boogie down

rated E, 37.2k, macklin celebrini/will smith hockey

What if he asks if Will can come to Halifax, and Dada can see everything, the entire fucking evening, broadcast on his face? The walk back from the coffee shop, the dart of Will’s tongue over his teeth before he leaned in and kissed Mack, backing him, gentle, up against the door of his hotel room. Afterwards, in the Uber back to his hotel, Mack had googled at least three variations of “Oura ring sex heart rate data delete,” afraid that his dad would start asking questions about the fifteen-minute “brisk walk” he’d taken at one in the morning in Stockholm.

Featuring slavic immigrant daddy issues, painting lessons, "generational friendlessness" (to quote user @allthespoons), growing increasingly resentful of your lonely nomadic childhood, and PININGGG.

Your flawed body, sickle scars on the chest, moonmarks, the botched knee that nevertheless bends when you will it to

Your body, broken and put together not perfectly, marred by war but moving despite that with such ease and leisure

Your body that includes everything you have done, you have had done to you and goes beyond it

This is not what I want but I want this also. 

obviously no idea if this reference hits, but all of your fic makes me think of the harper/mormon wife animatronic “just mangled guts pretending/that’s how people change” exchange in angels in america (iykyk & if not im so sorry). idk why pfitp cuts to that feeling the hardest for me, possibly because no one can see your mangled guts the way a perceptive sibling can. and yet! perception does not always help… sometimes makes things worse….

truly the all time dynamic for me i cannot wait to watch quinn watch jack watch quinn again

Well…me too!! I assume it’s the new quinntrevor IG content but it has been really surprising and nice to randomly hear more about how it sat with ppl a couple months after the fact. I really really loved working on it—after the heaviness of idtfy it was nice to get to make fun of the manosphere and have some snappy dialogue. And there is also like real genuine emotion at the core, but it was nice to cut my angst with some levity!

Admittedly this ref wasn’t familiar to me on impact and that’s my bad. I have been meaning to read and watch Angels in America, and this was the final kick I needed. Library holds placed. I did do some searching for the quote & context and found myself misty-eyed on the train this morning just reading that tiny snippet of text.

Like !!! okay 100-word summary of the human condition. I am squeezing my fist Mr. Darcy-style thinking about it and so beyond excited to get my hands on that library book. (“And the pain—we can’t even talk about that.” Like to write this stunning metaphor that as humans reading it we all wince at, but to not focus on the pain, purely on the logistics of dealing with the organs, except for that little restrained aside that oh and btw it’ll hurt beyond what you can fathom…You’re kidding, Tony Kushner. You’re kidding!!!)

But anyways. I see what you’re saying in the context of fic and Quinn specifically—like his pain isn’t necessarily greater (or lesser) than anyone else’s because that’s not how pain works, but he’s so alone in it and nobody even knows he experienced anything. Like he has this gut-rearranging open wound Brady gave him, and he can’t/won’t even tell anyone about it. Just slapped two bandaids on and put a new shirt on, and now he’s trying to will it closed with his mind and avoiding seed oils and The 48 Laws of Power. And Jack is like heyyy kind of seems like there’s a giant open wound under your shirt. Just. If you ever want to talk.