andaminyard

[andaminyard]

mmmm nothing like thinking abt old characters and getting hit by that good ol nostalgia

[andaminyard]

tag yourself: writers edition

[andaminyard]

moodboard: rose gold

[andaminyard]

a p o l l o —— “god of the golden bow, and of the golden lyre, and of the golden hair, and of the golden fire…” -john keats

[andaminyard]

🗼

[andaminyard]

Hunter Parrish as “Clay Haas” in Quantico

[andaminyard]

message me a made up title of a mixtape/playlist and i have to pick 5 to 10 songs i think would go on it

say “playlist: title” in ur ask so i know what its for

[andaminyard]

uhhh one shot with andreil + collar kink?? i guess?? enjoy!!! <3

           If someone had dared try and tell Andrew, all the way back when he’d first met Neil, that he would ever feel as much as he does because of him, and trust him as fiercely as he does – it wouldn’t have been the drugs that laughed back in their face. And if someone had tried to tell him that eventually, this man would be stood in the doorway of his—their—bedroom, wearing a full set of his clothes and a collar of all things, he would’ve thought you mad.

           “You look ridiculous,” Andrew comments, eyes firmly hooked on Neil’s neck – watching the way that the red dusting his cheeks spreads down past it.

           “I thought you’d like it,” Neil retorts, using that sharp tongue of his that Andrew is sometimes fond of, “Seeing as how you always seem to be looking for an excuse to put your hands on my neck.”        

           “I’d have preferred a gag,” He says, knowing full well that Neil is fully aware that he’s not being serious, “At least that would have been functional.”

           “You love my voice.”

           “I hate your voice,” And a beat before a slower, slightly heated, “I hate you.”

Keep reading

[andaminyard]

&&& feel free to send some prompts!

[andaminyard]

there’s a feeling in his chest like there’s something small and soft in there; brushing up against his insides and making his heart and lungs and throat feel constricted in the worst possible ways. it’s what he associates with the action of attaching the word hate to the word emotion. it’s the desire to cut open his chest from edge to edge with the sharpest blade he wields to see what exactly it is in there causing it and to rip it away like it’s the deadliest of poison, even though he’ll want it to stay in some private part of his thought. it’s grotesque and it’s beautiful and it’s curious and it’s everything he wants and everything he is terrified of. it’s what’s defined best by Abram and Liar and Stay.

[andaminyard]

uhhh one shot with andreil + collar kink?? i guess?? enjoy!!! <3

           If someone had dared try and tell Andrew, all the way back when he’d first met Neil, that he would ever feel as much as he does because of him, and trust him as fiercely as he does – it wouldn’t have been the drugs that laughed back in their face. And if someone had tried to tell him that eventually, this man would be stood in the doorway of his—their—bedroom, wearing a full set of his clothes and a collar of all things, he would’ve thought you mad.

           “You look ridiculous,” Andrew comments, eyes firmly hooked on Neil’s neck – watching the way that the red dusting his cheeks spreads down past it.

           “I thought you’d like it,” Neil retorts, using that sharp tongue of his that Andrew is sometimes fond of, “Seeing as how you always seem to be looking for an excuse to put your hands on my neck.”        

           “I’d have preferred a gag,” He says, knowing full well that Neil is fully aware that he’s not being serious, “At least that would have been functional.”

           “You love my voice.”

           “I hate your voice,” And a beat before a slower, slightly heated, “I hate you.”

           “As I said,” Neil’s grinning, and Andrew is reminded just how easily Neil can read him, and how much he hates him for it. Hates him more as he comes closer, kneeling beside Andrew, definitely pining for a kiss which Andrew is more than happy to offer, hand hooking on the back of the collar – any excuse – and pulling him close enough to feel his breath, giving him the option to close the space or pull away, even though Andrew is fairly certain which Neil will choose.

           And of course, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds before Neil’s mouth is against Andrew’s. Giving and giving and never daring to take what he’s not yet been given in turn. Andrew’s more than happy to give more, even just for the moment, as he takes Neil’s hand, and guides it to his chest, where it balls up in his shirt.

           And while Andrew likes to pride himself on his control – the more he dwells on it the more the thought—the sight—of Neil here, neck weighted down by something which now he can see up close, as he’s pulling away from the kiss, has 03 carefully engraved in the side, is effecting him more than he’d care to admit.

           “Junkie,” He says, and Neil looks at him, lips swollen and a little dumb, before he darts his eyes away, realising what he’s referring to.

           “It’s grounding,” Neil says – and Andrew finds something that makes his chest ache there. He knows that Neil’s referring to the weight on his neck, and Andrew can’t help but think back to Baltimore – Neil bloodied and broken and safe and home and his hand at the back of his neck, a heavy weight reminding him who and where he’s with and at. Andrew likes to be apart of that – but knowing how important it actually is to Neil is just as satisfying.

           And Andrew’s wasting no time in hooking his finger into the hook attached to the front, and before he’s even had the chance to ask, Neil’s hissing out his “yes” which has Andrew pulling him closer, forcing Neil to lean over him a little more, readjusting so that he’s straddling Andrew and in the perfect position to kiss.

         Andrew doesn’t kiss gently at the best of times, and when he’s trying his hardest not to look effected by something, that pressure always seems to increase. It’s something that he might not have noticed if not for Neil’s responses - the way he’s so hot for him, trying so hard to keep his hands to himself (or maybe, even, not having to try at all - Neil always is so good at that).

         With the permission clear from before, Andrew is wasting no time in taking his hand from Neil’s hair, leaving the other hooked in the collar, and slipping it between them, into Neil’s - or, really, his own but borrowed - pants and relishing in the way that Neil always seems so grateful for something that compared to other things they’ve done, other things that they will (probably, definitely) one day do is so simple. But Andrew knows better than anyone how even something like this isn’t quite that simple.

          Neil doesn’t last long between Andrew’s quick hand and unforgiving mouth, and had Andrew not felt equally as ruined without even yet taking care of himself, he’d find it almost amusing. 

          Even slumped on Andrew’s shoulder and clearly spent, his eyes are holding a question that always follows in silence afterwards. What about you?

        And for all Andrew would like to go off and take care of himself - for the moment he’ll cope. He’d rather spend the moment making sure that Neil’s fine first, and not just by his own word for it. No matter how many times they do this, there’ll always be that underlying what if.

        So he’s pulling him down to the bed, letting Neil rest against him so slightly. Just for a little while. Safe, home.

[andaminyard]

our favorite trouble boy josten

[andaminyard]

the fall (detail)

alan stephens foster (1892-1969)

[andaminyard]

I have a long commute to do soon so if you’d like to send me some prompts to work on I would be v grateful 💕

[andaminyard]

Character Aesthetic  ➙ requested by anon ;; {  the kind soul }

being kind does not make me VULNERABLE 

[andaminyard]

This is based on this headcanon that is probably better written than this but??? I kinda wanted to expand on it properly so !!! lmk if you enjoy it/want more of it

basically neil & andrew keep encountering eachother and there’s definitely some kind of soulmate forces at work or smth idk 

Being on the run wasn’t something that usually left Nathaniel with the time to look out for the little things that didn’t seem quite right. So caught up in looking for familiar faces with significance that it wasn’t really much of a surprise that he’d managed to gloss over a boy who looked no older than he did, with equally as sharp edges, standing in front of him and confronting him like he’d known him his whole life.

“I’ve seen you before,” The boy says, and they’re outside of the school gate, where Nathaniel can feel the gaze of his mother on his back. It’s as safe and grounding as it is terrifying. If Mary heard that comment, she’d choke any vague resemblance to himself out of Nathaniel. At least he wouldn’t look like Nathan anymore.

“That’s impossible,” Nathaniel’s saying back, forged German accent heavy as he carefully keeps up his persona, Kaleb, who had supposedly just recently moved to America from Germany after his mother was given a job opportunity.

“Why? Because when you were in Ohio you were blonde? Or because when you were in California you had brown eyes and now they’re blue? I’m not an idiot,” And Nathaniel can feel his stomach clenching – his throat blocking up with the desperate need to run – can feel the panic of a hand on his shoulder and the ease that rushes over him when it’s his mother’s voice which follows.

“Kaleb, what are you waiting for? We need to leave,” She’s reminding him, and Nathaniel knows she’s dropped her accent on purpose. She knows their characters are broken as much as he does. He knows he’ll suffer for it, and that he’ll be gone by morning. We need to leave carries far more weight than this nameless boy could surely even imagine.

“I’ll see you around,” Nathaniel doesn’t need to look to know he didn’t imagine the smug tone in the boy’s voice – especially how it clenches itself around his throat and feels a lot like choking.

After the bruise of his mothers warning clears up, it’s easy for Nathaniel to forget all about it. With his eye out for so many people, a boy as young as him seems pretty low on his radar. Seems impossible to even waste a second thinking about.

Until he’s sat in a classroom in Brooklyn, and a pen bounces off the back of his head.

“I told you I’d see you around,” The voice says mockingly, and Nathaniel turns around and suddenly feels the need to leave as soon as he possibly can. “Hey, hey, now. No need to get all flighty.”

“Who are you?” He’s asking, fight or flight screaming at him for wasting a moment doing neither. Instead he’s focusing on him, eyes scanning his face for something anything he can use against him.

“Andrew.”

“Andrew what?” 

“Right now? Andrew Price.”

“Right now? Implying it changes?”

“Not as often as yours, Kaleb.”

“Noah,” He corrects, “Why would yours change?”

“Oh, Kaleb, Surnames change for all kinds of reasons. Forenames, however, I think you owe me an explanation for.”

“Noah,” He reminds, assuming it won’t make a difference but important either way. There was no point in pretending he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, and lying about it seemed like his only choice. “My mum’s indecisive.”

“About your name?”

“And where we live, and who she is. Calls it wanderlust.”

“Paranoid looked more accurate to me.”

Nathaniel’s about to say something – but the teacher’s calling for his attention. And he misses it the first time, thanks to the unfamiliarity of his own name, but eventually turns around to mutter a sorry.

Andrew leaves him alone for the rest of the lesson, but stands over his desk afterwards. Lunch was next and while he’d normally spend it alone or with some superficial friends he’d made just to look his part, Andrew seemed intent on sticking with him. And taking him somewhere private, apparently, as he leads him up to the roof. 

Nathaniel knows he shouldn’t trust himself with this boy who seemed to recognise him far too easily given how much effort he goes through to change himself. But there’s something about him which feels unmoving, safe.

“Alright, time to cut the shit,” Andrew says the second the door is shut behind them, and Nathaniel feels his breathing stop with it. It feels too much like an accusation and the start of something Nathaniel is absolutely not prepared for at this moment. “I know who you are,” He continues, and Nathaniel can hardly breathe. “Why the fuck do you keep following me?” Ah. No. Not quite. 

But it still feels terrifying. If some kid can remember him well enough to need to confront him about it, then what are the odds that other people can too?

“I thought- I thought you were following me. I’ve only seen you here and—back whenever,” And he feels numb, “You’re the one who said you saw me before then. I don’t even know who you are.”

Apparently that was a disappointing answer for Andrew—who just rolls his eyes, sighs and mutters whatever. Or maybe he just didn’t believe him. 

“What was your first name?” Andrew’s asking, and Nathaniel hates the question with the way it’s worded to fit his lies. He’s not asking what his real name is, because as far as Andrew is aware, that is, at this moment, Noah. He’s asking for his first name.

“Jack,” He says, effortless. “Why does your last name keep changing and why do you keep moving?”

“Gotta adjust to my foster parents of the week somehow, haven’t I? Names and locations are just the trivial parts.” Which—actually makes sense. Maybe Nathaniel should steal that as a future persona. Andrew Price. He likes the way the name sounds, but not so much the risk attached to it. If he’s run into him this many times, then if he were to do that then, then explaining that to him would be near impossible. “What’s the truth about your mother?”

“Witness protection, but don’t ask me why. She can’t even tell me.”

“Witness protection wouldn’t move you this often.”

“High profile.” He tries, but if Andrew can work out that much then—

“What did she witness? The president committing a murder?”

“My turn,” Nathaniel interrupts, trying to deter this. “How many times have you seen me until now?”

“Seven. Or eight. Depends if you changed your hair-colour while in New Orleans.” 

“I did,” He admits, and that feels a little haunting. Ohio, Brooklyn, California and New Orleans twice. That makes five, but when have the other three times been?

“Even someone as stupid as you wouldn’t change that much. I get the feeling they’re not the only people you’ve been, either.”

“Nineteen,” Nathaniel says, and it’s a truth after a truth. He isn’t sure when he stopped lying to Andrew, but he feels it somewhere between the clench of a lie and the warmth of trust. “I’ve been nineteen people including Noah.” 

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch and Nathaniel disappears with a warning into the crowd of people as he leaves. He doesn’t see him again until their names are Andrew Spear and Alex McClean, Twenty. California. Don’t approach me next time, was a warning that they both understood perfectly. It’s something that Nathaniel appreciates when Andrew catches his eyes across the café and something Andrew very clearly resents as Nathaniel catches him glancing over every other second.

There are no more sightings until after Mary gets lost to his father’s hand and Nathaniel becomes Neil Josten, identity twenty-two. Milport. There’s only one identity between the two and Neil wonders if he and Mary had waited around for too long between them. A year was a long time to stay anywhere for someone on the run. 

He knows the second his coach says anything about Wymack what it means, though, and Nathaniel feels the swing of a racquet long before the shock of who caused it. 

Andrew Minyard. Seventh name. Fox.                                     

For all Neil had been following Kevin and Riko – always making sure they kept their distance, keeping note of everything they did through his binder—he had never expected to have to meet either one of them again. Or at least, thought that until the day Andrew Minyard signed to the foxes and Neil became well aware that it was only a matter of time before he would encounter Kevin again – and here they were, face to face and far too close for comfort. 

Andrew’s grin looks far too out of place after their last encounter, almost two years ago. And Neil wants it gone. 

“Neil Josten,” Andrew says, tone upbeat in a way it wasn’t before, “Or should I say, Noah, as you were so intent on me using that one. Will you disappear tomorrow now that I’ve said hello? That seems to be your way of working.” 

“I’m not signing, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“But we came all this way to get you,” Andrew’s grin doesn’t fault, regardless of the mocking tone in his voice. “And she’s not here to stop you, is she? Miss—witness protection, was it? What exactly do you have to lose, Kaleb? –Noah? Or was it Neil? It’s so easy to lose track.”

[andaminyard]