#and the thing is. you can't. so you have to parse it back for the page

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[sysig]

Just Desserts continental northern map made using this method! :D (Patreon)

[imwritesometimes]

I am once again asking everyone to sit very still and concentrate so I can just beam my fic into your brains telepathically because I cannot actually write it to save my life. thank you.

[moe-broey]

Brain still soup but like. I think making one or both (or more!) characters involved in relationships with each other aromantic makes the dynamic soooooo much more compelling. Because if you remove romance as a motivator, you really get down to the nitty-gritty as to WHY that character is seeking out/involved in those relationships in the first place. Whether that relationship involves romantic factors or is more of a queer platonic thing. Much to think about....

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

.

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[hylemorph]

Anna and Friedrich in Nosferatu (2024)

In a previous post I mentioned how important I think Friedrich is in the story as a representation of the patriarchal ideal, and how it/he crumbles when confronted by everything that has been suppressed in Ellen (manifested in the unavoidable, terrifying form of Orlok). I also think he is a mirror to Orlok in some ways: he says twice how he just cannot resist Anna, he subtly frames his desire for her as an unwilling "affliction." He also defiles Anna's body and his sacred marriage vows by engaging in necrophilia, because his appetite for her is so consuming - he can't resist her even when she's not even there anymore. Ellen's necrophilic act with Orlok represents her unification with the parts of herself that are suppressed/rejected by the men in her life, good and bad. It's dark and fucked up but metaphorically transformative, and consent is absolutely central. Friedrich's necrophilic act involves no consent, no Anna, and it lacks any metaphorical power. He didn't accomplish anything, he just succumbed to his own horror and amplified it.

Friedrich's unhealthy approach to his relationship with Anna consumes them both, and I think this theme is especially evident in the way Anna's pregnancy is discussed. Friedrich tells Thomas that they are expecting but doesn't want it mentioned in front of Anna or Ellen, probably because it wasn't supposed to be public yet. In victorian times people would rarely confirm a pregnancy before the woman was "showing" both because it was considered a private matter and because miscarriage was way more common. But Friedrich tells Thomas early anyways, because he is excited and proud, which is understandable but also selfish in this context. Furthermore, Anna says that "little Friedrich" is "very hungry, just like his father" and later on after Orlok has fed on her, she passes it off as feeling drained by the baby. Even though she seems happy and loves her family, she associates pregnancy with being drained.

This alienated way of understanding parenthood is also evident in the way Friedrich and Anna treat their girls (Louise and Clara I think?) They obviously both adore the girls, but they ignore their terror and assume the monster they see in their room is totally unrelated to all the other scary shit going on, because they're just silly little kids imagining things, right? One girl literally says "I can hear him breathing under my neck!" and they beg Anna not to leave them alone at night, but they are just hushed and told that they're totally safe. It's exactly the kind of dismissal Ellen has been getting her whole life, and so it's not surprising that the girls are haunted by Orlok before anyone else. It's not enough to adore little girls, they will never be safe until they are heard and believed.

Anna as a character apart from her role as wife and mother is a bit harder to parse out, but I think she is also a mirror for Ellen. Ellen's spiritual power is the catalyst for everything that happens, and von Franz says that "in heathen times you might have been a Priestess of Isis." Anna's spiritual inclination is less obvious, but it's there: she seriously listens to Ellen and believes that she is perceiving something real, she just assumes it must be God. Later when she lets Ellen stay with her for the night, she says "God is with us Lenny, I know it." On some level Anna is also in touch with that supernatural, suppressed feminine truth, and she seems to see through the patriarchal facade that Friedrich represents to some degree. But ultimately Anna wants to convince herself and Ellen that the night terrors were just caused by Thomas' absence, and that Ellen just needed her husband back and all would be well. When Thomas does return and Ellen has her faculties again, Anna is very eager to put it all behind them; 'no more talk of demons please, let's just focus on Christmas and being a happy family'. Anna's downfall is that she puts all her faith in the Christian patriarchal narrative even when she can clearly see that there's more going on. Her faith in the Christian God contrasts Ellen's "heathen" spirituality - both women have an innate spiritual sense, but one is more willing to make it fit into the values of their society. Ultimately Anna was consumed by the horror of their alienated position in society just like Ellen was, she just died with less agency.

[hypewinter]

Cass approached the child as carefully as she could. That didn't stop him from shrinking back into the corner, his body language screaming fear and distrust at her. She did her best to project safety and protection as she stopped and knelt down in front of him.

It was now that Cass was about to get a good look at the child. He was skinny. Painfully so. And his clothes were oversized and dirty. There was a muzzle strapped tightly to his face too. Her heart hurt thinking about who would do this to such a small thing and why.

Still emphasizing safety and calmness with her body language, Cass finally spoke to the boy. "Do you... want help with that?" she asked, pointing to the muzzle.

The boy reached up to the muzzle also subconsciously as he eyed her suspiciously. Cass for her part, patiently waited until the boy reluctantly nodded before she began inching forward once more. She projected all of her actions as she carefully reached up and turned the boy's head slightly to get a good look at the back of the muzzle.

It was locked with a special mechanism Cass had never seen before. Clearly whoever did this to the boy wanted no chance of breaking free. Luckily that wouldn't be an issue for Orphan. Cass dug around in her belt until she found the tools she was looking for and got to work. No more than 5 minutes later, the muzzle unlocked with a satisfying click.

Cass slowly slid it off of the boy's face before backing away again. "Better?" she asked cheerily.

The boy reached up with both hands to feel at his cheeks. He gently flexed his jaw. Then he looked up at Cass, hope and disbelief evident in his eyes. She returned his look of awe with a smile though she doubted he could tell since she still had her mask on.

The boy opened his mouth but all that came out was a wheeze. He narrowed his eyes in frustration as he tried again. Cass was ready to tell him not to push himself but then he croaked out, "Than..k....... you." He slowly parsed through the words, his throat clearly rusty from disuse.

Cass smiled once more. "No problem. Would you like to get out of here?" she said as she extended her hand.

The boy hesitated. Cass could still see that despite everything, he still didn't trust her. Still, he eventually took her hand. Cass pulled the boy up and guided him out of the facility she had found him in. Never letting go of his hand.

As they walked, Cass turned slightly towards the boy. "Do you... have a name?"

The boy nodded slowly in return. "Dan....ny," he answered.

"Hmm. That's a nice name."

For the first time since Cass had discovered the boy, she saw happiness radiate from him. At the sight, she couldn't help but think to herself that no sunrise could compare to such joy.

----

(Cass adopts Danny cause it's what they both deserve. She struts into Wayne Manor, blowing Steph's betting pool out of the water because she never thought Cass would be the first Wayne child to pick up Bruce's habits.

Danny can't really talk all that well the first few months he's living with everyone but that's ok because mama bear is going to teach him all there is to know about sign language and body language.)

But wait there's more!

[leashybebes]

bucktommy sickfic(let)

Tommy squints at his phone, rereading the message carefully, checking closely for tone and spelling. The last thing he wants is to worry Evan. Satisfied, he hits send, and flops down into his bed, immediately regretting the even slightly vigorous motion when it sets off a round of coughing that makes his head throb.

****

It's been a full-on shift. Not bad, but busy, so Buck only sees Tommy's text when he's in the parking lot, ready to leave and head over for date night. It takes him a minute to parse it, because Tommy is normally a very clear texter with impeccable grammar (old man, Buck thinks fondly).

Hi baaby i sosorry can't tonight I ill just a cOld not to baD. Little demon baby snézed in my FACE. Wont die!! Make you up s00n. Like you!

Buck can't help laughing, and then immediately feels bad about it. His first text is to Eddie to ask for Abuela's home cold remedy - a vile tasting but highly effective concoction that still haunts Buck. Then to Hen to double check he's not missing anything obvious from his pharmacy shopping list.

When he pulls into the parking lot outside CVS he dialls Mrs Lee.

"Hey Mrs Lee, it's Evan Buckley - no, no, everything's fine! I was wondering if you could help me out. You know that spicy soup you make, god, please forgive my pronunciation, is it dakgaejang? Could I get the recipe? Yeah, uh-huh, my boyfriend's not well and I can't think of a better cure. Oh, you're an angel, yep, let me grab a pen."

Ten minutes later, he has a recipe, and instructions on the best places to pick up the ingredients. It'll add a bit of time to his journey, but it'll be worth it if he can come up with anything close to the soup she makes. Tommy likes spice anyway, and Buck's always relied on spicy instant noodles to blow the lid off a cold.

When he makes it to Tommy's via Mrs Lee's favorite store on the outskirts of Koreatown, the sound of snoring from the master bedroom is practically shaking the walls, reminding Buck of a plane roaring by only feet above his head. Regardless he bypasses the door, opting to take the pillows and blankets from the guest room instead, setting them up on the couch before he heads into the kitchen to get started on the broth.

****

When Tommy wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, he feels, if anything, slightly worse. His head is pounding, his ears are ringing, every inch of him aches, and his mouth and throat are the kind of dry and prickly he only usually associates with wildfire season. He's also...maybe experiencing multi-sensory hallucinations because he'd swear he can hear - very faintly through the horrible underwater feeling in his ears - music, and even more faintly smell something like food.

If it really is the world's most considerate burglar, Tommy knows he's in no fit state to fight them off, but he should at least try, right? He fights his way out of the cocoon that his sheets have become, and gets to his feet, only wobbling a little. Before he's even reached his bedroom door, he hears a familiar cacophony of footsteps on the stairs, and when he opens the door it's to see Evan on the other side.

"You're...here?"

"I sure am."

"Did you not get my message?"

"Oh, I did," Evan says, with an inexplicable smirk. "How are you feeling, babe?"

Tommy groans. "I'll never take clear sinuses for granted again."

"Aw, sweetheart. C'mere."

Tommy shakes his head, turning his face away as Evan approaches. "Plague."

Evan's insistent, pulling Tommy into a careful hug that honestly feels amazing. "What's a little plague between boyfriends?"

Tommy lets his head rest on Evan's broad shoulder for the few seconds of relief he gets before his blocked nose makes the position untenable.

"Can't breathe," he gasps out, and Evan rubs his back. It would be soothing, except, "skin hurts," he says, and Evan backs off.

"Okay, hon. C'mere, do you want to come downstairs? I made you a plague nest."

Tommy blinks stupidly, lets himself be steered down the stairs, Evan's hands hovering to steady him the whole way. He's guided towards the couch, which is replete with pillows and blankets. The coffee table has been dragged closer and is home to a box of those tissues infused with balm that are meant to prevent that horrible rubbed-raw feeling, cough sweets in what looks like every available flavour, one medicated and one menthol nose spray, three bars of his favourite chocolate, a carton of orange juice, and a bottle of water with a straw.

"Evan," he manages, and his voice wobbles alarmingly.

Evan's fingers stroke through his disgusting, sweaty hair without even a flinch. What a perfect man. "Don't cry, honey, it'll make your head worse."

Tommy nods and lets himself lean into Evan's touch.

****

Buck gets Tommy settled on the couch, covers him with blankets and squats down next to him.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Tommy shakes his head, looking revolted by the very idea.

"I know. But it'll make you feel better. It needs another twenty minutes or so, so try to take a nap, okay? I'll be right back. You want the TV on?"

"Nuh," Tommy manages, his eyes already closing.

Buck pushes himself back to his feet and heads into the kitchen. The soup smells pretty damn good, and has that vibrant orange-red colour that promises a punch of heat. Abuela's cold remedy is adding a weird dimension to the smells, so he keeps the door closed in case it bothers Tommy. He also turns the radio off, and finishes up in silence, responding to a few check in texts from the 118 and sending Mrs Lee a photograph of his efforts for her approval.

He gets a cup of the cold remedy, a small bowl of soup, a spoon and a fork, and a range of medications onto a tray and makes his way back out. Tommy is snoring again and Buck nudges stuff around on the coffee table to make room for the tray before waking him with a gentle touch to his cheek.

"Hey, beautiful. Can you sit up for me? I want you to take some pills and eat some soup."

Tommy looks pitiful, his hair sticking up in all directions, his pretty eyes red-rimmed and puffy, his skin clammy.

"'kay," he mutters, and lets Buck brace him as they get him upright in the corner of the couch. Buck rearranges the cushions and pillows around him, tucks a blanket in around his shoulders.

"Okay. First up," he says, handing Tommy the cup of Abuela's home remedy. "This is via Eddie's abuela. There's a lot of ginger and also a little tequila and it's hot, so it'll taste, uh - interesting. But I promise it'll help."

Tommy knocks it back without even a wince and Buck squeezes his shoulder.

"Good job."

He hands Tommy the pills - decongestant, painkiller, anti-inflammatory - and Tommy takes them dutifully.

"Whatsit?" he asks, nodding towards the bowl of soup.

"Dakgaejang. Spicy chicken noodle soup. I got the recipe from Mrs Lee."

"Evan."

"Yeah?"

"You're too good to me." He sounds desolate and Buck feels, not for the first time, like he wants to go back in time and fight Tommy's dad, his CO, every terrible boyfriend he's ever had.

"No such thing, honey. Let me know if you want any help with the soup."

Buck sits next to Tommy on the couch and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, not letting Tommy duck it.

"Evan. Stop it. I'm so gross."

"Nah," Buck promises. "You're the handsomest plague victim I've ever seen."

[ghouljams]

At this point aphrodite!reader should just bite him in a fit of cuteness agression, maybe then he'll understand

Teeth you know.

They scrape against your skin, dredge themselves through the pitch of night and leave you burning for more.

They follow phantom touches and words whispered in a tongue that sticks to consonants you can't parse.

They are dangerous and gleaming, and oh so gentle with you.

And you arch into the feeling of them, hoping to be devoured,

Only for the dream to leave you.

You pad down to the forge, the heavy clang of Nikto's hammer guiding you like a siren's call. The grit of soot beneath your bare feet reminds you that you've foregone the boots Nikto insisted you wear, but you can't find it in you to mind. The stone floor is so warm, and you let out a please hum at the blast of hot air that hits you as you open the forge door.

Nikto is inspecting an arrow when you enter the forge, holding the silvery thing up to the darkness with his pliers as he inspects it. He lowers it back to the anvil and raises his hammer to strike it anew.

"Zolotse," Nikto greets, his voice just loud enough to cover the sound of metal striking metal, "It is late, go back to bed."

You ignore his command in favor of picking your way to his workbench. A quiver of silvery arrows strewn across the wood, each with perfectly trimmed feathers and sculpted points. You press your fingers against one and find Nikto's rough hand covering yours, pulling you away.

"For Artemis," He tells you, "Don't touch."

You've never seen his worktable properly before. Screws and nails are set in neat plates with walled edges. Tools rest on leather wraps. Raw ingots and metals sit in lumps in one corner waiting to be processed by Nikto's practiced hand. Organized, and yet there's a distinct messiness to the workstation. Claustrophobically cluttered.

Your eyes fall on the plate of food at the edge of the table, warming grapes and olives, bread quickly going stale, ambrosia barely touched.

"You haven't eaten." It puzzles you, somehow. He hasn't eaten, he hasn't come to bed, how is he still able to swing his hammer with such strength? Isn't he tired? Hungry?

"We will eat later." He turns you away from the table, "You will bed now."

You turn back and catch the growl of frustration that Nikto bites off.

"You have to eat something," You insist, reaching for the plate. You're surprised his hands don't catch you again as you break the crusty bread between your hands and tear off a bite to dredge through the wine like ambrosia.

You cup your hand under the bite as you hold it out to him.

"Eat."

You don't know where your boldness comes from, if you were so bold when you married Nikto, or if it's his own curt demeanor starting to rub off on you, but you stand there and wait.

Nikto watches you, his breath puffing through the mask he wears like smoke from a chimney. His eyes are cold, the icy blue like a winter storm in the middle of the forge, and then they're gone, covered by the mask he tugs up as he beds down to take the bite from between your fingers. His mouth furnace hot and his tongue searching.

His teeth scrape your fingers and your body shivers with heat.

Familiar,

like a wonderful dream.

[kidcanines]

cg!viktor headcannons ᯓᡣ𐭩

x - x - x

—DNI NSFW—

· likes keeping you close to him. driving you into his side when he wants to feel your warmth against his harsh purpled skin. He'll take your hand in his own or brush your hair behind your ear while you're sleeping. He mostly feels alone so having a little one beside him that relies on him in ways opposite of the public he’s saved- that is like him in ways he can’t describe, similarly to Sky but untethered.

· whispers about what it’s like being shrouded in universal colors. the comforting things he’s seen told to you like fairytales before you go to bed.

· goes stargazing every so often with you. points to the thousands of constellations up in the sky and identifies them all for you.

· let’s you sit in his lap while you mess with his fingers. comparing them to your own. your natural curiosity is something he always indulges in.

· when it rains he likes to sit outside with you and just enjoy the sound- you bounce around in the wet grass before coming to sit in his lap and lean against his chest while he cards a hand through your wet hair

· when he’s meditating (and thus floating) he leaves you on the ground- you jump to get to him but fail. when he finally comes back down you run into his legs and try to get him to pick you up—to which he complies—a fond, loving expression on his face. you just pout.

· whenever you get up to something and he can’t parse out what you’re doing before you do it, he gives you this look of confused adoration that turns joyous when you produce the outcome. sometimes it’s a silly face or you dancing to imaginary music.

· calls you Nabi and vice versa- a meaningless little term of endearment from nowhere.

· sometimes accidentally cryptic. he goes about the space talking to what seems to be air and then he lays his eyes on you and realizes he’s frightened you. he cuddles you up to him and whispers into your ear how’s he’s sorry- that he had no intention of frightening you and that whatever he said wasn’t important. still, you ask questions- and he’s always amazed at your bluntness. he tries to articulate the answer the best he can but its difficult without his own extensive knowledge

· calls you little one all the time. If he wants to be extra sweet he’ll place a gentle finger on the soft of your jaw and trace it to your chin or tack on a “my” in front of it. You hate it sometimes because it feels like he’s making you smaller than you actually are with his all knowing, omnipotent shtick but once he starts teaching you things it’s much more than that.

· teaches you many things. the art of watching and waiting- patience, and finally, the arcane. shows it to you and allows for you to touch it- pulls you out before it can truly do any damage and holds you during your recovery. He wants to turn you- it’s the next step in evolution. but he can't, longing for a human connection that isn’t devouring one another for the purpose of a greater life understanding. He wants to know you through you- and finds your tantrums less tedious than before.

· won’t see you get hurt- is almost too gentle, too protective of you when it comes to playing with other kids and other people taking care of you- even if he is just another extension of him. he likes seeing you through his own eyes- not theirs.

· tells you about jayce- just not by name. this amazing man who wanted to help the world, just like he’s doing, who wanted to give people opportunities which would otherwise not be afforded to them because of their social standing. he describes him all the time with a fond look on his face.

· doesn’t play with you a lot, but likes putting stuff together with you. little prototypes of boats or trains that you cart around- distracted while he does the real work.

· likes reading while you do your own thing- maybe taking a nap, sitting together in silence with the steady sound of arcane power reverberating inside of him and through the space, or maybe with the steady rhythmic flip of book paper. maybe he hums.

· you try to get him to take naps with you. your constant pulling on his robe and never wavering stubbornness convinces him to lay down with you. he ends up dropping off before you do- in a space similar to where he is when he’s meditating. You touch his face while he’s sleeping, exploring his smile lines and deep purple bags underneath his eyes before kissing him on his cheek and falling asleep yourself.

· he’s very patient with you, even when you’re not so patient with yourself. he’ll gently take you by the wrists and hold them close to his heart so you won’t beat on yourself anymore. his eyes always hold so much emotion- as do yours (he comments on them regularly.) “how am i supposed to protect you from yourself?” he asks you one night, you’re head on his legs and the rest curled up underneath the blankets. you just shrug and bury your head into his calf, a show of kiddy frustration that just makes him sigh and run his hands through your hair.

· you’re always eager to help with his experiments. you don't have the most steady hand but you’re good when it comes down to it. he can ask you to crush up some herbs or pour a a pre measured ingredient into what he’s making. he always helps and he mostly does it so you feel included in whatever he’s doing.

· never any big lights in your spaces. always candles or glowing orbs in your space- maybe the whiteness of the arcane that engulfs the place in light, but it’s never so bright as to where you can’t sleep- Viktor makes sure of that

· likes hearing you laugh- he doesn’t ever do any strenuous activities but he can make finger puppets and tell you stories like never before

· very good with routines and such. likes making sure he’s putting you down for a nap at the right time and generally doing good at parenting you.

[alchemistc]

Listen I know @cecilyv and @liminalmemories21 are slow cooking an absolute masterpiece of a Mummy AU that I am going to eat like a gourmet meal, but I just watched The Mummy again and spent the whole time thinking about this, so here have a completely different take:

"No, Maddie, absolutely not. Do you remember what happened last time? There were boils, Maddie. Boils. On this face? Never again."

Maddie mumbles something that Buck can't quite parse but one word sounds vaguely like a name he's spent seven years trying to forget, and it's only when Chim pops up behind her like the freakiest Jack-in-the-box he's ever seen that things kind of become inevitable. "They took Jee, Buck."

---

It's not that he doesn't love this shit. He does. He loves it despite the fact that it's a hand me down interest from parents he's still struggling to have any sort of relationship with. He loves it despite the literal boils this particular special interest have caused him. He loves it despite the fact that he's pretty sure he met the love of his life on one of Maddie's little expeditions, and then the guy had disappeared into the wind. Not before a mind-blowing celebratory night and the most tender forehead kiss he's ever experienced (and he's including Maddie, here, so that really should say something) with the hazy dawn light filtering into Buck's hotel room.

He'd thought he was getting breakfast in bed. A coffee, at least.

Instead he'd been ghosted.

Which is incredibly ironic, considering.

The point is. The point is coming back home with a bunch of gold and maybe a broken heart hadn't killed his enthusiasm for digging into this stuff, following the research trails until every literal and metaphorical stone was turned. He loves it.

He would absolutely not be here if this were anything but family.

"Oh good, you made it," says a familiar voice from somewhere to his left, and Buck tries to give Maddie the evil eye, but she's too busy grinning at her husband.

Buck twists just enough to get a good look at the cleft before he's stomping his way back towards his suite.

---

Tommy is, of course, flying the fucking plane that's going to get them where they need to go.

Buck will admit he'd done a deep dive into piloting during one of his lamer spirals. He knows all sorts of facts about every helicopter known to man and quite a few of the planes.

"We're going to crash," Buck says, when the engine to his left makes another sputtering noise and then starts blowing smoke behind them.

Tommy frowns. "We're not going to crash," he mutters back, and then tips his chin, calls out loudly over his shoulder. "Maddie, Howie, you two strapped in?"

Buck isn't a fan of the tenor of his voice.

Who is he fucking kidding? He's a huge fan of that voice. He's been hearing it moan his name in his dreams for more than half a decade. Any version of that voice is something Buck wants to latch onto and never let go.

"We're not going to crash," Tommy repeats, and glances over at Buck like he's trying to drink in the sight of him.

---

They manage to salvage a good two-thirds of the water, two of Bucks suitcases ("You don't pack light, do you?" Tommy had asked, getting the bag that was almost entirely books over his shoulder like it weighed next to nothing. "Sorry my baggage is such an inconvenience." hadn't been his wittiest rejoinder of all time but it had made Tommy flush an interesting shade of purple.) and about twelve guns from the wreckage.

"Guns are notoriously not great at stopping ghosts."

Tommy glowers and continues cleaning his gun. In the firelight, his eyes have taken on a shade of blue that Buck absolutely isn't trying to memorize.

"Good thing human men took your niece, then, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that was great, no."

Chim whispers something to Maddie that makes her grin, and Buck scowls at them both.

---

"I'm so goddamn tired of boils, Maddie!"

"It's - you look fine. We just have to send Billy back where he came from and they'll clear right up. Just like last time."

"And if they don't? Your brother's going to die loveless and alone because no one's gonna want to kiss a face full of boils!"

Tommy hums to his left, shuffles, checks his watch, which definitely got broken in the crash. Buck is absolutely not thinking about the full-on make out they'd had in the middle of a graveyard full of fucking murderous ghosts while the boils were still definitely there on his face.

---

Apparently he should have brought a gun to a ghost fight, he thinks, when he glances down and catches sight of the red stain steadily growing on his shirt.

"Evan!"

Maddie's doing her chant thing over by the dias, and Jee's safely tucked in Chim's arms, and -

"Tommy," Buck manages, when Tommy catches him mid-fall and leans him back against the side of a truly hideous mausoleum.

"Hey. Evan, hey. You're - Maddie's just gotta finish up a few more lines and then you'll be good, okay? No more boils. You'll get thousands more kisses from however many people you like, alright?" He sounds a little panicked. Which is fair, considering. Ghost bullets fucking hurt.

"God, you're an idiot," Buck manages between wheezes. Things are - things are looking a little blurry around the edges. Buck lowers himself to a sit and sinks hands into the earth beneath him. "I'm gonna die still in love with the stupidest man who ever lived."

"You're not going to die," Tommy says, and he's eye level now, pressing at the spot where Buck's life is leaking out of him. Blue eyes, cleft chin, that stupid curl that never failed to release itself to settle over his forehead.

"Perfect time to completely miss the point," Buck manages through clenched teeth, and when Tommy's eyes catch his they look - terrified.

He's expecting it, maybe, a little, because he's being a little shit and that had always driven Tommy a little wild. Still. The press of lips against his is nice, and the tongue and teeth are even better, right up until he can't hold in the cough any longer and spits up blood right into Tommy's mouth.

"You're not gonna die," Tommy says, desperate now, as the world starts to tilt on its axis, and Buck curls a hand over Tommy's forearm and smiles.

---

Death isn't great. Kinda boring, actually. He's been here for five minutes or maybe an eternity when things start to go a little wonky. The endless nothing is either shrinking or expanding and Buck can't quite figure out if it's black or white or maybe just nothing and then it's shattering and shaking and gone.

---

"Ow," Buck says, and blinks open his eyes to find blue ones staring back.

They stay like that for a moment.

"So, you're O for two," Buck says, and Tommy immediately starts crying.

---

Tommy shifts a hand over Buck's jawline, calluses catching on a bit of scar tissue the boils left behind this time. Apparently they only clear up completely if you're still alive when the curse is broken.

"So there's a job," Tommy says, grooves on his face deepening, leg shifting restlessly over top of Buck's thigh. It's a trick - he knows it is, but he's still coming down off the high and Tommy's smile could probably make him do anything even if he hadn't just given Buck a Top Ten orgasm.

"No mummies. No ghosts. I swear to god Tommy if it's anything haunted I'm going to get those thousands of kisses somewhere else."

Tommy's grin is a little smug for his liking. "Have you ever heard of a Dybbuk box?"

Against his better judgement, Buck immediately begins spewing every bit of knowledge he's ever retained about them.

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 75

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(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Imogen looks up at her in distress, her eyes full of tears. She takes her face in her hands, gently holding her ears.

Imogen: Oh, Laudna . . .

Laudna: I'm sorry.

Imogen: Don't. Don't you apologize for what they did to you. You . . . you died.

Laudna: I did. I'd meant to tell you sooner, really I did, but to be honest I was afraid of what you'd think of me if you knew I was, you know. A bit dead. I understand if you . . .

Imogen: Who was it? Who's Lady Briarwood?

Laudna: Oh . . . she was the ruler of Whitestone, for a time. But she's long dead now.

Imogen: For her sake, it's probably for the best. 'Cause if I ever crossed paths with her . . .

Panel 2: Laudna’s posture remains hunched and uncomfortable while Imogen looks up at her, not yet quite parsing that she isn’t the target of the anger in her eyes.

Laudna: It . . . really doesn't bother you? That I'm . . . not all alive?

Imogen: The only thing that's botherin' me is how you got that way.

Laudna: I just feel that you deserve so much more in a friend than . . . this.

Panel 3: Laudna gestures dismissively to herself.

Imogen: Than what?

Laudna: This! This cold and creaking husk in bed beside you. This body that's more bone than flesh. This sluggish heart pumping ooze through it. I understand I can be . . . off-putting. I can't even offer you the comfort of a warm hug when you're upset.

Panel 4: Imogen presses her hand over Laudna's heart and looks up at her earnestly.

Imogen: Listen to me. You've got a heart that loves, Laudna. That makes you more alive than havin’ one that beats. You have more warmth and life in you than any other fully live person I've ever known. And don't worry about being cold. I've got more'n enough heat for both of us.

Panel 5: They go back to bed. Imogen's arms are around Laudna, who is awake, but smiling up into the darkness. Her hand is resting over her heart where Imogen had laid hers.

[whisperofwonder]

Departures & Arrivals

Timeskip!Iwaizumi Hajime x reader (gender neutral)

POV: You are one of Iwaizumi's college classmates in California, and there's definitely something between you, but it takes two trips to the airport to figure out exactly what.

2k words | Slight angst with a happy ending

You navigate through the crowded lanes in front of the airport, finally coming to a stop in front of the correct gate. Hajime turns to you before reaching for the door handle.

"Thanks for dropping me off," He says for what's probably the fifth time. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," You wave it off, "There's no way I'd let you pay the crazy prices for an uber. We're broke college students." You laugh, and he answers it with a smile. "You need me to help get your luggage?"

"No," He shakes his head, "I've got it. Don't bother getting out." You nod, and he finally opens the door as you pop the trunk. You roll the window down as he turns for the door, pulling his suitcase behind him.

"Have a good time back home!" You call out. "Send lots of pictures!" He turns back and lifts his hand in a wave.

"Of course I will," He promises, flashing you one last smile before he turns to go. You watch his retreating back for a few moments before rolling the window back up and putting your car in drive.

It's bittersweet, watching him leave. You know he's been looking forward to going back home for a few weeks this summer, and that he's been feeling a little more homesick than he'll admit. Still, your life is going to feel just a little bit emptier without him around.

You sigh, turning the music up a few notches as you pull onto the highway. You can't get the evening a few weeks ago out of your head.

The two of you had been dancing around it for months. Your friends recognized it in the mildly flirtatious back-and-forth, the way you always ended up sitting with your shoulders touching, and that you somehow found a way to spend nearly every weekend together. You recognized it in the tug in your middle that you felt whenever he was around, in the strange certainty starting the moment you met him that this was someone you've known all your life. Someone you connected with on a level you didn't even realize existed. You'd never felt this way before.

"Hajime, I really like you!" You'd finally blurted out. You aren't sure if that means exactly the same thing in Japan as it does to you, but judging by the look on his face, you can only assume it does. For a few moments, he only looked at you, different emotions playing across his face, then closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"I can't," He finally said, sharply, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was - I mean -" He paused, and you watched him parsing the English together in his head, heart falling into the pit of your stomach. "I can't do that to you." He said more softly. "I - I've thought about it," He admits. "But I don't want something... casual." He finally settled on the word. You're left reeling, because he's admitted to having feelings for you and turned you down in the same breath.

"And after I graduate, I know I'm going back to Japan," He continued, "And I can't ask you to deal with whatever that involves. I can't ask you to choose between me and the rest of your life. So I think it's better if we just stay friends." He paused. "Because I do want to be your friend. I think you're pretty great," He added with a small, sad smile.

Even turning you down, he's the nicest guy you've ever known. "Okay," Is all you could say, softly, pasting on a brave smile. "Friends, then."

It's not as though you haven't considered what it would mean, being in a relationship with him. You do have a life here in the U.S., and a family, but you're confident in knowing that it's something that will always be here, waiting for you, no matter where life takes you. With your major, you know you could find work anywhere. Even before meeting Hajime, you'd had dreams of living abroad. Japan doesn't sound like such a bad choice.

You haven't told him this, not in so many words. You don't want him to think this is something you're saying just to be with him. The future is a big thing to promise on what might turn into a few dates before you decide to go your separate ways. Still - if he was open to it, you'd be willing to try.

The next morning, you wake up to a message letting you know he'd arrived safely, shortly followed by a photo of the Sendai airport. You smile at your phone, telling him you're glad that he made it home.

The following days are punctuated by photos and messages, painting you a picture of a place called Miyagi - somewhere you'd had no reason to know existed until you'd met a certain dark-haired sports-science major. Suddenly, it seems like a very important place indeed.

You reciprocate, sharing snapshots of your hometown, places you can't help thinking you'd love to share with him in person. As time passes, the messages grow more and more frequent, and longer as you try to cram exactly how much you miss him between the words without admitting as much.

One morning, you've just poured yourself a cup of coffee and curled up on the sofa to enjoy it when your phone rings. To your surprise, Hajime's name shows up on the screen.

"Hello?" You answer hesitantly, a little worried at first that something might be wrong.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Even across the phone line, the sound of his worried voice is a welcome sound.

"No," You laugh softly, "I just poured my coffee." You lift the mug to your lips and take a sip.

"Good," He says in a huff of relief. "Time zones are weird."

"They are," You agree with a chuckle. "So, what's up?"

"I couldn't sleep, and - I thought I'd call you. Texting isn't quite the same," He admits. You picture him, maybe sitting cross-legged on the bed in his childhood bedroom, and you press your smile to the rim of your coffee mug.

"No," You agree. "It's not." You haven't ever really talked on the phone with him before. You saw him so often, you hadn't ever felt the need to, but this is nice. "How is it being back in Japan?"

"It's been really great," He says quickly. "Seeing my parents and my friends again has been nice. In a way, it almost feels like I never left. But is it weird that I also kind of miss California?"

"No," You say softly, biting back the fact that you miss him. "California misses you, too," You say more lightly, drawing out a warm chuckle from him that you feel in the pit of your stomach.

"What about you?" He asks then, "Anything exciting going on?"

You shift to a more comfortable position, hugging a throw pillow to your middle and taking a breath. You hadn't known how to share this with him via text. "Well, I just heard back from this company in Norway. They're really interested in having me work for them, starting with an internship this fall. I could transfer to a university there to finish my degree."

"Oh," He says quietly, and you hum in response. "That's great!" His voice brightens, but it sounds fake even through the phone. "So... you would move to Norway?"

"Yeah, I would," You confirm. "If I decide to accept," You add. "I think living abroad would be exciting." You aren't dropping any hints, you tell yourself. Just stating the facts. A year ago, Norway would have done just as well as Japan, or any country, really. A year ago, you probably would have already accepted this opportunity by now.

"That sounds like a great opportunity," He says, "I'm happy for you."

Are you really? You want to ask, but you don't.

"Thanks," you say instead, and find an excuse to move on to another topic. You chat about his travels in Japan with his friends, and your recent trip up the California coast. By the time the conversation winds down, things feel almost normal between the two of you again.

"I should let you get to sleep," You say finally, after he stifles yet another yawn.

"Yeah," He says reluctantly, "You're probably right." He pauses. "One last thing," He adds. "You can totally say no, but would you mind picking me up at the airport when I get back? My flight gets in on August 9, at 4pm. I can always ask Adam to do it if you-"

"I'll be there," You say quickly, before he can finish. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," You can hear the smile in his voice. "Thanks."

For a few moments after you hang up, you don't move from the couch. Talking to him again, hearing his voice, it stirred up everything you'd been trying so hard to keep at bay.

As the days pass, your correspondence is relegated to shorter messages and quick photos. Things between you feel just a little more stilted than before. Slowly, you're beginning to accept the truth, something you'd been trying so hard to ignore.

I can't just be your friend. You've practiced it over and over in your head. It's going to hurt to say, but you can't go on like this. If Hajime doesn't want to try to make a relationship work - and you can't blame him if he doesn't - then it will be better for both of you if you don't see each other anymore. You even have your perfect escape route - Norway. You tell yourself you'll wait to give them your final answer until after August 9.

Driving to the airport, the gnawing pit in your stomach grows with every mile. This may be one of the last times you see him. You're terrified that you'll chicken out before you can even give your carefully planned speech. You're terrified it can only lead to goodbye. You can't even allow yourself a sliver of hope, because it will only hurt that much more in the end.

Waiting in the lineup of cars, you watch the streams of people passing by for a familiar face. Craning your neck, you finally catch sight of him stepping through the doors, and you can tell the moment he spots you, because a smile breaks across his face. You clench your fist to strengthen your resolve.

Getting out of your car, you move to the trunk, making sure there's plenty of space. It looks like he's returned with an extra suitcase. When he finally approaches the car, only a few feet from you, you look up at him again. "Welcome back!" You say, attempting to put as much cheer in your voice as possible.

He doesn't answer, and instead lets go of his suitcases and strides purposefully through the remaining space between you. Before you can react, his lips are on yours, a hand at the back of your neck to keep you steady. You let out a small, surprised sound before you return the kiss automatically, fingers bunching into the material of his t-shirt as if to prove to yourself that he's really here in front of you - really kissing you like he means it.

When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and he's breathing heavily. "I want to see where this goes," He says breathlessly. "I want to be with you, if you'll have me?" What a silly question, as if the way you'd shamelessly pressed back into his kiss hadn't been answer enough. You can't help but smile back.

"Yes," You say quickly, eyes searching his face, taking in very part of him.

"I know it won't be easy," He adds, "And I know we'll have to be long distance, at least for a little, but I want to try. I want to put in the work, because I know it will be worth it."

"Yes!" You say again, giddy laughter bubbling up, "I'm ready," You nod, "I'm ready to do whatever it takes. To be with you." Your smile feels like it's splitting your face in half.

There are long conversations ahead. There's so much to discuss, and so much to prepare for. It won't all be easy. For now, though, Hajime pulls you close and kisses you again, the press of his lips assuring you that, no matter what, it will be worth it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The bank is as ever anxiety inducing. On pay day, you go down to cash your check then give most of it right back, parsing it out for your various expenses. At the end of it, you have even less than the month before. You don't get it. Thing's only seem to get worse; not just money, but your body. Every day you wake up, you feel even more crummy than the last. 

Your hopes of a treat at the cafe are dashed. You give a longing look as you walk by and peer through the window. You can smell cinnamon and coffee. You're strict non-caffeinated, doctor's orders, but a decaf would be amazing with one of those cinnamon buns. Ugh, damn, why are you torturing yourself? 

You turn to continue down the street but barely dodge out of the way of another pedestrian. He makes sure you can't pass as he mirrors you, sidestepping to block your way. You sigh as you step back and look Sy in the face. For a big man, he sure can sneak up on you. 

"Hey," he flips up his dark sunglasses, "how're you feeling?" 

You stare up at him defiantly, not quite bold enough to glare. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just persistent. It isn't his fault he reminds you of that spoiled deadbeat. Or that your emotions are volatile, one moment teary eyed, the next blazing hot with rage. 

"Fine, thanks for asking," you shrug, "Sy, I gotta--" 

"I owe you a cookie," he points to the cafe window at his shoulder. 

You blink. You remember the cracked shortbread. You forgot about that. The mention of the sugary treat makes your stomach growl and your mouth water. 

"No, you don't--" 

"I do," he insists, "I don't like to carry 'round debts. Let me buy you one." 

"I got it free," you say, "it's not a big deal." 

"It is to me," he counters, "I was heading in anyway." 

You stare at him. You really don't get this man. You're no longer so sure that Thor sent him to check up on you, not since your last interaction. In fact, the wingman seemed more spiteful of him than you. You look across the steeet to the pharmacy then back at him. The aromas wafting out with each swing of the door have you ravenous.  

"I can't stay long, I gotta work," you say. 

His cheeks twitch, as if he tamps back a smile before it can bloom, "after you." 

He gesture behind you to the door. You turn and lead the way. He reaches past you to open the door before you can and you enter ahead of him. The din within is lively and the air is warm from the crowd and the employees steaming out orders behind the counter. 

"Wanna find a seat?" He suggests, "you should rest." 

You open your mouth to argue but think better of it. You'd rather not stand in the clustered line. You nod and head off to claim the table by the window. There isn't much left. 

You pull out the chair and brace your back as you sit with a sigh. You glance over and find Sy watching you as he stands in the queue. His gaze makes you want to wilt, instead you turn your attention out the window. 

Not even Thor looked at you like that. Don't be silly. Sy is just being a dutiful guy, helping out the town slut in her time of need. You won't be duped. Not when you can hear your name being twisted on tongues at that very moment. 

You sit and wait, wring the strap of your small purse. You watch the street. If it wasn't for the people, Hammer Ford would be serene. 

A plate clinks in front of you and a porcelain mug as well. It isn't a cookie and you can smell the herbal tea's rosy flavour. You peer up at Sy as he gives an apologetic look. 

"Cookies are still baking so I got you a cinnamon bun," he says. 

"And tea?" You add. 

"Can't have one without the other," he says, "no coffee for you." 

"Yeah, I... I know." 

You could laugh. He suggested before he's been reading things about pregnancy. You just can't picture him with a copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting.  

"Thank you," you smile as best you can. 

"Gotta get mine, be back," he excuses himself and marches back to the counter. 

You look down at the gooey iced draped spiral. You really shouldn't. Not only accept his misspent generosity but indulge in the excess sugar. Yet your hormones won't let you resist. You can at least wait until he's sitting down. 

He returns with a black coffee and a rather colourful donut. They don't match. Bitter and sweet all at once. He sits and takes off his hat and sunglasses. 

You put your purse to the edge of the table and rest your hand on your stomach, doing your best to resist the animalistic need to tear apart the dessert. His eyes follow the movement and you quickly drop your arm. You don't even think when you do it, it's just a habit. 

"You-" he begins. 

"Wh--" you find your voice at the same time. 

You both stop, hesitant. He nods and gestures to you, lifting his cup as he watches you intently. That's new too. Thor never listened much, only talked a lot. Besides, you weren't exactly together for the conversation. 

"Sy," you clear your throat and sit forward as much as you can, "why are you following me around?" 

His brows form a vee, "I'm... it's not... I'm tryna help." 

"Okay, but why?" 

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and his cheek ticks as he gives the question genuine thought. When he looks at you again, his face is set, "because I want to." 

"You want to?" 

"Yes, I'd like to take care of you. And the little one, if you'll let me." 

You can't help your snort, "we hardly know each other." 

"Isn't for lack of trying," he taps his fingers on his mug. "Aren't ya gonna try the bun?" 

"I will," you assure him. He's trying to distract you and it's close to working. The cinnamon is driving you mad. "A baby is a lot of work and... I'm not your responsibility. I know Thor is your friend." 

"Was," he interjects.  

"Sure," you accept his decisive declaration, "but that doesn't mean you have to worry about his mistakes." 

"Mistakes? I don't think so," he says. 

"Well, it's not exactly planned," you scoff, "Sy, really I don't feel right about you doing so much." 

"Wouldn't feel right not doing it," he shrugs his burly shoulders. 

“But why?” You nearly exclaim. You just want to know why he cares so much, about you? 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “they talk about me too, ya know? Since I got back from... serving. They say I’m f—crazy, or whatever. It wasn’t easy or nothin’ over there but I’m not nuts. Not like they say. Just like you’re not some slut, forgive me for saying it out loud.” 

You look down at the table and exhale. So he hears as much as anyone else about you. At least he’s honest. At least he isn’t joining them. You purse your lips and reach for the cinnamon bun, unable to restrain yourself any longer. 

“For what it’s worth,” you raise your eyes to meet his, “I never thought you were... unwell, or whatever they say.” 

His cheeks pinch, another suppressed smile, and he tilts his head, “I’m only happy to hear you think of me.” 

[palmettoshenanigans]

HERE'S WHY I LOVE ANDREIL SO MUCH

Their main language - one no one else seems to speak (except maybe Renee and Bee?? which would explain why Neil finds their vibes off putting and why they're the ones able to get close to Andrew like that) - is the language of Technicalities and Semantics. But here's the thing: when you speak Technicalities and Semantics, its all in the subtext and the text. But you don't assume everyone is going to be literate in text and have the wherewithal to also delve into the subtext! You can't! Because people don't really do that, at least not with the level of intention that Andrew and Neil do.

Example: "I should hope so."

Imagine this, pretend Riko is alive. He gets into a car accident, and he survives unscathed. His car takes the brunt of it. Someone during a press conference relays this to Neil and says, "But Riko is okay!"

Neil smiles, exercises the bare minimum of his PR training and says, "I should hope so."

But, notice. He said he should hope so. Not that he would hope so.

"I would hope so" means I'm suppose to hope that this person is okay according to moral standards, and I do

"I should hope so" means I'm suppose to hope this person is okay according to moral standards, but I don't

God forbid someone asks further questions about his feelings on the matter. No one would take "Technically I said-" seriously because people don't normally play that game. The technical differences between 'would' and 'should' lack relevant meaning in this context because that's a meta-level conversation and no one has time for that kind of tit for tat - except Andrew.

Let's do another one: "Did you need something?"

Someone comes up to Neil and he says, full of suspicion, "Did you need something?" They say yes and tell him their needs, then he directs them to someone who can fulfill them. But - they argue - they were asking him for help and he offered!

"No," he says, "I asked if you needed something; never said I'd be the one to do anything about it."

And that's why (in this hypothetical) Neil specifically said "Did you need something?" and not "Can I help you?" because he wasn't going to help you anyway so why offer it, even if you'd never meant to ask? Because just like he can trap someone with his words, someone else can trap him with his own words.

And as a writer whose Special Interest is Language and how it can be manipulated, I LOVE THAT!!!

An aspect of why and how Andrew and Neil fell for each other was because they both speak this language. Technicalities and Semantics. That's why Neil understood more about Tilda than Aaron. It's why Andrew understood the weight of 'Abram'. It's why "Nothing" and "I hate you" spoke more volumes to them than any soft words ever could have. It's why "Stay" was able to bring Neil back from the brink. It's why what they don't say is just as important as what they do because "never said yes" == "no" and "never said no" =/= "yes" are obvious to them but not to others!

And its why they throw their words back at each other from past encounters! Because "we both know what you said and we both know what you meant, and we both know that this applies here too and i'm going to prove it by quoting you directly, check mate now kiss me hypocrite" is their fucking LOVE LANGUAGE FIGHT ME RIGHT NOW

Listen to the actual words coming out of their mouth, pay attention to their technical meanings, and be willing to also parse the subtext, and you will be fluent in Andreil forever.