tintín

Don’t mind me just crying over Jean Moreau.

I love these two so much.

You’ve been struck by 🔪

I reread All for the Game again and wow, the brainrot is still strong. I can't stop thinking about this mouthy asshole. I want to draw specific moments from the series, but for this study I just had fun playing around with the many faces of Neil Josten!

Neil is usually the little spoon, but every once in a while, Andrew will let Neil press himself against his back, ghost his lips over the skin of his nape. He’ll let Neil hold a hand over his heart to feel his rapid, living pulse, and Neil will whisper, “Who’s the rabbit now?”

Andrew likes to ruck Neil’s shirt up in the mornings while they’re still in bed. He’ll trace the scars on his stomach, the lithe carvings of muscle. If things are headed in a particular direction, Andrew will run his tongue along his favorite lines.

When Neil is looking to drive Andrew crazy, he’ll take his thumb and drag it along Andrew’s lower lip. He’ll take Andrew’s earlobe between his teeth, walk his fingertips down the length of his spine. All Andrew can do is hold onto Neil’s shoulders for dear life.

When Andrew is looking to drive Neil up the wall, all he has to do is show off a little. Put in some effort on the court, give Matt a run for his money at the gym. One time, Andrew wore his (and Neil’s) favorite muscle tee to bench in and Neil actually biffed it on the treadmill.

Neil will sit on Andrew’s lap when there isn’t enough room. The other Foxes have learned not to mention it. Card games are the only exception; Neil is a chronic and compulsive cheater.

When Andrew can’t stand the feeling of his own skin, let alone someone else’s, the closest Neil can get is the other end of the couch. He doesn’t waste the space, though—fills it with various details about his day, interesting things he read online, things he likes about Andrew. Andrew grips the lifeline with both hands and lets it drag him back to safety. When he finally gets there, Neil’s arms are open, loving, and ready.

Neil’s bad days are characterized by sporadic bouts of dissociation. Andrew doesn’t like to touch him when he’s like that, but Neil has made it clear that it’s okay—it helps—so Andrew will clamp a hand over the back of his neck. He’ll stroke his thumb over the bone that juts out at the top of his spine, press his forehead against Neil’s. “You are Neil Josten,” he’ll say. “You are real, and you are home.”

Neil is usually the little spoon, but every once in a while, Andrew will let Neil press himself against his back, ghost his lips over the skin of his nape. He’ll let Neil hold a hand over his heart to feel his rapid, living pulse, and Neil will whisper, “Who’s the rabbit now?”

Andrew likes to ruck Neil’s shirt up in the mornings while they’re still in bed. He’ll trace the scars on his stomach, the lithe carvings of muscle. If things are headed in a particular direction, Andrew will run his tongue along his favorite lines.

When Neil is looking to drive Andrew crazy, he’ll take his thumb and drag it along Andrew’s lower lip. He’ll take Andrew’s earlobe between his teeth, walk his fingertips down the length of his spine. All Andrew can do is hold onto Neil’s shoulders for dear life.

When Andrew is looking to drive Neil up the wall, all he has to do is show off a little. Put in some effort on the court, give Matt a run for his money at the gym. One time, Andrew wore his (and Neil’s) favorite muscle tee to bench in and Neil actually biffed it on the treadmill.

Neil will sit on Andrew’s lap when there isn’t enough room. The other Foxes have learned not to mention it. Card games are the only exception; Neil is a chronic and compulsive cheater.

When Andrew can’t stand the feeling of his own skin, let alone someone else’s, the closest Neil can get is the other end of the couch. He doesn’t waste the space, though—fills it with various details about his day, interesting things he read online, things he likes about Andrew. Andrew grips the lifeline with both hands and lets it drag him back to safety. When he finally gets there, Neil’s arms are open, loving, and ready.

Neil’s bad days are characterized by sporadic bouts of dissociation. Andrew doesn’t like to touch him when he’s like that, but Neil has made it clear that it’s okay—it helps—so Andrew will clamp a hand over the back of his neck. He’ll stroke his thumb over the bone that juts out at the top of his spine, press his forehead against Neil’s. “You are Neil Josten,” he’ll say. “You are real, and you are home.”