it’s andrew giving in to an impulse he’s been fighting off because he knows deep down kissing neil would not be anything like kissing roland. because he cares about neil and he hates it but he knows that there’s no turning back now
it’s neil figuring out that he really does wantthis but still unsure if it’s worth the risk
it’s andrew saying ‘tell me no’ and neil not saying anything because he’s kind of in the middle of a crisis and he wants to kiss andrew, he doesn’t want to say ‘no’ but he can’t say ‘yes’ yet either
and it’s andrew pushing neil away even though he doesn’t tell him ‘no’ because he didn’t say ‘yes’ either and he knows that even if he had neil isn’t in any state of mind to be able to give consent
that kiss on the roof is the start of everything and andrew is terrified of falling but he’s really too late to stop it
oh my god do not refer to yuuri katsuki as “Jap Yuri.”
“jap” is a slur.
It was commonly used in WWII-era United States (and probably its English-speaking allies). Its use went hand-in-hand with the persecution and internment of Japanese-American immigrants AND natural-born citizens as spies, traitors, criminals, etc. Please look up “japanese internment” if you want to read more.
the proper abbreviation for Japan/Japanese is jpn.
and besides, there’s already a way to differentiate between the two:
yuuri katsuki = yuuri
yuri plisetsky = yurio
tldr: “jap” is a slur so don’t use it for yuuri katsuki or in any other situation if you can’t reclaim it thanks
- Percival and Theseus. Not just pen pals, not just formidable coworkers exchanging letters from one shore of Atlantic to the other, but friends, in the highest sense of the word - friends forged in War and trenches and rain and blood dripping down necks slick with sweat. The kind of friends you can not see for nine years and when you do it’s like not a day has passed, the kind of friends who hugs you when you’re chocking on homesickness and shushes you like a mother would, and yes, the kind you sometimes slips in a cot with to hold on through the freezing France nights and press closer and closer until it’s just skin and dust-tasting lips and his hands searching yours as he pushes down, young hearts hammering like exploding grenades because I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna i won’t let you die.
- Percival looking all classy and polished, when they’re still off the front and spending evenings bragging around French clubs in their brand-new suits - imagine a younger Graves, still unrefined around the edges, raven-black hair, a lock perpetually falling on his eye, the uniform in pristine order and a modest elegance you just can’t fake - while Theseus is all laughs and curses and songs and perpetually in disarray, from the mop of auburn hair to the collar he never learnt to make. They’re a study in contrast, the Yankee dandy and the Brit oaf. Appearances can be tricky, though. Because actually it’s Theseus the more straight-forward, the brash, combat-minded Gryffindor, made to make plans on a chart and guide man and get into fights and get into beds; and Percival is the pensive Horned Serpent, quiet and observing and still feeling too old for his body, curling up on his cot at the training camp with his pile of books. There’s a lot of books around Percival Graves - Theseus learns it the hard way, finding his bed surrounded with neat stacks of volumes and having to resort to phisically beg him to sneak out and do something, anything Percival - and Magical Criminology of Goblin Organizations, really? Is this even a real subject?
But the world is enamoured with the dandy and the oaf, and oh, how they like to encourage it. Percival purposefully making his movements languid when lifting his glass of brandy at the bar, putting on cufflinks carved in jade and painting cat-like smiles on his face; Theseus exaggerating his clumsy stumbling and hiding the fierce intelligence of his green-grey eyes behind his bushy beard.
If only they know their New York dandy is the fusspot mother lamenting I don’t fold my socks the right way.