#And I got one and got really viscerally depressed and angry looking at all the classes on it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wouldnt-it-be-hilarious-if-i · 2 years

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6:32 am

currently listening to: letting you in by awfultune

yall this is about to be the longest rant ever im just letting it all out rn. it's honestly a godsend that no one reads these.

i've officially changed my snapchat bitmoji. i now have a bald head and i am pretty sure i will remain bald through the rest of this month. i'm so fucking tired of everything rn like i wouldn't mind the exams and final projects but i'm just so overwhelmingly sad and it hits me so freaking randomly. like i was okay an hour ago

it's probably the pmdd idk but i'm literally going to lose it. i was trying to find more resources for learning polish and i managed to find a few good ones. there really isn't a whole lot of material out there for learning it and it's really kind of pissing me off. i'm trying very hard to be not so fucking depressed but like i'm viscerally overwhelmed rn and i just want to hide under my bed and just never come out

i'm pissed too bc like 24 hours after my last final (which is today at 1), i have to be packed up and out of my dorm room, which is easily the STUPIDEST fucking rule. i haven't even had fucking time to process anything in the last two weeks, let alone pack my shit. and like it's the middle of the freaking week. y'all couldn't wait THREE MORE DAYS?

it definitely doesn't help that my room is disgusting and i smell like a sewer rat. my shirt literally has a spaghetti stain on it and i have the most infuriating lil shark fin of curls on top of my head no matter how many times i try to fix my ponytail. it really doesn't help that i've been crying for *checks watch* almost a week or something idk and i forgot the testing materials i needed for my test today and today is the last time slot for accommodated testing so yeah :)))))) that's great :)))))))

it also doesn't help that i have dance today, and i have to turn in six hundred things that ARE NOT FINISHED and pack all my shit and make sure i have a ride home bc that's never a surefire thing

i want to walk into the freaking ocean and follow my therapists advice and just take a nice deep breath (joking). i'm literally just so freaking done rn. i am holding back tears as i type this bc i'm sitting in a study room with some of my friends (we've been here since like noon yesterday). i took a nap earlier and i was okay and got a lot of work done but then i sat and tortured myself for a bit by looking at some stuff that in retrospect was clearly going to trigger a lot of emotions (abortion laws)

i've been getting upset over and over bc i told my friend that a tiktok came across my fyp that said i was an instrument of love for everyone around me and i told her it was really sweet and was something i needed to hear and she was like "it's 100% true. you really are" and of course my little rat brain had to take that and start screaming at it that i must not really be bc my own family hates me and everyone leaves me and nothing is fucking real

also my tummy hurts :(

i'm not an angry person. i'm not even angry rn but the emotions read like anger but doesn't feel like that. it's more like just complete stress. like i just want to throw shit and scream for a hundred years or until i make a cup of coffee (apparently one scream for a certain amount of time is enough energy to make one cup of coffee), and that's literally not me. and this isn't about any one thing. i'm just constantly in a state of not ok but pretending to be.

i'll be fine for like two or three hours and then i get angry about stupid things like why tf i have to do this test and not a final essay or something, or why polish is only really spoken in poland and why i'm even bothering learning it and why of all languages i could have possibly liked, it had to be that one. like i could have learned italian or mandarin or like idk german? I'm literally a quarter each german and italian like that would have been so useful in my family alone (that's a lie most of my family doesn't even speak it and my grandfather barely acknowledged his italian heritage when he was alive, let alone speak the language lmao). but like there would have at least been way more resources for learning german or italian. i could have learned hebrew (i do have many jewish friends and a focus on jewish history so like that'd make more sense) or some like dead language or something idk

but no

all i ever do is make things harder for myself of course and choose to attach myself to languages that are hard to learn by yourself and in countries where absolutely not a single penpal is responding even after three days (which is not how that penpal website usually works, i usually hear a response within a day).

i was talking to my friend about this yesterday and she was like "you know you don't have to keep learning it right, like you're allowed to stop" and then she said "or you could just do a semester abroad in Poland so you get to use it, you're acting like you're banned from the entire country or something" which are all very good points but i am not logical rn so it doesn't matter. she could have told me the way to make myself feel better is peeing like a dog on the quad and i'd be like uh huh coolcoolcool

another friend of mine told me i could just learn it for fun

which is pretty much what i'm doing rn. like i'm complaining, but i've practiced every day and taken great care to plan out my calendar to maximize my learning. i don't plan on ever stopping. i'm just tired and unhappy with every thing in the world rn

i want to eat my fingers and crack the bones like lobster shells.

god i am pathetic.

also i realized the other day something that just really stressed me out. i realized that i've deeply and entirely internalized the idea that nothing, and i mean nothing, is ever sacred. i realized it when someone complimented me on my dance clothes a few weeks ago. i said thank you and i accepted the compliment but my immediate response in my head was just that i simply believe they were lying to me.

at any given moment, someone could tell me they love me and my brain just says no they don't and i'll remain very aware of this fact. and like it's not something that makes me sad. it's just a core belief now.

everyone is temporary. even me.

even my presence is temporary. no matter what i do, the ease with which people peel me out of their lives really proves that. i don't see it any other way anymore.

i do my part, i love hard, but i expect no one to stay, no one to mean the words coming out of their mouth, no one to last. i've been thinking really hard about this, and i realized that even in times where things are so good and i feel so loved and valued

a little voice in my brain says very quietly "this won't last the month." or "it's nice now, but it's too good. i give it a week before the other shoe drops." or "those are all nice words, but they're all lies so don't believe a word they say"

and i'm right every time

every single time

and yet it still surprises me lmao as if every step of the way i didn't anticipate it coming very soon. like i realized that i put so much effort into doing everything right and perfectly because i know it's going to happen and i want to make sure it doesn't. mentally i want them to stay so bad, but i want to protect myself, so i just spend all my time trying to make it real hard for them to leave me.

i love so hard and so entirely and with such reckless abandon and i never stop showing how much i care, even to the very last second when they're actively never coming back. even afterward all im thinking about is just all the things i said wrong and everything i could have done differently.

and i've done this since i was a freaking child. like when i was little, i'd spend so much time trying to be the perfect little sister to make sure i was never a bother to my siblings and to make them love me bc i knew it was so easy for them to switch up on me.

like i'm starting to think i don't have trust and abandonment issues. i'm starting to think maybe im just right lmao

and you know nothing triggers me more than hearing my friends tell me im a good person or that this isn't my fault bc my brain just short circuits and replies, "if good, why people leave? why father treat you that way? why family act like you are bother? why friends stop inviting places and talking?" and i think about all the times when everything was going to well and where i did everything right and where i was very careful, and they still left, or all the times when i did none of those things and just tried to be myself, and they left, or when i was 100% convinced that that person would never ever leave and then they up and left the very next day

i am the most replaceable person on the planet. good and sweet as i am, i am very easy to forget and very easy to leave.

and i wish i could say i'll never let another person in ever again in my life, but it's a fucking lie bc everyone whose ever left me (except my dad) could come back and apologize and id cry for hours over the relief from the them sized hole in my heart no longer being empty and i'd forgive them and let them in in seconds. i hurt so much and yet i still love and i can't tell if that makes it a radical act or just a really fucking stupid one

god i don't have enough years of insurance left for the amount of therapy i need

anyway i was watching the secret world of polly flint and i was watching her twirl around and around in a circle (twizzle is apparently the word for this) with her arms out before falling into the grass. and i thought about how i really don't do that enough anymore. so i think i might just disappear into the ether and twirl until i throw up for the rest of the summer.

maybe that's what i need to expel the dark energy inside of me

to just spin in circles in a pretty white dress in the middle of a field and talk to animals and disappear into secret worlds the way i did when i was little and pretended that every day of my life wasn't violently traumatizing. just stand in the middle of the woods and close my eyes and listen to the birds, or crawl along grass and beneath bushes and plant sugar cubes and sweet cream for the fairies to find.

anyway, to end on a positive note, i learned a new polish phrase that i will be trying to smash into my brain

Jakoś to będzie.

maybe after today (when everything is turned in and finished), i'll feel better. i'll pet my dogs and sleep in my own bed for a week and eat only goldfish crackers and snuggle with all my squishmallows and other stuffed animals and go crystal shopping with my best friend and everything will be okay again. ill go and twizzle in a field, build fairy houses and focus on the things i can control. and then things will be okay. and i won't be constantly on the verge of losing it.

i have lots of things to look forward to next week---my first private polish and spanish lessons, being able to lay in bed and just read and write for hours, a summer of ballet lessons, school being over until july (im doing summer school unfortunately), watching downton abbey for the billionth time and going to my best friend's chicken farm.

things can't be so bad on a chicken farm, right?

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sinners-like-me · 5 years

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Can we just talk about Eddie for a second?

Eddie Diaz is fucking spiraling, which shouldn't be surprising since he's been this rock of stability he joined the team. Even when his wife dies he stays pretty with it, sure he breaks down and cries a bit but then he's ok again just like that. The only time we truly see a crack in this facade is when he thinks Christopher might be dead, but they find him so soon after and Eddie is fine again. Buck has more of a visceral reaction to Chris being safe than Eddie does. Even after the tsunami Eddie takes care of Chris and Buck and seems to be 100% ok despite the trauma he suffered as well. Then, suddenly, he can't talk to his best friend anymore and he's falling apart at the seams. Honestly it starts back before the lawsuit, we see it in how coldly he speaks about Buck when the crew is talking about Buck’s depression. He's borderline unfeeling which isn't like him. Then the Lawsuit happens and suddenly he's punching people in parking lots, being arrested, and street fighting. His reaction seems a bit extreme considering how even keel he's been so far. Even Lena sees it and she hardly even knows him. Now I care about my best friend as much as the next person but if I was in this situation I would say “well I'm upset but I’ll lean on my other friends and we will get through this together.” But as the last episode made abundantly clear Eddie doesn't have any other friends. He’s been on this team for over a year now (I think?) and the only person he could call to bail him out would have been Buck? He could have called Hen, or Chim, or Maddie. Hell he could have called Carla or even Athena but no, he calls Lena. As much as I want to hate her for it I can't because she didn't do anything wrong. she's got this grown man who’s practically a stranger putting all his emotional baggage on her because his best friend isn't around and she deals with it the only way she knows how, with violence and tough love. More on Lena later. Eddie is reacting to this whole thing with Buck with such a level of betrayal that I was legitimately shocked. Hen and Chim, who I thought would give Buck a really hard time don't, and Eddie is the one who’s truly angry and betrayed. In fact I think that Hen and Chim look uncomfortable when Eddie and Buck were fighting in the store. And as for Eddie’s reaction, the hurt and the betrayal and the blinding rage he's obviously feeling, thats the reaction you would expect out of a lover not a best friend. I mean he's spiraling to the point of punching people in parking lots and partaking in organized street fighting. It’s so bizarre. I honestly think we’re finally going to see Eddie crack. He's kept it together for so long, doesn't seem to have any ptsd from the war, and now we’re finally seeing him break down and it’s going to be ugly. Im genuinely concerned about him because this is all going to bubble over and he's going to do something he can't come back from.

Now back to Lena. I legitimately hated her right up until episode 5. Lena is the one thing teathering Eddie to reality at this point. She gives him advice about Chris, bails him out of jail, hell, she's become his emotional sound board and he's still practically a stranger to her! I fully expected Eddie to participate in the street fights but what I didn't expect was to see him participate without Lena there and without telling her his plans. But no, Eddie waits till she isn't there to get involved, which means that on some level this is something he knows she won't approve of. And then Lena, who Eddie’s basically been using as a replacement Buck, is suddenly portrayed as a team player. She shows up to the rage room with this team of practical strangers, and then goes out of her way to team up with Buck, who legitimately is a stranger to her. Sure Eddie probably talked about him but she doest really know him. In fact she seems perfectly comfortable with the whole thing. I think she's trying to take care of Buck and Eddie’s emotional stability because the rest of the team either refuses to in Buck’s case or doesnt see it in Eddie’s. So that leaves Lena to pick up the pieces. She was never there to replace Buck, she was there to get Eddie through it until Buck could step back into his role again, and now she doing the same thing for Buck, stepping into Eddie’s role until he can take it over again. What I thought was a useless character has turned out to have a pretty large role in the grand scheme of the show.

#911 on fox #9-1-1 #9-1-1 season 3 #evan buckley #oliver stark #eddie diaz #ryan guzman #henrietta wilson #aisha hinds #howard han #kenneth choi #bobby nash #peter krause #buddie #lena bosko #ronda rousey

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inthediamondsky · 3 years

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SHINee in the Good Place

What We Owe To Each Other:

This is for you, Jonghyun🌙✨

**TRIGGER WARNING**

note: I am not trying to tell any other shawols how to grieve. Trust me, I’ve gotten enough advice, both well-meaning and not, to know that it’s not helpful. I hope that all of you are able to grieve however you want, and that those you care about are there for you today. I wanted to write this because this very recently made blog has become my safe space to share my feelings about SHINee without the unsolicited input of a thousand twitteratti. Truth be told, I haven’t talked about this in three years. I don’t think I’ve ever really confronted my own grief. And I wanted to do that here. Yes, ITS LONG AND WORDY. I’m well aware that these posts aren’t exactly conducive to the short-attention-span era. My blog is nothing if not on-brand. But this one’s not really for everyone. This one’s for me.

Prologue: “It’s okay not to feel lucky sometimes.” - Jane Villanueva, Jane the Virgin

Nothing makes me more incensed than when people try to comfort me by saying, “think about how lucky you are.” Objectively, yes, in many ways and compared to many people, I am lucky. Certainly, I am lucky to exist, here, now, because how else would I have met the people that I am about to spend thousands of words writing about? But grief isn’t objective. It’s not supposed to make sense. Maybe the fact that it doesn’t make sense doesn’t make it any less real. Maybe that’s okay.

Chapter 1:

“Since nothing seems to make sense, when you find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria” - Janet, The Good Place

I know why I fell in love with SHINee. At least, I know how I found them. But what I’m not so sure about is why I stayed in love with them for over a decade. It’s a love that I can’t explain all that well. It’s not comparable to how I love my family or my friends or how I loved my significant others when we were in a relationship. It’s not all that similar to how I love my favorite sports teams, because those are entities more than individual people. Certainly, I admire SHINee. That’s a big part of it. I think they have accomplished a great many things. I have learned a lot from them. I enjoy their music and performances. But I can’t pretend that I love them because they are objectively the greatest; love, like grief, isn’t objective. All I can say is that loving them always made sense. Life rarely makes sense, and loving them did. So it was, as Janet says, euphoric.

I think the reason was that they always made sense TOGETHER. As a unit. As five. I always felt like they were born to perform together. Maybe that’s cheesy, but to me, it’s obvious. I don’t think that SHINee themselves would ever say that; they are a team strictly against self-mythologizing. Very practical and humble people, those five, and I love them for it. But even with their humility, their pride in their team sometimes leaks out around the edges. On the “SHINee’s Back” special, when Minho talked about remembering how SM announced their team one day: a sheet of paper titled “2007 Trainees to Prepare for Debut” with their names, 이진기 김종현 김기범 최민호 이태민, listed underneath. And on Minho’s episode of 청담-Key친, when Minho and Key talked about the fact that they remembered Lee Sooman’s voice telling them, “I’ve decided on your team name. Your name is SHINee,” like it was yesterday, that they couldn’t forget it if they tried. There’s a reverence in their voices when they talk about those moments. Like somehow, someway, it was meant to be.

I got to see the five of them on stage together once. SHINee World V. In Seoul. And I’ve never felt more strongly that musically, performance-wise, it all made so much sense. It was the one where Jinki hurt his ankle but insisted on coming back out to finish performing with the rest of them. It was heartbreaking in the moment, but it also made sense. It checked out with the fact that they are the ultimate professionals, who care so much and work so hard for the impeccable quality of their live performances. And it checked out because we all intuitively knew: SHINee is five. Like somehow, someway, it was meant to be. That was my dream. Maybe it’s unfair to project that on them, but it was. That the five of them, and my knowing the five of them and everyone else that I loved, it was all meant to be.

Chapter II:

“Time is cruel and indiscriminate and entirely uninterested in supporting our dreams.” - Joe Posnanski, on the career of Ken Griffey Jr.

Human beings live with the knowledge that we will die. As Eleanor says in The Good Place, that truth means that we’re all a little sad, all the time. But somehow, we’re also foolish enough to simultaneously believe that we always have more time. Especially, that we have more time with those that we love. But we don’t. It always runs out, a little too soon, when we’re not ready. We’re never ready. And it never makes sense.

I had moved to America by then. So it was the afternoon of the 17th when I found out. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Or so they say. I can speak to a couple of those: To this day, nothing makes me angrier than when YouTube recommends me videos from his funeral. Like I have a right to see it, or that those people had a right to film it. We don’t. None of us do. And sometimes I rewatch enough old variety shows and interviews and concert recordings that for a couple hours, even now, I think that he’s still here. I can still trick myself like that, even three years later. Oh, the magic of the internet: fueling anger and denial since its inception.

At my darkest, I allow myself to be depressed. Because it is all too cruel, too cold, too much. The fact that such a beautiful artist was taken from us too early. The fact that such a beautiful person was taken from us too early. The fact that this world was cruel enough that he decided to leave on his own.

I miss him. Of course I do. What I wouldn’t give to see him, here, happy, just one more time. Days like today, I pop in my SHINee World V DVD for the millionth time and cry, again. But I don’t like to grieve for myself. I don’t really feel like I deserve to. If I did, would I be grieving for him, or grieving for the idea of him? What he meant to me, or what it meant to have him mean something to me? I didn’t really know him. It’s okay for me to be sad. It’s okay for me to miss him. But is it okay for me to grieve? I ask myself this every day, because I think about him every day.

Undoubtedly, I am angry at the circumstances that led to his death, especially that my country, our country, still largely ignores mental health (dismissing it as fake or a sign of weakness) while promoting a workaholic, tough-it-out culture and thus suffers from one of the highest rates of suicide in the world. I love my country. That same workaholic culture has led us to excel at a great many things. But the mental health epidemic that has followed is one of our most glaring and tragic flaws, and one that we are still largely failing to address. I will never stop fighting for that to change. And I will never, never get over the fact that their last performances before he died, especially the final stops on their suddenly-ironically-named FIVE tour in Japan, were performed as four. How could life be so cruel? And preventably so. For that, I will never stop being angry.

But I do grieve, profoundly and truly, for those who loved him. Not as I do, for it would be terribly unfair to reduce him to that: an idea more than a person, an endless inspiration more than a living being with hopes and dreams and flaws and failings. No, I grieve for those who loved him in a close and real and visceral way. People who were close enough to not only watch him and listen to him to be happy, as I do, but were saddened by him and frustrated by him and annoyed by him too. That’s all a part of real love, as much as any of the happy bits. I grieve for them because, obviously, I have no idea what it is like to die. But I do know what it is like to lose somebody too soon to a death that is too cruel. Too sudden. Too nonsensical. Under those same preventable circumstances, in that same country.

There’s a story that many shawols know. A PD at some music show (I forget which one) posted it on their Instagram after Jonghyun’s death. Taemin was wrapping up his Day and Night promotions at the end of 2017, and the PD wrote that he would never forget the earnest look in Taemin’s eyes as he asked him to look after Jonghyun, since he was supposed to come back in early 2018. The earnest look in his eyes. Every time, that phrase: it feels like a punch in the gut. He asked so earnestly. How could it not have come true? I remember asking someone to look after my friend, to check up on her, a couple of days before she died. Earnestly. How could it not have come true?

“Irresolvable guilt,” they call it. Guilt that makes it impossible to let go. Guilt that never goes away. Guilt that is only amplified when everyone you see says that they’re sorry for you, when you can’t even forgive yourself. You’re still sorry for the words you didn’t say and the words you did, because there are never enough words afterwards to sum up how happy they made you or how much you loved them or how sorry you are for that one time you yelled at them about something that wasn’t their fault. There are never enough words, and they can’t hear you anyway, so you just cycle through the same ones again and again: 고맙다 미안하다 보고싶다 사랑한다 thank you I’m sorry I love you I miss you. There’s the guilt that you weren’t enough for them to tell you everything or that you were busy that night. Because what if you hadn’t been? Could you have saved them? And you feel guilty, more than anything, for the time you didn’t spend together. If only you had known that it was finite. The truth is, you did. But the problem is, humans always think that they have more time.

Chapter III:

- “Time means nothing. Jeremy Bearimy, baby. We’ll get through this, and then you and I can chill out in the dot of the “i” forever.” -“Right. We’ll be okay. We found each other before, hundreds of times. We can do it again.” - Eleanor and Chidi, The Good Place

2017 was shitty. I lost someone so present in my everyday life that every single thing I do, even now, reminds me of them. And so did SHINee. But I went through my loss and my grief privately. They weren’t given that opportunity. All the cameras, all the attention. It horrified me from the start. The way that a bunch of people who’d never cared about SHINee or Jonghyun when he was alive started to roll around in grief porn like pigs in mud. In the aftermath of a loss in my own life, to see it played out in the lives of more people that I cared about, and on a much bigger scale, was unbelievably triggering. I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t watch people ask them about their loss for the sole purpose of indulging their own curiosity. Like they’re supposed to have the words to explain why all of this happened? It disgusted me.

In a life where nothing ever made sense, especially after the death of my friend, SHINee always had. And then suddenly, it all turned upside down.

I couldn’t watch for two years after that. Not just all of the interviews. I never thought that I would ever not want to watch them perform, but I didn’t. I was scared to see the empty space where he used to be, to see four instead of five. It didn’t make sense. But more than anything, I couldn’t watch them grieve. It reminded me too much of myself.

So I, a shawol since 2009, missed their tenth anniversary. I missed TSOL and their enlistments. I missed Jinki’s Voice, Kibum’s Face, and Taemin’s Want promotions. It was only less a year ago, when all of the kpop world, other than my fellow shawols, had largely moved on, that I could come back to them. It had been two years since they lost their friend, and a couple more since I had lost my own. We’d been through a lot. It seemed like a good time to come back together.

In the meantime, I had watched The Good Place. I’ve been to a lot of therapy, but nothing came close to being as healing as watching that show. That moment, at the end of season three, when Eleanor has to let Chidi forget her and their love for each other, and she says that they’ve found each other hundreds of times, so they can do it again? I don’t believe in afterlife, but god, I’ve never wanted to believe more strongly. That there exists a place, a good place, where time means nothing and we can find the people that we love the most over and over and over again, no matter what. A place where everything makes sense. Where SHINee can be five, forever. Where I can be with the people I’ve lost, forever. I want that to be true.

Jonghyun, if it’s true, let me know? Friend, if it’s true, let me know? Is there such a good place? A place of warm winters and coming springs? Are you there?

When I came back to SHINee in 2020, it wasn’t the same. How could it be? It couldn’t be, and it shouldn’t be. But still, he was there. There is no doubt in my mind that he was there, with them, through everything that they did. I watched the interviews and the variety shows, but more than anything, the performances. Sometimes it looked like four and it hurt to see. But if I squinted, sometimes it looked like five, like it always was. It sounded like five, like it always was. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe time means nothing. Maybe all of this, all of it, wasn’t a pipe dream. Maybe it makes sense. Maybe they can find each other over and over and over again.

Maybe my friend and I can too.

Chapter IV:

“I proposed a rule, that Chidis shouldn’t be allowed to leave, because it would make Eleanors sad. And I could do this forever... and I’d still never find the justification for getting you to stay, because it’s a selfish rule. I owe it to you to let you go.” - Eleanor, The Good Place

I remember how shocked I was to hear Kibum say in one of their tenth anniversary interviews (my rough translation), “If we had it really hard, I could make up a grand story about how we scratched and clawed to get to our tenth anniversary. But we didn’t. We just kept going, and now we’re here.” I remember thinking, “Well if YOU didn’t have it hard, who did?”

Partly, it was their humility. You know, acknowledging big company bias and all that jazz. But mostly, I think, they wanted everyone to know that this was not a story of struggle and redemption. Jonghyun was more than a storytelling device. He was more than a challenge for them to get over. They didn’t think of him as a supporting character in their own stories: he was the main one in his own. As always, SHINee taught me something that I had been too scared to learn. Wise souls, those five, and I love them for it.

Following the death of my friend, I wallowed into my own sadness and depression for years. I let my other relationships fall apart under that burden. But eventually, especially now as I watch back all of the things that SHINee has said through the last three years, I realized that a lot of that grief was selfish. That I wasn’t grieving for my friend, but that I was feeling sorry for myself. That I had to go through this. That I had to shoulder this loss. What did I do to deserve this pain? At some point, my grief stopped being about her, and it became about me. It was never supposed to be about me. She was more than what she meant to me. She was the main character in her own story.

It’s no comfort to hear it from others, but I know: I am lucky that this was how it was meant to be. As Winnie the Pooh says, how lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?

I could wallow forever. She did, in the end, mean that much to me. I’m absolutely sure that they could wallow around forever too. Jonghyun meant that much to them, too. But I think we both came to the same realization, albeit under different timelines, that we owed them something. No matter how much it hurt, we owed it to them to let them go. Letting go isn’t the same thing as giving up on them or forgetting them. After all, they say that best friends are hard to find, harder to leave, and impossible to forget. Because we loved them that much. Even when we want forget, we can’t. Even when Chidi left Eleanor, their love never stopped existing. Like he said, when the wave returns to the ocean, it looks like it was never there. But the wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. The water is still there. The water, our love for those we cherish the most, is always there. It was always meant to be.

So I thank The Good Place for comforting me and healing me when I was at my lowest. And I thank SHINee for inspiring me and allowing me to grow with them for over ten years, all through the tireless pandemonium that is life. You mean so much to me, more than I think I have succeeded in expressing here. And to Jonghyun, and my friend, what more is there to say? 고맙다. 미안하다. 보고싶다. 사랑한다. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry for everything. I miss you everyday. I love you, forever.

*standing on the road we walked together again, those five hands folded together, the tears, the memories... it’s all so clear, I don’t want to forget, I can never forget (Taemin’s lyrics from Our Page)

#I apologize for all the room this is taking up on your TL :///#SHINee in the good place #mine #너무 보고싶다 너네들 #지금 만큼은 놓아 줄게 #다시 만나자 #다사 또 다시 #우린 그런 운명 #처음 부터 deja-boo #그 날을 기다리면서 #난 널 위해서라도 #이번 겨울도 따듯하게 보낼게 #날 기달려 줘!#ITDS

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silverbastardgoldenfool · 4 years

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Realm of the Quarantine Reread End-of-Book Questionnaire: Royal Assassin

Any differences between your first/previous reading experience and this one?

Not as stark a difference as with Assassin’s Apprentice, but definitely still there. Apart from all the obvious stuff, like feeling much more attached to the characters already and picking up more details, I think the biggest change was a complete lack of patience for the teen romance drama lol. There was a decent period where I was feeling quite frustrated with it. Not that I loved it the first time round, but back then I had a very different view of how it fit into the story. I saw it as teaching Fitz a depressing lesson of what it really means to be a royal bastard and a king’s man. Fitz’s literal need (for all he knows he would have been killed if not for his deal with Shrewd) and sense of duty to put his loyalty to his king and country first creates a relationship that is toxic, turbulent and built on lies. And teenage horniness masquerading as love. I saw all that the first time and thought it was just something he had to go through. Now I know it’s something he never really goes through but rather grips onto, romanticises and ultimately goes back to. I know the point of that is meant to be that he finally gets to have something for himself, but why it had to be Molly specifically??? I have very few qualms with Robin’s writing choices overall, but why she chose to write their relationship this way if they really are meant to be is beyond me, especially when so many of her other romances are written so well - it feels like it can’t possibly be unintentional. For most of this book they’re either fighting or fucking and honey! That ain’t love! Hell, Fitz all but sees her as just another demand on his time as the book goes on. But he can’t let her go because she’s the one thing he can point to that makes him feel normal. Not happy, not cherished, not safe. Normal. She’s simply a refuge from his real life. He literally says to Chade “I need her.” I find that so telling, man. It’s not really about her, which is a shame because Molly is great. They’re just really not good for each other.

So yeah. It’s just kind of trying to read all the Fitz/Molly stuff when you know and don’t like what it ultimately culminates in. At the same time… Bee… So I will always be conflicted lol. I just can’t separate the events of Royal Assassin from the furious disappointment I felt when I finished Fool’s Fate. Perhaps I’ll have a new Fool’s Fate experience this time that will make the next re-read a bit easier in regards to Fitz and Molly? But I won’t bet on it lol.

Anyway. It’s not as if I haven’t already said just about everything there possibly is to say about Fitz and Molly yet I also feel like I could go on about it forever. Luckily this is kind of as bad as it gets in terms of how much “screen time” they actually get (apart from Fool’s Assassin maybe? But they don’t bother me too much in that) so yay! I made it! And hopefully it’ll be a good few books before y’all have to endure my ranting about it again :)) Also hopefully this doesn’t give the impression that this read was more bad than good? It was mostly just a particular angsty chunk before they properly get together that was a bit of a slog to get through, but overall I really loved reading this book again and got a lot out of it.

Something you can’t believe you forgot

That Molly punches Fitz in the face hard enough that he bleeds and that Fitz fully intended to punch the Fool for asking if Molly was preggo before seeing he had already been beaten. I pretend I do not see it.

Favourite character introduction moments/scenes

Omfg I was just about to say “huh we didn’t really get any major character intros in this book” bitch Nighteyes???? But in my defence I just. Cannot process the fact that Nighteyes is only really in 3 of 16 books he just feels omnipresent to me BUT his introduction is most definitely iconique and god I love him and he made me cry eight thousand times!

Favourite character arcs

Speaking of Nighteyes: what a glow up. He goes from angry, scared, untrusting little bb to……. Nighteyes. Like. How does one even describe the kind of person Nighteyes becomes. He’s just Nighteyes and I love him with all my fuckin heart!! He is Fitz’s constant… He is wise… He is silly… a comedic genius…… a big, open, unconditional heart. Incomparable. I can’t believe I’ve seen ppl saying they dislike/d Nighteyes……. Honey…… it’s called taste xx

Favourite quote/s

Again no tabs so it’s a bit harder to keep track but there were a few that stuck out enough to copy down. There are a lot of iconic quotes in this book that get shared a lot so I only bothered with ones I didn’t remember.

- “I wince to think of the price willingly paid for loving me.”

- “My soft, clean bed beckoned, like a soft, clean tomorrow.” (mood)

- “I looked and saw they were both made of hungers, like containers made of emptiness.”

Favourite relationships

Kettricken/Verity obviously. I was shocked by how little time they actually have together being in love before Verity leaves??? Because all I remembered was how strong their love is. But the whole journey towards that love is what makes it stand out as an actual compelling story in its own right. This is definitely one of Robin’s greatest skills as a writer; giving the minor characters depth by giving them their own relationships that grow and change and have a life of their own outside of Fitz. It makes the world feel so much more alive.

Also Burrich/Fitz in this book continues to be bittersweet, but with a lot more sweet in there than usual! They fully start out this book as a team. Burrich calling Fitz “FitzChivalry” makes me fuckin emo and idk why even. Burrich does seem to start seeing Fitz a lot more as his own person in this book which changes their dynamic in some rly nice ways. The fact that towards the end of the book Burrich even uses the wit to help Fitz is enough to make me cry tbh - and writing this has made me realise that I’m officially past any uncomplicated good times between Burrich and Fitz y’all mind if I fuckin die real quick!!

Fitz/Verity is soy pure and beautiful. Fitz and the Fool is always, always compelling and complex and tender and perfectly mysterious. But overall you’d have to say Fitz/Nighteyes, hey? They are literally meant to be, in a way so straightforward and undeniable and beautifully simple that I never really know what to say about it. Little brother!!! :’) They literally make me cry all the frickin time lol rip!

Favourite setting

There aren’t that many to choose from in this book! Ima go with the skill river bc hey, Robin’s magic systems are so unique and beautiful and the fact that the skill is written as a kind of a place is really frickin cool and deserves a shoutout.

Favourite chapter

The final chapter (not the epilogue) ummm broke my heart but it is written so beautifully, oh my god, it’s like an out of body experience. I feel like this is kind of when RotE becomes RotE - the first time it really goes to that place that is so fitting yet so unexpected, so beautiful, so tragic, so awful, so visceral. Making use of the genre to really test the limits of humanity; to see how far you can bend a person without breaking them and then refusing to turn away from the consequences. Idk man!! I don’t know how to describe it without sounding like a pretentious dick but it really is that intense and strange and overwhelming for me. There is something in that moment, when Burrich pulls Fitz’s body out of the earth and Fitz/Nighteyes is recoiling from it and deeply terrified… Something about the enormity of the existential questions raised converging with the pinpoint specificity of it all being wrapped up in the story of a character that feels so real and who you care about so deeply… It’s almost written like a horror scene, but that’s not quite the feeling. It’s just the RotE feeling; there are multiple throughout all five series, and it’s what makes these books unlike any other.

Most loved character

Fitz, Nighteyes, the Fool all had my entire heart this book. The Fool is just so sad and pathetic and literally must be protected!! I think I’m kind of obsessed with Burrich? Also I think I almost forgot how much I love Kettricken? She’s a complete badass of course but she’s also got the biggest goddamn heart like…. Who said she was allowed to be such a beautiful person???

But god, everyone. I love them all.

Most hated character

What can I say? Regal is disgostang. Wall Ass a close second.

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimised by Robin Hobb (most heartbreaking and/or visceral moments)

Shall I list just a few? :)

- Burrich screaming at Fitz through the bars of his jail cell, horrible things you can’t help but feel are at least a little bit true

- Burrich sobbing over Fitz’s dead body repeating, “You aren’t dead, you aren’t dead.”

- Fitz going to Nighteyes before everything went down on the night of the coronation and just fuckin hugging him really tight

- Fitz trying desperately to leave his broken vessel behind but not quite being able to disown his body

- The Fool being beaten

- The Fool being beaten again

- The Fool sprawled and weeping across Shrewd’s dead body

- The Fool really believing for a moment that Fitz had betrayed him and killed Shrewd

- Fitz tending the Fool’s wounds………. bitch….

- Chade giving Fitz a chance to escape with them and Fitz going to kill Serene and Justin instead

- Idk why this is even that sad but Nighteyes saying the only person he loves is Fitz!

- The entire incident with the forged ones literally tearing apart a three year old girl, which I had completely blocked out until now :)

- The fact that Fitz continues to be reminded and traumatised by this incident for the remainder of the book beCAUSE HE IS A GOOD BOY. A VERY GOOD BOY WITH A VERY GOOD HEART.

- Fitz repelling at Nighteyes to try and force their bond broken

- LITTLE BROTHER

- WOLVES HAVE NO KINGS

- High off his face Fitz calling Patience “mother” no shut the fuck up!!!!

Details, observations, spoilery notes made with the benefit of the full picture

- I’ve been trying for ages to decipher when the Fool started falling for Fitz, and I think I’m officially putting my money on their last interaction in AA. “I wish I had a place that was as much me as that place is you.” I mean. If someone said that to me… I’m not a slut but who knows, ya know? (I know this is more a note for the last book but I thought of it while reading this book. So shh.)

- It’s so clear to see this time how much Fitz’s sense of self and politics are affected by his time in the Mountains. He obviously feels much more inclined to their way of thinking about royalty and sacrifice and equality and returns to Buckkeep with a self-respect he’s never really had before. Weird how being among people who don’t just think of you as The Bastard will do that.

- It’s no wonder Fitz becomes so fixated on Molly; he literally has almost nothing else to occupy him and no companionship when she suddenly shows up

- It’s gross that he spies on her, obviously, but you can’t not take into account the fact that Chade has been teaching him since he was ten that this is justifiable behaviour; a reasonable way to gather information and get what you want. Fitz’s lack of social awareness goes further than him just being a little awkward; he has literally been trained to believe the only thing wrong with stalking would be getting caught.

- I’ve seen a few people talk about the fact that Regal isn’t appropriately punished as if it’s bad writing and like, while it is frustrating, it is supposed to be frustrating - it is not a plot hole. It made sense to me the first time I read it and it was even more obvious this time; Regal has the loyalty of the inland duchies. If he were to be publicly punished those dukes would rally behind him and raise hell, and Regal would no longer need to play the part of the dutiful prince. Even if Regal died a “natural” death - something I can’t see Shrewd or Verity orchestrating anyway - the inland dukes would feel that they no longer have a Farseer on their side and may, again, raise hell. It’s a delicate balance that would be outrageously difficult not to topple if you removed Regal from the equation. There is a lot more to it than I’ll bother writing here but yeah. I don’t really know how people can read this book and think that Regal retaining his life and position is some sort of lazy plot contrivance. It was all set up in the first book dude.

- Fitz and Nighteyes meeting in this book is the perfect metaphor for our need for connection versus the fear of inevitable loss. Fitz’s experience tells him that entering into a bond with an animal can only end in pain, yet he can’t resist it. In real life this is especially true with humans and our animal companions, since they almost always have a shorter lifespan than us; signing up to love them is signing up to lose them. But the same is also true of our relationships with other humans. And like Fitz, we have all had our fair share of loss and pain. We all have our reasons to be afraid of the connection we naturally crave. Sometimes we give in to the fear to the point of holding ourselves back from it entirely. That’s where Fitz is at when he meets Nighteyes. But what’s so beautiful about their arc as a metaphor is that it suggests that these connections, if we submit to them, are what keep our vital spark alive. Even when Nighteyes dies later in the series, the sentiment always remains, essentially, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Ya boi is projecting bc it’s hard to be vulnerable and make friends as an adult, but I think the observation stands. Love and connection and vulnerability are key threads that run throughout all of Fitz’s story, but in this book it is best represented through him and Nighteyes.

- “I hoped I would not become too adept at lying to myself.” Honey, you got a big storm comin.

- Very inch resting (gay) that Fitz finds it hard to meet the Fool’s eyes. I know almost everyone does bc his eyes are weird, but I reserve the right to reach and I will absolutely NOT be accepting criticism.

- I find it interesting that Fitz says Kettricken’s wit is not strong just because she doesn’t use it exactly the way he does

- I know it’s not meant to be funny but……. The way Fitz described losing his virginity had me literally laughing out loud

- Fitz was really like “okay i better go break my bond with Nighteyes” just cos he and Molly fucked. Teenagers don’t deserve rights.

- You know what? I really, really appreciate how fucking weird these books are lol. What other author would use their magic system to have their characters accidentally intruding on each other’s awkward sex stuff? Okay, maybe a few, but they would do it to be like, edgy and sexy. Robin Hobb just does it to make you cringe so hard you lose several years off of your life.

- But seriously, even apart from the cringe stuff, these books get so strange and out there and like! That’s what magic is for!

- Bruh. When Fitz is like “omg poor Verity…. He’ll never have what i have with Molly” I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone encapsulate the self-important delusion of teen romance so perfectly lol. Wow.

- Okay some Fitz/Fool stuff that made me lose my tiny mind. Sorry.

- Fitz literally said about the Fool “he burned too brightly” I WILL DIE.

- Fitz is always like, irritated by the Fool… yet positively delighted by his presence at the same time…… okay bitch

- Inch resting how Fitz has always been uncomfortable with the Fool getting serious. I don’t quite know how to put my thoughts on this into words so like. I’ll just put it there. Make of it what you will.

- “Sit on my clothes chest and take your shirt off…” i stopped fucking breathing noah fence

- “I ran my fingers lightly down the line of his jaw, and around his eye socket. At least no bone seemed damaged. ‘Who did this to you?’ I asked him.” my GOD this is literally textbook gay/romance. It hurts me. It physically hurts me.

- Straight from my notes: “I can’t even focus on reading this bc it’s the first time they are tending each other’s wounds and I am a homosexual!” and “the gays are quaking!! (it’s me I’m the gays)

- Okay wow! I think that’s it! Hello if you made it this far! Hope this was remotely coherent and I’m always keen to hear your thoughts on my thoughts :)

Anyone doing a reread feel free to fill this out! You don’t have to use the tag :)

#rote #realm of the elderlings #royal assassin #royal assassin spoilers #fitzchivalry farseer #realm of the quarantine

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yuli-the-bi · 4 years

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It took me a while to recollect myself after today's chapter. After excitedly getting up super early (went to bed around 4am, woke up at 7) and waiting patiently for the episode to come out, I had such high hopes, y'know? (Warning: this gets a bit long.)

But that quickly ended in a punch to the gut that, honestly, left me speechless and with full-body tremors. I haven't had an anxiety attack in a while but it hit me hard and took me some time to calm down. I'm used to disappointment from series I watched in the past, but I sincerely did have faith in this one. V7 was what got me back into rwby, mainly because I had dropped it after skipping around the events of V5. I had noticed Qrow getting attention on this site, and went "sure, why not?" and checked the tag. This was when chapter 3 aired, and man, was everyone going wild over it-- for completely good reason. I've always been attached to Qrow as a character. I've had the lowest times in my life where I didn't think I would get back up, and here he was, the character that I saw parts of myself reflected in-- suddenly earning a potential partner that, for once, could balance his semblance and quite possibly everything else. We weren't wrong in the least in that regard.

Speaking from a narrative design point, the outer, cinematic dialogue for c12 was just... so wrong in many ways. It felt like characterization was thrown out the window, Tyrian aside. I've written countless scripts for games, and as a writer you are responsible for forming an immersive dialogue/monologue that will direct the audience into experiencing specific emotions. The lines here, while beautifully delivered by the amazing voice actors, gave me the feeling of two utter, complete strangers that were pitted against each other rather than two people who have been together for quite some time and have developed a bond. The words, especially from Clover, were visceral, cold, and almost robotic. Completely OOC actions aside, the tone set in the scenes were so unnatural it caused me to pause the video several times to digest what had been said.

It hurt to hear Clover of all people, the same man throughout the volume show his concern for ALL civilians, including Mantle (cue back to c9 where he was the one to panic about rushing the rwbyjnr + ace ops/qrow to Mantle to save the people, as well as his stern orders to prioritize the safety of the people), to suddenly become a callous soldier set in his ways. He turned his back on the people that depended on him, which seems to be a reoccurring theme in these past few episodes. That doesn't reflect the man I've seen, admired, and analyzed throughout the volume. This one today felt unnatural and lacked all empathy that he had once shown (literally just in c11 you can *hear* the relief and joy in his voice once he reports that they've apprehended Tyrian, the psycho who has been out on a killing spree and Clover explicitly expressed malice to). This episode just completely forgoes the warmth I've been hearing in his voice.

I'm angry, depressed, and quite frankly, so fucking annoyed at how this episode was handled, from the standpoint of a narrative design/script writer and a fan of the show since high school. There were so many other routes they could have taken, granted, that could have given us just as much angst/shock value without the cost of a character that was a major pillar of support for Qrow. There has been so much wonderful development throughout the volume that sincerely gave me hope that it was going to be okay for him, and in turn, be okay for me and many other individuals who see themselves in Qrow's shoes. But that hope was demolished the moment I heard Clover speak so coldly, just barely showing reluctance he had so boldly delivered in previous chapters. I knew something was wrong, but didn't want to believe it. When I write dialogue for my scripts, I always envision myself as the character speaking, including gestures, facial expressions, and tone/pitch used to create a 'realistic' voice for them. I'm not one of the writers, but they demonstrated a very transparent purpose of closing off the possibilities of character growth with just those few lines. The intention was there. It probably has been from the start. And that isn't okay.

Not when there has been, admittedly, so many scenes where it touched upon gentler, more open emotions like trust, which is supposed to be such a huge factor in this volume. It was used horribly in this chapter, as it was meant to twist Clover's words, making it seem as though Qrow was completely in the wrong when we all fucking know it's two sides of the same coin. Not one side is completely right or wrong. "I wanted to trust you too" really hit me in all the wrong places. It crushed the hope for their bond, and all for what? Dramatic flair? If that's the case, then it was a real poor stylistic choice. Qrow was spot on when he said Clover was being manipulative-- because those words, while they sounded as if they were filled with pain, were all transparent in terms of closing off any more development between them. All these lines served one purpose, and that was to stamp out whatever had been blooming underneath all their previous interactions. Very melodramatic, I've seen about a thousand of these used, and none of them ever get me to react the way the writer intended for. It just left the worst taste in my mouth. (And don't even get me started on that ending. It might've appeased whatever audience they were going for, but bluntly put I've seen commercials that delivered stronger emotional impact than that. It clearly shows even more how Clover is distanced from Qrow in that regard. The "Good luck" at the end is a call back sure but the words exchanged really just... left me feeling so empty rather than a heart full of emotions. I only started crying once I heard Qrow's anguished scream and saw the light fade from Clover's eyes.)

I've seen all the wonderful AUs and fix-it scenarios that many of you have been posting and I really appreciate all your positivity through this horrible misstep in show production. (Thank you to those who are liking and reblogging my fair game comic I made a while back.) This has hurt me so badly that I know I probably won't open up and trust shows like this for quite some time, if ever. I'm skeptical about any changes that might occur in the finale, but I'll be looking at it with cold indifference nonetheless. I'll probably take a break from the series again afterward, but will definitely continue basking in the absolute joy of the fair game community and ignoring... whatever the hell that was. (I actually have some WIPs for fics saved that I might work on and publish once I get time off work). I'm sorry for my rambling and that it might not make much sense, but I had to voice my thoughts on the situation today. It is not okay by any means, and everyone who is upset by this is valid.

#fair game #yuli rants #I'm really fucking upset and I've been trying to keep the rambling to a minimum but I couldn't hold back #I had a lot of hope in crwby and they just smashed my favorite character's positive development to pieces #all for some fucking useless shock value or an attempt at moving the story along #fuck off and seriously reconsider who is consuming your media before assuming you know what's good for the show #it's 2020 and I have to bear with seeing a man die before he can even develop a deeper bond with his soulmate goodbye #luck birds #lucky charms #qrover #clover x qrow

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ambitionsource · 4 years

Photo

Front Nine “Life Playlists,” or 10 Songs That Define Them ♪

Each track on a Life Playlist represents a song that left a major impact on your life, whether it’s a visceral memory, an important event, or something that connected you to someone or something else. For the F9, songs featured are up through the canon timeline, so through the summer before senior year.

Lucas James Friar (born September 3, 2001) ♫ Playlist

1. “Desperado” by The Eagles || The earliest song Lucas can remember, because it's one of Grace's favorites. She's a fan of the Eagles and would play this album pretty often, especially when Kenneth was away. Lucas has a really distinct sensory memory from when he was like 4 or 5, where this song was playing in the living room on this shitty speaker. It was spring and the windows were all open (which they rarely are) and so the room was way brighter than normal. It smelled like spring and fresh air and his mom was singing along in the kitchen, and it was the only time he really heard her sing. He doesn't listen to it much now because it makes him emotional (and we know how he hates that), but in the future he'll come back around to it and it will become one of his favorite songs too. Maybe someday, his kids (should he have them) will develop a similar sensory memory, only it'll be their stable suburban home and it'll be their dad singing to himself in the kitchen when they've never heard dad sing before. Mom, sure, but dad? And the cycle will continue...

2. “Car Windows” by The Main Drag || This album, Yours As Fast As Mine by The Main Drag, is to this day the only album Lucas has listened to in full. When he was like in third grade he was playing Rock Band 2 with some friends (classic), and they played the song "Jagged Gorgeous Winter" from this album. Lucas really liked it and even asked about it when they were done playing. While the other kids didn't really know much about it, the mom of the friend (who knew all about Lucas's home life and was semi-friends with Grace until they moved away) explained that she actually had the original album on CD and gave it to Lucas to borrow. Lucas took it home and listened to the entire thing, and he still has the CD to this day as he never gave it back (although the mom figured she probably wouldn’t have it returned when she handed it over). Over time, “Car Windows” became his favorite song, and it (along with the album) is something he would go on to share only with Riley as music that's actually important to him.

3. “Down With the Sickness” by Disturbed || Pretty self-explanatory, but this song was somewhat of a meme in the late 2000s in a lot of like popular Youtube videos and stuff at the time. Lucas tangentially heard about it that way while at school in like 5th - 6th grade (when his anger and behavior was starting to get bad), and considering the song is pretty heavily representative of having an abusive parent (the chilling bridge being indicative of that), Lucas immediately latched onto it. It's basically his go-to track on his "shut up shut up shut up" playlist, when he needs to tune out the world. But depressing. Very depressing.

4. “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark” by Fall Out Boy || Lucas's introduction to Fall Out Boy, and the rest is history. He first heard the song in a post-detention hang-out when he was in 7th grade, tailing around some reckless 8th graders who agreed that he was cool enough to kick it with them considering the reason he had detention (vandalism of school property and for flipping off a teacher), and he was basically the same age as them anyway. One of them was playing the recent FOB album on their phone, starting with this song, and while Lucas also tried weed for the first time afternoon and wasn't a fan, he was a pretty quick disciple of Fall Out Boy.

5. “Gives You Hell” by All-American Rejects || Also featured on Asher's playlist, this track bonded Dylucasher the most while they were building their new friendship. This is the song they would play while shit-talking performers in the booth, what they'd blast through Dylan's car speaker while setting off bottle rockets, what they shout-sing while dicking around the skate park, etc. Gave Lucas a sense of empowerment when everything else felt out of control, and watching Asher and Dylan sing along full-throttle with him also made him feel like they might actually be friends who were there to stay. Also convinced him that Asher was way more crazy than his perfect polished exterior let on...

6. “Misery Business” by Paramore || Lucas and Isadora's favorite song in freshman year. While Lucas didn't hold many opinions about music and thus basically begrudgingly listened to whatever Isadora wanted to when they hung out, this is the song that both of them agreed was a hardcore bop. Although neither of them were singing along from experience, both of them learned all the words in no time and there were plenty of booth afternoons spent talk-singing along to the angry Paramore hit. As Isadora puts it in Cruel Summer, “Lucas and I would just sit around and listen to it on repeat to the point that we both knew the all the words—and that’s a big deal when it comes to him, because he doesn’t know like any music.”

7. “That Would Be Enough” from Hamilton || Riley's performance at the Jacob's Gala was impactful enough on Lucas that he proceeded to listen to the track the entire weekend after the event. Even though he abruptly stopped listening after the massacre that occurred on Monday when he tried to wipe everything about Riley from his memory, he would still find it stuck in his head at random times. It's the only song to stick with him so pointedly in such a short amount of exposure, and to this day he might occasionally ask Riley to sing it -- only if no one else is around, naturally.

8. “Quiet” by Rachael Yamagata || A selection from the playlist Riley made Lucas in sophomore year that essentially became Lucas's mental breakdown track. Any time he found himself burnt out of anger (which is what he predominantly used throughout junior year to numb the overwhelming emotion of everything else), he would end up either crashed in his nook in the booth, on his pathetic bed, or hidden away in his closet if he was really crashing and burning and without fail he would turn to this song. Just searching for quiet... some actual peace and quiet...

9. “Alive” by Pearl Jam || In the midst of junior year, Jack and Lucas had many conversations. One of those ended up being about music, as Jack wanted to know if Lucas really hated every single performance his classmates put on, or if that was all part of the defense mechanism. Jack shared some of his favorite artists from when he was his age to today, including Pearl Jam, which he claimed got him through some of the toughest parts of his life. Lucas absorbed the information but didn't do much with it until the later part of junior year, after everything went to hell, and he decided to look up what the big deal with Pearl Jam was anyway. Hearing about two minutes of Alive was all it took to stick with him, and he continued to listen to it as the rest of the chaos year unfolded. And yeah, maybe it makes him feel more connected to Jack... so what. Who asked you? Whatever. Who cares. I'm still alive, oh yeah, I'm still alive...

10. “As Lovers Go” by Dashboard Confessional || One of the songs Riley consistently plays when they're hanging out and driving around together during the summer of love, and so it instantly becomes associated with her in Lucas's mind. Not only is it like, a good song that he also actually likes, but it's like every single note of it is infused with Riley and memories of her. Might be likely that a lot of songs are going to start feeling that way...

#lucas james friar #life playlists #edit #by maggie #i'm slowly pickin away at these... figuring out how to format it was hard lol #but hopefully this is insightful and enjoyable!!#also the baby pic........ he is babie its true....

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

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Off Day: Fourteen

It had taken some convincing. And some bribery. And a promise that you could paint whatever you wanted as long as it looked cool and not too girly, but Nat had gotten you to agree to paint a wall of the clubhouse. An accent wall. A mural. Whatever but, you were doing it, even if you were still currently drawing out your designs.

Keeping busy was apparently your secret. Being busy and taking your medication which Bucky could respect. You’d politely declined therapy, stating that if you ever went to a therapist, they’d probably just throw you in the dumpster and inform your family to just start over. Still. You were steadily gaining back some healthy weight and had the energy to do things. It was a start.

A good start, Bucky reflected as he inspected the trail of love bites you’d left on his chest. He shook his head. You could be such a brat on your good days, pouty and mischevious. It made him itch to turn you over his knee and spank your bottom until it was the perfect shade of red to suit his mood. Still. He was happy that you were stable. That you were coping with things.

It didn’t mean there were no bad days, where all your depression and anxiety and pain were so loud that all you wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry yourself back to sleep. On those days, he was thankful for Salem. She’d stand on your back and scream until you got up to feed her. Or fill the water bowl she knocked over. You’d let yourself go without food or water but you’d never do that to your cat. He’d learned to let you get up and do it. Once you fed Salem, it was a shower. Once you showered, you got dressed. Once you dressed it was coffee, and by then, you felt alive enough to be on your feet. Routine helped, he realized. And having him there. He spent more time at your house than he did at his anymore. Not that he minded. Your bed was more comfortable.

Bucky changed his shirt and walked back out to the front. It was abnormally quiet. Nat had turned the Jukebox down and everyone appeared to be waiting for something. “Nat what-” he asked, looking to where Sam and Clint had subtly posted themselves near you as you worked, momentarily oblivious.

Nat shook her head and quietly indicated where Char and her Posse had rolled up, clearly intending to cause trouble. Char was still sore that her plot to Baby trap Bucky hadn’t worked. And more sore that the new rumor in town was that he moved in with you because he’d knocked you up and was going to help take care of the baby. The only explanation the biddies at the beauty shop could come up with for the sudden healthy flush in your face and a little bit of weight gained. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky groaned, “Nat, can’t you throw them out?”

“I could. But honestly, I don’t wanna miss the show,” Nat said smirking.

“Nat, Y/N’s never been in a fight.”

“Yeah she has,” Nat snorted, “Just because she doesn’t advertise it doesn’t mean she can’t fight... I mean Char runs her mouth all over town and hasn’t realized that if you break your hand throwing a punch you probably did it wrong.”

“Fuck me,” he sighed, starting over to you, “I can’t-” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence. Char’s perfume clogs his nose and he has this sense of impending doom in the bit of his stomach, “Hey, Buckaroo,” she purred, “Looks like your pet psycho is out of the looney bin still, and it paints. How sweet.”

Bucky can’t even answer. Before he can blink you’re standing between them. You might have to look up a Char but there’s no doubting that you’re not intimidated. “Nat,” you ask, “Did you pull the string on her back? I didn’t know the new line of Prosti-tots came out.”

Char reared back to hit you, her girls whipping out phones in the background and Bucky can’t do anything. There isn’t time. She gets a hit in. A bad one. It misses because you turn your head to deflect it, reaching up while she’s angry. Distracted. And grabbing the back of her head. Faster than Bucky thought possible. You bounce her face a few times off the bar and shove her backward over the nearest table, “Any of you come near him again and I’ll show you psycho, you stupid cunt. He said no. That’s it. It’s over.”

One the floor, Char is mewling and screaming and her girls are struggling to get her off the floor. They yell a bunch of inarticulate things about you going to pay and you bing a bitch but you don’t speak as they’re escorted out. You don’t have to. You didn’t throw the first punch.

Nat wordlessly hands you a Shirley Temple and you take a sip, “Thanks.”

“Any time,” she snorted, “Just don’t fuck up my face.”

“Please. Her plastic surgeon fucked that up long before I got to it.”

Bucky looked from the makeup smeared on the bar back to you and pulls you against his chest, kissing you hard. You make a soft surprised noise against his lips and he pulls you closer with a soft growl, ignoring a chorus of whistles and people telling him to get a room. He doesn’t care. He needs to tell you how fucking hot that was. How fucking scared he’d been. A visceral, knee jerk reaction to someone that had actively tried to ruin his life to make him stay with her. Being with you. Someone who really loved him had made him realize how fucking abusive Char was. She didn’t feed him shots at the bar so he'd have a good time. She did it so she could control him. All her demands and mood swings and tantrums were meant to keep him on the line. Craving approval she’d never really give him. He’d assumed relationships were supposed to be that exhausting.

Until now. Until you showed him what mutual affection and respect was supposed to look like. Even on your worst day. Even when you felt like dying. You made sure he had what he knew you loved him. You’d bring him a coffee or send him a picture of a cool ass bike you saw online. Smudge sleepy kisses against his lips when he tucked you into bed. Hell, doing the dishes after he made supper.

When he finally pulls away, needing to breathe before he throws you over his shoulder and sets you on the nearest flat surface to fuck you stupid, you look up at him wide-eyed and breathless. “Thank you,” he murmurs, rubbing your kiss swollen lower lip with his thumb.

“Anything for you, handsome,” you answer, kissing his thumb.

Bucky doesn’t have to explain. You know what abuse looks like. How it feels to long for approval and never get it. How it feels to be with someone you love and still feel alone. How easy it is to tolerate the abuse you believe you deserve, because how could You. You of all people ever deserve better. Your reaction to the look on his face had been instant. You’d heard him in the quiet. And Her. When you turned and saw the hunted, anxious look on his face at the corners of his eyes and in the shape of his mouth, you just couldn’t sit back and let Nat do it. He didn’t belong to Nat. He belonged to you. He was Yours and you’d be damned if that woman was ever going to touch him again.

“Come watch me work?” you ask, wanting his company but not wanting to keep him from his friends.

“Can I heckle?” he teased kissing your nose.

“Only if you make it up to me later,” you tell him grinning.

“Deal.”

____________

“Buck,” Steve asked later, when you were sitting at the bar, very intently drawing on the arm he didn’t need to drink his beer, “What the fuck is she doing?”

“Designing a cover up for the bullshit tats you didn’t talk me out of.” he answers.

“Why?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his arm still.

“Bucky stop moving,” you scold.

“It tickles right there,” he protested.

“Clients,” you grouse.

Steve walks around the stool to peer over your shoulder, “Hey, that’s not bad,” he said, “Y/N you do tats?”

You shrug sitting up to stretch your back and push your glasses up, “I did an apprenticeship but didn’t stay with it. The shop stole a shit load of my art. Then tattooed it. Badly.”

“Ever done any pin-ups?” Clint asked.

“I’ve drawn them,” you tell him, “I toyed with the idea of putting one over all the scarring on my thigh but couldn’t work out how to incorporate the scarring and make it look right.”

Clint nodded, “Would you do one on me?” he asked.

You shake your head, “Bucky bought me a new kit but it’s been a long time since I tattooed skin. I’d have to do some work on pig skin before I’d feel comfortable tattooing anyone.”

“Hell,” Nat said taking a pull of her beer, “That alone means you’re probably a better artist than the scratchers in this hell hole.”

You shrug, “Probably but, I’d just feel more comfortable with some time to practice before I mess with someone’s skin.”

“Where do you even buy pigskin?”

“Butchers,” you answer, inspecting your work on your boyfriend's arm and nodding to yourself, uncapping a green marker.

Bucky makes a mental note to track some down somewhere, He’d love it if you’d put a tattoo on him. Even if it isn’t a big one. Maybe just a little something somewhere. Lip prints on that spot on his thigh that made him giggle when you brushed your lips across it. A morning-glory, your favorite flower on the inside of his wrist. Something to remind him he belonged to you, even when he didn’t feel good enough. Even if people stared at him when he took you out for dinner. The big scary biker that smelled vaguely of oil and gasoline no matter how hard he scrubbed. It clung to him. The calloused hands that were almost never clean enough to not make him feel like he was going to leave dirt on the table cloth. He felt awkward and out of place while you looked clean and fresh in a blouse and cute skirt. He’d like the morning glory idea. He’d have to have you draw one on him so he could get it tattooed properly. He liked having a reminder where he could see it.

“Baby girl?” he murmured, “You got any room left to draw something for me?”

“A little,” you say, pushing your glasses up, “Got something you wanna take on a test drive?”

He smiles a little and kisses the end of your nose, “I just want a little flower,” he said, “A morning-glory.”

Your cheeks heat a little and you go through your bag of sharpies for the colors you need. “Where’d you want it? You don’t have much real estate for me to work with.”

“Right here,” he said pointing to a spot of bare skin on the inside of his wrist. You nod and start drawing. “You know this won’t stay on there right?” you remind him.

“I guess that just means you’ll have to keep drawing it on for me. Least til you actually want to bust out your kit.” he hums, leaning down to kiss your hair.

Clint made a noise suggestive of gagging and Nat smacked him in the back of the head, quietly trying not to giggle. This was possibly the cutest thing to ever happen in her bar and she was really, really thankful she got pictures. Your kids some day were gonna need to see their dad look at you like he was right now.

Tags: @lancsnerd @etherealwaifgoddess @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @stevieang @wellfucksorrymum

#Bucky Barnes #soft bucky #bucky x reader #biker!bucky #biker!au #fluff #bar fight #past abuse mentioned #slight angst #natasha romanoff #Steve Rogers #clint barton

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the-yerkes-dodson-curve · 5 years

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SO LET’S TALK ABOUT THE NEW SANDERS SIDES VIDEO

This is gonna be a long post. I have a lot of thoughts about this episode. There is going to be some serious talk about my own personal experiences with violent intrusive thoughts and also me just appreciating this amazing episode.

I was one of the people that was convinced it was going to be about depression. I am so glad it wasn’t. A lot of people have talked about depression, but no one, at least as far as I know, have really touched upon intrusive thoughts. I had the exact same dilemma as Thomas last year where I thought I was going insane because I couldn’t control my own brain and I had a horrible mental breakdown and I was convinced I was a horrible person because of my intrusive thoughts. I cried and talked to people about it and through doing so it was made clear to me that these intrusive thoughts were just that, thoughts. Nothing more. They hold nothing over me. I still suffer from them, but now I know what they are.

I was also certain there wasn’t going to be another side introduced. It’s been a year since Deceit was introduced, we’ve only just gotten to know Deceit a little better, there won’t be another side. BOY WAS I WRONG

The episode starts with Thomas, Virgil and Patton trying not to think about the intrusive thoughts he was having that kept him awake. I have intrusive thoughts like that all the time. I vividly imagine my family members dying, or even myself dying. I vividly imagine someone breaking into the house and killing me. My brain does what Virgil and Patton do, freak out and try to think about something else. This video has made me realise how much I repress thoughts like that.

My anxiety also makes me have intrusive thoughts. Whenever I have an anxiety attack I vividly imagine myself killing myself in gory detail because I’ve gotten into this cycle of hating myself whenever I have an attack. I get scared, what if I lose control one day and these thoughts become reality?

I love how the audio became muffled and the intrusive thought creeped in. I like to think of the mind like a radio, tuning in and out of different frequencies, and sometimes, or most of the time like for me, you can’t control the frequencies it jumps to. And suddenly you’re imagining your loved one being killed or dying.

I SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER WHEN THOSE HANDS CREEPED OUT

I WAS NOT EXPECTING A NEW SIDE AT ALL

I WAS SO TERRIFIED

HOLY SHIT THAT CHARACTER DESIGN I AM IN LOVE STRAIGHT AWAY

BUT AAAAAAAA WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHAT THE HELL

When he smacked Roman in the head and knocked him out I was so shook, this Sanders Sides has stepped into totally new territory

LOOK AT HIM OMG HE HAS A MOUSTACHE I WASN’T EXPECTING A NEW SIDE TO HAVE FACIAL HAIR HOLY SHIT

THE DUKE

HIS VOICE

HE HAS A DIFFERENT VOICE

THERE IS NO ENDING TO THOMAS’ TALENT

The way the song starts is eVeRyThInG

THESE EFFECTS I CAN’T DEAL AAAAAAAAA

I FUCKING SCREAMED

HIS SIX ARMS I LOVE IT REMUS’ SASSY STANCE I AM LIVING FOR IT

If you shared those musings with your friends, I doubt they would forgive you.

Gosh. I relate to this too much. I was so scared that I would somehow reveal these bad thoughts to people and they would hate me and everyone would hate me and think I was an awful person.

Even though everybody sins, everybody dies.

FAVOURITE PART OF THE SONG HANDS DOWN THOMAS’ VOICE IS AMAZING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Why deny yourself knowledge, say, knowledge of yourself!

These lyrics are amazing. They encapsulating what I was thinking when I had really bad intrusive thoughts. I still have them, but when I first started noticing I had them I spiralled so far down. “What if this is who I am...what if I’m not the nice person I think I am?”

hELP I LOVE HIM BUT I HATE HIM BUT I LOVE HIM

I always love the villain. I hate everything they’ve done and don’t condone any of it, but I absolutely love them, especially if they are as fabulous as the Duke Remus.

These sorts of things are only thought in the mind of a man whose soul is truly rotten.

Oof. I relate to that thought process.

So let all your hopes of heaven be forgotten, ‘cause your head’s not in the gutter, pal, it’s in hell!

I wasn’t expecting religious imagery. I really love that. I don’t relate to the religious ideas brought up in this episode as I am not religious, but I do love the fact that he talked about them. Also, when Deceit said, “Wow, Thomas, it seems that your moral compass is pointed south, towards hell!” that was definitely foreshadowing for Thomas to spiral into this. That’s why Patton reacted so viscerally to that comment.

Remus: Juicy butthole!

Me:

Me: what...what is happening in this Sanders Sides

THIS FACE I LOVE IT

THE JAZZ HANDS AND THE HIGH VOICE AAAAAA WHY DO I LOVE HIM AND HATE HIM

Patton did a real good job!

Oh my goodness, this precious boi.

How about...DEMENTED?

I C H O K E D

What is my deal? Um, bitch? What is YOUR deal?

My exact thought process. “Am I actually a horrible person because I’m having such awful thoughts like this, there’s definitely something wrong with me...but I can’t stop it...”

Oh no....oh no!

My heart broke at the horror and sadness that washes over Thomas’ and Patton’s face.

another good remus screenshot

Oh my goodness, the way he tortures Logan throughout the episode was awful for me to watch cause MY BABY LOGAN, but I love how Logan doesn’t react. I love Logan’s determination.

You bastard.

IT WAS A LONG TIME COMING HELL YES VIRGIL

I’d love to see the bloopers for this bit, oh my gosh.

Ooh! How fun! You know who could help us with that?

AWW MAN YOU GOT MY HOPES UP XDD

That’s what repression is!?

I love Patton’s reaction, cause I had the same reaction. Repression is so easy to do cause you often don’t know you are doing it.

This is not about me wanting to be listened to. You all are not listening to Thomas.

THIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT OH MY GOSH

Virgil: But what if he’s lying?

Logan: I can assure you, he’s not. You’re just para- expressing an unhealthy amount of concern. Thank you for being on guard. But for now, you must listen.

I love this part so much. It calls back to when Roman almost called Virgil paranoid, but then switched it to vigilant. Logan realised he was getting too worked up and angry and so stopped himself. This is great development from when he lashed out at Roman in Learning New Things About Ourselves. Calling Virgil “paranoid” is destructive and will make Virgil not feel listened to. He is aware of that. He is making sure Virgil still feels like he’s a valued part of Thomas’ mind.

another good remus screenshot

THAT IS WHY I SAY IT!

GOSH I LOVE LOGAN SO MUCH YES LOGAN GO OFF

I love being given two d’s at once!

Me:

Me: ...again what is happening

When Logan revealed that the problem was within Patton and Virgil, my heart dropped. I wasn’t expecting that.

Record scratch!?

I LOVE HIM AAAAA

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN AM I COOL DOES THIS MAKE ME COOL

OMG PRECIOUS BOI AAAA

I WAS SO SHOOK WHEN HE SAID HIS NAME JUST LIKE THAT

ALSO THAT SLY DIG AT VIRGIL AAAAA

oof. this sad boi. :”(

Oh shut up, Nerdy Wolverine!

OMG I JUST REALISED THIS IS WHAT ROMAN SAYS AT THE END AAAAA

I S C R E A M E D

we just witnessed a side die guys

the angst fanfiction is coming to life

The Duke only has power over you because Virgil and Patton believe that he does.

Hit me hard. I’ve never related more to a Sanders Sides episode.

This. THIS. So poignant and brilliant! This is how it feels!

good logan screenshot

Virgil was right. Not all thoughts are meaningful.

This idea is what helped me better deal with intrusive thoughts. Your brain just fires random thoughts at you, they don’t necessarily mean anything.

I mean, look at him now! He barely got any rest due in large part to you two chastising him all night!

I love how Logan tells them off. UGH I LOVE HIM

And that is why the Duke feels like such a threat, in part, at least. The feeling that you may be a bad person who doesn’t have control over yourself or your destiny, causes you to fear that you may actually act on these thoughts.

Gosh this episode is hitting me hard.

It’s okay.

Everything is okay.

Logan’s soft voice as he said that made me emotional. His whole speech here is so lovely and helpful. It is okay to have these thoughts cross your mind. You are not a horrible person.

His talk about going to therapy is amazing too. It’s so inspiring. It has encouraged me to want to go back to the therapy because of my recent increase in violent intrusive thoughts.

Oh my goodness, Patton’s realisation and development. This is lovely.

You tickle me, emo!

...was that a tickle me elmo reference

Good seeing you again, Virgil! It was just like old times!

Me:

Me: wAIT A MINUTE--

Oh shut up, Nerdy Wolverine! NO! Ugh...I mean...I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean that.

THERE’S SO MUCH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN THIS EPISODE I CAN’T DEAL

Thomas: You’re really...cool.

Logan: ...heh.

Me: ACTUALLY SOBBING

THESE TWIN BROTHERS OH MY GOODNESS YES

It shows you...everything you don’t want to be.

There are some really hard hitting lines in this episode.

I’m a little disappointed in myself.

The others. I thought I knew how to handle them.

Yeah, but, I should know better.

Because I was one of them.

Virgil being insecure about his power and how much he can protect Thomas almost makes me cry. That last line...oh my goodness. Thomas and his team really know how to write a narrative. It seems that we’re gonna get some lore and backstory at some point after all.

Thomas and his team have done such a good job with this episode. It is my favourite Sanders Sides by far because of the fact that this topic has not really been talked about much, and they talked about it and showed what it’s like so brilliantly. I respect Thomas so much for pushing the boundaries of his channel to talk about this. Thank you, Thomas. I and and so many people needed this.

I realise that I need to go back to therapy. Thank you, Logan for encouraging me.

#ts spoilers #sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #dealing with intrusive thoughts #thomas sanders

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Rick and Morty’s Most Gruesome Deaths

https://ift.tt/3m2NOh1

The super-slick, super-sick Rick and Morty brand is known for many things: the warped, borderline-abusive dynamic between its titular characters, its deliciously dark humour, the gleefulness it takes in capsizing the conventions of a thousand genre tropes. Then there are the catch-phrases, and the colourful cast of supporting characters – everything from fatally-depressed Mr Meseeks to embedded family friends like Mr Poopybutthole. What really characterises it though, is death. That it’s not the first association you make with the show is possibly a by-product of there being so damn much of it that it stops registering.

There are long deaths, slow deaths, good deaths, bad deaths, sad deaths, funky deaths, perfunctory deaths, ironic deaths, iconic deaths, horrid deaths, hilarious deaths and hectares of borderline disturbing deaths.

Here are the most gruesome, in all their gory glory, season by season. (It’s a testament to Rick and Morty’s perpetually heavy ante that a little girl having her head sliced off by a Freddy Krueger substitute doesn’t even make it onto the list.)

I hope you haven’t eaten yet.

S1, E3 ‘Anatomy Park’ Come Flay With Me

Morty fails to save a fellow miniaturised man when things go south in ‘Anatomy Park’, a themed pleasure experience situated inside the body of a chronically unwell homeless man. The poor soul is sucked through the dying tramp’s windpipe and out through his mouth, the skin and flesh being stripped from his bones in the process, leaving him a peeled human spit-ball.

S1, E3 ‘Anatomy Park’ Space Guts

Things aren’t any less gruesome when the bloated corpse of the tramp is made giant by science. It ends up floating in space – because of course it does – whereupon it’s blown to smithereens, sending bone and guts spiralling into the void.

S1, E5 ‘Meeseeks and Destroy’ Who You Gonna Kill?

Morty not only finds himself preyed upon by parasite zombie versions of his family, but also has to watch as they’re trapped, burned, squished, melted and pulled into a piece of trapping technology that Rick clearly ripped from Egon’s ghost-busting manual.

S1, E5 ‘Meeseeks and Destroy’ Fairytale Ending

A fairytale giant – in the ‘Fe Fi Fo Fum’ mould – slips in his kitchen and slams his skull on a table-top. He bleeds out, a look of mystified shock frozen in his eyes, convulsing as his life-force ebbs away. RIP childhood.

S1, E6 ‘Rick Potion #9’ RIP and Mortal

In a sequence as chilling as it is gruesome, Rick mishandles some super-dangerous piece of kit and blows himself and Morty to Kingdom Come. Their crumpled remains, spattered with blood, smash against the wall; Rick’s eye pops out. Our own – thankfully unscathed – Rick and Mortys arrive from a doomed neighbouring dimension to bury them and take their place.

S1, E8 ‘Rixty Minutes’ Lepre-gone

You should never watch Inter-dimensional TV on a full stomach. In this advert, a cereal-hocking leprechaun – the mascot of this universe’s favourite breakfast cereal, Strawberry Smiggles – is pinned down on a tree stump by a little boy and girl, who proceed to slit open his abdomen and feast on his spilled-out innards; even squeezing out cereal shapes from his intestines and gobbling them like Pez sweets.

S2, E4 ‘Total Rickall’ Memory Massacre

Morty and family encounter shape-shifting alien parasites that reproduce through implanting false memories in a host’s brain. Their pus-fountained death throes – as their bodies wither, wilt, and burst in a screaming fanfare of tentacles – is pretty gruesome to behold, but thankfully you become desensitised to it pretty quickly.

S2, E7 ‘Big Trouble in Little Sanchez’ Rick Kills Himselves

At least Rick is an equal opportunities murderer. Even another version of himself isn’t exempt from his nihilistic rage. Here he gleefully smashes, drop-kicks and hacks up his own glass-encased surrogates, leaving a pile of bloodied parts strewn across the floor.

Rick and Morty: A Guide to Every Voice Actor

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S2, E8 ‘Interdimensional Cable 2: Tempting Fate’ Man vs Car

Another Interdimensional TV segment, another stomach churner. Literally this time. A punkish strongman is crushed to death under the wheels of a car he’d hoped to repel, his blood and body parts thrown from the fast-spinning tyres like fireworks from a Catherine Wheel.

S2, E8 ‘Interdimensional Cable 2: Tempting Fate’ Jerrymurdering

Jerry is violently shot to death, leaving his face a drooping, lacerated, blood-dripping husk. Thankfully he’s in a technologically sophisticated futuristic hospital that presumably offers socialised healthcare.

S2, E9 ‘Look Who’s Purging Now’ Mashes to Mashes

When Rick and Morty don robo-suits and enter the Purge, expect blood. When Rick hoists a purgee off the ground and pops his head off like it was a bottle-top, sending a fountain of blood arcing into the air, it’s pretty damn disgusting – and admittedly also a bit cool – but for gruesomeness you can’t beat the sight of two people having their heads slammed together leaving a mess of pink-hued, brain-flavoured mashed potato.

S3, E1 ‘The Rickshank Rickdemption’ Pop Goes the Weasel

In the midst of some inter-dimensional Rick and Morty-based carnage, a poor Morty is crushed to death with one swift trample, as if he were nothing more than a tube of toothpaste. His dead body lies on the ground like a stuffed tiger rug, his hollow eye sockets and melon-mouth aflame with blood.

S3, E2 ‘Rickmancing the Stone’ Bad Beth

Summer flips a Mad Max-style baddy’s death-machine, maiming him horribly. He drags his torso towards her from the wreck, on a slime of entrails, pleading with her to put him out of his misery. ‘OK,’ she says, ‘But not because you told me to.’

S3, E2 ‘Rickmancing the Stone’ Give Him a Big Hand

For maximum yuk, you really can’t beat Morty smashing skulls to a pulp in a Thunderdome-inspired death arena with his beefy, vengeful and murderously sentient replacement arm.

S3, E3 ‘Pickle Rick’ Rat-a-tat-splat

I’m going to condense multiple deaths into one here, all perpetrated by that mighty, vegetable-based superhero, Pickle Rick. First, he slices off a rat’s head with a trap and harvests its bones and sinew to add limbs to his pickle body. Next, he proceeds to dispatch a whole army of rats with his makeshift power-tools in a variety of brutal and ghastly ways: pummelling brains; suspending bleeding corpses from the ceiling; cutting them into strips, and even cleaving them in two. Riotously disgusting.

S3, E3 ‘Pickle Rick’ Laser Tag

Pickle Rick’s human opponents fall just as easily – and horrifically. The best, and messiest, kill is when Pickle Rick bores a laser-shot through the heads of three of his enemies, and then proceeds to stare cockily through the tunnelled lens of charred goo like some pickle-based James Bond.

S3, E4 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ Falling Down

Speaking of Superheroes, let’s say hello and goodbye to Morty’s favourite team, The Vindicators, most of whom met a particularly savage end. First there’s Vince Maximus, who flies into a ceiling vent, and is shot to death in such a spirit of Rambo-esque overkill that his disembodied legs drop to the ground like a downed plane.

S3, E4 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ See You Later Alligator (In a Pile, Crocodile)

Then there’s Croc-u-bot, splatted into a green pulp by a springing trap.

New Rick and Morty Anime Short is Very Fun and Very Anime

By Joe Matar

When Will Rick and Morty Season 5 Happen?

By Alec Bojalad

S3, E5 ‘Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender’ Ants in His Pants

And the perpetually angry Alan Rails, whose gullet is invaded by the shifting, morphing body of Million Ants, who first inflates him then detonates him in a riot of guts.

S3, E5 ‘The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy’ Game Over

This one if possibly the most viscerally gruesome death in the entire show. A little girl is shot through the head by her giggling boy pal just as Rick deactivates the invincibility shield protecting everyone inside the dome from death.

S3, E5 ‘The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy’ A Bug’s Death

Another death that’s psychologically, rather than physically, gruesome. Three little bug-people sit toasting each other’s health and happiness. ‘Let’s just relax and enjoy our retirement,’ says one, as he’s snatched by a bird of prey and carried to his doom. The last thing we see of him as he’s ferried to his horrible off-screen death is the open portal of his screaming mouth.

S3, E6 ‘Rest and Ricklaxation’ Party Poopers

A furry party-entertainer and a bunch of happy young kids are engulfed in a toxicity field. An angry exchange ensues, which culminates in the brutal beating, beheading and evisceration of the entertainer. They’re also available for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs.

S3, E7 ‘The Ricklantis Mixup’ Morty’s Flush

Thousands of dead Rick and Mortys float eerily through space having been tossed from the airlock by a homicidal Morty.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Crystal Death Addiction

When Morty first gazes upon the death crystal we see a shimmering smorgasbord of possible deaths. If you’ve got a fast pausing-hand, or the eyes of a spider, you’ll see such memorably brutal deaths as: Morty being sucked through a spacecraft toilet and ejected into the cold, airless void of space; dropped into a nest of giant baby birds and torn asunder; decapitated by an elevator door; and even falling from a skyscraper and being whisked to death by helicopter blades.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Rick’s Crystal Maze

Rick carks it in some hellishly grizzly ways, too. He’s torn in half by Squanch, is eaten by a giant spider, has his head splattered open like a melon by a swinging log, and – in perhaps the most horrific segment – has his body churned through a rectangular aperture in a giant Play Doh maker.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ Clunk, click. Dead Rick.

Rick soon after dies for real (but not forever) in a spacecraft crash following some death-crystal-related shenanigans, smashing through the windscreen and impaling himself on a spike.

S4, E1 ‘Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat’ The Wasp Factory

Extra points for top tier body-horror gruesomeness with this one. Wasp Rick lays eggs in giant Rick’s eye, causing fast-hatching grubs to spill out from his massive mouth. Seconds later, a horde of Rick-wasps hatches en masse from his face, splitting it open like an overboiled hot-dog. Yuk!

S4, E3 ‘One Crew Over the Crewcoo’s Morty’ Treachery Will Tear Us Apart

Heist artist Miles Knightley is torn apart like a chicken dinner by a medley of bizarre alien creatures – a cross between the ghosts from The Real Ghostbusters intro sequence and something that fell out of Clive Barker’s nightmares – whose piece de resistance is yanking the skin from his wet skull like it’s a bad mask.

Are there any particularly gruesome deaths you’d like to add to the list? Or would you like to weigh in on which of these fatalities repulsed or horrified you the most?

The post Rick and Morty’s Most Gruesome Deaths appeared first on Den of Geek.

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mattschues · 4 years

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Breakdown || Schanderson

Tagged: Matt Schuester & Blaine Anderson ( @doveportblaine ) When: December 28, 2019 Where: Blaine’s house Note: Matt saw Betsy and it brought out a lot of bad feelings. There are various triggers in this para due to their discussion.

Blaine

In the year and a half that Blaine had known Matt, he'd never seen him angry. Serious, occasionally. More subdued than usual, once in a blue moon. But never angry. So when Matt texted him that he needed to see him, and he'd seen someone that upset him, Blaine wasn't about to brush it off as no big deal. He'd started the bath water just a few minutes after Matt's last text, so it would still be warm but not too hot by the time his boyfriend arrived. There was a glass and three different bottles of wine laid out on the counter, and in a fit of impulsiveness, Blaine had dug out one of his old NYU sweatshirts -- it was deliberately oversized on him, so maybe it would fit Matt okay if he needed more than the bath and the wine. He'd just turned the water off when he heard a car door slam outside, and bolted to intercept Matt at the front doorstep.

Matt

Matt did his best not to white knuckle the steering wheel while he drove. Time and time again he's warn people about the dangers of driving angry; which could be just as dangerous as driving intoxicated. So he listened to some pop music, opting for a 90s playlist Spotify recommended. When he pulled into Blaine's driveway Hanson was on. If this was any normal day he'd probably hum the song all the way up to Blaine's door step and sang a few lines just to get it into his boyfriend's head. Instead he walked quietly, hands in both of his pockets and when Blaine's front door opened Matt's lips pressed together. He saw the worry on his face and knew it was because of the texts. He didn't want to do that to him, not when he loves his smile and just how vibrant he is; but you couldn't have sunshine all the time right? Matt went up to Blaine and tugged his hands out of his pockets and wrapped them around his guy's body and held him. His face nuzzled into his neck and Matt kept like this. Sometimes whenever he hugged this way Matt would kiss up Blaine's neck and inch him into the house and just fall into what comes naturally for them. But not today. "I saw Betsy." he said into Blaine's skin. "She didn't see me but I saw her."

Blaine

Blaine's arms went around Matt's shoulders reflexively, and his grip tightened when Matt only held on. Definitely something wrong, then, and how. "Betsy," Blaine echoed, searching his recent memory for why that sounded familiar. "Bets -- your ex?" he guessed, and the hollow feeling in his stomach expanded with a niggling sense of dread.

Matt

He nodded a couple times before he pulled back to look at him. "I shouldn't be this angry. I shouldn't let her get to me. It's been over ten years since she left but seeing her." Matt's hands remained on Blaine's waist, hands sore from the aggressive beatings he gave the bag at the station. Thankfully the gloves protected his hands but they still felt it. A hand went through Matt's hair, which was damp from sweat. "It's not like I'm still hung up on her but...." he sighed out, "fuck." He looked down at Blaine's chest. "Not exactly what you want to hear, huh?"

Blaine

"Hey," Blaine murmured, reaching up to cup Matt's face in both hands. He brushed his thumbs over Matt's cheeks before craning up for a featherlight, barely there kiss. "You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to be upset seeing her without any warning after so long. You're even allowed to still be a little hung up on her," he added, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You won't upset me by telling me when something's bothering you, though. I want to hear it, no matter what."

Matt

His eyes went to his as soon as Blaine’s hands pressed against his cheeks. Matt’s thumbs moved along Blaine’s soft shirt. It was after a few passing moments of quiet when Matt leaned in and pressed his forehead to his Blaine’s. “You know how hard it is for me to talk about what’s bothering me. And I’m trying to do that. I should have called as soon as I saw her but I didn’t want you to hear how angry I was.” Matt’s fingers curled, clinging onto Blaine. “I beat the shit out of a punching bag at the station’s gym and it helped some. But I knew I needed this. I needed you.” He then said, as if to drive this home, “I need you.”

Blaine

Blaine nodded his acknowledgement and kept his arms around Matt, fingers still occasionally stroking his cheeks. "You've got me, babe," he murmured, and gently tugged Matt inside and nudged the door closed behind him. He leaned their foreheads together for a long moment, just letting Matt breathe. "I'm right here, and there's a bath filled for you in my room, if you want it. Just let me know what else you need, and I'll do my best to give it to you."

Matt

What he wants is for Bets to go back to Atlanta or where she was before he came here. He knew that there had to be a reason behind her return but wasn’t sure if he actually cared to find out. Matt leaned against the back of the door and brought Blaine to him, kissing his lips at last. It was such a simple thing but feeling his lips against this boyfriend’s did help ground him slightly. “Bring that wine you mentioned and join me in the tub?” He asked, brushing his nose against Blaine’s.

Blaine

The corner of Blaine's mouth turned up just slightly, not quite a smile but still a little quirk of expression. "Okay,' he whispered, and kissed Matt back lightly before nudging him toward the master suite. "Add whatever bath salts you want. I promise not to judge you if it smells like rose petals or lavender."

Matt

He stood in front of the door and watched Blaine walk away. Why was he allowing Bets to get to him? It’d been over ten fucking years since she packed her shit and left him a voicemail. Did he still have that message? No. He deleted it a year after she left as a stupid part of him thought she’d come back and see how he’s doing. That she would give enough of a damn about him and if he managed to work through what happened that late night... He wasn’t aware of the fallen tears just then until he breathed and realized it was a little sniffly because of it. Matt went to the bathroom, aware of the layout to Blaine’s house now, and looked through what options there were. Matt decided on one that smelled of a type of mint, maybe spearmint, and sprinkled it in. It didn’t take long to undress and he slowly sank into the warm water, which felt good as soon as he was as submerged as he was going to go. Matt kept telling himself that maybe they should keep the conversation to what was said at the door. That he didn’t want to bring Blaine deeper into a place he had desperately tried to bury. But..but he didn’t know.

Blaine

Blaine took his time pulling out another wine glass and filling both of them. He didn't know much about the circumstances surrounding Matt's break-up with Betsy; just that things had been rough at the time, and she'd chosen to end it rather than work through them together, and that Matt hadn't really bothered with relationships since. Whatever happened must have been really traumatic, though, considering how quickly Matt had slid into the easy affection they already had together. How in the world had someone hurt him so badly that he'd locked that part of himself away for the better part of a decade? That he'd react this viscerally to just seeing her again? And how was Blaine supposed to deal with someone having that much of an impact on his boyfriend, even ten years later? He let himself into the bathroom quietly, setting the wine glasses down on the wide, curved edge of the tub. He quickly tugged off his own shirt, and then paused to brush a few stray locks of damp hair back from Matt's face with one hand. "How's the water? Not too hot?"

Matt

His hands went up and down his arms to wet them, but mostly to have something to do while he waited. Not that it took Blaine long it come into the bathroom with the wine. Matt watched as Blaine removed his shirt. That even while he felt this way he continued to find his boyfriend extremely attractive. And the way he touched his forehead: that affection he craved...he truly felt lucky. That the shit he went through with Bets was to bring if him to this man. “It’s perfect. I added this mint salts over there. So no lavender me. Don’t be too upset about that.” He teased, trying to bring some happy back in. “Get in between my legs, I want to hold you from behind.”

Blaine

Blaine quirked a lopsided smile at the teasing. “Lavender is to help you sleep. Mint is energizing. We can test how energizing later,” he fired back. He shed the rest of his clothing quickly and steadied himself against the wall with one hand before sinking into the water in front of Matt with a sigh. “Better?” he asked softly.

Matt

How could he be feeling so irritated and still manage to smile? It was easy with Blaine as he knew exactly how to pull one from him. Matt waited for him to get into the water and took hold of his wrist and pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss; taking his time with it before he moving him around until he was just how he needed him. Matt’s arms went around Blaine’s middle and his chin rested onto his shoulder before his cheek pressed against the side of his face. Matt’s hand skimmed the back of Blaine’s and hugged him closer. As soon as he felt Blaine’s back against his chest he relaxed. “Now it is.” Matt’s eyes closed and he held him for some time before he decided to speak. “Betsy left me when I went into a bad depression after a fire. I had done a few calls that dealt with some heavy shit but that fire really messed me up. I don’t want to make her seem like the bad guy here because I was deep in this dark place for a long time. But when she left it made things worse.”

Blaine

Lulled by the scent of sharp mint and Matt's solid presence behind him, Blaine startled just a bit when Matt started to talk. He forced himself to relax quickly, though, and leaned back into Matt's embrace. "Depression isn't something you can control," he murmured. "And if you're already feeling isolated -- well." He'd had his own demons to battle in the past, first back in high school and then again just before he'd left New York. Considering the things Matt had to face with his job, though -- that had probably been a walk in the park, comparatively speaking. "It's a lot to deal with. Did she tell you that was why?"

Matt

The water did feel nice and the scent of the mint made him think of one of those mint teas he drank whenever he felt he was coming down with a cold not exactly sure how something like this would energize him. “It’s not and there was more to it. I started to see a therapist because the chief made sure I did after what happened but I didn’t keep with it. After a few months of feeling like shit and not wanting to do anything and finding purpose in everyday life I went back to see someone. A different therapist. We talked and I know it was hard for her. I could see it. And it was just a bad time. A bad, bad time in my life.” He said, trying to keep his voice from cracking but it was hard. “I was on a call. A fire. There was a fire involved.” He struggled with this and moved to press his mouth to Blaine’s neck because he didn’t know if he wanted to continue. “This father purposefully set fire to the house. Two little kids didn’t make it.”

Blaine

Blaine's reached back to thread his fingers through Matt's hair, the lump in his throat again. "God, that's awful," he breathed. "That someone could do something like--" He broke off, quiet for a moment with his hand still in Matt's hair. "You tried to save the kids," he said simply, his voice sad.

Matt

“This job can isn’t easy. I knew it wouldn’t be and that wasn’t my first fatality.” He moved his lips away from Blaine’s neck and squeezed him a little tighter. “It was my first time seeing it happen in front of me. These two little kids. They were-“ Matt’s lips pressed together and he felt water beads roll down from his upper lip. “There is a lot to all of this and I struggle to this day. I probably will for the rest of my life.” Matt’s eyes burned and he tried to blink it away. “I’m worried that the same thing will happen. That I’ll get in a bad place and you’ll do what Bets did. And I know I can’t be mad at you. Just like as angry as I feel at what she did I understand. I had to because I needed to stop hating myself after so long.” He was all over the place with this and felt he didn’t make much sense.

Blaine

"Oh my god," Blaine murmured, quietly horrified. His fingers loosened their grip on Matt's hair just enough to slide down and cup the back of his head, tucking his face next to Blaine's, and he turned his face to press their cheeks together blindly. Two children. In a fire set by their father. And Matt had to witness that, and not be able to stop it. No wonder he tried so hard to help everyone with everything -- it was like it was penance, of a sort. "I can't promise things won't get bad again, and you have no idea how much I wish I could," Blaine said softly. "But -- things are good now, right? I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. And if you find yourself struggling again -- I know you don't like talking about it, but I want to help."

Matt

Matt’s lips went against Blaine’s shoulder and knew this was part of the life he wanted to keep his boyfriend from hearing about. “I know. There is a lot about the whole situation that still continues to this day. I’ve kept in touch with their mom. I see her every once in awhile.” He moved closer to his guy and found some comfort with his touch. “Yeah. Things are good. Better mostly. Having Bets show up like that threw me off. And the thing is I know I’ll reach out to her and make sure things are good. I imagine you’ll run into her at some point. She’s not a bad person. How she handled things at the end fucking sucked but I had to place myself in her shoes. It was hard.” Matt kissed along his skin and pressed his mouth on Blaine’s pulse point. He didn’t say anything right then but in that moment with Blaine he felt the urge to say what flitted across his mind. To say he loves him but that wasn’t the right time. “I’ll do my best, baby. I’ve spent years swallowing my true feelings that make me feel like shit. But I’ll try.”

Blaine

Blaine nodded, numb with the shock of it all. While he could understand staying in touch with the children's mother, that almost made it worse -- an open wound that never healed, and it was always a fresh reminder of what Matt clearly saw as a failure. And then seeing Betsy -- another reminder of a time that seemed to be extraordinarily painful. For so many reasons, apparently. The press of Matt's mouth against his throat made Blaine shiver, but he needed to make sure Matt was listening. He shifted just enough to turn his head to face Matt directly, craning his neck to look him squarely in the eye. "You are not an awful person," Blaine said firmly. "That was a terrible thing that happened, and the toll it took on your relationship was tragic. But when you start to hate yourself or feel like shit -- I need to know, so I can tell you that it's not true." He ran his fingers across Matt's cheek lightly. "If the roles were reversed, and it was me swallowing down every bad thing I thought about myself -- which I've done plenty of, believe me -- would you want to know?"

Matt

When Blaine turned to look at him better Matt helped him around and he slid back and pulled at his guy to slid up onto his wet chest. The water sloshed lazily along the tub’s edge. Now he could look at Blaine while he talked. But now Blaine could see how red his eyes were. “The thing is yes. I’d want you to tell me.” His voice went low when he spoke. “I spent many years keeping people away. It was easy to joke and sleep around. Then you come along and I want you to be in my life. And to have you see this side of it...” his wet fingers went through Blaine’s curls. “This relationship means a lot to me.”

Blaine

Blaine looped one arm around Matt's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. "Me too," he said softly. "I want to be in your life -- all sides of it. You just have to let me," he added. Such a simple thing, but he was starting to realize just how difficult that might be for Matt. And if he had to remind him sometimes, or nudge him into talking when things got rough -- or even push, something Blaine had been trying very hard not to do this time around-- Maybe it would all be worth it.

Matt

“I really am trying, Blaine. I want so much for what we have to keep going. You might think I’m crazy or just saying whatever out of my ass but when I talk about you or us. When I say how crazy I am about you. It’s the God’s honest truth. That’s why I’ll try. Because I l-“ There was a noticeable pause here but Matt watched the word and said, “like you so damn much.” His hands smoothed down his back and was soon swallowed by the warm water. “After those little kids died the father was put on trial and has been in prison since. He’s up for parole next year and Sheila thinks there’s a good chance he’ll be denied it.” Matt chewed his bottom lip, clearly hesitant. He’s already said a lot to Blaine tonight. He didn’t want to go into how he’s been to the prison to ask him why he did it. Or how the man didn’t give a shit and was more upset he didn’t kill his now ex wife and other daughter. “I like hearing you want to be in all sides of my life. And I guess I should tell you if I’m a little more...on? I guess on is the best word to describe it or just wanting to avoid talking altogether and just want to fuck you. Not like usual.” He chuckled a little at this. “You’ll know what I mean if it happens. It’s because something went down and I’m doing my bury it deep under thing.”

Blaine

"I know you are," Blaine murmured, flushing at Matt's reassurances. He'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't what he wanted to hear, especially with Matt's ex back in the picture again. He trailed one hand through the water until he found Matt's and laced their fingers together, pulling his hand up to kiss the back of it lightly. "When he comes up for parole, we'll deal with it together," he insisted. Blaine filed away that admission for future reference, quietly relieved for the heads up so he wouldn't be caught off guard. "I'll keep an eye out. Not that I usually object to your one-track mind -- but I'd rather you talk to me and then pin me up against a wall somewhere."

Matt

“I didn’t expect to have someone with me who wants to face that day with me. Sheila has her family and there are a couple of the guys who were around when that fire happened but as far as people at work know I don’t think about that fire or family anymore.” As Blaine kissed his hand Matt’s eyes slid closed for a moment. It felt nice for them to be like this; sharing a tub and talking. They will need to do this again but when it’s happier topics of conversation. “It does feel good you know about what happened. There have been others. I hate there have been, but nothing like that night. And the thing is I love this work. It gives me a feeling of purpose and those times we help someone makes it worth it. I know it’s early on in our relationship so I hate to make you feel as if you’re tied to me or you’ll be afraid to end things if you can’t handle this. Or you stop finding me attractive or whatever reason that comes up.” Why was he saying these things? There was a tightness in his stomach because he didn’t want to think of this not working out. “I’m saying I don’t want you to feel you’re stuck with me.”

Blaine

“You can’t go through that alone,” Blaine protested, mildly appalled. “Even if it’s just being ready with a hug and a hot meal at the end of the day.” His forehead creased a little the more Matt insisted he didn’t have to stay in this; like he was going to walk away now, knowing just how much of himself Matt had sunk into his work. “Hey,” Blaine ducked his head to catch Matt’s eye deliberately. “I’m not stuck with you, Matt Schuester. Is it scary, knowing the kinds of things you have to face at work? Of course. But I already care about you, and that isn’t the sort of thing that you just — turn off, when things get scary. I’d rather be scared with you than have to watch you go through everything from a distance and not be able to help.” He quirked another little half smile at Matt. “Besides, if I still find you attractive after months of terrible pick-up lines, chances are that’s not gonna change any time soon.”

Matt

Matt had fallen into such a bad mindset ever since that afternoon; as if those ten years since Betsy left never happened. He knew there were changes. Awesome changes. He knew of the man on top of him and the impact he had on his life over the last year and a half. He knew he was terrified that telling him he’s free to end things if it was too much terrified him. But to hear his assurances; to know he wasn’t alone in this and that he cared... that he basically was here to be with him and actually learn of the man Matt desperately tried to hide. It...it...”Im sorry.” He said, doing his best to look Blaine in the eyes but failing as they dropped; along with a few tears. Matt sniffed a few times and brought the side of his hand up to his eyes to get rid of the tears; not that it did much good because he was actually crying in front of him. “It just- it feels like you just nudged this large rock that’s on my chest and I feel relieved.” He tried to explain. “I care a fucking lot about you, too. So much that that’s why I said you don’t have to stay. But you wanting to be in this. With me. I-“ he rambled, trying to smile but he bit his lower lip instead as he looked away; struggling to get a hold of himself.

Blaine

Seeing Matt in such distress was unsettling, to say the least, and Blaine felt helpless to do anything to make it better. He reached up to cup Matt’s face with one hand, brushing away tears with his thumb. “Absolutely nothing you’ve told me today changes how I feel,” Blaine said softly. “It changes how I might approach things, and how we move forward together. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re still a good man, who makes me laugh and is kind of an idiot sometimes,” he said with a lopsided little smile. “I told you before that you make me feel seen and important — but that goes both ways, and I want to make you feel that way, too.”

Matt

He felt like an idiot for crying. It was something he did alone and usually after he’s been drinking. A lot. Matt wished he hadn’t done that in front of Blaine; that he just told him that he didn’t want him to feel like he needed to continue this relationship because he’s a fucking mess. But, somehow, Blaine managed to cut through those negative thoughts and Matt looked at him. He could have joked back, saying he’s not an idiot or follow through and say something ill timed an inappropriate. But he didn’t. A wet hand went to the back of Blaine’s neck and that urge to say those three special words resurfaced. How can you not love a man like Blaine Devon Anderson? Seriously. And Matt knew he was lucky he wanted to be with him; that he wanted to be there for him and not just see him but go through whatever shit he went through together. “Guess you now know what I look like when I cry...” he said as he tried to shift some of the subject away from all of this. Matt sniffled again and cleared his throat as he leaned forward, kissing his boyfriend. The kiss lingered and he played a hand over Blaine’s so it stayed on his cheek. “There was a long time when I felt I didn’t deserve anything good in my life but then you came along. You came along and made actually look forward to the future. That each day I saw you, whenever I told you some silly pick up line or joke was something special because it made my heart and soul feel good. Happy.”

Blaine

"You know what isn't fair? You look better when you cry, it's really hot," Blaine insisted, biting his lip on a smile. He leaned into the kiss a little, stroking his thumb over Matt's cheek. "I'm only half kidding. I will not judge you one bit if you feel something strongly enough for tears. Give me -- a month, tops, and you'll probably know what I look like when I cry, too." He had his own demons to share, after all; it was neither the time nor the place, since this was about Matt and what he needed right now, but if Matt was brave enough to share the ugly parts of his past, Blaine could be too. The thought terrified him -- that insistent little voice in the back of his head whispered that any weakness (anything less than perfect) would make Matt leave -- but if they were in this, they were IN this. No holding back. "You deserve so many good things in your life," Blaine murmured softly. "If cheesy pick up lines and dad jokes make your heart and soul happy -- well, then I'll laugh at every single one, and only roll my eyes occasionally."

Matt

“So in a month the both of us will be sobbing messes in front of each other? I suppose that’s one way to celebrate an anniversary.” Matt gave Blaine a lopsided smile and remembered there was wine for them. Both glasses untouched. “The truth is it’s your reaction that keeps me making them. That’s why I plan to keep them going until you duct tape my mouth shut. I prefer you kissing me when I’m being too much but then you’ll never get any work done and people will wonder where you are all the time.” Matt let out a long exhale and licked his lips. “Thank you for all of this. The tub. Listening to me. The wine we haven’t touched. I’ll treat you to a very nice dinner Saturday. Who knows, I might bring my own guitar and serenade you this time.” His wet fingers went through Blaine’s hair again, which started to curl from the steam of the water and how many times Matt’s wet hand passed through his hair. “I just remembered...I might be seeing Cooper tonight. Fuck. I don’t want to bail if he wants to meet up.”

Blaine

"Hey, at least it'll be memorable," Blaine teased. "I think I like having the option of shutting you up with a kiss a little too much, though," he added, dragging his index finger across Matt's mouth before leaning in to kiss him lightly. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, silently enjoying the feel of fingers threading through his hair. "I'll hold you to that. Unless you're singing 'Cotton Eyed Joe'. Then I might hide your guitar." The reminder of Cooper -- not exactly where he wanted to be reminded of his brother, but oh well -- made Blaine grimace slightly. "Do you want me to text him that you can't make it? I'm not above telling him you're sick."

Matt

Matt chuckled at that. Blaine’s knack for shining optimism on just about anything came through and it lessened the panic he felt from before. Would he ever grow past the abandonment issues that stemmed from Betsy leaving? Was it even considered abandonment? He wasn’t a shrink and could barely make sense of what’s in his head most days. “Fine. I’ll save that one for Valentine’s.” Matt joked back. “Do we even have a song? Sure, there are ones that come on and I start to think about you but is there one that’s very...Blatt?” Okay, now this causes a laugh to surface and moments later he intentionally scooped water up and dribbled it onto Blaine’s hair before leaning in to kiss his lips; his wet hand against the back of Blaine’s to keep him from pulling away. “No...” he said, forehead against his after the kiss and leaned back. Matt picked up the wine glass for the first time and took a sip. “I feel we need this. He’s got this impression about me or something. I could feel it when I was at Kat’s. And I know I don’t have to get him to like me but it’s important to me to at least try.”

Blaine

“You and that weird, off-kilter romantic streak,” Blaine said wryly. “I’m sure we could come up with a song, provided we each have veto power. And now I’m curious what songs remind you of me.” He spluttered indignantly, partly from the water poured over his head and partly from the ill-advised smushing together of their names – Blatt? Really? – and nearly scooped up his own handful of water to retaliate before he thought better of it. Spending the rest of the evening cleaning his bathroom was not high on Blaine’s list of priorities right now, and it turned out that Matt was better at distracting him than he’d realized, as Blaine leaned into the kiss. “If it gets to be too much and you need me to fake an emergency, just text me,” he insisted. On a normal day it wouldn’t worry him so much, having Coop and Matt get a drink together – but after the afternoon Matt had had, Blaine was a little hesitant to let him out of his sight period, much less for anything stressful. “I may have to come up with some way to bribe you into coming back here after you two are done, though. I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he added airily.

Matt

“Doesn’t it come down to the thought? That the thought counts? What if I’m able to slow the song down and play it differently. Who knows, maybe Cotton Eye Joe will be that one song I sing that makes you cry.” Sometimes Matt’s mind vacated his body and his mouth would run on and on. This was one of those moments. Which he needed because his stomach felt ill from the anxiety and anger. “I’ll send them your way whenever I hear them. Better yet, I’ll put it on a playlist. We can make out to it.” His hand went down Blaine’s back and soon gave his ass cheek a playful squeeze. “It’s like I feel like he and I are getting along okay but then he says shit that makes it like I’m still in time out. I don’t know if this is a big brother thing or because of me running my imagination like I sometimes do. Or because he wasn’t kept in the loop about us.” His hand went to Blaine’s back, the water covering then back of most of his hand. “What if he never warms up to me? He could keep making comments or be weird when I’m around and I hate for that to make things awkward because I intend to be a part of your life until you kick me out of it.” He sunk back into the water again. “Jesus. My confidence in myself is all over the fucking place.” Matt wondered if he should call it a night and stay here.

Blaine

"I'm still using my veto on Cotton Eye Joe, no matter how much you slow it down," Blaine said, amused in spite of himself. "You should definitely send me any songs you come across, though. I reserve judgement on make outs until I hear them, but anything's possible." He tilted his head a little to catch Matt's eye again. "Hey. I grew up with Cooper and I still feel like that sometimes. Like -- I'll never quite measure up to the Anderson golden boy. In my better moments I know he doesn't mean it that way, but Coop's opinion isn't the one that matters, and isn't going to change my mind." He cupped Matt's cheek with a pat. "Come back here after drinks. I'll make sure your confidence gets a boost, no matter how it goes with Cooper."

Matt

“Fine. Dream crusher. It’s a good thing I find you adorable and sexy or I’ll keep going with that song. But-“ he sighs and doing nothing to hide his smile, “there’s a whole world of bad songs out there. You make wake up to me singing a slowed down version of Whooly Bully or some Kesha song.” Matt slowly started to sit up and eased Blaine off him. They’d been in the water awhile and he could tell his fingers and toes were heading towards prune territory. “Our playlist won’t have those songs. They’ll be completely woo worthy. Just you wait. You’ll listen to a few and then make it your mission to track me down. Then all the kisses will be mine.” Goddamn this idiot, but there was no way he’ll censor himself because why be with someone if you can’t let your full dorkiness side out? “Then we’ll have to see how things go but I’ll come back here. Not just for the promised boost but because I like when we’re able to sleep together. I’m not talking about the sex, which you know I’m a big fan of. But actually falling asleep with you.” Be leaned forward and kissed his damp forehead and then reached down for his lips. “Things with Betsy might have sucked. Really sucked, but what you and I have? It makes going though that shit because I really like what we have and I can’t wait to see how we grow as a couple.”

Blaine

Blaine's cheeks warmed under the attention, and he reached for the towels he kept nearby for both of them to cover his blush. "I like falling asleep with you, too," he admitted shyly. "And I'm pretty sure I had it right on our first date -- I'm sure she's a perfectly nice person, but her loss is my gain," he added, smiling against Matt's lips.

#para: blaine #askmepara #para 004 #death mention tw #violence #fire tw #child death mention tw

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mimik-u · 5 years

Text

Flower Child (Chapter 12): Monday

AO3

Monday morning found Yellow Diamond in her study, watching nothing as dawn slowly drew itself around her like a pinkish cape. The shadows under her eyes pooled in the soft light, and the crow’s feet edging them became stark, black, defined. (God, when was the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep? When was the last time she hadn’t stayed awake—fighting and chasing away and courting sordid demons? When was the last time she’d seen a proper bed?) Even still, she was already impeccably dressed for it to not even be seven yet. Her golden hair was swept upwards in a coiffure sharp enough to cut yourself on, and she wore a black suit in the matter-of-fact way that the sky wore the sun. Her heels were perfectly practical (thank you very much), her face meticulously painted on.

Put together but not quite, she stared at nothing.

Maybe the wall.

Maybe the minuscule crack in the door.

And could not bring herself to think about the three meetings she had today, so consumed by the thought of Blue.

Blue was getting out today.

She would assume the stage.

She would get into a town car and not go to the cemetery where their dead daughter lay.

The world would spin on, and for once—for the first time in four years—her wife would spin with it.

It made Yellow so damn happy.

And it made her so damn sad at the same time.

Blue was moving… not on, never on… but forward.

And it wouldn’t be because of Yellow.

She took an impulsive drag of her coffee and half-hoped it would scald her.

(She hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been.)

When the analog clock on the wall unwillingly dragged her into the next minute, the CEO finally slid her golden gaze from the door to the intercom panel propped next to her lamp. She pressed one of the buttons, eliciting a crackling noise at first, before the line was abruptly snagged by a voice that was equal parts panic and equal parts sleep: “Yes, Mrs. Diamond?!”

“Did I wake you?” Of course, Yellow knew that she had, but she at least had enough courtesy to feign otherwise.

“No, ma’am!” Poppy gamely lied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to do a favor for me,” she said, biting her lip. She could have added please to let the maid know that she was serious, but reticence was this particular woman’s both strength and weakness.

“Anything, Mrs. Diamond!”

“You can knock that off now. We’ve already established who I am.”

“Of course, Mrs—” Poppy caught herself with a little squeak. “O-of course.”

Yellow sighed—quite dramatically in proportion to the circumstances really—but pressed on anyway. “I need you to call up to the flower shop and send an arrangement to someone in Empire City Hospital. I’ll leave my credit card on the desk.”

It wasn’t a particularly unusual request. Yellow was sending flowers and champagne bottles to business associates all the time. Even through the staticky transmission, she could hear Poppy scribbling these directions down on paper.

The scratching stopped. “And whom shall I direct the flowers to, ma’am?”

She inhaled sharply.

Oh, hell and shit.

She only knew the kid’s name and approximate age (older than five but certainly younger than twenty).

“His name is Steven,” she sniffed haughtily (to disguise her ignorance, of course). “Young boy. You should be able to locate him.”

“A-ah, yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Yellow leaned back in her chair and looked quite pleased with herself until she just as suddenly didn’t; with a sudden thought, her dark brow depressed into a frown over her eyes. (When was the last time that her mouth and eyes and chest unbent in a smile? When was the last time worry didn’t transform her entire physiognomy, didn’t make her appear ten years older—ten years more grim and demanding and cold?)

“And, Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Make it anonymous.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

ii.

Monday morning found Poppy on the verge of hysterics as she called three different extensions in Empire City Hospital trying to inquire after a sick boy named Steven.

No, she didn’t know his last name!

No, she couldn’t tell you a room number!

No, she most certainly was not pranking them!

Gah!

iii.

Monday morning found Priyanka Maheswaran nursing her third tumbler of coffee as she surveyed Steven’s guardians from over its rim. In Room 11037, they stood in the empty space where Steven’s bed had once been. The technicians had just taken him down for a couple of scans for UNOS, but even though the five adults in the room objectively knew that, the absence of the boy unnerved the air. Abandoned wires spilled across the scorchingly white floor. The heart monitor on the wall was a flat black, leering at them with its emptiness.

Pearl’s hair seemed to be positively standing on edge.

They were all in shambles—each of them, in their own ways.

The doctor gathered herself into some semblance of professionalism and half-wondered if such posturing was but an exercise in pointlessness. Surely, these people could see through the cracks, the holes in her carefully constructed facade.

Surely, they knew that she cared.

“I’m going to be blunt with you—”

Amethyst cut across her with a wry smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You always are, Dr. M.”

“True,” Priyanka conceded with a sigh, “and so I see no reason to be anything else with you all.”

She was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct.

Greg’s eyes bore her down, were haunting in their worn sockets.

It was his damn child.

It’d once been his damn girlfriend.

(At the funeral, he pressed Steven against his chest and wept in place of a eulogy.)

“Even with dialysis,” she said, clutching her cup like it was a lifeline, “and even with the extra support we’re giving him here in the hospital, we’re still racing against the clock. His heart is working harder to compensate his kidneys, and his lungs are working harder to compensate his heart.”

He was dying.

That was the cold and hard truth.

Priyanka did not say it, for she didn’t need to—the unspoken words landed in the room anyway, striking precisely, like bullets, the carnage written all over their faces. Pearl’s hands on her stomach were gored with it. There was a third eye on Garnet’s head where her troubled brow met in the middle.

(At the funeral, Pearl had to be lightly pulled away from the casket. She stared at nothing. She said nothing. She stared at Rose.)

(At the funeral, people whispered that Garnet was callous for looking so stoic, so put together, so tearless. They didn’t notice her hands, how they trembled by her sides.)

“Ya gotta say something, Doc,” Amethyst said when the silence got to be too much, when the room started to feel too empty. The air around her was frenetic, charged. She looked liable to be both the predator and the prey trapped in a corner. “That’s what’s wrong. Now what’s the solution?”

(At the funeral, Amethyst cried openly, viscerally, and yet, still found the strength to pull Pearl away from the casket, to squeeze Garnet’s hand, to hold Steven when Greg had to bury his face in his hands.)

(At the funeral, Priyanka made herself notice all of these little things, forced herself to carve them into her memory, one scalpel incision at a time, as both a punishment and a reminder. Somehow, someway, she could have done better, could have been better. Moving forward, she would, dammit. She would never attend another funeral like this.)

“The solution, of course,” she sighed, “is a viable kidney, and I know you don’t want to hear that. I know that it’s the same thing I said last time and the time before that, but dammit, that’s what it’s going to take.”

If anger seared the edge of this proclamation, it was not an anger intended for the broken people standing across from her. It was for the woefully inadequate transplant system where eighteen people across the world died every day because they couldn’t get the organ they so desperately needed. It was for the unfair fact that neither Greg nor Amethyst nor Garnet nor Pearl were matches for the boy they would all give their lives to protect. No hesitation. No blinking. It was for the incredulous idea—ludicrous, absurd, preposterous!—that even if they did find a kidney, that this family wouldn’t have the means to pay for it because health care was so screwed up in this damn country.

If Priyanka was angry, it was for the utter insanity of it all.

The madness.

There was no rationality in a fourteen-year old dying.

“It’s so perverse,” Pearl whispered into the silence, “that we’re here again.”

It was a familiar stage, a familiar scene.

Just someone else in the bed that had once contained a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile—a brilliant, compassionate heart.

Garnet looked away, clenched her fists by her sides.

“It has to end differently, though,” Greg said, a plea in his voice and his eyes. It was scratched across his entire body. It was a scar. “I… I can’t… do that again. I can’t lose him.”

It was wonder that he didn’t shatter where he stood, that they all didn’t. Amethyst reached up and placed a hand on his back.

(This was a familiar image, too.)

(Hell, it was a memory—simply transplanted into the here and now.)

“Greg… all of you—” She began and abruptly stopped. Priyanka Maheswaran was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct, but for once in her life, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to tell this family that their kid was going to make it, that they’d find him a kidney, that the surgery would go well, that love and joy and peace would win at the end of the damn day. She wanted to give them hope; she desperately wanted a modicum of the sensation for herself.

But what could she say?

What could she possibly fucking say?

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking, “but this is all I have.”

iv.

Monday morning found Connie Maheswaran unfolded across the backseat of her dad’s cruiser, scrolling through another medical journal, only occasionally stopping to jot down notes in a tab-marked, dog-eared, well-worn, well-loved composition book. When he wasn’t pretending to be interested in his heretofore very boring stakeout, her father’s wire-rimmed glasses peered at her from the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure looking studious for it to be a sunny day in July,” he quipped lightly. Some old alternative band warbled through his ancient cassette deck as he said it, lending him an inadvertent lyricalness. Connie, penciling down donor qualifications in her neat handwriting, mmm’d in distracted reply.

“Oh, I get it,” he shrugged playfully, feigning hurt. “You’re busy. Alas, I’d forgotten the singleminded passions of youth so removed am I by the passage of time. Woe unto me!”

“You’re such a dork, Dad.”

Donors must have a compatible blood type with the patient.

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow in the mirror. “Is that a polysyllabic response I hear?”

Donors must be in good physical and mental health before consenting to the surgery.

A master of irony, Connie sparred back with a nice and succinct, “Yep.”

Donors must be at least eighteen-years old to qualify for surgery.

These six words were logical, reasonable, were only to be expected—and yet, ice dropped through the twelve-year old’s stomach anyway; a burning sensation pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped at these feelings furiously, scrubbed them away with the back of her hand.

“Touché,” her dad sighed.

Monday morning found Pearl dragging her feet against the wooden deck, her overnight bag dripping carelessly from her shoulder, a world and a boy and a boy who was her world pressing against the column of her spine. Her fingers shook as they fumbled first with her keys and then with the handle of the screen door.

The hot, July sun taunted her pale neck one last time before she finally escaped into the dark house… only to be immediately swallowed by its emptiness.

God, it was desolate.

So wrong and so vile.

Gray light wept onto the wooden floors.

To her left, there was no Steven in a bed that was left unmade from the last night he’d slept in it. M.C. Bear Bear dangled halfway off the mattress, deserted and derelict without the boy who brought him to life with a smile and a laugh.

To her right, the reading nook in the corner of the room almost looked untouched, betrayed only by a slight crookedness skewing one of the cushions. Steven had knelt there, and Steven had fallen, and now Steven wouldn’t be leaving the hospital for a very long time if… if… if?

(If ever again.)

The dull thud of his fall echoed in her head.

It dropped into the pit of her stomach and ruined her.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said, and Priyanka Maheswaran never said sorry, "but this is all I have.”)

Pearl clutched her rumpled shirt and tried not to shatter as she limped further into the living room, where a lump on the couch caught the corner of her eye.

The lump, of course, was Peridot, wrapped in a blanket and snoring slightly. Without her glasses on, she looked particularly young—vulnerable. (Though, ferocious as she was, she’d claw someone’s eyes out before ever acquiescing to such gooey epithets.)

Pearl didn’t necessarily want to wake her, but she didn’t want to leave her on the hard couch either, so in the end, she approached quietly and skimmed her knuckles lightly against the girl’s exposed shoulder.

Emerald eyes flew open with a jolt.

A startled cat tore from under the blanket and streaked out of the room.

“Nyeh!”

“Sorry,” Pearl apologized as Peridot scrambled to find her bearings and her glasses and a little shred of dignity, too. Once her frames were adjusted on her pointed nose, she looked positively scandalized—which was fair, of course. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. I’m going to nap for a few hours before my shift, so you’re welcome to go home for a bit or crash in a bed if you’d like.”

But scandal turned into realization turned into somberness in the other’s face.

Pearl found that she wasn’t ready to face it; her duffel bag slipped slightly on her shoulder.

“Where’s Lapis?” She tried quickly, but Peridot was quicker—intuitive and stubborn, a deadly combination.

“Swim practice. Never mind her.” Peridot waved a flippant hand. “How’s Steven?”

She knew the litany of lies by heart now.

He’s fine.

He’s stable.

He’s resting.

He’s fine.

And she tried to summon one on her lips for Peridot—she tried so damn hard to stay together—but how could she?

How could she fucking do it?

“… Pearl?”

"Peridot, I... I—" Tears leaked from her eyes.

And dripped down her beaky nose.

And splattered her sweater with their ruin.

Something was building in her stomach, in her chest, in the column of her throat.

And she tried splaying her fingers across her mouth, tried damming up the carnage, but—

"Pearl!"

—she was falling apart.

Or she'd already done so.

And this was just the explicit proof:

Pearl collapsed to her knees and wept.

vi.

Monday morning found Greg Universe on his metaphorical knees. He was desperation reconciled, a man not really sitting on a bench, so much as he was a man being supported by one. A phone was in his hand; there was an exhaustion on his shoulders.

“Ya could have called me sooner, y’know,” Greg’s cousin said on the other end of the line. There wasn’t admonition in the sentence, just resignation.

And concern.

And grief.

Andy had just met Steven a couple of months ago, but like all people who came into his son’s orbit, found it impossible not to love him, not to care. Andy had taken him up in his old plane and shown him the stars, and Steven had shown that cantankerous old coot that he didn’t have to roam the world looking for home.

Greg spidered his hand across his forehead and looked down at the concrete between his feet—the minuscule cracks in the pavement, the imperfect rubble. He burned all over; he wanted to burn the world to the ground; he wished the ground would swallow him whole; his son was sick.

“I didn’t want to face it, Andy,” he whispered, his voice strained tight, on the verge of breaking. “I’ve already lost Rose… I didn’t… I couldn’t—”

But his cousin took pity on him and quickly cut him off. “—I know, kiddo… I know. Listen, I’ll go get tested and get back to ya, okay?”

“Okay.” He closed his sagging eyes. “Thanks.”

“Tell Champ that I’m gonna bring him something cool the next time I fly down there.” Andy’s thick Jersey accent was slung with emotion (or whiskey one), all the hard consonants broken and slurred. “Ya got that, ya bald bastard?”

Greg chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good man,” and the phone clicked off just as warm hand landed quietly on his shoulder, drawing him back from the darkness. Of course, it was Garnet, who had been his companion in exhausting their contact lists and asking friends and family to get tested. Of course, it was Garnet who always knew exactly what he needed in the moment that he did.

She was steady like that, dependable.

Somehow, he found it in himself to wonder who was the same for her? Who was steady? Who was dependable? Who was the shoulder she leaned upon, if she needed to lean at all?

She’d always been so self-sufficient, so contained and in control.

Or was it Steven?

The possibility hit him suddenly, like a train.

(He thought on it; he chewed; he concluded: it was probably Steven.)

“You can’t beat yourself up, Greg,” she murmured. Sunlight glinted across her sunglasses, eradicating even the suggestion of her eyes beneath them. “We didn’t think we’d be here this fast. We thought we’d have more…”

“…time,” he finished quietly and choked a little at the end.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said. He then waited for the blow, and she promptly delivered. “But this is all I have.”)

There wasn’t any more time.

There was only waiting and hoping and waiting and hoping and—

They’d been waiting and hoping for eight months now.

Garnet’s fingernails dug into his shirt.

“S’not that I want to be hard on myself,” he mumbled, swiping clumsily at his snotting nose. “It’s just that I feel like I’m failing my kid, y’know? He’s in there fighting for his life, and I… I can’t do anything about it!”

The concrete mocked him with its gray, blank face; he wished it would rise up from the ground and strike him; he’d give anything if it would clock him cold; he deserved it; or maybe he didn’t; maybe everything was all screwed up, and he just didn’t really want to feel a damn thing—for hours at a time, for days.

“But, Greg,” Garnet whispered, her voice tight around the edges, her grip on him tighter. “Look at you. Look at that phone in your hand. We’ve been calling people all morning. We’ve been fighting for him for months.” She almost sounded angry, which was a rarity in and of itself for this particular woman who so masterfully boxed all of her emotions down and away. “That isn’t nothing.”

But then, suddenly, without warning, further complicating everything he knew about her, Garnet balled her free hand into a fist and knocked it hard against the bench. Her knuckles came back imprinted with the striations in the wood.

“It can’t be nothing,” she growled. “All of this can’t be for nothing. He can’t just—” But she stopped short, apparently choked, and Greg closed his eyes again.

Steven could just die, and that would be that.

It would be their entire world.

It would all be for nothing.

The sun was so damn bright today; it burned, and it burned, and it burned.

vi.

Monday found Amethyst teetering beneath a hella big flower arrangement as she stumbled into Room 11037.

God, the container was almost as huge as her head and just as full of crap—which was to say, beautiful sunflowers whose golden petals unfurled symmetrically around dark anthers. The strain of carrying it reddened her fingers as she did well to deposit it on the moveable tray Steven ordinarily used as a table when he ate.

(Not that he did eat.)

(Not really.)

The thud of the vase hitting the table jolted Steven from what had been a half-lidded gaze to a well-alert panic.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry, Steven,” she apologized, still panting from the exertion. She then leaned against the foot of his bed, wrapping one of her newly sore arms against the frame. “Didn’t mean for that to be so loud. Stupid thing was just so heavy.”

Encumbered as he was by wires, he couldn’t really move his head to take a closer look at the arrangement, but all the same, panic softened in his eyes—became appreciation and awe in a blink.

It hurt Amethyst to look at him.

(She would never look away.)

“Ohmygosh!” he croaked in one impressive breath. “These are so pretty. Who sent them?”

“Beats me,” Amethyst shrugged, quite unfortunately exacerbating the soreness in her shoulders. “Nurse said that your secret admirer wanted to stay anonymous.”

“Aw,” he grinned, “I have a secret admirer?”

“Ahahaha, somethin’ like that. Could it be the old lady?” Not that anyone was asking, but she thought it was quite admirable of herself to show restraint enough not to go with a more colorful moniker. “She’s rich enough to send something as fancy-schmancy as this.”

Steven thought on it for a moment—lifted his dark eyes towards the ceiling and hummed tentatively. The fluorescents overhead crowned his black hair with a harsh halo and illuminated the deep grooves beneath his eyes, the hollows in his face, the yellowish pallor of his skin.

Jaundice was setting in, making a fine mockery of his youth.

(God, would it hurt to just look away just once?)

“Truuuuuue,” he eventually conceded, “but I don’t know why she just wouldn’t bring them with her.”

Oh, yeah.

That was something that was happening.

It was a hella good thing Pearl was working today.

“Oh, yeah. She’s coming later, isn’t she?”

“Yup. Two o’clock.” Amethyst glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall—it was nearly one—and then turned back to him, a small frown puckering at her lips.

“That isn’t a long time from now.”

“And?”

“And, buddy, my pal, my friend,” Amethyst smiled bitterly, “I hope you know what you’re gonna say to her because you look like shit.”

“Rude!” He stuck his tongue out and approximated some semblance of a faux offended expression, but his brow furrowed above his bruised eyes all the same.

These past three days had done their number on Steven, and he was a far cry from the boy who bounced in the elevator ride up to Blue Diamond’s opulent penthouse suite, and he was absolutely the ghost of the kid he was eight months ago.

(He used to pounce on Amethyst’s back and demand that she fake wrestle with him.)

(He used to play on the beach for hours.)

(He’d been so vibrant and alive and present and capable, and God, how was it even fair that he wasn’t anymore?)

“Just tellin’ the truth,” Amethyst sighed. “I dunno much about her, but going off the bathrobe and smudged mascara alone, I wouldn’t guess that she’s got a strong constitution.”

Steven batted back with a worldweary sigh of his own.

“I know,” he murmured, “but, also, like, I dunno, Amethyst—I think strength for her might just be wandering around in a bathrobe, you know?” On top of his blankets, he softly skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of his other hand, careful to avoid all of the intravenous lines. “Honestly, I think… she might struggle with even that.”

The translation was clear in his face: Blue Diamond struggled to even be.

At that very moment, Amethyst was simultaneously irritated and sympathetic, understanding and unkind. She began to pick viciously at one of the loose threads in Steven’s blanket; her long bangs fell unceremoniously over her right eye.

“If that’s true, then she might break just seeing you, Steven.”

He thought on this, too, closing his eyes and settling his thumb across the ridges of his knuckles.

She hated when he did this.

Hated how still he looked.

(And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself look away.)

“Maybe”—he opened his eyes—“but maybe not… I want to help her, Amethyst. I think she needs it.”

You're the one who needs help, she wanted to say.

(He looked so sincere as he said it, so kind and warm and believing in the idea that a broken, old lady could be saved by his smile alone.)

You don’t owe a damn thing to this lady.

(He didn't owe a damn thing to all of the other people he'd helped, but he still did it anyway.)

Take care of yourself.

(What more could he do?)

Fight for yourself.

(What more could any of them do?)

For me.

(I can't lose you, buddy.)

For us.

(We'd be lost.)

But those options would fundamentally be unSteven, and it was so Steven to be so damn selfless, to extend a flower to a grieving woman in a cemetery, a hand and his stupidly big heart to what was clearly a person in need.

“Yeah,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion, “I gotcha.”

On that tray that he used but didn’t use because he couldn’t hold down solid food anymore, a flower head leaned towards Steven, as though it was itching to say hello.

vii.

Monday found Blue Diamond standing at the threshold of the exit (and the beginning), her long hand pale against the handle that she had been gripping for hours now—weeks, months, years.

(It’d been minutes, but time swallowed her up and spit her out back again. She was here in her penthouse suite preparing to visit a boy in the hospital; she was in that fatal night from all those many years ago, screaming.)

She was coming, Steven Universe.

Her silvery hair swept down her back in its signature braid; a dress, not a bathrobe, unfolded down her curvy frame.

In just a moment or hours from now—weeks, months, maybe years—she would walk out of the door.

(It would be a few minutes; it’d be a near panic attack; it would be bravery.)

She was coming.

#flower child #yellow diamond #priyanka maheswaran #steven universe #blue diamond #connie maheswaran #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #yellow pearl #s: steven universe #mimik-u #oh boy - i'm whipped

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imnotinclinedtomaturity · 5 years

Text

Love Yourself (Chapter 28)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 8.4k story words: 228k (so far) chapter: 28/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: as always, thanks to @auroraphilealis for being a wonderful best friend, beta, and cheerleader. i always appreciate when she pushes me to write more, even if it is bits i'm too lazy to do so :)

Despite the firm grip that Phil had on the papers, they were still visibly shaking — something that he was certain Dan had probably noticed by this point. Dan had also probably noticed that Phil had been silent for a solid five minutes now. And given the fact that Dan wasn’t blind, he’d also probably noticed the dumbstruck look that Phil was pretty sure was on his face.

Dan had tried explaining the content of the papers to Phil — he really had. He’d been emotional though, and the story had come out in a jumbled order. But even if it had been told in a logical order, the words still wouldn’t have made any sense. It all had sounded too insane to be real life. And now that Phil had been staring at the papers — the contract, he mentally corrected himself, he needed to call it what it was — it only seemed more ludicrous.

The loopy handwriting and smeared black font glared up at him though, mocking him with Isabella’s ability to be fucking next-level conniving, her ability to think one move ahead of Dan and Phil every step of the way.

Well, almost every step of the way.

Apparently dating Dan for nearly a year wasn’t long enough for her to learn how fiercely independent and stubborn Dan was. Phil couldn’t help but find it amusing that Dan coming out first was the one move — the most Dan move that Phil could imagine — that Isabella hadn’t accounted for.

“Phil?” Dan asked tentatively, barely audible. His voice was quiet, so quiet that Phil probably wouldn’t have been able to hear him at all if there had been any noise in the room. “Say something? Please?”

It was the raw begging in Dan’s voice that snapped Phil out of his thoughts enough to tear his eyes away from the papers and finally look at Dan. There was tension clinging to every single one of Dan’s muscles that Phil could see — Dan’s eyebrows were furrowed deeply, his shoulders drawn up tight to his ears, his jaw set. Dan’s back was digging into the headboard behind him, his gaze determinedly staring straight ahead.

Dan’s entire body seemed to be on the verge of folding in on itself; it was as if the only thing stopping it from curling into a tight, protective ball was the rigidity locking him in place.

Phil gnawed on his lower lip, his gaze focused on Dan, as he took a long minute to gather his thoughts. Impatience seemed to be creeping into Dan — his fingers started to tap against his knee, and his eyes flicked over to give Phil a sidelong glance, immediately darting away again when he seemed to realize that Phil was already staring back.

“Well?” Dan pushed, his voice hard and cold, his eyes focused somewhere straight ahead again. The part of Phil that wasn’t struggling to find the right words was tempted to reach out, to lightly tug on Dan’s chin until he turned his head, desperate to know what was going on in Dan’s mind.

“I - I’m not angry about how or when or why you came out,” Phil started cautiously. He scanned Dan’s face, looking for any sign of reaction, even just the smallest flicker of emotion that might give away an inkling of what Dan was thinking. “I get it. I really do.”

Dan’s head tipped back against the headboard with a loud thunk, rolling to the side to finally look at Phil. “Then why do you still seem pissed off?” He grumbled, not bothering to mask his aggravation.

But even from the awkward side angle, Phil could see the fear and apprehension in Dan’s eyes.

“I’m not pissed off,” Phil corrected, careful to keep his tone even and calm, even though Dan wasn’t doing the same. “I’m just —” He cut himself off, running his hands over his face in agitation. He’d been the one to insist that they have a proper talk, that they tell each other what they were feeling. And that meant he really needed to find a way to articulate his current emotions.

Before sharing the contract with Phil, Dan had been honest about how he had felt when he came out last night — even if it wasn’t all coherent — and now it was Phil’s turn.

Phil sighed again, dropping the contract off the side of the bed — it felt viscerally wrong on every level to let it touch Dan’s monochrome duvet. Phil sat up straight, spinning around to face Dan. The shift in position caused Phil’s knees to press into the length of Dan’s leg, and Phil was thrumming with the urge to rest his hand on Dan’s thigh.

So Phil did. He’d spent too many months biting back his desires around Dan, and wasn’t about to continue doing so now that he didn’t have to. He moved his hand slowly, giving Dan time to knock it out of the way if he didn’t want to be touched. Dan didn’t stop him, though, and his lips quirked up into a hint of a smile when Phil’s hand settled just above his knee.

Just as slowly, and with just as much trepidation, Dan reached his own hand out, landing on Phil’s with a feather light touch. Instinctively, Phil flipped his hand over so that their palms were touching, and intertwined their fingers.

“You’re just what, Phil?” Dan prodded, far less irritation in his voice now. He gently squeezed Phil’s hand, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

“I’m just… frustrated.” Phil finally confessed, resigning to the fact that there wasn’t any gentler of a way to put it. Beneath his hand, Phil could feel Dan’s leg tense up, and he could see the guarded fear flash back into Dan’s eyes.

“That… doesn’t sound loads better,” Dan sighed warily. His eyes drifted away from Phil’s, landing somewhere near Phil’s left ear.

“Well, it is.” Phil said simply, unable to keep a note of amusement out of his voice.

Dan’s gaze snapped back to Phil’s, shooting him a disgruntled look. There was a smirk pulling at Dan’s mouth, though, and the annoyance in his eyes had a contrived quality to it. “Alright. Let’s hear it then. What are you frustrated with me about then?”

Another minute of silence stretched by as Phil tried to find a way to explain his thoughts that wouldn’t push Dan back onto the defensive. Dan had promised to stay rational, but Phil wasn’t convinced that Dan would manage if he felt backed into a corner.

“Come on, Phil. I can handle it,” Dan prompted, sounding defeated, when the silence had carried on for too long. “I’m sure it’s not anything that people haven’t been frustrated with me about before.” Dan offered Phil a half-hearted smile, but there was a note of derision in his voice that made Phil painfully aware of how frequently Isabella had probably been properly angry at Dan for stupid reasons.

Phil barrelled onwards, figuring that bumbling through imperfect words was better than letting Dan ruminate on past fights with Isabella.

“I’m frustrated,” he emphasized the word to reiterate that he didn’t mean angry, “That I had to find out that you came out from PJ and the internet. I—”

“I tried to tell you!” Dan interrupted, his voice high-pitched and defensive again.

“No,” Phil corrected calmly, despite the prickle of annoyance at Dan’s defensive behavior again. Phil’s fingers tightened around Dan’s before Dan could pull his hand away. “You texted me to look at your instagram before I checked my other notifications.”

“You were asleep!” Dan argued weakly.

“Yeah, and if ever there was a moment to wake your boyfriend up in the middle of the night, I think it’s hey I just came out.”

“I — Well. Yeah,” Dan agreed lamely. “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Phil asked, searching Dan’s face and still keeping his voice neutral.

Dan’s eyes fell from Phil’s, his gaze focused on their intertwined hands instead. “I was scared,” he answered in a small voice.

“I told you,” Phil huffed, not wanting to rehash the same point again. They had to have gone over this at least three times already. “I wouldn’t have tried to stop you.”

Slowly, Dan looked back up to meet Phil’s gaze again. There was a glint of hesitation in his eyes, and they were a bit too wide to be normal. “No, I mean after,” Dan clarified in a low voice.

“After?” Phil repeated unintelligently, his head cocking to the side and his brows furrowing.

“Yeah. After.” Dan swallowed thickly, his spare hand ruffling his hair. “When I’d calmed down from the rush of posting and stuff… I thought of calling you then. But I was…”

Dan trailed off and fell into silence, only offering Phil a small shrug.

“Scared,” Phil supplied when it was clear that Dan wasn’t going to finish his sentence. “Scared of what, though?” he pushed, his eyebrows knitting together and his voice soft as he tried to understand. To make sense of why Dan was afraid of Phil of all people.

“That you’d —” Dan stopped abruptly, his hand slipping out of Phil’s grasp and his legs tucking into his chest in one fluid motion. Dan protectively wrapped his arms around his shins, and hooked his chin over his knee. When he spoke, his words were addressed to the empty expanse of the duvet in front of his feet. “I guess I was scared that you wouldn’t support me. I didn’t want to hear you say that it was a bad decision.” Dan sighed, turning his head so that his cheek was on his knee and he was looking at Phil again.

Phil’s heart fell, sinking deep into his stomach. “Dan, I —” Phil cut himself off, switching gears slightly. “I adore you, okay?” he continued emphatically. “I adore you so, so, so, so, so much. I’ll support you no matter what you want to do.”

Dan’s mouth tipped up into a smile, his dimple squished against his knee but visible all the same. “Even if I want to scream to the internet about how happy you make me?”

“Especially if you want to scream to the internet about how happy I make you,” Phil assured him, unable to keep the happiness out of his own voice. Phil reached out and threaded his hand through Dan’s hair, offering him a small smile. “I’d support you if you said you wanted to trek across Antarctica, okay?”

Dan laughed — and it was a real, hearty chuckle without a single trace of bitterness this time. “Well, now that’s just poor judgement, Philly.”

Phil quirked an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Come on,” Dan scoffed. “We both know I’d die if I tried to cross Antarctica. The walk from here to your flat when it’s mildly cold turns me into a whiny bitch.”

This time, Phil laughed along, both of their loud giggles ripping apart the tension that had previously consumed the room. “My whiny bitch, though,” Phil teased. Letting go of Dan’s curls, Phil wrapped his arms around Dan’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Dan went willingly, letting himself be tipped into Phil’s chest, melting into Phil’s embrace. His forehead was leaning against Phil’s chest, and Phil just barely felt Dan tip his chin forward and press a light kiss to Phil’s jumper.

“I need you to communicate with me, though,” Phil continued, his voice dipping back into a serious tone. “I don’t want to find out stuff about my boyfriend from the internet just because I’m dating someone properly famous.”

“I know,” Dan agreed as he pushed back out of Phil’s arm so that he was sitting upright again. His head stayed dipped down though, not lifting to look at Phil. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to do before I do stuff next time.” Dan sounded sincere — almost painfully so — and he was peeking up at Phil with overly earnest eyes; it struck Phil how hard Dan was trying, how determined he seemed to be to do the right thing.

“It’s okay if you can’t always talk to me before you do something — I get how interviews and liveshows and, I dunno, concerts I guess, can be.” Phil offered Dan a genuine smile, and lightly knocked their knees together in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “But tell me afterwards, before I found out from twitter or something. That way I can understand why you make choices, and not just see the choice broadcasted on the internet.”

Dan nodded quietly, still looking more at his own lap than Phil. Even though his head was ducked, Phil could see that Dan was biting his lip, could tell that Dan seemed to be holding his breath. It was clear that he still had something on his mind. Phil was just about to ask when Dan continued on his own.

“You’re famous too, ya know,” Dan mumbled meekly.

“Come here, you silly boyfriend,” Phil teased fondly, hands reaching out and pulling Dan back into his chest. Dan fell forward and crashed into Phil, high pitched giggles already replacing the concerned tone. Phil trailed his fingers up and down Dan’s back as Dan settled back into Phil’s space. “I’ll tell you things too,” Phil assured Dan softly. “Social media and gossip websites won’t be a form of communication in this relationship.”

Dan giggled again. “Good, fuck the internet,” he mumbled wryly, his words tickling Phil’s chest. Phil chuckled, and dropped another light kiss to Dan’s curls.

For a moment, Phil let silence wash over them. It was a different kind of silence this time. It wasn’t the scared silence from before, nor was it the angry silence from even earlier. No, this silence was comfortable, almost settling into relaxed as time carried on.

Phil knew that Dan was probably ready for this conversation to be over, but Phil needed a little bit of closure before he could completely let it go. With a deep breath, Phil gently asked, “So what have we learned?”

“Learned?” Dan echoed, face still smushed into Phil’s chest.

“Yeah, learned,” Phil repeated insistently. “You know, from this… fight.” Phil grimaced even as the word came out of his mouth — he didn’t like the idea of fighting with Dan, and he didn’t like labeling what had happened with such a negative term. But that’s what this morning had been. A fight.

“Oh,” Dan murmured unintelligently. Something in his tone sounded genuinely shocked.

“That’s kind of the point of having adult conversations about your feelings,” Phil pointed out playfully, trying to diffuse some of the tension. “Ideally we learn something so that we don’t have to have the same fight again.”

“Right,” Dan muttered into Phil’s chest.

“So?” Phil pushed when a few seconds had passed and Dan hadn’t continued.

“I’m thinking,” Dan responded distantly. It didn’t sound like a brush off, though — it sounded like he was genuinely contemplating Phil’s question.

“Okay.” A slow smile spread across Phil’s face. He was surprised to find that he actually liked that Dan wasn’t answering immediately, that Dan seemed to actually be putting thought into Phil’s question. “Take your time.”

And take his time Dan did. In fact, Dan took so much time that Phil would have been worried that he wasn’t thinking at all, that he’d just fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the steady drag of Dan’s thumb against Phil’s knee.

“I guess,” Dan quietly piped up after what seemed like an eternity. His words came out muffled, though, and he turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on Phil’s chest instead. “I guess I learned to… trust that you’ll, like, support me. And not be mad.”

“Mhmmm,” Phil hummed. “And?”

“And…” Dan still sounded uncertain, but he sounded like he was gaining confidence now that Phil had agreed with something he’d said. “And I should communicate, for real, not just let you find out things on instagram. You know, tell you my thoughts and shit.” Dan took a quick breath, continuing again without more prompting from Phil. “And that it’s better to talk about things, rather than just… fucking it out.”

“Good.” Phil dropped a kiss to the top of Dan’s head before he let his gaze drift up and around Dan’s room as he mulled over his own lessons. “And I learned —”

The sharp movement of Dan’s head interrupted Phil. “You learned?” Dan asked, sounding bewildered, amazed.

Phil looked down again, only to find Dan already staring up at him, his eyes wide and lips parted, looking positively shocked.“Of course,” Phil replied simply. “This is a a two way street, silly. We’re learning together.”

“Oh,” Dan mumbled, his head jerking back in surprise. He blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Phil waited patiently, his eyebrows quirked up in amusement. Dan snapped his mouth shut, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Finally, he continued, “I just assumed it was just me who needed to learn since I’m the fucked up one.”

The amusement drained out of Phil’s face, leaving nothing but abject horror and heartbreak in its place. The phrasing of Dan’s words was a jagged knife in Phil’s stomach; the subtle difference between I fucked up and I’m fucked up had never been so glaringly loud as it was in that moment.

“Listen to me Daniel James Howell,” Phil demanded, perhaps a bit more vehemently than intended. He let go of Dan’s shoulders, his hands coming to Dan’s face instead. Hands grasping Dan’s cheeks, Phil coaxed Dan into a sitting position, holding him firmly so that Dan had no choice but to look anywhere but Phil. “You. Are. Not. Fucked. Up.” Phil argued, strong determination seeping into every word.

Looking like he’d beg to differ, Dan opened his mouth, but Phil pushed forward, continuing on before Dan could disagree.

“Today, I learned — am learning — how being in an abusive relationship —”

“It wasn’t abusive,” Dan interrupted fiercely, a twinge of the defensiveness creeping back. “It was just—” His voice fumbled, his gaze fell. “Toxic,” he finished weakly.

“Fine, toxic,” Phil relented, using Dan’s word instead — not that it was really all that much better, but it seemed to matter to Dan. “Today I’m learning about how being in a toxic relationship has affected you.”

Dan leaned backwards, pointedly pulling his face out of Phil’s hands. “That sounds like a nice way of saying fucked up, Phil.” The derisive, self-deprecating tone was back in Dan’s voice, and a humorless grin was replacing the happy smile from moments ago.

“It’s not,” Phil implored. “You aren’t fucked up. You were in an unhealthy relationship for a long time, and you learned to develop unhealthy reactions to stuff because it helped you in that relationship. All that means is that you need to learn healthier reactions.”

Dan rolled his eyes, and let out an exasperated sigh. “So this morning I learned to not make a fight go away by blowing you, and you learned that you get to teach your boyfriend to respond healthily to things because he’s an emotional wreck who doesn’t know how to deal with basic relationship shit,” Dan summarized bluntly as he stared stubbornly somewhere over Phil’s left shoulder, not quite meeting his gaze. There was a bitter edge to Dan’s voice that made Phil’s heart ache.

“Hey,” Phil wheedled, his hand reaching out to adjust Dan’s head so they were properly facing each other again. “Remember, you also learned to trust that I’ll support you, yeah? That applies here too, okay?”

Dan’s eyes finally flickered from somewhere behind Phil to meet Phil’s gaze. Dan looked skeptical, like he was ready to push back again.

“You’re acting like this a huge burden, and it’s not,” Phil continued before Dan had the chance to say anything. “So long as we have clear conversations like this, and so long you’re open with me like you were earlier, it’s going to be okay.”

“I — fine,” Dan conceded. “I can do that. Or, well, try.” Dan shrugged, a small embarrassed look on his face. “Being open is… hard sometimes. And I don’t exactly realize when I’m having an unhealthy reaction to something.”

“That’s okay,” Phil assured Dan, his thumb lightly rubbing over the wrinkle between Dan’s eyebrows. As if Phil’s touch were magic, Dan’s face relaxed, the tension melting away. “Being vulnerable is hard for everyone, I can’t begin to imagine how hard it is when you’re used to a toxic relationship. I’ll help you realize when there’s unhealthy stuff going on. This isn’t all on you, alright?”

Phil dropped his hand to his lap, blindly searching for Dan’s without breaking eye contact. Their fingers brushed, and they both rushed to lace them together.

“I’ll fuck up again,” Dan pointed out, but all of the resistance was gone and there was a dopey smile slowly spreading across his face.

“This morning won’t be the last time I mess up either, but I’m —”

“You?” Dan cut Phil off incredulously. “You didn’t fuck up this morning!”

This time, it was Phil who shrugged. “I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who…” Phil paused, picking his next words deliberately, careful to not say anything that would quickly send Dan spiraling back into the I’m fucked up mindset. “...responds differently to stuff than me.”

Dan cocked his head, the dopey smile twisting into a look of confusion. Clearly, Phil’s attempts to be sensitive had erred too far on the side of diplomatic.

“When I got here, Louise was really… iffy about leaving,” Phil tried to explain, still picking his words carefully. Dan wasn’t going to wallow in self-hate anymore, especially not because of anything Phil said. “And I knew why. And I promised not to be like Isabella, and not to hurt you. And then Louise left and it was like poof, I forgot about those promises.”

“Phil,” Dan consoled him softly. “You weren’t anything like Isabella.”

“Well, good.” Phil forced out a hollow chuckle. “But I still let my temper get the best of me, and I didn’t once stop to think about how your past, about how being with Isabella, might have affected the way you interpreted my actions. And I should have.”

“That’s not your fault. You don’t have to walk on fucking eggshells around me.”

“No, but I didn’t have to be sarcastic and accusatory and snappy. I didn’t have to think only about myself.” Phil shook his head forcefully. “I could have let you sleep a little longer. I could have let you have a fucking cup of coffee.”

“I — yeah. That might have helped,” Dan reluctantly agreed after a beat of silence.

“Exactly,” Phil said with a smile. “See, we both learned things this morning.”

Dan leaned forward, and Phil expected a kiss or maybe just a hug, but instead he was met with Dan’s head crashing into his chest. Dan’s hands were adjusting Phil’s, manhandling him until Phil’s arms were looped around Dan’s waist.

Phil didn’t waste any time before tightening his grip and pulling Dan in closer. Pliantly, Dan scooched into Phil’s lap until his arse was between Phil’s thighs, and his long legs were tucked along Phil’s side, his arms smushed between their torsos. Dan wasn’t hugging Phil, not by a thousand kilometers. This was just Dan being held by Phil. And that was fine.

In a different moment, Phil would probably have laughed about how small his absolute giant of a boyfriend had managed to become, but now didn’t seem like the right time. Phil could imagine that Dan was feeling a lot of things right now — vulnerable from this morning, probably still shocked from coming out — and pointing out that Dan had turned into a contortionist so that he could curl up into Phil’s lap like a small child seemed like the wrong thing to do.

So Phil let Dan burrow into his chest, and Phil held Dan as tightly as he dared.

“Phil?” Dan murmured tentatively without pulling back.

Phil’s brows automatically rose in curiosity. “Yeah?” he asked.

“For the record, even though we fought and stuff, this is still better than even the best days with Isabella.”

“Hmm?” Phil hummed, not quite making sense of Dan’s comment.

“I feel like…” Dan trailed off, sounding like he was searching for words. “Even when we’re fighting, you push me to be better, to want to be better. I like that.”

“Oh,” Phil mumbled dumbly, a faint smile growing on his face. A warm wave washed over Phil, and he couldn’t resist tightening his hold on Dan and pressing another kiss to the top of his head.

One of Dan’s hands wiggled free from the space between their bodies, and found its way to Phil’s side. Dan’s fingers trailed down Phil’s ribcage all the way to the hem of his jumper, ducking under and sliding back up. The warm tickle of Dan’s fingers on the side of Phil’s stomach made him giggle in surprise, even though he objectively knew it was coming. Dan giggled back, his head tipping back so that he was looking up at Phil, his breath fanning across Phil’s neck.

“I like me better when I’m with you,” Dan whispered, his fingers coming to a halt and his hand latching onto Phil’s side.

“I like me better when I’m with you, too,” Phil agreed softly. He leaned forward, tilting his head down to capture Dan’s lips with his. Dan kissed back eagerly, his back arching up, his hand slipping around to Phil’s lower back.

“Good,” Dan muttered with a note of finality, his lips only barely pulling back from Phil’s. “Now, I know healthy relationships frown upon blowjobs during a fight, but what’s the stance on blowjobs after a fight?”

A loud, high pitched giggle escaped Phil’s mouth, his tongue lolling out and inadvertently licking across Dan’s lips. “In favor,” Phil managed through his giggles. “Very in favor.”

“Excellent, because those joggers are stupidly tight and they really make me wanna suck your cock.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Phil chided through a beaming smile.

“I don’t see you complaining,” Dan pointed out smugly, already shuffling down the bed on his knees. His hands were gripping Phil’s hips firmly and maneuvering him into a more accessible position. Phil let himself be manhandled, obediently twisting around around until he was laying on his back.

Dan wasn’t wasting any time — no sooner had Phil stopped moving, than Dan was immediately reaching for Phil’s joggers. “Off,” he ordered breathily, tugging on the hem. “And the shirt, too.”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Phil teased, lifting his hips up to help.

Dan shot Phil a menacing glare — a look that was spoiled by the fact that his pupils were blown wide with lust. “I could so easily not blow you right now,” Dan threatened, even as he yanked Phil’s joggers over his bum, his pants pulled down in the same motion.

“This was your idea,” Phil said snarkily. All the same, he pushed up slightly, grabbed the neck of his shirt, and tugged it over his head. Carelessly, Phil chucked his shirt onto the floor, and reached for the hem of Dan’s sweater. “I want this off, too,” Phil urged with a tug.

“I’m blowing you,” Dan explained dramatically.

“And I want a view,” Phil whined, just as theatrically. He pulled upwards, this time aided by Dan, who dragged his sweater over his head and tossed it behind him.

“Happy now?” Dan grumbled, a smile pulling at his lips, as he shimmied further down the bed.

“Take of the trousers and then I’ll be thrilled.” Phil offered Dan a cheeky smile, hoping it was enough to convince him.

Dan, however, froze between Phil’s legs and sent him a thoroughly unamused look.

“Hey! Don’t have such a great arse if you don’t want me to want to look at it all the time,” Phil accused innocently.

A deep blush spread from Dan’s collarbones, up his neck, all the way to his cheeks. Dan climbed off the bed, his hands flying toward the button on his jeans. Phil shuffled onto his elbows so he had a better look at Dan.

“You cheeky bastard, I don’t know why I keep you around,” Dan mumbled under his breath. The blush had extended from all the way to Dan’s ears, though, and Phil knew he’d hit a nerve — a good nerve.

Salaciously, Phil let his eyes wander down Dan’s bare chest, let his gaze linger on Dan’s hands, let himself watch the way Dan slowly swayed his hips as he pushed the tight black trousers down. Phil could feel his cock stirring in interest just from looking at Dan — this boy really was going to be the death of him.

Before Phil could reach for his own cock, Dan was crawling back on the bed — completely arse naked this time — and coming to a halt just centimeters from Phil’s crotch.

“You look good like this,” Dan hummed, his breath ghosting over Phil’s growing cock.

“I could say the same about you.” Phil’s response came out weakly, though; he was already breathless just from Dan being so close to him. From Phil’s limited experience with Dan’s mouth, he knew it was fucking talented — talented enough that Dan was sure to drive Phil insane with it one day.

“You and your damn view,” Dan muttered with a shake of his head and a fond eyeroll. He crouched forward, the new position pushing his bare arse into the air and, yeah, Phil would happily endure teasing if this was the view that he got for it.

~*~*~*~*~*

The wet heat of Dan’s mouth on Phil’s cock was intoxicating, and somehow even more than what he’d been expecting. Talented didn’t begin to cover how amazing Dan was at this, but more than that, it just felt good being so close to Dan again after the drama of the morning.

Phil’s elbows gave out beneath him, and his head fell back against the pillows, despite his desire to keeping staring at the way his cock looked between Dan’s lips, the way Dan’s arse looked high in the air. The sudden pleasure was too much, and Phil’s eyes slipped shut against his will, his fingers clenching into the duvet. A louder than normal moan tumbled from his mouth, and he allowed himself to give in to the overwhelming feeling of Dan’s hot mouth sucking him.

The sound — and electrifying vibrations — of Dan chuckling around him made Phil reach down and swat playfully at this head, but Dan was quick to make up for his teasing by bobbing his head down even further. A quiet, involuntary gasp escaped Phil when he felt his cock slide into the back of Dan’s throat, Dan nose pressing into Phil’s groin. The pleasure that was coursing through him was impossible to ignore, and Phil felt himself go boneless, his hand slipping back to the bed. Dan’s hand caught Phil’s, though, and guided it back to his head. Through a haze of pleasure, Phil remembered how much Dan got off on having his hair pulled, and tangled his fingers in Dan’s knotted curls.

Phil wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without this — not sex necessarily, but sex with Dan. Every time Dan touched him, Phil felt like he was on fire, the heat and desire burning him up from the inside. But it was so much more than that. Just being with Dan always made Phil feel incredibly lucky. He liked Dan so damn much, and he’d happily spend the rest of eternity making sure Dan knew it.

Dan’s mouth worked Phil like he’d been doing this for years, not just the one time he’d actually done so. He was a quick learner, somehow already figuring out what Phil liked, what he didn’t, and what would most likely send him over the edge.

It only took a few seconds of Dan massaging his balls, his fingers ghosting to the sensitive spot just behind them, before Phil was gasping, body tensing and hand tugging on Dan’s hair as orgasm rushed through him.

Panting, Phil tugged more forcefully on Dan’s hair, guiding him into a kiss and licking away the taste of himself on Dan’s tongue. Dan chuckled against his lips, but kissed him back with just as much vigor.

Dan’s hard cock brushed against Phil’s thigh, eliciting a deep, loud moan from Dan. Phil pulled away to whisper, “Let me return the favor.”

“Gladly,” Dan murmured back.

************* ~*~*~*~

When they finally calmed down from what was frankly two amazing blowjobs, Dan and Phil both reached for their phones. It was hardly the post-orgasm bliss that Phil wanted to revel in, but he knew that they both had to face — or at least check in on — their managers, their family, the internet, at some point. So here they were, laying on their backs next to each other, completely naked, and scrolling through their notifications.

Phil’s manager had called three times since they’d moved to the bedroom, each time leaving increasingly long voicemails demanding that Phil call her back as soon as possible or reschedule their morning meeting for later in the day. Phil ignored her requests, though; he was determined to wait to return her calls until him and Dan had a firm plan in place, until they discussed what should and shouldn’t remain private.

Dan, unfortunately, wasn’t as lucky as Phil, as they found out when Dan played his voicemails on speaker. The downside of Dan’s manager being his best friend was that Louise had a lot more leverage to make Dan have proper conversations about his public image. Unlike Marianne, Louise’s voicemails weren’t full of pleading demands for Dan to schedule a meeting — no, hers were full of threats to just show up if Dan didn’t call her back.

“She will, too,” Dan grumbled when the last voicemail finished playing. “I should text her or something, see if I can stop this from happening.”

“You can meet with her if you need to. I don’t mind,” Phil offered.

“Oh I definitely need to, but I don’t have to right now,” Dan responded with a laugh, his eyes lewdly raking up and down Phil’s exposed body. “Louise can wait until I don’t have a naked boyfriend in my bed,” Dan added unnecessarily, like Phil hadn’t figured out exactly what Dan was thinking from the way Dan was checking him out.

Phil chuckled at Dan’s antics, bringing his phone back up to his face to cover the blush that he was certain was spreading across his cheeks. “I’m not going to stop you, there.”

While Dan typed a message to Louise, Phil scrolled through his own texts. There was another message from his brother, one from PJ, and three new messages from his mum. Just like Marianne, Phil wasn’t ready to talk to any of them yet — it wasn’t like he had any idea what he’d say right now anyway.

He left all of them unread.

Aimlessly, Phil switched to scrolling through his email. A firm poke on his shoulder drew him away from the long message he was skimming from his boss at the BBC.

“Here,” Dan said, holding his phone out for Phil to take, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “I reckon this should keep her away for a while.” Despite the impish expression, Dan’s dimple was still on fully display; it made the entire look a thousand times cuter, and Phil wished he could have a framed picture of that exact expression.

Phil clicked the lock button on his phone, and carelessly threw it somewhere beside him on the bed. Turning closer to Dan, Phil took the phone from Dan’s outstretched hand and read over the message that he’d just sent to Louise.

Dan [1:34PM]: everythings good here dw. we’re both naked tho and i have no intentions of letting phil get dressed so i don’t recommend you waltz in here unannounced

“Daaaaan,” Phil whined. His blush from earlier rushed back, his cheeks turning even redder this time.

“What?” Dan teased, sounding far too innocent given the circumstances. “It’s true,” he pointed out cheekily. The tips of Dan’s fingers trailed up Phil’s inner thigh to his hip, just barely missing his cock. Even though Phil came less than an hour ago, the light stimulation was enough to make his cock twitch in interest.

“Ugh, but she doesn’t need to know that,” Phil griped indignantly.

“Too late!” Dan quipped cheerfully without a single trace of remorse. Without waiting for Phil to respond, Dan plucked his phone out of Phil’s hands, chucked it towards the foot of the bed, and flung himself on top of Phil.

“Oof,” Phil grunted when the full weight of Dan landed soundly on him. “Hello there, I guess,” Phil greeted playfully. He lightly patted the very top of Dan’s head, an amused smile creeping onto his face when he noticed how comfortable Dan was making himself.

“Shut up and hug me,” Dan grumbled. His face was already buried in the crook of Phil’s neck, his body stretched out along Phil’s length, his legs tangled between Phil’s own.

“If I must,” Phil sighed with mock exasperation. He wrapped his arms around Dan’s waist all the same, shuffling him over a bit so that Dan’s hipbone wasn’t jutting into Phil’s.

There were more conversations to be had — Phil knew they were unavoidable. For now, though, he was enjoying relishing the intimacy of lounging in bed well into the afternoon with a naked Dan on top of him.

To Phil’s surprise, it was Dan who broke the tranquil atmosphere first.

“So,” Dan started out of nowhere. “In the spirit of healthy adult conversations —” the words came out overly posh and just mocking enough to not completely ruin the mood, “— we should probably talk about what me being out means for us. Publicly I mean.”

“Yeah, we should,” Phil agreed softly. One hand drifted from its perch on Dan’s waist to lightly stroke up and down Dan’s back. “I want to hear your thoughts first.”

“You do?” Dan asked, with far too much surprise.

Phil rolled his eyes good naturedly, shaking Dan gently. “Unhealthy reaction alert,” he teased, keeping his tone light and humorous. “It shouldn’t be shocking when your partner wants to hear your thoughts.”

Dan chucked, blowing waves of hot air against Phil’s throat. “I — yeah. That makes sense. Objectively.”

“Buuut…?” Phil prodded with a smile, his hand returning to its slow caress of Dan’s spine.

Dan shrugged, his shoulder lightly knocking into Phil’s chin. “It’s just new, is all.”

“Well get used to it, Howell,” Phil ordered good-naturedly. One of these days, Dan was going to learn what healthy relationships felt like, but until then, Phil would just have to keep surprising him.

“Yes sir,” Dan conceded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Kinky,” Phil laughed with an exaggeratedly deep and raunch tone, rocking his hips up into Dan’s. It wasn’t really meant to be a sexy move, but their hips were more closely aligned than Phil had originally thought and their cocks rubbed together suggestively. A loud, high gasp filled Phil’s ear at the same time as he let out his own quiet moan.

Fuck, it was tempting to rock them together again, to squeeze Dan’s arse and grind his hips into Phil’s.

“Careful,” Dan warned saucily, a breathless twinge to his reprimand. “There won’t be any adult conversation if you do that again.”

“Oops,” Phil said in lieu of an apology. He cleared his throat and did his best to school his tone back into something serious. For good measure, Phil slid his hands a little further up Dan’s back, making sure that he was well away from Dan’s arse. “Back to the topic. What do you want? Publicly?”

“Right,” Dan said curtly. He shuffled slightly so that their hips weren’t quite as perfectly lined up anymore. “Unless we try really hard to keep it quiet, I think it’s inevitable that people find out — like for sure find out — about us.”

“I agree.” Phil nodded, accidentally jostling Dan. “Do you want to try to hide it? We can tone it down on the internet.”

Dan’s arm snaked its way from Phil’s side up to his hair, and his fingers tangled in Phil’s messy quiff. “I’d rather not, honestly. Part of the reason for not going along with Isabella’s stupid plan was that I didn’t want to have to police my behavior with you.”

“Good,” Phil murmured. He tipped his head forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Dan’s head. “So we both agree that we don’t want to actively hide. What do you want then?”

Dan sighed, the air tickling at Phil’s neck. “I just came out. And I know I already sort of vaguely hinted about you — I had to. Obviously.” Dan huffed out an aggravated breath. “But I guess I’d rather it just be about that for a little bit. Like, if I’m going to do this, if I’m really going to be out, I want to really do it.”

Phil’s brows furrowed together and his body froze as he tried to make sense of Dan’s words. “I’m not sure I’m following,” Phil confessed.

“There’s not enough bi-representation out there,” Dan explained sadly. “And from the small amount of scrolling through comments and tweets that I did, it was clear that actually seeing someone in the media come out as bi really meant something to a lot of people.” Dan’s fingers mindlessly ran through Phil’s hair, his nails pausing to tap a light rhythm against Phil’s head every couple of minutes. Despite the fact that Dan was naked and laying across Phil, his head completely hidden in Phil’s neck, Dan still managed to be incredibly thoughtful and considerate — still managed to be articulate about the topics he was passionate about.

“So I’d rather it just be about that for a while,” Dan continued. “The second people know for sure that we are together, we’re both going to get bombarded with questions about that and that’s all anyone is going to talk about anymore.”

“That makes sense,” Phil agreed, his brows relaxing and hands finding their gentle pace along Dan’s spine again. “So we don’t hide, but we don’t confirm either?” Phil clarified, intent on ensuring that they were on the same page.

“Basically.” Dan pushed up a little, his elbows pressing into the mattress on either side of Phil’s head. “Are you okay with that? I don’t want to push you to —”

Phil derailed Dan’s nervous rant the only quick way he could think to, given that Dan had him pinned to the bed — his hands abruptly slid down from Dan’s back, all the way down to his arse, and he squeezed authoritatively. Dan stopped talking immediately.

“Hush,” Phil needlessly added. “I told you ages ago, Dan. I’m following your lead here. Whatever you want is fine, so long as I have a chance to share my concerns if I have any. I’d just like to be, you know, warned before anything big happens. If for no other reason that I’d rather not have to explain to my family why the entire internet knows something before they do.”

“Ugh,” Dan groaned, collapsing back onto Phil. “Have I made a completely terrible first impression on your mum by ruining your chance to tell her?”

“Nah, you’re too loveable for her not like.”

Phil felt Dan tense, and for a brief second he panicked that he’d gone too far — that he’d come on too strong too fast.

But then he felt the unmistakable feeling of Dan smiling into his neck, his lips stretched wide and his teeth grazing Phil’s skin.

“I’m lovable?” Dan asked. His voice was high-pitched and hopeful, like he didn’t quite believe it. Phil planned to spend as long as Dan would let him proving just how lovable he was.

“Of course,” Phil assured him, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re like a big, warm teddy bear.”

Dan giggled into Phil’s neck, his hands looping back up to tangle in Phil’s hair. “Funny. That’s what my family calls me,” he mumbled.

“What? Teddy bear?” Phil’s brows knitted together as he tried to imagine calling his adult son teddy bear.

“No, just bear,” Dan corrected quietly.

“Oh,” Phil mumbled, his eyebrows raising in amusement. His heart melted at how precious it was, how perfectly bear seemed to fit Dan. “That’s unbelievably adorable.”

“Shut up,” Dan threatened lightly. “Don’t —”

Whatever Dan was going to warn Phil not to do, though, was cut off by the sudden chime of Dan’s phone.

“Fuck, can I ignore that?” Dan whined childishly. His hands stubbornly twisted tighter in Phil’s hair and he didn’t move a centimeter.

“I dunno.” Phil ran his hand up Dan’s back, all the way to his shoulder, and pulled up lightly. “You’re not going to know unless you look though.”

“You’re the worst,” Dan groaned, his face purposefully digging further into the nape of Phil’s neck. “You aren’t supposed to actually make me move. What a bad boyfriend.”

“You can lay down again once you’ve looked at the message,” Phil bargained as he nudged at Dan’s shoulders again. Dan was Phil’s makeshift blanket, and Phil wasn’t keen on losing his warmth, but reality was looming in the back of his mind.

“Fine, you ass.” Dan pushed off Phil, his legs moving to straddle Phil’s hips. He leaned backwards, his weight shifting to his hands behind him. The position gave Phil a perfect view of Dan’s long, thin body, and he couldn’t stop his brain from immediately imagining Dan in this position not reaching for his phone.

Images of Dan straddling his hips, his back arched in that sexy way, Phil’s cock buried balls-deep in Dan’s hole, flooded Phil’s mind — he was powerless to stop it. It was like he was fifteen again; his body instantly responded to the mental image, his cock growing hard against his will, pressing insistently again the crevice of Dan’s arse.

Dan must have not noticed yet, because he was still fumbling around for his phone. Phil was too busy looking at everything else about Dan to really register him finding his phone and opening the message.

“Fuck,” Dan cursed suddenly, snapping Phil’s attention away from the gorgeous sprawling cursive of Dan’s tattoo on his rib — something Phil hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate yet.

“What?” Phil snapped, a little more sharply than intended. He couldn’t quite hide that he was disgruntled that Dan was forcing him to pull his mind from his dirty fantasies.

“We need to get up and put clothes on, like, right now,” Dan said urgently

“What? ! Why?” Phil demanded, this time more frantic than annoyed. His heart pounded in worry, his mind spiraling as he thought of things that could be wrong.

Dan pouted at Phil over the top of his phone. “Louise texted that she’s in the lobby and is coming up in five minutes, regardless of if we’re still naked.” He frowned dramatically

Phil’s heart slowed back down when he processed that the biggest threat was just Louise barging into the flat. “Well, fuck. You need different friends,” Phil mumbled without any real bite to the sentiment.

“Fucking tell me about it,” Dan grumbled back, dropping his phone to his side. He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on Phil’s chest and his hips shifting. The movement gave Phil’s cock much more friction, only spurring on Phil’s problem.

“Wait,” Dan said through a giggle. “Are you hard right now?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Phil huffed. “You looked really good like that, okay?”

Dan leaned back on his hands again and puffed his chest out slightly, intentionally rubbing his hips into Phil’s cock. There was an impish look on Dan’s face; his lips were quirked up into a mischievous smile and his eyes were filled with mirth.

“What? Like this?” Dan asked. There was false innocence dripping from his voice, and his eyelashes were fluttering, and fuck this was really getting to Phil.

“Yes, exactly like that, you brat,” Phil chastised, even as his hands slid up Dan’s bare thighs and came to rest at the crook of his hips.

Dan broke out into a devilish smile, and leaned forward again. He splayed his hands across Phil’s chest, lowering himself down until he was just centimeters from Phil’s face.

“Noted,” he said smugly before closing the small distance and kissing Phil. Dan parted his lips, his tongue, immediately darting out to lick along Phil’s bottom lip. A quiet moan slipped from Phil’s mouth before he could stop it, and it only grew louder when Dan grazed his teeth along Phil’s lip.

All too soon, though, Dan was pulling back. Not just from the kiss, but all the way back to sitting, and then off of Phil’s lap in one fluid motion.

“Daaannn,” Phil whined. His dick was throbbing, and watching Dan bed over to pick up his boxers from the floor was hardly helping matters. It was almost like Dan was trying to wiggle his arse in Phil’s direction.

“Now who’s incorrigible?” Dan smirked as he straightened up and stepped into his pants.

“Fuck you,” Phil muttered, trying and failing to inject at least some venom into his voice.

“Maybe later,” Dan promised cheekily. “Now get up and pull on your joggers before you scar Louise,” he demanded, still sounding playful. Apparently, the looming arrival of his best friend wasn’t enough to stop Dan from making fun of Phil.

No matter how tempting it was to stay naked in bed with Dan, Phil knew that they both had to get up and face the world at some point. And the loud ding of the elevator door made it clear that the time had come.

a/n: yayyyyy thanks for your patience guys! i made several Bold Adult Decisions this month which reallyyyyy slowed me down. i hope it was worth the wait! love you all xx

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #phan au #slow burn #singer!dan #barista!phil #coffee shop au #iminclinedtowriting #love yourself #ly #mine #ly 28

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