#wow! im so sorry im late again im a nightmare woman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ravenvsfox · 6 years

Note

Hey there 😊 would you write the actual fight neil had w breckenridge players in the parking lot from your other prompt? (The 47 one)

(hello my darling please accept this brand new prequel to one of my oldest tfc fics ever MWAH)

He’s mid-shout when Matt grabs him, pins him by the elbows and struggles to walk them both backwards towards the stands. They have only a couple of steady feet between them, and their progress is a strange half-time waltz.

The referee whistles in blistering, repetitive bursts and Neil, overwhelmed, wrestles free from Matt’s grip. He veers downwards as soon as he’s supporting his own weight, barely getting a leg and hasty arm underneath him before he hits the floor.

“Easy Neil, Christ alive.” He claps a hand on the back of Neil’s neck, which irritates him enough to send him ricocheting even farther away, jumpy and unpredictable as a pinball.

He slaps a sweaty palm into the plexiglass to heave himself out of the court, leaving a tacky handprint behind.

“They can’t even play,” Neil pants, tearing off his helmet. “This has gotta be a sick joke, they can’t—play.” He hunkers down, both hands on his knees, breathing deep and violent.

“Yeah, I’m really laughing,” Matt drawls, tucking his own helmet under his arm. He gulps down water and then shakes his head like a dog under a stream of it, setting the soaked spikes of his hair on an angle.

“Here.” He offers Neil the water bottle but Neil waves him off, already scanning the court for the place that he would be if he were on it. Matt wiggles the bottle in front of his field of vision though, and Neil swipes it just to stop him.

When he tips his head back to take a swig from the bottle, his view of the court shivers, orange going brown, and he’s hyper-aware of his knee popping, an overworked injury.

“They’re vicious as fuck,” Matt says, sniffing thickly, maybe through blood. “Their defence thinks we’re punching bags.”

“They’re overcompensating because they don’t know any of the rules,” Neil says. “If I see one more dirty check I’m going to slit either their throats or mine.”

“And here I thought there wouldn’t be any knife play tonight,” Matt jokes, and Neil snaps him a dead-eyed look. “Not that I don’t appreciate Andrew and his menagerie of deadly weapons.”

Neil looks away, but he doesn’t say anything. Andrew’s absence is sitting right on his shoulders where it hurts to stand up straight. Renee in goal is the flavour you choose when your top three aren’t in stock. Andrew’s a loaded pistol and she’s a curled fist.

“I refuse to let fucking Breckenridge get to semis just because our numbers are off,” Neil says narrowly. “They don’t deserve to pick up a racquet, let alone win a game, and Nicky and Aaron aren’t strong enough players for us to be suffering this badly without them.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Matt says, but he’s smiling, a little. “You do know we’re winning, huh Josten?”

“Not by much.”

“And what, you think that point gap would be a point gulf if Andrew were in goal?”

Neil’s mouth quirks. “I know it would.”

“Right,” Matt replies, really smiling now. “And do you ever think maybe that’s all your mushy feelings talking and not your brain?” He jabs Neil in the ribs and Neil steps backwards unevenly.

“I don’t have mushy feelings on the court.”

“Oh please, that’s all you have. You look at centre court like its at the end of a trail of rose petals, it’s super gross.”

Neil shrugs, taking another long pull of water, and Matt laughs. He catches sight of Wymack gesturing angrily at them from the end of the bench, and he tugs his helmet back on, wincing at the humidity and the still tender pulse of his knee when he moves.

“Sub in,” Neil tells Matt, checking the straps on his gloves and shaking his head to try and replace frustration with the fizz of white static. Matt hums acknowledgement, propping his shoe up on the bench to retie the laces.

“Hey Neil,” he says, and Neil peers over the grate of his helmet to catch his eye. “I’m sure they’re fine. Nicky’s got them.”

It’s weird to think of Nicky as the thing that’s going to keep them stable, but Neil’s been thinking it all day. He saw the look on Andrew’s face this morning, like someone spilled water on his usual expression and everything went sideways. Aaron had been so brooding that he was almost indistinguishable from Andrew. It was Nicky who got them in the car and rubbed Neil’s shoulder goodbye and sent him hourly updates on the court proceedings.

Last night he had watched Andrew’s profile across the darkness of their bed and listened to his laboured breathing. He could see his mouth tightening to suppress noise, even in unconsciousness. He’s heard Aaron’s nightmares too, louder and quicker to ease.

Neil keeps thinking of some lawyer clipping evidence up like washing, and some audience deciding whether or not it looks dry, like it hasn’t been kept wet in the well of Andrew’s memory, like it’s not dripping blood.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Fine.”

Matt frowns, patting his own helmet down. “Poor word choice. You know what I mean.”

Neil bobs his head, eyes streaking out to the court, to the scoreboard and the time that’s left, feeling for the first time that he’d rather not be here at all.

Matt mentioned the court case like it wasn’t taking all of Neil’s willpower to tear his mind away from it. Talking about his fear of the thing lurking outside didn’t kill it, it just opened the door and let it inside with him.

They step heavily back out into the action, and Neil sees it all as if he’s at home watching practice tapes, the predetermined smallness of it all.

He’s never liked how it felt to play without the whole team beside him, like going on family vacation a few siblings short. This is much worse. He scans his teammates’ faces, as keenly familiar through the grill of helmets and sheens of sweat as they are when they’re composed and made up off-court. The determination in them is stretched too thin, and they have this old, hungry look like they’re all fighting with one broken hand.

Kevin keeps tossing his racquet between his hands like he’s trying to find the right fit, Renee is half-slumped in goal, and Neil can see fresh hair dye snaking down her neck in rivulets of sweat. Breckenridge is tumbling through different line-ups, keeping their fresh, un-bloodied fists up, keeping the threat sharp. One grinning striker mimes a heavy limp to her friends, throwing one arm out to gesture towards Neil’s unsteady gait.

“Fuck that,” Matt says, with feeling. “Let’s kill ‘em.” They crack their racquets together, electric, before they spring back into the mob.

_____

They win by three points, half of them crying with rage or vindication when they meet by the goal and grip each other, bare their teeth, hold their victory up to the glow of their heat-wrecked faces.

They clutch their sides and brush blood out of their teeth when they finally find their way to the change rooms, and Kevin tries to lecture them but ends up insulting the other team, hands shaking from rare overexertion.

Wymack pretends he doesn’t notice that they’re passing around a bottle of whiskey, and Neil checks his phone in the corner of the room, waiting for everyone to change out, frowning at the two hour-old message from Andrew that just says “home late”.

The use of the word home is making his heart race, despite everything. Andrew thinking of Neil and Fox tower at the end of the day instead of battered, bruised Columbia is more than he could have hoped for.

He breathes through the full-body ache from the game, relieved to find the kind of feeling that he knows will go away. He clutches the little phone in his fist, knowing that some feelings do not.

“Hitching a ride with us?” Dan asks, brushing into his space as gracefully and invasively as always.

“I can walk,” Neil shrugs.

He feels a jab at the back of his knee and he barely catches himself on the handle of a locker. “Can you?” Allison taunts.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dan says calmly.

“Oh, be realistic,” Allison snaps. Neil turns to confront her but now she’s crouched at Renee’s side, holding an ice pack to the nape of her neck and pursing her lips with concern. For some reason it makes the hollow of his stomach throb and contort.

“Neil. Ride?” Dan prompts, and Neil nods distractedly. Wymack’s directing Kevin and Allison into helping Renee to the couch, Matt’s bickering with Jack and one of the other new recruits. The room seems small but the feelings seem big, like an under-filled audience for a show-stopping number, like actors are gutting themselves for the benefit of only a handful of nervous eyes.

“Yeah, I just gotta, um, shower… still,” he says lamely, and Dan smiles.

“We’ll be outside drinking that game away, okay?”

“Okay,” Neil confirms. The room is filtering and he doesn’t want to be alone. The thought of nursing his knee without Andrew to manhandle recovery out of him is completely unappealing.

He changes out, steps into the spray of the shower gingerly, eager to get the almost-loss out from where it almost made it under his skin.

He wraps a stray tensor bandage snugly around his knee and steps into sweatpants and runners, tossing on the jersey he’d scooped off the dorm floor and pretended he didn’t know was Andrew’s.

When he finally makes his way out into the humid night air, the fight is already happening.

The door is almost jammed back into his body when he pushes it open, and his awareness trips instantly to high alert. He can hear Dan cursing, and Kevin shouting over the din of dull laughter and violent threats. He kicks the door hard enough to make contact with whatever was in front of it, and the person makes a gutted sound as they topple over.

All eyes swing to him, and he folds his arms over the number three screaming across his chest, taking stupid comfort in the splash of black armbands against Andrew’s number. He imagines the warmth of a knife holstered along his forearm and finds that he doesn’t miss it.

He glances backwards to see the Breckenridge goalie doubled over from contact with the door. That mocking striker from before has Dan by the hair, and the big one, Hawking, is trying hard to wrestle the whiskey from Matt’s hand.

“Playing dirty wasn’t enough, you’ve gotta fight that way too?” Neil asks coolly. “I don’t know what I expected from fucking Breckenridge Jackasses.”

“Jackals,” Leverett corrects. “Your betters.”

“Disgraceful and delusional,” Neil says. “That’s sad.”

Hawking steps towards him and Neil looks dully in his direction. “You’re pretty brave considering your watchdog isn’t here.”

Neil feigns surprise. “I didn’t know you knew how to speak. Or do anything except break things and lose games.” Hawking paces forward furiously.

“You’re not really helping, Neil,” Matt calls cheerfully.

“You shouldn’t have come out here,” someone says darkly. Feet scuff against the pavement, faraway birds titter, and Neil finds himself watching Kevin’s face, drained of colour, shaking almost imperceptibly at him.

“Why, because you’re allergic to an even fight?” Some dynamic shifts again, and Hawking is suddenly much, much closer.

“Who says you can fight? Isn’t that what your itty bitty boyfriend is for?” He mocks, leaning all the way down into Neil’s space. “Oh, wait! Shit! I forgot that he was too busy bending over to fight back.”

His fist is in screaming agony before he’s registered that he’s punched Hawking, clawed him in by the neck, and sideswiped him so hard in the jaw that he collapsed.

“Fuck you,” he spits. He gears up to kick him in the ribs, but it’s sloppy, and Hawking catches his ankle.

His teeth are bloody when he grins and rips his leg out from under him. Neil lands hard on his back, breath ripping out of him. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Defending your girlfriend’s honour.”

“That was dumb,” Matt says.

“I’ll kill you,” Neil promises, rolling in the dust and feeling tiny rocks raking his skin raw.

“Jesus, Neil,” Dan calls. “You can’t win against him, he’s a monster.”

Hearing her call anyone a monster gets into his heart and tears blood out of it, and he feels his chest ruined with rage. Neil whirls and knees his groin, throwing a gritty handful of dirt into his eyes and briefly gaining the upper hand. Hawking spits and blinks and his eyes stream, and Neil punches him in the throat, deadly fast.

“You really think he’s worth it, huh?” he wheezes. “I bet the only thing easier than scoring on that psychopath on court is scoring on him off of it—“

Neil swings his arm back but its too lethargic, it wobbles in the air. He can scarcely believe that it’s his punch that’s going so badly until Hawking grabs his wrist. It’s in that tilting moment that he realizes he was much too tired for this fight from the beginning, and that he’s not going to win it.

Hawking’s hand closes around his throat, holding all of Neil’s weight so he feels strange and light on his knees. The air in his lungs was already cracked and shouted out of him, and his vision goes very spotty very quickly.

He hears the others calling his name, but there’s a sharp ringing in his ears over top of everything else, so loud that it feels like an embodied thing. All that he knows is real is the rush of sound and the terrible pain of suffocation and the other version of himself, the one made of anger. His throat is being so effectively crushed that he feels like his flesh is tearing, like Hawking’s hand is serrated or maybe his throat is paper.

He’s let suddenly go, and he keels over on the pavement, coughing himself from his knees down onto his stomach. He touches his own neck and expects to feel bone. It’s not the first time he’s been choked, but it might be the longest, and he doesn’t think he could speak if he tried.

His vision is blurry, but he can see Kevin’s foot pinning Hawking’s neck, and the rest of them struggling weakly with players who seem more rattled than angry.

Neil dips one foot into unconsciousness, and falls accidentally thigh-deep before yanking himself back up.

“Neil,” someone says. “Fuck fuck fuck. Neil? Fuck.” He nods, not trusting his voice. Matt’s face ebbs into focus.“That motherfucker was beyond out of line.”

Neil nods.

“Never thought I’d wish Andrew was here to shank a guy,” Matt mutters, and Neil cracks a smile.

“He’s okay?” Kevin asks nervously from somewhere beyond Matt’s close, concerned face.

“Yeah, I think,” he responds.

“I’m sure he wishes there was a round two,” Kevin says icily.

“I’m right here,” Neil croaks, grateful to hear his voice coming out more or less intact.

“I know,” Kevin says. “And I’m leaving.”

“Don’t mind him,” Dan says, leaning into view, brow furrowed but mouth upturned. “He just loves you and hates to see your pretty neck get hurt.”

Neil grabs hold of Matt’s offered hands and hoists himself to standing, staggering a little when blood and oxygen swirl to his head again.

“Home, please,” Neil says hoarsely, thinking of Andrew’s text. He breathes through the shredding pain in his throat, part of the tally of miseries from a day against Breckenridge and his own loopy loneliness.

Dan and Matt grip his shoulders and keep him strung up between them, but he’s barely aware of their halting progress, too deep in thoughts of Allison’s hands on Renee’s throat, Kevin’s bruised neck, Andrew choking Allison to the ground, getting choked himself, getting held down, the word psychopath looping and meeting up with the word monster, the last blinking red seconds of the match sparking weird nervy panic in his guts.

He has to roll the window down on the way back to Fox Tower, has to swallow lungfuls of cold air and let the wind whip his tears away. He thinks of Hawkins being pinned to the ground, face welling, eyes raw, and satisfaction holds him together.

_____

He crawls into bed, light on his injured knee, pulling at the collar of Andrew’s jersey until it swallows his neck.

He’d tried to ice it, looking vacantly into the mirror and seeing his terrible neck, the rings of pink then shadow around his eyes. His hands were shaking too badly to keep the ice pack in place. He kept thinking about the heft of Andrew’s bravery, of that metaphorical clothing line, the lies and truth and villains and heroes and the impossible crisscrossing lines between them.

The rumours of the court case had clearly made it far enough to climb inside the taunts of opposing teams, or Hawking had made cruel and specific guesses and waited for something to bowl Neil over, and now he’s only been proven right. Both options are so awful that he has to swallow and swallow and swallow to get rid of the taste of bile.

Neil’s used to people prying his wounds open, but the idea of someone looking at Andrew and seeing monstrosity or weakness is impossible, it doesn’t fit in his head, it travels down his body and stiffens his hands and stirs his heart to the kind of rage that he thought he was forgetting.

He settles onto Andrew’s side of the mattress and fists the sheets, breathing cigarettes and sugar, trying to stabilize something that leapt and stumbled to Columbia and now no longer fits inside him.

He can’t imagine what Andrew will say when he sees him, if the tenderness of his body will register after a day at court, if anything matters except the justice that no one seems to have a full grip on, if his injury is just another cruelty in the current of cruelties that washes ceaselessly through Andrew’s life.

It seems unfair that Andrew should fix one leak and come home to another. It seems unfair that people can say whatever they like about you without ever having seen the gorgeous, murderous defiance in your eyes.

Neil rolls onto his side and holds the covers close to his chest, hands sweating, throat burning.

The door scuffs opens behind him, brushes soft against the carpet, and Andrew’s presence in the room is so enormous that he forgets to feign sleep.

Fists still clenched, throat barely able to support his shallow breath, Neil thinks, no matter what, I will not be another thing that hurts him.

(Original fic is a short little thing right heeeere and it’s very very old)

#wow! im so sorry im late again im a nightmare woman #the foxhole court #tfc fanfic #andreil #aftg #prompt #mine #violence tw #i missed this #Anonymous #ask

397 notes · View notes

the-magicians-daughter · 4 years

Text

I need my best friend

Im losing a soulmate

I’m too late to save it.

He’s moved on.

I don’t know what to do.

He’s gaslighting me.

I want things to go back to normal.

I hope she is worth it all.

She will leave. She has a partner.

You said you won’t change. But expect me to change.

You won’t work on your projects without me holding your hand

I can’t criticize you but you can criticize me.

You are an alcoholic and abusive.

How did you go from kissing me and wanting to learn how to love someone with bpd to becoming this angry man who wants a divorce.

You’ve become your father. And mine.

You fell in love with another woman and abandoned me when I was down.

She has a partner. She will stop hanging out with you. Her partner expressed that. And then you will be alone. And you will fall in despair and come back to me and I will not accept you with open arms.

I’ve been in lust before and ruined my relationship and never regretted anything more.

Your not supposed to fall in love with your mistress. You have sex with her.

You wanted to work things out a month ago. What happened?

I wanna finish fixing up the house. And the garden. And more teardrop trips.

I don’t want to move Charlie again.

I feel like I’m dying.

You said you would love me forever. That you would never get a divorce. That we have to die to end it.

I remember feeling like how you must be feeling when I was with Armando. The lust. The fun. And it was. But it wasn’t worth ruining my relationship in the long run. It was simply a quick fix for being sad at the time.

Karma.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

YOU ARE NO LONGER MY CONCERN

I don’t want to take care of you.

You’re not my friend

I don’t trust you.

I guess this is where our story ends

I don’t think I even like you. I find you boring. We have no common interests. I don’t enjoy having sex with you. So what was the point?

Our story ends here.

I will never forgive you.

I pity you. You don’t understand how people or relationships work in the real world.

I don’t think you’re a good person. I don’t trust you.

All I wanted was for someone to love me unconditionally and appreciate me. I wanted my happily ever after.

But that, again, was a lie.

I’m not lonely.

I don’t miss you. This feels just like before.

I think I hate you.

How quickly you chose to abandon your home. Your family.

I hope you’ve never been happier.

I wish you would just kill me. Get this all over with.

You’re acting like you want to be 26 with no responsibilities. It’s immature. Are you going through your midlife crisis?

Switched one vice for another. Lust.

I’ve thrown my relationship away in lust once. It wasn’t worth it.

I was ready to make the house a home. Take your last name. Become a true married couple. Start the teardrops. I was sooo fucking ready. It hurts that that isn’t what you wanted at all.

I’m sorry I didn’t show you more gratitude. I’m working on that. I wish I said it out loud more

Rolling in the deep.

You no longer have control over me. And you never will.

I think you’re a bad person. You’re ruining TWO relationships.

We could have had it all. But you ruined it.

Have you changed your mind because you see I can be happy without you.

I’ve felt single for a while. Even with you.

Is it going to last or will it fade like all things shiny.

All things fade unless you polish them.

I don’t think I want things to work out.

You will never change. And you will never accept me.

What’s the song you have listened to on repeat for this chapter.

“Was it obvious to everybody else?” “Yes” wow.

I’m fine with you going to jail.

Gone girl you?! Ha. I didn’t fake 10 years of journals. They were all factual.

What have we done to each other?

We’ve come undone.

You never fought for me. You were never on my side. Ever.

I don’t feel anything when I see or touch you. I don’t desire you. The flame has disappeared with the trust.

To Kathy: I understand now why your mother and your daughter hate you.

I think I’m going to burn the house down.

I don’t love you. And you don’t love me. Why force it?

I hate you with every cell in my body. You make my blood boil.

You’re impossible.

I hope you burn in hell.

You’ve never been single. You overlap your relationships.

You’re sick. You’re insane.

This isn’t going to work. You just miss how you controlled me.

Im happier without you and it’s killing you.

You can’t destroy me. I am the queen.

I went to aa. It was incredible. The support. Please go. Please go. At least once.

I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I miss your smell.

This next chapter will be hard. But I believe we can make it. I believe in us.

I still love you.

I’m feeling so many emotions. I don’t know how I’m still standing.

You gave me a record. You’re ruining my life.

Wish we could go to all the biff parties and shows together.

Why do you hate me? Why do you want to ruin my life? Is this all about control? Why? Please tell me.

I feel like this is a movie. I’m just acting in it. It’s a role. And I’m waiting for them the say that’s a wrap.

If we’re going to make this work. You need to put effort into. Just as much as i will.

At the film fest on Sunday. They showed a film about suicide. I stood bravely and kept my cool. But afterwards I met up with them and told them my story. They were proud I’m standing and that they need me here. I need to tell my stories. They’re from philly too. Small world. I don’t know how or why I’m still standing. Why I’m being so strong. But I am. And I will only keep getting stronger.

I want to go home. I want my life back.

Are you ready to be real?

I want paradise.

You set me up.

Is control that important to you?

I feel so betrayed. What did I do wrong?

When did you stop loving me? Was it recently or was it awhile ago?

Dido - hunter

You raped me. You raped your wife while telling her that SHE is the cause of your problems. Then you set me up. You put me in jail. You tortured me. And you will probably just continue.

Why didn’t you just kill me?

At least I can see you in my dreams.

What’s next in this betrayal? You actually kill me?

Why am I being punished? What did I do wrong?

It’s time for you to grow up. Stop blaming other people for your problems. Make friends. Stop calling mommy and daddy for everything. Grow the fuck up.

I truly hope she was worth it all.

Are you happy now?

Is this what you wanted all along?

You ruined my life. I want it back.

I think I might just end my life. I won’t be a burden to you. You will finally be free.

You killed me.

This self isolation is the perfect time: sand and paint kitchen cabinets, spiral lamp, jewelry, make crowns, bread baking. Backyard! The router! If you’re not working on the router I’m going to sell all the parts and buy six shih tzus.

I will be divorcing you and suing for emotional distress.

I hope you understand what you did. I hope you learned your lesson.

You ruined my fucking life. My suicidal thoughts are so strong. What did I do? Why are you doing this to me?

I hope your parents die. And give everything to dawn.

Maybe I will kill you. You’re a waste.

I wish I stabbed you. I wish your parents had to set up a funeral for no one to come to.

Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK YOU!

I’d don’t feel like a person anymore. This all feels like a nightmare.

You’re narcissistic. You’re a gaslighting. You won’t accept you’re a bad person.

You killed me.

I hope you’re happy now.

Go to a new therapist and talk about you. I’m not in your life anymore and never will be.

We’re never getting back together. I don’t love you.

Why would I even choose to be with someone who doesn’t love me, respect me, or cares for me?!

You’re shitty therapist told you to get a divorce. Well you’re getting one buddy.

It’s funny. My therapist tells me to stop talking about you if I do and that you’re not my concern or focus. It’s a shame your shit therapist doesn’t go that.

You have no friends. Go back to nj. Just die.

0 notes