considered later • For now he is just happy to see him exhale when Wymack jokes about the jersey, and Dan tells him to hurry back, and Nicky calls him family, - and that horrible expression leaves Neil’s face as they get into the car and he murmurs his name under his breath

• Andrew makes sure to keep within arm’s reach of Neil at all times as if afraid that he would be snatched away again if he isn’t careful. • When they put them to sleep on cots, Andrew pushes Neil next to the wall and takes a place between him and the door. • He doesn’t sleep though • He is afraid to wake up and find himself alone • Which is a first • He listens quietly to Neil’s testimony, and admires how Neil is good at carefully choosing his words, twisting his way out of tricky questions. • He only interferes when they bring up witness protection again. He makes sure they know the Foxes will give them hell if they try to take Neil away.

• He tries to sleep on the bus, after they’re done with FBI, but keeps waking up to stare at the top of Neil’s head pressed against the window a few seats ahead • He is finally feeling like he regains control, like his world didn’t just shatter to pieces a mere day ago. • But he still feels like he has to look at Neil, just to see that he’s there, or the feeling of reality slips away from his grasp. • They leave each other’s line of vision when they’re back in Fox Tower.

• Andrews room feels like he hasn’t been there in years. His bed is unmade, a book lies open on the pillow with headphones cord in it as a bookmark.

• He wants nothing more but to climb under the blanket, when a sudden need to see Neil again stings him. • He is standing there staring at his bed, trying to be rational and talk himself through it. • Neil is fine. He needs rest. He will see him in the morning. • When Aaron stomps towards him. • He is pissed and he wants answers. • Andrew is not ready to give them yet. He’s tired and he does not know what will happen if he opens his mouth right now. • Also he won’t be able to sleep like this. • He has to see Neil or he’ll literally die. • So Andrew looks Aaron in the eye, grabs his pillow and walks out. • Aaron calls after him, but Andrew slams the door on his way out. • Kevin sighs, scoops his own pillow and follows him. • “I guess it’s a sleepover” Nicky says, as he gets some blankets and his own pillow to follow the rest. • Aaron swears, but follows too • Renee sees them as they all trail into Neil and Matt’s room, and soon the girls join them. • Andrew watches Neil gaze at the Foxes with a tender smile as they pile up on the floor - and he can finally breathe again. • He twists a hem of Neil’s t-shirt around his finger in a way that would let him feel if he moves and closes his eyes • He doesn’t have a wall at his back, but there is Neil at his side, Aaron at the other, Nicky and Kevin somewhere at his feet and even though he knows that Neil is staring at him, he doesn’t waste his breath telling him to stop – as he finally falls asleep.

#aftg #tfc #neil josten #Andrew MinyarD #andreil #the foxes #the foxhole court #all for the game #all for the gay #this has been sitting in my drafts for over 6 months #baltimore reunion scene

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shutupandshipit · 5 years ago

Text

Magic in the Blood - Ch.3

Summary: “You used magic on me,” Neil said, mildly accusing. He opened his eyes, staring into the glowing honey gold of Andrew’s eyes.

“Don’t I always?”

Instead of answering, Neil asked, “Yes or no?” because his hands were aching to run along Andrew’s skin, up his toned thighs, to tug him down over him. …..

Or where everything is the same, but magic exists. The school year is over, there’s no more practices until mid-summer and for the first time, Neil can spend his time the way he wants. Without suppressants muddling his system and Andrew sober, they’ve got magical and logistical issues to work through.

And then there’s the new Foxes when they show which is a whole other magical nightmare of itself.

Pairing: Andreil

Rating: T

Previous <- Chapter 2

Chapter 4 -> Next

Chapter 3: Taconic State Park, New York Part 1

Neil:

“Where are we going?” Andrew asked, reaching for the radio and adjusting the volume so Neil wouldn't have to shout over the music.

Neil and Andrew hadn't made any plans before they'd left Fox Tower that afternoon, leaving Kevin, Nicky and Aaron to their empty rooms waiting to be picked up by Abby. The Upperclassmen had been smart enough to book it out of the dorms as soon as they had the chance, and they'd followed their leads. They left without saying anything to the others, simply throwing their belongings into the Maserati and leaving. They didn't need to be back for another two weeks when Aaron's trial started, and Andrew's protection was no longer needed with Riko dead.

Even now, hours later, Neil's phone was still vibrating insistently with Nicky's texts. 'Where did you guys go?' 'Where are you going?' 'You can't ignore me forever'. 'Whatever. Have fun, nerds <3'. 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do :P'.

Reaching into the door side pocket, he finally turned off his phone. He'd talk to Nicky later. Maybe.

“We're going camping,” Neil said simply, rummaging through the glove compartment for the map of the East Coast and brochure he'd picked up. He'd made the decision when they'd stopped just after the house in Columbia, talking to the woman at the register and then Matt about places in New York. He turned the brochure towards Andrew.

Andrew glanced at the picture and quickly away, changing lanes before looking back. “Where is that and why there?”

“New York. Matt's mom wanted to meet us, so this is going to be two birds with one stone.” He shoved the map and brochure back in the glove compartment. “Don't make that face. Matt all but begged me. This will be a road trip. The place is called Taconic State Park. It looks cool, and there's not going to be a lot of people there so we'll be able to let our magic do what it needs to. Also, it says there's a waterfall. Matt pretty much made it a requirement for us to go.”

“And when did you start listening to what Matt says?” Andrew asked, schooling his face from the mild look of disgust back to his usual blankness. “You don't know how to lay low, do you? This is exactly how you got caught last time.”

“I got caught because some murderous psychopath outed me,” Neil corrected, rolling his eyes.

Andrew cut him a sidelong look. “No, you got caught because you decided to mouth off to a murderous psychopath and make him look incompetent multiple times who then decided to out you.”

“I would never,” he said, mock seriously.

“I have video evidence.”

“Lies.”

Banter with Andrew was easy, the easiest part about being with Andrew if he were to be honest. Unlike when they were intimate and they're magics intertwined as if fighting, they tangled and settled between them in a comfortable jumble instead. When they bantered, they didn't need to worry about how their magic was interacting, if their magical union would become toxic or burn out in their emotions or knock out a cell tower.

“I wouldn't lie to you.” There was a lilt of mirth to Andrew's voice, but underneath, there was also the tang of seriousness.

Sobering, Neil smiled over at him and held out his hand. “I know that.”

Glancing over, Andrew took Neil's hand without comment, threading their fingers together as lightning sparked between their palms.

Neil was unreasonably happy as he tried to school his expression. “We're going to have to stop for water and food.”

“Oh, so you weren't planning on hunting and scavenging for food? What's the point of camping then? Do you have any of this planned out at all?”

“Some of it that I've figured out since the gas station.” Neil shrugged. “Mostly, I'm hoping for us to get lost and dies out in the woods. It'd make what's left of my father's syndicate happy.”

“They'll have to try harder than that if they think I'll let you die by accident.”

Andrew:

Before knowing where they were going anywhere in particular, the first stop the pair had made had been at the house in Columbia. Perhaps due to some feral instinct, Neil had spent the time collecting blankets and other useful items for life on the run, shoving them into the trunk without much thought.

Andrew left him to his hording, disappearing into the how to collect the few pre-made sachets he had and jars of honey and animal blood he had in his closet. He'd shoved them into a small bag he had, packing sweaters and shirts around the fragile glass. They'd met back down at the car, climbing in without discussion.

They stopped again nearly eight hours later at a twenty-four hour all sale store and bought a small tent, sleeping bags, chairs and enough non-perishables and water to last them several days. When they climbed back into the car, Neil behind the wheel, it was nearly midnight.

They'd been up for more than eighteen hours, and they sat in exhausted silence for several long moments. The want to finally get to where they were going and the need for sleep hung unspoken between them.

“I'm tired,” Neil finally admitted, “And even if we get there, I don't think the registration office will be open.”

Andrew hummed, but didn't say anything, his eyes itchy with fatigue. While the silent need to finish the drive sat heavy in his chest, he also knew there was no need to continue on. They were on summer break. There was no reason to rush anywhere.

Of course, there were spells they could cast to combat exhaustion and caffeine just a drive-thru away, but neither of them had the energy or ingredients for a spell, and caffeine did strange things to their magic when they were so tired. Caffeine made their magic unreliable and uncooperative, made it more like to explode at inopportune times.

“Hotel,” Andrew decided.

“Thank god,” Neil whispered.

They found a cheap motel ten minutes up the road, and fell into the queen sized bed as soon as the door was locked and bolted behind them. Neil toed off his shoes while face down in a pillow, groaning all the while, before curling into the smallest ball possible against Andrew's back. He pressed his forehead to the space between Andrew's shoulder blades and fell asleep. Within a moment, his breath had evened out and his magic filtered through the air.

Andrew lay there for longer, listening to Neil's breathing. Rain began to patter softly against the roof. His magic reacted to Neil's sleep accordingly, snaking out gently from his body to wrap protectively around Neil and cocooning them in a bubble of protection. The sachet in his pocket warmed, adding strength to the walls he so easily built.

He slipped into sleep with the warmth of his own magic and the sounds of Neil and his rain surrounding him.

…..

Andrew woke in the early morning to Neil rolling away from him and pushing into the bathroom. He turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling and listen to Neil puke his guts out. The shower roared to life before Andrew followed him into the bathroom.

“You can come in,” Neil said as the door opened, “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

Closing and locking the door behind him, Andrew pulled off his clothes one piece at a time. He hesitated with his briefs before slipping them off. Normally, he wouldn't get naked even with Neil, but it was early in the morning and he could feel the lag in Neil's magic. He was craving skin to skin contact, and he had to wonder if Nicky was behind that. It wouldn't be the first time he'd cast on Andrew, on accident and just to see if it would work if he did, but it would be the first time Andrew hadn't felt the spell hit.

“Magic in the area?” he asked even though he knew that wasn't the answer, stepping under the spray where Neil stood with his head bowed.

Neil's breath came quickly, and he swallowed harshly. His voice was thick as if he were trying not to vomit again as he said, “Someone tried to cast on me. Tasted like tracking. God, I feel nauseous.”

Andrew's protection magic had at least done its job, but he thought they'd managed this part of someone casting on Neil. His spells must have been fading. “Yes or no?” he asked, sliding his fingers together to prep his magic.

“I don't want you to take this. It feels... wrong. Different than usual.”

Andrew stood a hair's breadth away, waiting as Neil leaned forward with a hand on the wall and wretched. “They're probably using someone stronger or a different spell.”

Bile splattered against the tub floor. Neil nearly whined as he said, “They're trying again. Where did they get so much of my hair?”

“Probably Fox Tower. Or the court. They might be using your blood.”

He heaved again. “Fuck 'em.”

“Neil-”

“Yes. It's a yes.”

Andrew pressed his parted lips to the back of Neil's bowed neck, licking at the knob at the top of his spin and biting down. Acrid smoke filled his mouth as he inhaled Neil's tainted magic, and exhaled clean magic back into him. Without the help of his conduits and herbs, the process took longer than normal, hurt more, tasted worse. While he worked, he drew invisible sigils across Neil's back, pressing them into his skin with just the warmth of his palm before moving on.

When he finally pulled back, a bruise was forming on the back of Neil's neck in the arc of his teeth and the vaguest impressions of his sigils lightened Neil's skin. “This is temporary. I need to refresh your spells.” His mouth tasted like ash, and he spit at the floor several times.

Neil turned to face him, looking tired and rung out. His magic barely flickered in the air around him, grey and dull. “I can take care of myself. You don't-”

“I'm going to anyway,” Andrew cut in before he could finish his sentence. The last time he'd fully revoked his protective spells on Neil, he'd gotten kidnapped almost immediately by his father's people and come back looking like someone had used him as an ashtray. He wasn't about to let that happen again.

“I'd kiss you if I hadn't just puked.”

“Brush your teeth while I get my bag, and we'll talk about it.” Andrew shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading to get his bag.

Neil followed more slowly after him, towels wrapped tightly around his waist and shoulders, to rummage through his bag. He stood at the sink, scrubbing roughly at his teeth and tongue.

Andrew watched him closely from the bathroom as he sat on the edge of the bath and set out his supplies. He pulled out the small mortar and pestle that Nicky had jokingly gifted him after learning who his deities were, but he used it more than he liked to admit. He used it quite often actually.

Small, but heavy, the set was carved from black stone intermixed with glaringly white fossils. The inside was stained rust brown from constant use, and he only considered it for a moment before tapping in dried mint, rosemary, sunflower and salt. Over the herbs, he poured a small splatter of the blood that had been enchanted to remain fresh before grinding it all together into a fine paste.

He'd been told over and over throughout the years that he practiced his magic wrong, but the first thing he'd learned once Higgins had found him was that his magic was highly subject to his own thoughts and whims. For him, it helped to include as object that was close to him and something that reminded him of the subject of his magic.

When Higgins still mattered -because he had at one point no matter how Andrew felt about him now- he'd taught Andrew that magic was personal, that there was no right or wrong way to do it. Where Exy was structure and rigid, witchcraft was loose and up for interpretation. Due to his lack of control though, Higgins had suggest a deity to follow, Apollo to be exact.

Andrew had scoffed. What use would he have had for a god that wasn't there to help anyway? What use did he have for magic that didn't work anyway? The only person he could rely on was himself, and he wasn't going to put his time and energy towards an absent god.

Only once he was in Juvie and had met Aaron with all his bruises and down turned eyes that he considered the possibility. Deities, whether that be God from a magicless religion or a God(dess) from a pagan religion, were supposed to focus the worshiper's magic and make it easier to manipulate into the needed shape. A deity wasn't a requirement for practicing, but Andrew had needed to focus if he was going to help his brother.

Andrew studied under Apollo for months before realizing he was in dire need of feminine energy in his craft.

Sekhmet found him sitting on the curb outside a convenience store in the form of a black cat with piecing golden eyes and an emerald collar. The cat had rubbed her head along his arm and back before taking a seat next to him. She's dropped a piece of paper in his lap, looking please. The paper had been from a textbook, an image of Sekhmet staring up at him.

Mistress of Dread.

Lady of Slaughter.

He'd looked over at the cat, scratching behind her ear. “Thanks.”

With a blink, she'd gotten up and disappeared over the hood of a car.

“Andrew?”

Blinking back to himself, Andrew scooted over and said, “Sit. Back to me.”

Neil sat as he was instructed, dropping the top towel and shivering as the cool air pressed against his skin. Overhead, there was the weak patter of rain beginning again, softer than earlier that night.

“Sit still,” Andrew warned before dipping his fingers into the blood mixture. He retraced the sigils he'd already written. Track blocker. Hex dispeller. Barrier. The blood glowed gently after her pressed each sigil into Neil's skin.

Neil trembled. “You're warm.”

“Good. Turn. Now the front.” Andrew placed a general protection sigil in each of Neil's four corners to ask the elements for their protection, and over his heart, he drew his oldest sigil. The first sigil he'd written that worked.

When he pressed his hand over the blood, electricity jumped between their skin. Neil gasped quietly. “What was that one?”

“Just something extra.” He was still mildly skeptical about the gods, but he'd silently talked to Apollo and Sekhmet while he'd been drawing. The burst of energy between their bodies told Andrew that someone had heard.

Andrew ran his fingers down the bridge of Neil's nose, smirking as he scrunched it up. When he prompted Neil, he dipped his clean fingers in the blood mixture to do the same to Andrew.

Standing, Andrew said simply, “Shower.”

Neil climbed into the shower, and Andrew followed behind him, leaving his tools to clean up later. He dragged Neil into a kiss as the water burst back to life.

Neil:

The shower lasted longer than either of them probably meant it to, turning from washing the blood from their skin to moans and gasps, hands in hair and lips on necks. The water ran cold before they clambered back out, Neil feeling like himself again and Andrew's magic jumping from his skin in energetic spurts compared to the person. It was nearly eight when they check out of their room.

“Off to the campsite then?” Neil asked, sliding into the driver's seat and turning over the engine in one easy motion. He grabbed the map from the glove compartment as Andrew smoked outside the car door, but instead of opening it, he licked his thumb and pressed it to the front where his fingerprint remained and glowed. “At least we won't get lost now.”

“You'll find a way,” Andrew hummed, stubbing out his cigarette and sliding into the passenger seat. “Do you still feel the spell?”

Neil shook his head, twisting around in his seat to back out of the spot. “No. All I can feel is this sigil.” Turning forward, he pressed his fingers over his heart.

He didn't see Andrew look over at him, but he smiled when he growled, “Stop making that face.”

“I'm not making a face.”

“You are, and I hate it.”

Neil pursed his lips. “You know, every time you say you hate something about me, it makes me think that you actually like it.”

“Bold faced lie.”

“You said you wouldn't lie to me.”

Andrew shrugged. “I wasn't the one who said it.”

Neil hummed along with the frequency of his own magic. “Do you want coffee before we leave town?”

“I want a chocolate croissant and java chip frappuccino,” Andrew said.

“You had those yesterday.”

“And?”

Neil started laughing.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #Andreil #my writing #magic user au #witch au #my idiots holding each other up

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 5 years ago

Note

Tell me something angsty about our raven fem!andreil

Thanks for the ask, love! The ending was so much fun to write bc that bit ended up being a bit soft. I need me some soft kisses now. Brb while I cry bc I’m the singlest of pringles :’)

TW: rape flashback

Collapsing across the back seat of the bus, Erin loosed a breath. Back here she wouldn’t have to fake her high. All the ravens knew Riko let her off her meds for games but the Master didn’t. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t care so long as Riko kept her monster on a leash. Erin shoved the thought aside.

“Eri,” Ania called as she stumbled towards her. “You were ‘mazin,” she slurred.

“Very impressive, Erin,” Kevin chimed in, in a rare show of respect. Ania’s legs gave out beneath her as she made it to the final row. Erin flinched hard as Ania landed atop her, giggling up a storm. Before Erin could shove her off, Ania opened that damned mouth of hers.

“That’s my Eri.” Her voice was hoarse and ragged from screaming at her teammates all night. That combined with the warmth of her breath ghosting across Erin’s throat was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Suppressing any other outward display of pleasure her body threatened to display, Erin looked at Ania. To her horror, Ania was looking right back. One of her eyebrows was cocked as a sly smile tugged at her lips. Hauling herself off Erin with shaky arms, she remained straddling her. “Someone’s excited,” she murmured. Erin growled as she looked for something, anything else to look at. She made the mistake of looking down.

Riko had a habit of placing Ania in the most scandalous scraps of clothing. With the way Ania sat, Erin had a clear view down the front of the slinky silk shirt she wore. She wasn’t wearing anything under it. Darkness had fallen long ago. Erin just hoped it was dark enough to hide her burning ears.

“Ania,” Riko called. Her voice was thick and cloying. Draping herself across the seat across the aisle, she spread her legs invitingly. “Come celebrate with me, darling.” Ania slid off Erin to join Riko. Out of the corner of her eye, Erin watched as Kevin deflated. Jeanie’s brows knitted together in concern at his obvious distress. The half-hearted smile he flashed at her did nothing to hide the pain painting his features.

The bus’s engine purred to life. The sound of the tires on asphalt was nowhere near loud enough to drown out the sound of Riko getting off. Jeanie had abandoned her seat and joined Kevin to avoid getting jostled by the activity in the one behind her. Peering over the top of their seat, Erin found that they’d fallen asleep. A spike of envy shot through her chest as she watched Jeanie nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Instinctively, Kevin wrapped an arm around her.

If we’d grown up together, would Aaron hold me like that? she wondered. The thought came unbidden and left her feeling far more hollow than usual. Settling back down into her seat, Erin let her thoughts drift back to her family. She hadn’t heard from Aaron and Nicky in nearly six months. A shudder passed through her as she remembered the unspoken threat of what would happen to them if she crossed Riko or the Master.

“Erin,” Riko said. The annoyance in her voice made it obvious that it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. Erin dragged her gaze over to her just as they passed beneath a streetlight. Riko’s lips were swollen, her hair a mess, her jeans undone. “I’m bored,” Riko continued. “Come play with us.” The darkness fell over them once more but Erin could still see the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Ko.” Ania’s voice was soft, pleading. A scowl marred Riko’s perfect features. “You promised you wouldn’t touch her.” The words sent a jolt down Erin’s spine. Her thoughts went back to that horrid Christmas night. Riko had mentioned something about Ania making a deal with her then. Was this part of it? What had Ania given up to protect her? The manic light dancing in Riko’s eyes brought Erin back to the present.

“I can’t touch her, but you can.” The smile on Riko’s face was sharp and venomous. Ania’s eyes grew wide. “Go on now, babe. Go play with Eri.” Slowly, Ania turned to look at Erin.

“She’s drunk,” Ania said in German. “She’ll fall asleep soon. Let me sit with you until she does.” The desperate look in Ania’s eyes worried Erin. “Erin, please.” Tears were welling in Ania’s eyes, her fear getting the better of her. The desperate plea, the tears, the fear… it was all too much for Erin.

Suddenly, Erin was six again. She felt the weight of Walter Hughs bearing down on her. Stale alcohol stained his breath. Sweat dripped down his forehead into her eyes. It mixed with her tears. A scream tore from her chest.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please! Let me go.” Struggling against the rope binding her wrists and ankles only forced them to bite deeper into her skin. His hips snapped up and pain coursed through her body.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he crooned. His laughter echoed through her skull.

“Jude,” a voice said. Someone was sitting beside Erin. Her hand shot out, wrapping around their neck. Erin felt their breath catch. Passing beneath another streetlight, Erin caught sight of her prisoner. The glow of the lamp illuminated her face for no more than a few seconds but Erin would remember it for the rest of her life.

Ania’s ice blue eyes had thawed. There was a steadiness in her gaze. Despite the hand closed around her throat, there was a trust in Ania’s eyes that Erin had never been regarded with before. Slowly but surely, Erin managed to pry her own grip off of Ania’s throat.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Erin snarled.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ania replied.

“No. Don’t say ‘please’.” Ania cocked her head to one side. Erin refused to explain herself any further. After a moment, Ania dropped it. Glancing back, she checked on Riko. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Told you she’d fall asleep soon.” Erin craned her neck over Ania and saw that she was right. Riko was already asleep. Erin sighed and let herself sag against the windowsill. She could feel the weight of Ania’s gaze on her.

“What?” she finally asked. Ania sat there, working her jaw the way she always did when she couldn’t quite find the words she was looking for. “Spit it out.”

“I speak five languages but there aren’t enough words in any of them to tell you how beautiful you are.” Ania said with a softness that Erin was wholly unprepared for. Entering into town, store signs cast light into the bus, allowing Erin to see properly. The sight of Ania made Erin feel as though she’d jumped off a ledge. Ania was staring at Erin as though she’d hung the stars. Erin slid her hand into the sleeve of her jacket. Pinching her skin so hard it was sure to bruise informed her that this was, in fact, real.

“Oh,” was all she could manage in response. Witnessing the sunrise of Ania Wesninski’s smile was an honor Erin didn’t think she was worthy of. To have caused the radiant smile that now shone across her face was something else entirely. Everytime Erin started to think that she’d lost the ability to feel, Ania proved her wrong.

“Let me look a little while longer,” she said. “There’s nothing quite as beautiful as you in my father’s house.” Erin inhaled sharply. It was Friday. That meant Lola would be waiting for them in the parking lot. Ania had only been a little tipsy when she’d gotten onto the bus. Normally, she’d be too drunk to function by now. “Ko stole my tequila,” Ania said, answering Erin’s unasked question. “Maybe I can get drunk on you instead.”

“Yes.” The word was barely out of her mouth before Erin felt the press of Ania’s lips against hers. They were soft and warm from kissing Riko minutes earlier. Those thoughts flew out the window as Ania moaned into the kiss. Nothing mattered after that. Erin’s world started and stopped with Ania. All Erin knew was the warmth of their bodies pressed so close together, the slide of Ania’s tongue against hers, and their shared breaths. With great difficulty, Erin broke away. Her heart wrenched at Ania’s soft whimpering. Ania had always been impatient.

Erin wrapped her arm around Ania’s waist, drawing her flush against her. Taking a moment, she closed her eyes to make sure she was still okay. Only minutes ago, Erin had nearly succumbed to a panic attack just from hearing Ania’s pleas. Laying her head into the crook of Ania’s neck, Erin breathe deeply to calm her nerves. She wanted this so, so bad. No one was going to take this away from her. Except Riko, she thought. Ania Wesninski would never be Erin’s, she was too good for her. This was too good for her. There is no this, Erin reminded herself.

But there was. Pulling back, Erin saw Ania watching her. Her lips were far more swollen, red, and bruised than they’d been earlier. Dragging her thumb across them, Erin felt as though she knew every ridge and valley of them. Nipping at Ania’s collarbone, Erin almost smiled at the little gasp it elicited. She felt a hand take hers and watched as Ania brought it up to her mouth. Her heart stuttered as Ania brushed kisses across her knuckles. Her heart stopped when Ania pushed down the sleeves of her jacket to expose the rivers of scars that crisscrossed Erin’s arms. Erin Jude Minyard didn’t cry easily but there was no stopping the tears that flowed down her face as Ania began to kiss over the scars racing up and down Erin’s arm.

Never in Erin’s life had she wanted anything more than she wanted Ania now. Nothing would ever stop the ache of her heart or the longing she felt down to her bones but nights like this would be enough. They had to be. If this was all she could have, then she had to learn to live with it or not live at all.

In all fairness, this was far more than Erin had ever dreamt of having. Growing up, she’d always imagined a relationship with Ania being nothing more than hate-sex, that was if she happened to get lucky. This was so much more. This was her smiling and laughing at her. This was her kissing and cuddling her. This was Erin baring the ugliest parts of herself and being accepted, not in spite of her flaws, but for them. There was a ‘this’. They were a ‘thing’. A thing Erin knew she couldn’t keep.

#tw rape #erin minyard #ania josten #riko moriyama #kevin day #jeanie moreau #raven fem!andeil #just a pipe dream #reveal to me your deepest desires #fem!andreil asks

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ninyard · 3 years ago

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Heeey what do you think was that made Kevin finally leave the nest?

I wrote like a 2k word fic-of-an-answer to this one my friend but I wasn’t vibing with it! So I’m starting again. But same thing as the last draft of this answer; I think about Kevin leaving the nest ALL THE TIME

(“Keep mouthing off like a pair of fucking frogs.” Riko spat in English to them both. When Jean shut the door, “Do you think you’re better than I am?”

“Your ego will kill you someday.” He looked Riko in the eye. “I think you care too much about other people’s success to make yourself look better. You’re building your Court,” Kevin swallowed hard, still trying to hold his head up, gravity failing him as he started to tremble. “But you think it’s just guaranteed you’ll be on it.”)

Mandatory CW for The Breaking Of A Hand and Kevin Has Nothing To Live For. See also: the foxes are foxes and their lives are Fucked Up (suicide mention, overdose mention, panic attacks & drug use)

Okay.

Let’s. Talk. About. Kevin.

Idk if I’m allowed to say that Kevin is an underrated character. I really don’t think I am. But if I was allowed to say that I WOULD. I am so very passionate about Kevin I would absolutely die for him and he’s not even real. So let’s talk about his hand.

Can you even begin to imagine what was going through Kevin’s head that night? It looked like practice, then The Master talking about potential, then Riko is mad, then pain and blood and how do I get out of here? Then is it worth it if my life is over?

I think there probably was a minute where Kevin sat alone, covered in his own blood, just thinking there was no point in being alive anymore. His playing hand didn’t really look like a hand anymore, his life and reputation and everything he had worked for just pumping out of his hand and staining his shirt. He didn’t remember passing out but when he came to Riko was gone, and his body was running on fumes trying to keep the pain from overwhelming his system. He probably threw up, all over the locker room, his blood trickling through the tiles, the echo of his own screams ringing through his ears like a non-stop siren. He probably couldn’t really see properly for a little bit and he probably couldn’t move for a while, either. Riko was a foot shorter than him, but he made up for that difference by channeling every ounce of anger and jealousy he felt for Kevin into his feet to stomp the shit out of Kevin’s hand until he knew he would never play again. Jean found Kevin not long later, maybe a couple minutes, or an hour. Kevin begged him to get Riko out of his room. Jean wrapped Kevin’s hand up as best he could, and promised him to deal with it as long as Kevin was there when he got back. Jean had figured he was a flight risk, and knew if Kevin left, Riko’s French personal punching bag would come in handy to take out all his egotistical frustration on. Kevin promised he’d be there when Jean came back. Jean came back to his jacket and wallet missing, a tiny scrap of paper left on the bed, an almost illegible ‘sorry’ scrawled across it. He burned it in the bathroom sink before Riko could find it.

So Kevin’s in his car, and he’s driving. He doesn’t know where yet, and man, is he a hazard. Twice on his journey he nearly knocked out behind the wheel, his head bobbing as the pain begged his body to sleep. He probably had to pull over a couple times to be sick, or to have a panic attack, or both. I know he went through the stages of grief on that drive to Virginia. He probably turned on his radio at some point and laughed, how ridiculous he looked, how dangerous it was to be driving one handed. It took him double the amount of time it would normally have because he just. Had to keep stopping. There’s no way he made that journey in a solid drive.

But also I think he probably didn’t have a plan before he was driving. He knew the Southeastern district were holding the Christmas banquet that night, but that was a secondary thought. His first worry was getting out of the nest. His second worry was whether he was going to kill himself or not. The reason he didn’t just do it? David. The thing that pulled Kevin back off that metaphorical ledge was Coach David Wymack. The only other people who knew about his moms letter were Tetsuji, Jean and Riko. Kevin knew well that none of them would be calling up to break the news to Wymack if he died, and David would grow old and die without ever having known that Kevin Day was his son. David was the reason he was risking everything on busy streets and highways and whatever roads he drove too fast or too slow on.

So, he’s in Virginia without a plan. He doesn’t know what hotel David’s in, if he’s even still in Virginia, if the foxes even bothered to show up. So he looks at as many hotels as he could find. He narrows down the list by looking at the ones he knew the Class I teams frequented, and he called the all pretending to be David, looking for his rooms number. After the fifth call he found it.

Think about Kevin’s anxiety in the elevator, hand throbbing, not profusely bleeding anymore, but every minute that passes is a percentage off the chances he has at keeping his hand and playing again. His heart is racing, his head heavy, every fibre in his being screaming.

David calls out a “Hold your fucking horses, give me a minute!” when Kevin knocks on his door a second time after his first knock received no answer. David opens the door with Abby just behind him, and his face falls so quickly it could’ve hit the floor.

“Kevin.” He looks him up and down, not yet noticing the t-shirt covered in blood he had wrapped around his hand. “Kevin Day. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Abby pushes past him to unwrap Kevin’s hand. It must be some nurses instinct, to be instantly drawn to looking for an injury on a person. Kevin pulled it back as gently as he could, looking up and down the hall before asking so quietly it almost couldn’t be heard. “Can I come in?”

David makes small talk with Kevin as he shuts the hotel door behind him. What would he say? What could he possibly say to superstar Kevin Day, who he’d only officially met as a baby, when his mother was alive and he wasn’t destined for Court? He probably tried to make meaningless, awkward small talk until Abby shut him up to ask Kevin what happened. He just started to cry. Small whimpers into chesty, heaving, heavy cries, his body teetering on the edge of a panic attack. David had seen his foxes in bad ways before. He’d seen one of his kids convulsing on a stretcher after an accidental overdose, or a fox who’d choked on their own vomit after an intentional one. He’d seen his foxes in their worst moments, panic attacks and withdrawals, anger and sadness, pulling their hair out and on the brink of death. Something about this was the same but different. When Seth first overdosed on the team it was a cry for help, or when Janie admitted herself to the psych ward for a week, it was because she wanted to try. When Damien asked for a second, and third, and fourth chance David gave it to him because that was what Foxes deserved. It took him a moment of watching Kevin heave, snot and spit running down his chin, his hair falling over his face, his body shaking with anxiety, to remember that Kevin wasn’t a fox. Kevin was a Raven, and by god, that was so much worse.

I think we all know that Abby cares for her foxes like she’s their mother, but Kevin is just different. Abby had been seeing David long enough to know how much Kayleigh Day had really meant to him, and how much it hurt to watch Kevin do her proud. Now Kevin was sitting in front of her, his hand practically lifeless, his heart pouring out of every place it could. She tried not to look at David’s face as he paced the room, watching her patch up Kevin’s hand as best she could. Kevin only started to calm down when she handed him a bottle of Diazepam and some water.

And then Kevin whispers that Riko did it. David almost didn’t hear him. He nearly asked for him to repeat it until it hit him. Riko did it. Riko smashed the hand of his number two so badly it would take a long time for him to play again, if he even wanted to. Abby sent him a deathly glare when he mumbled to himself; “I’ll kill that little jumped up piece of shit”.

The rest is history; Kevin passes out not long after, David carries him to the bus, and they drive to the stadium to pick up the foxes. Kevin sleeps the rest of the way until the sun is starting to rise and they’re back in South Carolina. Kevin doesn’t stop crying on and off again for a couple days, and Abby had to hold him back from escaping more than once. After watching his anxiety consume him, and when he told her none of the Ravens were allowed to be medicated in any manner, she got him a script for some quick-acting anxiety meds for him to keep. It took him a week of energy-sapping panic attacks before she could convince him to actually take them as he needed them.

David took out a loan five days after Kevin had arrived into his care. He called Edgar Allan on the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth day. By the ninth day Kevin was released from the grips of Ravens. By the tenth day they had started the process of making Kevin Day a fox. I suppose it’s for the best Riko fucked up his hand so badly, isn’t it? At least it gave him the ability to fit into the eligibility criteria for being a Fox. Welcome to the club, Kevin Day, and prepare to be gravely disappointed.

#KEVIN DAYYYYYYY #mY boy #rambles #Kevin day #David wymack #tfc #aftg #Riko Moriyama #all for the game #the foxhole court

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