#only thing shorter than him is his fucking patience with Kevin and Neil

[cultpastorkevin]

Andrew Minyard propaganda

🤲🏻 short, beefy, hates you, blonde, hides knives in his clothes and likes to fuck stupid exy boys in his very expensive maserati

oh and he killed his mom so that’s neat

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Andrew Minyard- All for the game by Nora Sakavic

Ben De Backer- I Wish You All The Best by Mason Deaver

Harold Hutchins- Captain Underpants by Dav Pilkey

Alec Lightwood- The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare

[kevindayscrown]

One shot of Kevin not knowing how to show he cares (ft KevNeil)

Display of emotions had always been a tough matter for Kevin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on the receiving end of affection, or the last time someone had shown him he cared. His mother had died before he even turned ten, and the following years were a haze of constant pressure, punishment, repeat.

His only outlet was panic or anger, depending on the situation.

After his hand broke and everything he knew was stripped from him, he realized that there had been comfort in the known and familiar, even in an environment such as the one in the Nest. He had already been taught that his hands and his body in general must be preserved in a perfect condition, so he could keep playing.

That was the only show of care he had ever received in his years as a Raven. Even if it wasn’t genuine care for his wellbeing, but for his ability to keep playing, to keep being an asset.

Which was one of the reasons why he had a hard time displaying his care himself. Of course, part of it was because of the game, but when it came to certain people, it was a lot more than that.

The first game of the championships was against the Breckenridge Jackals. They always played dirty, and it was especially hard and tiring for Kevin and his still recovering left hand. After their game against the Ravens last year, he was using it a lot more often, but tough games like that one always put a strain on it. Thankfully, because of the new sub strikers they had recruited that year, he was able to play only during the first half.

Neil, stubborn as always, had talked it out with Wymack to play both halves. Kevin didn’t put much of a fight, because Neil was quickly rising to become one of the best strikers among the Class I teams, and worthy enough to stand by Kevin’s side both in the eyes of the fans and the rankings.

Kevin watched from the benches intensely during the second half, green eyes following the red head as he run up and down the court almost effortlessly. Whenever he pulled something stupid, Kevin would bang the plexiglass wall and Neil would get the message.

That didn’t mean he would always listen though.

Kevin had warned him to reserve his energy for the last half and give it his all in the last few minutes. However, Neil had tired himself out, and with that, his patience ran thin as well.

He had possession of the ball and was heading for the goal. Kevin watched him, but also had his eyes on the Jackal that was fast approaching. He somehow hoped that Neil would pass the ball to Robin, but instead the red head tried to maneuver and get himself out of the tough spot. Having tired himself out, he didn’t quite achieve that.

The Jackal slammed him hard against the wall, and Neil’s hand got trapped between the bodies and his own racquet, hard enough to echo against the court.

The referee blew his whistle immediately, but Kevin was faster as he called for a sub to take Neil’s place while the paramedics checked on the striker’s hand. Kevin rushed to where Neil was now sitting, with ice pressed up against his wrist.

“Are you fucking deaf?!” Kevin called and tugged at the grated part of Neil’s helmet so he would look up at him, blue eyes piercing green ones. “I’ve warned you time and time again. Don’t pull shit like that. If you fuck up your hand-,”

“Kevin,” Dan started but he completely ignored her as he harshly tugged his glove off. The scars were perfectly visible, white and thick, a harsh reminder of that night.

“You have no idea what you are risking,” he hissed. “How many times will you have to find yourself in this position before you learn your lesson?”

Kevin was beyond himself, waiting for a response, only to get a stale “I’m fine.”

Kevin stared at Neil, trying hard to not snap at him where everyone could see them. Neil didn’t understand what losing everything could do to him. Not just for his Exy career. The last thing Kevin wanted was to see Neil go through something like what he had; months, years of hard work to get back to where he had been. All the disappointment and the exhaustion, physical and mental. So many close calls to giving up.

Wymack told Kevin to focus back on the game for now and surprisingly, Kevin cut the scolding short, which surprised Neil. In fact, Neil had never seen Kevin react this vividly. Sure, Kevin was always loud and pushy, but this kind of anger had taken the younger striker by surprise.

The Foxes won the game that night, but it didn’t feel like that in the atmosphere that had been created. Kevin was awfully quiet, not even bothering to go on a rant about what had gone wrong that night, like he always did.

Neil wasn’t particularly good with those kinds of confrontations, so he didn’t try saying anything either, even as the two of them retreated to their dorm room. Kevin showered, read a bit and then went to sleep without uttering a single word, leaving the red head in a state of confusion.

Neither of them had ever known anything else but fear and anger and hurt. Any other emotions had always been cast aside, neglected, pushed down. How were they supposed to allow them to resurface, even if they desperately needed to?

It took days for them to be forced to figure it out. Neil’s hand was indeed fine, he had just been advised to rest it for a week or so. However, all Kevin could think of were the countless what ifs. What if Neil’s hand had been broken beyond repair? He told himself that the logical explanation behind those persistent thoughts was Exy. Always had been, always will be.

And yet, it wasn’t.

“You are an idiot,” Neil finally said, after his first practice playing again. The locker rooms were empty, and it was just the two of them, packing up their things.

Kevin shot a glare at him after he was finished pulling a shirt on.

“I’m the idiot?” He demanded and banged his locker shut. “You are reckless Neil. You don’t give a fuck. This has to stop eventually.”

“I’m not going to risk your precious line up.”

“It’s not about the line up!”

The silence was deafening. Neil stared at Kevin and then his gaze was drawn by the hand, the now exposed scars,

“I don’t-,” Kevin stopped, trying to find the right words, but it felt as if they were stuck in his throat. He tried to force them out, clenching his hand tight, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Neil understood. It was one of the benefits of not being able to communicate verbally. They had to rely on different signals to get messages across. This was what it was all about.

He stood up from the bench and walked over to him. He grabbed Kevin’s hand and tugged harshly, enough to get his attention and make him look at him. The shorter striker then intertwined their fingers, trying to make this gesture a bit more affectionate and reassuring.

They said nothing as Neil leaned his forehead against Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin closed his eyes, remaining silent as well. Touches were a bit easier, for reasons Kevin did not understand, but he still took it and gladly embraced it whenever he could.

“I’ll try,” Neil eventually said and then looked back up at Kevin. The latter nodded slowly.

“I’ve heard that before.” He sounded serious, but Neil knew him enough to be able to decipher it as Kevin’s attempt at teasing Neil. If anything, it was amusing, because anyone else would think Kevin was annoyed and angry – as always – but Neil knew better.

“Put your gear back on,” Neil said with a vicious grin and tugged at Kevin’s hand once again. Kevin raised an eyebrow and let him, until he was no longer standing in front of his locker. He watched Neil open it and toss the uniform and padding at Kevin.

After a couple more hours of intense practice, the two found themselves in the shower, sharing a stall as they washed the sweat away. Neil long ago had grown comfortable to put his scars on display in front of Kevin. He knew he wouldn’t judge nor nudge nor pity him. He understood, to a certain extent.

It was still mostly quiet, or with occasional banter, but this was their way of saying;

‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m here.’

‘It’s going to be alright.’

And it was a step forward to figuring it out.