#rip minyards it’s been real
Note
Could you do Neil and Katelyn for 3 for the mistletoe thingy?
In my head they’re conspiring against their bfs
Requests are open until the end of Dec ‘23 💕
#rip minyards it’s been real#Katelyn and Neil powers combined. too powerful#fan art#my art#aftg#all for the game#neil josten#katelyn mackenzie#requests#asks#mistletoe ask#chibi#digital
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I’ve been thinking about this ask from @theravenkin’s blog that talks about how AFTG is a fandom that likes to do random ass and hyperspecific niche au’s so naturally I thought I’d make a fic rec list of 5 of my faves:
Under A Sea of Mist by puddlejumper99/ @writingpuddle
For a thousand years the Lord Ruler has reigned over the Final Empire. Ash falls from the sky and strange mists shroud the night. The skaa labour in the fields and the nobility dance in their Keeps, their glittering lights blinding them to the cruelty in their hearts.
The skaa rebellion is a fantasy and Neil knows it. The Lord Ruler is immortal; there's no overthrowing him. It's as much a surprise to him as anyone else when he gets recruited. But as he gets drawn deeper into the plot, he starts to discover things that will change their understanding of magic forever.
There's always another secret.
Mistborn au. There‘s probably only like 4 people that love both of these fandoms like me, so reading this felt so self-indulgent, like it was ripped straight from high school me’s wildest dreams, and it just makes me clap my hands with joy like a child every time I think about the fact that this fic exists
Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night by Silveriss/ @wulfrann
Monsters and ghouls of every age,
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
Far beyond the graveyard and its renowned Spiral Hill, the Woods prevail. There are no animals to be found there, not one sign of life but for the shifting of the mist and gentle caress of the wind.
Neil has lived in Halloween Town for as long as he can remember, though memory is a fickle thing.
Since his mother, Mary Finkelstein, died two years ago, he hasn't been as good at following her orders as he used to be.
He's made friends. He's not sure how it happened, really - it feels like he just woke up one day with his life suddenly entangled with a whole group of people he hadn't noticed getting slowly closer.
He's also taken the habit of looking at the Woods.
There's something calling to him. He can hear them in the wind, the whispers in a hundred incoherent tongues.
They say crossing the threshold is always the most difficult part.
Nightmare Before Christmas au. Really gorgeous atmospheric writing and adds some v cool worldbuilding elements to the Nightmare Before Christmas universe
The Real Folk Blues by moonix/ @annawrites
Captain David Wymack and the bounty hunter crew of the Bebop spaceship might be a little out of their depths chasing down the infamous hacker and notorious runaway Neil Wesninski, whose bounty exceeds even Kevin's wildest dreams. Worst of all, Andrew might actually enjoy it.
Cowboy Bebop au. The Foxes are space cowboys, I think that’s all I need to say
I'd Never Want to Complicate Your Heart by jingerhead/ @jingerhead
Andrew glanced at the board and found his name at one of the pods of two rather than four (thank god), right next to the windows. Next to his name was ‘Neil Josten’, one Andrew didn’t recognize, but he had to be at least a sophomore to be in this class. Turning to find the right seats, Andrew found himself pausing as he walked, seeing the person he’d be sitting next to for the foreseeable future if Mr. Browning had his way.
And shit, this was either a good thing or a bad thing, because Andrew is very, very gay, and Neil was good looking enough to become a distraction very quickly.
~*~
Or, the Heartstopper AU nobody asked for but that I absolutely needed to write.
Heartstopper au. I called this fic Heartstopper for the asexuals in my bookmark notes and in my comment on it and I will stand by that until I die cuz some of Neil’s experiences with his sexual orientation in this fic echo my own so well I got chills
Andrew Minyard's Diary by fuzzballsheltiepants/ @fuzzballsheltiepants
Andrew is comfortable with his life. He helps edit bad books. He has his collection of people, an apartment, and a novel he will never finish writing. If only his cousin and best friend would stop trying to set him up with one Neil Josten.
Except...perhaps he wouldn't mind being set up with Neil after all.
In which Andrew is Bridget Jones, Kevin is Daniel Cleaver, and Neil is Mark Darcy. Except none of them are like their inspiration characters at all.
Inspired by @scribbleb_red, who said on Twitter "What if there was a Bridget Jones AU?" and when I said, "Yes please!" she handed me the reins. I hope this is even remotely what you were looking for.
Bridget Jones’s Diary au. Absolutely hilarious concept with just perfect character dynamics
#the effect of Nora’s strong character writing means you can throw the aftg characters into like any situation#and it’ll work#I hope to one day write my own hyperspecific niche aftg au that only I want to read#aftg#fic rec#fic rec list
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Calling Home
Summary:
"What if Neil hid his phone where his kidnappers wouldn't find it? What if he called Andrew while on his way to Baltimore? What if Andrew had to listen, heart tearing in two, to Neil's journey into his father's basement?"
Andrew fishes his phone from his pocket, chest emptying himself of air when he sees Neil’s name flash across the display. His hands are shaking as he hits return call, shaking like they haven’t done since he went off his meds, and in many ways the lurch of loss in his gut feels like withdrawal.
He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.
“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.
Read here or on AO3
Andrew finds Neil’s rucksack and racquet four gates down from the one they left through. That’s when he knows – isn’t sure what he knows, but knows, because Neil would never willingly surrender his bag or racquet, would keep a white-knuckled grip on them even if the world were ending. It feels like the world is ending, and if it isn’t Andrew is going to end it himself, is going to rip and burn and tear and cut until there’s nothing left of this stupid hunk of rock. Neil is gone.
His phone buzzes in his back pocket. Andrew ignores it. He doesn’t have time to deal with Kevin or Renee or Nicky or anyone else pestering him about where he is and what he’s doing. Right now there’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s-
The buzzing stops.
It’s only as the call times out that Andrew snaps back to sense with a jolt. Neil’s phone wasn’t in his bag. Which meant he could have-
Andrew fishes his phone from his pocket, chest emptying himself of air when he sees Neil’s name flash across the display. His hands are shaking as he hits return call, shaking like they haven’t done since he went off his meds, and in many ways the lurch of loss in his gut feels like withdrawal.
He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.
“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.
“Stop it,” Neil’s voice cracks over the phone, and in the black wash of memories that follows it takes Andrew a moment to realise that it isn’t him Neil is talking to. The voices are muffled as though reaching the mic through layers of fabric,and Andrew crushes the device against his ear. Most of the crowd has dispersed in the aftermath of the riot, but still he finds himself scanning the surroundings for somewhere quieter, somewhere he can listen, think-
“Stop me,” taunts a cool, female voice that has Andrew’s train of thought stalling in its tracks. “I told you to keep still, didn’t I?”
“Where are you taking me, Lola?” Neil says, loud and, in Andrew’s opinion, far, far too obvious. The bitch – Lola? – laughs. Andrew would thank Neil for giving him the name if he wasn’t determined to kill him for everything else.
“Where the fuck do you think? Daddy’s waiting. Speaking of which, I can’t take you to him with such a stain on your face. Rome?”
The image that springs to Andrew’s mind is inconceivable. Or, it would be, if he hadn’t lead the kind of life that provides plenty of material for a blackened imagination to work with. His feet are moving before he’s aware of it, and he’s biting his tongue to keep him from shouting Neil’s name down a phone where at best the sound would go unheard and at worst it would get Neil killed. The stadium grounds flash past, and something clicks on the other end of the line, followed by a breathless “You’re sick,” that turns Andrew’s blood to slush in his veins.
He’s jogging up to the team bus when Neil starts to scream. He stumbles, doubles over as though feeling the pain himself, and this time a noise that might have been Neil’s name slips through. Neil is making too much noise on the other end for the word to have made it through, but regardless a rush of fury has Andrew biting down on his cheek so hard he tastes blood.
He drops the bag and raquet as soon as he’s in range of the bus to slide a blade into his free hand. Nicky is the first to see him, staggers back from whatever he sees in Andrew’s face, mouth hanging open around an exclamation that never makes it past his lips. Noone is stupid enough to lay hands on him as he climbs onto the bus, and their questions go unheard. All Andrew can hear is screaming.
Abby is checking Kevin over when he reaches them, medical kit open at her side. Andrew shoves her from his path with the flat of his knuckles and she staggers back, diagnostic torch clattering to the floor. Kevin barely has time to look up before Andrew is throwing him up against the bus window.
“Tell me where Neil’s father is or I’ll slit your fucking throat,” Andrew says in a voice that isn’t his.
There are shouts behind him, someone get coach and don’t touch him and it’s Kevin, he won’t, will he?
Kevin’s eyes are glassy, but they sharpen as a gutteral noise buzzes through the phone still crushed to Andrew’s ear. It’s followed by gulping, frantic breathes, pained, but evidence, at least, that Neil isn’t dead.
“Is that-?”
Andrew presses the blade against Kevin’s throat. “Where is Neil’s father?”
Kevin goes white. “Prison.”
“Not anymore.” There’s that clicking again, and Andrew’s gut twists on reflex like some kind of fucking pavlovian reflex. This time he knows what to expect, but Kevin doesn’t, and he flinches as Neil’s scream echoes down the phone.
“Baltimore, then. He’s from Baltimore, he-”
“Renee,” Andrew says without looking away from Kevin. She’s right there behind him- he expected no less.
“Andrew.”
“I need a car. Something fast.”
He doesn’t have to turn to see the moment she shifts from Renee to Natalie: he can hear it in her answer. “I’ll be back.”
His brother throws himself into one of the seats as Andrew passes, as though he thinks he’s next on Andrew’s interrogation list. Andrew can’t blame him: he himself isn’t sure what he’s capable of right now, the knife in his hand twitching as though it has a mind of its own.
“Andrew,” Kevin says, “You can’t.”
He flips the knife in the palm of his hand as he hops the last step down from the bus. “Watch me.”
Neil’s voice on the end of the line has turned thin and scratchy like old sheets, garbling what sounds like she’s dead, she’s dead, I swear she’s dead.
“Do we believe him?”
“Might as well be sure.”
A scuffle, and Neil is screaming again. Andrew wants to join him.
Renee roars up to the bus at the same moment Wymack arrives at a brisk jog, presumably summoned by one of the well-meaning idiots hiding on the bus.
“Minyard-!” he yells, then his mouth drops open when he catches sight of Renee behind the wheel of a sleek, obnoxiously orange car. Maybe she stole it from one of their fans. “What in the flying fuck?”
“Andrew,” Nicky pleads, “Whatever’s going on, the police-”
“Half the police are his men,” Kevin says. “And he could buy off the rest if he wanted to.”
“Who?!”
“Nathan Wesninski. Head of the Baltimore crime family.” Kevin’s voice cracks. “Neil’s father.”
“Text Renee his address.” Andrew says, ignoring the reaction of his teammates as he pulls open the car’s passenger door. The glass is missing, due to the riot or Renee’s carjacking it’s hard to say.
The door doesn’t shut behind him when he pulls it, and when he looks up it’s Aaron’s hand blocking the way.
“Andrew.”
Andrew yanks at the door, but it won’t give. Neil is begging now. Begging like Andrew used to, and it’s working as well for Neil as it did for him. Whoever this Lola is, she’s going to die slowly.
“Let go,” Andrew grits through his teeth, not trusting himself to say more.
“What the fuck are you doing, Andrew? Are you going to try and kill a mob boss? You’ll die.”
“So?”
Aaron doesn’t answer, but his grip on the doorframe tightens. “I can’t…” he starts, chokes, starts again. “Don’t leave me.”
Andrew throws himself back out the car with violent speed, grabs Aaron by the collar before he can react. “You arent the only person I made a promise to.” Andrew grinds out through clenched teeth. “I intend to keep them both.”
Aaron’s eyes widen. At last he swallows, lets go of the door, and Andrew snaps it shut behind him before anyone else can intervene. Aaron’s face could be his own reflection, were it not for the absence of glass in the window and the absence of fear on Andrew’s face.
It’s only as they pull away from the stadium that Andrew remembers Neil called their deal off. Just that day. As though he knew.
If he thinks that will stop Andrew- fuck him.
They’re on the road with impressive speed – Andrew thought he was reckless, but Renee’s driving puts his own to shame. Horns blare and brakes screech as they merge onto the highway, but the roar of the engine not quite covering up Neil’s sobs echoing down the line.
Neil is crying. Torture, Andrew has no trouble imagining, but Neil crying…
“Faster,” he says. Renee accelerates.
Even at such alarming speeds, their progress is agonizingly slow. Renee is smart enough not to ask any questions, and Andrew leans away from the howl of air blasting through the broken window. There’s shuffling, the clicking of – handcuffs, he’d recognise that sound anywhere – and then Neil is talking. To pigs, by the sound of it, the shitty kind, the only kind, and he addresses them as though reading their names off their badges, loud and clear for Andrew’s ears. Andrew doesn’t need to make an effort to remember their names, but still he repeats the syllables with a bite that has Renee glancing his way.
“Do you have anything?” Andrew asks.
“A penknife. Nothing worthwhile in a real fight.”
“I’ll give you some of mine.”
Renee nods, fingers flexing around the wheel. If the prospect of death worries her, she doesn’t show it, gaze steady on the road ahead despite the furious roar of the car engine.
The rustle of fabric against fabric, and Andrew is biting back bile as-
“You could almost me my type if you weren’t so young, hmm? You look just like your father.”
Andrew doesn’t hear Neil’s response, his mind whiting out like television static. He doesn’t realise his blade is back in his hand until Renee leans over to bat at his fist. Blood leaks from his palm where his blade sliced it open.
“If you fight me, I’ll cut you off at the knees,” Lola hums in his ear. Andrew drops the knife to the footwell before he can damage himself any further, a swirling montage of horror hazing over him. He knows a viable threat when he hears one.
“Chloroform,” Neil says, then, “I can’t-”
Whatever he’s trying to tell Andrew is cut off, and the phone falls silent save for the faint sound of police sirens.
Andrew drops the phone into the footwell after the knife and punches the dashboard with everything he has. The plastic cracks under his fist, and he’s drawing back to take another swing when Renee slams the breaks, bringing the car to a gut-punching halt. Andrew’s seatbelt cuts into him as car horns blare furiously behind them.
“Keep going,” Andrew barks.
“You won’t be any use to him with a broken fist,” Renee answers, infuriatingly level.
“Keep going,” Andrew says once more, then, when it gets no reaction, “I won’t do it again.” He fishes the phone out from the clutter of magazines and takeout wrappers in the footwell and holds it like a promise.
Andrew thought Neil’s screams were the worst thing he had heard. But, as the following hour proves, his silence is much, much worse.
When the voices return, Andrew can tell by the echo that they’ve moved somewhere different. Tiled walls, if he had to guess, but beyond that, it could be anywhere. Muttered snatches of, where do you want him and dump him anywhere coming through with such dispassion that for a heart-stopping moment he thinks they’re talking about Neil’s corpse. But then the voices move off, and finally, a low, near-unrecognisable voice.
“Andrew.”
“Neil,” Andrew says, as though there’s any chance of Neil hearing him.
“I don’t know… I don’t know if the call connected. I hope it didn’t. I hope you didn’t have to hear…” Neil interrupts himself to hack up what sounds like half a lung. “I couldn’t hold it in. I’m sorry.” The plastic of Andrew’s phone casing cracks under the pressure of his grip. He barely notices Renee taking the exit from the highway.
“I don’t want to die a lie,” He continues, and Andrew has never hated him more for it. Will never hate anything or anyone as much as this for as long as he lives. “My name is Nathaniel Abram Wesninski. And I wasn’t thanking you for the game earlier. I was thanking you for the keys, the trust, the honesty, the kisses. I was thanking you for everything.”
Andrew stares ahead without seeing a thing. “No,” he whispers.
As though by some miracle he heard, the other end of the phone falls silent.
Then a door opens.
“Renee,” Andrew says urgently.
“We’re close.”
“Not close enough.”
“Hello, Junior.” A pause. A thud. A gasp of pain. “I said, hello.”
Neil’s voice – Andrew doesn’t care for Nathaniel, doesn’t care to let Neil slip from his grasp so easily – sounds as broken and terrified as Andrew has ever heard it. “Hello.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Neil’s father speaks with the same self-assured authority Luthor did, the same cool detatchment as Proust, the same subtle satisfaction as Drake. “Who told you that hiding in plain sight was a viable option? You had to know I would find you eventually.”
I did. The thought comes unbidden to Andrew, settling in his chest like a heartache that will choke him until he dies. Andrew doesn’t believe in regret, but this is as close as he’ll ever come. He didn’t know. He didn’t know Neil’s father was this. He wants to kill Neil for lying to him almost as much as he wants to kill himself for believing him.
“The only question that remains is how I’m going to kill you. I’ve had a couple of years to think it over but now I’m indecisive. I might skin you alive. I might take you apart one inch at a time and cauterize the wounds. I think no matter what I choose we are going to start by slicing the tendons in your legs.”
Metal scrapes against stone. There’s shouts, a clang, scuffling, a thump.
“Maybe we’ll do both,” Neil’s father continues. “Skin you an inch or two at a time and carve the flesh out from underneath. If we do it right, you might last all night.”
Andrew is thrown back to a crisp winter morning on a cold rooftop, surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke and the icy burn of Neil’s eyes. I think about carving the skin from your body and hanging it out as a warning to every other fool who thinks he can stand in my way.
And what about the other ten percent of the time?
The answer doesn’t matter anymore. Andrew hit zero long ago.
“No,” Neil says.
“Lola, would you like the pleasure of crippling him?”
“Please,” says Neil. The word nearly stops Andrew’s heart. “Please don’t.” Then, “Andrew-”
And the line goes dead.
And something inside Andrew goes with it.
The phone hits the floor of the car with a distant thunk. Renee’s voice is white noise, syllables devoid of meaning.
“Keep going,” Andrew says.
The house is a hive of flashing lights when they arrive, police cars and ambulances and the flash-bulbs of photographers following the scent of blood. Bodies are being carried out on stretchers under white sheets, and Andrew tears through a police baricade like tissue paper.
Renee buys Andrew enough time to reach the nearest body, and the EMTs stumble back but can’t do anything to stop him without dropping the body. He hauls back a sheet, and his mind goes deadly blank as he sees piercing blue eyes, familiar auburn hair flecked with blood-
“Andrew?”
He turns.
Sitting in the ambulance at the bottom of the driveway, caked in bandages beyond recognition- but he would know that voice anywhere.
Andrew is lost.
Andrew is lost.
Andrew is found.
He flows to Neil like the river to the sea.
“You heard,” Neil whispers. There’s barely a part of him that’s safe to touch, so Andrew settles for the back of his neck, which is sticky with blood but otherwise untouched. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll kill you,” Andrew replies, grip tightning, and Neil smiles, even though it must pain him to do so.
“Couldn’t let anyone else have the pleasure, could you?”
“Neil.” It’s as though every other word has flooded from his head at once.
Neil’s smile, already fragile, looks set to shatter. “My real name-”
“I don’t care.” The officers have made it past Renee, but they aren’t interfearing, which is good, because being arrested for assaulting an officer right now would be deeply inconvenient. And, because Andrew means what he says, he leans down and presses a kiss softer than he believed himself capable of to Neil’s lips.
Neil sucks in a breath, but not from pain, hands coming to rest on Andrew’s shoulders, too heavily bandaged to gain purchase. He pulls Andrew back in, and they kiss through the taste of blood and sweat and tears until there’s nothing left in his world but Neil.
“Neil Abram Josten,” Andrew repeats. It sounds like a prayer answered and a promise fulfilled.
Which it is.
*
#andreil#aftg#all for the game#the foxhole court#tfc#andrew minyard#neil josten#my fic#check AO3 for content warnings#do people actually find it helpful when i post the whole fic here or does everyone go straight to ao3#im not a fan bc tumblr doesnt have kudos or hit counters so theres very little feedback#but i dont want to stop if someone relies on it being posted on tumblr#oh god its 2:40 am
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A wingman winged (Palmetto by the Sea part 1)
All for the game
Rating: Teen and Up
Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & Allison Reynolds, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (side)
Additional Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - No Exy, First Meeting, Eden’s Twilight, Neil ‘Best Wingman’ Josten
[Part 1 of the Palmetto by the Sea series - Chapter 1/1 - 3k words - Published 2020-12-10]
Summary :
It's a Saturday night at Eden's, and Allison needs Neil's help to approach the object of her long-suffering crush - that is to say, she needs him to distract the girl's intimidating friend long enough that she's able to approach in the first place.
(TW: alcohol, sexual harassment (short-lived), brief display of violence, smoking)
[Read on Ao3]
*
A wingman winged
The music thumps the ground in rhythm, low and deep like a pulse as it throbs through the club and reverberates into the bodies twisting as one on the dance floor. Eden’s Twilight isn’t really Neil’s scene, but the dark aesthetic and ever-shifting neon lighting make it easy to blend in. The shadows bend and stretch over his scars, reducing them to odd tattoos at first glance - and he makes sure he never gets a second. The clothes he’s wearing are nice enough and all black, but neither form-fitting nor revealing. Standing next to Allison’s brand of tastefully flashy clubwear, he’s no more than a foil. Seduction is her domain, and she thrives on it.
Which is what makes the fact that she’s asking him for help absolutely baffling.
“I’ve seen you wrap more than half this crowd around your little finger like it was nothing. Why can’t you just do the same with her?”
“You don’t understand,” Allison repeats for the third time that night. She has her chin in her hand and is leaning over her drink, swirling the expensive cocktail around with her straw. “I’ve tried everything, and the most I’ve gotten is for her to look at me. She hasn’t even tried to buy me a drink.”
“Have you tried talking to her?”
Allison scoffs. “I don’t set myself up for failure. She’s given me no sign that she’s interested. Besides, that little troll of a man she keeps around would probably bite me if I tried.”
Neil snorts at that. He’s seen the man in question glare people away, from both himself and his friend, all evening - on one occasion, he’s almost certain that the man even pulled out a knife. There’s no mistaking the way that the light glinted off of the blade, not even from across a crowded nightclub. Neil would recognise that brief flash anywhere.
His friend though, she looks friendly enough. White hair dyed rainbow at the tips, a silver cross, a few piercings. She’s wearing a black dress that wouldn’t look out of place in daylight and a soft smile that Neil is tempted to believe is fake just because of how earnest it looks. She’s also got the muscle structure of an athlete, a fact which Allison has reminded him of enough times that he’ll probably never be able to forget.
“Couldn’t you just accept your defeat and move on?” Neil tries, but he’s known Allison long enough that his heart isn’t in it. She’s never been one to give up.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen the arms on her? I’m getting her in my bed whether her little bodyguard likes it or not.”
“What if she’s straight?”
Allison shakes her head at him in that way that means he’s failed at some kind of social task and starts to count her points off her fingers. “Neil, the woman is ripped, has an undercut, rainbow hair, and armpit hair.”
“How do you know-”
“I have eyes. Besides, that blond troll she always comes here with is definitely gay, and everyone knows queer people travel in group.”
Neil throws a skeptical glance towards the unlikely duo, but doesn’t argue. None of what Allison listed strikes him as particularly telling, but he’s been told that his ‘gaydar’ is ‘absolutely abysmal’ on numerous occasions by about everyone he knows except Kevin, who's just as bad as him if Allison can be trusted.
Neil might as well accept his fate. “What do you want me to do?”
Allison grins at him. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
*
Locating the two of them isn’t as easy when he’s not sitting on the upper level but standing right here in the crowd, surrounded by people and blinded by the rapidly changing lights. Years of hyper-vigilance end up paying off once he’s gotten his bearings right, however, and he starts making his roundabout way towards the section of wall they’re leaning on. The man is sipping on some kind of drink and staring blankly into the distance while the woman does most of the talking, though she does glance in Allison’s general direction more than once in the amount of time it takes Neil to reach them. He doesn’t blame her - even he has to admit that Allison’s dancing is a thing of beauty.
Neil, on the other hand, only ever pretends to dance. He’s gone out with his friends often enough that he’s picked up a few generic moves and can blend in, but it just - doesn’t appeal to him. Still, what little grasp he has on it is enough to get to his target unnoticed.
One falsely awkward step later and he’s got a glassful of whiskey and coke soaking into the man’s black tank top and dripping down his pants.
The hand wrapped around his arm, steadying him, is an unexpected addition. Neil’s previous drink messed his balance at the last minute and he’s pretty sure he’d have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t been caught. The man’s grip is undeniable strong, but it’s the eyes that really hold Neil down to his spot. He can’t quite tell the color because of the many strobing lights and colored neons flashing around, but he thinks they might be brown.
“Oops,” Neil says, straightening himself up with exaggerated movements. The man’s eyes flicker down his drenched top before sliding back up to Neil’s eyes without so much as a frown. “Sorry for your muscle shirt,” Neil adds as an after-thought, digging the word out of an afternoon spent (unwillingly) shopping with Allison.
The man arcs a single eyebrow. “You’re drunk,” he says, with one of the flattest voices Neil has ever heard.
Neil smiles widely, swaying a little on his feet. He still has the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep. “No,” he retorts, slurring the words a bit, “I’m Neil.”
The eyebrow arcs up even higher. Neil’s smile widens. He’s about to say something else, whatever sentence he can think of that would maintain the man’s attention on him, when someone else’s voice cuts in.
“Andrew, you’re soaked!”
Neil turns towards the woman, spying Allison making her way over from behind her, and raises his now empty glass. “My fault. I wasn’t looking.”
She smiles. From close up, it looks even softer than Neil thought. “That’s okay, it happens,” she says, then glances down where the man’s hands - Andrew’s? - is still holding on to him. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
“Yeah, I just tripped,” Neil reassures her, then looks over at Andrew, whose eyes haven’t left his face. He’s… staring, with an intensity that catches Neil off-guard. And then he’s not, because Allison is coming over and calling his name. The hand drops from his arm like it was burned.
“Neil! There you are.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, then turns, falsely confused, towards Andrew and his friend. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” the woman says, looking a little stunned.
“Your friend spilled his drink on me,” Andrew states, throwing a look at his own friend.
“I was just going to ask the barman for paper towels,” the object of Allison's scheming adds, already half-turning away.
Allison doesn’t hesitate one second before following suit, offering her help. When the woman starts to protest, she takes hold of her arm and all but drags her to the bar. Neil watches the interaction without holding back his smile.
When he turns back towards Andrew, the man is staring at him with a frown.
“Sorry again for your shirt,” Neil offers, though he forgets to make himself sound like he means it. “You should probably take it off.”
The arched eyebrow comes back, and Neil realizes what he just said with a choked laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it would dry faster,” he adds, feeling stupid. Andrew doesn’t look convinced, though, so he feels compelled to add, “I don’t swing.”
“I don’t watch baseball,” Andrew deadpans.
“I’m not talking about baseball,” Neil says, grimacing in disgust. “It’s not even a real sport.”
The look Andrew gives him is the blankest one yet. Neil looks down into his empty glass, then at Andrew’s tank top.
“You really should rinse it down, at least,” he ends up saying. “Otherwise it’s going to stick.”
Andrew stares at him a little longer, then downs his glass and starts to move in the direction of the bathroom. For some reason, Neil follows.
The bathroom is painted mostly black, like just about everything in Eden’s. Only the large sink is white. Neil leans back against it and watches as Andrew grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and soaks them with water, then starts to wipe at his shirt. He thinks about helping, but remembers the way Andrew avoided touching anyone on his way to the bathroom and figures that there’s not much he could do, anyway.
“You’re not drunk,” Andrew states after a while.
Neil debates lying as Andrew throws the wet ball of paper away and walks to the dispenser to get more, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. I don’t like it.”
Andrew barely glances at him. “You play drunk well for someone who doesn’t like it.”
“S’not hard,” Neil says, shrugging, then figures he might as well come clean and adds: “Allison needed an excuse to talk to your friend.”
Andrew meets his eyes then, eyebrow arched up. “Did she try buying her a drink?”
“That’s what I said.” Neil smiles, then shrugs again. “Apparently she’s been trying to get your friend’s attention for weeks, but nothing’s worked.”
Andrew lets a sharp breath out of his nose, which Neil guesses is the equivalent of a laugh, if the lack of facial expression he's shown so far is anything to go by. “If that’s what she thinks, then your friend’s blind.”
Neil grins. “I’m glad. I thought I’d caught her staring a few times, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Renee likes to think she’s subtle.”
“Well, at least they’re talking now. I don’t think you’re getting those paper towels though,” Neil adds, watching Andrew wash his hands with a distracted kind of fascination. Somehow, the dark armbands encasing both of Andrew’s forearms make his hands stand out. Broad, and worn, with an odd elegance in the way they move. Neil would bet a lot of money on Andrew having some kind of manual career, at the very least a hobby. Something meticulous.
It’s only after Andrew’s wiped his hands and thrown away one last paper towel that Neil realizes he’s been staring, and he moves his eyes to Andrew’s face instead. He finds him with his head tipped slightly to the side, looking at him with the faintest hint of curiosity on his face.
Neil is about to say something - he's not sure what - when some guy he’d barely registered on his radar suddenly steps into his space.
"Hey there, pretty face,” the guy slurs, exhaling cheap booze right into Neil’s face. “Were you waiting for me?"
Neil looks up at the guy's face and begrudgingly resists the urge to bash an elbow into his nose. "Obviously not," he spits.
Hoping that it's enough for the guy to take his hint and leave, Neil starts to turn back towards Andrew. He is immediately jostled back towards the guy as a large hand grabs his chin and twists. "Hey, I was talking to you, Scarface."
"Wow, I've never heard that one before," Neil retorts, rolling his eyes. "You know, you should really make up your mind, asshole. Either I'm pretty or I'm not. Now get lost," Neil says, and is about to jam his knee into the guy's crotch when something tears the asshole away from him. Neil's balance is shaken by the movement, but he manages to stay upright by gripping the sink.
"You don't touch people without their permission. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" Andrew says, pressing down upon the hold he has on the guy's arm, which he's twisted behind his back with one hand. He has a knife pressed to the guy's throat with the other. His voice is flat enough to cut. "If I see you again, I'll gut you. Understood?"
The guy nods and Andrew sends him sprawling onto the floor. He scrambles quickly to his feet and promptly runs out the door. Light glints off the small knife’s blade, clutched so tightly Andrew’s knuckles look white.
"Thanks," Neil says in the silence. "But I could have handled it."
"I don't care," Andrew snarls back.
Neil looks at the tension oozing out of Andrew's every cell and decides to keep silent. It's the right decision, judging by the way Andrew closes his eyes and starts packing up the tension, folding it back inside little by little. Neil knows the feeling.
The knife vanishes from his hand (and into one of the sheaths Neil suspects are sewn into the armbands), and Neil follows Andrew out of the bathroom. They stand by the door for a bit while Neil watches Andrew scanning the crowd with a clenched jaw. The tension is still there, even packed up, even pressed down tight under the surface of his skin. It needs more space than that to leave.
"Let's get out of here," Neil offers.
Andrew glances at him, then nods. Neil takes a hold of the hem of Andrew's shirt and leads the way out of the club.
*
The night's chill is a welcome change of pace after the density of the packed club's air. Neil inhales a gallon of it as soon as they've stepped outside, and hears Andrew do the same. It smells of cigarette butts and wet asphalt. He had no idea it'd rained.
A faint click on his right - Andrew lights a cigarette and offers him another one. Neil takes it and watches the smoke spill out of Andrew’s mouth like magic, grabbing hold of the lighter only as an afterthought. The metal is smooth under his touch and slightly warm over the imprint of Andrew’s hand. Neil brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, closing his eyes to focus on the burning air flow rushing down his windpipe. He blows it out smiling, eyes trailing after the faint grey cloud. Andrew’s eyes are on him.
“Thanks,” he tells him, raising his cigarette in the air.
They smoke in silence. Neil lets the little circle of fire eat away at his cigarette without taking another drag, content just to breathe and to watch as the tension coiled so tight in Andrew’s chest unwinds, seeping out, one exhalation at a time, into the quiet night.
The quiet can’t last forever, however, especially not on a Saturday night at Eden’s doorsteps, and so the peace is brutally broken a few minutes later as a group of inebriated twenty-somethings spill out over the sidewalk laughing loudly and singing songs. Andrew adroitly sidesteps one of them as he staggers to the side before getting dragged back by his friend, brushing shoulders with Neil. They got their stuff back from the cloakroom when they stepped out and Andrew’s wearing a leather jacket over his muscle shirt, black as the rest of his clothes.
Andrew looks at the group staggering its way down the street until they’re far enough they can barely hear them. “Are you hungry?”
Neil shrugs. “Kinda. Why? Are you asking me to dinner?” Neil asks, smile tugging at his lips. “I doubt we’ll find anything open.”
Andrew smothers the butt of his cigarette on the wall and tosses it into the trashcan Eden’s staff left by the door, then gestures at Neil to follow. It goes against about every instinct Neil has cultivated along the years, but he does.
He doesn’t know why. Andrew’s back is broad and he walks at a steady pace, with an assurance that doesn’t look learned and yet still probably is. Neil remembers the way Andrew looked when he bent the asshole’s arm behind his back, like what he really wanted was to break it in half but knew that he had to hold back. His voice hadn’t faltered then, either. Neil wonders if it ever does.
They stop in front of a motor bike parked some way off of the club, street lights glinting off of the metal and black bodywork. Andrew gets a helmet from some kind of locked compartment and hands it over to Neil, who takes it by reflex.
“Where are we going?” he asks, turning the helmet around in his hands. He’s starting to wonder whether Andrew’s even aware that there are other colors outside of black.
Andrew grabs a pair of gloves out of the compartment and slips them on. “A kebab joint,” he says without looking at Neil. “It’s open until 3.”
Neil considers the bike, then the helmet in his hands. “I’ve never ridden on a bike before.”
“Don’t get on before I tell you to. Don’t make me lose my balance. When the bike leans into turns, lean with it,” he drones out. “If you do that and hold on, you’ll be fine.”
Neil considers Andrew. The solid stance of him. Once he climbs on the bike, he’ll have no control until they stop.
“Okay.”
There’s a buzzing beneath his kin.
*
The kebab joint is a tiny square of neon light squeezed in-between two higher-end shops, and the only open place to sell food for miles around. There are no tables and no interior, just a counter with a window display that reminds Neil of ice-cream shops, filled with meat fillings, some kind of fried rolls, and a handful of sad-looking pastries. The items are listed above and to the sides - hamburgers, kebabs, paninis, all with various meats and side dishes and an array of sauces Neil’s never heard of before. He has no idea where to start, and so asks for the same thing Andrew ordered.
They pack the smell of cheap food and fat in plastic bags and leave the shop front to sit by the pier. The kebab is greasy and would have made Kevin scream, but the meat is tasty and the sauce is good, and it’s somehow the perfect thing to eat right now.
Through the cloud of their food wafts the sharp smell of iodine. They claimed a spot of the pier to sit, legs dangling through the railing, and the wood too smells of salt, is so ingrained with it that it sticks slightly to the skin and leaves imprints of tiny crystals on their clothes.
They eat in silence; the wash and backwash of the sea beneath the pier is a rolling whisper, swishing quietly past the piles and back again, a dark rippling sky in movement. There is no agitation around them, yet still it seems as though the sea swallows all sounds, pillows the silence with its mass, shaping a quietude with depth. It’s a quality of peace Neil has never felt before.
He’s just about finished with his food when his phone buzzes.
[From: Allison] where r u??
Neil snorts. Andrew raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head.
[To: Allison] I left 30 minutes ago, but thank you for noticing.
[From: Allison] was busy :-*
[From: Allison] u haven’t been kidnapped right? did u go home?
[To: Allison] No and no. I’m at the pier with Andrew.
[From: Allison] ?????
[From: Allison] was that a joke???
Neil huffs out a laugh, enjoying the confusion, and puts his phone on silent as more texts keep coming in. Andrew’s phone buzzes once, but he doesn’t check it - just grabs a cigarette and his lighter, replacing the smell of their meal with another. The smoke drifts up and disperses, yielding to the handful of stars valiantly fighting against the electrical constellations of city lights. The moon is gibbous amongst them and fractal upon the sea; Neil distractedly notices that it’s waning, as the curve makes a d and Jean’s trick somehow never left his mind, despite his lack of interest in the conversation at the time.
It makes Andrew look even paler, this lighting. His hair is made of silver and the volumes of his face either stand out or cave, stark and almost unreal.
Andrew’s eyes flick to his.
“Staring.”
Neil smiles. He takes the cigarette from Andrew’s hand and takes a drag, blowing memories up, up, up until they’re gone.
“What do you do?” he asks when he hands the cigarette back. “For a living, I mean.”
Andrew doesn't answer. He just looks at Neil and pulls on his cigarette. A bit of wind blows the smoke sideways, across his cheek and back to land.
"If you won't tell me, I'll guess," Neil says when it's clear he's not getting an answer, and pretends to study Andrew's appearance for clues. "You could be an artist. You look like one." He grins at the unimpressed look on Andrew's face. "Bit of a cursed poet vibe, with the piercings and all that black. Strong aesthetic. I guess you could be a musician, too."
The corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Shallow."
Neil shrugs. Appearances tell a lot more than people think, but he's pretty sure he got it wrong. He doesn't actually know how artists are supposed to look like - that's not really the kind of things he learned to watch out for - but it's as good a guess as anything. "It's either that or undertaker."
Andrew blows smoke out through his nose. "Sorry to disappoint, but I just serve drinks."
Neil hums. "Full time?"
"No. I also cook."
"You're a chef, and you still eat food like this?" Neil asks, waving at the plastic bag sitting between them.
"Aide," Andrew corrects. "Anas' is the only decent place still open. I don't see you complaining."
"It was pretty good," Neil grants, then adds, because it's only fair: "I'm a student."
"Late calling?"
Neil smiles. "Something like it."
An eyebrow shaped like a question. Neil ignores it in favor of the sea, but the weight of Andrew's gaze stays fixed on him like an anchor. He wonders if Andrew's trying to guess what something like it may hide; wonders how far away from reality he's wandering, trying to find something reasonable; wonders, even, how he'd react if Neil told him the truth. Whether he'd balk at the scars that prove it or stare at them the same way he's staring at the ones across his face now, blank and unwavering, on the upside of bored.
*
Riding on Andrew's bike the second time is just as exhilarating as the first. The city flies by in a blur - the docks, the bars, the empty streets, they blend together and melt together until there's nothing really left but them, passing. Alone. A figment caught between two worlds.
When Andrew drops him off, the ground still moves beneath his feet. Neil shoves his hand into his pockets and grins, feeling absurdly carefree.
"Thank you. For the ride and for the food - it was amazing."
He means it. Andrew is looking at him like he's trying to figure out if he does. He holds out his hand, and Neil frowns.
He looks to the sky and sighs. "Your phone."
"Oh," Neil says. He puts his phone in Andrew's palm.
Andrew takes one glove off and puts his number in quickly. He tosses his phone back to Neil and brings two fingers up to his temple in salute.
The bike roars to life, the noise filling the street until it's gone. Neil looks down at the brand new contact in his phone, carefully prodding at the little bit of warmth beneath his sternum.
Matt, Dan, Wymack, Allison, Abby, Kevin, his therapist, his dentist and his doctor. Andrew's number brings the staggering total amount of contacts into his phone to a very satisfying 10.
#andreil#tfc#aftg#neil josten#andrew minyard#all for the game#the foxhole court#allison reynolds#renee walker#renison#modern au#palmetto by the sea#a wingman winged#no exy au#fanfiction#wulfrann writes#this has been sitting in my wips for 9 months rip
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I have been in the car with my older brother his best friend and my parents for a little over 20 hours and I’m ab to loose my shit :) sooo Neil can I have a story time to distract me please 🥺
Okay so I'm gonna tell you the love story of Matthew Boyd and Danielle Wilds. (I feel like I should give poor Andrew a break) (he's cooking me food)
SO, I'm laying low in NYC right? Trying to not like lose my shit over Andrew and Nathan etc etc. Matt was a huge RRP fan. Like he was like yo have you listened to this shit and I was like NOOOOOO but it was fine because I needed to keep up with what the fuck Andrew was up to anyway.
He's on the website right and I'm just awkwardly trying not to look because honestly? I didn't want to fucking know, you know? Anyway so he's all like damn she's fine and she's a hard worker respect the grind and all kind of shit that I was just like oooooookay Matty let's play Exy.
Finally I just called Andrew and was like listen this is like super fucking annoying I'm in New York just come here so I can tell you to fuck off to your face. He obliged. While he was here the team had no idea really what he was doing so they were putting out the team interviews and Matt was watching dan's while Andrew and I were there and she said something like "Matt Boyd is my celebrity crush damn he's fine and he's a hard worker and I swear to you all on my cats Matt Boyd 6'4 record breaking Exy player SCREAMED.
He SCREEEAMED and he THREW THE COMPUTER like he couldn't fucking believe it. He was a fucking mess. Andrew finally gave him her number just so Matt would stop glaring at him anytime he came to see me because he liked to come see me 😊
I know I've said this before but he never called her. Andrew was like she'll rip your fucking balls off if you piss her off and Matt was surprisingly into that but he still didn't call? Idk he was like what if she has this picture of me as some celebrity in her head and I don't live up to it and I was like you shut your mouth because Matt is genuinely the best, nicest person I know
ANYWAY we're in SC right and Matt comes to bring me my cat and to make sure Andrew delivered me in one piece like any good father would do. He walks in like hey I'm matt Boyd! And Seth is the first one to see him and he was like damn he's fine and he's a hard worker (really he just freaked tf out but it's what he was thinking) and then
Dan walked in
And Matthew Boyd Star Exy player looked at her like the meaning of life had been revealed to him like for fucking REAL. He was like "I'm matt Boyd" in the worlds most unnecessary introduction. And she was like wtf NEIL THIS IS THE FRIEND THAT NEVER CALLED and I was just 🤷🏽
So anyways he gives her this long fucking speech about why he didn't call and he goes 'I saw your interview' and dan goes 'oh god no'. And Matt (istg he's so fucking ridiculous) says 'Minyard said you'd chew me up and spit me out and IT WOULD BE AN HONOR'
IT WOULD BE A FUCKING HONOR WHY MATT
Anyway. She was like fine we'll go out and they did and Andrew and I almost died that night so like the anniversary of their first date will always be tainted by me and I love that for us.
THE END -N
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Ocean at the end of the lane au (but you don’t have to read the book)
Once again I’m writing bullet point fics
If you haven’t read the book uh. this shit is wild
It starts with Neil going to his childhood hometown (I guess Baltimore then? Not really a lotta places here for this story to take place tho) for a funeral
I literally don’t care who died
He’s walking around town, just thinking abt his life growing up and being angry
He deserves to be
Anyways he remembers the one good thing about growing up here, and it’s Andrew Minyard, the boy who said the pond behind his house was really an ocean
Neil thinks about him and finds himself at the minyards house
He kinda looks around, realising that maybe he shouldn’t of showed up randomly
But it doesn’t matter, bc Nicky Hemmick sees him
He and Nicky walk together to the pond and it’s nice
Neil starts thinking about the time a man who worked for his father stole Nathan’s car and committed suicide in the back seat, after gambling away Nathan’s money
He was around 15 or so during that time
I’m pulling number out of my ass rn
but hdbcnndjd it lets a spirit show up to neils world like hey,, how y’all doin?
Because of the reason the man died, it’s purpose is to leave money for people in terrible and unpleasant ways
This leads Neil to wake up in the middle of the night, choking on a coin
if I were Neil I would simply lay down and die
rip to him but I’m different
Anyways he doesn’t trust his father for shit so he goes to his neighbors
It’s Andrew baby!
Andrew is like okay but I’m gonna call you a dumbass this whole time and you have to come w me to find this fucked up spirit and bind it
And also you can’t let go of my hand
They both hate that part
Drake still happened, just earlier
And Nicky took in the twins earlier
Ig nicky is older in this au
whatever
ANWAYS.
They talk on the way, exchanging quiet truths
It starts from what the spirit did and ends in neil asking why Andrew and Aaron live with Nicky
Andrew says that monsters aren’t always supernatural
Neil doesn’t ask anything after that
They’re goin to find this shit spirit when something almost attacks the 2
Neils first instinct is to be defensive so he lets go of Andrews hand
As soon as he does something gets stuck in his foot and Andrew is like I don’t even care at this point
They don’t have any luck ig so they’re like whatever we’ll try again later (or never talk to each other again)
Neil gets home and pulls what might be a worm out of his foot
rip to him bc part of it gets stuck
He wakes up the next day to his mom telling him she’s starting a new job and a woman named Lola is gonna look after him
So Lola is
yeah she’s Lola she’s a bitch
Lola seduces his father and wins over his people
Neil spends most of his time locked in his room avoiding her
What small fraction of safety Neil felt is ruined when Lola asks Nathan to drown him in the bath
It doesn’t work, obviously
also yeah that’s a real point in the book I didn’t just make that up
Anyways ndncjdm he stays in his room even more, only coming out when it’s some sort of fancy event or smth he has to show up for
He decides to do what he does best
He runs
He runs to the minyard/Hemmick farm, and Nicky takes him in and cleans up the scratches and bruises he has
Nicky also gets the wormhole out of Neils foot
Apparently Lola left it behind as an escape path
This book is weird as hell jfc
Nicky calls Andrew to help neil try and talk something out with Lola
They offer her a way for her to leave peacefully, to a less dangerous world
She doesn’t believe anything could hurt her
She’s IMMEDIATELY attacked by “hunger birds” who are basically scavengers
The hunger birds tell neil they gotta eat his heart out bc a piece of Lola is still connected to him
Andrew is like well cant let the only kid who hasn’t stepped over my boundaries die
He drags Neil to the ocean and tells him to get in
While in there, Neil understands the everything about the world and humans and nature and emotion
He gets out and the memory of it all dips
Andrew makes a promise to protect Neil from the hunger birds, telling him the farm is safe and it’s all very soft
haha get fucked you two bc the hunger birds start eating the world to force him off the property
Neil does leave the property, giving himself to the hunger birds to save Nicky and the twins from them
Andrew does NOT let this slide and jumps between the birds and Neil
He’s near death by the end, and when Nicky finds out he goes batshit and threatens the hunger birds with death that’s a very real possibility for them !
The three take Andrew to the ocean and place him there, and Aaron tells him that he’ll rest and heal until he can come back to this world
Neils memory of this fades, leading him to believe Andrew moved to Australia
He jolts back to the present when Nicky puts his hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly at him
Nicky hints that the hunger birds got his heart after all, but Andrews sacrifice healed him
The power of love, as they say
His heart has been growing back for a while now, it’s almost healed
Again, he begins to forget
He tells Nicky to say hello to Andrew if he contacts from Australia
#aftg#andrew minyard#all for the game#neil josten#aaron minyard#nicky hemmick#tfc#the foxhole court#this stupid fucking post took three days I never wanna look at it again
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Real quick. Andrew is stacked right? Like, Matt is one of the only people who can spot him in the gym bc he presses over 200 lbs (if I remember right), he's intimidating for a tiny man, and he's been described at broad, yadda yadda. Aaron is his identical twin. So identical, that everyone's surprised when Neil can tell them apart so quick. So like,,,,, Aaron is ripped dude. Imagine getting this tiny, fucking jacked, beast of a doctor who looks perpetually pissed off when you go in for a fever
Retweet if you would trust jacked Dr. Minyard ✊😔😔😔😔
Yes! I imagine Andrew more muscular because goalkeeper and he has less homework so more time to lift/ spar with renee and he has made his body his safety, BUT they're both in defensive athletic positions and at first blush Neil was probably more like "this is a muscular threat" rather than "oh THESE muscles are smaller than THOSE were"
I mean he for sure points that out now but he's allowed
Ok but I really like to think about Aaron angrily debunking lifting myths and telling his patients what's bullshit and what they actually need to do/eat bc he's got the training and there's a lot of nonsense out there
#Med school is not great on nutrition but Aaron is an athlete hed look into it#patient: ya i stopped doing cardio#aaron: do you want a heart attack? That's how you get a heart attack
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AFTG Reverse Big Bang
I have been lucky enough to participate in the amazing, stress-inducing, extremely fun @aftgreverse. I also have been lucky enough to work with the amazing @solelystarling as the writer for his art. This is a little snippet of the fic that I will be posting on AO3 on April 10th. I will post the link here when the time comes. I’m so excited for y’all to read my first real fic to see the light of day.
TWs for the fic as a whole: gang violence, self-harm past, and present, suicide attempts past and present, torture, depression, past mental health hospitals, past abuse, and alcoholism
also this is for the most part un betaed so the grammar is probably awful
⋯
The inside of the warehouse was freezing. Jeremy couldn’t tell if it was from the weather or the death magic. He shivered. There was no way that he was going to be able to fix whatever the fuck happened.
There was a grating sound as Andrew heaved open a door that led to a mostly empty room. Jeremy looked around. The walls were covered in corrugated metal, rusted catwalks crisscrossing the air above their heads and there was no light except for one industrial light that was flickering above a pentagram. In the middle of the pentagram, there were cut ropes and dried blood.
Jeremy ran his hand through his dense curls. Helping the Foxes was going to get him killed. He was already well acquainted with the cruelties of the Moriyamas but this was extremely risky.
The Moriyamas had killed someone in a ritual. He didn’t recognize the ritual but he knew it was bad. There were markings for death, the Veil, and the soul. He wanted to get out of here. There was no way that he was going to come out of this situation for the better.
“So, what can you do about this?” Neil asked. He looked expectant but his eyes were still icy and he was somewhat braced against Andrew who was standing beside him.
“I think I can get rid of the aura leftover and figure out what happened.” Jeremy sighed. “I don’t know if I can reverse whatever happened. Did Renee or Allison say anything about what they felt or if they have any clue what happened?”
“They didn’t feel anything but we brought Nicky in to see if he could identify who the signatures belonged to. He knows one of the death magicians was Tetsuji and the other Riko. All he could figure out about the life magician was that it’s a male and to quote Nicky ‘Welcome to join me and Eric anytime he wants'.” Neil shook his head. Jeremy blushed slightly. Nicky had said something similar when they first met, and he might have taken him up on the offer but Neil and Andrew didn’t need to know that.
“Okay. That should help. If I know who wields the magic, I can get a hold on the magic and that means I can break the aura leftover easier.” Jeremy said. “Do either of you know someone who is good at healing? The spells seem very strong and I know you both know how explosive breaking spells can be.”
“Yeah. We can bring you to Abby and Bee after or we can call them here,” Neil looked slightly concerned. “You know you don’t have to do this right?” Jeremy gave the show-stopping grin that he was known for and hid behind it.
“Yeah, I do. You remember all of the disappearances in LA a few years ago?”
“Of course we do. We investigated half of them.” Neil’s concern turned to confusion and Andrew just shifted his weight from one foot to another.
“So, you, of course, know that the main suspect was the Moriyamas but the LAPD couldn’t convict anyone due to lack of evidence.”
“Yeah. Jeremy where are you going with this?” Neil asked. Andrew seemed to know where this was going so he poked Neil in his ribs. Neil huffed out a breath.
“Well. My boyfriend and my dad were taken. They were confused for members of a gang that had been gaining too much control for the Moriyama’s liking and they took them out.” Jeremy shook his head trying to clear out the memories that threatened him. When he spoke again, he spoke in an icy voice that he hadn’t heard since he joined the Trojans. “I want the Moriyamas taken down. I don’t care how long or what I have to do, they ruined one of the best things that has ever happened to me and I’m tired of them continuing to haunt me.” He rubbed hands over the tattoos that covered his arms and the scars that they were trying to cover.
“Okay. If you’re certain.” Neil looked like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind. “Andrew will set up a ward on our way out so the surrounding areas don’t get damaged if the spell breaking becomes dangerous.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
⋯
Jeremy took a spellbook out of his bag and walked over to the pentagram. It was always best to break the magic from the center where the magic was most concentrated.
As soon as Jeremy began to chant the spell, magic whirled around him, creating a ball of light surrounding him. Jeremy mentally grabbed onto the death magic, knowing the life magic was elusive and wouldn’t allow itself to be caught, Jeremy gave up so he could get the Moriyamas’ magic gone. Life magic could be broken by someone else if need be.
Jeremy’s chanting grew louder as he started to break apart the magic. The room grew hotter and hotter. Jeremy’s shoe soles started to melt onto the concrete and he had a fleeting thought that his only goal was to come out of this alive. The death magic started to fray as Jeremy’s light magic tore through it.
There was a supernova of light as the death magic was torn into shreds by Jeremy’s light. He fell to the floor and pain exploded through his body. The last thing saw before the world went dark was the glowing soul of a breathtakingly handsome man hovering over him.
⋯
There was suddenly light.
So much light.
Then there was a world in front of him again. It was the same world that he inhabited but Jean felt none of it. There was no feeling. Yes, it was the same cold concrete where he had been ripped from his body but he didn’t feel the chill.
Despite it being the same world there was a ball of light surrounding him. There was a man in the center of the light. He was muscular. His arms were covered in spiraling tattoos. His hair was full of spiraling curls that sprang into all directions and his eyes were blue fire in the extreme light. The man was chanting a spell and his lips seemed to curl around the words.
There were streaks of black in the light as the light somehow grew brighter and more intense. Jean saw the man’s shoe soles melt. His jacket was being ripped to shreds by the light. The stranger’s skin started to glow. Then there was a flash and the light turned black and then everything stopped. The man collapsed to the floor. Jean walked over to the man and hovered over him.
Jean was at a loss. Normally he would be able to help this person but he couldn’t do anything. Every time he tried to shake him Jean’s spectral hand would stop without him meaning it to.
“Putain de merde vous enculé j'espère que vous irez en enfer vous morceau de merde,” Jean yelled to nothing, or so he thought.
“You know, that’s not very nice. You don’t even know him.” There was a new, but familiar, voice from behind him. He turned around to make sure that this wasn’t some hallucination.
He saw two familiar figures in the flesh and both looked extremely angry. Well, Neil did.
“Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard. What a pleasure.”
“Jean Moreau, I wish I could say the same but you are looking quite… see-through,” Neil said with a wince.
“I figured. If it wasn’t so much trouble could you tell me who the fuck this is and why the fuck he’s here.”
“Ah, that’s Jeremy Knox. He’s the most powerful light medium in Los Angeles and we needed his help,” Neil said.
“Do you know someone who can help him? I would but my magic disappeared along with my body and something is stopping me from touching him.”
“Yeah, Abby and Bee are almost here. He’ll need all the help he can get. If we can get his jacket off you could probably touch him. That jacket he’s wearing is almost entirely protection spells,” Neil said. Andrew walked over to Jeremy and hovered his hands over his head. Andrew’s hands glowed softly with a greenish light and Jeremy sat up.
“Fuck,” Jeremy slurred as he struggled to stay upright. Andrew pushed him back down with no resistance.
“Lay back down you idiot,” Andrew said. He hovered his hands over Jeremy’s head again and Jeremy fell asleep.
Neil’s phone rang and there was a moment of him talking to Abby and Bee before he hung up.
“They’re here. We need to get him out of this warehouse though. Jeremy might have broken through the death magic and gotten rid of the aura but there are still pieces of Riko and Testuji here.” Neil walked over to Andrew and they slung Jeremy’s arms over their shoulders. Jean followed them as they walked outside half-dragging half-carrying Jeremy.
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so has andrew minyard always had style or did he wear crocs as a child or what
#imagine very small innocent andrew smiling so wide that you can see some of his baby teeth are missing#and following his new foster sister around the grocery store in like.. the ugliest fucking sandals youve ever seen#and like a stripy blue polo shirt and some yellow shorts#wow#like for real though has he always been aware or did he ever just let clothes happen to him ???#did he ever buy pre-ripped jeans?#cut the fingers off his gloves to look tougher??#yall hes well dressed but even now he could be wearing mismatched ankle socks and we'd all be none the wiser#one is rainbow and one has purple owls#fight me#andrew minyard#aftg
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Numbers 2 or 8 feat high school Andriel au bc I cant get enough of my two sons 😫
02. i sit at the rental booth at our local ice rink and watch you teach children how to skate
Neil lines up the three pairs of skates so that the blades clack metallically against the countertop. The tallest kid hands him a note to cover the rental charges and then passes the skates to his friends as Neil counts out his change with shivering fingers.
Abby and Wymack have given him this tiny electric heater that he keeps under the counter but even if he keeps it on for his entire shift, he never manages to thaw. That said, the rental booth isn’t the worst place he’s ever worked. Despite the cold (and the cheery looping of the same holiday songs), it’s easygoing. He enjoys the sounds - the echoey voices and the soft scratching of skates against the rink - and he enjoys the steaming mugs of tea Abby brings him every hour. He likes that Wymack isn’t too strict, which means he can spend his shifts catching up on homework. He also likes the decades-old decorations they excavate from some dark basement room every year; he can remember the crooked, artificial tree and the dimly-glowing rainbow of lights strung around it from when he came ice skating as a kid. Of all the jobs he could have taken at the rink, the rental booth is fine. He would have rather taken on an assistant instructor role, but even though he’s nimble on his feet when he’s on dry land, he’s an accident-prone nightmare on the ice. So that was that ruled out.
“Enjoy,” he murmurs half-heartedly as he hands the kid a stack of loose change. The boy looks at the two girls and they all grin, clearly amused by some private joke or other.
“We always do,” one of the girls says. They’ve already changed into their skates and now their snow boots are wet and drippy on Neil’s counter.
“Mr. Minyard is the best,” the other girl adds.
“So funny,” the boy agrees.
Minyard, Neil thinks, as they totter towards the rink. Surely not that Minyard.
He shrugs and puts their boots away, but he’s still preoccupied by that name. He sits next to a Minyard in school: Andrew. They have calculus together but they’ve never said a word to each other. Andrew sits in stony silence throughout their class, not doing much at all, while Neil furiously scribbles away. He doesn’t seem to do badly, though. In fact, his scores are nearly as good as Neil’s own (Neil takes a peek every now and then, when he’s sure Andrew isn’t looking). He can’t imagine Andrew teaching kids how to skate. From what Neil knows firsthand, and from what he’s heard from other kids at school, Andrew isn’t very friendly or patient. In fact, some of the kids at school are deathly afraid of him.
Neil frowns and tries to focus on his homework, but he’s too distracted. He checks to see if there are any more customers around and hops over the booth counter when he sees there aren’t. The sounds of skates swishing against the ice gets louder as he approaches the rink. He’s not sure what’s really driving his curiosity, but he can’t shake away the need to know. He peers through the plexiglass and sure enough, there he is: Andrew Minyard. Five feet flat and perfectly balanced on the ice. There are around twelve kids congregating around him, laughing hysterically. Andrew, straight-faced, folds his arms across his chest and says something. They all laugh again. Neil tilts his head to the side and watches. Andrew sends away the more confident skaters to practice travelling backwards around the perimeter of the rink and stays in the centre to teach the more wobbly skaters to do figures-of-eight on the ice. He looks calm as he instructs them, gentle in his guidance. It’s a strange image to apply to the disinterested and cold-looking Andrew Minyard he knows from class.
“Wesninski,” Wymack barks, yanking him back to the real world. “You’ve got customers. I don’t pay you to stand around.”
Andrew looks over when he hears Wymack yelling and his and Neil’s eyes meet briefly. Aside from a glimmer of recognition, Andrew doesn’t give anything else away. Neil makes a mental note to ask him about it on Monday, and then jogs back to the rental booth - and the disgruntled customers waiting for him - with a forced and cheery smile plastered on his face.
…
Monday morning. Calculus. Andrew Minyard comes in just before the bell rings and plonks down into his seat without sparing Neil a glance. Their teacher immediately starts droning on, so Neil doesn’t get a chance to talk to Andrew until they’re given their exercises.
“So, how long have you worked at the rink?” Neil asks, tapping his pencil against his notepad.
“Couple of weeks,” Andrew says with a shrug, doodling a fat cat in the margins of his own notebook.
“I work there too,” Neil tells him uselessly.
“I noticed,” Andrew says with a small snort. “You were spying on me.”
“I wasn’t- I just-” Neil returns his mocking look with a glare. Andrew looks so different from when he was helping the kids at the rink. He looks harder at the edges. “I was just curious to see who the new instructor was.”
“Well, now you’ve found out. Hope you’re thrilled.”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
Andrew looks amused. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Yeah, well,” Neil mumbles, shrugging. “Maybe you should put as much effort into your calculus as you do at the rink.”
“You’re very bold this morning.”
“You’re a confusing person,” Neil admits.
“Don’t hurt yourself trying to figure it out,” Andrew says. “I can make it simple for you.”
Neil looks at him questioningly.
“At the rink, I get free blue raspberry slushies. You know, because I work there,” Andrew says, conspiratorially, as if he’s telling Neil a secret. “In calculus, though? Not so much.”
Neil blinks, nonplussed. “You’re messing with me.”
“Who knew you were so easy to mess with.”
“So, what’s the real reason?”
“I like it,” Andrew says plainly. “Is that the answer you were hoping for?”
Neil just shrugs. He feels annoyed. Like the conversation is a game that he’s somehow lost. He flips the page vigorously and somehow ends up gouging a papercut into the side of his finger. A blob of red blood beads, quivers and then spills.
He instinctively blots the cut with a sheet of paper from his notebook before noticing that Andrew is pulling a pack of wet wipes and a beat-up box of band-aids out of his bag.
“It’s just a papercut,” Neil protests.
“Just a papercut,” Andrew parrots darkly. “Even tiny cuts can get infected.”
“Fine,” Neil concedes, placing his hand on the desk in between them.
He watches as Andrew carefully dabs the cut before firmly wrapping the band-aid around it. His touch causes Neil’s heart to trip up in his chest. He brings his free hand to his forehead; he hopes he’s not coming down with something.
After Andrew’s done, he drops Neil’s hand as if it’s a pebble of coal burning hot from a fire. Neil mutters a thank you and the rest of the class passes by without incident or, indeed, another word.
…
Saturday. Very early afternoon. Stark white daylight washes over the town, but it’s ephemeral. Soon, the sky will purple and brood. It’s the busiest time at the ice rink and Neil’s been dealing with a constant queue of customers all day.
Eventually, he’s left alone long enough to sit down and take a look at his English essay. He writes exactly one sentence before the commotion begins. A cluster of kids waddle toward him, teetering on their skates. They look worried.
“Mr. Minyard fell on the ice,” one of them announces.
“His knee just like, started spurting blood everywhere!”
“Don’t exaggerate, Tommy!”
“What? It did!”
Neil swears under his breath and bends down to retrieve the first aid kit. Wymack had made him take a first aid course after he’d been offered the job. He’d said he liked everyone at the rink to know how to take care of someone who took a spill on the ice. Luckily, he has never had to use it. Until now.
Neil follows the kids to the edge of the rink. Andrew is trying to undo his laces, but keeps needing to stop in order to press down on his bleeding knee. His pale fingers are smudged red. When Neil looks across the rink, he sees the splatter of crimson where he must have fallen.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have worn your trendy, ripped jeans to work today,” Neil deadpans, crouching down to take a look at Andrew’s cut.
“Shut up,” Andrew says, shooting him an unimpressed look.
“I will,” Neil says, “but only if you let me take a look at that.”
He nods at Andrew’s hands, which are clasped tightly over his knee. Andrew’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his body language shifts as he slowly undoes his hands and lets them fall to his sides.
“Just there,” he says, pointing to his knee. He leans back against the plexiglass wall and closes his eyes.
Neil nods, not really understanding. He makes sure to clean and dress the wound without touching Andrew anywhere but his knee. It’s a relatively shallow cut so it’s easy enough to patch up, even when there are a bunch of kids watching him work, holding their breath.
When he’s done, Andrew’s eyes flutter open. Some colour has returned to his cheeks. Neil smiles at him encouragingly.
“Go get Andrew a blue raspberry slushie,” Neil instructs one of the kids.
“I’m not in shock,” Andrew grumbles, annoyed.
“Didn’t say you were,” Neil replies. “This is just, I don’t know, my treat.”
“What a treat,” Andrew says sarcastically, getting to his feet. “A freebie from the cafeteria.”
“How’d you fall?” Neil asks, just as Andrew is about to get back on the rink and skate away from him.
“Wasn’t paying attention,” Andrew says, looking annoyed at himself.
“Oh well,” Neil says. “Could have been worse, right?”
Andrew just holds his gaze for a second or two and then glides away.
…
Neil slams his locker and startles when he sees Andrew standing right next to him, sucking the remnants of a slushie, his lips tinted blue.
“What?” Neil asks.
“Nothing,” Andrew replies, tossing the plastic cup in the trash.
“Okay,” Neil replies, confused. “You’re finished too?”
Andrew just nods, sitting down on the bench across from Neil and studying him carefully. His look makes Neil feel twitchy and at the same time makes his insides lurch as if he’s on a rollercoaster.
“Uh, are you heading home then?” Neil goes on.
Andrew shrugs. “You?”
“Kind of have to,” Neil replies, tugging on his parka and switching his fingerless gloves for mittens. “It’s Hanukkah. If I’m not there when the candle’s lit, my mom will kill me.”
“Okay,” Andrew says, considering this. “And what will she do if you sneak out after?”
Neil huffs a laugh out of his nose and shakes his head. “Then she’ll turn me over to my dad to kill me.”
“Is there any situation where you meet up with me tonight and don’t end up dead?”
“I- Well- Why do you want to meet up with me?”
Andrew looks at him as if to say, are you serious? Neil tugs at his scarf, feeling warmth for the first time in weeks.
“You,” he starts, not sure how to finish. “You’re nothing like how they say you are, are you?”
“Who’s that?”
“The kids at school. They think you’re scary.”
But he’s not, Neil thinks, his mind flooding with images of Andrew on the ice, reaching for some little girl’s hand as she’s about to stumble. Of Andrew taking care of his stupid papercut even though he didn’t have to.
“I don’t care what they think,” Andrew says.
“Where will you be?” Neil asks, changing the subject. “Tonight?”
“Around.”
“Your parents won’t mind?”
“Bee is a very lenient guardian.”
Neil doesn’t waste his time trying to untangle his thoughts. He knows what he wants to do.
“I can sneak out,” Neil tells Andrew, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“Good,” Andrew says.
They walk down the corridor in silence, eventually passing the empty rink and a suspicious-looking Wymack. Neil waves goodbye to him and then he and Andrew are outside, surrounded by a deeply black night-time that’s being interrupted by the orange glow of the streetlamps. Andrew walks him to his car and then leaves without saying another word, merely tugging on the strap of his backpack and shooting him another one of his looks.
Neil drives home with a grin on his face he can’t get rid of. He can’t wait to see how the rest of the night will turn out.
winter prompts
#winter prompts#fic#aftg#tfc#andreil#aftg fic#tfc fic#still working through these bad boys!#i'm trying to keep them short and sweet but aaaaaa#i overthink too much#I love writing high school andreil tho#ty for the prompt anon!#:')#prompt fills
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tw for implications of rape and self-harm
Andrew Minyard truly breaks my heart. Yeah, because let’s give this broken boy who was abused and sexually assaulted time upon time again, an eidetic memory, why don’t we?
Andrew used to be convinced it was a curse, even though he tells himself he doesn’t believe in that kind of thing. What else can such a harsh breed of irony be? He never believed it when Cass told him how gifted and intelligent it made him, because to him, it’s been nothing but a mockery, something wickedly capable of immortalising the pain he’s been through.
He is cursed. He is cursed to have every trivial detail of a world that he so loathes, burned into his mind like a brand like a burden he did not ask for.
Andrew’s brain is a constant horror reel. His memories are acidic, and they do nothing but usher bile to his throat. He has memories with teeth that only exist to gnaw at him. Violent, ugly, unbearable memories that he might’ve learned to somehow repress, if only he had the ability to forget. Time doesn’t heal shit when your every yesterday is a scab you can’t scratch away, burned into your brain like a shallow grave and dug right back up on the daily. No, Andrew does not want to remember it like this. Not like this. The dirtiest press of hands and every brutal line that curves like a fault along them. The vapid twist of their wet, demanding mouths, inching towards his sprained face. The unwanted weight atop of him- and the details he can’t even speak of, the ones that he can see like a crystal clear reflection in water at night, corroding the expanse of calm black behind his eyes.
Andrew is tired. Tired of all this futile information that he takes in without quite meaning to, information that travels like a flame over frostbitten skin. He remembers the face of every man whose ever laid a hand on him. He remember what it felt like. The horrid invasion of privacy, of breath, of body, of any will he might’ve ever had to remotely care to keep existing. Sometimes the thoughts will creep up on him without invite. When he’s in the shower (splintered bathroom mirrors & quivering fingers), on court (a racquet slammed down against solid ground & breath torn out of burning lungs), midnight (wide awake and sheets a wreck) and they won’t go away. They won’t let him rest.
They were in his head. They were in his skin. Reminders of everything he’d lost, everything that’d been taken from him, drilled into him like bullets
The bliss the pills offered him was a vacant mind, frazzled memories ridden slippery and sinking away from him. Good fucking riddance.
The nicotine helps. When the smoke infiltrates his system and he allows his mind to take a backseat. The stale memories giving way to ashes.
Bee teaches him about positive reinforcement. Take the thing that hurts you, look it in the eye, and then, throw it away. Replace the hole it rips through you with something new, something healing. Remember, your past does not dictate you. It’s quite the other way around.
So he takes memories of bloodstained bedsheets and his heart escaping his chest and the worst glimpses of flesh and replaces them with other things. He focuses instead, on the sound of Nicky’s laughter when he beats Aaron at Crash Bandicoot or cracks up at his own lame joke, the crease in between Aaron’s eyebrows when he’s sat against the wall with his head buried in a biology book, the crucifix at the base of Renee’s neck and how it glints when it catches the light, the rabid gleam in Kevin’s eyes when he stands, unshakable on court.
And Neil, Neil, Neil.
Neil’s unwavering respect for his boundaries, that annoyingly knowing look in Neil’s eyes that never fails to set the alarm bells off in Andrew’s head, Neil’s mouth on his; reducing everything else to violent, beautiful nonexistence. Neil’s ability to make him feel.
His imagination is vivid, and fantasising about being in bed with Neil is a whole lot more interesting than whatever activity he’s reluctantly participating in at the time. Someplace where touch is sacred, and Andrew can pull animal noises out of Neil without having to flinch at the sound, where his body does not hold him back, and he can touch and be touched without having to be afraid, without his stomach bottoming out from under him, without his hands shuddering and head clanging. Some place safe and secret, his to venture to and seek comfort in as he pleases. Losing himself to thoughts of Neil changes things. It keeps him anchored to reality, even when he feels like he’s fading away again, because Neil Josten is not just a fantasy. He’s real. This thing in between them is real. This is something Andrew gets to keep, gets to learn, gets to take his time with, gets to love, without having to call it love.
Nothing can take this away from them.
This stagnating, mesmerising, healing thing he won’t put a name to because names don’t matter. Not to them.
He doesn’t ever forget, and at this point, he doesn’t want or even need to. After all, he has no place for regrets, or rumination over a past long dead. The thoughts never go away. They never will, but they’re less frequent, less scarring, less volatile. There are still nights he wakes up to the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears, his body seized in phantom reflex, his heart a battering ram trapped in his ribs.
There’s Neil’s gaze like clockwork, full of concern and knowing. He keeps his hands to himself whenever Andrew gets like that. No touch, not even one of support, is extended without an affirmation of consent. The stubborn idiot would wait a century, if that was what it took. And Andrew is grateful, and he’s relieved, and he’s in love. He won’t ever say those things out loud, won’t make the notions tangible; susceptible to the light. He doesn’t need to. He knows Neil feels the same way.
He can’t afford words as shallow and spat around as love.
This is something quickening and dizzying, like falling from a great height.
And maybe it isn’t such a curse being able to get every single one of Neil’s scars down to a tee when he closes his eyes and pictures him naked under his own body, or the twist of his mouth when he smiles that ebbing, genuine smile, reserved for when the two of them are alone and aching, or the way his lips blaze a riot against his, or the feeling of soft hair caught in between his coarse fingers.
Andrew learns to live with it. He’s good at that, learning to live with things, despite ample evidence to the contrary.
He sleeps better when it’s with Neil pressed into his chest, a hand clasped over his heart as if to shield it.
The road to recovery is slow, agonising, winding, torturous and somedays, seemingly unending, but every single time he thinks he might just wander off the taunting goddamn edge, Neil brings him back home.
#can you tell they've conquered all of my thoughts again?#tfc#andreil#the foxhole court#aftg#all for the game#aftg meta#tfc meta#andreil fic#andrew minyard#neil josten#nora sakavic#cigarettesmokesandexyracquets#all for the gay#trk#andrew x neil
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PLS WRITE SOME KID KEVIN PLSSSSS
here ya go pal (and the others who requested baby kevin) - babysitting ft. aaron and katelyn
Aaron Minyard is used to disasters, so he figures babysitting a toddler can’t be that hard.
The irony of his brother having a child before him doesn’t escape him. He and Katelyn decided to wait until their training was mostly finished so that they had both time and money, and Aaron doesn’t regret that. It doesn’t negate the strangeness of Andrew as a father, though.
The point is, he and Katelyn are planning on having children, and they like children, so looking after a three-year-old shouldn’t be that difficult. Not even when the three-year-old in question belongs to Aaron’s brother, the least likely parent in the world, and Neil fucking Josten.
Neil is, of course, the one to drop Kevin off at Aaron and Katelyn’s house, along with a large array of things. He looks at Aaron looking at all of the…kid stuff, and says, “Don’t worry. That’s normal.”
“Alright,” Aaron says, because he’s trying a new thing where he’s agreeable when it comes to Neil. It was Katelyn’s suggestion, and if he’s honest he’s only stuck with it thus far because of the expression on Neil’s face when Aaron agrees with everything he says.
“He’s had dinner, and I guess I don’t have to give you the usual spiel about poison control that we give our sitters,” Neil says, after a moment of staring at Aaron like he’s grown another head, “But if anything goes wrong, just call us. We’ll both have our phones on.”
“Yeah,” Aaron says, and then receives an armful of sleep-warm and somewhat grumpy-looking Kevin.
“He’s going to cry when I leave,” Neil says helpfully. “A lot. But he’ll stop eventually. Then he’ll want to sleep, so that will be your evening sorted.”
“Great,” Aaron says. “Anything else?”
“We’ll be back around ten,” Neil says. “Call me if there’s any problems.”
“You said that already.”
“Just making sure you got it.” Neil steps almost uncomfortably close to Aaron and strokes Kevin’s head. “See you in a bit, buddy. Be good.”
Kevin huffs at that and presses his slightly sticky face into Aaron’s neck. Aaron has to look away from Neil’s softened expression – weird, weird, weird – and mutters an answering farewell when Neil leaves at last.
He pushes the door closed with his foot, and then it’s just him and a toddler. Katelyn will be home in a half-hour, but that’s fine.
“Alright,” Aaron says, because he’s worked with little kids, and he likes them, but that’s nothing like having sole charge of one. He leaves most of Kevin’s stuff in the hallway and heads to the lounge, sitting on the couch.
Kevin wakes up a little at that, looking at Aaron and then looking around the room like he’s searching for something. His lip wobbles. Aaron sighs.
“Oh my god,” Katelyn says when she gets in. She’s a little wind-blown, changed out of her scrubs into jeans and a sweater.
Aaron doesn’t have a response, but inwardly he agrees. It’s a good thing they have a house rather than an apartment, but even so their neighbours are probably considering a noise complaint right now.
“Nothing wrong with his lungs,” Katelyn says, stealing Kevin out of Aaron’s arms and balancing him on her hip. “Hey! What’s all this for, huh?”
If anything, that makes Kevin shriek louder. Katelyn bounces him gently, unbothered. “Are you sad your dads left you? Hey, fair enough. I would cry too. That’s okay.”
Her voice is mild, and she rubs Kevin’s back with her free hand. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. You can look at the windows or something.”
She disappears from the room, Kevin’s crying quieting a little with a wall or two between him and Aaron. It’s amazing how primal the sound of it is – Aaron could have sworn it wouldn’t bother him, but he’s more flustered than he ever gets, like there’s some instinct telling him he needs to do something to fix Kevin.
Ten minutes later, the crying gets louder again, and Katelyn reappears in the lounge. “Wow, okay. Why don’t you go back to your uncle, huh? He’s probably already deaf now.”
“Thanks,” Aaron tells her, though he accepts Kevin’s weight straight away. Then he leans close to Katelyn so he can kiss her, just a quick peck. “Why don’t you go have a shower, and we’ll make dinner?”
“Alright,” she replies. “‘We’, huh?”
“The sound of crying helps me cook,” Aaron lies, heading into the kitchen. He’s defrosted some bolognaise he made a while back and froze half of, and he puts a pot of water on the stove to boil for pasta. It’s a little tricky with one hand but not impossible, and Kevin might be loud but he’s not wriggling. Actually, he’s clinging to Aaron, his fists caught up in Aaron’s shirt.
“You’re a real crybaby,” Aaron tells him quietly. “It’s not like they aren’t coming back.”
It might be wishful thinking, but Aaron swears there’s a momentary lull in Kevin’s crying. Keen to maintain it, he says, “It’s very overdramatic. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Want daddy,” Kevin whines, the first concrete words he’s said this evening. “Please!”
“You’re very polite,” Aaron observes. “They’re busy, but they’ll be back later. Want to stir the sauce?”
“No,” Kevin says, and shoves his face into Aaron’s neck again. “No, no, no.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll do all the work,” Aaron replies. “They must be feeding you over there. You’re heavy.”
“No,” Kevin repeats.
“Okay. Sure you don’t want to stir?”
Kevin’s head lifts from Aaron’s shoulder, and he stares balefully down at the pot with his big reddened eyes. Eventually he says, “Okay.”
Tomato sauce spatters the stovetop, but at least Kevin isn’t crying anymore. In fact, by the time the pasta is cooked, he’s sagging into Aaron.
Katelyn reappears then, wet haired and fresh faced. She steps up next to Aaron, peering at Kevin’s face, and murmurs, “Oh, all worn out?”
Aaron and Kevin both make mutters of agreement.
“I set up the pack’n’play,” Katelyn says, because she’s a multi-tasking genius. “Go put him down and I’ll serve this up.”
Aaron adjusts Kevin’s weight and takes him through to the guest room where the bed is ready to go. It’s surprisingly difficult to manoeuvre Kevin down on the mattress – Aaron needs to do weights or something – but he manages to be gentle.
Of course, the second Kevin’s back touches the mattress, his eyes open and he shrieks.
“Jesus fuck, you’re possessed,” Aaron says, but obliges when Kevin reaches up to him. When he’s back in Aaron’s arms he clings, crying miserably. “Okay, alright. Guess I’m stuck with you.”
He rubs at Kevin’s back and takes him back out to the lounge. Katelyn puts her head out of the kitchen and looks at the two of them.
“That didn’t work so well,” she states the patently obvious. Kevin is sniffling instead of all-out bawling now, but his little grip is surprisingly strong. “You want dinner, babe?”
“In a minute,” Aaron replies distractedly, sitting onto the couch with Kevin against his chest. This time he settles in, ear to Aaron’s heart, and it’s…something.
“Here,” Katelyn says after a few minutes, sitting down beside him and putting a fork in his hand. She has an oversized bowl of pasta that she nestles in the gap between her thigh and his, helpfully hemmed in by Kevin’s socked feet. She also flicks the television on a home design program – they got into it doing up the house and never got out of the habit of watching – and pops a penne in her mouth.
“Thanks,” Aaron tells her, taking a forkful for himself. On-screen, a blonde woman holds paint chips to an undercoated wall.
At some point Katelyn takes the bowl away again, and returns with a light blanket that she tucks in around Kevin. When she retakes her spot on the couch she curves into Aaron, rubbing a hand absently over his side. That’s about the last thing Aaron remembers.
He stirs what feels like moments later to the sound of voices too clear to be from the TV. He’s warm and heavy and comfortable.
“His shifts have been all over the place,” Katelyn is saying, her voice low.
Kevin moves in Aaron’s lap, and Aaron startles badly, clutching at him with that sick barely-awake impression of falling even when it’s not him moving. He opens his eyes and finds himself face-to-face with Andrew, who is lifting Kevin off of him, blanket and all.
Aaron sits up and rubs a hand over his face. “What time is it?”
“Ten past ten,” Neil replies from the door, one of Kevin’s bags over his shoulder. His collar is hanging open, tie no doubt ripped off the second he escaped from whatever fancy Exy event they’ve been at tonight.
It’s official – Aaron knows Neil too well. One day he’ll figure out how his life got to this point, but it won’t be today.
“You were right,” Aaron tells him, standing. His lower back twinges because he’s getting old.
“About?”
“The crying.” Aaron doesn’t mention the sleeping part, because they’ve seen the proof of that themselves. “We didn’t have to call poison control though.”
“He was fine,” Katelyn hastens to add. “Loud, but good.”
“Thanks,” Neil tells her, hugging her with one arm in his usual brisk fashion. Andrew is already halfway to the door, which is business as usual.
The difference is the way his body curves to accommodate Kevin’s weight, cradling him close with Kevin’s head nestled into his collarbone. Even the proud line of his neck is loose, chin tilted down.
Aaron might be getting old, but his brother has got soft.
Once they’re gone, Aaron pops his back, sighing a little. He jerks when Katelyn prods him in the side with her finger, grabbing her hand to stop her.
“That was nice,” she says, transitioning smoothly from poking to holding his hand. “Right?”
“He’s a good kid,” Aaron replies, which is as close as he’ll get to agreeing. Katelyn recognises that by the shape of her smile.
“You’re good with him,” she says, and leans close to kiss him. It’s just outside the realms of chaste, but not quite enough that it stirs him away from the bed bed bed his body is chanting. When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “Go sleep. I mean, presuming the nap won’t keep you from sleeping.”
“Hah,” Aaron huffs dryly, kissing her again before he goes.
#kid kevin verse#the foxhole court#aaron minyard#katelyn#my fic#prompts#babysitting and naps#Anonymous
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Oh Death
2466 words of Kevaaron. Enjoy. <3
Kevin's been playing professionally for ten years now. He still lives and breathes exy, but he also found other things that bring him joy. History. Documentaries. Cooking. Aaron.
Aaron is a chief physician in his hospital. It's a stressful job, but very rewarding.
Both of this means, though, that they have trouble meeting up. When Kevin is off, Aaron sometimes has to do a double shift at the hospital. But as long as they have each other, they don't mind. Especially in the offseason when Aaron also takes a vacation.
It's shortly before Christmas and they are both home. Kevin is in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Aaron sets the table up. It's weirdly domestic and Aaron still has trouble to believe that all of this is real.
In the background the TV is on. It's some history documentary that Kevin chose. They already watched it ten times, but Aaron doesn't mind. He likes to see Kevin smile. While they eat, they hold hands, caressing each other's skin. This is when the call comes.
Kevin frowns and looks at Aaron. Latter one just shrugs his shoulders. They barely get calls. Mostly they just use skype to keep in contact with their family. Kevin gets up and grabs the phone. "Minyard-Day?"
Kevin's face falls in a matter of seconds. His skin goes pale and his hands start shaking. Quickly Aaron jumps up and walks to him. "Where?" Aaron searches for an answer in Kevin's face, but can't find one. His heart is dropping more and more the longer he waits. "We're on our way."
"What happened?" Aaron asks after Kevin carelessly throws the phone onto the table. "My dad ... he had a stroke. They put him in a hospital."
Kevin wants to leave instantly, but Aaron orders him to sit down while he quickly packs a few things. Kevin's mind is hazy, he doesn't know what to do. Aaron comes back with a jacket over his arm. "Babe, come on." He helps him up and into his jacket before grabbing the bags. Kevin heads to the driver's side, but Aaron stops him. "I drive. It's okay."
Nothing is okay. Nothing. Kevin still shakes when he sits inside. "We gotta get to him."
"I know. We will." Aaron squeezes Kevin's hand while going way too much over the speed limit to the airport.
"I can't lose him," Kevin says, his face twisted in pain.
Aaron feels a knife pressing into his heart. "You won't." He doesn't know if it's true, but oh god, he hopes.
Aaron does all the talking at the airport. Kevin tries his best to hold it together while his thoughts get faster and faster. Why did it happen so soon? Should he have spent more time with him? Oh god, why was he so focused on exy? Was it his fault? In the airplane Aaron just holds Kevin and whispers soothing stuff into his ear until at least most of the shaking stops. Kevin is too paralyzed to share his fears, though, so he just keeps them to themselves. Aaron seems to feel it, but he just kisses the top of Kevin's head.
He can hold Kevin, but he can't save him from his own thoughts.
As they don't have a car, they go with a taxi. It's the horror for Kevin to sit still while the driver could be so much faster. He visibly tenses and Aaron is quick to notice. "I'll give you two hundred bucks more if you drive like hell is loose." The driver doesn't need to hear that twice.
After three near-death experiences, they reach the hospital. Aaron feels like throwing up - he thought Andrew drives bad - but Kevin jumps out before the car even completely stopped and runs to the hospital. Aaron sprints after him after he just pressed a wad of notes into the driver's hand. When he arrives, Kevin already set off to the stairs, probably knowing which room Wymack is in. It is hard to keep up, but he ignores his stitches in the side and runs after him.
Kevin bursts through the door without even knocking, Aaron in tow. He instantly freezes and Aaron looks around him to see what's going on. Wymack is pale. Extraordinary pale. He lies on the bed, a mass of tubes in him. His breathing is weak and his eyes are closed. Abby sits right next to him, holding onto his hand for dear life. She looks up at their arrival and manages the smallest of smiles. Her eyes are red, but she is probably done crying.
Kevin still stands still like this all isn't real. Aaron softly nudges him until he begins to move, heading slowly to his father. Aaron closes the door and follows him. His throat is tight. He's never seen Wymack like this. He's been always so strong and fierce. Now he looks like a shadow of his old self. He goes to stand next to Abby while Kevin sits down on the other side, his eyes never leaving Wymack's face. "Dad?" His voice breaks, and with it, Aaron's heart.
Wymack moves, but only ever so slightly. He opens his eyes, a weak smile playing on his lips. "Hey son."
Kevin breathes in and out a few times, obviously struggling to keep his cool. "Dad, what happened?"
Wymack tries to wave his right hand, but fails. "Don't worry about me."
Aaron can't stand to see this any longer. He needs to talk to a doctor. Because from what he sees, it definitely doesn't look good for him. "Kevin?" Kevin doesn't move, but Aaron knows he heard him. "I'll be right back. Promise."
"Where are you going?" Now Kevin's head snaps up, looking slightly scared at Aaron.
"I'm just gonna get the doctor. Don't worry."
"I'm gonna go with you, I haven't walked in hours," Abby says, squeezing Wymack's hand before also getting up. Kevin sits down while they leave the room.
Abby goes to get herself some coffee while Aaron heads to a nurse and asks for the doctor. He finds him shortly after and asks him about Wymack. The doctor's face seems troubled. That's all that Aaron needed to know. He just wants to head back as he hears a loud scream. Kevin.
He's repeating "Dad" over and over again. Aaron arrives at the door and sees the spilled cup of coffee on the floor. Abby.
Aaron barges in. "What happened?"
He doesn't need an answer after a look on the screen. Wymack's heart stopped beating. He shoves his feelings aside and gets in doctor mode. He steps by Abby, opening up Wymack's flannel and starting a cardiac massage while ordering Abby to get a doctor. Kevin's face is a mess of tears while he still holds onto his father. Doctor and nurses barge in. "We need a CPR stat!", Aaron says before giving him rescue breathing. He hears Kevin's protests as a nurse wants him to step away, but he is totally focused on Wymack right now. He hears how Abby takes Kevin away.
They fight for his life for a few minutes, but nothing. In the end, they have to give up. "Time of death: 02:05 pm," Aaron says with numb lips. He doesn't dare to look at Kevin while the other doctor leaves the room, letting the rest of the work to the nurses. He just sinks down onto the chair, burying his face in his hands. He doesn't think any patients' death hit him as hard as this. Wymack was like a father to him and a real dad to Kevin. And now he's gone.
Finally, he dares to look up. Kevin knees on the floor, staring blankly at Wymack who's been covered with a shroud. Abby has a hand put on his shoulder while tears stream over her face.
They sit like that for a while. Abby is the first one to move. "I'm gonna call the others," she means with a hoarse voice. The door closes behind her with a soft click. It seems like that wakes Kevin up from his frozen state.
Kevin's face is a grimace. Aaron stands up, but barely gets the chance to walk to him as Kevin jumps up. He pushes Aaron against the wall, hard. Aaron stops breathing for a few seconds while Kevin shakes him. "You promised he won't. You promised," Kevin sobs, fisting Aaron's flannel. "You promised. You lied. You liar!"
Aaron's eyes begin to water too. "Kev-"
Kevin slowly sinks down, still shaking Aaron. "You lied. You lied to me." He begins hitting him weakly with his fists.
"I'm sorry," Aaron says, his voice shaking. He slowly grabs Kevin's wrist, stopping him from punching him. He sinks also down while Kevin holds onto him for dear life. "I'm so sorry."
Aaron wraps his arm around Kevin, holds him while they both cry. Kevin sobs into Aaron's shirt, but he couldn't care less. He holds onto him. And holds. Holds until the shaking gets less. Until the sobs get quieter. Until the only sound in the room is Kevin's ragged breathing. Aaron feels like someone ripped his heart out.
They sit still for a while. Then Aaron slowly leans back a bit, craddling Kevin's face in his hands and wiping away his tears with his thumbs. "I'm here for you. You got me. You always will."
Kevin just nods before leaning his forehead against Aaron's. His breathing slowly evens out and matches Aaron's rhythm.
They both look up as Abby reappears. "I called them."
Aaron helps Kevin get up, slinging an arm around him. He has to be strong for him. They leave the room without looking back once.
As soon as they are in the hotel Aaron booked in the taxi, Kevin heads straight to the mini bar. Aaron lets him. Kevin didn't need alcohol as a crutch for years now. They only had wine at home, nothing strong. But Aaron knows the want to numb your own feelings. And only for today, he will let Kevin do it. He will keep an eye on him.
So he lets Kevin sit between his legs, emptying a vodka bottle in silence. There is no need to speak while he strokes his hair. It feels like a train drove over him. After an hour, Kevin starts dozing off, the last words on his lips being "Aaron". Aaron lies down with him on the small couch, holding him tightly. This night, no sleep finds Aaron.
The next days go by with funeral arrangements. Aaron and Abby organize the most, but Kevin decides the most. He wants it to be perfect.
They just sit in the living room when it knocks. Kevin stands up and opens, expecting Abby, but instead gets nearly hugged to death by Nicky. He is closely followed by Neil and Andrew. Aaron only needs to take one look at Neil's slightly red eyes before he averts his gaze again. "What -" Kevin begins, but Nicky cuts him off.
"We are here for you, Kevin!" With a look at Andrew, Nicky adds: "More or less."
Neil is seemingly too tired to glare at Nicky. Andrew is the first to move again, sitting down next to Aaron and watching him with clear eyes. They don't say anything, just look at each other. After a while, Andrew just gives a short nod. Aaron nods back. They hug each other shortly.
They all sit around the living room table, now also getting involved in the arrangements. Aaron doesn't miss how close Neil sits to Kevin, but he knows both of them were hit the hardest with Wymack's death, so he doesn't mind. Not even as Kevin gets up because it's too much and Neil indicates Aaron to sit down again while he goes after him. Aaron never really understood their friendship, but now he is really grateful for Neil.
Nicky still chatters away, trying to make the silence less heavy while they organize things. It's not pleasant that they only came together in this circumstances, but it feels good to be a whole group - a whole family - again.
For the funeral, they are all dressed in black. It's a beautiful ceremony, but doesn't help to lessen the pain in Aaron's chest. He and Kevin hold hands throughout the whole thing. While the coffin gets lowered into the ground, Aaron feels like Kevin is close to breaking his fingers, but he doesn't mind. They watch as people throw flowers into the hole, saying their last goodbyes. After they all moved on, they are the last two left.
Aaron can see Andrew, Neil and Nicky waiting on a tree a few steps away to give them their privacy.
Aaron throws a single red flower onto the coffin. He never was a very religious person, but he hopes Wymack is well, wherever he is now. He wants to leave to give Kevin some last alone time, but latter one holds him back. "No. Please stay."
Aaron nods, standing next to Kevin.
"Dad ... I already miss you. So much. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. That I never really had time. Time that we could spend together. But ... I know she would've been proud of you. Us. And I now hope that you are going to be proud of me, too. And I hope that you will watch over me and Aaron and my family. And ... that you see mum again. I hope that you are happy."
Aaron tries to fight the tears in his eyes while Kevin doesn't even care to hide them anymore.
"Thank you for everything. I love you. I always did and always will. Goodbye, Dad." Kevin sucks in a shaky breath after his last words before turning around and falling into Aaron's arms. Aaron holds him tightly, attempting to swallow down the knot in his throat.
The world will never be the same again without Wymack.
Aaron softly kisses Kevin's tears away until he calms down. "Okay?" he whispers.
"Okay," Kevin answers, taking his hand.
They walk over to the others, Nicky embracing Kevin again, then Neil. Aaron looks at Andrew.
Maybe the world will never be the same again without Wymack.
But the world will also be okay.
Their world.
#kevaaron#kevin day#aaron minyard#david wymack#aftg#tfc#all for the game#the foxhole court#*#mine#this made some of the people on discord cry rip
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truth or dare
summary: Andrew doesn’t want to share his soul with anyone. Children from foster homes aren’t large on sharing, and the concept of a soulmate is as outdated as it is unlikely. His soulmate probably wouldn’t want him anyway. (compilation fic for @tfcfansgive)
Nicky, who’d grown up as boy fantasising about his soulmate, seemed almost as delighted to be a side character in the tale of Andrew Minyard’s epic romance. The first time they spent alone together, Nicky interrogated Andrew about all the details he knew of his soulmate.
“Nothing,” Andrew says. The skin condition - because that’s what the myriad of scars and wounds are best described as; an unsightly affliction - has never volunteered any significant information to him. Nor would he want it to.
“Nothing?” Nicky repeats, incredulous. “You’ve never even given them your phone number? Written ‘a/s/l’ on your arm?”
Andrew levels a flat stare on his newfound cousin. “I know they are more trouble than they are worth.”
Nicky protests, but it falls on ears that may as well be deaf. If the pain from the injuries - reduced though they are from what his soulmate must feel - weren’t inconvenient enough, Andrew has received scars through no experience of his own that immediately indicate to others that he is one of the very, very few who have a soulmate, opening him up to this kind of questioning by any person without enough of a self preservation instinct.
Besides, anyone who lives the kind of life that Andrew’s soulmate does clearly comes with with disaster on their heels. Andrew’s experienced enough disaster in his own life. He’s not taking on anyone else’s.
(Or so he thinks.)
The Foxes find out that Andrew has a soulmate after Nicky drunkenly blurts it out, trying to make friends by exchanging interesting facts. Andrew isn’t present for this. He is, however, present for the searching, amazed glances the following day; the marks of a group of people trying to figure out what it is by the angry, distant man that deserved a soulmate when none of them got one.
None of them ask. They have better instincts than Nicky. Or they’ve seen Andrew’s reaction to prying questions a few too many times to risk it for something Andrew clearly tries to hide.
Then, Renee does. “You’ve been blessed,” she says gently, as though this is fact and not a misguided opinion.
“You already know my view of religion,” Andrew says, aiming a particularly vicious slash at her as a warning that she deftly avoids.
“The fact of it is written all over your body,” Renee says, soft smile not showing any strain. “Surely it’s hard to deny.”
“I’m bonded to someone out there,” Andrew says, projecting his best bored tone. “There’s nothing to say that’s a blessing. They’ve caused me nothing but pain and annoying questions so far.”
“So you think it’s a curse?”
“If you must put it that way, yes.” It’s not the most accurate way to describe this nuisance that’s taken over his body, but it’s the best way to convey the sentiment to Renee.
“Have you ever tried to interact with them?” Renee asks, disbelief still in her dark eyes.
“Yes,” Andrew says, tapping his wrist to gesture to the marks Renee knows lie under the arm bands, and striking when her attention has strayed. “Never got a message back.”
“Andrew,” she says, catching his wrist.
“No,” he says, shortly, pulling his arm from her careful grip. The scars there are among the very few he’s ever given to his soulmate, and they’re not the fabled cry for help countless therapists told him they were. Each mark was him trying to claim his body back. They never worked.
Andrew knows there’s nothing a soulmate can do for him that he can’t do for himself. All his soulmate would be is another addition to Andrew’s sorry collection; they’d be a nuisance at best, and Andrew’s end at worst.
“Can’t you imagine it?” Renee asks Andrew’s back, a last attempt at conversion. “Perfect love drives out fear,” she says, in the reverent tone she gets when she quotes the Bible.
“I can,” Andrew says, and he leaves. Because fear doesn’t cover it. He can imagine the feelings - a fire in his veins, a tempest in his chest - and he can conjure up the feeling of being consumed by it all. He can envisage giving himself over to an emotion that’s bigger than he is. And he can imagine it can all being torn away from him.
No, there’s nothing his soulmate can offer him that’s worth taking.
But that doesn’t stop his soulmate from turning up anyway. Andrew stands over his prone figure in a dimly-lit room and he can paint a picture of every scar on his body. Neil Josten, a voice in his head whispers, and the knowledge burns a hole in his chest.
He swallows the familiar fear when Wymack calls his name, plays his part the way he always should. Then he taps an ironic salute to Neil, saying, “Better luck next time.”
He doesn’t know whether he means on the court or in life. Because he knows Neil’s history more than he clearly wants Andrew to, and he hasn’t had luck so far. He isn’t going to get more lucky with the Foxes, that’s for damn sure.
But he signs. Neil brings his trouble to Palmetto, and despite himself, Andrew is drawn in. Because fate and genetics and bad fucking luck had this determined long before either of them had any such thing as a choice.
Neil is a fish floundering out of its depth. He won’t survive the year, and though Andrew wills himself to feel relief, he doesn’t. The wasteland inside him burns, becoming twisted with new regret. Andrew doesn’t know why this is his fabled bond, but it is - a cruel joke, just like the rest of his life.
An oblivious boy, a danger magnet, a ticking time bomb with an expiration date. All of the trouble and none of the peace that’s supposed to come with true love.
He had thought watching blood appear as though from nowhere was inconvenient. It doesn’t even compare to the wounds lying over broken promises, broken bones, a breaking mind. It doesn’t compare to the terror of a bag left behind in the midst of chaos, to a boy basked in sunlight saying the only one I’m interested in is you being ripped from him in the blink of an eye, to a goodbye hidden in a thank you.
Andrew curses every deity he can name, every fate that would dare play this joke on him, then he curses himself again for letting it get this far. For thinking he would be allowed to keep this.
He watches his skin split and blood spill, feels heat on his face, weathers the pain and doesn’t imagine how many increments above this Neil is feeling. He doesn’t leave handprints on Kevin’s neck, but he’s sure he should. He’s not imagining the blood. It’s real, much as he wishes it weren’t.
Then he takes Neil’s face in his hands, and Neil looks at him like he holds the answer to a question he’d never dared ask.
Andrew doesn’t trust this, doesn’t dare think it could last, doesn’t think that the pull in chest feels almost like happiness. But he lets himself tell Neil to stay, and lets him think this could survive the year.
#aftg#tfc#andreil#unrealsquad#tfcfansgive#al writes#mine*#au#self harm //#injury //#blood //#this is well overdue but hey i've been on hiatus#hope y'all enjoy it#100#200
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hawk in the raven nest, chapter seventeen
major tw(s): rape/sexual assault and graphic depiction of murder, chapters 16-20 deal with sexual assault/murder
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Nathaniel blinked at Andrew, and Andrew stared at Mr. Hemmick, and Nathaniel was positive that Andrew went a shade paler. The feeling in Nathaniel’s gut grew worse. “Now, if you’re here to ruin what has been a pleasant dinner, I will not allow-”
“Where is Aaron?” Andrew’s words to Nicky were so quiet, and yet the weight of them filled the room. Nathaniel believed that whoever was here in place of Andrew’s foster mother was the worst case scenario option. Nicky fumbled over his words, craning his neck to see into the room or hallway next to the kitchen, and Andrew said again, “Nicky, where the fuck is Aaron?”
“Upstairs,” Nicky said and Andrew bolted up the stairs. Nathaniel stayed back just long enough to see Nicky look around the corner, as if he was looking for someone who was supposed to be downstairs, and then went after Andrew.
“If you break anything I’m calling the police!” Mr. Hemmick shouted up after them.
“Who did you let come over?” Nathaniel heard Nicky ask, and a chill went down his spine.
On the second floor of the Hemmick’s house, Andrew slammed open the closest door on the left and looked inside before continuing to rush down the hall. Nathaniel’s mind was racing as he trailed behind Andrew and stuck his head into the room he left, trying to piece together who Andrew suspected was here, and what they had to do with Aaron Minyard. The other two doors Andrew tried were left open and empty, leaving the final door at the end of the hall.
They found it locked.
Nathaniel was ready for Andrew to pick it, but when Andrew reeled back and kicked the door in, he realized Andrew didn’t want to waste that time. The first thing he heard was a man’s voice shouting, Nathaniel thought he heard a demand for who was coming in, but he couldn’t hear as his mind took a short moment to process what he was seeing.
A man had Aaron Minyard pinned underneath him, one hand clenching his wrists together on the headboard of the bed. Aaron tugged at his wrists but the hand holding them did not redact its hold. Aaron’s shirt was still on but pants were pushed down to his knees and the man’s other hand was below his shirt. The man had his own pants unfastened and pushed low enough to make things easier for him. Aaron squirmed underneath the man to no avail due to the man keeping Aaron’s legs underneath him. Aaron’s lips were swollen and his face beat red with tear streaks. A cut ran from his temple to the middle of his cheek. The man shouted again, it had only been a second from when they entered the room, but Nathaniel couldn’t hear a word; he could only hear the pained gasp that left Aaron.
The man got up when he saw Andrew. He had a wicked grin on his face that made Nathaniel want to vomit. Maybe five seconds had passed but, to Nathaniel, everything felt slowed down. He didn’t know whether to fight with Andrew or tend to his brother. Andrew made that decision for him when he pushed Nathaniel back and stepped forward.
Andrew reeled his fist back as the man said, “My biggest fanta-”
The man never completed his sentence and Andrew never got his punch in, for the metal base of a lamp came cracking down on the back of the man’s skull. Blood splattered from his head. Again. The man came crashing down and Nathaniel could see the back of his head bashed in. Nathaniel’s stomach lurched at hearing the crunch and seeing the blood splatter and he pressed his hand to his mouth in hopes to hold off being sick.
Aaron Minyard let the lamp fall from his hands and then collapsed to his knees next to the corpse. The lamp shade must have popped off whenever Aaron had reached for it because it laid discarded away from him. Aaron’s clothes were not put back together, and one hand weakly reached for the blanket from the bed, failing, as the other pressed to his mouth. His skin was white as a sheet and his entire body was trembling. Gasps, sobs, gags, or all three were coming from him. Footsteps pounding up the stairs could be heard. Nathaniel took another step forward, wanting to do something, anything, to help, but Andrew pushed him back once again before rushing to his brother. Nathaniel watched as Andrew pushed the corpse away, anywhere but near his brother. He heard a gasp and an “Oh my God” from the doorway and knew Nicky Hemmick had arrived at the scene. He didn’t have time to look over at him, Nicky had already run off. He was going to call the police, or an ambulance, hopefully both, and maybe he would ask his father his role in this.
Nathaniel watched as Andrew pulled over a wastebasket from the side of the bed just in time for Aaron to retch into it. His body shook and it sounded as if his esophagus was being ripped out in the midst of the vomiting and the coughs and the sobs. Andrew grabbed the blanket from the bed, draping it over Aaron in an attempt to get him as covered as possible.
It took Nathaniel a moment to register that Andrew was speaking. “-not going to fucking touch you again. He’s dead. He’s not here to hurt you anymore.”
“Andrew,” Aaron managed out, barely. “He said- he-”
Aaron was cut off by another pained gasp from the doorway, and Nathaniel turned his head to see Mr. Hemmick standing there. A woman with a hand to her mouth shadowed behind him. Nicky forced his way through, and Andrew let him near himself and Aaron. As Nicky crouched on the other side of Aaron, Andrew finally turned his attention away from his brother and to Mr. Hemmick.
“Do you fucking believe me now, Luther?” Andrew’s words were soaked in poison and malice. “Or is this just another misunderstanding? You said I was too chemically unbalanced to understand, that Drake was just showing brotherly affection, is Aaron also too chemically unbalanced, too?” They weren’t really questions. They were damnations. Nathaniel felt sick at the realization that this had happened to Andrew, that this Drake -Andrew’s foster brother- had done this to Andrew, too, and when Andrew told Luther Hemmick, he was dismissed. Andrew had said that hope would only lead to disappointment; Nathaniel thought this was what he meant by it. The look Nicky gave him father could only represent one of betrayal.
Andrew didn’t stop there. “If I’m correct, didn’t you tell me you would speak with Cass? You said you would tell her to not take in any more children. But he was here, so you lied. You didn’t tell Cass what he was doing, you let her bring in more children, and now you let him join your son and my brother for a nice family holiday-” the way Andrew enunciated those three words made Nathaniel’s skin crawl “-knowing what he does. For all I have done to keep him away from them, and this is what you allow to happen. I have half the mind to kill you where you stand.”
Luther Hemmick did not say anything at first, nor the woman behind him, who Nathaniel assumed to be Nicky’s mother. When he finally did speak, it was not an apology or even an explanation but just a cold, “The police are on their way.”
Mr. and Mrs. Hemmick promptly left, and Nicky looked at his two cousins with a look that could only say “I’m sorry” before rushing out after his parents.
“You let him into our home!” Nicky shouted down the hall. “You knew what he did-” Three voices then began to rise over each other in an attempt to drown each other out and win an argument that should have never had to start.
Aaron was clumsily trying to put himself back together, his entire frame still shaking, and Andrew shifted his position to block Aaron off from being seen through the doorway.
“Should I…” Nathaniel trailed off. Words felt unnecessary, even inappropriate. He wanted to apologize, but it would sound empty; he hadn’t experienced what either of them had.
“Leave,” Andrew finished for him. Nathaniel did and found himself in the hallway of the Hemmick’s house. The house looked so perfect from the outside and Nathaniel felt sick at how wrong it was. Nicky was still at the top of the staircase, staring down to the first floor but not moving.
He turned when Nathaniel started walking down the hall. He had tear streaks down his face. “You’re Nathaniel, right?” His voice was tired and shaky. Nathaniel nodded. “You can come downstairs. My… my parents are outside. The police will be here soon, an ambulance too….” He swallowed thickly and ran a hand through his curls. “If I knew what he, Drake, had done… I wouldn’t have let him near Aaron… my dad knew the entire time, and he didn’t even think to get help.” Nathaniel nodded again. He didn’t know Nicky, didn’t know Aaron, didn’t know this about Andrew, and he knew he could offer no real help. “But, yeah,” Nicky continued. “You can come downstairs and wait.”
Nathaniel followed him down the stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Hemmick had located themselves to the backyard. Nicky offered him the leftover food they had, but Nathaniel didn’t think he would have an appetite for a while. He resolved to sitting on a couch in the living room. He could hear sirens.
“I’m just going out front to call our coach,” Nicky said. “He can bring clothes to the hospital for Aaron.”
He didn’t think Nicky cared to explain what he was doing, he believed speaking was the only way Nicky could keep everything together. So, he nodded and didn’t voice his hope that Aaron left here in an ambulance and not in handcuffs.
Nathaniel sat alone in the Hemmicks’ living room and processed what he had just experienced. He wondered where the misunderstanding came between whether or not it was Cass or Drake Spear coming to the Hemmicks for Thanksgiving. He tried to grasp the concept that Drake had dinner with them, that he was let into their home, and that Luther Hemmick knew about it. He couldn’t fathom the thought that at one point Andrew had told him that his foster brother was sexually assaulting him, and Luther didn’t believe him.
When Nicky came into the house five minutes later, a handful of police and medics followed him in. Nathaniel watched as he led them up the stairs. One instantly came over to collect his name and Nathaniel hesitated. To stay silent meant to damn himself to possibly being dragged into a case that he had no place in; to give his name meant risking it being publicized that he was here and not in Evermore. Nathaniel weighed his options, and even after feeling the chill of fear run up his back at his whereabouts being discovered, he gave his name. He just hoped that the witnesses wouldn’t be televised, if this was something that would even be reported on. At one point, two cops carried down a human sized bag and Nathaniel had to avert his eyes. At another, a cop went to collect Mr. and Mrs. Hemmick. Nicky came down again some time later and came over to where Nathaniel was seated.
“They’re taking Aaron to the hospital,” he explained. “The medics want to check for a concussion and any other injuries. The police said they’ll question him there and decide where he’s going from there. Andrew’s going with Aaron in the ambulance. I’m driving there and Andrew said you should come with me.”
Nathaniel nodded and said nothing. He would follow Andrew wherever he asked him to, but he knew his boundaries. He was to go with Andrew, but he would maintain his distance from the brothers.
Eventually, the medics came down with Aaron to help him into the ambulance. Cops followed them down, carrying papers on clipboard and muttering to each other. Andrew followed them wordlessly, only sparing Nathaniel and Nicky a glance as he passed. Shortly after, Nathaniel and Nicky went out to Nicky’s car.
In Nathaniel’s talks with Kevin, Kevin had described Nicky as someone who was constantly talking and filling silences. But the silence that stretched between them was so heavy Nathaniel felt the weight on his shoulders. Neither of them knew what to say. They didn’t need to comfort each other, and they didn’t know each other nearly enough to start talking about personal things, and they definitely weren’t going to talk about what had just happened. Most of all, though, everything they could say seemed inappropriate. They had already said everything they needed to in the house, anything else now was just excess. The words would just be used to fill the air.
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It drives me insane that typically "the twins getting over their issues" is 4/5 times just Aaron realizing that andrew had good reasons for murdering his mother and that makes it ok!!!! Fuck that. Fuck Andrew for not having any remorse about murdering Aaron's mother. Fuck Neil for not having any sympathy for Aaron when he knows DAMN well how it feels to mourn an abusive mother. (1/?)
(2/?) Fuck Andrew for not deigning to explain to his brother why he murdered his mother. What the fuck is Aaron supposed to do? It doesn’t fucking matter to him that she abused him when the circumstances under which she’s murdered is “the time she hurts Andrew.” It drives me fucking insane that we never see Andrew show the least remorse for it. Portrayal of “healing the twins uwu” needs to include Andrew owning up to that shit. It delegitimises Aaron’s feelings when it’s just depicted as (2/?)
(3/?) (wow totally forgot where I left off in the last one rip) It’s disgusting to me that typically we just see Aaron coming around to his brother’s view and we don’t see Andrew make a fucking effort at all. I’ve just been pissed about this all day and this seemed like a moderately appropriate spot to rant. This is no doubt disjointed and nonsensical as hell and I’m sure I’ve got some facts wrong, sorry. (3/3 hopefully)
i’ll give you some credit, anon, i can see where you’re coming from. A Lot of tfc fans let andrew get away with a lot of awful shit due to bias, and most of them slip and forget themselves sometimes. murder is never justified, no matter the reason. that’s why law enforcement exists, faulty as it is.
but, i can understand where they’re coming from too.
aaron, for all intents and purposes, wasn’t really mad at andrew because he perpetrated tilda’s death. he was more mad at andrew for killing tilda. that sounds confusing. to put it simply: he’s not mad because tilda died, he’s mad because andrew killed her.
aaron has lived with tilda for the worse part of his life, picking up around her and living with the fact that they’ll move around for tilda’s comfort but never for aaron’s. she’s abusive and a neglectful parent and, as most children who grow in those environments are wont to do, part of aaron has always wanted her dead too.
the thing with “aaron finally understands andrew” narratives is that it’s not necessarily a trope based on bias but on facts.
andrew will never regret killing tilda because he actually believes she deserved it. he admits that he murdered her and he admits that he did it for aaron, and that’s all the solace he needs for it. neil understood that too, by the time he tells aaron that he should understand andrew’s plight (even though andrew does think drake needed to die too and that there’s conflict with that reasoning. neil can never understand it because he’s an outsider)
a real life example would be if sam were to murder their mother (im putting this here bc sam wanted it here, i just,, yeah). if they did, they would flaunt it on the gc because they actually do want their mother dead. everyone in the gc would be uncomfortable for it, but they wouldn’t care because they thought it was justified. that’s what andrew feels about it.
on the other hand, aaron doesn’t hold the same beliefs. even though he has all the facts, even if andrew owned up to those reasons, even if he had understood the gravity of andrew’s promises initially, he’ll never truly understand why andrew found the need for murder. because murder is always an option but it’s not the best one because it’s illegal. he’s mad at andrew for risking that, for thinking that the only option they had on the table was murder. the promise was that andrew would protect him from tilda, not murder her for him.
so yes, it’s gross to consider that reconciliation narratives between the minyards would always be about aaron coming around to see andrew’s reasons, but that’s the cold hard truth about it. it’s not palatable to a morally righteous person and that’s okay. that you pointed it out means that you’re aware that it’s wrong because you can see that critique of character motives ≠ character hate.
thank you for coming to us about this!
#the foxhole court#aftg#aaron minyard#andrew minyard#tfc meta#aftg meta#aaronminyarddefencenet#c: not homophobic#c: i have an itchy knife hand
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