#But Gallagher's approach on life just

[astrxlfinale]

[Gallagher]: My dad told me a joke about boxing. [Gallagher]: I guess I missed the punch line. [Gallagher]: :p

For a moment the instant actually caught him. Somehow, that alien concept of family to him was met, and it held the opportunity to be freely mentioned by someone with their fair shot of life experience. The usual inclinations were stunned, balled up, and wholly prepared to be tossed in the metaphorical trash.

In a sense of irony, everything but family was actually thought about in a land where 'The Family' held dominion. Within a sea of dreams that reign from multiple shades of the human soul, it left Caelus curious in how so little attention was given to that moniker. With all of the festivities, attractions, being the home to his beloved Clockie. Why wasn't that the case..?

"Boxing. Was his old man a coach? Pssh. Might've made him a run away if the lessons were too off the cuff... uff."

His nostrils immediately flared as DISTASTE began to wrack through Caelus's naturally owned mortal coil.

Punch line.

.....

He could fucking feel the ECKS DEE all the way from where he stands.

[Caelus]: DID HE EVER TEACH THE LEFT, RIGHT GOODNIGHT?

[Caelus]: I HEAR IT'S A CLASSIC.

[Caelus]: DUDE DID YOU LITERALLY JUST MORPH INTO YOUR DAMN DAD!?

[Caelus]: THESE ARE HORRIBLE

[Caelus]: --I can save this. Look. That sucked. So many of these suck! How about I invite you to Boulder Town if ya enjoy the ring?

[Caelus]: I swear if you make a pun out of that too. QUIT MAKING ME SEE THESE.

@avaere

[soylikethedrink]

Forbidden By Nature

A bird and dog shouldn't be together. You knew that. But you found it hard to resist against the handsome drinksmith at the bar. If people were to know about your secret relationship with him, it wouldn't look too good for you, a Halovian from the Oak Family. And it wouldn't be too good of news to your two siblings, Robin and especially Sunday, who strongly detested the 'despicable and wicked' dog.

⚠️ Tags & Warnings: GN Reader, Infidelity, Major and Minor Character Deaths.

⚠️ Note: Major spoilers from the 2.1 patch. This was also written before the release of 2.2 patch. I'm 100% cooked if Gallagher is actually a nice guy.

Sunday prided himself in his leadership. One could not deny that he was a man of many fortes. His great wit, and his erudition, and his unbreakable composure, these qualities made him worthy of being the head of the Oak family. 

And then there was sweet-faced Robin. While Halovians were naturally born with an attractive aura, Robin could easily draw crowds and crowds of people from different planets with just her voice alone. It wasn't much of a wonder that she climbed her way up in stardom with little effort.

Unlike your siblings, you weren’t interested in the spotlight. Being in the center of the spotlight means that you must possess the voice that the people want to hear and listen to, you must have a face that is easily distinguishable among rows and rows of people, and you must have a heart that naturally desires to be adored. And frankly, none of these appealed much to you. 

But one should not presume that your lack of interest in the world of celebrities implied that you weren’t promised for greatness. 

You were well-versed in the world of business. Your social networking skills were of top-notch quality. Negotiation comes naturally to you. While Robin found joy dancing and singing on the shining stage, your happiness lied under stacks and stacks of wealth and luxuries. Your riches were forged by your own sweat, blood, and tears and most knew that. 

Though some people would have assumed that greed would eventually have spoiled your heart to the rotten core, you would continually prove them wrong. As someone who knew the language and the culture of business, you decided to pass it all to Sunday. At young, he became well-acquainted with the mortal psyche. He knew about the worlds that they wanted to walk on, the lullabies that they wanted to hear of, and the lives that they wished they had. With the help of your connections, he easily made his way up. And before you even know it, he became the head of the Oak Family. 

And this went the same for Robin. As you weren't very fond of the life of celebrities, you faced some obstacles in conditioning her up for success. But you disliked failures, hence why Robin managed to become a top star at a young age with your help, despite the disagreements and disputes that you faced by the people in your surroundings. You then received Sunday’s assistance, who helped his sister to adapt to the life of a star. 

Because of you, the two of your siblings were well-known figures in Penacony. 

Your achievements alone served as the evidence of your success, thus bringing some clarification towards your prestige in the world of the rich. 

But you didn’t reach this elevated level of success overnight. You had some help here and there. Met a few people, some that you shouldn't even acknowledge. 

“Gallagher?” Your voice was pitched with curiosity, as you swirled the drink inside the glass by the stem. “Gallagher, the member of the Bloodhound family?”

Your maid nodded her head in confirmation. “He shared with me that he would like to meet you soon, and asked when you will be free.”

The sip from the drink trickled down to your throat. But the sip could not muster a quick answer out of you. You thought deeply on how you should approach the situation. The kick from the aftertaste finally booted out a response out of you. 

“There's no need for such a formal arrangement. We were close friends,” you said calmly.  “He can meet me right now if he wants to.”

Your maid gave you a second nod, before walking around. As her hand rested around the doorknob, you loudly said, “Actually, he doesn’t need to see me. I will see him myself. It would have been easier for both parties.”

Your maid pinched her eyebrows together confusedly at your suggestion. “But what would they think about—”

Her question was interrupted by the clinking sound of the glass against the table. Raising from your seat, you gathered your purse in your hand. You reassured her, “Don’t fret about it.”

When the door opened, you swung your car keys between your fingers. “I’ll be home around 8 PM. You know what to do if I'm not home by then.”

Before your maid could even argue against your departure, the door behind you was already slammed shut. 

You were an individual who marched forward with a well-strategized stride. It was an uncommon sight to see you standing still, feeling lost. You always knew what to say, when to act. It was almost as if living was natural for you. 

But anyone who observed you from a distance, knew that there were rare moments where there was a crack in the facade you wore. 

Heels clicked against the marble floor, turning the heads of the few customers in the bar. You sat at one of the empty seats, before placing your purse on the table. You wiggled yourself out of your coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to you. 

Closing your eyes, you indulged in the noises and chatters of the bar. The bar didn’t have too many attendees. But you were hardly bugged by it, as a quiet bar had a greater appeal to you. 

A glass was placed in front of you. It was filled to the brim with a pink juice, in which you suspected it to come from the finest of strawberries. Lemon slices were floating on the surface, with a sticker of the top-star celebrity of Penacony being plastered at the corner of the drink. The presentation of the drink was endearing, you would say. Especially given your background. 

Strangers would have been confused by the strange gesture. But you were no stranger to this place.

“Aw, how sweet.” Your hand reached out for the drink, as the ice cubes clinked against the glass. Even by a simple glance, you could easily guess it. Rose In Rain. 

Before you could even have a sip of it, you can already taste the flavors of the drink melting into your tongue. “It’s not a wonder that the bar has managed to retain its popularity among people of all classes.” 

With a very composed air, the drinksmith pronounced his response, “This is simply a part of my job. There’s no need for such flattery.”

He grabbed a towel, as he began drying the newly-cleaned glasses.

“Surely, a part of your job does not include you offering such a special treatment to his customers,” You teased, as you brought the drink close to your lips. “And why, I wonder. Are you interested in me, Mr. Gallagher?”

He kept the towel away, and you noticed that the folds were rather uneven. His lack of verbal response might imply disinterest, but his body language was telling you a different story. 

“Yes. Because no member from the Oak family, who are raised with wealth and riches, would spend the night in such a shabby, gloomy bar with moody bartenders. How could I not be interested when met with such abnormality?”

“Abnormality,” you repeated after him playfully. “How awful! I used to be addressed by such endearments, now I’m reduced to an abnormality. Do you detest me that much, Mr. Gallagher?”

You attempted to tease an answer out of him, as you slowly stroked his leg with the tips of your heels. 

“And here I thought that you would have a change of character after successfully climbing up in the social hierarchy,” he commented flatly. 

“Let me hear it.”

“Feisty, birdie,” he said in a voice that was tinged with slight amusement. With arms crossed against his chest, he asked in a huff, “Don’t say you come all the way here for that?”

“No,” you denied. “My maid came here telling me that you would like to discuss some matters. I just thought that it would be convenient to come here instead of the other way around.”

“Well, the discussion is not bar-friendly, I would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

An exasperated sigh came out of your mouth. “I’m assuming it involves Sunday.”

When your younger brother’s name rolled out of your tongue, there was a slight disdainful glance towards you. “Spot-on. Quite impressive, really.”

“Give him time.”

“And will time grow him out of tyranny?” asked Gallagher. 

“Tyranny?” You repeated him again. But instead of uttering it in a playful chirp, your tone was raised in frustration. “You’re speaking nonsense. He is controlling and demanding, but none of that fits what people might consider a tyrant. You need to kill someone to become one. And I don’t recall my younger brother getting involved in a manslaughter case.”

You slowly pushed the drink away from your sight. You continued, “I come here with the intention to have some fun. Let’s not sour the mood with such hostile arguments.”

“Sunday is young, and inexperienced in this kind of position. But he’s fast-learner. With his wits and charms, it wouldn’t take that much time for him to grow and become a proper man,” you defended.

There was an unusual pause in the conversation. And for some reason, the hairs on your arms stood up from the freezing air around you. Too cold for your liking. Not only the air, but also the man in front of you. Too cold for your liking.

“A higher position comes with higher ambitions, and followed with a higher price,” your voice dropped at a lower note, while shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”

He hummed in response. “It comes naturally out of you.”

Your forehead wrinkled at his remark, but before you could question his comment, he cut you to it: “Almost as if you are speaking about yourself.”

“Funny,” you said, feigning amusement. You heaved out a sigh of exasperation, your gaze fallen on the shiny counter. Your tongue no longer longed for the sweet, pink juice that was served earlier. “Let’s settle this with civility. We don’t need to jab at each other’s faults and families. To be insulting and mocking one another relentlessly is very unprofessional of us, who are known as the people who oversee all of Penacony’s matters.”

“Ah, I see. We are colleagues now.”

You closed your eyes, as you swallowed the rising anger that nearly escaped from your throat. “Yes. What else would we be?”

“Old friends?”

“Stop,” you commanded. Though your lips curled into the sweet smile, the white feathers on your wings started slicking down out of fury. 

“Stop?” He raised his eyebrows, amused at your attempt in concealing your anger. “I’m pointing out facts. There’s no need to get riled up over the truth. As someone who values honesty, I don’t understand why you are upset at the mention of our relationship.”

You exploded in fits of laughter at his provocation. The hand covering your mouth was an attempt in restoring your graceful image. And though the corner of your eyes wrinkled in delight, there was a mischief gleam shining in your eyes.

“Ah. I see it now. Well, forgive me for acting all uptight earlier. I seem to have forgotten that dogs need plays and treats in order to feel fulfilled in life,” you mocked. 

“And where’s my treat?” he asked, playing along with you. 

You grinned back at him, with your nose scrunched in slight repulse. “You will get your treats when you shut up about us. Alright, puppy?”

“No problem, birdie. As long as you could convince your bird friends that they wouldn't be chirping around about our reconciliation. ‘Don’t want to be on the bad side of your spouse. ‘Heard that they’re a scary person.”

“Fine,” the smile on your lips was now hanging loosely. “If that’s what you want the most.”

“Now, here’s where you are wrong. That’s not what I want the most.”

Your face scrunched into confusion, but how the corner of your lips twitched implied that you were not very happy with the way he was leading the game. 

“Then?” you dared yourself to ask. “Tell me. What is it that you want?”

He took out the container of washed blueberries, tossing them in the blender. 

“You,” he answered. It was such a plain reply that was pronounced in a flat tone but it had such a strong effect on you.

The chair that you were sitting in was very uncomfortable, you suddenly noticed. 

“You are a little quiet. Bet your mouth dry,” he asked. He threw out the first drink that was served for you, as he replaced it with a new one. You observed the drink, as the radiant, yet somewhat gloomy, blue color of the juice was toned down by your shadow that loomed over it. “Drink up.”

“Do you mean it?” you asked. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he answered. 

“After all these years?” again, you asked. But this time, with the intention to confirm. 

The toughest challenge in the world was no longer convincing the other four families that your brother was not a despicable, hellish being. But rather maintaining a simple eye contact with your first love at his bar.

He nodded his head. “How is that shocking to you?”

“It’s shocking to me because it has been so long. Was it like, 9— no, 12 years?” 

“13 years,” he confirmed. “I waited for 13 years. For you.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” your wings tucked closely to your neck, as they hid in your hair. “Not only that, this seems like what? A poor attempt to lure me in your little trap? But this. This whole thing— it’s not something that you could blurt out so loudly. Especially in a bar where we have eyes everywhere. What would my spouse think about this, what would Sunday and Robin think that their older sibling is out fraternizing with the drinksmith while their spouse is waiting for them at home?”

“You already spelled it all out. There’s not much for your ‘baby brother Sunday’ to figure out why this reunion was such a big deal,” Gallagher teased. With a shrug, he corrected you, “You got one part wrong though.”

This man. 

“Mind telling me?” You were greatly exasperated at this point. 

“I don’t like how the drinksmith sounds. How about your ex-boyfriend?”

Your hand reached out for your purse, and then the coat that you threw over on the next seat. In a hurry, you rose from your seat. “If this is what we are doing, then I’m leaving.”

As you turned your back against him, he walked around the counter as he chased after you. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t get all pissy about it. Teasing used to be our language. Remember?”

At the corner of your eyes, you took notice that one of the bartenders immediately took over Gallagher’s job. You had a hunch that they had been observing you two in a while. Even guessing what they could have heard gave you a headache.

But the man who was following you from behind was ticking you off even more. Even when you were both outside of the bar, he was still trailing you behind like a puppy. 

Finally, you spun around, now facing him. Baring your gritted teeth, you hissed, “I’m not going to lose my dignity tonight just because you—” You pointed your finger towards him, “—couldn’t move on from the past. I have a reputation, Gallagher. So do you. But unlike you, I care deeply about my image. So, let’s just bid our farewells. It’s for the best of us.”

He seemed to be taken aback by your fierce statement. With his hands placed on his hips, he dramatically tapped his foot against the ground a few times before shaking his head, “Wow. People weren’t lying at all. You changed.”

“So?”

Your jeer was barely registered into his head. With his chin slightly tilted upward, he continued, “You really did lose yourself to the riches and fame.”

The feathers of your wings hackled in anger. “And you changed too. It’s hard to believe that the lone wolf of Bloodhound family has now decided to be gossipy, and the first thing that he did is to believe some moronic rumors. Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“Did your partner teach you that?”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you to curse,” he said, as he pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his pants. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, they’re doing a poor job.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You huffed, “Why are you so against my marriage? Do you hate to see me happy, is that it?”

With nonchalance, he nodded his head in confirmation. “Yes. I’m unhappy that you are with them.”

“And so? Do you want me to toss my future away with them just because of what?” You gestured towards him angrily, “Some man?”

“Now it’s some man. Back then, you used to call me cuter names than that,” he teased. “Actually, it sounded even better when you moaned it out in bed,” a muffled groan escaped from his lips as he thought of all the good times you two shared. Well, it was all funny memories now. 

“Should I list it all down right now, birdie?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “How would you prefer me to do it? Should I yell it out so that the whole world knows about your secret scandal with the drinksmith from the Bloodhound family?”

You leaned forward towards him, as he pretended to flinch. Your wings flipped angrily, messing up your hair. “Cut it, dog.”

“Oh, I will,” he agreed, with the tone of his voice now lowered. “But only if you tell me why you left me for that stupid chicken you married to.”

“They’re Halovian, not a chicken,” you exasperatedly corrected him. 

You look at a distance, as you wrung your brain out for an appropriate answer. While you thought deeply on what to say, Gallagher caught a glimpse of the wedding band around your ring finger. 

“Are they wealthy?” he risked another jab. “Old money, or new money?”

“Old,” you answered flatly while rolling your eyes.

He hummed. “So I guessed it right.”

Gallagher pulled out the cigarette out of the box, before putting it between his lips. He patted on his pockets for his lighter.

But you were quicker. You pulled out the lighter from your purse, as you lit it up the end of the cigarette. The light from the fire shone on your face. 

And out of sudden, his intense hatred towards you slowly burned away along with the ashes from the cigarette he was smoking.

You were annoying, that was for the first fact. While the second fact, you were dangerously beautiful. 

“Maybe if I wasn’t much of a social climber, I wouldn’t leave you,” you suddenly confessed. “But I wanted all the fame and the wealth. Because I have a family to support. If I were to run off and marry the guy I actually liked, there’s no such thing as Sunday the Allegedly Tyrannical Leader of the Oak Family or A-List Celebrity Robin in the news and other media outlets. They were out there, taking jobs of some rich pigs. Not living comfortably as today.” 

Now, his mouth felt dry. And the air around him felt hot, making him sweaty and uncomfortable.

With your arms crossed and your wings slightly droopy, you continued, “I saw the ring in your pocket when I was cleaning the house before we broke up.”

Gray smoke escaped from his cracked lips. “You did?”

By the tone, it was clear that it wasn’t your confirmation that he needed. Rather, he wanted your clarification on why you decided to ditch him out of nowhere. 

“You never told me that you wanted to be more than just that,” you said.

“Sucks to know that you hate surprises right now.”

Even in moments of a heated dispute, Gallagher would try to twist it into a comedy. 

“I wanted to make a name for myself in the Penaconian society. And the only way for me to do so was to make myself seen by these prominent people. At the banquet, at the ball, at the party, or at the bar,” you explained.

“I didn’t want to be a nobody. I wanted to become somebody. In that way, my siblings can live an easy life, without some rich snobs telling them what to do, and what to say. How to dress and when to speak. I lived that life. That was how I realized how irksome it was, and how I refused to let it happen to my siblings.”

You looked down to your feet, as your shoes reflected your face. All the treatments you received to retain your youthful beauty, but yet you hardly felt that your younger self was with you. Your younger self wouldn’t make that many excuses. They weren’t avoidant — they faced all obstacles head first with a feisty spirit. But nowadays, even a confrontation from a past lover can get you this upset. 

“It wasn’t a part of my plan to be pinned down by marriage. I was just taken aback by the sudden shift of our relationship, so I left. I worked for a few more years, then I received a marriage proposal from them. Old money, goal-oriented, business-minded. I knew two things when I saw them. That marrying them means that I could finally retire from all that social-climbing and establish myself among the elites. And marrying them means that my siblings have a greater chance to become successful. It would be a great investment, really,” you explained. 

“But I didn’t like them that much.” you reassured him. “They were good, but only enough to make me feel wanted. To them, I was just an accessory for him to flaunt off to his rich friends. They lie sometimes, even to me. I can see it right through them,” you admitted. “They lie to feel respected and liked. To fit in, sometimes. And I guess whatever they say about marriage is true. You will slowly become them, whether you like it or not.”

“So let me get this straight. He didn’t teach you to curse, but he did teach you to lie so  you could look better than everyone?” Gallagher joked bitterly. He looked at you up and down, “Yeah, I see it now.”

You decided to ignore him. 

“I liked you because unlike other people I have met, you were truthful. You didn’t treat me like a sweet candy meant to be tasted, or an object that was meant to be possessed. You were honest and you were genuine. I knew it by the first time we just met, when you dissed me about my drink order,” you laughed a bit. “What was it? My first order? Oh, dearest Xipe, I think I forgot about it.”

“Mungbean Soda. With that distressed look on your face, I knew that a few shots of Stellar Champagne was all you needed to keep yourself composed while dealing with those aristocrats,” he answered.

“So then I decided to take your recommendation.”

“Which was Rose In Rain. A classy and sweet choice, but strong enough to make you forget all your miseries for the night.”

“And it was delicious. That tipsiness made me realize how kissable you were, especially under that dimmed, yellow light,” you finished your sentence. 

“Am I still kissable now?” he teased, as he blew the smoke from his mouth. When he took notice of your irked glare, he raised your hands up in defense. “Hey, ‘just confirming.”

“Annoyingly kissable,” you replied. 

You watched the direction of his eyes fall to your lips. And just by a simple stare, you could feel all the blood from your feet and legs go up to your face, making your cheeks and neck feel hot. 

When he removed the cigarette from his lip, he slowly leaned forward. Your breath hitched up in response, he noticed. So he stopped. 

What filled in the air was the strange silence, the acrid smoke and your guilt. 

“What’s stopping you, then?” he asked softly.

Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. Could it be that it had been an hour past eight. Or it could have been the wedding ring around your finger. Or it could have been because the way your stomach churned at the bitter smell of his cigarette reminded you of why you left Gallagher that day.

“I don’t know,” but your eyes told a different story.

His hand reached out for you, and as he interlocked your fingers with him, he played with the ring, twisting and turning it. But he knew what was your answer when your fingers curled in your palm, suggesting that you refused to let go of the ring.

“Oh, but I think I know,” he answered.

A worried sigh came out of your mouth. “I can’t leave all of this behind. I climbed too high, I’m not sure how to get down. If I choose to go down with you now, the fall would be too painful. And I don’t even know if I could survive through it.”

There was too much running in his head. His thoughts fly from one extreme to another. It was impressive that you could easily turn a decisive, composed man into such a mess: where he struggled to feel pity for you or just kill you off on the spot. 

“Why didn’t you want to be with me?” he asked, losing the childish accents in his voice.

“Marrying you was a choice, marrying them, however, was a necessity,” you answered. The softness in your voice felt like a sharp piercing through his heart. “A bird can’t be with a dog. That’s unnatural.”

Quietude witnessed the way you looked at each other longingly. While your heart weighed with guilt and shame, his mind was congested with frustration and anger. But yet, both secretly longed for each other. 

“But  I refuse to accept it as the truth. No, not when I keep on missing you for all these years.”

Before he could come up with a cheeky reply, you shushed him from his sarcastic remarks by resting your hand on his cheek, bringing his face to yours. Your soft lips pressed against his bloodless and dry ones. The heat from a sinful kiss engulfed the two of you closely, burning the part of your skin on your back that he gently touched. His hand rested on your lower back, bringing you closer to him. You could feel his beard tickling your chin, and he could smell your perfume in his nostrils. The bitter taste of his alcohol that he downed melted in your tongue, causing you to groan in delight.

The kiss lasted a few minutes, but you wished it could go on for hours. 

“For the last time,” you reminded him, your thumb rubbing his cheek in circles. “There will be no longer us after this.”

You stepped away from him, as your wings shyly closed your mouth while you were cleaning off your lips with the back of your hands. 

“You sure?” he asked breathily, his pale lips now stained with a crimson-colored lipstick. He might have to lie to everyone that he was drinking too many bottles in the Soulglad in the past few days (though Soulglad was clearly orange.)

“Yes,” you confirmed. You took a few steps backwards. With your hands gathered together, you gracefully bowed your head towards him. An act of courtesy which also served to restore your damaged dignity as a married person from an honorable family. 

“Goodnight, Gallagher.”

You waited for his response, but all he did was stare at you. The light from the lamp above you started flickering, before it completely went out.

Was it longing on his face? It was difficult to make out his expression, especially when the shadow covered him.

You guessed that it was hard to bid goodbyes after such a kiss. 

But for some reason, you felt shivers running down your spine. Beads of sweat were forming on your neck from the cold. Your mind was sending rapid signals to your legs: alerting it to run immediately.

Though your sudden instinct to run was scaring you, you calmed down your nerves by guessing that it could have been because of the kiss. 

Your thoughts were quietened when you saw the shadow of Gallagher rolling his thumb against the metal wheel of his lighter that he pulled out of his pocket.

Yes, yes. It must have been the kiss.

You were scared of your partner leaving you. Or Sunday being humiliated at his work because of his older sibling’s infidelity with some member from the Bloodhound family. And it could be because that person happened to be his colleague who kept on riling him up at work. Or maybe you were afraid that your scandal could create a blemish on Robin’s reputation as a celebrity. Now the whole world assumed that she was a dirty popstar.

But it didn’t seem that your body was agreeing with any of those guesses. 

Gallagher’s frustrated grunt at the stubborn lighter shushed your thoughts again.

You came to notice that your white wings were quickering badly. 

There was too much happening at the moment. You were so overwhelmed by the urge to flight, that you felt that you could vomit on the spot. 

Suddenly, a thought came to you.

His cigarette was already lit up. So what could be the reason why he pulled out his lighter?

The flame from the lighter brought some light to his face, but the sight of the man you used to love led to you gasping in horror. It was gloomy with burning hatred, the glare alone could almost kill you on the spot.

But before you could ask, a mysterious sound of ringing pierced through your eardrums. It belonged to no other but Memory Zone Meme, a secret from The Family that were kept away from you. You could feel it slowly spread its wings, which resembled the terrible noise of bone-cracking. 

You gathered the courage to turn around. But it perceived the sudden movement of its prey as an attempted fight. Feeling threatened, it stabbed its stingers through your body. The ground was splattered with a mysterious blue liquid, followed by the sound of your wedding ring rolling and spinning in circles. 

Your purse that was hanging around your arm was now on the other side of the ground. 

The outside of the dark bar that was filled with heated arguments and sweet confessions earlier died out, with only silence remaining. 

Well, only for a few minutes.

A melodious voice of Robin was heard, muffled by the zipped purse. Your phone rang a few times, playing the same music. It appeared that the caller was worried. Or angry. 

Gallagher crouched down, unzipping your purse. He groaned in repulse when the blue liquid stuck to his skin, as he wiped it down on his pants. He took out your phone, as the name of your spouse filled his vision. 

Your phone was flooded with notifications of your worried partner, asking about your whereabouts. 

Ah, you were supposed to be home by 8 PM. He looked at the time, it was already 9:30 PM.

In your defense, he would also be sneaking around to kiss a drinksmith at the bar if he had an overbearing partner like yours.

He thought of sharing the news of your infidelity.

But then, he scrapped the thought. He wanted to respect your wishes. Something about how the story of tonight was going to destroy Sunday and Robin’s image. Or something similar to that. He didn’t remember much because he hardly cared about your siblings.

It was not like all your siblings had the time to process your death, especially when they were next in line.

So he came up with a different plan. Your password was easy to guess. It wasn’t difficult with the help of your maid who used to work under him. 

A flash from the camera was heard. The phone captured the scene of a mysterious liquid splattered across the ground, with the gold-colored wedding ring shining brightly under the light, with some being covered by the puddle of your remains. 

Along with the picture, he texted, “Not coming home tonight, sorry.” 

He later pressed the send button, before tossing the crushed phone into the trash. 

The plan was to kill you off in your house. But you made it easy for him instead. He was amused, really. 

But his amusement was short-lived. He was disgusted at the sight of your wedding ring, which stared back at him menacingly. He kicked the ring into the trash as well. He wasn’t an expert in the art of interior designing, but he hated the ring being near his bar. It was ugly, hardly matched the aesthetics of his business.

But your finger wouldn’t be too lonely without the ring. Not when he still had the same wedding band from 13 years ago in his pocket right now. What was left for him was to wear it around your finger in the real world, then he could truly move on from his past. Just as you asked him to. 

And just like that, his mission was done.

[rindough]

thinking ab boothill being seduced by someone working with the ipc so they can capture him... take the money and run by tamer... :3 - 💫

cw. gn! reader, fluff mixed w/ angst, strangers to fwb to lovers- then to enemies >:(, implication of suggestive themes

wc. 3,130

notes. STAR ANON IS HERE AGAIN :DDDD and wow this song, i LOVE IT, plus i think it rllyyy goes with the trope u gave. it gives the whole idea some sexy mysterious touch to it UGH but u know what makes it hit in the feels more worst? for this trope to take the "i shouldnt be doing this, but i must" typa route 😈😈 i actually edited the whole draft over the past few days, so i hope it's... understandable??? but oh man i rlly got carried away with this 🫨🫨 so have a seat star anon, get comfy n get something nice to drink and i hope u enjoy this AAAAAAAAAA

This song really, really goes well with the trope- so mysterious, much alluring so that Boothill does not pry his eyes away from your back as he approaches. His thoughts run on how many glasses would it take for him tonight to drown the tiredness that's slowly creeping up to him.

All the running, all the shooting. Boothill definitely needs some touch up here and there later but it's all worth it. His thirst tonight could never beat the thirst for revenge he has for the IPCs, especially for that shitbag named Oswaldo.

Through the waves of people and memos, he observes as he walks. The way Siobhan smiles at you, the way the bar's lighting illuminate your features, how you're dressed, it all suits you, he thinks.

Who is this all too unfamiliar person in his all too familiar bar?

"Usual?" Siobhan asks from the other end of the counter, eyes fixated on the syrup she's pouring into the cup.

"Usual, two big glasses."

As she begins to make your drinks, he finally plops down and takes in the stranger beside him, prompting you to turn to him as well.

It all suits that hard wall he's come to face when you meet eye to eye.

"Why do ya got a wall up like that?" Oh Aeons, it took a while for him to process what he had blurted out. Yet, seeing your eyes widened like that, it intrigues him.

You had felt the way this man has pierced holes through the back of your skull. Even until now does it sting, it burns to be under his gaze like that. Dangerous, yet so tempting.

You study him.

From the boots on his feet to the awfully tight pants he's wearing, there was no denying that those iconic target in his pupils had took your breath away.

He was more attractive in real life than the pictures you've seen in your office and reports.

"Huh, cat got your tongue I supposed..." He pouts and turns to Siobhan, who's just finishing making your drinks.

Finally you spoke, "Where are your manners, mister?"

With how your words slid past your lips in a sly, hushed tone, it pulls him in. Scoffing, he turns to face you again. "Asking me why I got a wall up high instead of my name?"

He rolls his eyes, getting a bit more annoyed since the fact you've taken his usual seat. "Says the one eyein' me down like no one's business. Care to explain yerself?"

What a hypocrite, it was his turn to eye you down now. Going from the crown of your head to the the curves of your shoulders, he comes back to face the color of your pupils and the shape of your nose. Your lips.

He thinks he could spend all his free time looking at you.

"You two know each other?"

Two heads now turn to the bartender, the question lingers in the air but she quickly cuts it off, "Anyways, enjoy your drinks, Gallagher's not here so I can't stay and chat all the time."

Watching as the lady slides off to her next customer, your eyes now fall back to target pupils that have already rested on yours. A smile creeping on your lips at the feel of your knees touching each other, now that you're both facing each other.

"Name?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n... very fitting for a person like you." He coos, smiling as he swirls the malt in his glass. Excitement boiling in him at the shy curl adorning your face. "Boothill."

There begins your interaction with the wanted man. He's a regular in here, yet from your studies there had been some days where the man in question does not come to the bar. However, the days you've picked out last week to visit Siobhan had became fruitful. Knees pointed to one another as you both engage in deep talks and quiet, flirtatious banter. Unsure when he'll see you again, Boothill offers you two days of each week for a rendezvous.

As selfish and attention seeking it may sound, he finds solace in your company, wanting nothing more than to bask under the light of your attention each night you two meet.

Hence, it's now the third week that you're here to visit him. It's a new routine you've been looking forward to in comparison to your work and other things in life. Now you're both here, knees once again touching, smiles exchanged while throwing in some flirtatious comments from time to time. But...

You have to push further. You have to lure the man in further. Partially due to your need to push the progress forward, and also to your dying urge to know him better, you asked:

"Do you feel anything, Boothill?"

He hums, his first drink already downed, leaving his hands to rest on the cool counter by your side. Through his side bangs, he blinks, having caught off guard by the question you've laid out to him. Yet, all he could do was reminisce that time whilst staring at himself through the reflection of the glass in his hands.

Boothill.

What has he come to?

Having put himself on the surgical table back then just to feel alive. Not an ounce of determination left him when he forced the request onto the poor doctor. But regret? Perhaps he did, he regretted back then knowing after the procedure he could not feel anything but pure weight.

"I don't feel anything, I suppose..."

Perhaps he had too much tonight now that he's running high on energy and feeling so many things, or was it the room that's getting more crowded by the second tonight and how vulnerable and alone he feels under your soft gaze?

"I don't exactly feel anything, more like can't feel much."

But what could he do, he drifts away from the glass and turns to you. It's better to look forward to things in his current state than to dwell on the past. It's something he tells himself from time to time, right now being one of them.

"I did it to maself," he puts up a hand between you, a playful look on his face. "But see? I do many cooler things now, this hand of mine's can do and has done many things."

The light weight of your fingers on the palm of his hand brings him to hitch his breath. He can't feel it yet he could tell despite being partially human, you still took into account how sensitive the topic was and to treat his hand like glass. The tension around you grows thick, air inside the bar getting hotter. He no longer feels timid and vulnerable, but more like he's determined to put a brave front for you to see and for you to seek comfort in. Your delicate dance on his metallic limp allows him to soften his gaze, but turns dark after hearing the words that leave your lips.

"What else can it do?"

Push.

"You do not what to know, angel."

"Oh, don't I?" Your gaze falls to how your hands lined up to one another, laid on the countertop. Even the cool countertop couldn't beat the heat that spread along the veins of your arm.

Push.

"What if I want to?"

"Fudgin' hell, ya sure don't give up eh?" He slowly sighs out the air he didn't know he's kept in, the smell of malt waves over your lips. He stood dangerously close, face daringly inching closer as if he was trying to tempt you, to scare you.

Yet, you know what he wants to do, and to be fair you wanted it too. It's hard to keep yourself in check when all you see, all you need- you want- is him. Maybe, you can let yourself go in this one. This one time.

There wasn't any time limit into how long you should capture him but definitely it should be done as soon as possible. That laughter of his that booms just loud enough for you to hear, that grip he indulges when you tug him out of the bar right then and there, and that praise and touch he leaves by the end of each coming rendezvous leaves you falling deeper into Aeon knows whatever this hole is.

Boothill knows he can't feel anything, but he does know that whatever's going on during your rendezvous is addicting. Not in the sense that he could drown himself in pleasure every week but he finds himself turning into someone he doesn't really know, or maybe someone he's lost a long time ago.

The cyborg himself knows he's different.

With a different body unlike his previous one, he could charge himself up to sleep, or be like a normal person and sleep in a bed. He could run on days without sleep and still be busting the IPC's asses and Aeon knows whatever stupid plan he has to ruin someone's day. Malt juice is now his go to for some sleep top-up and quick boost of adrenaline... but he realizes this later that it's unhealthy.

However, ever since this began he finds everyday to be less... taxing. To be less dull, less redundant, and he looks forward to it. Meeting you, catching up with you, ending the night with you, this whole thing is basically like a reward system for him. But because he knows this new routine is starting to change him for the better, he's happier. He's more pumped, getting more sleep, even he begins to try to be a little bit more careful during his fights or shenanigans.

And as the cyborg finds change to be an exciting challenge, he indeed loves it when it benefits both sides. He finds comfort in the way you turn in your sleep to curl into him, how despite you had to rush and leave for the morning you still find time to brush your finger along the scar by his eye. He finds solace in the words you speak and the secrets you shared amongst yourselves.

And tonight, there laid you in between the sheets in the all too familiar bedroom.

You study him.

The way the metallic surface rises and falls in rhythm to his breathing, his mouth slightly agape and head tilted aside in his sleep. How he without fail folds whichever leg in that's equivalent to the side of bed he's sleeping on.

Today, tonight, this time, you do not trace his chest. You mustn't, no matter how strong the urge was especially tonight. Silently cursing at how this had developed into a habit, you slip out of the sheets and into your pants and top.

Quietly into the night you ventured, feet in sync to your quick beating heart with fingers already dialing the familiar digits on your screen.

"Hey."

This mission was a curse. Meeting Boothill is a curse. Being with the IPC is starting to become a curse because this right here? It's self sabotage, but you know deep inside you can no longer keep up the facade.

"Two days from now, 20th system hour at Golden Hour's Dazzle Motel. Got it?"

The first day since the call was less painful, guilt was slowly creeping up to you at the back of your mind but it was bearable. It was easy to stay distracted thanks to Boothill's banter and finally (to the man's luck) trying out his favorite malt drink.

Day two though, was the beginning of your torture. Thoughts flood your mind and focus; it was silent tonight. The cyborg doesn't speak either, simply thinking it's one of those moments where you both fall into deep silence, listening to the crowd and enjoying in each other's presences. So, he finds comfort in the silence and never questions it. But he however questions your choice of seating today, leaving his old seat for him to sit as you sit in his 'new' seat.

But the silence tonight that lingers in the air leaves your heart to ache, it will be hard to end tonight. Especially noting the way his eyes glimmer and shark teeth beaming wide when you chug his usual down like a champ to drown your guilt. But he doesn't know that. He doesn't have to know that.

"Wasn't expectin' to see ya today, Y/n." He tries not let out a laugh, but fails when his amusement finally takes over. Peering through the rim of the tall glass, you smiled at him while swallowing the last bit of malt juice.

"I guess seeing you has become my favorite routine, wouldn't you agree cowboy?"

"Can't say that I disagree there-"

"And Boothill, maybe I want to discover more things about you, inside out." You confessed swiftly, turning back to face the glass in your hold, word vomiting without a care if he's able to catch up to what you're saying.

Eyes widened with a gasp flying out of his lips, your smile widens.

Jackpot.

But oh the pain does not only accompanies your cheeks but also grows in that tear in your heart.

Perhaps you could make it count, now that damage was done.

With gaze so intense he watches the way you lean back slightly, eyes traveling up and down his figure but it's different this time. The weight in your gaze holds such sincerity and fondness, Aeons! He could feel his lips wobbling in happiness.

Was this a move? Is this how you finally make the move on him?

"So, what do you say?" The pair of twinkling eyes he adores comes back to meet with his, the skunk-haired man could only blink, trying to process it all deeply.

He wonders how long has it been since you've been 'seeing' each other... A month? Two? Your meetups for sure have occurred every week.

"No?"

He snaps out of it, your face now turned towards the wall of soda and syrup bottles opposite the counter you both shared. "Well, too bad on my-"

"Y/n..."

You froze, cold fingers slip through strands of your hair and brush along the side of your cheek. Slowly you turned towards him, feeling his thumb rub the skin near your ear, his other fingers resting by your nape. He's got you trapped now, his body hovering slightly over your seated figure.

From his looks alone do you curse a million times again to yourself. From the soft plush and taste of his lips do you know it adds up to the tears that threaten to fall, that would accompany you on your days right after.

By the time you two step foot into the same place you spent every week, the front desk lady knew at this point what you've been up to and no longer pauses to hand Boothill the keys to the room.

You watch him, you study him, you remember him. The tight grip on your hand, the flow of his long locks under the cool hue of the dreamscape.

"Tonight Y/n, let's be honest with each other."

Your lips crash and the door closes with the help of your foot. You both turn round and round with eagerness to lead, hands coming up to pull his jacket with hands coming down to tug the hoops of your pants whilst moving deeper into the room. Each push and pull leaves you hoping, begging for this to be a nightmare that you'll both wake up from.

You'll remember every single part of this, even though it is short-lived.

You hold him back, resting your hands on the edge of his jacket. Catching your breath before you speak, "Wait." The softness of your voice elevates the running of his mechanical heart. Your gentle push right after causing the cowboy to fall back a little as he watches you turn your back and walk away.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Gonna lock the door." You glance back at him. "I want to start slow."

"How slow we talkin', angel?" His voice remains low yet it manages to bring a smile on your lips, just the tone alone could you tell the man was grinning as he spoke those words. "We don't got all night, I know you gotta leave for work by dawn."

"You can't stay back just for the day?" He asks out, despite being by the front of the bed looking all messed up and rowdy, he sounds as if he's holding onto the last ray of hope.

"I can't, Boothill." You turn to him, smiling but he catches how odd it was.

"You know I want to, but I simply can't."

He catches the force in it but oh it was all too late.

Arms now cuffed with the tight grips of the IPC guards, he watches as you exchange a few words with the 'front desk lady'. He don't have to ask what's going on, that look on your face was a dead giveaway to what you had done.

Guilt.

Shame.

His engine runs harder, his fuel boils hotter. The clanks and screech from his thrashing could leave the guards' ears bleeding but he could careless. The noise grew as you stood forward, coming face to face with him.

"Darn it!" He barks at you, pushing forward only to be yanked back in place, his eyes squint with so much focus you're certain it'll pierce through someone.

Not that it hasn't pierced through you already.

"When I get back at ya- Oh, ho ho ho...."

You don't flinch when he jerks forward again, but this time, he stays silent. You don't dare to reach out to touch his face, his eyes bear so much of dying hope and light you couldn't help but to utter out to him in hopes he could forgive you.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah right yer sorry." He growls through his teeth, his words adding to the final weight on your shoulders. "I was lenient with ya, I was careful for ya. Oh Aeons, I knew I shouldn't have let 'em guards down."

"May we meet again, Boothill."

"Don't ever come in my sight." He spits, eyes falling into despair as your figure disappear by the doorframe.

It is your fault.

You could have make this happen in a week's time, but hell- this was four months worth of visits, adding on a confession to a man you know so well could be a step closer to being lovesick. Adding on a confession that could make your dreams and longing come true.

But... what is there for you to do? What could you do now?

Meet him again? The audacity of yours.

The only question you could ask yourself day and night after this was how could you?

What were you doing?

© ��2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[to-thelakes]

i wanna listen (lip gallagher x reader)

content warning(s); mentions of blood, descriptions of wound care, hints of angst, angry!lip

summary; when lip finds out karen fucked frank, he finds his way to your door. he needed you to tell him it was okay.

series masterlist

lip beating the shit out of frank?? HOT but this man needed comforting. so here is another installment of my lip comfort series bc i want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and kiss his forehead

“He fucked her!” The sound of the front door slamming startled you. Your parents weren’t home, you had told Lip that earlier that day. You had been hoping to see him. You had only managed to briefly see him after he had gotten out of fucking jail and here he was, angry. You were confused.

“Lip? What’s going on?” You abandoned your peanut butter and jelly sandwich you had been halfway through making to move through the house towards him. He was seeing red, you could tell and his knuckles were bloody, a cut on his forehead. He looked angry, he looked upset, “Lip, baby.” The nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. It was reserved for moments like this.

“She fucked him!” He shouted, his rage not really directed at you. He sounded broken, his scarf wrapped haphazardly around him. You didn’t understand. He must have been talking about Karen. That was easy to tell but who?

Ian. No that didn’t seem likely. Ian was with Mandy as far as you knew and seemed uninterested in anyone else.

Kev? No that wouldn’t ever happen. 

Which only left one other man in Lip’s life that could make him this upset. His dad.

“Your dad?” You asked, eyes widening. He nodded, pacing back and forth. His hands were clenching and unclenching continuously, fingers running through his hair. You didn’t know what to say or what to do or how to approach this. 

What the fuck was going on?

“Can I look at your face?” You asked, approaching him cautiously. He would never lay a hand on you, never dare, you knew that but the anxious feeling still sat heavy in your stomach. You were mainly worried about him, what he would do to himself or someone else. Lip was self-loathing at his best.

“I fuckin’ hate him,” Lip stated as he stopped his pacing. You approached and gently pushed some hair out of his face. The cut didn’t look awful but it was still trickling blood. You frowned and took a hold of his hand.

“Can I take care of these?” You asked, eyes lingering on the wounds. Lip shrugged, breaking away from your hold. He had to keep moving, he wanted to hit something. You frowned, looking up at him. What were you supposed to say to that? How could you even make it better? You couldn’t, “Lip, come here,” You said softly, stepping towards him. You placed a hand on his bicep, gently pulling him to a stop.

His eyes had gotten glassy, words stuck in his throat and anger coursing through his veins but he didn’t know what to do with it. Beating his own dad up hadn’t made him feel any better. He didn’t know what to do.

“Come here,” You whispered and pulled him into a hug. You let his head bury into your neck as you held onto him tightly. He was squeezing you so tight, a vice grip and it was a little painful but you didn’t say anything. He needed an outlet and then the tears started. It was always like this.

You were convinced that if you weren’t there, he wouldn’t ever cry. He kept everything in until you were right in front of him. You were sure of that.

“Let it out, baby, it’s okay,” You whispered as you rested your head against his. He just cried, you didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. His dad was an asshole. He always had been and you had watched as Lip fell in love with Karen day-after-day. Yeah, it was painful to watch but you couldn’t blame him.

She liked him, he liked her. He was a whore, so was she. It worked. It still hurt though. Not that you ever told him.

No, you weren’t ever gonna do that.

Just like your whispered ‘I love you’s, the pain was something just for you. Yours alone to bear.

After a little while, his tears subsided and you coaxed him to the couch. He took the seat first, discarding his scarf as he scrubbed away the tears from his cheeks. You let him, grabbing a tissue from the tissuebox before you sat in his lap, his hands rested on your thighs.

You used the tissue to mop up any residual tears before you wiped his snotty nose. He avoided your gaze the whole time, embarrassed. 

Once you were done, you balled it up and turned around to place it on the coffee table. Lip’s hands instinctively came up to your waist, keeping you stable. But based on the pained hiss he let out when he did, you were sure he’d bruised his hand. It probably wasn’t broken but it was definitely sprained at least.

The damage to his upper eyebrow was easier to heal even if he’d hate it all the same. Despite his exterior, Lip hated getting his wounds cleared. He hated the peroxide. The smell, the sting, the feel but he’d usually  just kept his hand on your hip and his focus on anything but the incoming sting.

And he followed the same pattern once you’d returned to his lap with a first aid kit in hand. You unzipped it, pulling out everything you thought you’d need to make it better, to make him feel better.

“Can you talk? I wanna listen,” Lip said after too long of a silence. You nodded, trying to grasp at anything to talk to him about. You weren’t sure what would piss him off. You didn’t know what to talk about. You didn’t want to frustrate him more so you decided to just talk about your parents. He liked your parents. They were better than his.

“Was talking to my mom the other day about you, she thinks we’re dating. I don’t know why. Well, I do, you stay for dinner more than anyone else and you’re always here when they’re home from work. But I told her we weren’t,” You explained as you placed the peroxide, cotton buds and antiseptic cream on the couch beside your two bodies, “She doesn’t believe it. My dad doesn’t seem to really care either way. 

“You know, I told him about the whole jail sentence threat and he called you a ‘good kid’. I mean, considering he works for some dumb fucking corporate overlords, he’s not really into the whole goody-two-shoes shit,” You were rambling, desperate to keep Lip’s mind distracted as you dipped a cotton bud into the peroxide solution. You then used it to clean up the edges of his cut. A soft hiss escaped his lips but you kept talking, as requested;

“I think he likes you and my dad doesn’t really like anyone. Oh and you know I’ve been looking at colleges. I know we still have another year or whatever but I was thinking about what literature programme to do. I know it’s a useless degree but I think it’d be nice. Or maybe some teaching or some shit. Like Miss Rosenthal that taught us in Freshman year. I think being like her would be nice, y’know.”

Lip just listened, feeling soothed by your rambling words and the wound on his forehead didn’t feel so painful now. He felt you gently dab antiseptic cream across it before you used some butterfly stitches to keep the wound closed.

“Think you should go for it,” Lip muttered. You smiled down at him, that pretty smile that he loved. 

“Yeah, we’ll see. Depends how well Senior goes,” You shrugged as you grabbed the first-aid kit again. “How’s your hand?” You asked as you shuffled back so you could lift it up to your face. He hissed out. There was obvious bruising and cuts on his knuckles from pummelling Frank. It seemed sore but hopefully fine.

“Feels broken,” He admitted. You scoffed.

“Dramatic,” You teased. He rolled his eyes and you grabbed an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit. You tore it open, “Last thing and then you can go home,” You muttered as you unravelled the wipe. You then gently wiped away the blood from his knuckles. They didn’t need much tending other than the wipe and some cream. Lip had survived worse.

Once you were done, you climbed off his lap and grabbed all the trash together before putting everything you didn’t use back into the kit. You then walked back to the kitchen, dumping the kit under the sink and getting rid of the trash.

“Need to go home,” Lip said as you walked back into the living room. You nodded. You knew he needed to. Probably had shit to do and so you just let him. You stayed in the doorway, not wanting to get too close in case you begged him to stay. You hated when he left, “I’ll give you a call,” He added. You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m always here,” You nodded. He smiled tentatively before he disappeared out of the front door.

You sighed.

You hated this.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

trauma is an explanation, not an excuse.

this is something i find myself thinking frequently whenever i look through what people have to say about fiona gallagher, or even what the writers of shameless have to say about fiona gallagher.

i think that a lot of the behaviors fiona exhibits throughout her run on the show make a lot of sense when you consider what she endured growing up.

growing up for her, it was about survival. it was about keeping her baby brothers (and eventually, debbie, carl, and liam, too) from freezing to death and about making sure her parents hadn’t overdosed. she was never worried about some of the things her younger siblings (such as debbie) worried about, which caused a strain in her relationships with them.

fiona grew up never putting herself first. she was a victim, but was never treated as one. her parents left all responsibility in her hands, and she was still just viewed as a help rather than a mother.

speaking of this ^ frank’s first line regarding fiona was calling her a huge help, and his last was telling her that she just helped. frank’s monologue from the pilot ended up being one of the most important scenes in the entire show (which i will discuss later).

after years of going without recognition, she starts to change. she starts to crave it. does this happen before the show starts or during it, i don’t know. in season two, debbie points out how fiona always makes everything about herself (which of course, debbie was criticized for). i think that debbie was right. in this case, i’d say that fiona making everything about herself is more her taking the responsibility over everything, because that’s all she knows. she thinks that she can handle everything because she’s been doing it since she was in kindergarten.

in season three, she actually gets guardianship of her five siblings, which is pretty big. she had even tried to adopt them all. so basically, she was seriously taking all of the responsibility. she even told jimmy-steve that these kids were her life. and they were.

then, she got caught up in work and life happened, liam ended up overdosing (because of her) and everything fell apart. this is where we were truly introduced to the fiona we know.

she had already been refusing to take responsibility in the first episode of season four (with ian), but by the time that lip starts to act cold towards her because of liam’s accident she begins to refuse to take any accountability at all. she claims to not be guilty, but she was. she was in charge of him, she left an open bag of coke out and liam got into it. she was guilty.

as the seasons go by, she falls deeper into this victim complex, and then in season seven, she straight up starts telling debbie and carl that she will not support them and that they need to pay rent. she tells them to put her on the bottom of their emergency contact lists. why is this an issue, you may be asking? because she was legal guardian. the only other person taking care of them was frank and if you want to know why frank couldn’t be it, think back to season seven frank (he had a whole new family, for starters).

that is child neglect. you can phrase it however you want to try to make it better, but in the end, that was child neglect, nothing more, nothing less.

in season seven, fiona is twenty-six. debbie is sixteen (with a baby) and carl is fifteen at that point, it doesn’t matter what they did, get pregnant, start dealing, whatever, they’re her kids. she signed up for it so she doesn’t get to act like she didn’t.

in season seven, debbie’s child is almost taken away from her and she asks fiona to help her get a marriage license so that she won’t lose franny. fiona says yes, but when debbie asks her to do it (and mind you, it was urgent, franny ended up being taken- just not by dcfs), fiona screams and says not everything is about debbie. she’s right! it was about franny. yes, debbie approached the situation wrongly but if you were sixteen and you were about to lose your kid you’d be that way too.

later in that season, when fiona finds out debbie’s child is home and safe, she gets irritated that she wasn’t the one to save franny.

is this because of her victim complex or her hero complex? is it maybe envy, envy of monica, who has never acted like a mother towards debbie, yet won her over that easily? i don’t know.

my issue with a lot of fiona fans is that whenever fiona is criticized, on screen or off screen, they use her raising five kids as the ultimate excuse. no matter what. even if she’s in the wrong, it’s all, she raised five kids!

i hate to be the one to say this, but being the oldest, it’s weird how people excuse her actions more than anybody else’s. out of all of the siblings, she’s the only one who we only ever saw as an adult. fiona was twenty-one in season one, and twenty-eight in season nine. she’s been a grown ass adult, she should be held accountable and should take accountability. lip, ian, debbie, carl, and liam all deserve the benefit of the doubt in some situations when they were younger, she doesn’t. she was still young, yes, when you’re in your twenties you can’t be expected to act fourty, i get it, but it’s still odd how babied she can be.

i’m not saying i don’t think that fiona should get any passes, or that i don’t think that fiona did it all, because she did. i excuse a lot of her actions, but not everything. it kind of diminishes her entire character if you excuse and twist every little thing about her.

the reality of it is, she is not a good person. neither are lip, ian, debbie, carl, and maybe even liam, eventually. one of the many points of the show is that they all just kinda… suck. they aren’t necessarily bad people, but good people? angels? no. and that’s why i hate it so much when frank, fiona, lip, and even ian (who’s one of my favorites) get defended for everything. it kind of defeats the purpose, they are shitty, they can do shitty things and still be good characters (not frank though lol); and the same thing applies but reversed, when characters like debbie, who was a kid in almost every season, get held accountable and shit on for every little thing, it ruins the character. you can’t see the good in her or see the impact her decisions actually make because you’re busy viewing her as this monster (when the monster in question is just a teenage girl).

even then, frank’s actions can’t all be excused by being abused as a child, fiona’s actions can’t all be excused by raising five kids, lip’s actions can’t all be excused by his childhood/addiction, ian’s actions can’t all be excused by his illness and debbie, carl, and liam’s. actions can’t all be excused by their age. the actions can somewhat be excused in some scenarios, but it isn’t like enduring trauma is a get-out-of-jail-free card for everything.

[brynn-lear]

just a few scribbles of Cafe Owner!Reader x Yandere Dog!Gallagher. Honestly kinda wanna steal her away from Gallagher she's such a calming presence in my mind wijdjwks

Quick fluff-ish brainrots for an upcoming "WhoDrankIt?" (tentative title) coffee shop comic au utc. (cw: slight mentions of animal cruelty)

And no I'm not spoiling why cafe owner!reader went missing or any other major plotlines in these brainrots lmao

Kakavasha and Reader are very close friends ever since they heard each other complain about how hard getting a visa is lmao. The two of them admire each other's love for their family.

In this au, Kakavasha's family lives and he's happily venturing out to work for his parents' more smooth sailing retirement like his older sister. (Y/n), meanwhile, works abroad so she could be the breadwinner of her impoverished family. In a sense, they're very similar.

The two corporate slaves coworkers, Kakavasha and Jelena (Topaz) are regulars in (Y/n)'s cafe. Professor Veritas would sometimes drop by, not too often, to drink some herbal tea. Often claiming his visits are in moderation compared to Jelena, but when looking at the records in his bank account...

The three of them rarely pay by cash. Thankfully buying a card reader was a worthy investment...

(Y/n) just takes Gallagher to the cafe so he doesn't get too lonely at home.

And it's not a bad move. Gallagher is incredibly friendly, often mistaken as an actual cafe staff. He claims he is, but (Y/n) would correct people pronto. When Gallagher first met Firefly and Caelus, he immediately introduced himself as the cafe's security personnel... Which later earned him a proper taxi back home.

No matter how eager he is, (Y/n) really doesn't want people to think she's forcing her dog to work... Especially such an older looking one...

When getting pissed, (Y/n) would sometimes go to the backdoor just to heartily scream obscenities in a foreign language before coming back with a customer service smile. Gallagher thinks it's incredibly hilarious whenever she screams "HAYOP KA!" (you animal!) at the garbage bin.

Most of (Y/n)'s anger comes from her interactions with Sunday.

Won't go into detail to that yet but if their life was a fanfic, Jelena would tag it as "coffee shop au" and "enemies to ???"

Whenever (Y/n) gets too upset, it's Gallagher that brews something for her. 80% of the time, it goes on the menu. The other 20% are drinks Gallagher refuses to have anyone else taste but (Y/n). The recipes are also gatekept from her so she wouldn't try to tell it. Not that she would, anyways.

(Y/n) takes a very gentle approach to Gallagher. To her, he's no different than a roommate. Back home, it's common for poor families to neglect their pets- and that never sat right with her.

She still feels guilty about the time she had to watch her father abandon newborn kittens in a plastic bag because their family could no longer sustain them.

(Y/n) doesn't like recalling those memories. It's an era they couldn't help, given the economic decline. It's a period in her life where she's forced to mostly eat pure salt and boiled bananas due to their convenience rather than nutrition. Money was out of reach.

... She doesn't want any other creature to go through all that again.

[harmonysanreads]

With which hsr characters would you ship your mutuals with?

Hmmmmm, limiting this to just hsr characters makes it a bit difficult for me because I actually don't know all of the hsr characters as well as I do with the Genshin cast but I shall try :> Welcome to Harmony's matchmaking service I guess?

@teabutmakeitazure Ratio. I know who the love of your life is Zuri, but, the rivals to lovers potential of this pairing is astronomical in my brain. Not only can they bond over Mathematics but if things go south, they can establish dominance by seeing who can twirl a pen the best and for the longest :D

@navxry Navina, idk how you'll feel about this one but if I had one chance, I'd love to push you in the middle of Kafka and Himeko. Their ‘chemistry’ has always intrigued me and I just want to see them explode over the same person :>

@yandere-romanticaa Blade? Jing Yuan? Oh, who am I kidding, BOTH. I want to see Blade yearn and claw at the walls of the Luofu because Jing Yuan has what he wants. I want to see him to go through all of the five stages of grief and multiple existential crises until he finally decides to take action :3

@mochinon-yah I said this before once but Argenti! The duo is extremely comedic in my head for some reason. While Argenti goes about his tangents and monologues, Reli silently judges his whole existence while pining for Dan Heng. Unbeknownst to her, Dan Heng thinks she's into Argenti due to how ‘comfortable’ they appear so he chooses not to approach her and— yes, you can probably see where this is going.

@stickyspeckledlight Aventurine and Boothill. I think they should team up and destroy the capitalist empire of the Honkai-verse, IPC. But also because I think these two would appreciate their sense of humor :)

@vivalabunbun Pairing them with anyone other than Alhaitham feels kind of criminal but from my understanding, Viva is a very thoughtful individual and they also seem to value independence, so I think someone wise and understanding like Welt!

@iceunhie She gives off gentle sunshine vibes and I can't help but think of Blade in this case. But I think she can be protective of the people she loves as well, which is something he actually really needs. A very wholesome cycle of healing.

@beloved-blaiddyd Aside from their soulmate Gallagher, I had multiple random characters giving me ideas for some odd reason. First was Ruan Mei, idk how you feel about her Brynn, but I think a conversation between you two would be very interesting. Then I thought of Gepard with an unrequited love-esque storyline. Lastly, Sampo because I think you two would have great synergy. Hm. Maybe you should experiment with everyone until Gallagher himself yanks you away?

[onthepyre]

The six-pack clinks as Mickey walks. It's fucking annoying, if he's honest, and he'd slow down a little to get it to stop if Ian wasn't waiting for him. He is, though, and Mickey is tightly-wound and sweating in spite of the cool night air. It's been more than a week since he's seen him like this; Mickey's itching for a fix.

Ian sits in the doorway of the dugout, smoking and staring blankly out. Mickey hands over the beers, grabbing one for himself, and plucks the cigarette from Ian's mouth. He takes a drag, searching for the taste of Ian's spit within the smoke. It's hard to find, but it's there. Cigarette held between his lips, he pulls out a knife and pops the lid off the bottle, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ian does the same. Mickey waits for him to speak first.

“Been too long,” he says after a gulp of beer. He glances up at Mickey, begging for something akin to agreement

“What, you missed me? It's been, like, a week. Fuckin’ faggot.” Ian laughs, but it's dry, humorless.

“So what if I did?”

Ian looks up at the stars, but his free hand comes to his belt buckle. He undoes it like that, one-handed, staring upward instead of at Mickey. It's going to drive him insane.

“Jesus, let me at least finish my beer before you start talkin’ like that.” Mickey drops the cigarette now, crushes it under his heel. He chugs the rest of the drink while Ian leans his up against the wall of the dugout, stands, and approaches. Mickey drops the bottle on the ground and watches him. He walks slowly, intentionally, with that stupid fucking smirk on his face. Mickey has never wanted anything more in his life.

Mickey refuses to make first contact. He waits for Ian to link a finger through his belt loop and yank, knocking them together, before he braces his hands low on Ian's hips. A hand grips his hair and forces his head up, and Mickey can't keep the grin off his face.

“Yeah, I missed you,” Ian murmurs, directly into Mickey's ear. Goosebumps run along his spine.

“Get on with it, Gallagher.” He wants it to be a bark, but it comes out quieter than he means — almost pleading. He gulps, and clearly Ian hears it because he chuckles. Without his input, Mickey's fingers grip Ian's hips even tighter, and this, finally, is what gets him to shove them apart. Ian, stumbling almost backwards under the cover of the dugout, pulls off his belt and unbuttons his pants, and Mickey couldn't possibly do anything but follow him.

—

Ian's panting when they finish; he holds his position for a moment or two before shoving himself off Mickey to return to his forgotten beer. He tugs his pants back on and presses his back to the wall, sliding down it to sit on the dirt floor. Ian watches as Mickey stays put, bent over the window, trying to regulate his own breathing. He pulls his pants up but doesn't move otherwise. He wants Ian to come back.

“Maybe I missed you too,” he mumbles, unable to bite it back any longer. The shame of it burns his chest and face, but Ian can keep a secret, he knows — why not this one?

“Really?” Ian asks, incredulous. It's then that Mickey stands up and turns around, though he still keeps his eyes on the walls.

“Don't you get too fuckin’ excited, these ain't wedding vows.” Mickey reaches for another bottle and drinks about a third of it in one sip. He needs it, for the field day he's just given Ian.

“I'm not. It's just… nice to hear.” Mickey rolls his eyes, but then he finally looks directly at Ian. He's smiling from ear to ear. Yeah, right, you're not.

Mickey formulates a dozen insults, but he can't find the guts to spit any of them with the way Ian is looking at him. He sits instead, next to him but with a good few feet of space. Ian's still shirtless, and the contrast between his pale skin and the dark fabric of his jeans is definitely not driving Mickey crazy. Neither are his unreasonable pecs, or the dusting of freckles on his shoulders, and absolutely not the trail of red hair below his navel. He's struck with the urge to put his mouth to Ian's. Instead, he looks away.

Ian gets bold; this, at least, is typical despite the newness of what he does. Mickey is shocked by the sensation of something wet and hot — Ian's tongue — against his neck. He jerks away, but not too far. Ian, propped on one hand, looks up at him, a silent question.

Mickey can't help it. He nods.

Ian propels himself forward and knocks Mickey to the ground. On top of him now, Ian licks at the hollow under Mickey's ear while he clings desperately to him for some kind of stability. Mickey's gasping for air all over again, and this is a new kind of burn. With the minimal capacity of thought he has left, he wonders why they weren't doing this sooner. Ian travels lower and starts nipping at Mickey's skin.

“Don't you fuckin’ dare leave marks,” Mickey says. It comes out breathy and in a heavy stutter. The shame creeps back in, but the heat of Ian's mouth overwhelms it. Ian hums quietly and continues his work. It takes every ounce of concentration in Mickey's body not to make noise. Ian tugs the collar of his shirt to the side and hits a sensitive spot on his clavicle, and Mickey fails to suppress a whine. He doubles down, and all Mickey can do is press his bitten-down nails into Ian's back and gasp.

Ian detaches himself, and it takes mountains of self restraint for Mickey not to grab his head and put it right back where it was, or lower. But he has other ideas. Ian's got his gaze fixed on Mickey's lips, and he's leaning in. Mickey dodges.

There's hurt in Ian's eyes, though, and they're all alone, and Mickey thinks he might love him. So he takes Ian's cheeks in his hands and pulls him down.

If he's honest, Ian's breath stinks. He tastes of beer and smoke and something Mickey can't place. He's sure his own is worse, though, and none of that really matters because Ian has his tongue deep in Mickey's mouth. He kisses with a fiery urgency and Mickey can hardly keep up.

After… five minutes? An hour? Mickey has no idea how much time has passed; Ian tears his face away. He stays close enough that their noses are still touching, and he's breathing into Mickey's mouth. He feels Ian's lips move when he speaks.

“You want to go again?”

And fuck, Mickey was right, he does love him.

[jgroffdaily]

Excerpts from an interview with Jonathan and Maria Friedman at the Los Angeles Times by Charles McNulty, with photos by Justin Jun Lee:

Hopefulness and regret are calibrated to perfection in a revival that ought to be filmed before it closes July 7. I’ve seen the New York production twice, and the psychology only deepens on subsequent viewing.

The key to making this work — which is to say making us care — is the performance of Groff, who humanizes Frank’s choices without sentimentalizing his arc. Frank can come off as a narcissist, a guy who can’t resist whatever shiny object happens to be in front of him. But Groff, who received Tony nominations for his performances in “Spring Awakening” and “Hamilton” and deserves to win for his beautifully layered work in “Merrily,” reveals what Mary and Charley see in him and don’t want to give up on: an answer to their dreams of fulfillment — romantic in Mary’s case, artistic in Charley’s.

Groff was fresh from filming HBO’s “Spring Awakening: Those You’ve Known,” a reunion concert with the show’s original cast and creative team, when casting director Jim Carnahan asked him about his interest in “Merrily.” He immediately watched the London production on YouTube and was struck by an image from the opening number that matched something he had just re-created for the “Spring Awakening” doc.

“Frank walks out with a red folder, and Mary and Charley come out and stand in the exact positions that John Gallagher Jr. and Lea Michele stood in at the end of ‘Spring Awakening,’ with the girl over the left shoulder, the guy over the right,” he said, speaking from his dressing room at the Hudson Theatre. “That is the final bit of ‘Spring Awakening’ and I was like, ‘Oh, that’s so weird. I just lived that.’”

But it was one of Frank’s lines that really clinched the deal for Groff: “I’ve made only one mistake in my life. But I made it over and over and over. That was saying ‘yes’ when I meant ‘no.’” “When I heard that,” Groff said, “I went, ‘Oh, my God. I have to play this. I have done that. I’m just learning how to not do that. Yeah, I get him.’”

“I cast Jonathan for many reasons,” Friedman said. “One, because he’s absolutely brilliant. But I cast a big heart, a beating heart.”

“The amusement and bafflement of having a go at life and everyone wanting a piece of you — that is the place that Jonathan works from,” Friedman said. “Everyone wants a piece of Frank. That’s what happens with brilliant people. Jonathan is not just brilliant and beautiful but also one of the kindest men. And kindness is central to this production.”

Groff, who was exceptional in the short-lived HBO series “Looking” about a group of young gay men living in San Francisco, said that, from “a queer perspective,” he could identify with the way Frank represses parts of himself to please others.

“Growing up closeted, I became an expert at dodging questions and shining a light on other people,” he said. “This can create a relationship dynamic where you’re in a constant state of service to others — like the perfect son who’s hiding something. That stereotype feels connected to the way Frank supports everybody’s dreams, talents, neuroses and needs. He’s able to do it because he’s full of passion and genuine love for those people.”

So how exactly did Friedman, Groff & Co. finally solve the riddle of “Merrily”? By approaching it the way they might a play by Shakespeare or Chekhov, sifting through the lyrics as though they were lines in “Hamlet” and digging into the psychology of the characters as though mining subtext in “Uncle Vanya.”

This revival, fittingly, has been a team effort. And the ensemble’s collaborative joy only reinforces our sense that, however much Frank, Charley and Mary may bitterly disappoint one another, their bond will always be the best thing that ever happened to them.

[ms-moonlight-inn]

💥💥It’s the Wednesday Tag Game💥💥

Today’s tag game is about our wonderful fandom! Tagged by my lovelies @jrooc & @vintagelacerosette & @guinguin1984 & @blue-disco-lights & @mybrainismelted & @energievie & @doshiart

How did you get into the fandom? 

I started watching the show 'cause I was raised in the inner-city & heard that there was this new show that was doing this really good, honest depiction of inner-city life. Tell me the 'hood is being accurately depicted & neither romanticized, nor made into a caricature & I show up. Those first few seasons were so familiar to me in both comforting & repulsive ways.

And THEN there also happens to be a gay 'ship in this show?! 😱 I mean, there was no way I could escape the pull of Shameless.

So, it started with me binging back episodes, and it escalated to fanart. Then I tripped across some fanfic... I was a creepy creeper lurking in the background for a long time. Eventually, I struck up a conversation with @dancermk in her comment section. And it all snowballed from there. (Sorry, I just said snowballed –it's not meant to be used as a euphemism.)

What’s the first fandom channel you found? (Youtube, Reddit, Tumblr, Insta, Twitter, FB, other?)

Strangely enough, it was Pinterest, I think. It was some fanart or fanfic that was pinned & I followed the thread to AO3.

what’s your favourite now? 

Tumblr, but I find myself on Discord a lot lately. I used to spend my time on Twitter until musk took over.

Which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom?

The longest who is still in the fandom is @notherenewjersey. The longest who aren't in the fandom @dancermk & @stillbeatingheart

Which tumblerino’s did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and want to get to know?

😆 Anyone I've wanted to get to know has, unfortunately, been subjected to my extrovertedness. I don't think you can stop me from talking to people. 🫠 If I'm intrigued by someone's approach to Gallavich, I will interact & it's normally the response to my interaction that dictates how much I'll "harass" you.

First Gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember)

The first one that really drew me into the fandom & made me want to find other things to read was "As Long As The World Keeps Spinning," by @doodlevich. The whole Husbands and Shit series is so good.

First Fan art that blew your mind? 

So many, but the first one that really made my eyes pop out & my heart beat thump loudly in my chest was this one by @darthvaders-wife . It's so very representative of Mickey.

Fanfic trope that you were sure wasn’t for you but now you low key (or high key) love?

🤫🤫🤫 (but also any shade of monster fucking? though I always liked that. so, maybe praise kink, though I've always liked that, as well.)

ACTUALLY, now that I think about it, a lot of the fluff tags I thought would not be for me. And I wouldn't say that they are a high-key love of mind, because I do absolutely adore angst. But, I am much more tolerant of semi plotless domestic fluff than I ever thought I would be.

What surprised you most about this fandom?

The amount of good writing & art'ing we're privileged to have. There's just SO MUCH good here. 🥺🥰

Moment in the show (or YT vids if you’re one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with Gallavich?

The scene at the docks. All of it. Before the kiss, during the kiss, after the kiss. 🫠

Ian or Mickey?

(I don't play this reindeer game)

Which Gallagher or Milkovich are you? 

Ugh. I wanna say Sandy, but I'm probably more of a Lip 😭

***

Tagging @notherenewjersey

[gardenerian]

is there any gallavich scene that you’ve been thinking about/wanna dive into lately? they’re on my mind :)

hello! tonight we are gonna do a rundown of the 7x11 bank scene baaaabbeeyyy (which also reminded me of my best deep dive - 7x10, baby!) 🥰✨💓🥰✨💓🥰✨💓 let's gooooo!!!!

alright. first of all, how hard did mickey immediately get at this moment right here? it's checking all the mickey boxes:

it's giving ✅ crime kink ✅ competency kink ✅ manhandling so ian can tAKE OVER THE CRIME? ✅ very good very good ✅✅✅

this plus the massive fucking romantic gesture that's about to occur - mickey's pants are not safe right now.

anyways. this scene is peak dumbassery and it's peak devotion. i am obsessed with it. but also. it is PEAK DRAMA. why does he say this??? with that face???????

what is wrong with you???? she says "how's your day so far?" and he says 😳😮‍💨😟 just...... read the note 😳😮‍💨😟 boy WHAT? was the whole point of this not to appear legitimate and Not Suspicious? why would you scare this woman for no reason??? that's mean! is this even how closing accounts works? why would you not say "hello, i'd like to make a withdrawal" like a NORMAL HUMAN? anyways.

brianna takes an appropriately Tired breath after being approached by this baby space alien and his cranky sidekick, and asks ian to swipe his card - and apparently mickey finds this fucking hilarious. he looks like he's in on a joke.... but JOKE IS ON HIM:

also how hysterical is ian's goofy velcro camo wallet aksfjh

poor mickey is DUMBFOUNDED that plan was not, in fact, for ian rob a bank with one (1) strongly-worded, handwritten note:

and it takes ian EXPLAINING that he has a bank account associated with the very real card he is swiping for mickey to understand that there will be no crime today. also - back to the drama. they have that whole conversation about getting money....... why didn't ian ever just say "hey i have some"??? why are these doofuses so hellbent on causing chaos and confusion at all times?????

anyways. i wanna talk about THIS LINE. which i do not think i have freaked out about before.

i think - GODDDDDD. i think many things about this line.

he's been working for a year. he's been solid, steady for a year. some bumps, of course, but he's been doing so well. the gallaghers are notorious for losing their way with Good Things. a year is HUGE. and here is ian, about to take the product of that year and just pour it into this new life for mickey. he's about to walk away from that year. i don't know if i can adequately express what means - to just up and walk away from one of the things that keeps us grounded. huge.

and for that to land with mickey, as it clearly does. you can see it on his face. a realization that ian is doing something big here. that he did something big with their time apart. here is a quantified result of that for mickey to see and have. HUGE.

so brianna is like "????????" and asks ian if he's sure he wants to cash out all the money in his account. and ian. IAN DOES THIS:

before he even looks at mickey, he smiles. his mind is already made up. he's taking out that money. but like. what is he thinking here? i don't think he is quite aware that he's not going to cross the border - but i think the sense of time running out is there. i think the understanding is coming. but he can do this. he's going to do this, and he WANTS to do this!!!!

there is so much on his face here? is ian really gonna do this? are they really standing here together in this BONKERS whirlwind after so much time apart? is ian really in it, just like that? is he really gonna make this massive move for him????? mickey has that line about not having much to leave behind - but i think here it's really reinforced for him that ian has quite a bit to leave behind. family, of course. but this level of security is MASSIVE. so there's fear here in the waiting - but there's also SUCH LOVE. his face is so open. like he's supporting ian here no matter what. it's been that way since the start of this arc! ian has CHOICES. and hE CHOOSES TO TAKE OUT THAT MONEY.

before ian turns back - there's this flash of a smile. just a quick of the dimples. he feels good about this! he feels ready! he's happy to do this for mickey!

AND THEN:

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A MAN LOOK SO CERTAIN IN YOUR LIFE? he may not know what's about to happen just yet, but he knows he wants to give mickey safety. security. something to start this life on, to give him a chance. THIS is the foundation of how ian loves. he wants his people to have something solid, something to care for themselves with. if he can't do it in the day to day, this is how he can leave mickey with something he needs.

in conclusion, this scene has everything. it's funny, and sweet, and silly, and TRAGIC, and beautiful, and i love it.

in additional conclusion, i am going to pass out.

[blueberry-beanie]

The New Cue #357 February 12:

Everything Everything's Jonathan Higgs

"We were weirdos then and we’re weirdos now"

At the beginning of next month, Everything Everything release their seventh record Mountainhead. It’s another brilliant album from one of the UK’s most imaginative and forward-thinking guitar bands, a quartet who never tread water and have been consistently honing, reworking and outdoing what’s gone before for over 15 years, always coming up with a new version of themselves without ever losing what makes them special. The pillars of their music tend to be a mix of danceable synth-y grooves and inventive art-rock, intricate arrangements constructed around big pop hooks and surrealist lyrics, frontman Jonathan Higgs’ vocal delivery emotive and exuberant at the same time.

Higgs is at the centre of it all, a creative dynamo who seems to sum up their idiosyncratic approach and who has the ability to inject emotion into the bizarrest lyrics, lines such as:

“And no reptiles! Just soft boiled eggs in shirts and ties, Waiting for the flashing green man Quivering and wobbling just like all the eggs you know”

That one is taken from Get To Heaven’s epic standout No Reptiles.

Or this, which somehow sounds poignant when Higgs sings it on the electro-pop banger Arch Enemy:

“Fatberg you smile, with your grave wax eyes, will you consume me?”

Or how about this oddball corker, from the euphoric electronica of Raw Data Feel closer Software Greatman?

“Maybe I see Klingons on the starboard bow Maybe, I’m a cat inside a sacred cow

Higgs is at it again with this zinger from their excellent recent single Cold Reactor: “I sent you the image of a yellow face To tell you I’m sad about the emptiness that’s all around me”

That song, released in autumn last year as the first single from Mountainhead, has become Everything Everything’s biggest radio hit yet. It’s spent weeks on the Radio 1 B-list, a very uncommon position for an indie band whose members are all in their late 30s, but its success that sums up the vibrancy and relevance of Everything Everything in 2024. Even better, it probably meant Radio 1 have had to get their heads around this blurb from Higgs on what the new record Mountainhead is about:

“In another world, society has built an immense mountain. To make the mountain bigger, they must make the hole they live in deeper and deeper. All of society is built around the creation of the mountain, and a mountain religion dominates all thought. At the top of the mountain is rumoured to be a huge mirror that reflects endlessly recurring images of the self, and at the bottom of the pit is a giant golden snake that is the primal fear of all believers. A ‘Mountainhead’ is one who believes the mountain must grow no matter the cost, and no matter how terrible it is to dwell in the great pit. The taller the mountain, the deeper the hole.”

Well, you don’t get that with Catfish And The Bottlemen. A few weeks ago Niall – that is me, I am The New Cue’s resident Everything Everything nut in case you hadn’t guessed – spoke to Jonathan over Zoom about the mad concept around the new record, the dynamics of being in a band in 2024, his favourite Liam Gallagher tweet and more. I’ve made this playlist of my favourite Everything Everything songs to listen whilst you read,

Hello Jonathan. I love the new record, it feels different to Raw Data Feel, a bit looser… Yeah, it’s got a lot more freedom and it sounds more like a band playing a lot of the time rather than the rigid, more computerised stuff that we were doing before. We made an effort to make it feel a bit more real and laid back.

Was there much overlap? No, partly because we put everything we made for Raw Data Feel on that record, we didn’t leave anything in the banks. We did the opposite with this, we actually went back and looked at some old demos and brought them back to life because we were looking for some kind of angle that we weren’t going to stumble across, we wanted to go back to our youngest selves and go, ‘What was that thing we were doing?’.

That’s interesting, how far back did you go? I think it’s sessions for A Fever Dream, or it might be Re-Animator, so five or six years ago. Some of the songs on this are from that time, or at least elements of them are or a little demo was made and then thrown away and then we went back and said ‘Let’s explore this and breathe new life into it.’

When you’re seven records in and you start to look back like that, does it feel like different versions of the band? Yeah, definitely. There’s definitely been eras, we’ve never got stuck in one way of doing things. There’s an evolution, for good or for ill, since our first songs to now. I can find myself very quickly thinking in those terms when I hear a song from then, I’m like, ‘Oh yeah, I was trying to do this’ and that stuff changes over time and I’m glad it does because otherwise, you just make the same record again and again and no-one wants that.

Yeah. Without naming any names, for some bands it ends up becoming a process of survival and maintenance. Yeah, thankfully, we’re not in that position. I know what you mean, this idea of being a nostalgia act does not appeal very much, partly because we were at our peak three albums in so we can go back and feast on Get To Heaven-era but I have no interest in going back to Man Alive and trying to recreate that partly because we were weirdos then and we’re weirdos now, it wasn’t the glory days by any means. I’m immensely proud of what we did back then but I’m not going to try and retread it. This is an odd thing to say having just said that I went back to some old demos and put them on our new record, but those demos were rejected for reasons that I find interesting now. And I don’t feel that we need to play the games we were playing them because we’re so good at writing successfully now, I think.

Something like Cold Reactor, I didn’t labour over it and I knew as soon as it was done, it was great and I knew that would that would carry us through. It allows you to feel a bit more relaxed about creativity rather than ‘Must get that radio single or we’re doomed!’, which obviously is the burning hot coal under our butts most of the time because it’s easy to take that stuff for granted, popular songs, but you’ve got to actually write them and they’ve got to actually be popular otherwise no-one cares. Basically, every album usually comes down to one, two or three songs and if none of them have any interest, then people just go, ‘Did an album even come out?’.

Cold Reactor is a good example of the band right now, it seems to sum up all that’s great about Everything Everything and it’s become this mad radio hit. I know! We’ve watched a lot of friends’ bands struggle in this period we’ve had, 15 years now. There is a tendency to rest on your laurels or try and repeat the thing and it’s very difficult to not do that. Sometimes, I’ve done it myself when I’ve sat down and written a song and then I get to the end of it, I go, ‘Well, we did that better with X song on Arc’ and it’s like, ‘I could do this and our fans will really like it because it sounds just like us, it sounds just like Arc’ and then we’re like ‘No, into the bin with you, let’s try and take that same sensation but do something new with it’. That often comes down to the production. I think if you were to strip all of our songs of their production, then you could probably find something I’ve written now very similar to something I’ve written.

There’s a simplicity to a lot of the songs on the new album, nothing is overloaded and it makes the more outlandish stuff more potent. That’s been a big thing to learn over our careers. You’ve got the ability to do outlandish stuff, and you’ve got these players who can play really well but that isn’t enough to just present all of those things at once and expect people to go, ‘Wow!’. Some of them will, and that’s how we made our name, the prog dads, as we used to call them, that came to our shows in the very early days and just stand there and go, ‘yes, this sounds like Yes!’, and that’s fine. But that I felt like it wasn’t really a challenge. It felt like being a music student still, trying to dazzle each other with complexity and emotion slowly rose through all that and they all just fell away. I was like, ‘No, that is the hardest thing to communicate’ and that’s the challenge. That’s what the greats do is, they get your emotions and you can’t manufacture that and you certainly can’t bamboozle that into people, you have to start with a strong, simple, true, or as close to true as you can manage, emotion and then you can start having fun with it. I think that’s the thing that took us the longest to learn.

Everything Everything’s work has grown more emotional with every record. You’ve got these big concepts around them but that disguises the fact they feel a bit more personal and vulnerable each time… I think that’s what happens to humans. Twenty-three-year-olds are a strange breed to look to for sustenance when it comes to art, there’s a rawness to being that age, it’s an age of discovery. And that stuff is very exciting but there’s no real reason why someone older would create like that or go to that well, it actually gets quite sad when people try to go to that well. Now I’m older and I’m more of an emotional person and I’m less about fireworks and more about volcanoes! I don’t know how to put it, there’s something much deeper now when I create than when I was a young punk.

On that note, rather than me crowbar into an incredibly long question, why don’t you sum up the concept of Mountainhead? It’s extremely simple, a one metaphor fits all type-deal. I knew I wanted to sing about capitalism but not put too fine a point on it. I mean, it’s not a very subtle metaphor. But I knew there were certain elements of it that I wanted to get across, namely the Sisyphean sort of feeling of it being pointless and also, the fact that there’s this trade-off between building the mountain but having to live in the dark, which was a big touchstone for me when I read Capitalist Realism by Mark Fisher, this sense that our lives are getting worse in some ways, that the more we progress we’re becoming more isolated and we’re shutting off large parts of our humanity in the search for this goal of ever expanding and growing our economy and trying to climb the ladder. It’s simple enough that you can’t really fault it, I’m not saying this is exactly how we live, there’s not enough to it for it to fail. It’s something everyone gets straight away.

A lot of the lyrics touch on that theme but which of the songs is the most personal to you that veer away from the concept? Probably The Witness, that’s definitely not really related to the concept. That’s pretty personal. There’s a line in there about this… I shot this bird with an air rifle when I was a kid. I walked into the shed and I saw it, this cute little chaffinch or whatever and it just sat there looking at me and then I picked up the air rifle, I knew where it was and I killed it.

You bastard! I know, I’m telling you this now cos I felt bad, I’m not saying it was a good thing! For some reason that came back to me. During the very early sessions on the album, we’d all gone away somewhere and when we got back, Alex went up to his studio at the top of his house and a pigeon had got into the room and thrashed and thrashed to get back out for four days, there’s like blood all over, feathers everywhere. I was like, ‘Guys, this is a sign… we’re gonna call it The Pigeon!’. Obviously we didn’t but birds do get into it - Canary obviously is a song there - and this thing about that bird and it flew into my head. That’s very personal. But then the rest of the song is about some fucked up stuff that happened to me in the pandemic that haven’t properly been able to talk about in these situations because it’s a bit too personal, basically. A lot of Raw Data Feel was about trying to deal with that as well. I should’ve called it Raw Data Deal. That’s the only moment I’ve given over to that thing on this newest album, the last song. I haven’t actually been able to listen back to it because it makes me too emotional when I think about what it’s really about. But that’s not for public consumption, it’s not needed.

Fair enough. Tell me about the dynamic between the four of you, because that seems like a really important point in your longevity. Apart from a very early line-up change, it’s been the four of you the whole way. Yeah, it’s great. We’ve settled into our roles over the last 15 years. Alex [Robertshaw, guitarist and keyboards] is very much the producer now and by way of that, he’s ended up writing a lot of the guitar and keyboard parts, which I would usually write more of in the past. I’ve become completely consumed by the emotion of getting the message across in the lyrics and stuff like that, as well as obviously writing songs. But in terms of how they sound, I’m less and less involved or concerned, that’s Alex’s playground more. Mike [Spearman, drummer] and Jez [Pritchard, bass] are very good at taste-making. Me and Alex do 98% of the composition and then those guys are much more like, ‘Well, I feel like this is a good way for us to go or this is better than this one,’ things you can’t really tell when you’re the creator and you think everything’s great. They’re also really good at the whole business side of the band, which is the less romantic end but incredibly important. So talking to accountants and they’re having meetings with the labels and Mike’s producing the videos, getting organised, all the stuff that me and Alex being “the creatives” are terrible at because we have the luxury of being terrible at them. Those guys fill in the gaps and they’re really, really good at that. Jez is really good at meeting people and all that kind of shit, so it works really well. You’ve got at least one person covering every possible angle. I’m doing a lot of the visual stuff now. I’m designing a lot of the visual side of the band, basically most things that we’re tweeting or videos is all being done by me. As a unit we could basically do this by ourselves... if someone gave us loads of money, which is how we operate.

My last question is a random one but it’s been on my mind. On Christmas Day, you dug up a four-year-old Liam Gallagher tweet where he called the producer Dave Sardy “Dave Sardine”, and I wanted to know how your Christmas Day mind had been drawn back to that. Haha! Well, when it happened someone tweeted it to me and I thought was funny and I retweeted then. Then recently, I remembered it and I went to see if it was still there. It was and I was like, ‘I’m gonna save that for Christmas Day’ - it wasn’t related to what I was up to. It’s just like, right, ‘Christmas Day, time to tweet my favourite tweet’. It will always be my favourite tweet because it’s how angry he is about Dave Sardine. It’s so good.

The full article is available on substack.

[wrinkly-fucking-qtip]

SHAMELESS OPINIONS: S7 (cause Mickey's write off hurt and after s5, I watched again from s1 and forced myself to keep watching + no one around me likes Shameless so I need a place to vent)

overall: i actually loved it, had me pretty hooked all throughout

ok, i kind of like s7 Trevor, he's charming, got this lil sassy banter going off, he's cute and nice y'know. I just *HATE* that they so obviously tried to recreate some dynamics he had with Mickey straight away without letting us warmup to him, how can you deepthroat aspects built from 5 seasons into half of one??? No. Sorry. Him settling so quickly into the Gallagher house as if he's spent a decade there, idk. And the patient scene with Ian? foh man, no. 1x09 was special for a reason, and this would've played differently if Ian actually came to Mick if he was still around. They play out so much better as friends or fw/b ig but that deepthroat can't help me see a relationship between them. Not liking s8 Trevor so far, my god. Also his nonchalant attitude towards Monica threw me off. I get it, he's new and doesn't know much, Ian never mentioned her before apparently, but like "she's a lil crazy i can like her" eek, idk. Like almost downplaying his situation with her.

Caleb can suck my ass along with JW and his hate for bisexuals. My bi ass cannot approve. Cheater McCheater my ass. I can almost walk through Ian's ignorance cause for all he knew, Caleb was just gay, and I feel he said the bisexual thing out of frustration and betrayal towards his actions than actual disdain for the orientation, but yes. He was ignorant in his convo with Lip, and so was him anyway. I guess they just didn't know it is a thing. But thing is, I BET YOU ASSES that Caleb is the type of douche to STILL justify his actions even if JW didn't display his hate towards bisexuality in his writing, he just is *that* douchy. At least he motivated Ian to get his job, I'll give him that.

OH MY GOD THE THROUPLE... AND ITS SLOW BURN. it's hard cause you can understand both sides of the situation and it was just a clear issue of misunderstandings and miscommunication... I just wish they could've handled things better because I was really rooting for them. They fucking worked so well, with their little schedules and organization. I have such a fat crush on Isidora it's actually embarrassing. Anyway... I miss their dynamic. They deserved better.

Lip was a dick to Fiona about the Laundromat, but Fiona also just jumps the gut to these impulsive decisions, and I get that if she does ask for opinions, they probably won't agree with her, and it's not like I can blame lip, I mean look at the Club situation, yeah she made profit, but didn't break even, and that where his worry comes from. But at least, if she still approached him, and did it anyway against his say, he can't rub it in her face that this entails a family meeting and she can't just make those decisions without consultation. Overall, Lip was so arrogant and dickish with her, and for what... he couldn't even bring the money he so desperately wanted her to believe he could.

I love Sue. I just love EMT Ian stuff with all my life, idc what it is, I kick my feet cause he's so happy.

I fucking loved Carl and Mr. Luthers dynamic. Such an epic lil duo tbh.

I loved Frank's storyline here fsr 💀💀 it's so silly and he gets his way like always, but idk, I loved seeing his adventures at the shelter, he still remains a POS that's for sure.

I fucking LOVED seeing Debbie this season, I was a little disappointed last season cause there is so much lost potential on her pregnancy journey last time with where she was staying, but I fucking loved her here and putting her scamming skills to the test. Don't love how she ends up treating Neil in s8 cause... Well, I just feel bad for him, but also, if she really wanted to stay true to her convenience relationship, she probably should've stuck it out more so it lasted more, idk. But enough of that, I loved her setting a goal for herself at the end of the season, and I honestly commend Monica for helping her get Franny out of the house, I understand Derek's family's concern but they were so cunty in how they handled things.

Monica's death hit me like a truck... Idk why, there are so many mixed emotions here, she couldn't dare to tell the kids the real reason she was there, and all she wanted was to be there one last time. My heart goes out to her tbh.

Gallavich. Oh dear God. FERAL, FERAL EVERY TIME. it's like receiving crumbs and eating them up like a vacuum, nothing I can say that hasn't already been said... I just... Wow. Fuck. And to know that, after needing Noel for ratings, that this was gonna be the end for them? No, I could throw up. I couldn't imagine watching shameless as it aired with that knowledge in mind. FUCK ME THOSE TWO EPISODES I ATE THEM UUUP. anyway, I'm normal about Gallavich.

Lord bless Etta... my dear soul. 7x11 was vicious for that, my heart crumbled fr. I can see this was all in Fiona's best interest for Etta and stuff... It was just so sad to see.

Lip and Sierra, I don't really know what people's opinions are about Sierra but I kind of liked her? She was sweet, and had traces of boundaries with Lip even if the fucker attempted to break them every now and then. But she was sweet.

Lips second spiral was even harder than the first one to see. Him crashing at Helene's apartment, and she still doesn't seem to grasp that she essentially groomed him, and he's just so devastated still. Fuck.

That ending montage was truly a piece of cinema I tell you. It was beautiful.

I probably have more to say I don't remember but I really liked s7, not on the priority of a constant rewatch, but it was really good...and truly served as the finale it was meant to be. EXCEPT FOR GALLAVICH, holy fuck that would've pained the whole audience.

[echantedtoon]

Until Death Do You Vow Ch6 Roses And Zinnias And Violets- Oh My!

(Warnings: Elias has a panic attack.)

"....I dunno. We'll think of something. Right now it's the only thing I can think of."

"Maybe we can also solve why the Gallagher's were cursed?", you suggested instead reaching out a hand to rub one of your ankles. "While we're here we might as well get some answers."

"Unless he really was a mastermind and hacked off the rest of his family."

"I doubt it. Elias might have been the only survivor but he doesn't really seem like the murderer type. If anything he's more of the excited lonely guy."

"Looks can be deceiving you know!," Taylor grumbled and you could picture him facepalming. "Alright. But maybe we can look for the treasure too. If Elias was the sole survivor then maybe he knew where it was hidden. We'd be solving an entire century long mystery! We could even be famous for solving it!" He sounded happy again at least.

"Let's be tactful about this though. My entire single life is on the line here, Taylor."

"Right, right. For now let's go along with his ceremony idea. That would buy us some time to be able to get a good look around here. Where in the mansion are you right now?"

"I think this is a study. It sure looks like an office."

"Great place to start! Offices are usually where you do paperwork so maybe there's some old documents laying around there. Take a look around and see what you can find before Elias comes back."

Not a bad idea but your feet were killing you. Sigh. Oh well. Honestly you were now invested in this new crime solving take and if it'll help you get out of this mess, then you'd take the chance. Your foot lowered again, and you stood back up. The scent of the chamomile tea and stale vanilla scented biscuits from the silver tray on the table mixed in with the slightly stale air and smell of old paper no doubt from the books Elias left on the table and the ones still stacked up on the shelf. You decided to start there. Seemed as good as a place as any to start. The echo of your heels clicking filled the otherwise silent room as you approached the shelf. F/c eyes scanned the shelf. Ok. What were you looking for? A date book? Maybe a diary? Maybe if you pulled one of the books out a secret passageway would appear like in those movies? You decided to try it. Going about pulling back any and all random books..but nothing happened. No dice there. Stumped and a little disappointed, you settled for just scanning the book spines. Some were pretty faded so you had to pull them out and flip through them to make out what they were. Most were just old novels with yellowed pages and faded ink. No help to you. The next one you actually recognized. 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn' by Mark Twain. One of the most popular old forms of literature you thought-

"Dearest?" The voice made you jump and whirl your head around to come face to face with Elias. He blinked at you from the doorway holding a second teacup in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"I was looking at your books," you answered him truthfully holding up the book in your hands. "I didn't know you liked Mark Twain.

Elias quickly smiled. "Ah. So you are familiar with the author?"

"A little bit. I only read one of his books a long time ago when I was really little but he's a pretty famous author." You casually placed the book back on the shelf. Guess you had to wait until you could look through the desk. "Why do you have another cup?"

"Oh, I thought perhaps you'd be thirsty after you slept." He smiled floating forward and placing the teacup next to the rest of the teaser. "I know you probably haven't eaten anything either yet. Surely you'd need to eat for strength as you still need to sustain your body."

You were surprised. That...was actually a really nice gesture of him. "I..Thank you but I'm not thirsty right now." Well might as well enact this plan. "Hey. I think you mentioned wanting a ceremony right?" Immediately his attention seemed to perk up more. "I was thinking about that actually. Neither of us really got the chance to really have one, even if it's not the one we had in mind, maybe it would be nice to at least experience it."

Immediately Elias's face lit up in possibly the happiest expression you've ever seen on the ghost so far. His hands clasped together happily. "Oh, my darling. My dearest, you have no idea how happy that makes me! There's no time to waste them. The arrangements shall be made post haste."

You slowly nodded.  Had to admit, he was kinda cute when he was happy. "So, Elias. What do we need for the ceremony? I'm a bit rusty when it comes to wedding planning."

You watched him think a moment tapping his bobbing chin. "Well, there's the room to prepare but I can take care of the decor fast and simple. There's also a matter of the cake, but I require my grandmother's recipe book first. Then of course there's your bouquet. I'm afraid your old flowers were trampled outside-"

CRASH!!

You again jumped looking up at the ceiling as more thunder sounded and the rain finally started to pour down through the sky and began to beat against the roof of the mansion. Ah. Now it was truly an environment for a haunted house mystery complete with a spooky moon and rain on Friday the Thirteenth with a ghost and curse mixed in with that mystery. 

"..They also seemed to be getting soaked," he added after also looking up briefly. "However the flowers in my greenhouse are more than capable of becoming a beautiful bouquet for the occasion."

"The green house? Doesn't like there's any clues there but it might be worth checking out just in case. If not then to get Elias in a good mood," Taylor pondered in your ear. 

You agreed. No stone left unturned as the saying goes. "Let's start there. That seems like the easiest thing to take care of first."

"Very well. Come. I'll escort you there."

He turned and as like a gentleman from his time, stuck his arm out offering for you to take it. Not wanting to upset him and going with the plan for now, you proceeded to loop your arm with his and off you both went. Guess you'd come back later to continue searching.  Elias escorted you back the way you came and only now you realized that the stairs were the opposite way you came from. Mentally you facepalmed yourself. And cursed yourself as you had to lift your dress just to walk down the long flight of stairs in heels, thankfully Elias slowed his pace and steadied you until the danger of falling down the stairs had passed. At one point you were back in the foyer which to your surprise also looked so much better. Guess whatever Elias was doing to the place was really working. He guided you across the mansion all the way to the other side until he stopped in front of two double glass doors before detaching from you and just phasing right through them. He paused on the other side turning the lock with a click and pulling open the door to allow you to come through.

"Come right in!"

"Thanks!" You walked right into what must've been his greenhouse and paused at the sight of rain battering hard against all the glass around you and water sliding down it's sides. The place was half filled with little or dried, dead plants. But overall didn't look too bad. "Wow. Sure is big. So, you said there was flowers here?"

"Yes. Of course. Behold!" Elias raised his hands and you watched in amazement as the soil moved as something moved as something pushed up from under the soil and a moment later so many color flowers sprung out from beneath the soil. You gazed in awe at them all. "Voila. My dear, your flowers."

"Elias .. That's amazing. I didn't know you could do that!" He chuckled sheepishly. "There's so many."

"Yes. So many varieties for you to pick. Why not start with a base flower first?"

"There's so many. I don't think I could make just one bouquet." A thought crossed your mind as you stared at all of them. "Why don't we make two?"

Elias blinked. "Two?"

"Sure. There's so many pretty flowers. We can make a flower arrangement to decorate the altar and then another one for my bouquet and then we can pick some to decorate the entire room." Elias seemed to light up at the idea of decorating the entire room in his flowers. "After all you're supposed to decorate the alter for a ceremony right?" Maybe you were getting too into this idea for a ceremony but it was starting to get fun.

Elias also seemed to light up at the idea. "Yes. An arrangement we made together for the alter where our ceremony will take place. It sounds wonderful. Shall we make the centerpiece first or your bouquet?"

"Let's do the centerpiece first." Your eyes scanned the many, many flowers available for you to chose from. Eventually f/c landed on a few roses. "How about these for the base? Red means love right?"

Elias stared at the roses before nodding. "Red on a rose means true love. Undeying love. Eternal love."

"Seems about right for a wedding. You got anything to put them in?"

"Of course!" You blinked as he simply held up his hands and a moment later, a nearly see through glass vase flew from somewhere and right into his hands before presenting it to you. "Acceptable?"

You nodded. "Yeah! Perfect!" You reached out to the roses..but stopped. Wait. If a rose pricking you got you into this mess, then you didn't want to risk it happening again. "Um. Could you maybe get these? I don't want to prick myself again."

"But of course. You shouldn't have to endure your hands again. Allow me, Dearest." With a flick of his wrist, at least a dozen roses snapped from their stems and floated up and into the vase. "How does that look?"

"Great! You have amazing powers!"

He smiled wider at you. "Splendid. Now did you have thoughts on accouterments? Accent flowers if you will."

Ah right. This wasn't a whole bouquet yet. Crap. You didn't know flower arrangements. "I.. don't have a lot of ideas. What do you think? After all we're making this together."

"Of course. First some baby breaths." He then turned to you assumed add the flowers to the vase. 

"Fake the flower languages," Taylor suggested in your ear. "If you're right, he's happy. If you're wrong I'm sure Elias will be happy to correct you."

Why not? You're supposed to be into this right? "Those have something to do with youth right?" You were guessing based off the word baby being in the name.

"In this bouquet, more a symbol of innocence and purity." He carefully made a point of painstakingly and carefully plucking each white flower and looking at it closely before ticking it into somewhere between the red petals. "They work stunningly when used sparingly. One may expect that their small size must be bolstered by great numbers, but that simply isn't true." To make a point he tilted the vase to you as he placed another in. "Do you see how that little bit of elevation gives the whole bouquet dynamism? Personality?"

You nodded. "It looks really pretty, Elias. Do you wanna add anything else?"

He nodded. "Yes. I think so. What would you say to lemon balm?" He asked after a moment of looking over the base in his hands. 

"I'd ask how closely they were related to lemons."

You ignored Taylor's sarcastic response. "Those mean sweet right?" Lemon balm sounded close to lip balm and most lip balls come in sweet flavors.

"Sympathy and compassion although bringing up sweetness, they do make a nice tea," he corrected already reaching for another plant. "Only some leaves, green and small. Perfect for filling in the gaps and adding a nice aroma."

"Sounds wonderful."

Elias patiently finished adding the leaves along the gaps and crevices before smiling and looking at you. "How about one more flower? I have chosen two more than you have."

"Sure. Um." F/c eyes carefully examined the many, MANY flowers blooming before you. You didn't recognize a whole lot of them outside the roses and baby breaths, mostly due to you having them at your own failed wedding. You shook your head pushing away any bad memories before just randomly pointing at a flat petaled yellow flower. "How bout this one?"

Elias followed your hand. "Ah. The yarrow."

"Is that what it's called? I'll admit I have no idea about this one."

"A symbol of everlasting love."

...You chose everlasting love twice?? "Again?" Taylor mirrored your thoughts.

You didn't say anything else but chose to pick a few yellow flowers and add them to the vase which Elias tilted forward to allow you easier access to tuck them in between the red and white flowers. Not the most average bouquet but you had to admit it sure was a pretty centerpiece. A centerpiece that meant too many meanings. Too many promises. You shook your head. Snap out of it. It was only silly flowers meant to look pretty. Soon you were done and Elias smiled joyously at something the both of you made together. You almost felt bad for him.

"A truly gorgeous centerpiece my dear, but no where near as gorgeous as you." He looked you straight in the eyes as he said that and you felt again your face lighting up before you looked away. 

"Thanks..*ahem* L-Lets pick some for around the room now. T-They should be different than the alter piece do it stands out." You quickly changed the subject back onto the flowers to which Elias agreed to with a nod. Ok. All you gotta do is chose another base flower for the decor right? You looked around the flowers until stopping on one that was bright orange. "How about this one for the base? Do you think orange would be a good base color?"

"Heck yeah! Orange is a great color AND flavor!," Taylor once again piped up and you expected as much from him. "Are you actually good at flower arrangements? I wanna see this now!"

Elias took his time looking up from his pretty vase of flowers, fonding over them. "Ah, zinnias." Elias regarded them for a long pause before closing his eyes and nodded. "They're quite sentimental flowers, and I suppose neither of us can drop sentimentality so easily."

"True." You kept remembering that horrible day. It still hurts. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"And you either. I trust you understand the significance." He smiled watching before adding. "Now what accoutrements would you like to add? There are so many and I want to see what you choose."

What would go well with bright orange? You ignored Taylor's suggestion for something bold and instead browsed the many, many..MANY options eyes falling on the white ones. ...Why not the white and pink ones? White goes well with anything, and pink looks nice with orange. Kinda reminded you of spring time. You pointed at them.

"How about the white ones with the pink stripes and those with the pink insides?," you suggested as again Elias looked.

The ghost regarded your two options with a cock of his bobbing head. "So much pink!" He exclaimed but didn't sound against it more as an observation. "But the Peruvian lillies are certainly eye catching, and the pear blossoms do add a particular gentleness." That wasn't a no.

"Hey! When you get a chance send me a picture? Wait.. Aren't they like ghost flowers? Can you even take a picture of them? Or do they only pop up at night?"

"Elias.' he perked up at your questioning tone. "How long do these flowers last anyways?"

His expression became softer if that was possible. "For as long as we desire and tend to them. But you must learn to listen to them as well."

You blinked back to him the weight of the flowers suddenly seeming heavier. "Right. Flowers have different meanings." Fc eyes skimmed the combo of mostly orange and white. You hoped you didn't pick more everlasting love again. "What do these mean now?"

To your question he did another take at your options the same way someone would read a book... before a small frown replaced his smile. "Collectively that your loneliness leads you to needing...A-A friend."

"A friend?" He nodded and you looked back to the flowers. "...Well that's not entirely a bad thing. Everyone could use a friend right?" Elias only hummed in agreement and you got the impression that he felt a bit down.. was he upset that the flowers were signalling you two just be friends? Quickly changing the subject you pointed out another random flower. "Can I add this to it?"

He perked up. "Queen Anne's Lace? An interesting choice."

"Interesting? Why? What does it mean?"

"There is a desire for sanctuary deep within you." You stood there stunned by it but you were even more shocked when he looked you dead in the eyes. "The pain you hold..It runs deeper than just one sad day doesn't it?"

You fell silent staring at him for a long while before you sighed through your nose and looked back to the flowers to just silently pluck out a few of the new ones you pointed out. Only adding them to the ones you wanted as decor. The silence seemed to have Elias worried as he just looked at you working with a guilty expression.

"My dearest, I apologize profusely. I shouldn't have pried into your tragedy so carelessly like I did." He tried to apologize but reaching out to squeeze your hand making you involuntary shudder from the cold his body gave off. "Why don't we pick out a few more flowers? Your bouquet will look lovely I'm sure." Quietly you nodded. "Wonderful. What shall you pick?"

Well considering that the centerpiece and bouquet were all different types of flowers, why not pick more different ones for the bouquet? But something that still matches well with the centerpiece. So maybe some more roses? Although you should still made sure it matched the theme of an actual wedding. Your eyes scanned the many selections still presented to you before you pointed out the roses again. 

"Maybe more roses?"

Elias happily nodded. "Yes. That sounds quite quaint. It would match the overall visage without taking too much away from the center alter. But pray tell, what other flowers should be added to it?"

"Well if it's going to be roses then something that goes along with them." You mumbled still  looking over a few until spotting a few long stems sticking out and hanging from them was a few heart shaped petals. "How about these?"

His eyes lit up. "The lyreflowers." Was that what they were called? "I see. They may be delicate but they're passionate. They're also known as bleeding hearts, lady in a bath, and Venus's cat. They're representative of a kind soul."

"Sounds like a perfect match for a rose and what better thing to go with a rose then a couple hearts?" He nodded in agreement. "How about some white ones too? I mean white is usually the color for a wedding right?"

"Of course. The pink and red would be a bit too bold on their own otherwise." You pointed out the first white flower you saw. "Ah. White poppies. They live in the realm of dreams, kindness, and consolation."

You nodded again looking at all of the flowers again. "...I think I want some white roses for the bouquet instead of the red ones. It'd go better with my dress, plus it'll help the bleeding hearts stand out."

"Ah. Flowers of purity, reverence, and secrecy." 

Again that wasn't a no so you gathered up the three flowers up in your hands, careful with the roses and with enough of them to create a big bouquet. There. That looked pretty but it seemed a bit too..white. Your eyes caught sight of some cute little purple flowers and started grabbing them. Pink and purple looked cute together and it'd add color to the bold white colors. Elias watched as you plucked a few up to add to the spaces between the white.. before his face slowly turned into a frown.

"The stonecrops are tranquil, serene...A cure for a broken heart." You stopped in the middle of it all to look at him again. And noticed his concerned look.

"Oh. Is that what they mean? I just thought they were pretty. Are you ok with them?" His eyes looked away nervously as he nodded. "You don't look sure."

After a few seconds a sigh left his lips. "They're very familiar choices to me, and perhaps familiar to you too. Tell me, what bouquet did you carry to the alter before?" He looked back to you with a stern look brows furrowing in concern.

The sudden look made you blink taken aback by his change in demeanor. "Well the mini one I brought with me was just like five roses-"

"No. I mean your actual ceremony, not the ones you lost outside hours ago." He corrected you. "You mentioned that you were stood up upon the alter two years ago correct? What flowers did you have then?" 

"Oh..Well, to be honest I just had a whole bunch of roses again." You shrugged at the memory. "I mean lots of people have roses and it wasn't a bad option so...It was sorta just expected I guess. Look, Elias. If these flowers upset you we can choose something else-"

"No, no." He was quick to hold up a hand. "It's your choice. I won't make you feel like you can't have what you want in a bouquet. If that's truly what you want then I-I won't stop you-" he nearly dropped the vase in his arms when you grabbed his outstretched hand sternly.

"Nu uh. Obviously these make you uncomfortable and I only choose them because I thought the color was pretty. I'll pick a different one."

"Dearest, you don't have to." 

"I know I don't have to. I WANT to. This ceremony is for you just as much as it is for me. You deserve to be comfortable." You let go of his hands and began pulling the purple stonecrops from the bouquet in your hands. "We'll do this instead. Let's take out the white lilies and the bleeding hearts and add them to the decor instead of the zinnias. That was all the decor will be white and pink which would match up better. And I'll just keep the white roses as a bouquet. It'll still match with everything else, and there won't be anything to make you uncomfortable." You looked at him when he didn't say anything. "...What?"

"I-..Nothing." He shook his head as you continued removing all the excess flowers besides the white roses. "I-I just wasn't expecting you to just insist on compromise is all. Especially for my own sake."

"I'm serious. I'm not going to make you uncomfortable just because I don't know how flowers work."

"I still insist on you having a bouquet you want regardless."

"Ok. Then I want just white roses... I'll add some zinnias too. Orange and white will still look good together and the roses could use a friend too."

"See? I told you orange was the best choice," Taylor added.

Elias didn't say anything but he sighed in what sounded like relief. "If that's what you want dearest. I'm sure whatever you want will be beautiful." He hesitated for a second. "..Thank you."

You only nodded continuing to work the other flowers out until you started to put the orange zinnias in. There. Maybe not the first choice of a bouquet but it was still pretty. And with all the decor chosen that knocked that out of the way. You smiled at the flowers in your hands and paused a moment more to look at the flowers. A bluish one you didn't see before catching your eye.

"Elias, what are these flowers?" He turned in question and froze as you picked one up. "I don't think I've seen this one before." Silence. "Elias?"

You froze at what you saw. Elias seemed to be fading in and out. A look of pure terror on his face. Eyes directly on your hand holding the tiny blue flower.

"Hey! What's going on over there?! I-I'm getting nothing but static again! Answer me, Y/n!," Taylor shouted out static-y.

"I-I don't know. Elias? Are you ok?"

Only one word escaped his trembling mouth. "Vi-......Violet."

Something shatters to the ground like a meteor striking the mansion, shining a spotlight on your face and...the sun is out? Impossible. Wasn't it in the middle of the night and storming outside just seconds ago? The sharp light shown harshly through the glass and all you could see was white haze. Something is very wrong.

Eventually a shadow outside of the nearest window pane caught your eyes as you looked.

An archway- A gazebo baking in the hot sun surrounded by a lush garden with sickeningly sweet scents in the air. What the- How'd you get outside?! Everything seemed to be fogged in by a harsh white light that didn't go away even when you said a hand up- Until a woman walked by. You jolted up as she just walked by blatantly ignoring you but it was too haxu to make out who it was..Even if one name came to mind.

Violet.

She walked along the shadows of the trees under the archway and through the gazebo. And somehow she's still next to you despite being so far away. The wind nearly blows her hat off and the hazy light shines on a single shiny object hanging around her throat. A... necklace? It was a red gem (maybe a ruby?) on a chain of little pearls. Pretty to look at and somehow familiar. 

"Elias?!", you tried calling out to the haze.

No one answered but the woman turned to see who disturbed the peace of the garden around you both.

And then everything went black-

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; elias gallagher

requested by ; nobody / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; the groom of gallagher mansion

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; elias gallagher

outline ; “dating hcs for elias”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

after coming to terms with the less-than-ideal circumstances surrounding your first encounter and your subsequent engagement, you’ll find that elias is an incredibly considerate and sweet partner who is happy to incorporate some more modern courtship rituals into his mostly traditional approach to your relationship

though he’s greatly limited by his current state (being a ghost and all that entails), elias still does everything he can to woo you — growing your favourite flowers and surprising you with carefully crafted bouquets, gifting you his family heirlooms and all the other treasures that remain within his estate, organising ‘dates’ for the two of you to go on around the grounds of his home, and even enlisting the help of your friends to buy you gifts that he’s not able to procure on his own — of course these things are never as extravagant as he’d like them to be (after all, if he could give you the moon and stars he would do so in a heartbeat), but he does the most with what he has and still manages to make you feel like the most adored person on the planet

the pet names he uses for you are all very traditional and sweet, all predictably reminiscent of a time long gone and relatively clichè to a modern ear but so delightfully ‘him’ that you can’t help but crack a small smile every time they’re said, and he particularly enjoys mixing these terms of endearment with your relationship to him (think along the lines of ‘my darling spouse’, ‘my dear husband’, or ‘my beautiful wife’ in combination with things like ‘my love’, my sweet’, ‘my darling’, and so on) — and for his own part elias is content with being called his name if that’s what you prefer, but the terms of endearment that make his heart sing and his ghostly skin burn when you say them are things along the lines of ‘dear elias’, ‘darling elias’, ‘sweet elias’, or even better ‘my (dear/darling/sweet/beloved) husband’… even if you’re yet to actually be wed, hearing you say the word is enough to make this poor beheaded romantic swoon

elias can easily listen to you talk about anything or nothing at all for hours at a time without saying a word — your voice is one of his favourite sounds in the world (second only to the sound of your laughter) and he loves the way your whole face lights up when you talk about the things you love, so he’ll go out of his way to learn about your hobbies and interests so that he can keep you talking and keep on learning more and more about the love of his (after)life (he can also recite a good bit of the things you’ve told him from memory — e.g. dates and names that are important to you, the little details about your favourite shows and books and films, the minutia of your hobbies that most people wouldn’t even give a second thought to, etc.)

it always takes a lot out of him to do it on top of maintaining his home’s stability, but elias makes an effort to make physical contact with you at least once every day (he’s terribly touch starved and regularly curses the fact that he only met you long after his death so he’s not able to hold or kiss you as much as he wants) — nine times out of ten this usually means him surprising you with a kiss to the lips, cheeks, knuckles, or fingertips, but occasionally he’s able to muster up enough energy to dance with you around the mansion to whatever song he’s humming along to, or to lay beside you in bed and hold you close to him until you fall asleep, and he treasures those moments the most

he never stops showering you in words of affirmation and praise, like unless he’s actively sleeping or busy with something on the other side of the estate to where you’re staying it’s rare that you’ll go more than a minute or so without him saying something so sweet that it leaves you absolutely speechless and grinning — he makes it very clear that the more he learns about you, the deeper he falls in love with you and the lucifer he feels to have known you at all (in more eloquent terms, obviously)

when he doesn’t have some other duty to fulfil, elias spends most of his time hanging out wherever you are (either actively engaging with you as best he can, or just quietly coexisting in the same space as you), and there have been many times when you’ve looked up from whatever you’re doing to find him just staring at you with an absolutely besotted look on his face — and, for the record, he’ll keep on looking at you like that (like you hung the moon and stars in the sky) no matter how long you’ve been together, be that weeks or months or decades

he’s incredibly protective and will step in to protect you, your relationship, and your honour the second he deems someone to be a threat — naturally this is extremely effective, far more than it would have been if he were alive, as there are few people that are stupid or brave enough to try and fight an already visibly pissed off ghost

[dreamspiked]

under a cut because spoilers if you haven't finished. but...general thoughts regarding my gallagher's future portrayal/whereabouts

i don't much like the theory that gallagher just...ceases to exist outside the dreamscape (for obvious reasons) but i do realize that the gal we met is a virtual character created by "a fictionologist." it's not specified who, as far as i know. so i am, for now, going with the general theory he is still essentially gallagher, but perhaps that wasn't the name he started out with. the gallagher we saw in game, in golden hour, was just a projection. a 'meme' if you will, like how the watchmaker did with misha. a certain memory/projection of himself to insert into the plot without putting his own self in the dreamscape.

i also believe, with black swan's bit at the end sussing out clues for us to determine the "error" in our sweet ending, gallagher was truthful for the most part regarding his relationship with the watchmaker/the rise of the original penacony. i even toss around the theory he too was once on the express, maybe not a permanent tb, but there nonetheless - if only because he has a relationship with misha. and no one else could see him but the crew. but that's something to think about later.

i like to think he's older than he looks, thanks to something like long life species (highly leaning toward werewolf thanks to a tidbit from this movie event), but i also like to think he's not as attached to penacony as a whole, but rather his relationship with legwork, and this promise he made about bringing the express to penacony.

i'm still a little...confused? i guess. on how to approach the true philosophy of a fictionologist, but i get a vibe that gallagher keeps to his word about certain things; otherwise, his connections and ties are spread out, and ever-changing. ie; if the dreamscape collapses, it doesn't concern him. he did what he promised he would do, and now his "part" in that dream is over. in fact, i believe he's encouraged by the idea of it changing; "dedicated to fabricating, obfuscating, destroying, and erasing the histories of the cosmos."

tl;dr gallagher is still out there, but whatever he does next is up in the air.

i also have this fucking thought that he's related to hanunue, but i can't explain properly why. i just do.

anyway. he's tired.