i’ve decided that since i read probably way too much fic i’m going to start a huge-ass rec list of my favourites. ones marked with a
☆ are my ultimate faves, ones marked with a * are WIPs and i’ve written little notes next to the fics that really left an impression on me. i will be adding to this list as i read new fics!
categories under the cut: post-canon / canon divergence / AUs / one-shots / PWP
Tag: fanfic
me, trying to write a Serious™ tfc fic:
i’ve enjoyed your prompt fills so much, thank you for sharing them!! if you feel like it: chef!andrew trying (and failing) to woo picky eater neil with fancy food? :)
The thing about growing up on the run is that you never really develop a palate.
You eat what’s there to be eaten, whatever you manage to stuff in your pockets while your mother distracts the cashier trying to haggle for cigarettes, as if it’s anywhere near possible to haggle in a 7/11.
You eat school lunches, bland chicken nuggets and congealed mac and cheese and unseasoned carrots with those little close to expired fruit cups with the peaches and cherries and simple syrup.
You drink gas station coffee—maybe it stunts your growth, but you drink it anyway—and fill old plastic water bottles from drinking fountains or public restroom sinks.
At least, that’s what Neil tries to explain to Matt one day, when Matt invites Neil to his favorite restaurant in his hometown. It just so happens that Matt’s hometown is New York City, and the chef at this place has a Michelin star, but Neil isn’t on the run anymore and his paycheck is hefty enough that he can afford it.
remember everyone’s favourite headcanon about neil coming back to life once upon a time and telling his unsuspecting friends about it on movie night?? I wrote that bitch!!!
The light from the TV seizes every time a scene leaps off a building or the action crashes into the protagonist. It’s exhausting to be in the same room as the flicker of it; the pulsing gunfire and longwinded monologues intercut with showy violence that’s all soft in the middle.
The combat is slow — it’s obvious the director wants you to follow the stunt double’s prowess with your eyes, to take the moment that someone goes sprawling and package it, understand it, delight in your own understanding. The urgency of the fight whimpers and dies. It’s a half-time waltz set to galloping music, stilted dialogue fed into it all like splinters.
It’s almost a comedy, this palatable brutality playing out in a room full of fighters.
A woman hooks her leg in the window of a moving car and slides inside, and Neil makes a tsk-ing noise. She grapples with a driver and wins impossibly. The scene shifts and becomes a greyscale basement; the villain orders his cronies about in German that can’t figure itself out. Neil nudges Andrew’s foot with his and Andrew nods without looking.
The screen hiccups, abruptly paused. “What is it Lassie?” Matt jokes, mouth twitching. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Neil says, sour. “Just wondering if his German coach spoke any German.”
“I thought it was cute,” Nicky says.
“You think he’s cute,” Allison corrects, reaching over Renee to steal a twizzler from the knot of opened snacks on the coffee table. She bites into it viciously when she says, “you’re into boys who can’t speak the same language as you. They’re easier to trick.”
“Wow,” Nicky says, bewildered. “The bitch is out today.”
Allison swipes primly at her lipstick. “Always is.”
“You got another horrifying factoid to share with the class, Josten?” Dan asks. “Something about the proper technique for jumping between cars maybe?”
“Yeah. Don’t lead with your legs. That’s a good way to get yourself ripped in half.”
“Un-pause,” Renee prods, and Matt laughs when he hits play. The movie skids around and tries to find its own plot again. Light flickers over Neil’s frown.
The protagonist shoots at a tank until it blows up, and Neil snorts, jostling Andrew’s side when he stands up. He watches Matt and Neil have a conversation in gestures, and Matt relents after a moment, letting Neil slip away without pausing anything.
He’s gone for a while. Doubtless somewhere in their bedroom or breathing secondhand smoke from his own hand or killing time cross-legged in the brightness of the kitchen.
It’s less bearable, trying to swallow the movie without Neil shaking with laughter against him every time someone lies or shoots the wrong way. Andrew feels uncomfortably like the only other person in his lifeboat had just been rescued without him.
Another explosion rocks their sound system, and Andrew flicks bored eyes back to the villain circling the lead in a helicopter. He’s still waiting for the plot twist to get over itself and make an appearance, or for Neil to do the same. It’s starting to chafe, being in the dark with the whole team, shifting and breathing and rustling plastic packages around him.
The protagonist gets suddenly skewered by the debris from the helicopter he just shot down, and the heroine tumbles down over the rubble, scrambling to hold his face in both hands. Dialogue devolves into blood-bubbling I love you’s and come back’s from there, and Andrew concentrates on zoning out.
“He’s not actually dead,” Nicky says incredulously, mouth full of popcorn. Dan shushes him. “He’s too pretty to be impaled to death.”
“I bet you want him to impale you to death,” Matt says slyly, pleased with himself, and Renee frowns at him.
“Ay, he’s back!” Nicky says, popping another handful as the protagonist gasps back to life, face wet with tears or sweat or rain. “What’d I tell you?”
“You’re ruining this movie,” Aaron says flatly.
“Do you think he went to heaven for those five minutes?” Nicky continues, ignoring his cousin. “Like I get that he’s a mass murderer, but it was all ‘greater good’ stuff. Like charity work.”
“I don’t think God had time to decide,” Renee says softly.
“Like he was hanging out in limbo?” Dan asks, playing along. Renee shrugs generously.
“I’d love to die for like ten minutes, make a scene, have Erik weep over my broken body. Then high five God on my way back to life.”
“Nothing happens when you die, Nicky,” Neil says matter-of-factly from the doorway. He smells like Andrew’s cigarettes when he climbs back onto the couch, legs tucked underneath him. He reaches for a handful of popcorn.
“You can’t know that for sure,” Renee says, frowning a little. Her beliefs never show on her face so much as when she’s trying to fight back without fighting.
Andrew can feel his heart wind up and get ready to throw something, though he’s not completely sure why until Neil says, “I died once.” He shrugs. “God looked a whole lot like an endless abyss.”
Title: time and tide (might just wait for you)
Pairing: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Rating: T
Warnings: Discussions of death, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, none of which are graphic.
Summary:
A fact: Andrew is biding his time until death.
He counts the hours left in a day, the minutes left in an hour, the seconds between sunrise and sunset. The world keeps turning, and with it, he wakes up, he eats, he smokes, he plays a sport he doesn’t care about, he guards his things, he keeps his promises, he breathes. Each intake of breath ticks off the time he has left – the space between him and death.
But against his will, his clock begins to run on a different schedule.
(or: Andrew versus life and Dr. Dobson, an act in eight parts)
Here is part 4 of the High School AU, with many thanks to @andrewminyarrr for cleaning up after my literary bad habits!
Warnings for underage drinking and two very brief references to Drake and a previous foster family of Andrew’s.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three
*
A month into their deal and Andrew still doesn’t know where Neil
Josten goes after they say goodbye on the corner of Andrew’s street.
Title: time and tide (might just wait for you)
Pairing: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Rating: T
Warnings: Discussions of death, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, none of which are graphic.
Summary:
A fact: Andrew is biding his time until death.
He counts the hours left in a day, the minutes left in an hour, the seconds between sunrise and sunset. The world keeps turning, and with it, he wakes up, he eats, he smokes, he plays a sport he doesn’t care about, he guards his things, he keeps his promises, he breathes. Each intake of breath ticks off the time he has left – the space between him and death.
But against his will, his clock begins to run on a different schedule.
(or: Andrew versus life and Dr. Dobson, an act in eight parts)
53 andreil for the prompt thingy???
53: “Darling, stop.”
They’re in the chilly fluorescent produce section, Neil steering the cart and Andrew catching it whenever he finds chocolate-covered berries or cartons of blended sugary juice to add to the pile. Neil’s got his old jersey conspicuously clashing with their new team’s red sweats, a dark bandana twisted up in his hair. It’s almost closing, and everything feels a bit cool and loose like no one’s really supposed to be awake.
When Neil’s busy bagging carrots Andrew gets his arms folded over the handle of the shopping cart, this stupid black t-shirt all stretched out at the neck, wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, mouth flat. Neil’s sort of fond of Andrew wearing his glasses in public, and he finds himself walking backwards in front of the cart as it’s pushed, openly watching him. Andrew picks the pace up just enough to bump heavily into his shins.
Neil smiles, looping his fingers through his end of the cart so they each have a side, rolling lopsidedly towards the opening of an aisle.
“Stop making things difficult.”
“Let me drive the cart.”
Andrew regards him, fair eyebrows raised. “You’re a control freak.”
Neil laughs, startled. “You let three people total drive your car. You wouldn’t even let Sir or King in our bed for the first three months we had them. You bartered for my secrets when we met, Andrew. ”
“And?” Andrew asks, examining a box of cake mix.
“I don’t think you should be talking about controlling personalities.”
Andrew ignores him, tossing the box in the cart and pushing it back towards Neil. “Go get your diet plan shit.”
Neil makes a face. “It’s our diet plan.”
“I am not willfully drinking skimmed milk.” Andrew crosses to the bags of jumbo marshmallows and Neil pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll put it in your hot chocolate.”
“You’ll die,” Andrew says simply.
Neil jostles the cart into Andrew’s side, and he drops the marshmallows back on the shelf, unimpressed. “Meet me at the front in five. I’m getting actual food to sustain actual people.”
Andrew shrugs and turns to wander out of the aisle, dragging the cart the wrong way behind him.
Neil coughs so he doesn’t laugh, senselessly thrilled. He jogs back towards the meat section, threading through coolers and displays until he finds the turkey bacon and lean chicken breasts that they live on. He’s frowning at an especially lifeless beige cut of fish when he’s wrenched around by the arm.
OKAY YOU KNOW WHEN ANDREW SAYS IN TKM “what are you hoping for coordinates?” AND NEIL RESPONDS “I’m willing to draw a map on you” CAN YOU WRITE ABOUT A TIME WHERE THAT HAPPENS AND HOW IT KINDA CALMS ANDREW BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT THIS PERFECT KID WONT GO OUTSIDE THE LINES (FOR EXTRA FLUFF TO LIKE COMPESTATE FOR THE INEVITABLE ANGST YOU COULD INCLUDE THE FOXES SEEING THE MARKER LINES AND NEILS HAND WRITING SAYING “here is encouraged” “here not so much” and them just crying bc these two kiLL THEM)
why you slay me like this
neil had learned that it was okay to want. he had learned that he could survive based solely on need, but to live for something was to want.
neil wanted exy. he wanted the foxes. he wanted a home. he wanted andrew. it was four things more than his mother taught him to live with, and four things that were dangerous. it was dangerous to live in a sport that the moriyamas dominated. it was dangerous to have a family. it was dangerous to be comfortable somewhere. and most of all, it was dangerous to love.
those were, of course, the large wants. at first, neil only knew the large wants; he didn’t quite understand that you didn’t always have to put your heart on the line.
neil was doodling in his notebook’s margins haphazardly, varying from paw prints to cartoon images of the foxes.
andrew was sitting next to him and neil was prepared for the other man to scold him for not looking at his notes when andrew opened his mouth, but got instead, “why don’t you get a sketch book or something?”
he hadn’t considered pursuing something that was, formerly, a waste of time. he had time now, time to sit in the afternoons and sketch.
neil said nothing and continued his sketching. regardless of neil’s reaction to andrew’s comment, andrew threw a new sketchbook on to neil’s lap the next day.
neil liked the slight rebellious thrill that went through his veins every time he picked up the sketch book. this was still forbidden. this was taking the time to participate in something that had nothing to do with running. every time he did something like this, it felt like rooting himself a little farther into the ground.
one afternoon, andrew laid neil back on the carpet and followed him down to meet their lips. neil had, only moments before, been sketching with the first available utensil–a sharpie. It made so he had a piece of paper between the sheet he worked on and the next page to avoid bleeding.
now the sharpie sat awkwardly between fingers as his hands carded themselves in andrew’s hair.
neil’s hands eventually made their way down andrew’s torso until they tugged on the ends of andrew’s shirt in silent question. andrew’s hands broke from neil’s body to comply to the request and neil took the new skin in with searching fingers.
andrew made an annoyed sound and broke their kiss. “are you ever going to drop that marker? or is it that you plan to do something with it?”
neil hadn’t considered it before, but neither had he considered dropping it. andrew’s last sentence, however, had his mind set upon something else.
“mmm. maybe i do,” neil replied before leaning in to andrew’s neck, pressing a kiss that andrew both leaned into and pulled away from. “but we have to go to the bed for it. more comfortable,” neil finished.
andrew considered it a moment before deciding it was at least worth it to see what neil had in mind.
andrew stood by the foot of the bed waiting for neil to tell him what to do, which was enough to assure neil that this was a good idea, as andrew rarely gave in to other people’s askance.
“lay down, either side,” neil said as he uncapped the marker. andrew laid on his back, likely so he could see what neil would do.
neil was slow in his movements, putting his legs on either side of andrew’s. he let an arm lean on the bed beside andrew’s head as he leaned in for a kiss. neil kept it rather short before moving to press his lips to the hollow that was created by andrew’s collarbones. when andrew sighed deeply, neil lifted and replaced his lips with the marker’s tip and wrote kiss here.
andrew raised an eyebrow in question, but did not stop neil. neil still answered andrew’s wonder. “i told you once i was willing to draw a map.”
“fucking junkie.”
this caused neil’s marker to stray to andrew’s heart, where he wrote warning: contents addictive. he let the ink dry a moment before pressing a kiss to the writing and pausing there. when he lifted andrew was staring down at him, not mad but making his face like he was.
neil continued on his mission, putting a if offguard, here on andrew’s neck, a here is encouraged across the right side of andrew’s ribs, here, not so much just beneath them because it was ticklish spot that andrew refused to admit to.
when neil was content with his work, after andrew had flipped onto his stomach and neil went to work there as well, they texted kevin that he could come back to the dorm and spent the rest of the night playing video games.
the next day was practice, which meant getting up at what kevin considered to be an ungodly hour to get to the court on time.
nicky and allison stipulated why andrew didn’t change out with the rest of them and instead went to the stalls. why he didn’t come out with just underclothes, but full gear, neck guard included. they landed on neil putting an undignified amount of hickey’s on andrew’s person.
neil’s only reaction to andrew’s move was a slight grin, which only fueled nicky and allison’s now bet.
andrew was careful though, so all practice nicky and allison did not get their answer.
afterwards, wymack called them to sit down for a team meeting. andrew sat in his normal spot between neil and kevin, closer to neil than kevin.
at one point andrew held out a hand and neil put a phone in it. this was andrew’s mistake, in thinking that nicky was not still watching him.
nicky broke the conversations in the room by saying, “what’s on your hand, andrew?”
neil watched andrew clutch the phone a little harder as he said, “a phone.”
“on, not in,” nicky quipped.
andrew ignored the comment, choosing to wait for wymack to start the meeting. nicky let it go, favoring too to wait, until andrew was once again not expecting it.
the answer to the bet was answered, however, not in what laid on andrew’s hand, but in andrew tying his shoes.
andrew stopped outside the door to the lounge, bending over to tie his shoe. allison had stopped to investigate, to see if she could see the palm of andrew’s hand, but found something more interesting.
she saw instead the small of andrew’s back where his turtle neck had ridden up. neil had placed another here is encouraged between the dimples of andrew’s back.
when andrew finished tying his shoe, he prepared to stare allison into leaving. he found that she was already taking an exasperated breath and turning around, causing andrew to look to neil for answer.
“your back,” neil supplied. after all, there wasn’t much neil could have done aside from blatantly pulling andrew’s shirt down, which would have drawn more attention.
andrew hadn’t wanted the foxes to know what was written across his skin, but there was no taking back what was seen. he instead matched his palm with neil’s where his said hold here and intertwined their fingers.
heres a prompt if u were interested: neil being oblivious when flirted with constantly while andrew doing nothing, passing by, twirling his racquet is enough to get neil’s attention (the rest of the foxes smirk)
“You’re all zoned out,” Matt says in her ear. Dan tips him immediately backwards with a hand to the chest.
“Shush,” she tells him, gritted through the straw she’s worrying between her teeth. She ran out of the watered-down pepsi they’re serving in battered plastic jugs a half hour ago.
“Dan.”
“Shush,” she insists, pressing two fingers to his mouth. She’s watching Neil trying to fill his water cup over at the far side of the banquet hall. He’s hovering in that way he does, like a shark who hasn’t figured out if something’s food yet.
There’s this sweet brown-eyed boy trying to talk to him, possibly the only male cheerleader in the room, certainly the least in the loop about Exy gossip. Dan watches him touch Neil’s arm and Neil jerks backwards into the table, toppling an entire icy water jug so it slops onto the floor and seeps through the tablecloth to the dark wood underneath.
Heads pop up, the boy falls all over himself to pour Neil a new glass, and Neil wanders off, bored.
Dan has noticed that people really want Neil to have a heart of gold. They like the news stories and they want them for themselves. They want the seams showing on his face and the tragedy in his back pocket, and they want to show everyone how accepting they are for finding his scars sexy.
All they really want is his trim waist and his pretty eyes and his vice-cap badge and the way he shoves cameras away and has more history than any twenty-year-old has any business having.
Dan’s seen it all before. The way people like the character you’re playing so much that they want to take you home and open you up and see how deep it goes.
Neil’s worse at knowing when it’s happening. Dan’s a professional. She can see the way their eyes follow him because at least a dozen are always following her too, especially in places like this banquet. They look at Neil, or Dan, and a little part of them expects a show.
She watches Neil walk towards them with his eyes pouring over the room like liquid and finding every crevice, every exit. She looks at Matt.
“He’s doing that thing where he’s making a spectacle but he thinks he’s being very subtle.”
“That’s his whole shtick. I’m fond of it, now.” Matt grins.
“Do you think he actually noticed he was being hit on?”
Matt hums, watching Neil wind through the tables back to the fox—trojan extravaganza at theirs. “I doubt he knows anything about that boy other than the fact that he was in front of him for a bit.”
Nothing but My Aching Soul 