#cannot WAIT for suds to fly in FROM SPACE

[andyridgeley]

rewatching the last man on earth was such a good choice will forte you absolute stunner

[wxlfstxrx]

O’knutzy when one of them got hurt (I was thinking of Finn but I don’t really care) and just being in pain for a few days like walking slowly and having to rest and the boys just fussing and worrying about their baby all the time. I mean one person that loves you when you get hurt but IMAGINE two boys completely worried and caring

oof i’m sorry. some hurt/comfort right there, but all’s well at the end :) ‘s kinda short and not the best but well... hope you like it. characters by @lumosinlove​.

leo and logan aren’t leaving finn alone for even a second, and to be honest, he’s feeling kind of tired of being followed around everywhere.

i’m fine, guys, he mutters frustratedly as they hold the bathroom door open for him. ‘s nothing i haven’t been through before. logan attempts to enter the bathroom, but finn pushes the door shut and leans against it heavily, his forehead resting against the wood.

really, it doesn’t even hurt that much. he’s had worse. it’s not the first time he’s twisted his ankle, and anyway, it’s been a couple of days already and he’s more or less off his crutches. he’s still leaning most of his weight on his good leg, but overall he thinks he’s healing pretty nicely.

he sighs as he lowers himself carefully onto the toilet seat. he loves his boys, he really does, but since he tripped over timmy’s skates during training the other day, causing his injury, leo and logan have not left his side, fussing over him and hovering around him, as though he’s going to collapse again any second. 

personally, the worst thing about this injury is that remus specifically banned him from physical activities, with a significant eyebrow raise. he strongly believes that they can find a way to work around it, but unfortunately, leo and logan are taking remus’ orders very seriously, and hence they’ve all been very pent up over the past few days.

it’s honestly ridiculous. it’s as if his wrists are the ones broken, the way the boys are avoiding anything physical. he’s told them that there are other things to do that won’t aggravate his healing ankle, but they outrightly refused, insisting that they’ll wait for him to recover fully first.

finn flushes and walks to the sink slowly, scrubbing his hands with soap. his eyes are fixed on the steady stream of water washing the suds away, and sighing, he splashes water on his face too. he knows he should be grateful for them, he does. 

he’s never really had anyone fuss over him like this before. his parents and brother usually focus more on making sure that he heals so he can return to the ice, rather than making sure that he heals for his own wellbeing. the rest of the lions are more or less the same, though he knows that they do genuinely care about whether he’s okay mentally and emotionally as well. 

remus, leo and logan, however, are really going out of the way to check up on him. remus pulls him into his office every day to take a look at his ankle and asks him how he’s been, and if he’s been coping well with everything that’s going on now. leo and logan, besides the times that they’re on the ice, are practically joined at the hip with him. they carry his duffel bag, help him into dumo’s car as he drives them back, carry him whenever they have to climb up stairs, and basically, finn has been more than well taken care of the past few days.

he knows he’s being horrible and ungrateful by getting upset at them, but he can’t help the swirl of emotions in his chest that threaten to burst out of him. he knows he would’ve done the same thing if either logan or leo had been the one to get injured, but at this point, he just needs some space to rest, maybe get a nap in without constantly feeling as though they’re watching over him in his sleep. he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep for days now, and it’s taking a toll on him.

finn steps out of the bathroom, and immediately leo and logan are by his side, offering their arms as support. he tries to refuse, but they’re all over him, insisting that they can help him, asking if he needs anything else, and something in finn just snaps.

what i need, he bursts out, stopping leo and logan in their tracks, is for the two of you to leave me alone, okay? i’m fine, and both of you have been breathing down my neck for the past few days, and i’m so exhausted because i keep feeling the two of you watching over me while i sleep and that means that i can’t sleep, and i feel so fucking horrible because i know you two are only looking out for me, and i’m a fucking jerk for saying all of this, but for the love of god, i need some fucking space and some fucking sleep.

finn’s in tears, his throat closing up as he chokes out a please to the two stunned boys standing in front of him. god, he hates himself so much for this. he’s a fucking asshole. who tells the two people who love him more than anything in the world to leave them alone?

he leans against the wall behind him and slides down to the floor, burying his face in his hands. guilt consumes him and he wants to say sorry, he really does, but he’s crying so hard that he cannot do anything but shake his head and sob. 

suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his arm, and a soft shhhh, it’s okay, mon amour is whispered into his hair before he’s pulled into a gentle hug. for all the space he claims he needs, he still finds himself leaning into the touch, and he grips logan’s shirt tightly, the soft cotton fabric bunching up in his hands, and he cries into logan’s shoulder.

they stay like this for a while, and finn’s so exhausted now he can barely open his eyes. he’s completely drained, and as his shuddering gasps subside, he feels logan press a soft kiss to his temple. carefully, he’s hauled up onto his feet, and everything’s a blur from then on.

finn wakes up to a snoring logan, who’s holding him in his muscular arms, his mouth wide open and messy curls splayed out on the pillow under his head. turning his head slowly, he sees that the sun’s just set, the sky a beautiful mix of dark blue and vivid orange. he shifts a little, and immediately logan jerks awake, his eyes flying open.

when he realises that finn’s awake and staring at him, he relaxes and smiles sleepily. mornin’, sleeping beauty, he murmurs. how’re you feeling? his arms loosen around finn’s, but he doesn’t let go, his hand coming up to brush finn’s flattened fringe away from his face. it’s so tender and domestic that finn’s heart clenches, and he looks up at logan with sad brown eyes.

i’m sorry, he whispers, i shouldn’t have said what i said. i feel like such a dick. he averts his gaze, staring at the small fleur-de-lis pendant resting atop logan’s chest. logan brings his hand down to his chin, tilting it up so they’re staring into each other’s eyes, and finn wants to cry all over again at the love in logan’s glimmering emerald eyes.

don’t be, logan smiles reassuringly, you’re tired, and we should’ve realised. we’re sorry too, mon amour. we just— we were worried, and i guess we were too busy fussing over you that we didn’t realise how you felt. i’m— we’re glad you’re healing well though, really. that’s all we need to know. that you’re okay. he gives finn a small smile and brushes his thumb over his freckled cheekbone.

finn’s heart flips in his chest, and he melts into logan’s embrace as he leans up and kisses him slowly. logan responds immediately, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him tightly. finn pulls away when there’s a soft knock on the door, and leo peeks through a small crack in the door.

great, you guys are awake, dinner’s ready, leo smiles, and for the first time, finn notices the dark circles under his and logan’s eyes. they must’ve worn themselves out from taking care of him. god, these boys. his eyes are brimming with tears again, and leo crosses over to the bed worriedly. are you okay? he asks softly as he sits on the mattress beside logan, his hand reaching over to rest on top of finn’s. 

finn nods, biting down on his lip. i’m sorry, he says again, his voice hoarse. i— you two have been taking care of me, and i’ve just been an ungrateful wanker. i’m so sorry. how— i don’t deserve you two. 

the two boys immediately start talking over each other, and finn frowns in confusion. what we mean to say, leo tries again, chuckling lightly as he clambers over to finn’s other side and wraps his arms around the smaller boy’s waist, is that we love you, and we’d do anything for you, and we know that you’d do the same for us too, so don’t feel that you don’t deserve us, because that’s not true. you’re incredible, love. grumpy when you lack sleep, but still incredible. we— you’re everything both tremzy and i ever wanted and needed, okay?

finn sniffles, and nods, cracking a smile. he turns over to face leo and whispers a thank you, burrowing further into his chest. logan presses closer to the two of them, and he’s about to say something when his stomach grumbles. loudly.

fuck, sorry, he laughs, and leo grins, his eyes lighting up. time for dinner, the tall blonde boy announces, pulling away and helping finn to sit up. made carbonara for our favourite carb o’hara, how’s that sound?

finn finds himself laughing for the first time in days, and leo winks at logan, his eyes twinkling as bright as the stars hanging in the night sky outside their window.

[pada-viya]

Falling  BY JAMES L. DICKEY

A 29-year-old stewardess fell ... to her death tonight when she was swept through an emergency door that sud- denly sprang open ... The body ... was found ... three hours after the accident.                                                                            —New York Times The states when they black out and lie there rolling    when they turn To something transcontinental    move by    drawing moonlight out of the great One-sided stone hung off the starboard wingtip    some sleeper next to An engine is groaning for coffee    and there is faintly coming in Somewhere the vast beast-whistle of space. In the galley with its racks Of trays    she rummages for a blanket    and moves in her slim tailored Uniform to pin it over the cry at the top of the door. As though she blew

The door down with a silent blast from her lungs    frozen    she is black Out finding herself    with the plane nowhere and her body taken by the throat The undying cry of the void    falling    living    beginning to be something That no one has ever been and lived through    screaming without enough air Still neat    lipsticked    stockinged    girdled by regulation    her hat Still on    her arms and legs in no world    and yet spaced also strangely With utter placid rightness on thin air    taking her time    she holds it In many places    and now, still thousands of feet from her death she seems To slow    she develops interest    she turns in her maneuverable body

To watch it. She is hung high up in the overwhelming middle of things in her Self    in low body-whistling wrapped intensely    in all her dark dance-weight Coming down from a marvellous leap    with the delaying, dumfounding ease Of a dream of being drawn    like endless moonlight to the harvest soil Of a central state of one’s country    with a great gradual warmth coming Over her    floating    finding more and more breath in what she has been using For breath    as the levels become more human    seeing clouds placed honestly Below her left and right    riding slowly toward them    she clasps it all To her and can hang her hands and feet in it in peculiar ways    and Her eyes opened wide by wind, can open her mouth as wide    wider and suck All the heat from the cornfields    can go down on her back with a feeling Of stupendous pillows stacked under her    and can turn    turn as to someone In bed    smile, understood in darkness    can go away    slant    slide Off tumbling    into the emblem of a bird with its wings half-spread Or whirl madly on herself    in endless gymnastics in the growing warmth Of wheatfields rising toward the harvest moon.    There is time to live In superhuman health    seeing mortal unreachable lights far down seeing An ultimate highway with one late priceless car probing it    arriving In a square town    and off her starboard arm the glitter of water catches The moon by its one shaken side    scaled, roaming silver    My God it is good And evil    lying in one after another of all the positions for love Making    dancing    sleeping    and now cloud wisps at her no Raincoat    no matter    all small towns brokenly brighter from inside Cloud    she walks over them like rain    bursts out to behold a Greyhound Bus shooting light through its sides    it is the signal to go straight Down like a glorious diver    then feet first    her skirt stripped beautifully Up    her face in fear-scented cloths    her legs deliriously bare    then Arms out    she slow-rolls over    steadies out    waits for something great To take control of her    trembles near feathers    planes head-down The quick movements of bird-necks turning her head    gold eyes the insight- eyesight of owls blazing into the hencoops    a taste for chicken overwhelming Her    the long-range vision of hawks enlarging all human lights of cars Freight trains    looped bridges    enlarging the moon racing slowly Through all the curves of a river    all the darks of the midwest blazing From above. A rabbit in a bush turns white    the smothering chickens Huddle    for over them there is still time for something to live With the streaming half-idea of a long stoop    a hurtling    a fall That is controlled    that plummets as it wills    turns gravity Into a new condition, showing its other side like a moon    shining New Powers    there is still time to live on a breath made of nothing But the whole night    time for her to remember to arrange her skirt Like a diagram of a bat    tightly it guides her    she has this flying-skin Made of garments    and there are also those sky-divers on tv    sailing In sunlight    smiling under their goggles    swapping batons back and forth And He who jumped without a chute and was handed one by a diving Buddy. She looks for her grinning companion    white teeth    nowhere She is screaming    singing hymns    her thin human wings spread out From her neat shoulders    the air beast-crooning to her    warbling And she can no longer behold the huge partial form of the world    now She is watching her country lose its evoked master shape    watching it lose And gain    get back its houses and peoples    watching it bring up Its local lights    single homes    lamps on barn roofs    if she fell Into water she might live    like a diver    cleaving    perfect    plunge

Into another    heavy silver    unbreathable    slowing    saving Element: there is water    there is time to perfect all the fine Points of diving    feet together    toes pointed    hands shaped right To insert her into water like a needle    to come out healthily dripping And be handed a Coca-Cola    there they are    there are the waters Of life    the moon packed and coiled in a reservoir    so let me begin To plane across the night air of Kansas    opening my eyes superhumanly Bright    to the damned moon    opening the natural wings of my jacket By Don Loper    moving like a hunting owl toward the glitter of water One cannot just fall    just tumble screaming all that time    one must use It    she is now through with all    through all    clouds    damp    hair Straightened    the last wisp of fog pulled apart on her face like wool revealing New darks    new progressions of headlights along dirt roads from chaos

And night    a gradual warming    a new-made, inevitable world of one’s own Country    a great stone of light in its waiting waters    hold    hold out For water: who knows when what correct young woman must take up her body And fly    and head for the moon-crazed inner eye of midwest imprisoned Water    stored up for her for years    the arms of her jacket slipping Air up her sleeves to go    all over her? What final things can be said Of one who starts her sheerly in her body in the high middle of night Air    to track down water like a rabbit where it lies like life itself Off to the right in Kansas? She goes toward    the blazing-bare lake Her skirts neat    her hands and face warmed more and more by the air Rising from pastures of beans    and under her    under chenille bedspreads The farm girls are feeling the goddess in them struggle and rise brooding On the scratch-shining posts of the bed    dreaming of female signs Of the moon    male blood like iron    of what is really said by the moan Of airliners passing over them at dead of midwest midnight    passing Over brush fires    burning out in silence on little hills    and will wake To see the woman they should be    struggling on the rooftree to become Stars: for her the ground is closer    water is nearer    she passes It    then banks    turns    her sleeves fluttering differently as she rolls Out to face the east, where the sun shall come up from wheatfields she must Do something with water    fly to it    fall in it    drink it    rise From it    but there is none left upon earth    the clouds have drunk it back The plants have sucked it down    there are standing toward her only The common fields of death    she comes back from flying to falling Returns to a powerful cry    the silent scream with which she blew down The coupled door of the airliner    nearly    nearly losing hold Of what she has done    remembers    remembers the shape at the heart Of cloud    fashionably swirling    remembers she still has time to die Beyond explanation. Let her now take off her hat in summer air the contour Of cornfields    and have enough time to kick off her one remaining Shoe with the toes    of the other foot    to unhook her stockings With calm fingers, noting how fatally easy it is to undress in midair Near death    when the body will assume without effort any position Except the one that will sustain it    enable it to rise    live Not die    nine farms hover close    widen    eight of them separate, leaving One in the middle    then the fields of that farm do the same    there is no Way to back off    from her chosen ground    but she sheds the jacket With its silver sad impotent wings    sheds the bat’s guiding tailpiece Of her skirt    the lightning-charged clinging of her blouse    the intimate Inner flying-garment of her slip in which she rides like the holy ghost Of a virgin    sheds the long windsocks of her stockings    absurd Brassiere    then feels the girdle required by regulations squirming Off her: no longer monobuttocked    she feels the girdle flutter    shake In her hand    and float    upward    her clothes rising off her ascending Into cloud    and fights away from her head the last sharp dangerous shoe Like a dumb bird    and now will drop in    soon    now will drop

In like this    the greatest thing that ever came to Kansas    down from all Heights    all levels of American breath    layered in the lungs from the frail Chill of space to the loam where extinction slumbers in corn tassels thickly And breathes like rich farmers counting: will come along them after Her last superhuman act    the last slow careful passing of her hands All over her unharmed body    desired by every sleeper in his dream: Boys finding for the first time their loins filled with heart’s blood Widowed farmers whose hands float under light covers to find themselves Arisen at sunrise    the splendid position of blood unearthly drawn Toward clouds    all feel something    pass over them as she passes Her palms over her long legs    her small breasts    and deeply between Her thighs    her hair shot loose from all pins    streaming in the wind Of her body    let her come openly    trying at the last second to land On her back    This is it    this                                                          All those who find her impressed In the soft loam    gone down    driven well into the image of her body The furrows for miles flowing in upon her where she lies very deep In her mortal outline    in the earth as it is in cloud    can tell nothing But that she is there    inexplicable    unquestionable    and remember That something broke in them as well    and began to live and die more When they walked for no reason into their fields to where the whole earth Caught her    interrupted her maiden flight    told her how to lie she cannot Turn    go away    cannot move    cannot slide off it and assume another Position    no sky-diver with any grin could save her    hold her in his arms Plummet with her    unfold above her his wedding silks    she can no longer Mark the rain with whirling women that take the place of a dead wife Or the goddess in Norwegian farm girls    or all the back-breaking whores Of Wichita. All the known air above her is not giving up quite one Breath    it is all gone    and yet not dead    not anywhere else Quite    lying still in the field on her back    sensing the smells Of incessant growth try to lift her    a little sight left in the corner Of one eye    fading    seeing something wave    lies believing That she could have made it    at the best part of her brief goddess State    to water    gone in headfirst    come out smiling    invulnerable Girl in a bathing-suit ad    but she is lying like a sunbather at the last Of moonlight    half-buried in her impact on the earth    not far From a railroad trestle    a water tank    she could see if she could Raise her head from her modest hole    with her clothes beginning To come down all over Kansas    into bushes    on the dewy sixth green Of a golf course    one shoe    her girdle coming down fantastically On a clothesline, where it belongs    her blouse on a lightning rod:

Lies in the fields    in this field    on her broken back as though on A cloud she cannot drop through    while farmers sleepwalk without Their women from houses    a walk like falling toward the far waters Of life    in moonlight    toward the dreamed eternal meaning of their farms Toward the flowering of the harvest in their hands    that tragic cost Feels herself go    go toward    go outward    breathes at last fully Not    and tries    less    once    tries    tries    ah, god—

James Dickey, “Falling” from The Whole Motion: Collected Poems 1945-1992. Copyright 1992 by James Dickey. Reprinted with the permission of Wesleyan University Press, www.wesleyan.edu/wespress. Source: James Dickey: The Selected Poems (Wesleyan University Press, 1998)