#will never draw a. racquet ever again

[eleanobody]

recent news has me thinking about the guy who wasn’t a rebel, who was a survivor, who did whatever it took to get through the day ☀️

[spicykoreantatertots]

Fractured Hearts & Floral Lungs - Part One

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: hanahaki, angst, established relationship

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2400

Warnings: blood, choking, coughing, vomiting, hanahaki disease, relationship issues, fighting, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of hospitals

A/N: this is my first fic in a while and i’m happy to finally be able to share something again. i’m determined to finish this series by the end of may and finish my soulmate series this summer. 

thank you to @shadowsremedy​ for this banner and to @thesoftsoobin for beta reading for me.

this was meant to be a gift for @dee-ehn, well it still is a gift, but it should’ve been posted a long time ago. i’m happy to finally be able to present you with this gift, i hope you enjoy part one of Fractured Hearts & Floral Lungs!

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Night]

Tonight isn’t the first night that you’ve shown up at Jin’s door sobbing. At this rate, it probably won’t be the last. He still hasn’t read your texts about needing a place to stay, so he’s probably asleep. 

You knock loudly a few times, careful not to disturb the floral wreath hanging on the center of the door. And after a few moments you can hear some footsteps inside the apartment. There’s some more silence and then you can hear hushed whispers. 

The door creaks open and Jin’s boyfriend Namjoon is standing before you. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Namjoon sighs sleepily. 

“You scared us! I even got my old tennis racquet out of the closet!” Jin complains before he pokes his head around Namjoon’s broad shoulders. The tear stains and redness of your face instantly catch his attention. “Oh no, what happened?” 

For a moment, you can’t say anything. Your chest fills with emotions. Pain, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. The words can’t get past your trembling lips, and soon you feel Jin’s arms envelop you, his sweater absorbing your burning tears. 

Somehow, through all your blubbering, Jin has been able to understand what happened with Yoongi. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your back, guiding you to the couch that will be your bed for the next few nights. Namjoon has brought over a pillow, blanket, and a glass of water for you. 

“Why don’t you lay down and try to sleep now? This isn’t going to be resolved tonight, unfortunately,” Namjoon interrupts Jin’s comforting whispers. 

“He’s right, Y/N, I can tell you’re exhausted. Try to get some rest.” Jin helps you get settled in bed before following Namjoon into their bedroom. 

Jin was right. You are completely exhausted, emotionally drained. But every time you attempt to close your eyes, all you can see is him, the flowers, and the blood.

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Evening]

Something is off. He’s been coming home late everyday for the past few weeks. You hoped that today, of all days, he would make an effort. But here you are, alone, surrounded by a table full of his favorite foods. From the moment you got home from work, you’d been on your feet cooking. As if your job waiting tables wasn’t strenuous enough. 

Lately it feels like you’re the only one making an effort in this relationship. He leaves for work before you wake up, returns after you’ve gotten into bed for the night. He doesn’t even take the lunches you pack for him to work anymore. You never would have suspected Yoongi of cheating on you, but his behavior is making you question everything you thought you knew. 

Today will be the final straw, you told yourself. If he didn’t make it home in time for dinner on your three year anniversary, it would be time to confront him. But as six turns into seven and seven into eight, you decide to pack the meal into tupperware. 

You expected tears to come, but they didn’t. Your cheeks are bone dry while you pile the rice into a slightly warped plastic container. You’re in disbelief, or perhaps you just expected this all along. The containers of untouched anniversary dinner stack neatly in the refrigerator. 

The sound of keys jingling against the door signals his arrival before he opens the door. You lean yourself against the kitchen counter, grounding yourself. 

“Hey babe, happy anniversary!” Yoongi’s smile shines, like it always does, but his eyes aren’t as bright. He’s carrying a bouquet of small sunflowers. 

“Happy anniversary.” A faint smile crosses your face as he hands you the bouquet. He looks a little puzzled by your lack of gratitude. But then he notices the pile of dishes in the sink. 

“Oh, did you make dinner?” You nod silently as Yoongi shuffles the pots and pans around in the sink. “I made us reservations at The Table. Did you eat already?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“No!” You try again, this time suppressing the surprise in your voice. “No, I haven’t. That sounds really good.” Maybe things aren’t as bleak as they seem; at least he didn’t completely forget.

The ride to the restaurant is nearly silent, some tacky radio advertisements playing quietly. He’s holding your hand, but you’re looking out the window, focused on everything but the uncomfortable quiet. Yoongi breaks the silence and mentions something about the project he’s working on at the studio. 

The studio, you think to yourself. Of course that’s all he can talk about. His passion has always been music. You were both thrilled when he got an entry level job at a music studio, and at the beginning things were good. But Yoongi always strives to be the best, and he moved up the ladder to Assistant Producer in less than a year.

Whatever album he’s working on now has kept him away from you for far too long.

“So when is that album releasing anyway?”

“Later this summer, but our work on it is almost done.” He says, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“So you’ll be back home at normal times?” 

“Well...” Yoongi glances over at you. “Jungkook wants me to work on another project with him when this one’s over.” 

“I’m glad your boss likes your work, but hasn’t he ever heard of a work-life balance?”

“Jungkook is NOT my boss. He's-” Yoongi starts.

“Well he’s not your girlfriend either!” You shout. “You’re never home anymore Yoongi.” Your hand slips from his and you cross your arms.

“This is my career.” Something catches in his throat, he coughs a little. You knew he loved his job, but you never heard him get emotional about it.

“So I just need to accept that I’ll never get to see you again?” Yoongi pulls up to the front of the restaurant, in line for valet parking. 

“Do you want to go home and keep fighting or do you want to get dinner?” He asks, still trying to clear his throat.

The restaurant is very nice: a robust wine selection, a pianist playing in one corner, and a sleek menu. The other tables are talking in quiet voices to retain the romantic ambiance of the place. You and Yoongi are doing your part by not speaking at all. 

He’s making it tough though; he keeps coughing. You hope he’s not getting sick.

“Are you okay?” You ask, passing him a tissue from your purse, trying your best not to sound angry.

“Yeah I’ve just got something stuck in my throat, excuse me.” Yoongi snatches the tissue from your hand before walking toward the restroom. 

When he returns, he looks a little worse for the wear. His skin looks paler, his hair mussed, and a wet spot on his shirt. 

“Are you getting sick?” You have to ask him now. “What’s that?” You point to the wet spot just below his collar. 

“I got some spit on my shirt. I do think I’m coming down with something, but I’ll be fine.” Something doesn’t seem right. He looks more than sick, almost paranoid. 

Through the rest of the night he coughs here and there, but he seems to regain his composure. His long dark locks get tucked behind his ear, and for a moment you can forget how hard things have been lately. He asks about your work friends and hobbies and seems to listen intently. The curve of his smile draws a smile out of you too. 

Between dinner and dessert, Yoongi reaches across the smooth table cloth to take your hand in his. His thumb gently strokes your fingers. 

“You know that I love you, right?” He asks, his smile faded to a straight line. You squeeze his hand. 

“You’re going to have to do a better job of showing it.”

~~~~~~~

You’re not sure if it’s the best move, but you want to show him that you haven’t given up yet. When you step out of the bathroom, wearing a revealing chemise, Yoongi is sitting on his side of the bed, facing away from you. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, climbing onto the bed. He sighs, and you reach for his shoulders. You begin rubbing his shoulder muscles, feeling the tension in them slowly releasing. Kneading his back muscles with your fingers, you lean forward to lay kisses along his broad shoulders. 

“Baby, can we not tonight?” You freeze, not sure you heard him correctly. “I know it’s our anniversary, I just don’t feel good.” You remove your hands from his body.

“Yeah, of course. There’s some cough medicine and painkillers in the bathroom if it will help.” You reply, leaning back against the headboard, scrolling through your twitter feed so you can hide your embarrassment.

“I’m going to take a shower. You don’t have to wait up for me.” He gets up from the bed and enters the bathroom without glancing your way. You settle into the blankets and try to relax.

You can hear him coughing again once the shower turns on. You turn over in bed, his sudden cold demeanor reminding you of the trouble your relationship is really in. It’s hard to fall asleep to the sound of your boyfriend coughing violently, but you manage to drift away.

~~~~~~~

[Friday Morning]

The sound of Namjoon leaving the apartment wakes you. It must be around 7:30 or so. Jin is in the kitchen quietly making coffee, still in his pajamas. 

“Jin, are you not going to work today?” You say in a half-whisper, not wanting to startle him. 

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay with you today,” Jin explains, walking over to the couch with two mugs of coffee. He made yours just the way you like it, almond milk and a little bit of sugar. The warmth of the drink momentarily soothes your sleepy body. 

Jin reaches across the coffee table and picks up the tv remote. He turns on a morning talk show, some washed-up celebrity talking to slightly less washed-up celebrities about what projects or life events they have going on. 

“And later on in the show we will be joined by Jackson Wang, who will share his story of heartbreak and unrequited love that ultimately lead to the creation of his latest single, 100 ways.” The audience cheers for a moment before Jin switches the channel. 

“Sorry.” He sighs. 

“I don’t think that’s what the song is about...” You joke, sarcasm seeping through the pain in your chest.

Jin chuckles at your remark, but he sits uncomfortably at the end of the couch picking at his fingernails. 

“Listen I wanted to say something...” He starts. 

“Jin, do you think I could shower before we get into anything? I just need a minute to wake up and I feel kind of gross.” The mascara stains from the night before are beginning to irritate your skin, and a hot shower could do wonders for you. But truthfully, you just aren’t ready to talk about it yet.

“Sure, I’ll grab some sweats you can borrow.” Jin sighs, getting up from his seat.

 The hot water melts away the tension in your muscles, but the tension in your mind remains. It’s difficult to keep the images of Yoongi coughing up dozens and dozens of yellow and orange petals from flooding your mind. The drops of blood on the petals and the floor just showed you how far the disease had progressed. How long he’s been in love with someone else.

The floral scent of Jin’s lavender body wash is a little too reminiscent of the smell from the night before. Sickly sweet flowers with a hint of acidic bile and metallic blood. The clean water rinses the suds but the scent remains on your skin.

When you close your eyes to rinse shampoo from your hair, the scene from the night before plays out in vivid detail.

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Night]

You had been awakened by the sounds of Yoongi retching in the bathroom. You called out for him, but he didn’t answer, so you let yourself in. 

He is doubled over the toilet. A dozen or so brightly colored petals scattered around him, some smeared with watery blood. The moment you burst in, he tried to hide the extent of it, tried not to let you see but he knew it was useless. He let himself lean against the wall in defeat. 

The violent episode he was experiencing seemed to come to a halt.

“Are you...” You pause, there are too many questions to ask, but you know there is only one you can ask in the moment. “Are you okay?” He closes his eyes and nods slowly. You take a moment to examine his face. It’s red, and there are tear streaks clear down his chin. There’s drops of blood and sweat on his bare chest. His heavy breathing is slowing back to normal. 

And then you have to leave. You can’t stay and look at him and his flower petals any longer. It looks like he’ll be okay for the night, so you grab your purse and phone and walk straight through the door.

~~~~~~~

[Friday Morning]

Bumps rise across your skin as you exit the shower and step onto the cold floor tiles. You wrap a towel around your body and sit on the edge of the bathtub. Your phone, face down on the counter, buzzes again, and you decide to face the messages you ignored last night. 

You scroll through the usual email and social media notifications to get to the dozens of texts and missed calls from Yoongi, still unsure if you should even hear him out. How can he still be in love with you when he’s been growing flowers for someone else?

A phone call interrupts your thinking. The number has a local area code. A sudden feeling of nausea tells you that something is wrong. 

“Hello?” Your voice echos against the tiled walls.

“Hello we are trying to reach Ms. Y/L/N Y/N.”

“This is her.”

“You are listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Min Yoongi. He has been admitted to the ICU at Grace Regional Medical Center, how quickly can you get here?”

~~~~~~~

A/N: thank you so much for reading. check out my master list here, and check back in for part two. it will be posted by the end of april 2021!

[darkblueboxs]

Shades of Sunset

Twenty years in the life of Andrew Minyard

Read here or on AO3 (check ao3 for content warnings)

*

Andrew is five years old, and he thinks orange is the most beautiful colour in the world.

It’s the colour of his favourite popsicle flavour, or what he’s sure would be his favourite popsicle flavour if Mrs Dunnard ever bought them popsicles. Instead, she buys the same tasteless frozen meals over and over again, oven fries or chicken nuggets or potato smileys. Andrew lets the smileys turn to mush as he fights the other foster kids for elbow room at the kitchen table, but he doesn’t smile back at the wobbly potato faces. He clears his plate all the same, because the kids who don’t get smacked.

He presses his face up against the glass in the freezer aisle and imagines the taste of sunset on his tongue.

Andrew is seven years old, and the upstairs neighbours have a ginger tabby cat. It winds around his ankles when he’s hiding in the backyard, a bright beacon amongst the dirt and scrub of the cracked earth, and Andrew can’t help but reach for it like a moth drawn in by candlelight. For a single, fragile moment, Andrew’s trembling fingers meet something warm and soft, softer than Andrew can ever remember feeling. Then the cat twists around and sinks its claws into Andrew’s arm.

Andrew clutches his forearm to his chest, watching as beads of red well up and glisten before dribbling down towards his fingertips. It’s a new kind of pain, stinging, sharper than the bruises he has grown accustomed to, but he doesn’t cry. Crying never made it stop. The next time the tabby comes near him, Andrew throws rocks until it bolts for cover with a hiss. He watches as it scrambles over the peeling fenceposts and out of sight, wishing he could follow it into the wilderness.

 Andrew is twelve years old, and when Cass sees him staring at the creamy-yellow wallpaper of what will soon be his own bedroom, she asks what his favourite colour is. Andrew tries to remember the last time someone asked, the last time someone cared, and for once his perfect memory draws an absolute blank.

“Orange,” he whispers, and Cass lights up. Together, they coat the walls with marigold paint, and when Andrew spills it down his front, Cass just laughs. His room is so bright that it almost glows, painting Cass in warm, saturated hues as they sit side-by-side, puzzling through Andrew’s homework until the rattle of keys in the front door alerts them to the rest of the household’s return. The sunbeam colours of day paint his world into a hazy mirage of safety, and for that Andrew suffers the blood-orange nights that follow. Soon, however, the light and dark bleed into each other like watercolour paints, and Andrew decides that if he cannot have one without the other, then it is safest to want nothing at all.

 Andrew is fourteen years old, and he is sick to death of orange. The juvie uniform is offensively orange, as though trying to burn the observer’s eyes out, as stark a warning as possible: approach with caution. Andrew pulls the starchy, cheap cotton over his head, and it feels as though he has worn nothing else all his life. He lets himself tumble into the faceless sea of uniform faces, not caring where the tides will take him.

 Andrew is eighteen years old, and he wishes he could be surprised when Dan pushes the fox fur-orange windbreaker into his arms, but under the ebb and flow of drug-induced mania there is truly no feeling at all. Of course the universe would continue to taunt him with too-bright uniforms that cling to him like wet sand, scratching at his lungs as he breathes around a sewn-up smile. Minyard, it says in white lettering, as though the neat stitching can tie him into this ludicrous new life with the power of a name that barely feels like his own. If their coach thinks that putting them all in one horrendous colour will magic them into a team, he has another thing coming. Uniform does not mean unity, and Andrew stands in the goal and watches distant sunburnt figures grapple and tumble across the court, stick loose in his hand. When the ball shoots past him, he doesn’t even flinch.

They can tell him what it means to wear these colours and stand on this court until the cows come home; Andrew doesn’t care. Nothing gets under his skin anymore.

 Andrew is nineteen years old, sitting in the plastic stadium seats and watching as their newest recruit races across the court. He’s a blur of orange and white, quicker than a fox and twice as sly, and Andrew doesn’t trust him an inch. He may have grown accustomed to passing his days engulfed in the campus colours that scream school pride from every street corner, but Neil makes the colour new all over again. Off the court, he hides himself in washed-out blues and greys, shrinking into his oversized hoodies as though hoping to be swallowed by them. On the court, however, there is no hiding, nor any inclination to. Neil stands on the court like he was born to rule it, throwing himself into the game with the kind of whole-hearted determination Andrew believed only Kevin was brain-dead enough to be capable of. Off the court, Neil treats the Foxes’ luminescent oranges like he would a target painted on his back. Here, he wears them like a shield.

He suits them.

Andrew doesn’t know what to make of their newest recruit, not yet. But he will.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and something has gotten under his skin. The pipe dream in the shape of a man stares at him across the Easthaven hospital waiting room through unmasked, ice-blue eyes. Back at the dorms, Andrew takes him up on the roof, peels back the plaster to see the fresh tattoo bruising his cheek. Not if it means losing you¸ he says, and Andrew resists the urge to throw him off the roof then and there. His hair is a single drop of colour against the grey sky above, deep auburn like campfire embers. Andrew didn’t think Neil could have been any more of a danger until he returned from the nest beaten within an inch of his life, the new colours streaking through his hair like a warning, threat, threat, threat.

Andrew looks at Neil, and puts a name to the burn of sensation flickering in his gut.

Andrew hates Neil, hates how softly he looks at him, hates the molten want that Neil pulls effortlessly through his veins. Above all, he hates the deep orange tint that now flits in and out of his periphery like the wings of a monarch butterfly as Neil buries himself into Andrew’s chest and fills his lungs with smoke. In the dead of night, Andrew imagines how soft Neil’s tousled curls would feel between his fingers, and wants, wants, wants for something he cannot let himself have. He remembers the sting of claws raking across his forearms all too well, knows where the path of wanting will take him if he isn’t careful.

Andrew hates orange, and hates Neil for making him feel anything about it at all. But he knows how to protect himself, knows how to keep himself back from the cliff-edge of feeling that nearly killed him once already. He won’t fall again.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and Neil’s lips taste like sunset.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and Andrew is falling. He laps the stadium once, twice, the dispersing rioters and flashing police cars blurring into a black jumble of sound and movement, but it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because he can’t find Neil, and he had forgotten, forgotten how it felt to fall, to fear, was this fear, was this-

He almost misses the racquet lying battered and forgotten amidst empty soda cans and discarded ticket stubs. He picks it up as though he’s never seen one before, and even though the team colours have been scuffed and dirtied in the fight, it’s still the unmistakable Fox orange peeling between his fingers, white strings torn and unravelling. He picks up Neil’s bag, thumbs through his phone, and parts of him unravel too.

Andrew finds his way back to the team bus, takes one look at Kevin’s expression – broken, wild, and filled with a grief that couldn’t be explained by anything other than-

Andrew sees red.

 Andrew is twenty years old, and for the last twelve hours his world has been nothing but shades of grey shot through by occasional bursts of uncontrollable wildfire-red. Dragging Wymack along behind him like a ball and chain, he sees the men standing outside the motel room, and the final thread of his control pulls and snaps as he shoulders his way inside, not caring if he breaks a wrist in his desperation, and then-

White plaster. Blue eyes. Auburn curls.

Safe.

 Andrew is twenty-three years old, and his vision is swamped in sparkling bursts of confetti, a glittering shower of oranges and whites that tumble from the rafters like autumn leaves. The crowd is on their feet and screaming enough to shake the court’s foundations as the final score to end the season glows overhead. Neil collapses at the sound of the buzzer, striped orange bandana holding his auburn curls back from his face. They glow like embers in the stadium lights, which backlight his head like a halo. He turns to Andrew and smiles.

Andrew decides that orange isn’t so bad after all.

 Andrew is twenty-five years old, against all odds. His team’s uniform is green. Their team, as soon as Neil’s transfer paperwork goes through. Andrew won’t miss orange, much, but he will miss seeing Neil in it.

Or perhaps not. A blur of colour glides past his periphery, and Andrew pushes himself up in bed to watch as Neil pulls a jumper Andrew has never seen before over his head. He catches Andrew looking, and his lips quirk upwards.

“You like it?”

“No.” It’s something chunky and hand-knitted, perhaps a gift from one of the Foxes, and it hangs so long on Neil that the hems of his boxers barely peak past the bottom. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Neil glances down at his bare legs, then back up, smirking. “I don’t know, am I?” He rolls back onto the bed, which strikes Andrew as counterproductive to getting dressed, but he has no interest in complaining when Neil climbs into his lap, thighs pressing into him on either side. Andrew runs a hand along Neil’s leg against the grain of his hair, slow, pensive. His fingers soon collide with soft amber wool. Neil tilts his head teasingly to one side. “I thought orange was your favourite colour.”

Andrew tangles his fingers in the collar and uses it to tug Neil in against him. “I hate it,” he murmurs into Neil’s ear, and follows it with a brief press of his lips to the one point below Neil’s earlobe that always makes him shudder.

“Like you hate me?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

When Neil’s lips meet his, they taste like sunset.

Andrew is twenty-five years old, and he thinks orange is the most beautiful colour in the world.

*

Thanks for reading!

[bibliocratic]

drunken nights

jonmartin, scottish safehouse, drinking wine and card games

fluff. just fluff. 

His lips and teeth stained purplish, Jon finishes his drink with an extravagant flourish and beckons impatiently for the corkscrew. 

Martin's put it down somewhere, so by the time he's uncovered it from down the side of the sofa, Jon's sourced a new bottle, digging into the soft flesh of the cork with the metal implement Martin's passed over.

Their second evening in the safe house has wound down grim and blustery, the creak of the cottage like a laden floorboard, and Martin is discovering Jon drinks exactly like a uni student.  

“We should play a game,” Jon proposes grandly and decisively, holding up a finger like he wants to illustrate a  particularly salient point in a lecture.

“Like what?” Martin says, content to let the words form and fall out of his mouth lazily, half-moulded like a cushion against the back of the sofa. Like some indolent Caesar, he holds his mug out, shaking it at Jon until he gets the message. Jon gives himself a triumphant and satisfied nod when he manages to top up both of their mugs – there was no glasses in the cupboards that they've yet found, and Jon seems content to fill the mismatched mugs up like he's pouring tea – without spillage.

“Let's do questions,” Jon says, passing back Martin's topped-up drink. He's gone blotchy around his throat, but he fixes on Martin with wine-bright eyes, bearing one of those smiles on his face that Martin never knew could come so easily.

“Don't you have.... y-your omniscient mind powers f'that?” Martin says, squinting as Jon, who had just sat down and sunk against him, in a resolute gear-change becomes a spiky thing with a mission, all elbows as he pushes himself back up to a wavering stand before lurching in the direction of the kitchen cabinets.

“I'm serious!” Jon replies, making a god-awful clattering racket as he pushes aside cutlery and tin opener and spatulas from their home in the top drawer that apparently holds everything, either kitchen-related or not. 

Finally, with a little 'ah!', he brandishes like a dog-eared grail a grimy looking box of playing cards. “Daisy left these.”

“Makes a nice change from gaffer tape an' weirdly stained rope,” Martin burbles back, using the divinely-granted opportunity he's been bestowed to give Jon a shameless and fondly admiring once-over before Jon swivels around on the balls of his feet and Martin schools his expression mild and dopey. “Anyway, you want t' do questions, why don't we jus' play Never Have I Ever or summin'?”

Jon makes a face that is either currently remembering some beer-soaked student days or trying very hard to forget.

“My game's better,” he says, bee-lining back to his position squashed against Martin's stomach. He throws himself down heavily, and Martin gives a grunting, over-dramatic ooof as his favourite hedgehog-human elbows him while he reconfigures his seating. “'s fun.”

“You know the meaning of the word then?”

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before  he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don't want to.”

Martin takes the cards off him, not wanting to watch Jon martyr himself for hours trying to open something for the second time in as many days. (The raspberry jam was still unopened and apparently fused shut for later civilisations to one day come across. Martin had caught Jon trying to pop the seal with a knife and there had been words).

Jon sways and folds his limbs cross legged, body leaning towards Martin as he unpacks the cards into his palm.

“What questions then?”

Jon huffs.

“I'm not going to tell you, that's not the game.”

“What if you cheat though?”

“I won't!”

“'s what a cheater would say.”

“Martin...!”

“Tell y' what,” Martin grins, “Rules! You like those. Right – er – kay, if you use your ominous eye powers – ”

“I'm not going t – ”

“If. Then, then there's a penalty. 's fair, right?”

Jon grumbles another petulant 'not gonna' into his wine mug, the protestation echoing.

“I think...” Martin says slowly, blinking heavily, taking a big swig and sloshing it around his mouth. “...you should hafta take a drink.”

“I'm drinking anyway,” Jon replies impishly, with one of his own-brand smug expressions, and Martin shushes him with a shoulder-shove and a grinning 'another drink then!'

Jon takes the cards out of Martin's hands, almost folds the lines in his forehead in concentration as he tries to shuffle them, and then promptly fans them all over the sofa.

“A-and!” Martin says with a pleased smirk. “A-and I get another question!”

Jon makes the kind of sigh that implies he is possessed of saintly, near beatific patience for agreeing to such unreasonableness.

Martin leans forward and sloppily kisses Jon's hairline, and this seems to appease him. He tries to sit straighter up, fails and gives up up as a bad idea anyway.

The game is decided. It's simple and easy for their lubricated minds to parse – if a black card is turned over, Jon asks Martin a question. If a red, Martin asks Jon. Number cards are easier, more playful questions. Higher number cards and picture cards are more serious or personal questions. Any card can be refused at any time. Jon repeats this with an anxious frown until Martin nudges him with an elbow, sensing a spiral starting if he doesn't intervene, and demands the game be begun.

The rules go out of the window just as simply. Often they'll get tangled in the bramble-patch of some question, mouth full of reminiscences, clarifying or expanding questions batted back and forth like a casual and amenable round of some racquet sport. But, equally likely, debate will spring up over the numerical value of the question and that will cheerfully eat up the time as they spiritedly disagree on what sorts of information is worth what number.

“That's an eight at least, y' - you can't ask that until you've got at least an eight.”

“But I've not got an eight, I’ve a six.”

“Then tough, you better wait.”

“But you could tell me nooooww.”

Jon draws a nine of spades, and spends an over-long amount of time pondering the question.

“C'mon, hurry up.” Martin nudges him with a socked toe, and takes another gulp of his rapidly depleting wine.

“I'm thinking,” Jon pouts.

Martin stretches out, yawning, and then awkwardly manoeuvres himself so he's on his back, half lying on Jon's crossed legs, the rest of him stuck out over the arm of the sofa to dangle.

“You look silly upside down,” he says, following the line of Jon's jaw, his vision getting a little less concrete now but perfectly happy to float in his tipsy haze for a while.

Jon trails a hand through Martin's hair rhythmically while he ponders.

“I've got – yeh, yeh, I've got one,” he says finally. “Ok, here you go, right – when was your last relationship?”

“I had a three-week fling about five years ago with a guy called Manoj,” Martin replies, loose-lipped, riding the easy slide of the words slicking out of his mouth. “He's some high-flying investment banker now. Not good boyfriend material, you know, but we kept in touch, text sometimes if we wanted to hook up.”

The static in Martin's head fades enough for him to frown and shake himself free of the urge that just swept him along.

“Shit,” Jon swear.  Martin doesn't like the blank expression of horror that's begun to creep like ivy rash, pushing aside his reddening inebriation.  “Shit – Martin – I...”

“You're a cheat!” Martin declares quickly, efficiently sweeping all concerns about Jon's mild lapse from his mind in favour of smugly finger-pointing. “Cheat! That's – More wine! That's t'rules.”

“I – er.”

Martin's stumbling fingers reach down to the side of the sofa, and he sits up enough to fill Jon's mug again. It overflows a bit and drips on Jon's jeans and neither of them notice.

“You promised no mind powers,” he sing-songs, pushing the mug back at Jon.

Jon's expression seeps from heightened and horrified to a cautious mild embarrassment, and Martin feels a warm wash of a job accomplished.

“'was an accident,” he says as he sinks his face into the mug.

“Penalties are penalties.” Martin grins.

“You really have hook-ups with an investment banker?”

“Had. Past tense. Don't judge me.”

“I'm not – you can do what you like with your own body. Jus' they tend to be a bit...” Jon makes a most definitely judgy face.

“Stuck up?”

“I was going to try arrogant.”

“Maybe that's my type,” Martin says with a goofy wink, and Jon rolls his eyes. “And that was a sip, Jonathan, that's not a penalty.”

Jon drinks a little more. Martin bestows a graceless kiss against his cheek as a reward for his pains.

“And now my question,” Martin says.

Jon has the habit of drawing his eyebrows intensely together as he waits for each question, as though readying to give the enquiry the entirety of his attention.

“Alright. Go on.”

“Which one of my poems is your favourite?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Martin...”

“Fine. Another one. Non-morose answers only.” Martin bops Jon's nose. He's struggled through the reticence of his unruly limbs to sit up properly, and enjoys the fruits of his labours in that he can now more easily look at Jon while he's talking. “What do you wish you were better at?”

“Well, under such strict and unnecessary restrictions,” Jon says, who has taken advantage of Martin's more upright position to lean against him like a capsizing boat,  his mug hugged against his breastbone. “Dunno. I've always quite liked the idea of – of getting into astronomy. There's all of the visually observable stuff, and it's fascinating, like it's – 't's really cool, the sorts of things you can see, even with reasonably cheap equipment, but then – then they've got this – this thing called radio astronomy, an' it's where you detect things like pulsars and stuff using radio waves, and it's really amazing, you know and – why're you smiling at me like that?”

“I'm dating such a nerd,” Martin laughs and fails to disguise how charmed he is, how wide his wine-stained lips are pulled. “That's adorable.”

“What about you then?” Jon says. He's going for affronted, but his hair is sprouting up fly-away, there's a strip of darkening skin over his nose and cheeks, and he has honest-to-god dimples that even his scruffy patch of beard doesn't mask when he smiles with his whole mouth. His happiness is a thoughtless, reckless thing and Martin thinks it's stunning. If he can figure out how to word it, he's definitely going to tell Jon, just blurt it out because Jon deserves to know, should be told how much his happiness means to Martin.

Jon swivels his body to drape his legs over Martin's knees, fidgets like a cat before he finally stills.

“Maybe baking?” Martin muses. He strokes the knobbly bone on the side of Jon's ankle, the skin fading smooth from the dark hair down his legs, and Jon twitches like he's ticklish. “I've never really...”

“Martin!” Jon says suddenly. Sitting up so fast in fact that he sloshes a blood-coloured stain onto his shirt.

“What?” Martin says, a buzz of threatened sobriety at whatever has broken their languid, lazy peace.  Jon's putting his mug down and leaning forward.

“Martin,” he stresses again, and his face has filled up with a torch-bright light, dimples deepening. “There's flour in the kitchen. Martin, th-there's – I think there's... Eggs! We've eggs, 'n you got milk – let's make – let's make a cake!”

Martin blinks.

“What now?”

“Yeah, sure, now.”

Martin snorts.

“That oven's seen the Blitz, Jon! We'll need tetanus shots before we go near the thing.”

“N', n' it'll be fine, Daisy used it to make bread to disguise the smell of bleach.”

“God, that's not the ringing endorsement you think it is.”

“Hush, c'mon, let's go look,” Jon tries to stumble up and nearly drop-kicks his innocently placed mug. Martin breaks into a tipsy peal of laughter, squawks when Jon nearly collapses back onto him, almost headbutting him before he squashes his face with a petulant, slightly-off-the-mark kiss.

“Fine,” Martin half-slurs as Jon squirms, trying to separate them and drag Martin up from where he was entirety committed to being dug in for the evening. “F'ne, we'll look, kay, you pr'lly can't get rabies anyway with your mind powers.”

Jon staggers and nearly slips. Martin, feeling that it'll be better for all concerned if Jon is not allowed to do much walking for the moment, instead feels that now is a perfect moment to demonstrate every expression of chivalry he's always rather sappily wanted to shower a loved one with.

This firmly in mind, the idea growing better by the moment, Martin valiantly attempts to lift Jon in a wonky bridal carry.

Jon near shrieks with something that is both primal and delighted, but also rationally terrified: “Martin, your back!” Your back!”

“'s fine,” Martin grunts.

“You're going to do your back in!”

“If you keep squirming around, lemme get a good grip.”

“You're g-g-goin' to drop me, M-Martin!”

Tears are rolling down Jon's cheeks, his chest heaving in short-breathed gasping laughter that makes their small cramped living room seem bigger than it is.  Martin does nearly drop him, but the sofa is still there for Martin to plant the hiccuping, giggling object of his devotions down upon safely. It takes a few minutes, but he convinces the leggy, laugh-shook drunkard he calls his own to clamber onto his back like a leggy koala, and this is more successful as Martin swayingly carries him into the kitchen.

(Their cakes are flat, lacking in sugar and near carbonated by the time they remember to take them out of the oven. Martin wakes up with Jon's hair in his mouth and a thundering pity-party of  a headache made worse by Jon's snoring and he cannot for the life of him stop smiling).

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Hey! There's this hc that's been on my mind for a while now but it's a bit dark so I've kinda been scared to ask people about it because IDK how it'd go down.... Okay, it's AFTG, and: What if after Aaron's trial with the whole Thanksgiving thingy they propose Aaron should be on mood altering drugs? What would happen? What would people do?? Also I know there are some fanpeople that don't like how Andrew's medication was represented in the books so I completely understand if you'd rather not reply

I’m sorry this took so long and I’m sorry for my recent inactivity. I’m still not ready to come back from my surprise hiatus but here’s this. It’s largely unedited so please forgive my bullshit. Thanks so much for the ask, love <3

“Aaron Minyard was oft-referred to as "the normal one" of the two, though that was usually followed by a debate over whether or not he could be sane when he shared genes with Andrew.”

Anyone with half a brain knows that Aaron doesn’t need the drugs. Hell, anyone with half a brain would have known better than to put a minor on something so strong but Andrew was on them for like 4 yrs + Exy is a thing so obviously no one in this universe has a single functioning brain cell. Another thing to be considered is that Aaron is a rehabilitated drug addict. He’s been sober (or as close to sober as he’s going to get) since he was 16. In the real world, I seriously doubt they’d put him on anti-psychotics, especially considering his past. But this is The Foxhole Court and I’m invoking suspension of disbelief. 

Screams reverberated through Aaron’s head. There weren’t many words Aaron could discern amid the broken sobs and dry heaving. The overwhelming stench of vomit hit his nostrils. Pain shot through his left arm. It was likely dislocated from ramming it into the door at an odd angle. Staggering to his feet, Aaron saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. A cruel smile slowly curled the lips of his reflection. Andrew. Swinging a punch at him with his good hand, the mirror shattered. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his fist. Blood ran in rivers down his arms. 

His surroundings distorted, exchanging the soft glow of yellow bulbs for the harsh glow of fluorescents. The blood was gone along with the mirror shards. In their place was a motley of scars. None of them seemed too severe. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air and mixed with the alcohol and vomit, making Aaron’s stomach roil. The sound of someone retching caught Aaron’s attention. Whirling around, Aaron felt his heart stutter. Matt lay twitching on the floor in a pool of his own spew.

“That’s what you looked like,” Andrew said from beside Aaron. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through Aaron’s head. 

“Aaron?” Nicky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aaron jerked away from him as though he’d been burned. Nicky’s face crumpled. Aaron’s gaze darted around the room.Taking stock of his surroundings helped ground him. Overstuffed chairs lined one of the walls. Three sofas boxed off the corner they were sat in. Orange fox prints decorated the white walls, a name, number, and photograph at the center of each. Aaron was back at the Foxhole Court. 

“I told you not to touch him.” Andrew’s voice froze the blood in Aaron’s veins. Stalking forward from the corner he’d been standing in, he moved to stand in front of Aaron. Cold brown eyes identical to Aaron’s own now held his gaze. Aaron wanted to look away but, as always, there was something about his brother’s eyes that never failed to command his attention. 

“How’s he going to play if he’s medicated?” Kevin asked. Aaron felt his heart sink. After spending two years with him, Aaron should have known better than to expect Kevin to care about anything other than Exy but he couldn’t help it. Just as he’d begun to think that the last few months had meant something, Kevin squashed the tiny bud of hope that had blossomed in Aaron’s heart.  

“How are you going to play if I break your other arm?” Andrew snarled. Aaron watched the color drain from Kevin’s face. A part of him wanted to smirk in Kevin’s face. It served the asshole right. All Kevin ever thought about was Exy. Exy and himself. Half of the things the foxes had been through could have been avoided had it not been for Kevin. They wouldn’t have suffered the graffiti attacks nor would they have been constantly dogged by the media. They sure as shit wouldn’t have had Neil and the mafia to contend with had Kevin not been such a selfish asshole, insisting on dragging that good-for-nothing junkie out of the middle of bumfuck Arizona. 

A larger part of Aaron wanted to cradle Kevin in his arms and protect him from Andrew’s wrath. Had Kevin not run, Aaron would never have had the chance to feel the press of Kevin’s vodka drenched lips on his. He definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to hear the soft keening moans that fell from Kevin’s lips when Aaron fucked into him. Worst of all, there would be no soft smiles or lazy kisses before Kevin drifted off to sleep.  

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Well, not really. Neil’s voice was always gentle when he spoke to Andrew. Gentle and tender and full of love. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s brow softened and his shoulders drooped. Fuck you, Neil Josten. 

The door down the hall slammed shut. The sound of Coach Wymack’s footsteps echoed in the silence. Taking a moment to glance around the assemblage, Wymack read the room and decided it was best not to say anything. Instead, he held out a plastic bag. Aaron’s hand shook as he accepted it. A paper bag resided within the first. Extracting it, Aaron read the label. He’d seen the label a thousand times before but, up until today, it had always borne his brother’s name. 

Pills rattled ominously inside. Sweat slicked Aaron’s palms. Upending the second bag, the sight of the orange bottle jarred Aaron to his core. Andrew took the bottle from Aaron’s lap and squatted in front of him. 

“Two pills in the morning after breakfast,” he said. 

“And two again at 4,” Aaron finished. Andrew pried Aaron’s hand open before unscrewing the cap. Tipping two pills into Aaron’s palm, Andrew lay a hand on the back of his neck. Aaron knew his brother struggled to express his emotions but this was one gesture Aaron had learnt to recognize. It was a gesture of comfort meant to offer support. Staring into his brother’s eyes, Aaron forced himself to bring the pills to his lips. He swallowed them dry, painfully aware of every inch of their passage down his throat. 

Anyone watching knew that Aaron’s descent into madness was swift. Aaron himself didn’t know that, though. To him, time seemed to slow. Staring down at his hands, Aaron flexed his fingers. Were those his fingers? Maybe. Maybe not. Aaron opened his mouth and felt the skin around it stretch. Laughter bubbled out of him at the odd sensation. 

“Aaron?” Nicky asked. Aaron turned his gaze to his cousin and a smile split his face. Once again, the odd sensation of his skin drawing taut left him in a fit of giggles.

“It hurts,” Aaron said. 

“What hurts?” Kevin demanded. 

“Looking at your face,” Aaron replied. Had the words passed anyone else’s lips, Kevin’s anger might have flared to life. Instead, any remaining signs of life seemed to drain from him. Now it really did hurt.

Nicky had always told Aaron that if you looked at something over and over again, you would eventually get it. Perhaps it was because seeing the reward would motivate a person to work towards their goal, but no matter how much Aaron looked at Kevin nor how hard he worked, Aaron knew Kevin would never truly be his. Why he kept tormenting himself by staring at him, Aaron didn’t know. Maybe he was just as self-destructive as Andrew. 

Sadness welled up in Aaron’s chest. A bone deep yearning had settled into him long ago but he suddenly felt the full intensity of- 

“Stickball!” Aaron cried as Neil wheeled the racquet cart out. Rocketing out of his seat, Aaron caught his brother’s arm and yanked it hard. “Andy, come play stickball with me!” 

“Play what?” Kevin squawked.

“Who?” Andrew choked at the same time. 

“Stickball, Andy,” Neil said. A smile curled the edges of his lips. Kevin opened his mouth to say something but Aaron didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he followed after Neil chanting ‘Stick! Ball! Stick! Ball!’, dragging Andrew along behind him. 

So that gives you a general idea of Aaron’s madness.

Unlike Andrew, Aaron doesn’t really fight his meds. Where Andrew was terrified of not being able to properly watch out for his family, Aaron finds himself freed from all his anxieties. As such, he’s quite content with drifting through his life. I’ve always hc’d the twins as ADHD but are undiagnosed so it’s just a more intense version of how he normally is.

In the last two years, Aaron’s managed to make quite a few friends so they do their best to support him. Since he can’t focus very well and is no longer burdened by his anxieties, I feel like he also kinda relaxes around them??? Like he’s not as awkward. Very easy, breezy, joking around all the time. They really enjoy how much he’s opened up but they care a lot about him and are scared because they don’t know how to help him with class. What ends up happening is Katelyn is an absolute sweetheart. She convinces all of their friends to sit at the front of the room to record the lectures and upload them to a drive along with any extra notes that’ll help Aaron.

All the Foxes have to go to tutoring but Aaron’s tutor gave up the second he started his meds. After getting special permission from Wymack, they cut that time out and changed up the practice schedules a bit so Aaron could get out early and head back to Fox Tower. Once he’s made it through withdrawal, Katelyn will sit him down and help him work through his assignments. She’s a godsend. 

Aaron is usually off his meds on weekends. He usually goes out to Columbia with the Monsters. He still dances with Nicky and has his fair share of fun. They go to the mall pretty often bc there’s a carousel with spinning tea cups. The twins have spent an entire afternoon riding the spinning tea cups, competing to see who hurls first. Aaron almost always wins. Andrew will take him out late Saturday nights and speed down closed sections of highways or do donuts in parking lots because they're both dumbasses with death wishes. 

One weekend a month, Aaron remains at Fox Tower with Katelyn for spa day where they wax poetic about their respective crushes. Kate’s got a bit of a thing for a boy on the lacrosse team. Aaron screams bc he hates the guy. One time, at a party, the dude was talking to Kevin, shit talking both Kayleigh and Exy, completely unaware of exactly who he was talking to. Kevin ended up with a blackeye but the lacrosse kid couldn’t play for nearly two months. 

Speaking of Kevin, he’s only thing that ever seems to hold any of Aaron’s attention. He’s just so… pretty. If Exy is Neil’s shiny object, then Kevin is Aaron’s. Since Aaron makes even less of an effort to pay attention than Andrew did, there's times when he straight up can’t play. It infuriates Kevin to the point where Aaron gets pulled off the court. At first he doesn’t mind because it means that he can sit back and watch Kevin without any fear of getting caught. However, ever since he got put on his meds, Kevin hasn’t touched him. Not even in a non-sexual way. Before, there were casual touches: a hand on the small of Aaron’s back, shoulders pressed together as they squished into a booth, ankles hooked beneath the table. Now? There’s nothing. Kevin leaves a conspicuous space between himself and Aaron and it’s the only thing Aaron can feel anymore. 

So he starts paying attention on the court. Whenever they have a scrimmage, Aaron makes sure that he’s marking Kevin. Everytime Kevin crashes into him, Aaron’s consciousness slams back into his body. The heat of Kevin’s skin on his, their limbs tangled together, their ragged breaths intermingling, their helmets the only thing keeping their mouths from colliding together. Those little encounters are the only times when Aaron finally feels like himself. Those little encounters only last a few seconds and leave Aaron craving more, more, more. 

Aaron noticed that medicated Andrew was always brushing up against Neil but he’d never really thought much of it. Now he understood. Andrew had craved Neil just as Aaron craved Kevin. 

Speaking of Neil, he and Aaron get along well? I feel like Aaron is just as much of a smart mouth as Neil so the two of them just go around roasting the shit out of everyone. The drugs don’t change Aaron’s opinion of Neil but he begins to understand why Andrew broke their deal. Realizing that Neil didn’t steal his brother from him, Aaron starts to see the appeal in him. He’s stupid and funny and actually kind of pretty. Not as pretty as Kevin but pretty nonetheless. On weekends in Columbia, Aaron begins to notice all the things Neil does for his brother. Neil wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast and spends hours in the kitchen baking. He always picks up an extra pint of ice cream at the store and takes photos of stray cats to send Andrew. One time, Aaron couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen for some water. His heart almost stopped when he heard Andrew’s rumbling laughter. Sneaking a peek around the corner, his heart really did stutter. Neil was standing on Andrew’s feet as he waltzed around the kitchen to the soft strains of music flowing from the radio. After aaron’s heart restarted, he hurried away because OH MY GOD ANDREW WAS LAUGHING AND DANCING AND HOLDING NEIL SO TENDERLY AND OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

Okay so maybe Neil did sic the mafia on them but he also makes Andrew happy so that evens it out right? It’s v slow but Aaron is very slowly learning to accept Neil.

Slipping back to his room, Aaron placed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing a mile a minute. Off his meds, Aaron found it hard to stem the surge of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He was glad Andrew had found someone who loved him the way he deserved to be but didn’t Aaron deserve love too? 

A soft knock sounded behind him. Aaron nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. Oh, fuck. What it was Andrew? What if he’d seen him? With shaking hands, Aaron opened the door. For the second time that night, Aaron’s heart stopped. 

Vodka stained lips crashed against his. Aaron’s mouth opened on impact and he felt the warm slide of Kevin’s tongue on his. A moan tore from Kevin, reverberating down Aaron’s thought. It was a shot right to his core. Suddenly, Aaron’s clothes felt too tight, his body too warm. Grabbing the collar of Kevin’s shirt, Aaron hauled him into the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron panted as he tore himself away from Kevin.

“Missed you,” Kevin slurred as he leaned back in. Aaron shoved him away, sending Kevin crashing into the wall. The look of anguish that washed over Kevin’s features threatened to tear Aaron’s heart out of his chest. 

“You haven’t come near me in months,” Aaron hissed. “Why now?” Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried two more times before dropping his gaze. 

“Because I got scared.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Kevin retreated into his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before. All day, all night, you’re all I ever think about.”

“You don’t think about me on the court,” Aaron sneered.

“And you don’t watch me from the sidelines.” Aaron felt the blood rush to his face. It had been years since Aaron had prayed but now he begged God to bend the shadows of his room to hide the burning of his ears. “Exy was all I’ve ever had. Back then, I played to stay alive but now… now I play because I know you can’t take your eyes off me when I do.” Kevin reached out slowly, giving Aaron time to move away. Relief flooded his face when Aaron didn’t flinch. As Kevin’s hand cupped his face, Aaron leaned into the touch. Pulling their bodies flush against one another, Kevin bent down enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. “I don’t want Exy to be the only thing I love anymore.”

“Then pick something,” Aaron whispered. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming but nothing prepared him for actually hearing it.  

“ I pick you,” Kevin replied. Their lips collided once more and Aaron let Kevin steer them to the bed. Collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs, Aaron felt like himself for the first time in months.  

[withthewerewolves]

So I’m writing this fic, currently titled The Stupidest Mpreg Ever Written, and it will never see the light of day. Wymack’s background from it, though, I like. Here it is. 

Also I don’t know anything about Pacific Islander culture. I did some googling and I hope there’s nothing offensive in here, but if I’ve messed up please feel free to let me know. 

Wymack meets Kevin Day only twice before that fateful banquet. 

Kayleigh Day’s exy program is the best in the world. When David gets his acceptance letter, he throws out all the applications his guidance counselor had given him to colleges he would never be able to attend, packs his duffle bag and his exy stick, and leaves his father’s house for Ireland. His father, still drunk from the night before, tells him that if he leaves he can never come back. David doesn’t say that there was never any chance of him returning. From his father, he had gotten only his name and a fear of loud noises. 

The program is intense. Exy is new enough that there are no high school or college teams, and David has never played with anyone who knew what they were doing before. He thrives on the competition, on being surrounded by people who love this violent bastard game as much as he does. Every night he falls into bed exhausted and every morning he wakes up grinning. 

The program is only supposed to last two years. When David is twenty, the other young adults leave to start little league or pick up teams, bring exy back to their home countries. Kayleigh asks David to stay. She says that he has something special, and she’d like him to continue training with her until the pro teams are ready. No one has ever said David was special before. 

She opens up to him more, now that their teacher/student relationship has shifted. They become friends. David thinks Kayleigh is the most incredible person he’s ever known. 

With the success of the program, Kayleigh sends invitations to younger students, making arrangements with a local high school. It’s David’s third year in Ireland that he meets Keon Savia. 

David got his coloring and a few memories from his mother, but Keon had actually grown up in Samoa. From him David learns a few clumsy phrases in Samoan, a few recipes, and a sense of belonging to a community beyond his father. When he decides to get his arm tattoos, Keon goes with him. 

From David, Keon learns how to hold his alcohol, the block that later becomes his signature move, and how to talk to boys. The jury is still out on how useful David’s tutoring was on that last one. 

It’s this friendship that brings Keon to Kayleigh’s attention as more than just a student. He’s young, but he joins their evening practices and sits with them at meals. Keon thinks Kayleigh hung the sun. David agrees, but his feelings are starting to get a little...muddled. 

When David is twenty one he and Kayleigh start sleeping together. He knows he loves her, but is he in love with her? Could he possibly ask her to love him back? He suspects she has other lovers and this doesn’t bother him. It’s her heart that he covets. 

When David is twenty two she starts talking about the pro teams in America. Exy is taking hold there. There’s still more progress to be made, but if he went pro, there would be enough talent to challenge him. She wants that for him. He’s starting to want only her, only Ireland’s green fields and the small court she uses to run her training program. 

She breaks it off with him. She isn’t hurtful about it, but she tells him that his future lies in the professional leagues and hers did not lie with him. He joins the New York Flames. 

It’s Keon who tells him she’s pregnant, slipped into a casual phone call about their training. David doesn’t know what to do. He’s signed a contract and he makes good money now, but he would give it all up for her, for their child, to be a family. 

He gets on a plane. He shows up at the training center. She tells him that she knows who the father is and it isn’t him. He clumsily offers to stay anyway. She gives him one last kiss and breaks his heart. He gets back on a plane. 

Kayleigh brings the baby to watch his first championship game with the Flames. It’s so small, that indeterminate age between birth and speech, tucked into a fluffy hand knit hat and one of those carriers that straps to a chest. 

“His name is Kevin,” she tells him, and she smiles down at the baby more tenderly than he’s seen her look at anything but an exy ball. 

The baby is beautiful, all big eyes and tiny nose, taking in the action with his mouth open in wonder. He also has dark eyes, hair, and skin that he didn’t get from Kayleigh. 

There aren’t a lot of Pacific Islanders in exy, though the number grows in the following years. There are only so many people who could give the boy that coloring. 

David is happy for Keon. He’s only eighteen, which is awfully young to be a father, but he knows how much Keon misses his family. He’ll be a good dad. He’ll look after them both, to the extent that Kayleigh will let herself be looked after. 

David plays and he plays and he plays, and exy starts to feel less like a game and more like a job. He donates most of his salary, only keeping enough to pay for the big apartment close to the court. It’s the first time in his life he’s lived alone, and he finds he doesn’t care for it. He starts jumping at sudden noises again. 

Kayleigh comes back when Kevin is two. Tetsuji Moriyama is opening the exy program at Edgar Allen University, the first college exy program. Keon, despite being a little older than the traditional college student, is on the first line up. David wonders if Kayleigh will move to the States, if he can rebuild their friendship. 

She brings Kevin to visit him in New York the next year. The tiny wide eyed infant has become a bundle of energy and glee, fascinated with everything around him and full of questions about all of it. Kayleigh’s eyes are indulgent as she answers them. 

They play a mock exy game on the empty court after the rest of David’s team goes home for the night. He’s terrified of swinging too hard and hurting Kevin, but Kayleigh isn’t. Kevin runs up and down the court after their balls, shrieking with joy and carrying the smallest exy racquet David has ever seen. 

It’s the best day David has had in a long time. 

He still donates most of his salary, but he starts saving some of it. He isn’t sure what it’s for, exactly, but an idea is percolating in the back of his head. 

He runs a few workshops for the local little league team. They take him on as an assistant coach, which is all the commitment he can make considering how much he travels for games. A little of that old spark of love for the game wakes up in him. 

Kayleigh dies. David finds out from ESPN. A car accident, they say. Thank goodness her son wasn’t with her. Such a mystery, no one knows who his father is. Who will care for him now? Will the absent father finally reveal himself? 

David waits, and waits, and waits for Keon to claim Kevin. He’s graduated, joined the Arizona pro team, but surely he’ll take Kevin. He won’t leave the boy to be an orphan. Will he? 

Kevin goes to live with Tetsuji, who has been named his godfather. David supposes Kayliegh must have trusted him, to leave him with her child, but David has never liked the man. Maybe it’s just jealousy. 

He skips practice and makes a weekend trip to Edgar Allen. Tetsuji meets him at the gates and doesn’t allow him any farther. Kevin is at lessons, he says. He’s bonded with Tetsuji’s own nephew, he says. Who are you to demand to see him? he says. David goes back to New York. 

David plays professionally for nine more years, in New York and Illinois and finally South Carolina. This is where he meets Charles Whittier, the Dean of the nearby college, Palmetto State. They’re thinking of starting an exy program, he says. Would David like to run it? 

David thinks of that day on the court with Kavin and Kayleigh, and all the years as assistant coach to various little league teams. He accepts. 

Over the years he’s met a lot of exy players. He knows the sport has a tendency to draw people who need an outlet, people for whom life has not been easy. People like him, for whom a college degree was never an option. These are the people he decides to recruit for his new team. He puts everything that he has into it, long nights pouring over the blueprints for the court, longer days flying all over the country to make offers to the people he’s chosen. Most of them need at least a little convincing. When the school funding runs out, he uses his savings to make the court exactly the way he wants it. None of his kids will struggle to hide scars in the locker room like he did, that first year in Ireland. 

His first line up is a disaster. They fight and they do drugs and miss practice and skip classes and they finish at the very bottom of the rankings. 

His second line up is better. The captain has washed out so he replaces him with Dan Wilds, who he thinks Kayleigh would have liked. She’s brilliant, but he isn’t sure it’s enough. 

He recruits the Minyards and their cousin. All three are good, all three would meet his specifications on their own, but the one he really wants is Andrew, the foster kid with a record, court mandated medication, and the best shots saved record of any goalie in collegiate exy. 

He begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake. 

Then Kevin comes to his hotel room after the winter banquet, sporting a broken hand and an ever more broken expression. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he rasps. 

“Come in,” David tells him. 

[kippentrash]

Andi, Buffy, Cyrus

Ooo yay three!!! Ty anon and leggo~

andi: are you artistic? if so, what kind of things do you like to do?

I definitely LIKE art, but compared to my friends I’m not all that artistic. I guess I still am since I have a notebook I doodle pretty much every class instead of paying attention, I just don’t think I’d adept at it ;w;

Mainly I just love to doodle. Pencil or pen sketches and drawings mainly, sometimes digital art if I feel like it, but I almost never have anything I’d consider a “full piece”. Like backgrounds and properly coloring? Who that? Lmao

buffy: are you sporty? if so, what sports do you/did you used to play?

I’m potato. LMAO

I have no muscle and don’t exercise out of my own free will, but I kinda hope to change that over the summer? I was Girls’ Doubles 1 on my school team and I played JV Badminton my freshman year, but like anything other than racquet sports and jogging I’m incapable of anything oof (not even running or walking.  walk is snail pace and I can’t sprint for sht)

I can do situps but I can’t do a single proper pushup. Yet I carry like a 20 pound backpack. So.. like.., my physicality confuses me.

cyrus: do you have a crush on someone at the moment or are you dating anyone?

LOL I WISH AT BOTH

Okay maybe once I do have a crush again I’m gonna be like “GET ME OUT I DIDN’T MEAN IT,” but I haven’t had a crush for like 8 months now and it feels weird. Don’t get me wrong nobody needs to like someone else to be happy but like. I’m not used to it and I’m like… bored? If that makes any sense. I dunno

Nor have I ever dated anyone so jot that down. I feel like I’d be an annoying clingy bish though because I have such idealistic views of relationships after seeing all the failed relationships of my friends have experienced where I just wanted to get them OUT ASAP

Send me an AM Character Ask! :)

[exyjunkies]

48- andriel (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ thank u

fuck yes more of nathaniel and andrew 

(let’s Make this A Thing, shall we?)

fic meme 1-100: andriel (andrew + nathaniel) + 48. “Boo.”

send me a pairing (preferably from aftg/trc, but you can send me anything) and a number and i’ll write you a drabble (1-50) (51-100)

Ouch. The freshbruise incurred from today’s practice was vying for Andrew’s attention as hetried to sit up. He realized, as he attempted at a better posture, that he hasnever wanted lying down to be a more permanent position for him than he does inthis moment.

Carefully, Andrew lifted his t-shirt and grimaced at thecolor the bruise was already forming. Large and violent, it covered almost theentire left half of his abdomen. It was as big as half his forearm.The reliefwas that there were no broken ribs, but that also meant Andrew can’t skippractice the next day. So much for being a goalkeeper. He was still at thecenter of the action, no matter what he did. Fucking Exy racquets.

“Knock knock,” a voice came from the doorway. Nathaniel,stupid number 3 on his cheek, peered at him from behind the door. An ice packand a half-full energy drink were clutched in his hand.

“You know how Ravens are,” Andrew muttered, heaving himselfback down and winced at the effort it took. “Always full of themselves. Likeyou are.”

“I won’t deny that.” Nathaniel invited himself into theirroom and shut the door gently. Tossing the ice pack onto the side of the bed,he replied, “Maybe if you hadn’t threatened to cut Riko’s balls off, you wouldn’tbe in this shitty state.”

Andrew rolled his eyes so hard, he felt them reach the backof his head. Somehow, he could hear Nathaniel’s disappointment in him, and hecouldn’t even bring himself to care. He put an arm behind his head and kept oneeye open to look at Nathaniel, who was changing out of his running clothes. Hehad opted to spend their afternoon break to run with number-4-on-cheek Jean Moreau. Typical.

“You know half thedamn team wants to cut Lord Almighty’s balls off,” Andrew shot back. “It’sonly a matter of being honest.”

He shut both his eyes again, a half-hearted attempt atanother nap. Having been a Raven for so long, Andrew constantly wonders if itgets easier, or if he just gets used to it. Godforbid it’s the second. He hopes to never completely be one of them, nomatter how hard they try.

“Well,” Nathaniel replied, sitting down on his own bed. “Isincerely hope you don’t get yourself killed in the coming weeks. We need adecent goalie to keep us up the rankings.”

They were going up against the teams in the north thismonth, with North Carolina’s Etherton Eagles first. The pressure has been upever since they received word from the south that Palmetto State has beenmoving above and beyond the public’s expectations. They were far from facingany south team, but still. It’s something Riko likes to assert daily in orderto push the team past their limits.

It’s not as if they were worried – Ravens are never worried, Tetsuji has grilled into their minds morethan once. Once any of you asshats worry,it’s over for all of us.

“You can shut your mouth about that damn game for once,Wesninski,” Andrew grunted. “We’re in the room. No crowds. No team. No racquetsand no scoreboard. Act normal for fuck’s sake.”

Even breathing seemed to be hard, so Andrew opted to limithis. He mentally reminded himself, briefly, that his teammates have gone througha lot worse than a racquet to the stomach. Roxanne, one of the striker subs, hadsuffered a paddle to the ass after saying that Kevin deserved the number 1 onthe cheek and not Riko. Timmy, a backliner, had gone to practice with severehunger after accidentally tripping Riko in the locker room and laughing at himafterwards. Gingerly, he placed the ice pack underneath his shirt and sighed atthe cool relief.

Their room was dark to begin with, but Nathaniel had put in arequest for special neon lights that everyone else thought was only red. At thepress of a button, it became either green, yellow, or light blue.

“Would you have said yes?” Nathaniel asked, as neon lightblue flooded the sides of the room.

“Yes to what.” Andrew didn’t admit it, but he liked the neonblue setting a lot more than the others. Red was too much of a Raven color toenjoy, and green and yellow were too obnoxious when they were neon.

“If it had been you that was asked to go to Palmetto Stateinstead of Kevin. Would you have gone?”

A few months back, Kevin had been asked by Tetsuji to goundercover and join the Palmetto State Foxes, as a means of scoping out Andrew’ssupposed twin, Aaron. The branch family had all collectively agreed that itwould be good for their image to have both Minyard twins on the team. Some sortof reunion would be good for press, and both Minyard twins being good at thesame sport would be a beneficial bonus. There were practically dollar signs inTetsuji’s eyes when he talked to Kevin about it.

Andrew had not visibly reacted when he first heard the news,but he had been aware of Aaron’s existence for some time now anyway. He wouldn’tbe who he was without any sort of connection from the outside. Naturally, Riko hadsent Kevin instead of Andrew because (he made this as obvious as possible) hewas going to use Andrew as some sort of bait if Aaron ever said no.

Andrew stared up at the ceiling. Engraved on the walls besidethe room’s main lights were sets of triple X’s. The Edgar Allan motto: Excellence exceeds expectations.

“Yes would imply I cared about my long-lost twin in theslightest,” Andrew replied, drawing a knee up on the bed. “I think he’d be finewithout me.”

Nathaniel hummed in response. “Maybe if you started actinglike you gave a shit about anything, you’d be living a better life.”

“And playing for such an esteemed Exy team means a good lifeto begin with?” Andrew drawled. Nathaniel chuckled at that. “You know you hateit here too.”

“Boo. Liking thisplace would mean hating myself.”

The wall clock chimed half past 6 in the evening. Dinner wasto be served in thirty minutes, which Andrew barely felt like he had theappetite for. He was neither hungry nor looking forward to having to pretend likehe liked any of his teammates. He was even less excited about Riko’s taunts tohim from across the table. If he was being honest to himself, he should’vepunched him in the nose a really long time ago.

“Your twin.”

Andrew twisted his head to meet Nathaniel’s eyes, blue andfull of curiosity. He raised an eyebrow in response.

“He’s probably a more bearable person than you are, yeah?”Nathaniel’s smirk was teasing, all-knowing.

Andrew went back to looking at the ceiling. If he knewanything about his twin, it was that they were identical, and that was it. Hehad kept himself from looking up anything about his brother, for the solereason that if he brought himself to care, he really wouldn’t know what to do.Being on a completely different part of the world, Andrew had wondered fromtime to time what it was like on his end. If he was being treated like dirttoo. Or if he actually had people who had his back.

It wasn’t jealousy that Andrew felt, no. It was merely wishingthere was nothing worse than what he was experiencing here in Evermore.

“Knowing my genetic composition, he’d probably hate you morethan I do,” Andrew replied, crossing his leg over his other leg.

“Oh,” Nathanielsat up and hugged his knees. Andrew hated that he could hear the playfulness inhis tone. “Thanks for admitting you like me a little bit, partner.”

“You’re going to sport a bruise like mine if you don’t shutup, number 3.”

“I’d bone you too, if it wasn’t going to create more of ahell for us in this shithole.”

“You’re a terrible flirt,” Andrew slanted a look atNathaniel, who wrinkled his nose meaningfully at him.

Nathaniel shrugged. “With an ass you’d wanna fuck, yeah.”

Being homosexual wasn’t taboo among the Edgar Allan Ravens –in fact, Tetsuji jokingly said he preferred it more if it meant birth controlfor the women Ravens. Getting pregnant for any of the women meant eitherabortion or benched for the next three seasons. It was just frowned upon tosleep with teammates, more so the teammate you’re partnered with. On occasion,two Ravens would be caught making out, and it would be reported immediately toeither Riko or Tetsuji, causing them to either be kicked out or to suffer Riko’swill.

Somehow, they both knew that they were partnered by Rikobecause Riko enjoyed their combined suffering more than the others. Plus, Rikojust has it out for Andrew, for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

Andrew sighed and shook his head. Nathaniel got up from hisbed and reached up to adjust the air conditioning. He had to tiptoe, making hisshirt ride up a bit. Andrew saw part of his back and part of his underwear.Obviously, the idiot was doing it on purpose.

“Like what you see, Minyard?” Nathaniel said, grinning as helooked Andrew in the eye.

He absolutely hatedbeing a Raven.

[followmedown-tohell]

This is my gift for @foxhole-court-girl for the @aftgexchange. It’s Raven!Neil’s first Christmas with the monsters, Andrew POV for something different. I hope you like it!

Andrew leafed through the aisle, turning down everything he passed as typical Christmas music played overhead. He’d never been fond of winter and the holidays that came with it. Stupid Christian holiday where people pretended to be nice for about a month before returning to their shitty selves. But he wasn’t here for himself. Thanks to Kevin, Andrew already knew the Ravens didn’t celebrate Christmas, or any other holidays. It was Exy, Exy, Exy all day every day. The thought made Andrew want to barf all over Kevin’s racquets.

Nicky danced up ahead of him. “I can’t believe you’re letting us decorate this year. I’m so excited! Look at all this glittery stuff!”

Before he could pick something out, Andrew stopped him. “No fucking glitter. It’ll get everywhere.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Too fast, Nicky stepped in front of Neil, who took an abrupt step back.

“Woah! You’re good. I learned back in June the first time, okay? I don’t need two knife enthusiasts at my back. What about these?”

Neil gave a cursory glance to the blue decorations Nicky held. “They’re fine.”

“So helpful. Aaron, what do you think?” Nicky wandered off to Aaron and Kevin instead.

Neil was picking up decorations and ornaments before setting them back down delicately. Andrew knew the look on Neil’s face well, the feeling of passing through, of nothing belonging to you long enough to really hold onto it.

Andrew picked up the red and gold ornaments Neil had just put down.

“We’re not here to window shop. We’re picking shit out and then going home.”

At that word, Neil froze.

Andrew bopped him on the head with the box. “The house in town. You know, the one we just came from?”

“Got it.”

Andrew grinned at that glib reply and waggled his finger. “Not thinking about running, are we? It’s too late now. No returns.”

Neil shook his head and flicked a quick look where the others were shopping. He mumbled, “I can’t get anyone presents. If they get me something, I can’t return the favor.” Neil started off in the other direction. Andrew snagged the back of his hoodie and the kid stopped obediently.

He almost told Neil that no one cared and to stop worrying about it, until he thought of something else. Going all out had been his idea, after all. “That’s what you want?”

Neil shrugged. “It would be kind of fun. But…”

But he was totally broke since escaping the Moriyamas.

“Alright.” Then, to the others, “We’re getting a tree. Meet up at the front.”

He took Neil through the store, letting him pick out small things for everyone after some vaguely threatening encouragement. Then at the back of the store, they picked a tree much taller than either of them. Neil looked pleased in a quiet way, like some light inside him was thawing whatever stopped him from being totally honest. Andrew pretended he hadn’t noticed, and that this was all to help Kevin stay put, and not because Neil smiling made Andrew feel- yeah, he was definitely ignoring that part.

Later that week, everyone was passed out after the Christmas Eve party. Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky were dispersed through the living room. It was just Andrew and Neil still up on the couch. Andrew was nursing the last of their chocolate ice cream, watching the runaway look at the lights. The ones on the tree were all that lit up the room, and Andrew pretended not to notice how it made Neil’s eyes sparkle. Unfortunately, this late at night without his medicine, Andrew couldn’t blame it on the meds.

Everyone had gotten plastered drunk, except for the two of them. Neil hadn’t had a drop, and Andrew knew his own limits. Apparently Neil did, too. He seemed more relaxed now that everyone had fallen asleep.

Neil was just a few inches away from Andrew. As always, he felt Neil’s presence like an annoying magnet. He wanted to close that distance. He wanted to see how Neil liked to kiss, what he tasted like, but while Neil didn’t know how to handle being alone, he apparently couldn’t handle being touched, either. Andrew wasn’t about to move in where he wasn’t invited.

Neil sat back against the couch with a smile. “I haven’t had a Christmas in a long time.”

“Yes, I heard. Exy, blah blah.”

“You did? Oh. Kevin.” Then, “Thanks, Andrew.”

“For what?”

“I know it was your idea.”

“Hm. Can’t have you flying back to the Nest. You’d take Kevin with you.”

Neil shook his head. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here with all of you. Even if your team sucks.”

Andrew suppressed the smile Neil’s own coaxed out of him.

“You promised to keep me safe. No one’s ever done that before.”

This was a dangerous conversation. Maybe he was imagining it, the difference in the air. “No heroes in the Nest, I hear.”

“Are you calling yourself a hero?”

“No. If you’re looking for superman, look elsewhere.”

“I never liked comics, much.”

Andrew let the silence draw out. Not for the first time, Neil tugged at the hem of his shirtsleeve. Neil had failed to hide all of his scars from Andrew. They said everything he needed to know, but not everything he wanted to know about Neil. And again, Andrew told himself he didn’t want anything. This kid was really starting to become a nuisance.

“You never asked me about these,” Neil said.

“What is there to ask?”

“Most people would.”

Andrew shrugged.

Neil said, “I can’t really show anyone yet, but I don’t look at them the same anymore. I think… I wouldn’t mind if you saw them.”

Andrew knew he should derail this conversation. He should end it right here and go to bed, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’d look at me like I’m a freak.”

Neil was too close. His eyes were lit up, the corners crinkled in a smile.

“You’re not a freak. You’re something else.”

“Yeah? Are you naming me now?”

“Maybe.”

“And if I said yes?”

Yes?

Don’t do it, don’t do it, Andrew’s brain ordered. But every other part of him wanted to draw Neil in as far as he would come.

“I can think of a few things you could call me, if you need suggestions.”

Danger, his mind blared. Danger, danger. But just like a fool, he was standing on the edge and ready to jump.

“I think the one I like most is-”

German? For pretty boy?

Andrew tried not to show his surprise. “Du kannst Deutsch.” You can speak German. What else had Neil heard him say?

“Ja.”

“You’re a smart mouth.”

“Then shut me up.”

“Don’t ask if you don’t mean it.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Oh, fuck it.

Andrew closed the space between them. Neil’s mouth was warm and soft against his, sweet like the ice cream from earlier, and for one brief moment, Andrew was terrifyingly happy.

He pulled away. Neil was pressed back against the couch, lit up from the inside.

“Merry Christmas, Andrew.”

Neil’s smile was like a shaft through the heart, and just like that, Andrew knew he would do anything to keep it there.

“Idiot.”

[dontyoupushme]

Get To Know Me

Tagged by: @dxmedstudent (Thank you!)

Rules: Tag 10 Mutuals You Want to Know Better

1. Name: @bookishmd, and that’s really all I’m gonna go with until I get more comfortable putting my name out on the internet

2. Star sign: Libra

3. Height: 5′10″, although according to my last physical I may have grown a quarter of an inch over the past year, so maybe 5′10.25″? I dunno, bodies are weird...

4. Put your iTunes or Spotify on shuffle. What are the first 4 songs that come up?

-Grigio Girls by Lady Gaga

-Why So Serious? from The Dark Knight Soundtrack

-Farmer Refuted from Hamilton

-Irish Heartbeat by Van Morrison

5. Ever had a poem or song written about you?

No, I don’t think so...?

6. When was the last time you played guitar?

Two summers ago I attempted to learn how to play guitar, and I am incredibly bad at it. I haven’t played since then, but it’s always on my maybe-someday-to-do list for skills that I’d love to have in theory but might not have the patience to develop. 

7. Who is your celebrity crush?

OH TOO MANY. SO MANY. But right now I’m on the Noah Centineo train, I’ve watched To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before a possibly unhealthy amount of times. And Noah is a bit too young for me, which would normally bother me but I watch that movie and suddenly I’m 15 and dopey and swoony again...

8. What’s a sound you hate and a sound you love?

Hate the sound of babies crying, not because they’re irritating, but because hearing babies cry is actually kind of painful for me now? Like I have a visceral mom reaction that I’ve never had before in my youth, but I’m feeling older every day and that biological clock is ticking and everytime a baby cries I get a reminder of it...so yeah

I love the sound of laughter, rain, and when a ball hits the sweet spot of a tennis racquet and makes that popping sound.

9. Do you believe in ghosts?

Ok, so I’ve been studying science for years now, I get it, no physical evidence, hoaxes, blah blah blah I don’t need to hear the lecture about how ghosts don’t exist. That being said, if there’s any house that is rumored to be haunted, I’m never going near it. I believe in the scientific method and I also believe in covering my bases.

10. How about aliens?

I mean, probably? There’s probably life in the universe somewhere other than on Earth, but I’m doubtful it’ll look like anything we’ve imagined aliens to be.

11. Do you drive?

I drive about as well as I play guitar, which is pretty abysmally. I tend to get anxious when I drive, and I had my dad teach me how to drive which I DO NOT RECOMMEND.

12. What was the last book you read?

The Feather Thief, which was amazing, and I’m currently reading Getting Things Done by David Allen which is changing my productivity life right now. 

13. Do you like the smell of gasoline?

No, I’m not one of those people, it just gives me headaches. 

14. What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

I broke my hand my junior year of college because I had a bad fall, which is such a lame story. I also played tennis in high school and have sprained both of my ankles too many times to count. Not great on the physical coordination front. 

15. Do you have an obsession right now?

Yes, one might argue too many. Learning how to draw, bullet journaling, photography, ballet, I’m possibly overcompensating by doing tons of girly stuff in my adulthood after thinking I was too cool for it in my childhood

16. Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

I try not to, but it’s incredibly difficult for me. What usually happens is that whoever’s “done me wrong” usually ends up being cut out of my life. I just stop communicating, I just don’t see them, and even if down the road I can think of the person without any hard feelings, I don’t feel the need to have people who’ve hurt me deeply in my life.

17. In a relationship?

Nope, but I’m hoping to get a dog one day, so that’s where I am romantically

Tagging @shirubame, @osointricate, @imnotcuteimadorabloodthirsty, @medblurred, @somewhat-honest-abe, @mayalice18, @wallflowerwaitlist, @thekingsstudy, @studiousmedic, @21chrysanthemums, and literally anyone who wants to do this :)

[randomphantopic]

no offense but why do you like kevin day so much he’s kind of an asshole?

Hello! No offense taken, and thank you for giving me the chance to talk about Kevin! I like him so much, firstly, because I tend to like the secondary/minor characters more than the main characters. 

The other reason is summed up by Death (the book thief): “He does something to me that boy. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.” AND THAT’S HOW I FEEL ABOUT KEVIN. 

Kevin’s arc is about being unafraid to challenge Riko and the Ravens, Kevin’s arc isn’t really about overcoming the brainwashing he and all of the other Ravens experienced, at no point is exy just a sport to Kevin. Tetsuji created a violent hive mind and fed them a “hyperactive, delusional, over-the-top view of the world”. This is where Kevin grew up. He and Riko were the master’s pet projects “destined to be legends”.The same way the rest of the team don’t understand Kevin he doesn’t understand them.The reality is that most of the Foxes are there because they have to be. Exy is a means to an end, for Kevin Exy is the means and the end. So Kevin went from this hive mind, from this lifestyle Tetsuji created, living 16 hour days, being hit if he messed up, little to no outside exposure other than away games and media stuff, he went from being destined to be #2, to a “cripple” as Neil puts it. Here he is. Playing with his right hand. Not the first time he’s tried but the first time it’s his only option. He’s been written off, lost his college contract, his spot on Court. He went from playing with the best of the best, BEING the best of the best to playing on the worst team. A team that was very nearly kicked out of Class I and is widely regarded as a joke.And he’s so angry? And a lot of that anger is self directed because Kevin knows what he was and what he could do. He knows how far he’s fallen. But that’s okay.He’ll practice. As long as he’s breathing he can play. 

“It was a poor show from a former national champion but it was also incredibly humbling as Kevin had grown up playing left handed. Seeing him take on Andrew right handed was ballsy enough; seeing him actually score was surreal”

Because what else is there for him? He’s been raised to play. He has no life outside of Exy, it’s what everyone expects of him, what he expects of everyone and what he expects of himself. When he tells Neil to see life as it is, where exy is the only path and Neil has a hard time thinking of life in such simplistic terms that just speaks volumes. If Kevin hadn’t been able to play at all, if Riko had taken a racquet to both of his hands as opposed to stamping on just his left, and if it was actually impossible for him to play, would he have killed himself? I don’t know and that scares me.

 “The day Kevin stops playing forever is the day he dies. He has nothing else. He wasn’t raised to have anything else.”

“I need to make sure Kevin’s not cutting his wrists open in there.” 

It’s sad that Kevin never really separates himself from Exy. It’s sad that he has to be threatened with knives to get him away from the court. It’s sad that Kevin’s first thought when anything happens is exy. It’s sad that he learned grief was pointless day 1 at Evermore. It’s sad that his fans thought him leaving Evermore was worse than his injury. It’s sad that he draws the line at exy. 

It is horrifyingly depressing that all of Kevin’s relationships are somehow exy related and so so messy on top of that. I wonder how much of Kevin would change if he hadn’t grown up at Evermore. If he hadn’t grown up hearing:

You will do it again until it is perfect. 

If it is not perfect you will not eat, you will not sleep. 

You waste everyone’s time. You make a mockery of this sport. You are disgusting. You are a disgrace. Maybe then he’d love exy like Neil instead of having it be his entire life. 

Lastly (I’m so sorry anon this is way too long) most of the foxes are assholes, if they were nice they wouldn’t be foxes, as Andrew says. The narrative allows them to be flawed and terrible while not being antagonistic. It’s about getting second chances. That’s the point of the Foxhole Court, and Kevin definitely needed that. 

(If you ever want to talk about Kevin Day just hit me up)

[palmettofoxden]

Andrew + quitting smoking:

Andrew only tells Neil and Renee that he's doing it, but the others figure it out eventually

Andrew goes through Nicotine patches like crazy

And he is the most short-tempered and irritable even Aaron and Nicky have seen him

He gives his knives to Neil to lock in Neil's safe, so he won't snap and use them when he shouldn't

But he feels so naked without them, even though he keeps his armbands

Andrew is having trouble sleeping and he nearly goes to buy cigarettes at three in the morning one night

So, he gives his keys to Renee because he trusts her to not use his car when he doesn't need her to and to not give him his keys back until he can have them without buying cigarettes

Neil doesn't have much of a problem quitting since he didn't really smoke and just liked the smell and holding them

When they come back to the team bus after a break to use the washroom one time and find Wymack smoking next to the bus, Andrew stops and stares at the cigarette

He only keeps moving and gets on the bus when Neil says his name to draw his attention away from the cigarette

That's the point when the rest of the team and Wymack figure out why Andrew has been particularly unbearable lately

Suddenly, Wymack stops pulling out cigarettes in front of his team and keeps his smoking away from them

Andrew pretty much constantly needs to be doing something with his hands

It's almost a relief when he's holding his exy racquet because here is something to twiddle around in his hands that actually feels like it belongs there

But then he's playing worse than usual thanks to his shaking hands and it shouldn't fucking bother him when he doesn't give a shit about exy, but it does

He doesn't like his body not doing exactly what he tells it to do

And Kevin is pissier than usual, bothering Andrew about his performance so much that Andrew smashes his racquet into the court wall hard enough to break it

Or maybe Andrew is just more irritable than usual, so Kevin's voice at practice is like nails on a chalkboard to him more than it ever has been before

Or maybe a combination of both

Neil drives them everywhere, except when Renee drives Aaron and Andrew to and from their appointments with Bee

Andrew spends the car rides in the passenger seat with his head against the window, turning a pen or his phone over and over in his hands and threatening to grab the steering wheel, crash the car, and kill them all over the slightest annoyance

When he doesn't have anything else to fidget with, Andrew will grab one of Neil's hands in both of his and play with Neil's fingers for something to do with his hands

He does it alone or sitting with the team around, but when the team is around his jaw clenches and his shoulder muscles tighten as a clear warning not to fucking comment

Nicky still comments anyways

Andrew immediately drops Neil's hand and glares up at Nicky

Andrew's hands move to his armbands on reflex, even though he knows his knives aren't there

Nicky takes the hint and raises his hands in a sign of innocence and backs away as he says "Pretend I didn't say anything."

Andrew still glowers at him and debates finding a new use for his hands around Nicky's throat

Nicky puts distance between him and Andrew and starts a completely unrelated conversation with Aaron

Andrew's still fuming and debating how destructive or violent to get, but he can feel Neil's eyes on him and it's making him angrier and making him want to stop himself from unleashing his anger at the same time and he hates it

He gets distracted from how mad he is at Nicky by how much he hates Neil's hold on him and how much he hates Neil for it and how much he hates himself for letting Neil get away with and for helping Neil get away with it

Five minutes later, Andrew can't take it anymore and grabs Neil's hand again and Neil lets Andrew toy with his fingers

Andrew's playing with Neil's fingers rougher than before, but Neil knows Andrew will never actually hurt him and is happy to help Andrew in any way that he can

[darkblueboxs]

Hold the Line

Read here or on AO3

This was originally for the  “foxes reacting to soft andreil” prompt, but I ended up posting a different piece for that. 

*

“What are you doing, Hemmick?” Kevin is so very, very tired, and if there’s one thing the foxes excel at, it’s kicking a man who is already down. “Pick up your damn racquet and get moving.” His words, as usual, fall on deaf ears.

“They don’t even act like a couple,” Nicky says, pouting. Kevin fumbles for the threads of whatever conversation Nicky is holding with himself before looking to the bleachers where Neil and Andrew are sitting. They aren’t speaking, several feet apart and each apparently oblivious to the presence of the other. To the casual observer, they would look like strangers.

Allison joins them at centre-court, fastening the strap of her gloves with her teeth.

“What were you expecting from the monster? Kisses and cuddles at the half-way line?” she says through a mouthful of mitten, leaning on her racquet as she follows Nicky’s gaze.

“I don’t know. I expected something. It’s not like they’ve got anything to hide now.”

Kevin is ten seconds from knocking heads together. “Can we play Exy now? Please?”

“C’mon, Kevin, you gotta think it’s weird too. You spend more time with them than anyone. Give us the scoop. We’ve ruled out hate sex, but it’s gotta be something.” Nicky stops ogling his cousin and his partner to turn pleading eyes on Kevin. Allison quirks an eyebrow expectantly.

“You could settle some bets for us, Kevin. Do they even touch each other?”

Kevin bites back a scathing reply. Allison is relentless where there’s a bet to be won, and Nicky won’t stop whining until he gets some kind of answer. Sometimes, the only way to get the foxes to shut up and play is to give them what they want. Pick your battles, as his mother would have put it.

Kevin rolls his eyes to the ceiling as though it might fall in on him and save him from this conversation. Nicky takes his grimace as a rebuttal.

“C’mon, Kevin. Give us something.”

“Like what?”

“Have you ever seen them…” Nicky waves his hands in the most non-descript gesture imaginable. Kevin, having spent way too much time around Nicky over the years, prepares his most disgusted expression. “…being, like, soft?”

Allison snorts. “Two much steel in the pair of them for soft.”

Nicky looks deeply troubled by the suggestion. “I know they have their… issues, but it’s not like the pair of them are completely broken.” He turns back to Kevin. “Right?”

Kevin looks at Nicky for a long moment. The strange thing is that Nicky and Aaron have known Andrew longer than any of them yet can still be so blind to how Andrew works, and how his relationships to others work by extension. He mulls over his answer, trying to find the right size of crumb that will get them off his back and back on the court without feeling like a violation of his friends’ privacy.

“Maybe their soft doesn’t look the same as yours,” says Kevin at last. “Look harder.”

Their heads swing back to the bench in unison. Neil and Andrew still aren’t talking, but they’re both swinging their legs in unison, toes barely scuffing the floor.

Nicky and Allison turn back to him, but Kevin raps the butt of his stick off the floor, silencing them mid-protest. The court doors fly open, admitting the rest of the team in their usual shambles, and he is saved from further interrogation. He doesn’t miss, however, the evaluating glance Nicky and Allison pass each other, like they’re filing notes away for later.

*

Neil goes down in the first quarter, and he goes down hard. Kevin is half-way to Neil, who has yet to drag himself up onto his knees, but Andrew beats him to it. Kevin resists the urge to gripe at Andrew’s sudden burst of speed – Andrew is capable of crossing the entire court in seconds flat, yet acts like anything more than snail-pace in goal will kill him – until Kevin sees why he’s moving so quickly.

Neil’s hands are shaking like they’ve had electricity shot through them, and his breathing is not the laboured rhythm of exertion but the panicked hiccups of a panic attack. Kevin knows the signs.

His first thought is of the cameras, the audience, the witnesses – Kevin spent so much of his life under the glare of media flashbulbs that he struggles to think of much else. He knows he lets the worries spill over onto others more than he should, but for Neil it’s different – his future career depends on his perceived stability, and if Neil’s career falls through then the wrath of Ichirou Moriyama will fall upon all of them.

Remembering an old trick they used to use when Andrew was coming down from his meds, Kevin kneels beside them, planting himself between Neil and the nearest camera like a shield. He tugs Neil’s racquet over and pretends to inspect it for damage, ignoring the muted discussion happening inches from his face.

The rest of the foxes catch on quickly, crowding around them with concern that isn’t entirely manufactured. Dan nudges them into a neat circle that cuts the pair off from the gaze of the spectators. The opposing team watches from a distance, stunned by the sudden show of solidarity from a team that had spent most of the preceding hour screaming at each other.

None of the foxes are doing a great job at leaving the pair with their privacy, but there’s only so much they can do when they’re crowded around the pair in close proximity. The alternative is leaving Neil exposed to the world, and if the foxes have proven anything it’s that each of them is willing to put everything on the line to protect their number ten, even if this means going against his wishes from time to time.

It’s clear Neil is still somewhere else. Judging by the glazed look in his eyes, it’s a place Kevin knows far too well.

Andrew snaps his fingers in front of Neil’s face. The action draws a flicker of movement from Neil, half-way to recognition.

“What did he do?” Andrew asks in a low voice. He’s referring to the defensive dealer who knocked Neil down, a six-foot-four mountain of a man with an attitude Kevin has seen matched only within the walls of the nest.

“I’m fine.”

Kevin resists the urge to smack Neil around the back of the head, but only because he doubts he would survive Andrew’s retaliation. There’s an impatient knock against the plexiglass walls as one of the referees urges them on.

“Tell Wymack you want a substitution.”

It really isn’t the time. Kevin is about to say so, but Neil beats him to it. “That isn’t the strategy we agreed on. I’m fine.”

One of the other Foxes snorts. Neil’s eyes flicker up, but Andrew snaps his fingers again, drawing his attention back. “Ask for the sub.” It’s not a tone that leaves room for argument.

Neil lets out a breath. He looks to Kevin. “Can you hold the line?”

There’s still a glassy look to him. It reminds Kevin too much of the night they played the Bearcats, the awful dead look in Neil’s eyes as he tumbled back into the claws of a life he had sacrificed everything to escape.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” says Kevin. Neil grins, not the awful, dead grin of his father but his own. He raises his hand, and the foxes break apart so that Wymack can see the signal.

As Neil’s substitute jogs into place, Kevin flexes his left hand. He’s still a long way off playing full matches with it, but he can do this much. He taps the racquet off the court floor before tossing it to his left, and the crowd goes wild.

*

The defensive dealer lasts all of three minutes before Andrew’s bombardment of brutally aimed balls from the goal finally knocks his feet out from under him. He leaves the court with a bloody nose and a bloodier scowl, and Andrew sends him off with a wave that would look friendly to anyone who didn’t know him.

The first thing Neil does as they trail into the locker rooms is hand Andrew his water bottle. Andrew takes it, and they stare at each other for a long moment, a silent conversation Kevin has come to recognise as mutual reassurance. I’m here, you’re here, we aren’t going anywhere.

None of the foxes will be too overbearing with concern while Andrew is at Neil’s side, and so that is where he stays the length of the drive home. They share a seat at the back of the bus, and no threats are needed for the foxes to know not to bother them.

Kevin is halfway to a well-earned nap when Nicky and Allison’s heads appear over the back of the row in front of him.

“Did you see what the dealer did to Neil?”

“Does it matter?” He didn’t, although he has some theories. Then again, Neil’s recovery hasn’t exactly been a straight upwards line. The wrong jerk of a racquet in Kevin’s peripheral vision will still make Kevin twitch, and it’s been years since one was turned upon him. He can only guess at the intricacies of Neil’s triggers, but sometimes a trigger can be nothing at all.

“I still say they’re weird.” Allison’s gaze skips the rows of seats to the back, where the tops of Neil and Andrew’s heads are barely visible. “Andrew never touched him the entire time, did you notice?”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Kevin snaps, tired and ready for his nap. “It’s called respecting boundaries. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Allison holds up her hands like she’s under attack.

“No, he’s right, I think,” says Nicky. “They’re a different kind of soft.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

“Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Kevin?” Nicky continues, and Kevin wishes he had a racquet in his hands to break over Nicky’s head.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Just because we got distracted by Andrew going full Mamma Bear doesn’t mean I don’t see you getting all defensive over them.”

“Huh,” says Allison, her eyes narrowing. “If you weren’t such a bastard, I would say it was sweet.”

Kevin pulls his hood down over his face. “Go away.”

Snickering, they leave him to sleep.

*

Kevin stumbles into the kitchen at the ass-crack of dawn, shaking his head in the vain hope that he can throw the nightmares out with sheer force alone. He hadn’t noticed as he rolled out of his bunk that both Neil and Andrew’s were unoccupied, only realising in hindsight when he finds the pair of them sprawled on the beanbags in front of the TV, which throws endless static over their sleeping forms. Kevin wonders if boiling a kettle will wake them – he has no hope of sleeping again unless green tea is involved – but the jerk of Andrew’s head tells Kevin that he’s too late.

He doesn’t bother with an apology, because he knows they’re of little interest to Andrew. He averts his eyes instead as he busies himself in the kitchen.

He knows Andrew and Neil would rather chew glass than make any public display of affection, not out of shame or fear but more because they didn’t feel the need to put themselves on display to satisfy the wants of others. He wonders what it must feel like, not having to perform on demand for the world in the way that Kevin has been trained to his entire life.

That’s why he expects Andrew to shrug Neil off when Kevin shows no sign of leaving, but when he slumps onto the couch a few minutes later with a mug clasped between his hands he’s surprised to see them still wrapped up in each other. Andrew’s eyes meet his for a moment, heavy and unblinking, before they slide shut once again.

The scene before him is what the others would probably call soft. The word isn’t one Kevin is used to having in his vocabulary, but it’s one he has been considering adding with increasing frequency, just to have a way of putting words to the feeling in his chest every time his team crowds around him to celebrate a goal together, or when his father claps him on the shoulder with something akin to pride. Neil and Andrew are a sprawling puddle of loose and tangled limbs across the bean bags, an assortment of empty crisp packets and sweet wrappers nestled at their feet like autumn leaves. They’re turned in towards each other, like they fell asleep mid-staring match, and their hands, while not quite touching, are side-by-side. Respecting each other’s distance but ready to take hold should unknown forces threaten to rip them from each other. The flickering shadows from the television cast Neil’s scars in sharp, black outlines, but they do nothing to detract from how much younger he looks in the pale light, the lines around his eyes smoothed out by sleep. Andrew’s face, on the other hand, is thrown into harsh angles by the contrasting shadows, accentuating the angle of his cheekbones and throwing shadows beneath his eyes. The light is bright enough that the faint freckles across his nose are just visible.

Kevin rips his gaze from them before Andrew can catch him staring and stares instead into the TV static, letting his mind fall into practiced blankness. The next thing he’s aware of is Neil sinking into the couch beside him. The room is brighter, warmer, and the beanbags have long since been abandoned.

“Sleeping upright is bad for your back,” Neil quotes Kevin’s own advice back to him.

“Talking to me this early is bad for your health,” Kevin retorts. “Yet here you are.”

“It’s four in the afternoon!”

Kevin bolts upright with a curse on his lips, but Neil lets out one of his muted snickers and Kevin realises that he’s being screwed with. “Fuck you,” he says, sinking back into the sofa cushions. The wall clock, he notices too late, reads 7:15.

“I’m going on a run. Come with?”

Kevin nods, even if every instinct is telling him to melt into the couch and stay there until noon. It’s just one of many battles he wages against himself on a daily basis.

Neil is waiting for him at the kerb when Kevin stumbles out of Fox Tower ten minutes later in running gear. He’s bouncing in place like the pavement is too hot to stand on, and as soon as Kevin gives the signal he shoots off like a bullet.

Being wildly outmatched has never done anything to quell Kevin’s competitive spirit; he tears after Neil like his life depends on it, even though the light-footed striker is practically over the horizon already.

They break on a park bench just off perimeter road. Joggers, dog-walkers, students and cyclists flash past while the pair inhale their water bottles, chests heaving in sync. There’s a pallor beneath Neil’s sheen of sweat which makes Kevin wonder exactly what he’s running from today.

The answer comes sooner than expected.

“How’s your hand?”

Kevin starts, flexing it automatically even though there’s no real need. Most of the pains are phantom ones that disappear until he’s reminded of his injuries. “It’s fine.”

“That’s my line.”

“It was aching a little by the end of the match, but I spent the whole evening doing Abby’s exercises. I know my limits,” Kevin answers snippily.

“It’s not about your limits. You shouldn’t have been forced to-”

“I wasn’t forced.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Neil’s knuckles whiten as they clench in the fabric of his shorts.

Kevin huffs out a breath of air. He’s always had a one-track mind; he’s under no delusions that his feelings about Exy are anything but abnormal. Total dedication, total obsession, were the demands upon which his survival depended. Still are, but to a lesser extent. He remembers looking Neil in the eye the first day he left his room without a coating of bandages to hide behind and asking can you play? Not because he worried about the team’s chances in upcoming matches – although that was always a worry – but because without Exy, Kevin was nothing. He still can’t help but behave as though it’s the same for everyone else.

But he’s grown in the intervening months, grown enough to understand that while, yes, every match is important, failing to protect a player’s health for the sake of short-term results will only cause more damage in the long term. When he thinks of Riko – an activity he still fights to pull himself back from, another daily battle to add to the pile – he thinks of the pressure crushing down on him, on both of them, to perform in spite of the injuries, physical and mental, the pressure that built and built from year to year, warping Riko beyond recognition and grinding Kevin into the ground. He won’t let himself become the people who made them what they were.

“You were no use to the team in the state you were in,” Kevin says. Neil’s flinch says that this is not news to him. Kevin clears his throat. He isn’t good at this. He’s still learning to be this. Not soft, no, but not so hard either. “The first time I stood on a court after I left the nest… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t…” Kevin hates this. He hates talking about this, he has enough of it with Bee and Abby. Neil doesn’t need to hear this. Except he does. “This isn’t the sort of problem you fix overnight. Not by training more, not by pushing yourself harder. All that will do is break you.”

Neil is silent for a long moment. “Wesninski,” he says at last, like the word was sticking in his throat. “The player. As we collided, he called me Wesninski, and I just… for a moment, I wasn’t me.”

Kevin closes his eyes. He is still called a raven often enough to understand – perhaps not completely, but close enough – the awful, shrinking sensation of being thrown back into another life with a single word. “It won’t be the last time someone calls you that, Josten. Especially not if word gets out.”

Neil shakes his head. “If people start doubting me-”

“Fucking listen to me, you idiot.” Kevin turns fully to face him. “I’m not telling you to fix the problem immediately. I’m saying we’ll take care of things until you can.”

“We?” Even after all this time, Neil can be so helpless that it hurts.

“You know. The team. Coach. Andrew.”

Neil huffs. “And you.”

“Obviously.”

Neil unclenches his knuckles at last. “Better be careful, Kevin. Next thing you know, they’ll be saying you’re going soft on us.”

Kevin shoves Neil. Not the way Riko used to shove him out of his way if Kevin had the bad luck or poor judgement to be standing in his path. He does it in a way that has Neil grinning, shoving him back playfully as he gets back to his feet.

Neil takes off, calling over his shoulder to challenge Kevin to a race as he does. Kevin cusses him out, but nonetheless takes off after him, chasing the sound of Neil’s laughter all the way home.

Maybe going soft isn’t so bad after all.

*

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought. Still open to requests!

[dreamsinger-rose]

Taken - Epilogue

 A fan-epilogue to the epic Trolls story on fanfiction.net by WaruiOkami, under my username, Dreamsinger, if you prefer to read it there.

Taken

A  Trolls Fanfic

By Warui Okami

...

Epilogue

By Dreamsinger

Branch pulled up the concealed trap door in front of the boulder that served as his front door and they jumped down onto the lift. Poppy looked around dubiously at the small dark space, the stacks of mousetraps, and the multiple locks meant to keep the trapdoor closed. “This is…nice.”

Branch felt a cheeky grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, suddenly looking forward to what was coming. “Oh, this?” he said casually. “This is just my front hall.”

As she blinked curiously at him – troll pods being only a few rooms at the largest – he sauntered over to what looked like a tree root coming up through the floor and nonchalantly rested his elbow on it to press the lever down, leaning to the side and with one foot crossed behind the other. Poppy squeaked in startlement as the floor began to move downward.

“Sorry, it’s a little bumpy when it first starts out.”

Her sleepiness gone for the moment, she looked at the wall moving in front of her, then turned back to see him giving her a suspiciously mellow look, one eyebrow raised. “What is this?”

Suddenly he grinned. “You’ll see.”

As they descended, he watched her looking around, taking in the various supply and exercise rooms, her eyes going bigger and bigger. Finally she turned to him, excitedly throwing her arms out to the sides. “Branch, this is amazing! I had no idea this was all here! I know you said you’d collected supplies, but I always pictured some kind of dark, spooky cave or something, full of scary-”

Just then the lift set down on the ground floor with a deep thrum and Poppy caught a glimpse of the Fear Wall. “Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably, staring up at it. “Um… That is kind of what I pictured, actually.”

The wall was covered in the worst products of his most paranoid, nightmare-induced times - drawings of vicious bergens, some sideways or upside down, painted and carved warnings about bergens on the wall, support strut, floor and nearby boulders.

Suddenly he was embarrassed. “Yeah… Not very accurate, it turns out. At least, not anymore.”

There was an awkward silence, as Poppy tried to reconcile the mind that had produced such horrible things with the stable, seemingly sane troll standing in front of her. “Different.” This is what he meant. She twiddled her fingers and said abruptly, “Maybe you should think about redecorating. I could help!”

Branch smiled, reassuring her that her Branch was the one who was here now, no matter what he had been like before. “I’ll think about it.” He sighed. “I had this really cool thing planned for when we finally got attacked. ‘You all said I was crazy. Well, who’s crazy now? Me. Crazy prepared.’”

Poppy laughed and felt better, shoving his arm. “You goofball! But I can just see you pulling it off. I would’ve been impressed. Kind of creeped out, but impressed.” Her face softened and she smiled at him proudly. “I still am.”

He blushed, covering his embarrassment with a joke. “Which? Impressed or creeped out?”

She grinned. “I’ll let you know when I’ve seen the rest of this place.” She turned in a slow circle, taking in the large room with his desk, storage shelves and other furniture, as well as the bits of food, paper, glitter and assorted supply containers strewn about in the aftermath of his unexpected “guests”. She whistled. “I mean it, Branch. This place is a marvel. You built all of this yourself?”

“Every bit,” he said proudly. “I have enough supplies to last me ten years.” He thought about trying to impress her by describing how he could stretch it to eleven years, but then he remembered something. “Or I did. I don’t know how much will be left, since I played host to the entire village while we were away.” He gestured to the mess they’d left behind.

“Oh. Sorry, Branch.” She looked at him with regret. “If I hadn’t thrown that party-”

“I’m so glad you did.” He took her hands in his, his clear blue gaze leaving no doubt of his sincerity. “If you hadn’t, I’d have spent the rest of my life down here, alone.”

She stared at him, then blinked back sudden tears at the thought that she might never have known how wonderful he could be; that he might have gone on getting more and more unhappy until he either died or went crazy for real. “I’d do it all again,” she said through the lump in her throat, and sniffled. “I’d fight Chef, Creek, and anyone else who might try to take you away from me.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone shifting to sound warm and soothing as he pulled her in for a hug. “It’s all right, Poppy. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She relaxed into his warmth, then yawned. “I’m glad I’m not the only optimist here anymore,” she murmured.

She felt him chuckle under his breath and gave him an affectionate squeeze, then released him and looked upwards. “Just how big is this place? We have 262 trolls in troll village; did they really all fit down here?”

He crossed his arms, standing up straighter at the clear admiration in her tone. “Oh, it’s fairly extensive,” he said in a falsely casual tone, then uncrossed his arms and moved his hands to the sides, his palms facing upwards. “Hey, I know, how about tomorrow I give you a tour?”

“I’d love that.” She beamed at him and he smiled back. There was a long pause, his eyes flicking around the room and back to her face several times, then they widened. “Oh! Um, how about some hot chocolate? There should still be some left; I have some locked away in a separate area with a small cache of supplies in case the main bunker ever got compromised.”

“I thought your bunker was supposed to be bergen-proof?” she teased with a raised eyebrow, remembering their last conversation before that fateful party.

“Bergen-proof, yes; troll-proof, no.” He gave her a wry look that made her laugh.

“Then yes, please. I love hot chocolate.”

“I know.” He smiled softly at her, making her feel a little shivery.

They had sweet hot chocolate; hers with marshmallows, his with peppermint bits in. Neither of them said much. Poppy was too busy looking at many of his more unusual inventions, and he was feeling too content to really need to say anything. Her very presence relaxed him.

Afterwards, he led her to his bathroom. “I want to put some ointment on your burns.”

“Okay. I did put some aloe on them after I bathed for the party – Satin and Chenille didn’t want to let me wear any of my fancier outfits, in case the aloe stained them.”

“That’s good, but I want to use something to prevent infection, too.”

When they got there, Branch grimaced at the mess. It looked as if there had been an epic water fight in here. The little room was covered in long streams of damp paper, glitter, confetti, and other random things like some kind of sports racquet and a small fuzzy ball. If not for the drain in the center of the slightly sloped floor, there would probably have been inches of water, too.

The light blue troll saw Poppy looking more closely at the floor, which was made of tiny square pieces of stone in sky blue, sea green and lavender. He had carefully cut and mortared the tiny tiles into a series of pleasing semicircles, similar to the vest he wore, in colors that gradually went from green through blue to lavender.

“Ah, a floor that appeals to a scrapbooker’s heart. Branch, that is beautiful!” Poppy clapped her hands. “Inventor, builder, and artist, too!”

Don’t forget poet. Maybe someday I’ll let you read some of mine. Branch smiled widely. Her praise was music to his ears – it had been so long since anyone had appreciated anything he did. “Thanks. Now, why don’t you sit here and I’ll get the ointment, if nobody moved it… Ah, here it is.” The contents of his mirrored medicine cabinet were intact. “I guess nobody realized you could open the cabinet.” Branch pulled out a small jar and unscrewed the lid.

“What a clever idea. So convenient.” Poppy looked so pleased that he offered, “I could make you one, if you like.”

“Why, thank you, Branch. You’re so sweet.”

He blushed. “It’s no trouble. Okay, could you hold still for a minute?”

Poppy closed her eyes as his warm hand lifted her chin, then held her bangs back from her forehead. His other hand gently spread cool, aloe-scented ointment on her cheeks, forehead, nose and chin. It was so relaxing, almost like being taken care of by her father, as if she were a little troll again.

As he finished, Branch smiled, a soft look in his eyes as he took a moment to study her lovely face. With her eyes closed, he didn’t feel so self-conscious about doing something he’d only ever managed to do from afar, or in rare moments recently when she had been unaware that he was looking at her.

She had a broad, cheerful face with delicate glitter-freckles, long eyelashes and fine, slightly curved eyebrows that always made her look as if she were about to smile. On their journey, he’d seen her take on expressions he’d never thought she could have – desperation, terror, brave resolve, despair, heartbreak, hope, and shining love that radiated from her like the sun. And he’d loved her through all of it, and always would.  

“Okay, Poppy, are there any other spots that feel sore?”

She opened her eyes to see him leaning over her, his gaze kind and gentle. “A few places on my arms and legs. My clothing helped protect the rest of me.”

Branch knelt on the floor in front of her. “Just show me where.” As she held out her limbs, he could see darker pink areas of varying sizes, some with red centers. He sucked in air through his teeth. “Some of those look really painful. Are you sure you’re all right?”

He had to look up to meet her eyes, and for a moment, she forgot what they were doing as the brighter lighting in the little room reflected in his eyes, shining like stars. His pupils had gotten a little smaller, making his eyes seem so, so blue. Best of all was his caring concern, emphasized by the deeper creases in the corners of his eyes.

His expression turned puzzled, making her realize that she had spent way too long losing herself in his gaze. “I’m fine. They don’t hurt that much,” she finally answered. “They felt much better once I put the aloe on them earlier.”

“That’s good,” he commented. He tried to be gentle, using a light grip on her arms and legs on non-burned areas to steady them, delicately smearing her burns with the cool, slightly greenish-tinted ointment. “Mine should help you heal more quickly than plain aloe, though.”

“Thanks, Branch.” Her tone was so affectionate that he looked up from his task in surprise. She was looking down at him with a smile of pure love. He blushed, and smiled back. “Anytime, Poppy.”

By the time he finished, Poppy was so relaxed she was half-asleep already, her eyelids fluttering as she tried to stay aware. She yawned, making him yawn even louder, and they both chuckled. As he stood up and put away the ointment, Branch was considering carrying her to bed when he realized something. He froze, giving her such a look of awkward discomfort that she was awake again. “What is it?”

“Ah, it’s just – I’ve only got the one bed. It’s a pretty big bed, plenty of room, but I don’t know how you feel about sharing. I can sleep on the floor if you don’t want to.”

She relaxed and smiled at him as she stood up. “We’ve already shared a bed, remember?”

Seeing her smile, he looked more at ease. “Well yes, but things are different now.” He gestured with his hand to indicate the space around them. “This isn’t the dark, scary forest, with you all upset from having a nightmare. You’re safe here, safer than anywhere else.”

She smiled and reached out to hug him. “That means I can enjoy snuggling with you all the more.”

He blushed purple, a silly smile on his face as he hugged her back.

…

“Wow. That is a really big bed. The biggest I’ve ever seen. You could have three or four trolls in there, easily.”

His eyes popped as he realized what conclusion she could easily jump to. “That’s-”

He flinched as she turned abruptly to him. “Do you have sleepovers here often?” She gave him a perky, clueless look, the kind that had once made him think her silly. “Why haven’t I been invited? Or are they secret sleepovers?”

Awkwardly he said, “That’s not the reason why, Poppy.”

“Oh?” She looked from him to the bed and back, and then the shoe suddenly seemed to drop. “Oh,” she said in quite a different tone, realization widening her eyes. Her eyes flicked up and down his body assessingly, then she seemed to realize what she was doing and blushed so hard he could see it through the burn ointment.

“Th-that’s not the reason either!” he yelped, holding up his hands with his palms toward her and blushing just as hotly. “It’s because I have nightmares, okay?”

“What?” Now she looked perplexed.

He sighed. “I got tired of falling out of bed whenever I have a nightmare.” He crossed his arms, looking pleased with himself. “I thought about adding rails on the sides, but I figured I’d just bang into them, so instead I made a bigger bed so I’d have plenty of space to thrash around without falling off. It’s saved me a ton of bruises and rough awakenings over the years.”

He expected a bit of praise at his practical solution. Then he realized she had been quiet for far too long. “Poppy?” He heard her sniffle, and turned to see her standing there looking at the bed with tears in her eyes. “Poppy, what’s the matter?” He reached out to place a hand over hers, giving her a look of concern.

She swallowed and turned to face him. “Do you – do you have nightmares that bad often?”

He made a small noise of chagrin. All he wanted was to see her happy, and yet because of him here she was, on the verge of tears yet again. “Not as often as I used to. Maybe once a month,” he replied soothingly, stretching the truth only slightly.

“You have dreams bad enough to make you fall out of bed every month, and you never told me?”

“I don’t fall out of-”

“Branch.” She sounded half exasperated, half distressed.

“Well, it’s not like you can make them go away, Poppy. They’re in my head, not yours,” he said reasonably. “Besides, I told you. I didn’t want to let people get close. I figured if I did, I’d only have even more nightmares, about losing other people besides Grandma.”

She looked up at him, fighting to keep from bursting into tears. Suddenly sensing that she had no more energy left, Branch folded her into his arms, feeling her tremble as he said soothingly, “Oh, Poppy. It’s all right. It’s all right, my love.”

Surprised at the endearment, she pulled back a little to look up at him, her hands on his chest, her nose red and tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes. Branch unselfconsciously wiped the moisture away with a thumb, still holding her close. He wondered what he could do to comfort her, to keep her colors strong, and then he knew.

“You with the sad eyes,” he sang softly. “Don’t be discouraged.”

His tone was as delicate as the wind, so light and clear she was lost in awe, staring at him with big wondering eyes.

 Oh I realize It's hard to take courage In a world full of people You can lose sight of it all The darkness inside you Can make you feel so small

He paused, searching her eyes, then smiled encouragingly as he continued to sing, his tone so sensitive and sweet she felt as if she were melting into his arms.

Show me a smile then Don't be unhappy Can't remember when I last saw you laughing This world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear Just call me up 'Cause I will always be there

The look of adoration on her face was almost too much for him. Oh, how he loved her. This beautiful, caring troll who had taken an interest in him from when they were small, who had never given up on him.

And I see your true colors Shining through I see your true colors And that's why I love you

Now she reached up to place her hands on his cheeks, her expression earnest as she joined his song, adding her own message just for him.

So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful

 He took her hands in his and led her in a slow, graceful dance. His voice was stronger now, more sure than ever. Their future would be a bright one. He would stay at Poppy’s side and support her, no matter what.

And Poppy sang the rest with him, her voice sustaining and complementing his in perfect harmony.

I see your true colors Shining through (true colors) I see your true colors And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful (they're beautiful) Like a rainbow

Ohh oh oh…

Like a rainbow

 Branch drew her close, gazing deeply into her eyes, and kissed her tenderly. His heart beat intensely as she melted against him, moving her soft lips ardently against his own. Nothing had ever felt so right, so natural. Her warm chocolate-scented breath against his mouth made him shiver, and he moved one hand up to the back of her head, threading his fingers into her soft hair.

Ting. Clank.

They froze, blinking at each other. “What was that?” Branch frowned slightly as he looked at the source of the sound, Poppy’s cowbell, lying on the floor behind her. As he met her eyes again, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Just how much stuff do you keep in there, anyway?”

“Sorry, Branch.” She looked so abashed at having broken the mood that he laughed again, scooping her up off the floor into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, throwing her arms around his neck as he carried her the rest of the way to his bed.

He laid her down gently, taking a moment to appreciate what a lovely picture she made. She looked up at him with eyes that were soft and trusting, and he felt a moment of such fierce passion that it made him stop and take a deep breath for control. He didn’t want anything too serious to happen between them tonight. They were both exhausted, and she was injured. He suspected she might be in more pain than she was admitting.

“Branch?” She looked puzzled at his hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

Out of habit, he answered, “Nothing.”

Now she looked hurt, and he remembered; it was okay to tell her what he was feeling. But he didn’t want to make it sound like he was blaming her for being injured; it wasn’t like that at all. “Poppy, I – I think tonight we should…” He hesitated, struggling to find the words, then looked down at her worried face and suddenly wanted nothing more than to comfort her. His face relaxed into a reassuring smile as he lay down on the bed near her. Rolling onto his side, he reached out an arm invitingly, and she immediately moved to snuggle up against him, sliding her own arm around his ribs.

“We’ll sleep tonight,” he said softly. “Just sleep. We’re both been through a lot in the last few days; we need time to recover. Is that all right with you?”

He felt the rapid pace of her heart against his chest slow down as she accepted his words. “Okay.” She tilted her head back so he could see her tired smile – she looked as if she would be asleep in moments. “I love you, Branch. And I’ll wait as long as you need.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say she had it wrong, that he was ready to show her how much he loved her, but at the same time he was touched at her consideration for his admittedly sometimes oversensitive nature.

“Thanks,” he said instead. “Which reminds me – if I should start flailing around, wake me, will you? If you can’t, shove me onto the floor.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Branch, no…”

“Yes,” he insisted. “I don’t want to hit you by accident. It’s okay.”

Poppy looked unhappy for a moment, then leaned up to kiss his forehead. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll never have a bad dream again.” She snuggled closer to him, sharing her warmth, and curled her hair around his, intertwining her fine magenta strands with his dark purple-blue mane. Then she began to gently tug his hair upwards from his head as if she were brushing it, repeating her soothing actions while Branch closed his eyes blissfully. As he lay there, a delicious lassitude began to spread through his body and his breathing deepened. “Mmm. I love you, Poppy,” he murmured.

Her tone had the husky sound he loved so much. “Love you, too, Branch.”

He held her close, breathing in the sweet smell of her, somehow knowing that he would sleep peacefully as long she was by his side.

…

 Author’s Note: I’m not the original author of Taken, only a devoted fan who loved this Trolls alternate universe too much to want to leave it. The author warui-okami is from the UK, I believe, and so uses the delightful UK version of English. As I’m from the US (New Hampshire) I have nevertheless attempted to match the author’s speech patterns (I had fun, lol). It helps that I’m a longtime Doctor Who fan!

I base the total number of Trolls on movie-Branch saying how his supplies will only last the villagers two weeks. Ten years x 365 days = 3650 total days that the supplies would last Branch alone. Divide that by 14 days, 3650/14 = 260, roughly. So I chose 262 for the number of Trolls in Troll Village.

I hope you enjoyed this epilogue as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please check out my other stories on fanfiction.net, including a short Trolls fic inspired by the movie, which helps to tie up some loose ends such as exactly what kind of love Poppy feels for Branch…

Dreamsinger

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Do you know what I need more of? Ania’s and Kevin’s friendship. Like I would die for them

This isn’t very much but I actually kinda like it so I hope you do too!

Ania hadn’t thought that Aaron could get any gloomier. 

“Never say never,” Kevin grumbled as they watched his sullen form slink around the dorm. From the kitchen, they could hear the crash and clatter of pots and pans. Nicky had grown uncharacteristically quiet in the days since Erin’s departure for Easthaven but the slamming of drawers and cabinet doors made up for his silence. 

“Are they going to be okay?” Ania asked in french. 

“They can still play,” Kevin replied. Aaron and Nicky weren’t like them. The upperclassmen might have dubbed the cousins ‘the monsters’ but the three of them had proved to be anything but. 

Monsters were heartless. Nicky had a heart of gold. 

Monsters were selfish. Everything Aaron did, he did for his sister. 

Monsters were soulless. Just because Erin didn’t love the way everyone else did, didn’t mean she didn’t love at all. 

Monsters did what they did, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. By that logic, Kevin and Ania weren’t monsters either. They were beasts; everything they did, they did to survive. They’d do what they did until their bones broke and their hearts stopped. That wasn’t true. Kevin had broken his arm and here he was, playing with everything he had. Ania’s heart had stopped before and yet here she was, running from her past as fast as she could. So long as there was even an ounce of strength left in their bodies, Kevin would play and Ania would run. It was all they knew how to do. 

She opened her mouth to tell him as much but stopped short at the look on his face. His gaze was focused on a point in the distance as he crushed the stuffed fox plush closer to his chest. It had been a present from Erin, won at a carnival that summer. 

“Look, it’s you,” Erin had said, presenting her prize to Kevin 

“That’s a fox,” he replied, his brow furrowed. 

“I’m getting tired of you acting like you’re so much better than us. You play for Palmetto now, Day. That makes you a fox.” She paused then, inspecting the toy. “Maybe he just doesn’t resemble you well enough.” Wrenching the toy’s front left leg off, she held the altered plush up for him to inspect. “Better?” she asked. The manic smile accompanying her words made Ania’s blood run cold. Glancing at Kevin, she saw his frightened gaze trained on the severed limb in Erin’s hand. He nodded dumbly and accepted the stuffed fox without another word. 

A month ago, the plush had disappeared. Ania had found Erin in the girls’ locker room with needle and thread, mending the toy. Their eyes met and Ania saw the challenge in Erin’s gaze. 

“You should use thicker thread,” Ania offered. 

“You’ll see the tear,” Erin replied. 

“And Kevin will always see his scar.” Erin considered that for a minute before pulling out the neat row of stitches she’d just placed. With a thick, white thread, she resewed the detached arm. Ania watched as Kevin cradled the toy when Erin handed it back to him. 

“Thank you,” he’d whispered. Erin had already started for the door but Ania knew she’d heard when she caught a glimpse of way Erin’s lips tugged upwards into a sad smile. 

“Hey,” Ania said softly, snapping Kevin out of his daze. “She’ll be back on the court in no time. 

“She isn’t like us,” Kevin countered. “There’s more to her than Exy.” And then, in a voice so soft that Ania thought she’d imagined it, he added, “She’s more than just an investment. She’s my friend.” 

Kevin’s words knocked the breath from Ania’s lungs. Immediately, she felt infinitely more alone. After only a year and a half at the Foxhole Court, Kevin was already more human than she was. To be fair, the foxes worked their magic pretty quickly. In the seven months Ania had been here, she’d found her own glacial heart starting to thaw. 

The upperclassmen were congenial and kind, giving without ever expecting anything in return. They all flocked around Ania, offering her comfort and advice the way she imagined normal parents would. The cousins were wild and reckless, their antics bringing quiet smiles to Ania’s face. There was Kevin and Coach, both strict and hard to please but supportive and fiercely protective of her no matter what she did. 

And then there was Erin. Drugged to the heavens, her snark matched Ania’s toxic tongue to a t. Sober, her cold and callous facade didn’t last long. Her curiosity almost always won out, evident in the mischievous glittering of her eyes. The pair of them danced on knife’s edge trading secrets as they shared cigarettes. 

And then there was that. A certain sense of… something pervaded many of their exchanges. From the barely there brush of Erin’s shoulder against hers to the conspiratorial whispers they shared while they taunted one another, there was something about it all that Ania didn’t quite understand. She’d long since given up trying to interpret what any of it meant. Even so, that didn’t stop the butterflies from flaring to life in her stomach everytime Erin so much as glanced at her nor Ania’s pulse from racing whenever she came close. More than likely, it was the adrenaline flooding her system to fuel her fight or flight response. 

Regardless, Kevin had grown a heart and Ania was growing soft. She’d have to leave soon. But not before Erin came home. 

Swallowing, Ania offered Kevin one of the few truths that truly hurt her to admit. “She’s my best friend, Kevin. You and Erin are all I have left.” Kevin turned an incredulous look on her. 

“But your mom-” 

“Mom told me that the only way I’d ever set foot on a court again was over her dead body.” Kevin frowned as he searched for the answer to his unfinished question. As the weight of her implication hit him, his face crumpled. 

“Ania,” he choked. A thin sheen of tears coated his emerald eyes. Ania shrugged as she turned her attention to the blank t.v. screen. Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms wrap around. Too surprised to move, Ania let Kevin draw her into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s not your fault,” she managed. 

“I know. I’m just sorry that I’m fifty percent of your assets.” At that, Ania laughed. She twisted in time to see Kevin’s watery smile. 

Thanksgiving break came and went. Aaron and Nicky spent it at Abby’s. Kevin and Ania spent it at the court. They ran drills from sunrise to sunset. More than once, Ania caught herself searching the stadium seats for Erin. Kevin caught on quickly and picked up the pace, keeping her distracted. It was little after midnight when Ania collapsed from exhaustion. Laying on the court floor, she realized that her legs were going numb. It didn’t matter. She had to get up. She had to keep going. 

“Junkie.” Erin’s voice echoed through Ania’s head. Ania closed her eyes and saw the mirthful, dopey smile that always accompanied the word. 

“Ania,” Kevin called. She pried her eyes open to watch him jog across the court towards her. Hauling herself up, she leaned heavily against her racquet. “Let’s call it a day.” 

“No. I’m fine.” No sooner had the words left her mouth when she pitched forward. She must have looked unsteady because Kevin was ready to catch her. Scooping her up with ease, he carried her to the court door. With some difficulty, he opened it. Setting her down on the bench, he propped her up against the wall. He began unstrapping her gear. “I can do it myself,” she said, making no move to stop him. 

“You can shower by yourself,” he said as though it were some consolation. Ania glared at him and he smiled. It was a wide, toothy grin that Ania hadn’t seen since she was very small. For the first time in eight years, she saw the Kevin she’d chased across the Evermore courts. Smiling at her, Ania remembered how much she’d loved Kevin, the only person in her life who’d made her feel normal. 

Nathan hadn’t had time to sit around and teach Ania anything that wasn’t directly involved with the family business. Her mother had been too wrapped up in her own misery to spare her daughter any attention. It had been Kevin that had taught Ania how to tie her shoes and spell her name. On the days that she visited Evermore, he’d been the one to shake her awake in the morning and tuck her in at night. He’d even managed to convince Tetsuji to let him go to Baltimore so he could hold her hand as he walked her to her first day of preschool. Kevin might not have been related to her by blood but he’d always been the closest thing Ania had ever had to family. 

After resting awhile on the bench, Ania found the strength to stand and make her way to the locker rooms. She showered quickly but thoroughly before tossing her gear into the laundry cart. Kevin came out not long after, clutching a clean towel. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” he said, motioning to her wet hair. Ania sat quietly as he dried her hair for her. Once he’d finished, he chucked it into the laundry bin beside the gear. Sitting down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her. Ania leaned into him instinctively. “One down, six to go,” he said. Ania deflated. Six weeks, six whole weeks, until Erin came home. 

“Kevin?” He hummed in response. “Will you sing for me?” She felt him work his jaw as he searched for a response. “You don’t have to.”

She felt his chest swell as he took a deep breath. Kevin’s voice was a soft tenor, untrained but enough to soothe Ania. Where Kevin had been raised on Exy, Erin had been raised on music. She’d sang from a young age as a coping mechanism for the horrors she faced in her negligent foster homes. At twelve, her foster mother, Cass, had heard Erin singing and sent her to class. Erin spoke about Cass in the most wistful tone, piquing Ania’s curiosity. In exchange for a few inconsequential secrets, Erin admitted that Cass had offered to adopt her. She’d turned Cass down in favor of moving in with Aaron. Ania had thought the whole thing strange but she hadn’t pushed. Knowing now that Cass was Drake’s mother, the pieces slotted into place. Of course, Erin had chosen to take her chances with Tilda rather than remain with the Spears. 

In the years since her departure from the Spear home, Erin had taken up smoking. The bad habit gave her voice a gravely texture that Ania adored far more than she cared to admit. Often, she found herself pressing her ear up against the dorm wall to catch the faint strains of Erin singing to herself. 

It wasn’t as though Erin didn’t sing in front of the others. In fact, she sang as she dressed at her locker beside Ania and in the car and on the bus and as they walked to the corner store. Drugged to the heavens, Erin sang seemingly lighthearted songs that grew dark as you registered the lyrics. However, returning from her early morning runs during their trips to Columbia, Ania always ran into a half-asleep Erin in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. 

Sober but sleepy, Erin’s beautiful voice drifted through the kitchen, singing mournfully of partners past. Recently, Erin had begun to allow Ania to sit on the kitchen island while she worked. She sang wistfully of beautiful girls and eloping lovers as she swayed before the stove.

The morning before Erin left for Easthaven had gone similarly. Ania had been standing beside her, scrambling eggs to go with the bacon. Lighting a cigarette with the fire from the stove, Erin had turned to offer one to Ania as well. Ania had accepted before realizing that she had no light. Just as she was about to light it the way Erin had, Erin closed the space between the two of them. Cupping Ania’s face in one hand, she pressed the cherry of her cigarette to the unlit one between Ania’s lips with her eyes closed. 

As Erin drew away, she turned, returning to singing without missing a beat. As a kid, the children in Ania’s school had said that if one person put their mouth on something and then another person pressed their own lips to the same spot, they’d claim that it was an indirect kiss. If those were indirect kisses, then what was that? She didn’t know. 

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. She’d spent too much time here at Palmetto. She didn’t have time to figure out whatever game Erin was playing now. Six weeks until Erin would come home. Six weeks until it was time for Ania to leave. It would be lonely out on the run after living with so many people for so long. It would be cold too. With her face pressed up to Kevin’s chest, rumbling as he sang, and his warm arms wrapped around her, Ania felt her eyes closing. I’ve got six weeks to enjoy all of this. Six weeks and I’m gone, she promised herself before drifting off to sleep in Kevin’s arms. 

[pavotaulait]

He waits for mamma at daycare.

 Sometimes, like now she’s late. But the daycare is open until 11 tonight so he’s not worried. His mamma is an Exy star.

 No, she’s more like a goddess in the mythology books she gave him for Christmas. She made the world of Exy and she makes the stars.

 Kayleigh Day is beyond human in Kevin’s eyes.

 So it's ok if she takes longer to get him. She’s very busy and she doesn’t need to worry about him while she makes mortal men into demigods.

 It's just him and Sarah now. They both sit at an empty rectangle table coloring while Miss. Ann makes tater tots and corn dogs and broccoli.

 Kevin insisted because momma said athletes have to take care of their bodies by eating right and training. Kevin is gonna be like momma.

 He’s going to be the best in Exy.

 He draws himself with a gold medal standing next to his momma. Scrunches the paper up because it doesn’t look right and Sarah watches him watching the clock when he can’t draw anymore.

 Miss. Ann picks up the phone.

 -

 ***

Kevin does not want to go to uncle Tetsuji’s.

 Kevin doesn’t wanna make his momma sad either.

 He doesn’t want to sit in the car for ten hours but he does to be good. Kayleigh is in the stars looking down on him so he doesn’t tell the social worker no when she packs up his things but he picks at his lip until it bleeds.

 They met once before. Uncle Tetsuji came to visit the hotel Kevin and mamma stayed in. They had coffee and Kevin had cocoa while mamma talked about the future. They had been in America for five months at the time. Kevin had been good then too.

He hadn’t told mamma he wanted to go back to Ireland.

 Or that Uncle Tetsuji looked at him in a way that knotted up his stomach. He drank his cocoa.

 Uncle Tetsuji had said he had a nephew around Kevin’s age.

 Kevin can’t imagine the stern man taking Kevin outside and tossing a ball with him in the cool summer evenings. He can’t imagine him singing songs with Kevin because he’s afraid of storms or taking Kevin to his favorite restaurant when it’s the first day of school because he knows Kevin has a hard time making friends.

 Uncle Tetsuji doesn’t look like a parent; he looks a coach.

 But Riko.

 Riko looks like a promise.

 And then he opens his mouth once the social worker has left.

 “He’s your responsibility Riko. See that he does not get in the way and understands the rules.”

 “Yes, Master.” and Kevin thinks he will see uncle Tesuji’s retreating image most often than not living here. That may not be the worst thing.

 The dorms though are not suited for a child his mother would say. They are blacks and reds that intimidate. Kevin had liked black before coming here, he liked the soothing black of night and fantastical black of the beaches his mother visited.  

 The black here feels like a dream he can’t remember upon waking but haunts him through the day.

 Riko walks ahead without saying anything until they get to a room Kevin won’t ever be able to find again without help. Kevin puts his things where Riko indicates. The room is too much for two small boys let alone one, he doesn’t know how Riko could get to sleep.

 “The master is training me to be the best in Exy. You're here now and you're my responsibility so you're going to be the best too.”

 Kevin does want to be the best. The word responsibility though troubles him. He is the same age as Riko but they make him sound like a baby.

 “You're going to be my brother and I'm going to be your best friend.” Kevin thinks he could really use that, those words make it easier to relax his tense shoulders.

 Riko’s going to help him achieve his dreams and make mamma proud. It sounds tough but mamma didn’t raise him to be afraid of work so he gives Riko a small smile and says ok.

-------

***

And at first, there is so much new that he doesn’t have time to consider anything.

 It feels like he is a prince in this castle. His castle.

 Tetsuji orders him a personalized racquet.

 He and Riko go to the court to for training with Tetsuji and the other coaches and the Ravens.

 He and Riko stand before a man named Gerald who teaches them about the press before turning them to flashing cameras that gleam off his newly whitened teeth like it was fate.

 He and Riko eat together, meals prepared by the housekeeper who used to be Riko’s nanny.

 He and Riko draw on their faces the numbers ‘1’ and ‘2’ every morning like a prayer to the gods of Exy, to Mamma and Kevin is included in someone's life, interwoven in someone's future so he smiles thinking of it as a gift.

 He and Riko are together so much that he can’t feel lonely or miss Kaleigh but he wants to sometimes.

 Kevin tries not to cry because he doesn’t think it would do him any good but sometimes when he’s lying in bed thinking about his day he thinks, “I’m gonna tell momma about this.” and remembers he can’t.

 There is no momma to talk to now that will talk back to him.

 There is only Tetsuji who does not give praise or kindness. There is only Riko who looks like he is always starving for something no one will give him.

 Riko pretends not to hear him he thinks, but one night he gets mad at Kevin.

 “Stop crying like a baby.” He throws a pillow at Kevin. “You have no reason to cry.” Riko being mad at him makes him want to cry more.

 “I’m sorry.” Riko includes him in everything. He’s always by his side so Kevin thinks Riko’s upset because Kevin’s being ungrateful. He doesn’t know how to say he appreciates what Riko has done for him so far but his momma hasn’t been dead even a month and he still feels like he’s not a whole person.

 He needs a band-aid or a doctor to fix up his heart. It’s hard doing it on his own.

Riko tries to stick his finger in the cracked dam, plugging up the hole with his small finger but he doesn’t notice Kevin’s still bleeding.

 “Stop crying or I will give you something to cry about.” Now Riko sounds mean. He sounds like the master and it makes Kevin mad. He would go if he could but he doesn’t have anywhere to go. The book he throws hits Riko’s cheek.

 “Why are you so mean?! I wish momma had never sent me here!”

 “Neither of us had a choice,” Riko says instead of yelling, his voice is very low and quiet ending the conversation there.

 Riko is like a book the Master is writing and he stops and starts in the older man's presence. He barely has enough words outside of the court to be a real thing.

 Kevin stares at the thin window near the ceiling covered with black curtains feeling like a tornado's stuck in his throat.

-

***

He had thought maybe it was like Hercules and his trials. Difficult but at the end, he would emerge a hero.

 Kevin thought he knew what the difficult parts of living in the Nest were.

 “What happened to your face.” Tetsuji is like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. He leans over pinching Riko’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to survey the damage of Kevin’s fit.

 The master only notices, Kevin thinks, because for once he did not put that bruise on Riko’s face himself. Kevin knows Tetsuji is a scary monster in people clothes but he hopes like all monsters he’s read about Tetsuji has a weakness or a hero meant to fight him.

 “Kevin threw a book at me. He was upset.” Apparently, Riko is still as well telling on Kevin like that. He doesn’t know what punishment here is like for misbehaving but he’s more than a little afraid.

 Tetsuji’s cane makes no sound striking Kevin's thigh or his back or his shoulder but Kevin does make sound.

 He apologizes because he realizes he is not Hercules. No.

 Kevin is somewhere between perpetually rolling a boulder up an unforgiving hill and having his liver eaten.

 Not a hero or a god. Just a child out of his depth.

 “You are property. A dog that bites his master is of no use and you, your only use to me is your ability to play. If you cannot understand your place there will be worse lessons to learn. Do you understand me.”

 “Yes, master.”

 It’s what Riko says and Riko knows this game so he repeats safe words.

 Riko cradles Kevin's head when the master leaves them in the locker room. Kevin can’t move, doesn’t want to think about moving.

 “You're my brother, my friend. You're mine. If you listen to me I will protect you from him but you have to be good Kevin. Please. We are destined for the stars and I want you by my side.”

 The titles he is given come with a steep price. Kevin doesn’t think he can pay them. Promises were already made though, to momma and himself.

 Riko gets a paper towel damp to wipe the tears and blood from the youthful curves of Kevin's face. He opens their lockers nudging the taller boy to get dressed.

 Kevin can’t think past the pain but he knows that he loves Exy and that just has to be enough.

 There is no time to think of anything else.

 This castle might be a cage but at least he has Riko.

 ----

***

Puberty is a faint glimmer behind him and he is a star.  

 Riko and Kevin travel to photo shoots in places like Tokyo, New York, and Chicago.

 Riko and Kevin appear on talk shows with grins to highlight the marks on their cheeks.

 Riko and Kevin train hard and study hard and play hard.

 Everything is hard but it’s worth the work.

 He’s thirteen and he is second best in all of the youth training camps the Nest hosts.

 The news calls him one of the best youth players in the nation, Riko is the best but Kevin doesn’t mind because as Tetsuji says they are miles above anyone else their age.

 Once he lets himself settle into the Kevin shaped hole the Ravens have made for him he excelled.

 Every time he is not given food it's just a chance to earn back his worth.

 When he is forced to run laps until he’s heaving it’s because he cannot be stronger unless he breaks the weakness in his body to heal back stronger.

 Tetsuji believes in the training and Riko believes in Tetsuji and they are his gods and executioners now, not momma.

 Tetsuji makes the stars now.

 Kevin is acclimated to the bruising from strict discipline. He says thank you for every strike, every reprimand.

 They gave him a purpose to live for. They are helping him be good so he can keep his promises.

 -

 ***

At fifteen with Testuji’s blessing, Riko has himself and Kevin inked for Kevin’s fifteenth birthday.

 Kevin had forgotten it was his birthday. Sometimes he forgets things about himself or who he was before Kayleigh Day’s car crash.

 Riko remembers for him.

 Riko does a lot for him. Kevin’s started having panic attacks this year, Riko is always there or sends Jean to be with him during these times.

 Riko punishes Kevin but only when he needs it and only to make him better.

 Riko’s giving him a gift tattooing him like this.

 “We will always be brothers now.” He kisses Kevin that night leaning over the small divide between their beds pushed together since they were ten years old.

 “You are the only one I need Kevin. The only one I trust by my side.” Riko’s lips are cold but Kevin does feel blessed in the same way as when he is allowed to treat Riko’s wounds from the Master.

With his eyes set on Riko in the horizon, he doesn't feel like a follower, he feels chosen.

 He knows the tattoo on his face is a collar but he kisses back like he is thankful because he has no choice but to be.

 Kevin doesn’t trust himself to know much or anything anymore.

 -

***

When you take away Exy from Kevin, what he has can be counted on one hand.

 A love of history from his mother, a love of classical music from his anxiety, alove of boys and girls from his numerous crushes on the older Ravens and a fearful love of Riko from a need to not only survive but shine.

 He knows he can love Exy but it will never love him back. Not the way he needs it.

 A nosy but quiet investigation into the youngest Ravens mental health says that Kevin has an anxiety disorder with dependency issues. The psychiatrist says Riko has borderline personality disorder. In his professional opinion, they both should be medicated and encouraged to foster hobbies outside of Exy. While Tetsuji does respectfully close the door on the man's face he does not prohibit Kevin or Riko from exploring other interests. He has beat into them that Exy comes first so he does not worry about infidelity.

 But Riko does at a constant rate.

 Kevin thinks this is why Riko has them both sleep with Lydia. He says it is because she will do what he says and they are old enough but Kevin wonders if it's because of the way he’s been looking at Riko and Jean instead.

 Like he wants to kiss Riko again, to hush all the mean words his mouth is capable of.

 Like he wants to lean into Jean to take comfort as well as security from someone needing equally as bad.

 It’s the only explanation he can think of when Riko has Jean assaulted.

 That Kevin was selfish and wanted too much so Riko has to remind him that Kevin only wants what Riko wants.

 It feels like a warning, using Jean's body like that. Riko says nothing but he looks at Kevin like, see what you’ve done? He’s crying for someone to save him because of you? His pain is on you.

 And Kevin does feel like the guilty party with all his lingering glances, gentle touches, and stolen kisses.

 He had forgotten himself. His place as both toy and pet.

 He had started to want freely. Riko has helped him again to find his place because now Jean will never want for Kevin. No, now Jean will be afraid of love and starving himself of it. Kevin cannot imagine he is temptation enough for another try, not with what he costs.

 They are brothers so he knows Jean is better saving for someone else.

 There is no room to be grateful or anything but far from his body at the moment. Jean’s screams pierce the veil drawing him back time and time again but Kevin is good at being detached. Imagining that he was not the one to tape Jean’s hands together or open the door for the seniors bent on destroying his dear friend.

 He can barely feel his fingers so he doesn’t feel to blame yet but he will. He knows Riko will leave Jean for him to clean up afterward.

 And Jean with his not all the way dead yet eyes will try to be ok. Like there won’t be a next time he is in the wrong place at the right time for Riko.

 The shadow in Riko has been building like a Tsunami. Waves cresting in chaos with height. For years Riko has grown harder. [K1] He has taken more discipline into his hands like he would rather cause pain than fall to it at his uncle’s cane.

 Riko has been transforming into a Raven while Kevin, still a bird but not a Raven has to learn to toughen his skin.

 He sees the breaking in Riko, the unhinging shuttering mess as the years go by. This proves that he’s been right to be afraid of Riko.

 Riko the boy king who no one will stop or stand against.

 Riko who loves Kevin with the ferocity of a favorite toy but just as easily may break him in the future when threatened.

 “It will be easier to be a star if you’re heterosexual Kevin.” Riko is not wrong, he never is. He stands over Jean who flinches in the bed no longer smothered by bigger bodies. The tallest boy’s  body shuddering like the magnitude of what has been done him with open chasms in the earth . Muscle dimpling with goosebumps in the cool room. There is blood in the corner of his mouth and Kevin thinks Jean may have bitten his cheek in the rape. He’s glad it’s a minor wound.

 “Do not touch what is mine,” he says in warning to Jean, Jean will not look at Riko so Kevin knows that he understands. It doesn’t matter that Kevin had kissed Jean first or that Riko had never said he couldn’t, arbitrarily changing the rules in a fit of childish anger.

 For the first time, really, Kevin understands exactly what the cost of fame for him will be.

 Ever hopeful he had thought that once they made court, once they went pro, Kevin would have his brother at his side. Opportunities falling at his feet. If he just endured a little longer. held his tongue a little more.

 Now he knows there is no guarantee for his future, only as long as he pleases Riko.

 To do that he cannot love anyone more than Riko, He cannot let anyone besides Riko work harder than him or ever think that he is something beyond Exy.

 The cost is steep.

 And he should be worried about Jean. He should soothe his hurt teammate. Bust he cant and he’s selfish in the fear he hold onto facing the looming prospect of living and dying by the Nest. Preserved perhaps even after death in this gilded cage, he was bought to be displayed in threatens the function of his lungs.  His knees go weak.

 “Kevin. Kevin.” Jean is holding out his hand in front of Kevin's eyes, tone begging Kevin to help him. Like a child who has been abandoned. Like he has been. Kevin vomits on the floor with Jean’s shaking fingers resting on his head.

 He can never leave because of Riko but he will never leave because of Jean.

 -

***

Once he is the best, that’s his downfall.

 You fly too close to the sun you burn. Kevin is a blistered thing.

 He had been caught between two swords.

 Do his best to beat Riko and Do well enough but not better than Riko.

 With Tetsuji’s watchful gaze there was no more holding himself back.

 The truth once again harming him the most in those hours after the ERC told Tetsuji they felt Riko was holding Kevin back.

   “You’ve taken everything from me! You say you love me but you try to take my position, my purpose-“ Rapid breathing shakes Kevins “You,” is emphasized with the heel of Riko’s shoes digging into his hand, “Are not better than me. A pet is not nor ever will be better than their vision master.” Kevin isn’t sure he’s heard a snap but the pain intensifies. It's hard to be coherent with the concussion he’s sure he has.

 “But now that they have put that idea in your head, in Uncle’s I must put you down.  Look what you’ve made me done brother.” He does look at his mangled hand while Riko brings his racquet down on it with a tone of finality.

 The finality of Exy career ending.

 The last thirteen years of his life expiring with the climactic grace of a nuclear bomb.

 He had been right to think he would live and die by Riko’s hand.

 “Don’t cry Kevin, You're going to become our assistant coach. You’re family, I will always make a place for you at my side.” Riko looks calmer than he has for years and Kevin realizes it's finally because his crown is secure. “I will send Jean for you.”

 Jean does come. He looks how Kevin assumes he would feel if his brain and emotions would come back online but all he can think of is surviving at the moment.

 His tired body is telling him to fly away from this nest of snakes.

 “You should go,” Jean says choking on the words in French as he bandages Kevin’s hand that is still bleeding onto the court. “You should leave and never come back.”

 “He’ll kill you.” Jean has been broken enough.

 “No, but he will kill you if he continues to see you as a threat. He will tear you to pieces because I know you, Kevin, and you are a star. It is in your nature to shine. He has already spent most of his life trying to snuff you out. Riko will never kill me though, he would be out of toys that have no consequences to harming them.”

 “I can’t.” The face Jean puts on is brave as he helps Kevin out of the gym, through the common area to the outside parking lot. Despite the consequences that will no doubt be severe he doesn’t hesitate in giving Kevin the keys to his car.

 “I will say you took them. The last I saw of you I left you outside your door, you must have taken my keys while I was helping you. "

 Riko has made convincing liars of them, he had learned from the best.

 “Don’t-Don’t let any of the others know.” That it was Riko who had maimed him, ”“If they ask tell them I do not want to speak with them.”

 Of the two , Jean’s survival instinct had always been better than Kevin’s.  “Go to your father, no one will deny you his room number. Keep your hood up.”

 Years before when they had stolen the note from Tetsuji’s office, Kevin would never have thought one day the information would become his solace.

 That he would have a parent to once more turn to in his time of need.

 The French backliner knows that only a Martyr such a David Wymack could save him now. Despite everything being ruined, that is enough to keep him moving.

 “Promise me you will call if things get worse, Jean. You cannot let him take any more from you, please."

 The older man agrees though they both know he won’t call Kevin. Kevin can’t even promise he won’t come crawling back to Riko as soon as he calls Kevin to come.

 Kevin Day knows abuse. He knows that he has been abused. That Riko and Tetsuji are abusive. He knows most of all that abuse victims hardly ever can break the cycle by themselves. Leaning on Jean for stability is foolish, he will back inside the month with the lack of resolve they both have. [K3] 

 But there is the hope that David Wymack is enough.

 There is the hope that Kevin will die someday far in the future with his pride intact knowing he went to seek better for himself.

 -

***

For so long he had been fighting. Standing outside of the Foxes coach’s door feels like the first good thing he’s done since his mother died. He doesn’t know what he will do or the future. The world now is pain and consequence.

 Everything else starts with a knock.

 “Hello?” Wymack opens the door, he has had enough injured foxes he knows before he see’s the blood something is wrong.

 “I need your help.” He needs Wymack’s protection. He needs his dad to tell him things will be alright.

 “Kevin D-” he knows who Kevin is.

 He wants to say, I'm your son. But settles for another truth “Riko. He broke my hand.” For once the truth does set him free.