andrew horne

sonyathefairy  asked:

Andreil+ kiss in the rain.It's years after Trk and Neil and Andrew live together.Andrew isn't home for some reason when Neil gets a message from Ichirou and panics and runs away.Maybe it's raining when Andrew finally finds Neil?And then they kiss

Hope you don’t mind that I combined your prompt with this post (credit to @frxnkenstein). I was writing it anyway but you giving me the prompt of Ichirou just fit in there too well.

Warning! Brief mentions of body gore and a crude reference to Andrew’s past abuse.

Life was good and then Neil ruined it.

Which was typical for Neil, if Andrew was honest about it. Neil was good at disturbing settled things (and settled people) like the way he had come crashing into Andrew’s life and disturbed everything about it those few short years ago.

And now he had done it again, only Andrew couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful that he had come home to two bloated cats, food bag overturned and kibble scattered on the floor – King still stuffing her face with it – and a pizza burning in the oven. Andrew only took the time to shut off the oven, open the windows, and hide the cat food away from King before turning around and walking right out the front door again.

Neil wasn’t home.

(He was damn well going to clean up anything King or Sir vomited up though, Andrew would make sure.)

Calling from the stairwell didn’t work. The call dropped on its own in the middle of the first ring. The second call from the parking lot worked better but only enough for Neil to answer and spitefully say, “Don’t call me” before he hung up. The third call went straight to voicemail, indicating that Neil had shut off his phone.

Andrew hesitated beside his Maserati in the heavy rain, phone still open and in hand. Neil had said no, effectively. He clearly wasn’t willing to talk. He probably wanted space as well.

He would come back, Andrew told himself. Neil had told him there wasn’t any offer the world could make that could entice him the way an apartment with Andrew had. Neil had told him that himself, through tear-stricken eyes and with a key clutched close to his heart. So he would; Neil would come home.

Andrew got in his car anyway. On the off chance that something had happened… Neil would always come home. If he could.

Andrew would make sure he could.

-

He found him almost an hour and a half later. Andrew had actually driven past him twice before noticing that the soggy mass tucked into alley’s corner was not a trash bag, but one curled up Neil Josten. He didn’t move when Andrew called to him from the street or when Andrew honked the horn – nothing so much as a flinch or twitch.

Suddenly worried that Neil was unconscious, Andrew flew out of the car (parked but still running) and ran to Neil’s side. But when Andrew reached out to touch him, Neil whimpered and turned away. A small pile of rain-diluted vomit lay beside him.

“Neil?” Andrew tried so hard to make it not sound like a question but he didn’t know what was wrong. He couldn’t see any injuries. All he knew was Neil seemed to be unresponsive. 

“Neil,” he tried again, stronger, angrier. Neil made eye contact at least. “What happened.” Without meaning to, Andrew’s hand reached out and brushed soaked bangs away from Neil’s eyes. It stayed there when Neil leaned up into it, a small whine making its way past blue lips. Neil wasn’t even wearing a jacket or socks. Just his usual running clothes: shorts, shirt, and shoes. Now that he had a hand on him, Andrew could feel him freezing and shivering, cold from the still-falling rain.

What had happened?

“Neil,” Andrew’s other hand went to grip his spot on Neil’s neck. Neil’s shivers intensified and Andrew’s worry grew. He could only do so much when Neil wasn’t talking. Gently, slowly, Andrew moved in closer to Neil, kneeling over his torso as a cover from the rain. A sob ran through Neil, warm tears running over his scars; Andrew’s thumb ran after them.

“Shh,” he cooed, trying to sooth him, this man who had become so singularly important. “Shh, I’m here,” he promised, sealing the deal with slow kisses bestowed along Neil’s face: his crown, his jaw, his temple. Neil turned into them, still crying, still shivering, looking for Andrew’s lips with his own, wanting to capture that promise for himself. Andrew gave it, a hushed final declaration, “I’m right here, Neil,” he soothed, “I’m right here with you.” And then he set out to warm Neil’s mouth with his own, uncaring about the cold rain striking his own spine.

-

Neil still hadn’t said a word when Andrew finally got him home. He had toweled him off, stripped him of his clothes, and bundled him in a blanket on the couch. The cats were with him, fat and still not happy, yowling at Neil in competition for his adoring hands. They seemed to be helping Neil calm down. Forcing his gaze away, Andrew watched his very best chocolate stash melt in a pot on the stove and set rice to boil (Neil’s stomach surely wouldn’t tolerate anything fancier).

Bringing over a mug of chocolate for Neil, Andrew was a little surprised to feel Neil reach out and tug on his wrist.

“Get out of those clothes and sit with me.” Neil’s voice was raspy but his eyes were clear again and he was staring at Andrew the way Andrew always hated.

He had never been so glad to see it though.

He sat by Neil’s side shortly thereafter and Neil wasted no time in opening the blanket to him, huddling close and snuggling into Andrew’s collarbone. Andrew couldn’t tell if it bothered him that he and Neil weren’t asking ‘yes or no’ for anything tonight. At the very least, it didn’t matter – he wouldn’t refuse Neil anything tonight, not a damn thing in the world. And Andrew wanted to be close, wanted Neil held firm in his arms, wanted skin to warm skin, wanted Neil to feel at home and warm and safe.

The cats loudly disapproved of Neil’s divided attention and shifting position but Andrew couldn’t be bothered to give a shit and shoved at them until they pissed off somewhere else. (Probably to piss on Andrew’s clothes. They never pissed on Neil’s.)

After a minute of just breathing each other in, Neil began explaining. “Ichirou called.” 

Andrew’s hold tightened considerably. Neil took a deep breath, soaking in Andrew’s unconditional protection. 

“Romero found him. Well, he found Romero. I think. I don’t know.” Neil’s breath caught when Andrew pressed a kiss to his hair. His stressed and wrinkled brow eased a bit though. Neil was reminded that Andrew had found him and Andrew had brought him home.

“Car was waiting downstairs. Took me to some warehouse in the north. Romero was already dead when I got there and they needed to do away with the body. Ichirou wanted insight into… into how Lo… Lola had done it for my father.” Neil shuddered, no part of him capable of feeling the warmth surrounding him. “Y-You… You called when I was… I was still…”

Andrew kissed him hard and deep, quite sure Neil wasn’t ready to confess his sins, if they even had been his. Fighting to keep his mind despite Neil’s desperate sounds, (eager to keep up and kiss back) Andrew thought back to the brief command Neil had issued when he called earlier. He could recognize Nathaniel in it now, a shell Neil still occasionally wore to remove himself from what was happening. No wonder he had been dissociating when Andrew had found him.

“I’m here, Neil,” Andrew repeated, hands rubbing the shivers out of Neil’s body, diving back in to kiss them out too. “I’m here, you’re here. You’re Neil Josten and Neil Josten is mine to protect.”

Neil gave a fleeting smile, shook his head and pressed a single brilliant kiss to Andrew’s lips, hand reverent on his jaw. Pulling away, Neil said, “Neil Josten is just yours. Full stop.” Tears welling in his eyes, he added, “I just wish Nathaniel Wesninski wasn’t Ichirou’s.”

“He’s not.” Andrew refused to acknowledge the knotted mass in his chest – the joy and the heat and the fear, the absolute terror that he would break or abuse this trust Neil had in him – and insisted, “Nathaniel Wesninski doesn’t belong to anyone. You left him to die in Baltimore.”

Neil shook his head, lowered his gaze to Andrew’s heartbeat. “He felt so real tonight, Andrew. More real than I’ve ever felt before. I think… part of me liked cutting where Ichirou said to cut.”

“I don’t believe you.” And he didn’t. Neil enjoyed hurting people as much as he enjoyed skipping Exy practice. Nathaniel had probably never liked it either, had only done it because he knew it was kill or be killed. “You did what you had to. To survive.”

“Yeah,” Neil agreed, meeting his eyes. “And the things I did with you and the Foxes? That was to survive too. I’ve had twenty-two different names, Andrew, all for the sake of surviving. How am I supposed to know what’s real for one when it feels so false for all the others?”

If there was anyone who understood the struggle to feel real, it was Andrew. There were still days he felt hollow, like a fuckable animated flesh husk was all he was.

“You don’t have to know that now,” Andrew recited, recalling many a similar discussion with Betsy, “You just have to stay here. Neil, Nathaniel, whoever you are; you just stay.” Swallowing, taking an enormous risk, Andrew finished with, “Stay and be mine.”

And Neil was staring at him like they were still twenty years old on a bus to Binghamton. Then he said, “Yes. As always, yes.” He wiped his own tears away this time and reached for his mug so Andrew wouldn’t see his beaming smile. “Yeah, okay.”

(This was typical for Andrew, if Neil was honest about it. In general, life was awful and then Andrew fixed it.)

The signs as The Breakfast Club

The Criminal: Aries, Taurus, & Pisces

The Princess: Libra & Gemini

The Brain: Sagittarius & Capricorn

The Basket Case: Scorpio, Virgo, & Cancer

The Athlete: Leo & Aquarius

apprenticedmagician  asked:

“Can I open my eyes yet?" I'm picturing shenanigans and I'm thinking Allison is to blame for it *devil horns*

Andrew couldn’t find Neil.  And that was a Problem™.  Riko had been found dead and Andrew had it from Neil’s mouth that Ichirou was no longer a threat, but he couldn’t help but feel that little bubble of panic that had never quite gone away since the fateful Binghamton game rising up into his throat to choke him.  

He had gone to the court first, thinking that perhaps Neil was trying to sneak in one last little informal practice before they went to Columbia for the summer and no longer had all hours access to Exy.  But the lights were out and the showers were cold.

He had already checked with Matt in their room but the boy swore he knew nothing and Andrew was inclined to believe him because Matt had no poker face and tended to grin until his molars showed if Neil was within 15 feet of him.  And no one else seemed worried that Neil “trainwreck on his best day” Josten had apparently not been seen for at least four hours.

Keep reading

Drabble fic totally inspired by this post (X) and image:

Neil puts the ad out in a moment of drunk desperation. 

He is absolutely no good at art, so he figures if he screws up he can always tell his teacher that it’s supposed to be that ugly because it’s a painting of the fucking devil. 

But then Andrew Minyard turns up at the door. 

Andrew Minyard is anything but ugly.

Andrew Minyard is the very image of Lucifer himself.

The light hits him just right as he steps into the room so his hair is a halo of gold fire. His eyes flash, endlessly deep and warm and entirely deserving of the title “Morning Star.” Neil is no artist, but for a second he wishes he was. 

“Hey,” Andrew says, “I’m here for the ad.” Neil nods slowly and gestures toward the stool in the center of the room. His model idly strips off his shirt, then slouches into his seat like a king on a throne. Pretty in-character as the King of Hell, then.

Neil hisses a breath through his teeth. 

Okay, he can do this. 

He hasn’t spoken to Andrew since last semester, when they’d shared a textbook in the back row of classics class. because Andrew never bothered to buy the book, and Neil liked the running commentary he added to every lecture about phallic symbols throughout history. 

Neil grips his very phallic paintbrush and tries to focus. 

Andrew notices his distraction. Eyebrow raised, he sneers, “Aren’t you gonna paint me like one of your French gargoyles, Josten?”

Neil snorts, “Clever. All that mythology we studied and you don’t know the difference between gargoyles and demons?”

 “Not much of one. Demons look prettier-” And there, something flashes across his face, “- But they’re both monsters underneath.”  

Neil starts to put paint to canvas and sighs lowly. The boy who had made him laugh over the Punishment of Prometheus was too hardened to be pretty and hardly a monster. He wonders if Andrew even realizes that day was the first time Neil smiled all year. He kept smiling all four months that Andrew stuck to his side. Then finals happened, the class was over, and Neil never saw him again. Until now. 

Nearly an hour passes before Andrew moves, and even then it’s a minute shift in the set of his jaw. He slowly starts to relax under Neil’s gaze. The difference it makes is - incredible. Andrew Minyard In Repose is a thing to behold. Ten minutes later Neil is absorbed in his art, fingertips buzzing with the urge to get it right, to print Andrew, loose-limbed and lazing, in perfect detail. 

He doesn’t even notice Andrew leave the stool until he’s breathing in his ear, “Fuck, Neil, that looks like a potato with limbs.”

Neil feels himself flush all down his neck and nearly snaps his brush in half. “Pretty true to life, then.”

Andrew grins. He hooks his chin over Neil’s shoulder and slides an arm around his waist. Neil feels  Andrew’s hair tickling his cheek. Andrew grabs his painting hand and guides a few brush-strokes with a real artist’s precision. 

“You paint.” Neil realizes, surprised, and he finds himself melting back into the boy behind him. 

“Nothing so ambitious as Satan.”

Neil’s hand twitches under Andrew’s. He’s not sure if he should be annoyed or not. Another few lines of paint and he decides not, because his picture is already vastly improved. He lets his hand go limp and feels the buzz in his fingers return, spreading hot, white static all where Andrew’s touched him. 

“You’d look good with a pair of wings,” He says, and he means for them to add it to the painting, but Andrew huffs a laugh.

“I’m much more suited to horns.” Andrew butts his temple against Neil’s, then lets his head dip down to hover over his throat. “I’m much too attached to my vices to ever give angel wings a go.”

Neil’s pulse thunders in his chest. Andrew can probably feel it. “Which particular vices?”

Andrew grins, wicked and amused, ducking his head to skim his mouth along Neil’s neck. “Carnal pleasures, mostly.”

“Oh.”

Andrew bites down roughly, right under the jut of his jaw, and Neil’s hand jerks, ruining all of their work. He drops the brush and lets his head tip back. 

“Tell me no,” the devil whispers, too tempting to resist.

Neil moans. “It’s been a yes since your first dick joke, dickhead.”

-

Neil fails Art 101. 

-  -  -  -

(big thanks to @allison-reynold for reading through this for me and letting me know it didn’t suck :p)

Andrew Hussie (Fabulous He)
Me
Andrew Hussie (Fabulous He)

i did a parody of “prince ali” from aladdin for homestuck sue me

lyrics:

Hey! Clear the way through the forum posts
Hey you
Let him through
Even though he makes you
Cry
Be the first of the fans to see the upd8
Make way
Here he comes
Type your rants
Queue your hums
Oh, he’s gonna make you cry!

Yes it’s he
Andrew Hussie
Author of Homestuck
Illustrates all the upd8s
Like Equius’ knee
Now try your best to stay calm
Brush up your denial qualms
Then come and see his fabulous OTPs!

Yes it’s he
Andrew Hussie
Author of Homestuck
Killed nearly ten
Trollian men
Or, so says he
He’s killed John like fifteen times
And Dave’s never actually died
Who made Gam kill Nep with horns?
Andrew Hussie!

He’s got seventy-five gorgeous hoofbeasts
(don’t they look lovely jane?)
Dead fantrolls
Yes, he’s got less than three
(fabulous, jake, i love the ashes)
When it comes to a rainbow of corpses
Has he got a morgue?
A shmorgasborg, it’s a world class buffet for free!

Yes, it’s he!
Andrew Hussie!
Those gorgeously large lips
That creepy freak
Kills all those who speak
In more minutes than three
Now Karkat’s taken the fall
Jane, Jake, Jade, Dave are all gone
Rose, Kanny, Roxy, and John made us all weep

That asshole Gamzee’s been chainsaw’d in half
(he killed off gamzee, but actualy not really)
He’s been ripped like John ghostly undies
(and dirk is so sad, yes he’s so so so sad)
He’s got corpses, and ghosts, and those between
(only sollux, though)
Yet we come to his call, love crying all
Over fictional trolls and kids thanks to he
Andrew Hussie!

Sir Hussie
Heartless is he
Thanks to his Homestuck
Heard your OTP was alive, just wait and see
And that good folks is just why
Every other day we all cry
With tissues, teddy bears, fanart galore
And he celebrates
Our tears and remorse
With his haughty hoof-beasts, his books and acts, please
Your fans can’t take all this pain!
Make way for Andrew Hussie!

download it here if you want

3

I’M GOING TO BURN YOU!

(this is my slightly reworked cosplay of male!Marquise. but I’ve not won anything on the con with it :C )

(btw - is anyone want to see post about me? some info about who am I, how I look and what I like)

epic right?

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