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aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

Trans Neil? Like the one where he knew Kevin from the nest and Alison was a supportive friend and she called him handsome the first time they met on fox court? Preferably like a canon rewrite (?still don’t know the correct terms so idk if canon compliant works here) but other types would be appreciated too

Hi, anon. The fic you describe may be ‘Remind me I’m not home,’ which has Neil as a former Raven and is below in our previous recs. I’m re-listing ‘Beautiful and Splendid Things,’ which has a fun twist on exy. - A

previous recs:

trans Neil 1 here

trans Neil, Andrew, Kevin here

‘Remind me I’m not home’ here

‘In Flanders Fields,’ ‘In The House of the Rising Sun,’ ‘All or Nothing,’ ‘Josten’s Eight,’ and ‘Beautiful and Splendid Things’ (this one is also recced below) here

‘there's gotta be some butterflies somewhere,’ ‘forgive our sins forged at the pulpit,’ and ‘We All Get A Little Wrecked Sometimes’ here

‘Staring at the Sun’ (jerejean, since updated, background andreil) here

Affection can be shown in so many ways by Theoddgalaxy [Rated T, 5978 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew is learning, learning to support, to be supported and it’s terrifying. He’s slowly each day relaxing into normalcy, that is until the nightmares start up again, and Luther contacts Nicky.

Andrew has a nightmare Neil comforts. Nicky gets a call from Luther, and it reminds them all they’ve got a home with the foxes. Andrew also drags Neil to therapy.

tw: nightmares, tw: homophobic slur

Show and Tell by darkbluebox [Rated T, 806 Words, Complete, 2021]

“Show me your scars.”

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: referenced deadnaming, tw: referenced involuntary outing

a different way in the destiny by sheskyripa [Not Rated (we say T), 14853 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil had bandages on both cheeks. Andrew removed them one by one, as gently as possible so as not to hurt him further. The tattoo was gone, giving way to burned flesh. Two new knife scars arrived in Neil's collection. Other than that, he looked fine. Andrew hated having thought of that. Neil was not okay. He was hurt. He was…

Andrew's eyes dropped to his stomach. Neil noticed, of course. He placed a hand on his stomach before making Andrew look at him. “I'm okay. We're okay.”

or, where neil was pregnant when he was kidnapped.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: transphobia, tw: misgendering, tw: dysphoria, tw: involuntary outing, tw: panic attacks

When it comes to us by trubenblack [Not Rated, 1762 Words, Complete, 2019]

It’s incredibly difficult to pretend to yourself that you haven’t really fucked up when you very clearly have.

Neil gets anxious and doesn't know when to stop pushing himself.

tw: dysphoria, tw: anxiety

Beautiful and Splendid Things by Dhillarearen [Rated T, 37105 Words, Complete 2019, AFTG Reverse Big Bang]

Hobbes hasn’t been taught in a century, but if he were, Neil Josten would agree with his view on humanity. The only good thing about living is Exy, and being a member of a professional Exy hover-racing team means that Neil doesn’t have to think about anything else.

Enter Andrew Minyard.

tw: violence

NB: Art prompt by @still-waiting-for-godot

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ghost-in-the-stalls · 3 years

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your hc about mary please🤲🏻🤲🏻

Aw thanks so much for asking!! Idk if you're the same anon that asked about Tilda or a different one, but I appreciate you just the same 😍 no one has interacted with the Tilda post yet from what I can see so idk if people care about this in general but im glad you do! And I'd love to share regardless.

Once again this'll probably be long so it's going under a cut. Cw for normal aftg stuff but then also a little human trafficking mention in the beginning and general abuse/neglect both physical and emotional.

And once again this is in no way to excuse Mary's shitty behavior. She and Tilda were both abusive and terrible mothers and this is more just an exploration of the character and her mentality than anything else. I just love character depth.

Finally, I apologize if this isn't very well worded. I'm pretty tired but I dont like editing myself lmao I'd rather just get this out now. I think I get my points across clearly enough so I don't care as much about how good or bad the writing is

So Mary's mother was a woman who I consider not only having married into the Hatfords but who was basically like... sold to them as a child. Like maybe she was the illegitimate child of some other wealthy family who happened to owe some kind of debt to the Hatfords. And the Hatfords had only one son and were struggling to have another, but were desperate to keep the family line going. So they took this baby in exchange for forgiving a debt, and raised her to one day marry their son.

So this girl (whose name I've decided is Marion for some reason) is raised as a member of the family but like... slightly less. Treated as more of an object than a person. They basically only gave her enough of an education for her to get by, and made sure she knew from a young age that her sole purpose in the family was to marry their son (let's call him Samuel).

So you can imagine she didn't grow into a very happy woman. But she filled her role. She married Samuel Hatford, gave him 3 kids, and then pretended to stay out of the way. Stuart was the oldest, Mary in the middle, and I hc they had a younger sister as well. Don't ask me why. That just popped into my head one day and now I can't imagine otherwise.

So this family dynamic was fucked from the beginning. See Marion filled her role, but she had plans. In raising her children, she gave a great deal of care and attention to Stuart as he was the eldest and the only son. He was to inherit the family business upon his father's death or retirement. And she wanted to make sure she was taken care of properly in her old age. So she made Stuart feel as loved and doted on as she could.

Her daughters served her no purpose, so they got very different treatment. Mary especially was affected by this. The youngest daughter was able to generally slip under the radar and find her own niche in the world (married into a powerful wealthy family through a man she genuinely loved and that was already more than anyone needed or expected from her).

But Mary. She felt her mother's cold shoulder on a very deep level. Their father wasn't exactly a family man- couldn't be bothered. And here was her mother, so plainly and openly playing favorites. Stuart would get hugs and soft words while Mary would- on a good day- get slapped for even opening her mouth. See Mary and her sister were never meant to have any real power in the family. So what did it matter to Marion what grudges they held against her?

So enough years go by and Marion decides its taking too long for her husband to retire. So she takes matters into her own hands. Starts slowly slipping poison into his meals in very small doses until he's too weak to fight back when she slits his throat. She doesn't hide what she did. She doesn't need to. When Stuart takes over at 22 years old, he can't find it in himself NOT to protect her.

But I'm getting carried away. So Mary was now in a pretty weird spot. Stuart being in charge gave her a bit stronger footing in the family (they'd always had a very close relationship despite their mother's attitude), but she was still lower rung. She still suffered at the hands of her mother's emotional neglect and manipulation. And she was getting tired of it.

In comes Nathan Wesninski. See the thing I imagine with Nathan is that he is actually incredible charming. His knives can only get him so much when there are people he can't reach to cut up. And when his rising empire starts doing business with the Hatfords, he and Mary latch onto one another very quickly.

They each have their own intentions in the relationship and neither of them are blind to that. But it wasn't an arranged marriage. See Mary saw Nathan as her ticket up and out. She knew he was vying for power and she knew he was fully capable of getting it. I wouldn't go as far to say they were ever in love- I don't think either of them were ever really capable of that- but Mary definitely had some strong faith in what their relationship could be.

Now, when she looked forward, she finally saw herself on top. She saw her and Nathan standing side by side. That power that had always been out of reach for her? It was now in sight, and she definitely was blinded by that. She didn't see what Nathan really was until she was in too deep.

Stuart and the younger sister had disapproved of Mary and Nathan being together from the beginning. Being in business with him, Stuart knew what Nathan really was and how much he could drag Mary down. Their younger sister had just learned to be much better at reading people. But it didn't matter what they said. Mary had her plan and nothing was going to take it from her.

Mary's commitment to marrying Nathan and Stuart's blatant disapproval of him created a deep rift between them. They had always been very close, but Mary saw his interference as an attempt to keep her in her place. She was stubborn and refused to back down. By the time she and Nathan got married, her and Stuart were barely on speaking terms.

Now the thing is, Nathan knew what he wanted out of Mary. And he also knew that once he had her, she wouldn't be able to go anywhere until he got what he wanted.

It didn't take too long for Mary to come to understand that what they had was never and would never be a partnership. She was a tool to him. And by the time she had Abram, he was already beating her into submission and openly fooling around with Lola on the side.

But now she was stuck. Their marriage may not have been arranged, but it was still a business deal. And even if it wasn't, Nathan wasn't going to let her go anywhere.

Once it became clear that Abram wasn't going to make an appropriate heir for the Wesninski business and Nathan tried to sell him to the Moriyamas, Mary decided she'd had enough. She was going to get out one way or another.

Now here's the thing. We know what Mary was like with Neil when they were on the run. We know how abusive and controlling she was. And she could say it was for his own good all she wanted. But ultimately, it was all about power. She had been beaten down from the very start of her life. She'd been left in the dust, bloody and bruised, while those around her rose to a power that was always just out of her reach.

But now it was just her and her son. And they may not even have the luxury of being real people anymore, but damn if she was going to lose the one thing she was able to call hers- the one thing in the world she actually had power over.

Because that's really all it's ever about isn't it? Mary Hatford wasn't capable of loving anything or anyone. The people who'd raised her and made her who she was had never taught her how to do that. And maybe the fierce protectiveness she had over Abram was the closest she could get to it. But really she just ultimately became the same thing she had always been fighting against. Now it was her own heavy and swift hands doling out punishment to a misbehaving child. Now she herself was the one getting the last word and making all the decisions. Now she had someone following her every command.

It eventually became clear to her that she very likely would die sooner or later at the hands of Nathan and his men. She could only run so far and for so long. But even in her death, she knew she would never let them take what was hers. She never took Abram to Stuart because the break in their relationship was beyond repair at this point. But she still would prefer Abram eventually ended up in his protection than at the end of Nathan's knife. But until these things came, she took Abram and kept running. The more days they ran, the more days she had of power over him and freedom from everything else. The more able she was to ensure that Abram would keep running after her death; that he'd never fall under anyone else's power and that her voice would be the only one left in his head at the end of each day.

If she could see where he'd ended up, she'd be furious (and she'd be surprised at her own fury, as introspection wasn't something she indulged in often). He was never meant to live. He was never meant to move on from her memory or to leave her dying request behind.

But, at the same time, good for him for finding his own strength and place in the world. Because of course it could only happen once she was gone.

---

So thats my take on Mary. Once again, she was a piece of shit just like Tilda. This is not to do anything other than explore the character and give her complexity. I do genuinely believed she "loved" Neil in the only way she could ever be capable of loving anyone. But it wasn't love. It was possession. And good on both him and Andrew (and Aaron and Nicky for that matter) for being able to slowly learn to heal from the abuse they suffered at the hands of their parents.

Thanks so much again for asking!! It means a lot and I love to share my headcanons 😊❤

#aftg #aftg meta #mary hatford #stuart hatford #neil josten #nathan wesninski #nathaniel wesninski #abram hatford #tfc #my writing

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foolscapper · 6 years

Text

6. Betrayal

Note: This short plays with the possibility of Peter being bisexual and experimenting with his natural feelings and all that fuuuun teenaged stuff we all deal with in high school, when those hormones are running wiiiild and we're trying to figure out who we are (if we haven't already known and are playing oblivious lbh). IDK what I'm doing, I'm just spewing words and they're sort of filling prompts, only they're getting too long and I'm supER BEHIND-!(This is a whumpfest, and that includes emotional/mental whumpage. So if you're sensitive to bullying about someone's orientation and homophobia and a dash of gay panic, you might wanna skip this prompt.)

Summary: "So Peter's in a hallway. Again. With another person he likes. Again."

Short fic 6 out of 31 for Whumptober.

He's never really put a whole lot of thought to relationships and crushes and all that. Sure, he had girls he was into, and he always wanted to have a girlfriend, because that seemed to be the thing boys got entangled in, but his first real crush had been Liz. And she was wonderful. She was kind and generous and so, so smart. And he screwed that right the heck up. So the next one had to be different. It had to be safer, better, more fair to the other person, right? And that's if anyone would ever want a big, awkward nerd like Peter Parker. And, uh, there's... this kid.

In gym class.

This... boy.

It was honestly not something he lingered on at first. But the more he hung around Andrew, the more he started wondering if maybe there was something a little more to the way he couldn't help but track him up and down from afar, or the way he was temporarily taken aback by his bright grin and high-rising eyebrows, so full of confidence. Full of muscle and grace. Not a pompous jerk like Flash, but cool and composed and actually genuinely liked and humble and —

And maybe he had a thing for Andrew. Maybe? And it makes him panic a little, because he didn't want to be — like, you know. Gay... ish... Gay. And it wasn't even because he thought it was — wrong, or anything like that. It's just... He didn't want to be gay, because he was already made fun of for a plethora of other reasons; why the unholy hell would he want to add another target on him? No, nonono, he should just... push back the feelings that flutter up in his stomach. Right? Right. Don't think of Andrew and his strong-looking hands, or the way he makes all the girls wave him down, or how cool his shirts are, or how funny his jokes can be from across the gym to your stupid enhanced ears—

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

But would Spider-Man be such a coward?

'I like you.'

'I know.'

"You should totally just go for it," Liz says over a skype call (he's not sure why he tells her about his crush first and not Ned, because it's not like he thinks Ned would ever judge him for liking both sides of the coin, but like—)

Peter's hand moves over a fastly beating heart. "Noooo, no, I can't."

"Why not, Peter? It's 2017. We're working on being allowed to be ourselves, right? You should always follow your heart." She smiles at him, pressing a pink pillow against her stomach as she looks between the screen and her cellphone, where there's no doubt another conversation going on via text; how the heck she does that and still seems so invested in their talk is beyond him. She's a magician. A smiling, confident magician who looks at him like he's being ridiculous for hesitating. "That's what you usually do, right? Follow your heart? You have a good one, so it's not, like, a big deal to do that."

Oh, how one wishes it was that easy.

So Peter's in a hallway. Again. With another person he likes. Again.

"I like you. I mean, I have — a crush on you. I think? I'm sorry."

Andrew runs a hand through his perfectly combed brown hair and looks a little stunned. Peter wants to melt into the floor and just die, his ears turning agonizingly red. He sucks his hands into his sleeves and strains the cuff fabric. "I'm so — I should go."

"I knew it," Andrew says. Then clears his throat. "Hey, man, it's cool. I knew it. I mean, you were always kind of watching me in gym, so. I figured as much."

"... S-so..."

"So, uh. I totally think you're cool, too. I just need some time to think about it."

Peter deflates a little, gaze locked on Andrew's clean converse shoes; he's probably rolling in cash, because he seems to have a new pair every other week. Always fashionable. Very popular. What the heck is your problem, Peter, picking the cool kids you have no right to be with? And now — to just go for it like this, maybe... "I didn't mean to make things weird, so I'm sorry if I... did that."

"Nah, no. It's cool." Andrew smiles, shrugging a shoulder. He looks a little uncomfortable, but. "I gotta go, but... you know, I think... maybe we can hang out more. Later. See how this thing goes? If you're interested in it, too."

"I am! I mean, yes — yes, I'd love to hang out."

He's so relieved, he almost wants to cry. For the second time in a year, he's walking quickly through the halls — practically skipping, if he's honest — and when he leaps the fence later and pulls on the Spider-Man mask, there's a bounce to his step that even Karen seems to notice. He wonders if he should ask someone for advice on how to approach this kind of thing? He knows some gay people, but he's really bad at opening up about this kind of thing. Has Mr. Stark ever considered boys? Has Aunt May ever considered girls? And why has it taken him this long to even fathom these kinds of talks? There's noooo waaaay he can go to them about something this embarrassing. Not that — not that being gay is embarrassing! Or is it? Is he being all secretly 'no homo' at himself? That'd make no sense. But gay panic is totally a real thing, and —

Oh, that's a purse snatcher down below, he's gotta focus.

"Hey buddy! That's so not your color!"

Spider-Man job now, Parker romance life later.

'SOLVE THE EQUATION: LOSER + FAGGOT ='

Below the all caps written across his locker door, the predictable answer:

'Peter Parker!'

Peter stares blankly at the message for a long moment. Most of the other kids aren't really paying him any mind at the end of the day. One or two look embarrassed for him; another laughs at the joke sharpied across the metal; Andrew's friend Will nudges by him as the bell rings, echoing sentiments as his elbow sharply grazes Peter's spine: "Faggot."

Oh, Peter thinks. He probably wrote it. It's super unoriginal.

So, Andrew told his friends. He doesn't even bother hiding himself from Peter's radar... just stands with his friends close enough that when Peter turns, he locks eyes with him from down the hallway. There's no signs of that winning smile or twinkle in his eye. He just — stands with his arms folded, defensive, a flash of belated second thoughts in his expression just before he turns away and disappears to leave the campus for the day. Weekend. Good time to go hang out with friends, right? Good time to tell them all about the loser who admitted he liked you.

At his side, Ned catches him by the elbow, looking worried. He'd stayed behind longer to talk to the teacher about his essay rough draft.

"Peter? Dude, hey — " The boy quiets when his eyes meet the locker.

MJ is right behind him.

"Who did this?" she asks, expression darkening with indignation, as she motions a knife-like hand toward his locker.

He doesn't want to handle this. His stomach churns, and before he knows what his own legs are doing he's rushing blindly away through the hall, desperate to pretend nothing's wrong; the best way to do that would be to leave the school, just leave and go be Spider-Man and not think of how fucking stupid he is, how fucking naive—

"Peter!" MJ calls out.

He hears them try to follow, but he's Spider-Man. He's too fast. Fast enough to try and outrun any problem that comes along. Watch as the lockers pass, the teacher yelling 'no running!' futilely, the student he nearly knocks over in his mad sprint for freedom. He jumps down a long set of stairs, staggers, and then face-plants right into Happy Hogan's waiting chest. Panting, he's panting, and he must've really been booking it. "Kid? Hey, you didn't forget our plans tonight, did you? Tuna casserole upstate?"

He looks at Happy sharply, awed.

Tuna... Casserole...?

He hiccups a sob.

His face scrunches into something ugly and recklessly vulnerable. Does he ever learn? Being vulnerable is such a bad idea, no matter how hip it is in 2017. And yet he buries his face in Happy's shoulder as two drip-dripping set of tears squeeze by his pressing eyelids. He's gonna freaking barf; can't breathe or see or smell, but he does eventually feel the man's palms pressing on his shoulders. "What happened? Hey, are you alright?"

Then Happy's arms wrap around him with some hesitancy and hold him there, a small comfort the guy's not used to offering just anyone. Peter presses his hands into his face, stifling what feels like hoarse panic now.

"He told them — he told people, and he didn't really —"

A set of fingers hook around the back of his neck, pressing to comfort before leading him forward when his legs refuse to carry him.

"C'mon," Happy says, as grave as a six-foot hole reserved for a coffin. "Here, c'mon, get in, get in." He ushers him into the backseat of the car and Peter promptly curls up, forgoing a seat belt. He's Spider-Man. Spider-Man doesn't need a goddamn seat belt, okay? He can survive falls off ten story buildings, no sweat. This is nothing. And he shouldn't even be freaking out like this. How is a rude message scribbled on his locker worse than being dropped out of the sky on a fiery plane?

... He feels bad, leaving Ned and MJ behind; his phone keeps buzzing in his pocket, but he's scared to explain. He shouldn't be, because they love him, and they're his friends.

But he is.

"Listen, Peter," Happy says after a long and concerned pause. "We're gonna stop by the diner on 11th and order some burgers and fries, and you're gonna tell me everything, alright? Then I'm gonna decide if I need extreme measures. I'm not above endangering high school students, and trust me when I say nobody should want to cross paths with me on a golf cart in broad daylight."

"Happy..."

"No, angry, I'm very angry. And stressed out. I don't get paid enough for being worried about emotional wrecks in superhero suits as often as I am." He looks at Peter and his puffy red eyes in the rear-view mirror, expression lacking any of the usual annoyed punch; he really does just look worried. "You know I'm in charge of you, right? So your problems are my problems."

"You don't have to help with these kinds of things," Peter says lamely.

Stopped at a red, Happy twists around in his seat to point at Peter.

"I want to, kid. There's a difference." A pause. He motions at Peter with a hand. "Crawl up here, spider-boy. Up front. C'mon, tell me everything. The diner thing still stands."

And boy, it'd be easy to leap out of a window and find somewhere to sling away into isolation. Easy, but not... what Peter wants, actually. He shrinks in his seat.

(Now, maybe he should text MJ and Ned back before they storm the Avengers headquarters.)

First things first:

"... Don't tell Mr. Stark?"

Peter's not sure why he doesn't want him to know. At least right now. Maybe because he blows stuff out of proportion? And this isn't even a big deal; he's making it a big deal. It's not the first time he's been taunted for being him. And yet Happy's words have eased back a harrowing panic in his lungs, and when the driver promises he won't say anything without Peter's approval, he knows this is someone who'd never betray him. He crawls into the front seat and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Happy sighs, "Okay, bud... Start from the top. And it'll be alright. Just breathe through it... I've been really working on my meditation expertise, if you need tips. Gotta manage my blood pressure somehow, right?"

Peter actually smiles at that. And even if Happy doesn't smile, too, he knows he's right where the guy wants him. They talk all the way upstate, through a diner, and over a bridge, and up many a-street, as Peter's blotchy face clears up.

When he hears all kinds of stories about the boys Happy had fallen for miserably in high school, he feels — less alone.

That's all he really wants, right now.

#mcu #marvel #peter parker #happy hogan #spider-man #ned leeds #michelle jones #bisexual peter parker #whumptober #homophobia cw #slurs cw #mymcufanfic

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ilgaksu · 7 years

Text

So @badacts and I came up with this ridiculous spy au and idk lads here’s a preview of the fic for it I’m working on, hopefully it’ll keep you warm whilst I’m crying over finals (cw: graphic depictions of violence - stay safe kids!)

Agent #10-03-18: Josten, Neil Abram.

Aliases: Nathaniel Abram Wesninski, Michael Hatford, Stefan Bernard, Alex Vidakovic, Chris Rey (see attached notes for further)

Status: ACTIVE DUTY

Security Clearance: Delta

Assignment: Fox Division

Gender: M

D.O.B: 19/03/1991

Citizenship status: American, British

Identifying characteristics: Caucasian, blue eyes, notable facial and bodily scarring (see attached notes for further)

Languages: English (Birth), French (Fluent), Spanish (Fluent), German (Fluent), Russian (Fluent)

Specialisms: Stealth and Infiltration, Mafia (National and Overseas), Interrogation

Service History: #77267, #90568, #22110, #45999 (see attached notes for further)

Deployment Precautions: unstable attachment, previous insubordination, pyrophobia, evidence of further masked neuroatypicality (see attached notes for further)

Family Background:

Birth Father: Nathan Wesninski (deceased)

Birth Mother: Mary Hatford (deceased)

Spouse: Minyard, Andrew Joseph (#03-19-10, Active Duty)

Spouse to be informed fully in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Body to be released to spouse in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Spouse to be in receipt of full pension benefit: Yes

Agent #03-19-10: Minyard, Andrew Joseph.

Aliases: (see attached notes for further)

Status: ACTIVE DUTY (RESTRICTED)

Security Clearance: Delta

Assignment: Fox Division

Gender: M

D.O.B: 04/11/1990

Citizenship status: American

Identifying characteristics: Caucasian, blond, bodily scarring (see attached notes for further)

Languages: English (Birth), German (Fluent), Russian (Fluent)

Specialisms: Extraction, Support

Service History: #77267, #90568, #52019, #41734 (see attached notes for further)

Deployment Precautions: previous repeated insubordination, previous high impact collateral damage (high risk), evidence of profound Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; diagnosed Bipolar Disorder (Type 2) (see attached notes for further)

NOT TO BE DEPLOYED OUTSIDE OF EMERGENCY PROTOCOL #4I80

Family Background:

Birth Father: Unknown

Birth Mother: Tilda Minyard (deceased, see attached notes for further)

Other:

Minyard, Aaron Michael (#05-19-03, Active Duty (Medical), Sibling)

Hemmick, Nicholas Esteban (#08-05-03, Active Duty, Cousin)

Spouse: Josten, Neil Abram (#10-03-18, Active Duty)

Spouse to be informed fully in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Body to be released to spouse in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Spouse to be in receipt of full pension benefit: Yes

“Where’s he from?” Lebedev asks, dealing Andrew in. He doesn’t gesture to Neil, but it’s clear who he’s referring to: everyone’s pretending not to stare. Apparently Markov isn’t the first member of the new generation of the Bratva’s bright young things to bring along a boy, but he’s the first to parade him around the shop floor.

“New York,” Andrew replies. Beside him, Neil stirs a little, acting as though he’s been made sleepy with boredom, scrolling through his phone and slung across Andrew’s lap.

After the averted disaster of last month’s introductions, they figured Neil had made them unforgettable as a pair: might as well make use of it. Nikolai Vidakovic was born in the poorest town in Russia, emigrated to America five years ago, and made a living off working for multiple escort agencies in rotation until he was introduced to Markov a year and a half ago. Within six months, he’d moved into Markov’s apartment. Within nine, he’d had his face slashed open by a rival. The story goes that Markov spent forty thousand dollars a head on bounty money, and then dragged the ones who held the knife behind his car. The story goes they had to replace the gravel on the racetrack, since by the fourth man it had become impossible to clean.

The best liars always tell some kind of truth, Neil had said once. Andrew doesn’t have that kind of money, but he knows if something had taken a wrong turn, with everything that has happened to Neil, he wouldn’t have slept until no one could get the blood back out either. After all, Andrei Markov is an obsessive man.

Under the weight of Lebedev’s eyes, Neil shifts on Andrew’s lap, glancing away from his phone and at the table. He scowls, as though registering the new splay of cards for the first time and taking it as a personal insult.

“Baby,” Neil whines, as if on cue, “Baby, I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed,” Andrew tells him. “Katya will take you.” At the mention of her current name, Renee - sat a few metres away from Andrew and Neil, ever watchful - rises to her feet.

“You haven’t paid attention to me all night,” Neil continues, voice laced with complaint. He slides his hand between the buttons of Andrew’s shirt, curving his fingertips familiar against Andrew’s ribcage, the splay of his body around Andrew’s petulant. As though tugged by a string, Lebedev drops his eyes back to the cards, his own hand twitching in its hold on his glass.

“There’s a lot of night left,” Andrew replies, with a kind of savage amusement. Neil flops against him again, sulky, and Andrew catches Renee’s eye and shakes his head. She sits back down in her chair, hands folded deceptively still.

Lebedev says, “He’s very American.”

“He’s from Tolyatti,” Andrew says, brusque with it, Neil’s breath hot against his neck. Neil moves and presses his face against Andrew’s collarbone for a moment before leaning up and pressing a kiss against the bare skin over Andrew’s pulse. Andrew grits his teeth, swallows down on a shiver, and doesn’t look at him. After a few seconds, Neil sighs and pulls his hand back out of Andrew’s shirt, flopping back and returning to his phone. Andrew knows the bones of Neil better than his own; he can imagine how the scar tissue glints, dull and shiny, under the dimmed lights with the way Neil tilts his head; can see it in how people’s eyes catch and then tear away when faced with the weight of Andrei Markov’s notice.

“You like them difficult,” Lebedev says. His smile never gets close to his eyes. “Where I’m from we save that for our wives. Your action.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Andrew says coldly, “I’m not married. I’ll hold.” He holds Lebedev’s gaze, noticing the tension in the way he holds himself in the chair. He is more than aware that Lebedev works for Steiner, and that Steiner himself is stood within earshot, leaning against the bar and gilt-eyed to match.

He nods at Andrew. Andrew nods back. And the thing is, Andrew was transient long before he picked up a collection of new names, long before his own tongue fell out of his head; back when his mouth had been sewn up and he picked out each stitch with his bare fucking hands, fingertips nerveless and bloody with effort. Andrew Minyard has been in the process of becoming Andrew Minyard for over twenty five years now, and a large part of that process has been learning the rarity of a better nature in people. Andrew is commended, time and time over, on his ability to anticipate a perpetrator’s future actions, carving them out in a streamlined, sequential fashion for people who have all the required imagination for it but still lack that basic instinct to know - because nine times of ten, people behave on instinct, people are motivated for reasons old as and older than gold, people can be predicted because they fall victim to their own human condition.

Some people can’t live with believing the worst of people; Andrew’s turned it into a career. The point being, Andrew’s been waiting for Alexei Steiner to pull a stunt like this ever since Neil first fell into Andrei Markov’s lap with the word baby clinging to the breath on his lips. For Steiner, finding a weakness so seemingly by accident, a ready-made pressure point waiting for the cooker, has blinded him from looking for anything else. He’s too busy itching to test the limits; of how precious Andrei Markov’s toy is, of how far Andrei Markov will go to keep Nikolai Vidakovic leashed to him. How easy it would be to unravel Markov if someone cut the leash before he could reel it back in.

“Of course not,” Lebedev says, “Don’t. The fighting, the guilting, the always fucking with the lights out. It’s a waste.” He shrugs, eyes flitting to Neil, who looks at him with lovely, blank eyes, and then back to his phone. With the sleeves of his silk shirt pushed up and the large patches of skin visible through the rips in acid-wash jeans, Neil doesn’t just look the picture of a boy dragged out from the gutter; it’s noticeable that the scars go all the way down. The sense-memory of them under Andrew’s hands has been making the back of his neck prickle every time he sees a flash of thigh all evening.

“Then again,” Lebedev adds, faintly mocking, “Sometimes it’s better if you can’t see what you’re touching, isn’t it? We are not similar men, of course - but I think on that, perhaps, we can relate.”

And there it is. There’s a brief silence as the others in the room eye Andrew and Lebedev; Steiner’s interest is a particular and separate weight. How far are you willing to go?

Internally, Andrew sighs. He has made a career out of predictability, but sometimes, it would be nice to be proved wrong. Neil, for all his ridiculous mouth and Bambi eyes, isn’t as stupid as Nikolai: he knew this was coming, so he merely blinks boredly at Lebedev until Andrew squeezes the hand on Neil’s hip and says, “Get up, Nikolenka.”

“Are we going now?” Neil asks, brightening immediately.

“Soon,” Andrew promises, and lifts Neil off his lap. Neil sighs but lets himself be manhandled, tucking his feet under himself on the sofa. Everyone is watching, Lebedev including, as Andrew, very carefully, choreographing, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out one of the sixteen credit cards listed under Markov’s name. He places it on the table, making pointed eye contact with Steiner, and pushes it towards him slightly. Gestures to where it lies on the table.

“I’m good for your damages,” Andrew says. Steiner’s mouth quirks upwards.

“That’s very considerate. You didn’t have to.”

“Call it a business expense,” Andrew tells him, and then grabs the nearest empty chair and swings it directly into Lebedev’s face. He feels the bones give the first time, but the sound isn’t distinct until after the third swing; he moves so fast that he gets in that third hit before Lebedev falls off his own chair, scrambling backwards, all insect, as Andrew drops the chair and follows him slowly. He looks at everyone else, on their feet, hands to their guns, and smiles.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Andrew says, gesturing back to the discarded splay of his cards. The fact it’s blatantly a winning hand makes the display all the better. “I’ll fold.”

“I didn’t mean -” Lebedev starts, Andrew hauling him upright.

“I don’t care what you meant,” Andrew tells him, “You’re not supposed to be looking at him,” and kicks Lebedev back to the floor.

Somewhere between breaking Lebedev’s leg and the feel of blood on his face, Neil stands in Andrew’s periphery. Andrew, who for all anyone’s watching knows, is consumed with the habit of violence (repetitive, boring, Andrew is capable of more than a reversal of biology) watches Neil slip his phone into his jeans pocket and saunter towards the bar, looking bored out of his mind. As he passes Andrew, he reaches out and drifts fingertips across the bow of shoulders. It is both for show and for grounding.

“You want me to get you anything, baby?” Neil asks. The biggest tell that he’s Nikolai right now is that he lets Andrew ignore him; just sighs, a little resigned, and heads to the bar. Neil Josten would never let Andrew Minyard ignore the question of what Andrew wants. Over Lebedev, Andrew can hear Nikolai ordering another drink - something with amaretto, sickly-sweet and with cyanide, perfect and perfectly in character.

tbc

#aftg #own writing #spy au #badacts

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