andrew makes things

“Am I at ninety-four yet?”

Neil asked.

He was not at ninety-four. Ninety-four was the whispered words, “Thank you. You were amazing.” They echoed inside Andrew’s head over and over, like they were an offering, a prayer, a goodbye, like they were pushed out of his body with his dying breath. It was irritating and he was going to bring it up on the bus. He was going to spell it out nice and slow how Neil needed to stop living like he was dying and start living like the exy junkie he was.

Ninety-five was turning around and seeing nothing. Not nothing in the sense that Neil was nothing, but nothing in the sense of panic, of worry, of standing on the edge of the rooftop looking down thinking “Would it hurt if I fell?” The space where Neil should have been filled with emotions that Andrew swore he would never feel again.

Ninety-six was finding his bag. It wasn’t the bag that held his entire life, that was locked away in the Fox Tower, safe. It was the bag that held his future. A future he knew Neil wanted in the way he clutched the key he gave him back in August. A key that was left in the God forsaken bag with Neil nowhere in sight.

For ninety-seven, Kevin was there. The other foxes were there too but the words Kevin formed with his breath passing over his voice box and the movements of his tongue and jaw, were the only things that mattered. Kevin’s mouth moved, sound traveled in vibrations through the air, hit Andrew’s eardrums, and then his hands were around Kevin’s neck. There were lies and half-truths and Andrew hated those. Again not in the sense he hated Neil but in the sense that he hated the word ‘please’ and ‘misunderstanding’. He hated how he didn’t hate Neil because of all the lies. And for that, ninety-seven.

Ninety-eight was the phone call that Neil had been found.

Ninety-nine was walking through the hotel door and seeing him crumple in agony. It was the hissed “Don’t” as he did his best sooth away the pain. It was the eyes that were Nathaniel’s with hints of Neil peeking out behind his irises. It was the look of a man staring helplessly as the executioner readied the guillotine. It was the words “I’m sorry” like he had something to be sorry for. It was his attitude that no matter how beat up he got, remained impeccably intact. And it was the question he still had the gall to ask: “Am I at ninety-four yet?”

“You are at one hundred.”

  • I'm trying to write an essay, so obviously my brain goes nope instead
  • Neil: Andrew dance with me
  • Andrew: Ew no
  • Neil: Matt dance with me
  • Andrew: Move out of the way fucker
the posture theory

for @drownedpoet​ and the two anons who asked

  • neil has great posture
  • since he’s shorter than most adults, standing and sitting up straight always gave him a better vantage point to survey areas when he was on the run
  • it also helped when he was younger and had to appear older 
    • so people would stop asking so many questions about why “such a nice young boy was doing things he shouldn’t be"
    • it made things like buying cigarettes, driving, and carrying a gun so much simpler when he wasn’t being interrogated every five minutes
  • breathing was much easier as well in the bulletproof vests he always wore
    • wearing kevlar is a lot like wearing a chest binder, it’s restrictive and makes breathing a pain in the ass
    • sitting up straight was at least a partial solution to this problem
  • not to mention it gave him an intimidating look that kept people at a healthy distance and made sure he wasn’t bothered
  • it also made it easier to jump into a fighting stance in a seconds notice if necessary
  • sleeping back to back with his mother reinforced the habit 
    • neither of them could sleep if there was even the smallest gap between their bodies
    • life on the run from people constantly trying to kill you makes you rightfully cautious and a little bit paranoid, so it’s nice to have the grounding weight of someone you trust at your back
  • he also used to be a dancer, but that’s another au/headcanon
  • andrew, on the other hand, has terrible posture
  • his childhood was spent slouching down trying to disappear and look like less of a target
  • he would sleep curled into himself with his back against the wall so he would be harder to grab
    • it also made it harder for drake to take his clothes off
  • hiding was easier as well
    • getting used to being tucked into himself made squeezing into tight spaces for up to a couple of hours at a time to avoid drake much more comfortable
  • slipping away from being held is about 90% easier when you’re slouched as it allows for quicker movement
    • this didn’t take andrew more than twice to learn
  • andrew never really saw the point of good posture when his body never really belonged to him anyway
    • this is his depression talking, but he doesn’t care
  • i mean what’s the point of worrying about posture when you don’t plan on living long enough to be affected by it?

Neil Josten sometimes confuses his and Andrew’s underwear and puts on Andrew’s boxers, which are a size too small for him and at least 3 sizes too small for his ass, and walks around the house wearing nothing but that and Andrew’s PSU hoodie, completely oblivious to the fact that his barely concealed junk and obscenely Voluptuous™ ass are giving Andrew a possessive/hate boner.  

testtickkle  asked:

oh my god please please tell me you're continuing the dissociative identity disorder fic with Nathaniel because it was just so beautiful and painful but in the best way and you're just honestly such an amazing writer also i don't mean to pressure you but i am hooked!!!!!

I’M BACK !! and sure, fine, since i’m feeling it tonight

here is (a really short) part three . finally . the . | part one & part two 

general idk-what-i’m-doing disclaimer: please feel free to call me out for anything!

Keep reading

A piece of my soul dies every time Nicky Hemmick is treated like shit or dismissed

  • Peter: Hey, have you seen Logan? I lost him.
  • Wade: Lost?! His children could be orphans already!
  • Peter: Father-less, mother-having orphans

l.s. | FIVE STEPS TO HAPPINESS © 2016 SEQUEL TO SEVEN STEPS TO FALLING IN LOVE. 

step one: allow yourself some semblance of a smile. your grief is not an iron cage and you are not trapped. you are allowed to mourn your own innocence, even if you barely remember how it felt. 

step two: hold his hand. you want to, even if you won’t admit it outloud. you want to take him and keep him so close to your chest that the world never has another chance to lash out, but if it did you’d be stood like a shield, like a guardian angel even the devil would avoid. it’s okay. it’s okay. hold his hand. 

step three: you don’t have to say the words for them to be true; at this point the “i love you"s are as natural as breathing, noiseless and soft. when you look at the stars you see the same light you find in his eyes everyday. 

step four: give yourself a chance to heal. it might take a while. it might take years. your past is a minefield no one taught you to navigate before now, but you are strong and you are loved and that’s enough (it has to be enough). 

step five: you gave him a key, a home, a reason to wake up with a smile and he gave you a reason to look forward to what was once a grey-scale future, now bathed in a shade of blue even the ocean would envy.

If I met someone famous
  • me: hello
  • andrew rannells: hi there
  • me: your name is elder price
  • andrew rannells:
10

Make me choose: Rick’s machete vs Michonne’s katana  (asked by @alwayssodramatic)
That’s what I’m gonna use to kill you.