~ Ships & Headcanons ~

Alana/W | 25 | Tarus | She/Her |

[mlm-writer]

Atish'an (Dorian x M!Reader)

Pairing:  Dorian Pavus x Male Elf Inquisitor (trans-friendly) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1306 POV: Second Summary: The inquisitor is having feeling for the Tevinter, but the tragedy of a past lost make it hard to act on those feelings. Tags: hurt & comfort, love confession (?), flirting, Dorian's fabulous moustache, getting together (?), Elven language & dash of angst

A tingling sensation danced  like a warm fire over your lips. It had been a while since you had speed-walked towards your chambers, but you still felt it. It was lingering like a ghost, a remnant. You touched your lips lightly, replaying the abrupt kiss Dorian gave you after Mother Giselle accused him of being some sort of bad influence. Maybe he was. You didn’t care though. 

Your hand reflexively reached up to the pendant hanging from your neck. The simple jewellery wasn’t worth a single piece of gold, but you had made sure it survived the conclave, the journey through time and the attack on Haven. The thin chain was starting to get some wear and tear from your nervous fiddling and the pendant itself was losing its outer coating. “Zevwen,” you whispered the name into the cold air, like a soft prayer for your long gone lover. It had been a good decade ago, but you could recall the last day you heard his voice crystal clear.

He was pale as the snow in the mountains. The only colour on his visage was the redness around his eyes. Fingers, thin and trembling, lightly held onto yours. His voice had been a mere fragment of what it used to be. “Ma vhenan, you were meant for great things; I have always seen legends in your soul.” Such a convoluted way to tell you to live on, venture away from the clan and carve your own path. You did just that a few months ago; look where that got you. 

A deep sigh left your lips, before you rose from where you were seated on the edge of the bed. You tucked the pendant back under your clothes and went on to be the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the random guy who is going to defeat Corypheus. No big deal. 

—

The Winter Palace was as grand as the Game was despicable. In the grand mess of schemes and murder, Dorian seemed to have enjoyed himself in some way. You suspected he would mingle well with the nobility. A few times when you passed him by, a young Orlesian woman was trying to woo him. The forbiddeness of a Tevinter man was very popular among the younger ladies. It was somewhat amusing to see Dorian suffer through tactfully rejecting them one by one, without causing a political debacle that would torture Josephine for months to come. 

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters. I told her you left already.” Dorian made his grand entrance on the balcony. There was really no hiding from him. “You can thank me later or now, but… you look distracted. Something on your mind?” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. It had been a wild night, but even as an entire empire was on the verge of crumbling, you had often found your mind drift to the way he was filling out that ridiculous red tunic. 

“Did you need me for something?” You finally turn your head to really look at him; that was a mistake. Steel grey eyes bore into your soul, searching for answers to inquiries he had not even made yet. You tried to keep your expression neutral, hiding your emotions beneath a blanket of professionalism. 

Dorian turned towards you, one arm handsomely leaning on the edge of the balcony. “Oh, I always need you for something.” He gave you another one of those insincere charming smiles; you were both inept at expressing honest emotions. “I would say the question remains whether you need me, but I know you do. Afterall, you would not have extended the invitation of the scheming marquis if you didn’t.” His arm waved around in a grand motion. You hummed and nodded in reply, knowing he would continue talking no matter what your reaction was. “In any case, I know what you need now too. A distraction.” He pushed himself off the stone and offered you a hand. “Dance with me, Inquisitor.” 

A smile creeped onto your face. You tried to hide it by looking down, but you knew Dorian had already seen it. Without a word, you took his hand. He pulled you into the empty space on the balcony. The music drifted through the slit between the doors, guiding your intimate dance under the night sky. Josephine had appointed you a dance teacher for tonight, so you would fit in, but Orlesian nobility apparently danced differently from the Tevinter nobility. It was hard to anticipate Dorian’s movements. Maybe it was just Dorian, ever the storm, the chaos, the novelty. Maybe Dorian actually didn’t know how to dance. 

Nonetheless, he held your eyes hostage with his. The warmth of his body seeped through your fancy clothes. The sweet scent of his perfume filled your nose. He was everywhere around you, making your heart race and heat rise to your face. You dipped him; matching smiles adorned both your faces. “This is the moment you kiss the evil magister, Inquisitor.” His soft-spoken, alluring words broke the spell. Anxiety creeped up your spine. You pulled him up and let him go. “Or not,” Dorian added without hiding the disappointment in his tone. 

You took a steadying breath and rubbed your face. “Sorry… We… We need to talk.” When you looked at Dorian again, he had his arms crossed. He seemed to be waiting for you to continue speaking. It seemed like he had his mind sorted already and it was just you who needed to talk. You leaned over the edge of the balcony, avoiding eye contact. “Please do not misunderstand. I do like you. I just…” The emotions clogged your throat. Dorian slid into the space beside you. He put one of his strong arms across your shoulders, pulling you against him. You leaned against him, finding peace in his presence. Another calming breath helped you find your words again. “I have lost someone dear to me before… We did not even live a perilous life back then and we…” A rough chuckle escaped your tight throat. Dorian waited patiently for your every word. “I thought I would spend my life with him, but illness got a hold of him before our future could. I do not know if my heart is strong enough for another loss like that.” 

You allowed yourself to lay your eyes upon Dorian again. For once, the Tevinter seemed to be serious. He pulled you close against him, resting his head against yours. “I cannot promise you will never lose me, but I can promise you that I will make every second of joy worth any possible moment of mourning.” His voice vibrated through your body, lulling you into comfort. “It is not good for the skin to be mourning me while I am still alive.” 

You couldn’t suppress the chuckle bubbling up. You turned towards Dorian. He faced you, a confident smirk on his lips, but fear of rejection hidden in his eyes. “You’re right. I should not mourn you while you’re still breathing.” You caressed his face, playing briefly with that wonderful moustache. “I’d like to pick this up without the Orlesian court lurking around the corner, if you’d let me.” 

Dorian took your hand and placed a gallant kiss on your knuckles. “I am quite looking forward to what exactly you will be picking up, Inquisitor.” His grin churned your insides in a way that was both frightening and delightful. “Until then.” His fingers lingered on yours as he slowly let go of your hand with a flirtatious wink. Dorian turned to walk away, hips swaying a little with every step he took to leave the balcony. He left you more fearful than ever, but also -  for the first time in a long while - hopeful. 

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

[itsashowtime]

Hi! I need help raising money for my official gender marker change which is VERY costly. Please consider working with me / spreading the word! This really means a lot to me.

Link: https://ko-fi.com/itsashowtime/commissions

[writing-prompt-s]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sadoeuphemist]

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

[sameenbyhat]

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

[stu-pot]

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

[corancoranthemagicalman]

I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I’m crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of.

[threefeline]

[writing-prompt-s]

This is amazing!

[smooththegoofyshark]

[evecoffn]

character concept: two people who have been reincarnated for thousands of years and have always found eachother but instead of being in love they just fucking hate eachother

[salty-red-mage]

[salty-red-mage]

I am so glad to see this back on my dash with my addition

[link-the-feral-anon]

I just

Love this so much

[raxxxputin-deactivated20230702]

[30secondstothailand]

new rule: everytime this appears in your dash you must reblog

[choiceofgames]

New game! The Dragon and the Djinn, by Athar Fikry

You hold a djinn in a bottle. Make a wish! Will you slay the dragon, or overthrow the emir? Or will you free the djinn, and accept the consequences? https://www.choiceofgames.com/dragon-and-the-djinn/

The Dragon and the Djinn is a 710,000 word interactive Arab epic fantasy novel by Athar Fikry, where your choices control the story. It’s entirely text-based—without graphics or sound effects—and fueled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

A dragon terrorizes the grand city of Ghariba - the same dragon that slew the city’s emira. Now a new emir, Alaaeldin, sits upon the throne. He throws lavish parties for the nobility while religious and social unrest churns beneath the city’s surface - and as the dragon’s devastating attacks worsen day by day.

You have come to Ghariba in pursuit of your sister. She stole the magical sword that you made, claiming that it is her destiny to slay the dragon.

But your destiny finds you instead. Jaafar, the Grand Wazir, hands you an unexplained gift, the most precious and dangerous thing of all: a djinn who will grant your every wish. (You may wish as many times as you like! Wish and wish and wish, until your djinn has had enough, twists your words against you, and destroys you with your own wishes.)

With your djinn in your hands, every faction is now vying for your aid. You must use your wits, your words, your strength, and your magic to navigate the politics of the palace, the city, and even the world beyond.

How will you use your wishes? Will you protect Ghariba from the dragon by helping your sister? Will you slay the dragon yourself? Will you listen to those who consider it sacred and want to keep it safe? Will you be able to unravel the mystery behind the dragon’s sudden appearance? Or will you simply take advantage of the chaos to make yourself the richest person in Ghariba?

• Play as male, female, or nonbinary; gay, straight, or bi; cis or trans; aromantic, asexual, or both, with many shadings of asexuality! • Race through the skies on a magic carpet. • Use your djinn to wish for information, wealth, and more - or free the djinn and discover even more wonders. • Slay a dragon - or save it, and help it speak so that it can tell you its secrets. • Achieve your destiny as a grand magician, a silver-tongued poet, the protector of the realm, or something even greater. • Secure the reign of Emir Alaaeldin or join forces with those who would depose him—and even take the throne for yourself! • Find love with a dragon-slaying warrior, a charming court poet, an idealistic prophet, a lofty priestess, a wealthy noble—or even a djinn!

Be careful what you wish for…

[tetsu-chii]

Visit Original Link

So i saw that both Choutarou and Ryou had versions of this song and I decided to do a little editing and made it a duet of the Silver Pair of Hyotei x3 hope you all enjoy.

[theawesomeadventurer]

i’m so proud of my fiancé :,) the kickstarter he and a bunch of my friends are a part of is already at $12,000!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[theawesomeadventurer]

please support this game i want it so bad lmao

https://validategame.com/

VALIDATE: Struggling Singles in Your Area

Validate is a visual novel in which you get to experience what it means to exist as an adult in your twenties.

[thestalkerbunny]

Times are troubling and hard right now-but never forget, your Beet loving Grandmother loves you very very much and wants you to be safe.

And for you to eat your vegetables.

[popsunner]

So there’s this huge dudebro in my class, who, yesterday, sat next to me. And I’m sitting there sweating because like… I’m wearing my shirt with the lesbian flag on it, and he’s the most popular jock in school, and always has this look on his face that say ‘I can and will kill you’. He looks me up and down, stares at me for a minute and then goes, “So. Girls in skirts and long socks, am I right?”

To which I nodded solemnly, both out of agreement, surprise and also a healthy amount of awkward fear. He nodded and went, “You get it.”

I said, “Yep.” He fistbumped me, and on went our lives.

[popsunner]

Oh! I forgot to mention! I saw him at lunch the same day, and he ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, pointed at this super sweet girl who comes to GSA and asked if she’s gay. I told him he should ask her because that’s not my place and he said he would.

I thought that would be the end of it.

Except ten minutes later he came back and told me he found out (she’s bi) and that both of us have a shot. I said “You more than me.” because he’s attractive and popular. 

But this wholesome dumbass looked really confused and asked, “Because I’m tall?’

[popsunner]

So this isn’t lesbian/jock solidarity but I thought you guys would want to know-

My math teacher was trying to fix the rolling whiteboard and he just offhand said “This would be easier with a wrench”

And deadass, dudebro said “Hang on” and then proceeded to pull a fucking wrench out of his backpack

[popsunner]

Update- after school today he saw me in the library and he didn’t say anything? He just pointed at the book he was holding and I gave him a thumbs up because it’s a pretty good book, and he went “Yes!” Really quiet and pumped his fist and then left

[popsunner]

Okay so today he asked me if I know how to help people having a panic attack and I was like yeah? And he smiled at me and then went “cool I think I’m having one”

And I was like what the fuck Colin we’re in the middle of Tech class sit down and we went out in the hall and sat there for a while and he told me about the test he’s stressed about so we kind of went over his study guide and when he was feeling better he kind of like… smacked his head against mine gently? And I helped him up even though he’s almost a foot taller than me and yeah

[popsunner]

Today at lunch we walked to the football field and laid in the grass and I told him thank you for being my friend (because I don’t have that many) and fistbumped me and said, “You always looked so nice and chill, how could I not want to be your friend?”

And honestly y’all, I would’ve started crying if he hadn’t sneezed and accidentally smacked me

[annabanannabeth]

[stimming4dayz]

dudebro fucking chugs Respect Juice™

[hpowellsmith]

Strong Gonzalez vibes from this wholesomeness

[tetsu-chii]

Took a break studying for midterms and decided to pull out my laptop and tablet to actually do a full set of drawings of Hartmann, Max and Freddie ☺️

@hpowellsmith

[tetsu-chii]

Here's a quick little doodle I did on my phone of the Crème de la Crème character Max Van Meyer. I think I redid this drawing a good 7 times 😂 I have the original sketch in my drawing book but it's semi realism and I was wanting to transition more into my normal art style? Or try to since I haven't had the time to draw in it since I've been busy with school.

I'll probably try and draw Hartmann next or my OC Lira Van Rossum ☺️

@hpowellsmith

[amtrax]

Everyone to staff: fix it

Staff:

[wereralph]

THIS POST GOT FLAGGED IM LITERALLY GOING TO SHIT

[wide-awaaaaake]

Alternatives to Tumblr if Yahoo goes any further

Soup.io - well-known alternative to Tumblr. Reblogging, post types, themes, collab blogs, dashboard, artsy, great community already there. Soup can auto-import everything you’ve posted on Tumblr.

TypePad - Includes reblogging. Dashboard and post types similar to Tumblr.

Jux - Artful posts, beautiful blogging experience

[bollymusings]

Reblogging cause one day it just may be neccessary.

[arubbishmedic]

It became necessary

[mckaytriarchy-2-deactivated2018]

WordPress will also import Tumblr blogs.

[theveryworstthing]

i’ve gotten a lot of suggestions for pillowfort and mastodon and even newgrounds, but here are some other alternatives.

[nxah-czerny]

I have you to thank for finding the all for the Game series. One of your one-shots popped up on my dash and well, through your amazing writing, I found such an amazing series. Thank you!~☆

i’m so flattered!??! and honored that i am the reason you found these wonderful books!!! thank you! can i ask which one shot it was??

[tetsu-chii]

It was the one where Niel is in his last year and has a roommate that has a crush on him but Neil is utterly oblivious and the kid ends up with his hopes dashed when Andrew shows up and kisses Neil. :)

[nxah-czerny]

Dont you think it’s hilarious how a lot of people (students, team mates?, fans, people from other teams) have a crush on neil and andrew is probably frustrated sometimes bc neil is so oblivious and NICE while nicky simply laughs 😂

neil is so oblivious and andrew doesn’t know if he’s more frustrated that neil is unaware when people are obviously flirting with him, or because people are flirting with him. nicky loves watching those poor bastards flirting with what might as well be a brick wall. they get nothing in return. sometimes neil thinks they’re just being friendly so he’s friendly right back. other times he’s accidentally cruel without even knowing it and nicky gets a huge kick out of it 

[nxah-czerny]

a concept: they are at eden's twilight and a guy is obviously hitting on neil so andrew walls over and just puts his hand on neil's ass or into the backpocket of his jeans and stares the guy down lmao and neil is like ... uhh whats up? and andrew is like... i cant believe you. does another guy have to kiss you for you to get it? lmao poor neil

poor everyone in this situation. this poor dude flirting with neil has no idea that neil has the most intimidating and jealous (in a not creepy way) boyfriend ever. he just wants to flirt with this pretty boy who is not picking up on anything he’s laying down, but then here comes his 5 foot tall terrifying boyfriend with murder in his eyes and honestly no one is a winner in this situation. except andrew. and maybe neil when andrew gives him some extra affection. okay so maybe the only loser is this poor asshole who has no idea he just hit on the worst person to hit on in the world