rarajc067

[ultimatefangirlxx]

Made a lil Philikas lockscreen :) opinions??

[antiriko-arc]

bill wurtz voice: H O T

[philipshay]

yo so i track philipshay if you wanna tag me in anything!! edits or fics or literally anything!!!

[harringtown]

Listen I’m not saying I’m crying over Stories Tucked Away again but,,,,,, I’m totally crying over it again and you’ve left me between wanting to binge more of your writing but also wanting to give myself a break because who knows what I’ll do once I get through all your content. You’re an amazing writer and I can’t wait to continue going through your art!

UGH this is the nicest!!! sorry but not at all sorry for the tears!!! i have like. so much. writing on here. so much. so if you do run out of ST content I have a bunch of other fandoms on here, and some on my old side blog @philipshay!

thank you so so much for the love and support!

[devin-druid]

This is just a little appreciation post for all of my super cool mutuals! Whether we’ve been mutuals for a day, a week, a month, or since I made this blog; thanks for putting up with me and stickin’ around!

(Also, some of you probably know me from my other blog @gallavich or my previous URLs, potter or williammagnusson! In case you’re confused!)

If I forgot any mutuals, I’m sorry and it was an honest mistake. Just message me and I’ll add you in :) I handwrote all of these just so I could alphabetize them, so I probably forgot a couple people, but it wasn’t intentional lol sorry!

@aaronminyardt @abrcxasmalfoy @ackermehn @adamsronan @admlynch @albuspottre @alecs @alexdanves @allisonreynolds @alrightpotter @amidcla @amypnde @amysartiago @angelinajohnsn @anthenia @antiriko @arabianrose @archerboy @argorns @aristiotles @artoemis @asokhas @atmosphersus @auadakedavra @auroremus @aurorharry @bakkacar @bakkovsh @bancheelydia @barryallhan @bjllpotts @blcise @bramgrcenfeld @brieme @brxndibuck @callron @carl-griimes @carlscrib @cassianansdor @celebrlan @charlesluciano @charlieweesley @cho-chang @chochanng @chvchang @cindurellas @clarapotters @cohens @czernynoaah @daenerysn @dailyprophet @daisieridley @daylightring @deadgwen @deanthvmas @delacourr @dennisreynulds @dianapricve @djckgrayson @dobrens @dracomalfoys @dreamthievves @drspenceyreid @dylanosbrien @eataliens @eleveun @eskildfoxes @evaschistad @evenandsana @expelumos @ezmiller @faeheys @fallstopieces @fcyre @fierceds @fionagallaqher @fleursdelcour @frances-janvier @frankensteinn @fredweaselys @fremione @fuxkashton @gabrielledelacor @gahllagher @gangseyys @georgiehenley @ginnyweaslcy @ginsharry @gobstones @grandestruly @griffindors @hauntedmonmouth @hcllland @henrkholm @henrytilney @herimone @hermionejean @hermiolne @hermiunes @hermionejgranger @hermiounes @herondasle @howlingremus @hufflvpuff @jakeperaltas @jamespottes @jamespottuh @jaredpadaleckis @jeangel @jeangranger @jeans-ralphio @jeremydooley @jilys @joeck @joharvellle @julietcapulct @jvshduns @jynersso @jynren @kaitefitch @kaitegecko @katie-bell @katiebells @katiegardhner @katjebell @katsmcnmara @kettercrows @kingscross @kittrooks @kknobi @kyvber @ladyvadcr @lavernecoxs @leiiaorgxna @lenibusker @levisosa @lightningera @liilyevans @lilieevans @lilyevians @lilyvans @lizzieols @llnny @luciuvs @lunaloved @lupins @lovesclub @lsaks @lynchsronan @magnuslighwood @margaervs @matthishelvar @mayamatlin @mccalls @meraudurs @mermaeids @minyardx @mlfoydraco @mollywealsey @muqqlestudies @mustafahr @narclssa @narlilys @nateschucks @neilabramjcsten @nejighafa @nevvilleslongbottom @nicoediangelo @nightlock @ninczeniks @njmphadora @noelfmilkovich @nymqhdora @obiliviate @occlumencia @odairannies @ohpottecr @ohsanvers @oliverswood @olrasargent @onetreehil @opalynch @orgaena @paansyparkinson @padmaspatil @palmettc @pantheonvevo @paraschrute @pavratipatil @pcddfoot @pemberelys @percweasly @persepone @persesphne @petyrs @pheonnixx @philipshay @philukas @pinkman @poedamxron @poethry @polaroids @pollycooper @porpentincgoldstein @posiedcns @potter @preselys @princediiana @puredean @ranvenclaw @rapunzils @ravehclaw @regems @remusrjlupin @revneewalker @reynoldss @robbsvtark @rogersnadal @ronsweasley @ronwealseys @roryglimore @rosegranger @rositaspinosa @rrey @rsakvaltersen @samwesson @sanabakkosh @sanadear @sanaismyqueen @sanasbakkcush @sanasnooras @sanasols @sharoonroney @sheakspaere @sirjsblack @sirsusblack @sithobi @slughcrn @slyherih @snabakkoush @snicketbeatrice @softlykaz @softprongs @sohftskies @soldatsass @stardvsts @stormparker @stranqerthinqs @strawars @strikingneil @spidermhan @spidermmans @spidersgirl @targaryvns @tedtonks @tessagray @theodorenctt @theodornott @thestrlas @thunderbjrd @tjnagoldstein @tomolland @tposey @tqrth @trevordianas @triwizard @troysivan @tylersjoscph @tylorswft @valtersehn @vildeleins @vildeliehn @vildes @vxders @weaslly @wespr @widowelena @wintercovrt @williamsturners @wveck @yousefacar @zcbini @zehnxdaya @zhirley @zoyanina @6thweasley

[cagetheaussies]

tagged by the lovely @stardustflake thanks girl

Tag people you want to know better

Age? 18 woop woop

What are you talented at? I’m decent at art & it’s my favorite thing to do

What’s a big goal you’re working towards (or have already achieved)? Being happy and feeling good in my own skin

What’s your aesthetic? Light yellow, waking up in a warm bed because of the sunshine coming through the window, clothes that make me feel like I belong in the 80s and 90s, having my hair played with, the crackly sound of a record player, beautiful cinematography, Frank Ocean’s angelic voice, the smell of fresh air in my house when it’s warm enough to open the windows, collages, full completed sketchbooks

Do you collect anything? The keepsakes from my concerts

What are the topics you bring up the most? Well it’s super easy for me to talk about music, television shows, & movies for like hours at a time but it also depends on the person I’m talking to

Any pet peeves? Close minded people, people who are unnecessarily rude to cashiers and waiters or other workers, people who swish their spit around in their mouth & it makes that awful sound (don’t even get me started)

Any good advice to give?                                                                            There is so much potential there... thing’s may be shit now but just imagine how great your future could be

Songs that you’d recommend?                                                                  ((These are some songs I’ve been really into recently))

Chanel - Frank Ocean (while you’re at it just listen to every single song of his), HEAVEN (feat. Betty Who) - Troye Sivan, Atlas: Year One (album) - Sleeping At Last, American Boyfriend: A Suburban Love Story (album) - Kevin Abstract, The Message - Nas, Oceans - Seafret, To the Wonder - Aqualung, Redbone - Childish Gambino, Hey Good Lookin’ - Blonde Tongues, My Face - Skegss, Faded - Alan Walker, Pretty Pimpin - Kurt Vile, September - Earth, Wind & Fire

Tagging:

@headsache @panzerglasgedanken @existentialcity @danyceiba21 @philipshay @like4godscroll4satan @milkobitchmickey

[somenewobsessions]

I’ve been tagged by @merryweather0708 (thanks babe!) 

Name: Andjela Nicknames: Ange, Nano (which means ‘dwarf’ in Italian), Angy (i despise it fml) Zodiac Sign: Aries (Tiger in the Chinese one which is awesome) Height: no idea?? 1.67 m or something????  Orientation: bisexual

Ethnicity: I’m white as sand, though i do get a tan in the summer (if i don’t burn)

Favorite Fruit: probably strawberries and oranges Favorite Book: my buddy. what kind of question is this??? I don’t know???? right now probably ‘The Princess Saves Herself in This One’ by Amanda Lovelace, ‘The Song of Achilles’ and ‘Looking for Alaska’ by John Green. Favorite Flower: sunflower Favorite Scent: my mom’s perfume Colour: mh, black Favorite Animal: ??? dolphins? cats? dogs?? horses???  Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: tea Average Sleep Hours: oh boy i could sleep all day all night, or i could stay awake for three days straight, there’s no in between Cat or dog person?: COVER ME IN PUPPIES AND KITTIES I DON’T CARE all that fluff o m g  Favorite Fictional Character: Finn Collins, from the 100; Even Bech Naesheim, from Skam; Draco Malfoy, from Harry Potter; we’re gonna be here for a while damn it Number of blankets you sleep with: usually 2/3 Dream Trip: Norway, Greece, Spain, New Zealand and Australia Blog Created: oooooh boy like 2012? but i didn’t use it for like 2 years and then i started it again Number of Followers: 526 (HOW. Though i love you all. But like, 100 must be porn blogs. Hope you enjoy all the rants and the gay btw)

I tag:  @shadeandadidas @sanasevaks @alterwords @philipshay @isak-valterson @kardemomme-kisses 

That’s it have fun :)

[antiriko-arc]

make this pain worth it. | part 1.

Andrew Minyard was born to die. It was the sad, harsh truth of his existence. It was something he lived with everyday, a weight like the world on Altas’ shoulders. He was carrying his demise. It wasn't even scary, the thought of death. Maybe it’s because death could be compared to a parasite; it lives inside you, festering, forming, until it takes you apart slowly and then you become rot and ruin and dust, until you decay from history itself.

Andrew Minyard knew he was going to die well before he was supposed to.

And he couldn't do anything about it. He was expected to give his life, if so needed, for whoever bought him. Andrew doubted that would happen. He resented the fact that he could be owned like a dog by someone. Someone who was weak and pitiful, who couldn't protect themself. If he didn’t take a bullet for his master, he would probably be killed when he was deemed no longer useful. That’s what happened when you were bred like a fucking dog. No one got out. You had kids, raised them to be loyal and ready to throw themselves off a bridge if their master asked them to. They put down the rabid ones, the ones who bit the hands of those who fed them. But Andrew had survived. Maybe it was because his psychotic tendencies had never shown themselves properly. Maybe it was because he had never really snapped at anyone. But the madness was there. It was inside every fibre, inside his bones. Andrew was his madness, his madness was him. It lay dormant, sitting, aching, waiting to take over and make its host more dangerous than he was already. No one wanted a rabid dog. They were killers; they could turn at the drop of a hat and kill whoever decided to take them in. It was dangerous, to ask them to protect you when they were waiting for the right moment to strike and rip your throat out. Maybe his mother could tell what was inside him. Maybe that was why she tossed him away. Maybe that's why she kept his pitiful brother instead. Andrew despised his brother. They were identical, and the only thing that distinguished them were the bands which Andrew wore on his arms. No one cared enough to ask why he wore them; he had given them their answers when they first asked him (a false smile and a short reply about how they were ‘none of your goddamn business’). Aaron was pathetic, at least in Andrew’s eyes. His mother had dealt so many blows that Aaron cowered beneath them for his whole life. He had learnt to deal with his erratic mother, to not say anything. Andrew knew that was the problem, that he was passive and took whatever he was given. Andrew hated him. He had grown up unaware of his shithead of a mother. He had grown up with steel skin, believing he was untouchable if he deemed it so (and often he did deem it so). He grew up with silent tears at midnight, the only way to take out the pain was to cut and scratch and bleed. Aaron grew up with pills washed down with cheap vodka, fresh bruises on any patch of skin that wouldn't be noticeable. Andrew noticed. Aaron cried when his mother died. Andrew just grinned throughout the whole thing. His medication left him buzzing above everyone else, every feeling elevated. His hatred for Tilda though, that was real. It was solid, a lump in his stomach that kept him grounded. The wake’s turnout was poor; there were a few people who stayed for tea and coffee, for the finger sandwiches that Aaron's aunt Maria had prepared. Andrew had asked mocking questions and laughed at her efforts, but she hadn't replied, instead continuing to butter bread and cut slices. Perhaps Aaron had warned her of his hostile behaviour. Andrew stood alone, hands in his pockets and smile still present on his face. The high of his medicine was shit, really, but he was doped up so often he was used to it. He missed the days when his foster brother would pass him a joint, and they would take turns inhaling the smoke, children getting high. “Andrew.” His head cocked, turning towards the sound of the voice. A woman, with a large grin plastered on her face. Andrew smiled back, and the women's own grin seemed to grow. “You must know about me.” “I can’t say I do,” he replied, taking a small step towards her. “Are you here to pay your respects? Do you miss dear Tilda? She was such a lovely woman.” His lips curled at the word lovely, teeth bared and glissening ferally. The woman laughed a hollow laugh, tossing back her head. She straightened up and leaned in towards him, eyes showing the madness that she had. “Fuck your mother. I’m here to collect you.” Andrew tapped his index and middle finger against his temple, eyes cold. “That’s not very nice. Are you here to put me out of my misery?” The woman’s eyes narrowed, though the smile she wore never faltered. “You’ve been bought.” It was Andrew’s turn to laugh, and it was just as false as hers had been. “Who’s fucked up enough to buy a broken dog?” “Someone desperate.” “No one is desperate enough for that,” he replied easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Now please, let me mourn in peace.” The woman didn’t move, just standing there, eyes trained hungrily on him. Her smile had turned sour, and Andrew was thrilled by how wound up she was getting. “You’ll come with me, Andrew, or I will make you.” He waved his hand dismissively, turning his back on her. “I’ll kill your brother.” “I hate him.” He turned away from her without another word. She said nothing, and Andrew could faintly hear the sound of the woman walking away. The sound of Maria’s scream broke his reverie. He turned on his heel, and saw the woman was holding a knife to Aaron's face, one arm locked around his neck. He wasn’t moving, keeping his eyes locked with Andrew. The next few things happened quickly. Andrew laughed, and the woman craved a line down Aaron's face. Blood welled on the laceration. Andrew was across the room in seconds, anger fuelling his advance. His knuckles connected with the soft tissue of her throat. He felt her windpipe move beneath his hand. He felt her let go of Aaron, heard her breath come out of her mouth. She fell to the ground, her laughs drowned out by her coughs. Aaron stared at Andrew, his gaze empty. He wiped a hand over his cut, and stared at the blood. “You were bought.” “I don’t care. What was our deal?” “The deal is off. You’re going to go,” Aaron hissed, looking towards the woman. “Fuck off, Andrew. You've done enough damage here.” The woman grinned up at them, teeth bared like a wild animal. Aaron's words only seemed to encourage her. “Come with me, Andrew. Nathan will be happy with his purchase.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said, eyes trained on the woman, though his words were meant for his brother. “I belong to no one.”

“You are Nathan Wesninski’s dog. You belong to him. You will die for him,” the woman said, voice still hoarse from Andrew’s attack. Andrew wanted to hurt her again and again, until she stopped moving and her heart beat ceased.

“Fuck you.”

“Andrew, you know the rules,” Aaron hissed from behind Andrew. “You’re going.”

Andrew turned around, and looked at his brother. He stalked forward, until the two were almost touching. Andrew dug his nails into Aaron’s cheek, tilting his head forward.

“You want me to break our deal?”

“We were never going to be bought together. I don’t know why I ever agreed to that deal,” Aaron said, not bothering to move away from the nails biting into the skin of his face.

“You’re coming with me.”

Aaron allowed himself to smirk, turning his head towards the woman staring at them. “I think she only wants one of us,”

“I won’t allow you to get hurt anymore. You are mine, remember?.”

“You’re not even yours. Get the fuck out of here.” Aaron placed a flat hand on Andrew’s chest, pushing him away. Andrew stepped backwards, the hand on his chest sending waves of both anger and anxiety through his petite frame.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” A reminder, one that Andrew knew that Aaron would never have to remember. “I hate you.” Andrew could feel the presence of the woman behind him, hovering too close for his comfort.

“The car is waiting, Andrew,” the woman whispered in his ear, her smile evident even in her voice.

He had to go. He was a sold dog, who was forced to stand by his owner’s side, guns and knives strapped to his body. A dog who would be shot if he yapped too loud. He was fucked, in every sense of the word. 

Andrew Minyard was going to die well before his time.

[philipshay]

Every time I read your URL I accidentally read it as philipsgay and not philipshay,,,,,,,,, just thought I'd leave that here

i just tried to save that url but someone already has it…curse you owner of philipsgay

[tkrug47]

@philipshay watching a Buzzfeed video and

[evaksblackrose]

Get to know your mutuals!

✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽✩*ೃ❀☽

I was tagged by @caliskam , thank you!!

Name/nickname/whatever you prefer to be called? Acacia (it’s pronounced akaysha)

Pronouns? She/her

Age? 17

Fav Skam character? Even. 

When did you start watching Skam? The night the last episode aired, I decided that I would watch it to make me feel better little did I know...

When did you make your blog? I don’t really remember, but I want to say like 2 years ago

Who are you cheering for to be s4′s main? Even, I just really love him okay????

Who do you think is most likely to be s4′s main? Idk, but if I had to guess even

What are your main interests? Reading, writing, languages, ballet. Sleep

Something you’re always up to discuss? Pretty much anything

Something you refuse to discuss? Politics

Other favorite shows aside from Skam? Shadowhunters, agents of shield, a series of unfortunate events, supernatural, sherlock, and a whole lot more

I tag @isakkxeven @shelleyhenign @philipshay and anyone else that wants to do it. 

✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽ ✩*ೃ❀☽✩*ೃ❀☽

[stevebucks-archive]

Hi, do you have any Philkas fics to rec?

I have a few in my ‘philkas fic’ tag and also anything by @philipshay is Quality™ gold, I don’t have links to any long ones unfortunately:( hope this helps!

[harringtown]

I DIDNT KNOW YOU HAVE ANOTHER BLOG! WHAT IS IT???

i do!!! its @philipshay

[am-i-bi-or-just-gay]

@philipshay I DIDN'T GET A GOODBYE HUG!!!! COME HUG MERCEDES!!!!!!

[antiriko-arc]

make this pain worth it. | p2

Nathaniel Wesninski was a very dangerous man. 

Raised with a blade in his hand and taught cruelty, he knew how to hurt someone. He knew which bits to cut open, how to make them scream and beg and plead for their life. He knew how to get what he wanted from someone. And then he didn't care. It wasn't his job to dispose of the bodies. Lola did that. Nathaniel didn't care what happened to the bodies. As long as Lola did her job, Nathaniel never had to think of it ever again. That's what life was like. You tortured, maimed, and then you killed. The bodies got burned or buried or whatever the fuck Lola did with them, and you moved on. Since he was born, he had lived through the same day over, and over again. Nathaniel was a born killer. 

He was a dangerous, unprotected man. “Nathaniel,” Nathan said, calling his son over. A single finger curled beneath Nathaniel's chin, forcing him to stare into each other's eyes. Nathaniel hated how cruel his father's eyes were, how cold and lifeless they were. He hated his own identical pair. “I have a present for you. Though this one is not for you to play with.” Nathaniel's brow furrowed, bottom lip jutting out for a mere second before he wiped his expression blank. He tensed, waiting for the sting of Nathan's hand across his cheeks. It never came. “I bought someone for you,” Nathan said, other fingers curling around Nathaniel's jaw, nails biting into his skin, small amounts of pain blossoming across his. If you moved, it got worse, until blood streamed down your skin and the pain didn’t stop. The pain never stopped. Ever. "His name is Andrew Minyard. He will be here soon. You will give him the Wesninski greeting, yes?” Nathan asked, the venom lacing his tone hardly distinguishable to Nathaniel’s trained ears. Nathaniel bowed his head, dropping his gaze from his father.

The nails digging into the skin let loose, and Nathaniel felt as if the weight on his shoulders had lessened, like he was able to stand on his feet once again. He wiped his hand over his skin, and looked at the smear of red over his skin. He had seen enough blood to not even flinch, but the sensitivity of the open wounds made Nathaniel grit his teeth. He had been hurt enough to learn that Nathan expected no reaction. If you moved, cried out, did anything to show how the pain had affected you, it only got worse. His scars had healed long ago, but Nathaniel could swear they ached.

The sound of feet brought Nathaniel’s eyes up, and in walked Lola. She had a bruise blooming at the base of her throat, light purple in stark contrast to her skin. She wore her smile, and Nathaniel saw a second figure following her.

He was short, face hidden in shadow, but Nathaniel could tell he had a shock of blonde hair that fell into his face. Lola stopped, waiting for the other to walk in front of her. Nathaniel stared at him, eyes narrowing at the sight of the stranger.

“Junior, I brought your present,” Lola said, cocking her head. Nathaniel bit back a scowl at the nickname, and merely nodded in her direction. Nathaniel assumed that the stranger was his new bodyguard.

Andrew Minyard.

He wasn’t much to look at, small and with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face, so similar to Lola’s own. Nathaniel could assume that he was the one who put the bruise on Lola. A small smirk hitched itself onto his face at the thought.

“This is Andrew,” Nathaniel asked, and Lola nodded.

“He's a dangerous son of a bitch,” she said, hand pressing against the mark fleetingly. “He's highly medicated, but we'll be taking him off it.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, finger extended towards Andrew. “Touch me and I'll break your arm,” he said, voice calm. Nathaniel could hear the dangerous undertones.

Nathaniel did scowl now, which only seemed to widen Andrew’s grin. “Do you know what you are? You are my property. I will do with you what I please. Otherwise, I'll kill you.”

“Do it,” Andrew said. A challenge. He knew how it was going to end for him. It was just a matter or when. Nathaniel wanted to scream at him. He wanted to hit him and feel his body underneath his hands. He wanted to feel him being taken apart. Violence was the only thing that Nathaniel excelled at.

“How long until we take him off his meds?” he asked.

“When do you want him?” Lola replied easily.

“Now,” he said. He could feel his anger pulsing inside of him, hot and dark and deadly. He could barely feel the dull bite of his nails into the soft flesh of his palms. He stared at Andrew’s smile, and every moment that passed it felt like Andrew was taunting him. Nathaniel turned away from him, mouth twisting into his father’s smile.

He wanted to hurt someone.

Because the only way he knew how to deal with feelings: to bleed, to make someone feel as fucked as he did. There was a ragged hole inside of him, and nothing fixed it. No matter how many bodies lay at his feet, no matter how much blood coated his hands, nothing would ever make him feel better. Nathaniel was fundamentally broken.

He would never be fixed.

It was a sad existence, and it belonged to him.

“Just get him out of here,” Nathaniel hissed, waiting to hear the sound of receding footsteps. He wouldn’t let himself look back if Andrew was still there. He didn’t trust himself to not lash out at him.

“Right away, Junior,” Lola replied. Nathaniel stiffened, chewing at his lower lip in anger. He could taste blood on his tongue, could feel the dull ache in his mouth. But he kept gnawing at the skin until he heard them leave. And then he was all alone.

His first cry was pitiful. It called for sympathy, for someone to come and take him away from all of this. The next was fuelled with anger. It was spiteful, hateful. Nathaniel walked forward, and put his fist through the wall. And then another. He hit the wall until his hands were numb, until he couldn’t hear the sound of his labored breathing. The wall was a mess, drywall and dust littered the area, a gaping hole in the wall. Nathaniel examined his hands quickly, wiping the dust on his pants.

Nathan would hurt him for this, for the mess he made. Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care. He wondered if this was what his life would have been like if he wasn’t so scared of his father.

Nathaniel moved through the house, towards the room designated for Andrew. All the dogs lived there when they first entered the house. Lola waited outside, her smile wiped from her face, replaced with a scowl.

“He’s rabid, Junior. He’s high as a fucking kite and he tried to take my head off,” she spat, “so just imagine what he’ll be like sober.”

“Maybe you would be better without your head,” Nathaniel replied, twisting the doorknob.

[f-xholecourt]

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.

That’s when they started containing it to specific states. Texas and Louisiana were closed off with high walls, chain link fences and barbed wire tops that buzzed and hummed with electricity. Nobody got in, and nobody came out. Anyone who wasn’t infected before the walls went up, they were by the time they were boxed in. They died there, death by association. By then it was too late, it had spread every state within weeks, so the fight was useless. People had brought it into their lives and it made itself right at home underneath their skin, nestled between their organs, eating away at entire generations and still never satisfied.

And so the news says it first.

The world is ending and everything has gone to shit. The security measures, the walls, they’re all coming tumbling down. Without the manpower to keep them secure, the rabid have slipped through and it’s been said that they don’t feel, anymore. That the people are the hosts and the virus does the thinking. No matter how many bullets one person spends trying to take ten of them down, it just doesn’t work anymore. They’re thinking of sealing the states again, and so wherever you are, that’s where you stay.

Nowhere is safe and nothing is okay anymore. Neil has never been safe. He’s always been running, panting, holding a hand to his waist until the knot in his side subsides so he can keep going. Maybe that’s why this is so easy, hearing it. Having it announced to the world that America is crumbling, it’s a sinking ship and the dead are the only survivors. That’s always been his world, his father’s world, the Moriyama’s world.

But then comes that nag at chest, the tightening of his lungs. After agreeing to give over eighty percent of his future earnings to the Moriyama’s various charities, after agreeing to pay his debts he was allowed to start filling the grave his father had dug for him. And Andrew took another shovel and started filling it with him, never speaking but acknowledging. Together they buried Nathaniel Wesninski six feet under, and Neil hasn’t looked back since.

Now there’s this. And maybe it would be easier if the reporter wasn’t shaking or if she could just stop stuttering and get her act together, but all she does is alert Neil to the fact his chest is constricting and his fingers are shaking because this means it’s time to start running, it’s time to pack his duffel and his money and his cigarettes and it’s time to leave before it’s too late. Time to leave Palmetto State University behind and find somewhere where he can survive again.

It’s not so easy this time. This time Nathaniel is Neil, and Neil has friends, family, a life he can’t leave behind without wanting to scream at the hand he’s been dealt. Neil put his roots down and the Palmetto State Foxes, with their distasteful orange banners and patchwork lives each put in a hand to cover them with soil. He can’t leave without them, he can’t leave without Andrew. He made a promise, and maybe he didn’t say it out loud and maybe Andrew will hold him to that when the time comes but he said, “I want to go back for you” and Andrew called his bluff. He can’t leave without him.

So he doesn’t. He won’t, but Neil is unfortunate enough that Andrew went to Columbia with Aaron, Nicky and Kevin to sort some ‘business’ with Roland, despite the warnings that came heavy with leaving the state. If you leave and the gates close, you’re never getting back in. They don’t care whether your children are on the other side, whether you didn’t get to say goodbye to your parents or even if the hoard of raving puppets on loose strings is coming right for you. Whatever you leave behind, you’re never going to see it again. That’s what scares Neil the most. He and Andrew are no longer tied together by deals but by…He still doesn’t know what to call it. Convenience, mutual respect, the feeling that this, this thing between them is something nobody else will ever be able to live up to?

Whatever it is, it means that Neil belongs to Andrew and Andrew belongs to Neil. No doubts, no questions, no hesitation. Andrew listens to Neil because he’s the only person that matters and Neil ignores the “I hate you”s because he’s the only person that knows the truth. If they separate, they’re wounded, weaker, they’ll die without one another. Maybe not Andrew because he did just fine before Neil but Neil would never be able to successfully stand on his own two feet after leaning on Andrew for so long. He needs him, he wants him and he can’t leave without him.

As if he’s somewhere, reading Neil’s thoughts, his phone lights up and Andrew’s name is on the screen. He doesn’t spare another second in getting it to his ear, and the sound of Andrew’s voice is enough to calm the sea of emotions and thoughts swirling in his head. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Andrew to know what he’s feeling.

“You’re panicking,” Andrew says, voice steady.

“I’m not.” Neil is quick to defend himself, but even he notices the tremor in his voice. There’s no denying the panic because it’s set too far into his bones and he can’t scrape it out. “Turn it off,” Andrew says, giving Neil steps to take at a time. He grabs the remote and silences the TV, images still pouring across it. “It’s off.” And before Andrew can give him more orders, “Where are you?” He can hear the traffic and the static of the radio and can hear Nicky talking, but not well enough to understand what he’s saying. Neil hopes they’re on their way back. Prays for it, even.

“Unimportant. What are you doing?” Andrew asks evenly.

“It’s important to me, where are you?” It’s less of a question and more of a demand, and both metaphorically and physically Neil is on the edge of his seat.

“Traffic’s too heavy.” Andrew sighs, finally.

“I’ll come to you.” Neil says, firmly. “No, you won’t. Stay with Renee.” It sounds more like a plea than an order. Neil ignores it.

“You never handed me over to Renee, remember? We talked about this, I’m your problem.” You talked, I didn’t listen. “What’s the traffic like coming into Columbia?” Talking to Andrew makes Neil feel stronger like maybe he can do this after all. The running won’t pull him back but propel him forward, towards Andrew.

“There isn’t any.” Andrew takes a long time in admitting. People are trying to get further into the country, away from the edges. Neil can understand, they all have something worth running towards. Hope. “Good, then I won’t be long.” “You’re hellbent on making life difficult.” “Only yours.” And Neil spends a new lingering moments listening to Andrew’s breathing and the way it changes before Andrew hangs up. He’s relieved, too, after speaking to Neil and know that Neil knows Andrew is waiting for him, he wastes no time.

His duffel consists of three main items; his binder, with everything he amounts to carefully tucked away inside it; his cigarettes, three packets of them because Andrew keeps stealing them; and only four different outfits. He measures that he can shove some shoes and his coat into his car, the one he’d bought to celebrate living and having ‘Neil Josten’ printed on something government issued. He walks around their room and picks things up as he goes; his phone charger, three lighters, two books and four pens and when he springs into the hallway, Renee is standing outside the door with her hand raised as though she was about to knock.

“You really are going.” She says softly.

“Yes,” Neil replies as he locks the door, checks it twice for good measure. Not that it matters, he’ll probably never see this building ever again once he drives through the gates. “Andrew asked you to change my mind.” “Yes.” Renee smiles. She knew before she came that she wouldn’t be able to. “But I’m just here to say goodbye.” “Oh,” and suddenly Neil feels empty again. “And to give you these.” Knives. Neil knows even through the fabric of the scarf they’re wrapped in. Renee has very little she’d ever want to give away, but knives are precious, a symbol of her past and her strength. “Thank you.” Neil says. “I hope I never have to use them.” He knows he will. “I do too.” And so does Renee. Neil shares with her one of his most honest, saddest smiles and a lasting goodbye before he heads for the stairs. He doesn’t risk an emotional goodbye with the others, he’ll see them again. He has to. Even if they close the state lines and he can’t get back through, they’ll find a way. They always do.

Getting himself on the road with that frame of mind is easy. Neil rubs his temples to stop a brewing headache, rests his elbow on the window and drives with one hand on the steering wheel. The sky is smiling, bright and cloudless and serene despite the state of the earth below it and Neil wishes it was raining, storming, anything that would reflect his mood. The closer he gets to the gates, the closer the billboards seem, broadcasting known symptoms of the illness, where you can get help, reminding people about the curfew and what happens to those to disobey the new law. Newsflash: they get shot on sight. If an officer, for so much as a fleeting second, thinks you're a Hollow, you’re dead. No repercussions for killing a civilian.

Those are the laws and they’re handed to Neil again on a pamphlet he gets at the border. His ID is checked, but they’re not really strict on who they let where anymore, the only thing they’re interested in is his health, and so every civilian bust carry a recent medical exam, dated within six months or less. When they’re satisfied, they let Neil go and he crumples the pamphlet and throws it out of the window, adding it to the pile that has built at the roadside. A lot of people are tired of seeing it advertised everywhere. A lot of people, for once, share Neil’s same sentiment. Everyone had thought, with the human race being wiped out by something other than global warming, people could pull together and share support, but all they got were locked doors and boarded windows, surgical masks and limited interaction with even neighbours people had known for since diapers.

It got worse when the media let it slip that the virus was man-made, and was to be used in warfare. Then the riots began and the President couldn’t handle the pressure and handed the position to his Vice. Life bit him in the ass when he got sick three months later and hollowed out within four weeks. Neil got a special kick out of that one, as well as the news that Ichirou had fallen ill and before he could be stopped, left the country. Some part of Neil hoped he spread it to whatever poisonous people he kept around him, or that he died and he’d never have to see him again.

That’s the only death he can picture himself being satisfied with. Every other thought is paired with dread. It could be Allison, Dan, Matt, Kevin…It could be any of them and Neil wouldn’t be able to take it. It could be Andrew and the world would shatter. Nothing would matter after that.

Self-preservation would mean nothing if the person he’s been preserving himself for isn’t around to berate him for it. Like he’s going to do when Neil pulls up. He’ll ask him, “Yes or no?” And Neil will say yes, it will always be yes, and Andrew will fist his hoodie where it dips at the neck and pull him closer, asking “What the fuck are you doing?” before either Neil explains, or Nicky tries to cut in and save him the trouble.

As it works out, it’s the former. The minute Neil pulls his car to a stop, Andrew is pushing himself off of the wall with both brows raised as if to say wow, you’re brave and Nicky’s too interested to stop him. As soon as Neil closes his car door, he’s not one second on the pavement before he’s being backed up against it, a quiet and subtle question falling from Andrew’s lips and an answer hurriedly fumbling through Neil’s as they go. “What the fuck are you doing?” Predictable, to Neil, as always. Neil stays quiet for a minute, lets the anger dissipate between them before he reaches to pinch the hem of Andrew’s shirt between his fingers, just to feel that he’s there, that he’s real. “I said I’d come back for you.” Neil swallows, and Andrew’s fist does find its home in Neil’s hoodie.

“They’re going to close the state lines,” Andrew says, grip tightening, but he doesn’t really care. He wants to think Neil does. “You’ll never be able to go back there.” “I don’t care.” And he does care, but he’s selfish when it comes to what he wants. What he wants is Andrew, and he’ll be unhappy on either side of the gate, but at least here, this could be home. Andrew’s jaw works, as if sensing this thought, and Neil tips his head forward, just shy of touching Andrew’s, waiting for him to make the move. He does, without hesitation, and in another second they’re kissing.

The panic seeps out of Neil’s bones with the certain and unwavering strength of Andrew keeping him up, the unquestionable weight of Andrew’s lips against his own. Neil hears Nicky gasp as if he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t and understands why because the kiss is rough; with it Andrew is making sure Neil understands that he’s pissed at the lack of concern for his safety, his recklessness, and the fact that now he has to babysit him, as if there isn’t enough going on. He’s making sure Neil knows that he wants him here, and he’d have fought tooth and nail to get over those gates if they’d closed. In his own way, Andrew is saying that he’d have felt as lost as Neil would have without him. It’s desperation mixed with a hidden vulnerability, and Nicky shouldn’t be seeing it— maybe that’s why he makes himself scarce and heads inside.

“You are an idiot,” Andrew says when he pulls back, fingers uncurling but keeping the fabric of Neil’s hoodie between them. Comfort.

“Self-destruction is an art that I’ve perfected.” Neil returns and Andrew gives a short laugh, “I’m good at it, but even then I wouldn’t call this that.” “What would you call it?” “Surviving.” And it is. Neil, Andrew, Kevin, Nicky and Aaron are going to survive on this side of the gate even if it kills Neil to keep them all alive. He’ll think like Nathaniel if he has to, but he won’t run like him anymore, not without the others quick on his heels, not if they don’t want him to. Neil kisses Andrew again, turning all of his thoughts into a silent conversation, unspoken promises of If you have my back, I’ve got yours.