#bibuns

yes

              “DOC, I CAN’T MOVE MY LEGS!” she can, by the way — it’s just that she’s currently looking at her hands. 

                           ❛    i just wanna be alive while i’m here.    ❜

one –  it’s a saturday night and he’d tried so hard not imagine what her lips on his would feel like. he’d tried not to imagine her hands slipping over his arms, threading in his hair, he’d tried not to imagine what it would be like to be loved by her the way she was loved by him. it hurt too much to even think of it in passing and then it happened and he realized that no matter how much he might have fantasized, how much he might have imagined, he would never have dreamed up something as satisfying and lovely and perfect as this. it’s desperate. it’s months of pent up tension and affection, and then it’s an unexpected noise and an elbow to the chest and it’s laughter, and it’s cuddling and it’s peaceful, tender kisses and the world disappears and it’s just them.two – it’s a sunday morning and he’s wrapped in her arms and she’s wrapped in his cardigan and the sun is filtering in in a haze. it’s the prying, shrill sound of an antiquated alarm. it’s making coffee and talking and breaking months of silence and saying things that were for so long lost in the ethos. it’s a long silence and then it’s a kiss. it’s slow, it’s tender, it’s nostalgic for something they can’t identify. it’s gentle touches and little laughs and small sighs. and it’s good. it’s a start.  three – it’s a friday night. it’s not a date. not really. it’s just two people in love watching tv with his hands in her hair. it’s contended sighs and the familiar feeling of her body resting on his and then it’s not. it’s not familiar. it’s all new. it’s passionate. it’s steamy and slow. it’s breathing through their noses, it’s her in his lap. and then it’s sweaters and jeans on the floor. it’s all lips and cracking gasps. it’s every touch they’ve kept to themselves, every word gone unsaid, it’s amazing. four – it’s a tuesday afternoon. and they’re caught in the rain. and it’s every romantic comedy as they splash their way through the streets of new york with their heads in the clouds and their fingers intertwined and then it’s him, gently pressing her up against a brick wall and pressing a kiss to her lips, to her jaw, to her neck. it’s all brisk winds and cold concrete and being so in love that the city around them disappears.  five – it’s a wednesday night. it’s her legs dangling over his kitchen counter, it’s her voice echoing through his apartment as she laughs and music plays. it’s slow dancing and joking about high school and bantering about who’s the most charismatic, and then it’s a soft, but passionate kiss, deliberate, full of every ounce of love in his body. it’s him on his knees and a crushed velvet box. it’s nerves, it’s the sounds of the city outside his window. it’s them. it has to be them.

I cannot believe creator of Lipton Iced Tea is in the MCU

His dad is dead. And it isn’t okay. It’s awful. It’s heart-wrenching, excruciating pain. It’s a phone call in the middle of the day on hisoff day. It’s complete shock. It’s walking 19 blocks to Lyra’s placecompletely on autopilot with his headphones in listening to an oldMountain Goats album he had obsessed over in high school, as he struggles to repress his anxiety and his tears untilhe can see her, until she can wrap him in her arms and make him forget for just a moment that the world outside exists.        But he sees her, she opens the door and it doesn’t hurt any less,        and somehow that makes it worse, knowing that there is no simple       solution to this, that there is nothing easy about this.  Instead, he sees her and he pulls his headphones out of his ears and the silence aches. The world is cold and there is no air in  it and he can feel every beat of his heart.                        Every beat, a beat of a new life. A life without his father.    He hurts everywhere and he breaks down. He’s hyperventilating.        She wraps him in a hug and she whispers these words in his ear and he breaks down.                              “He’s dead. My–my dad--”

              “how do you get juice from an apple, anyway?”

we must raise 100,000 dollars or we will reboot him again