Do you think Andrew tied Neil’s shoes for him before the team left to eat when they were at the cabin?
Because I’m picturing the whole team gawking while Neil sits there and insists, “I can tie my own shoes, Andrew.” And Andrew’s crouched down, tying them for Neil and swatting away his bandaged hands, as he unsympathetically retorts, “I don’t care. I’m hungry and I am not in the mood to sit here and watch you struggle for ten minutes just to prove a point.”
Okay, so I’ve had this stuck in my head lately and I figured I’d get it out here. Consider it my head canon on why Neil doesn’t like sweets. And OMFG, I did something that wasn’t ten pages! I did something short!!! Yay!
Uhm, so yeah, this deals with Neil’s/Nathaniel’s childhood, let’s just say the usual TFC warnings apply (Nathan, shall I say more?).
Nathaniel was never really allowed chocolates when he was little; his mother would sneer about ‘too-sweet American crap’ and his father… well, his father didn’t believe in ‘spoiling’ him, didn’t believe in any type of treats. The most Nathaniel’s mother would do was give him some hard candy from time to time, little tart balls in bright cellophane which he could suck on to keep quiet.
Quiet was good, and the tart flavors cleared his throat of the thick taste of copper and salt and mucus, of sniffing back his tears or licking away the blood that trickled down from his nose.
even underneath the waves, i’ll be holding on to you
aftg zombie au, “i want to go back for you”. warning: very long basically, what would happen if neil and andrew were separated during an apocalypic situation.
The news says it first.
The world is ending and everything has gone to shit.
Nowhere is safe and nothing is okay anymore.
Nothing was ever okay, but they make it sound new, like this is something nobody expected to happen. Not here, never here.
It started with a virus. It was like the flu in every other way; the fever that kept people bedridden for days, the sickness and the headaches. It was like the flu in every other way but one: it slowly ate away at people’s insides, made living people into nothing but hollow hosts. Nobody would have expected a kindergarten teacher from the West to lash out her students but it was even worse when she bit one, and then he bit his mother three weeks later and she bit her boss. Like that, the vicious cycle continued. Everywhere there was panic, there was a disaster, there was death.
Warnings: Murder? I suck at warnings. I realized now I skipped mentions of blood and cursing on other fics… Sorry.
Word count: 629
A/N: Tiny little one-shot because I’m working 24/7 just so this rare occasion isn’t left unnoticed, Friday the 13th on Halloween month :) To be honest with you I’ve never watched the movie… I just kinda know he’s called Jason and has a machete from when I used to play Zombies Ate My Neighbors… Y/H = Your Height.
It’s movie night for the cinephile couple of Riverdale. The smell of fresh popcorn fills the Andrew’s living-room as they were left alone to enjoy their date. Sweet touches and glances are exchanged before their usual dispute over what film to watch begins.
very little kept andrew tied to his bed. it wasn’t that he didn’t feel safe (there was a novelty to locked doors and his own room in a household where he was slowly giving himself over to trust). it wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it (he had a lot of rooms, going through foster care, and though technically some of them were his own, none of them were really his).
it was that he couldn’t sleep, and the novelty of everything: the smell of new sheets and new laundry detergent and having a lock on the door to the first room he could actually call his; all of it was keeping him up these days.
so, these days he rarely slept. more often he passed the time with stolen cigarette butts by the back porch, maybe spent rifling through the pantry at 3 AM.
on these particular days though, he curls up on himself on the couch, at 10 PM, half-waiting for nicky to find him, half-waiting for the cramps to stop.
the lock on the door slides and clicked open. it was a sound andrew has grown acquainted to in the last two weeks since they moved in. nicky entered the living room smelling like sweat, alcohol, and cologne and that, too, is familiar.
“andrew, are you okay?”
andrew was reminded that this was the first time nicky had seen him on his period.
“cramps,” andrew stated.
there was a moment where nicky fumbled a little with that and andrew kind of reveled with the fact that nicky was struggling but trying to get his head wrapped around the fact that andrew was a boy.
“oh,” nicky surmised eventually. “do you need anything? pads, ice cream?”
andrew shook his head. “aaron already got them earlier.”
nicky blinked. “aaron got them.”
andrew raised a brow at him.
aaron had, in fact, got him his supplies. aaron had been doing that when they started talking before andrew killed tilda. he’d continued doing it afterwards.
“okay then,” nicky said, walking down the hall. “don’t stay up too late, okay?”
andrew nodded, well aware that nicky wasn’t going to see it.
he didn’t know how or when he fell asleep, but he did wake up to a blanket and a hot compress laid down on the floor beside the couch.
NTAMW is an activist against racism yet also engages in highly misogynistic activities including shouting down WOC and trying to police them. Andrew Ti runs a popular blog on racism, yet he has sent me messages telling me to kill myself and telling me that I deserve to die of brain cancer.
😒😒 I’ve come to the conclusion that most men don’t consider sexism to be oppression or as serious as anything a man could face