#dizzee kipling

“You know, life is short. And if you an alien, you gotta not apologize for being an alien. You gotta join with the universe and just be."

another meme i won’t finish: [2/10] male characters

it makes so much sense to me because both of those pairs were my absolute favorite back in 2012 and 2016. and then when i met andrew and neil in 2020 i felt the same about them.

andreil has the whole "we both have a terrible past that doesnt allow us to express our emotions in a healthy way but somehow we are so good and perfect for each other" vibe that mickey and ian got going on (in my opinion andrew is mickey).

and then they also have the "we are misfits, soulmates, are you real ? are you a dream ? i am so i love with you, i wish it was just the two of us in the world" intimate vibe that dizzee and thor have.

[tw blood, drugs]

like, you can draw andreil like this and it makes so much sense it could be canon:

but this could also be canon:

thor just got released from prison and goes to dizzee's show to see him perform but dizzee has consumed some corrupted angel dust and hes like on a dream state. hes missed thor so much he literally thinks he is hallucinating when he sees thor. they have this conversation:

and you cant know if he actually halucinated that or if they really talked about it. then dizzee is unresponsive and they have to take him to the hospital.

anyways !! all this because i was thinking that in the scene where andrew tells neil "that doesnt mean i wouldnt blow you" i imagine move like u stole it by zz ward playing in the nightclub because thats the song thats playing when ian and mickey kiss in public for the first time

via yours truly

After half a year in traction and another ten years pinned beneath medical debt, because getting clipped by a train is no small goddamn feat, Dizzee hauls himself up and back into the black just in time for the Crisis to hit the village, where he and Thor shared a life for the past fifteen years. Still in a gut trap flophouse that sixteen year old Thor squatted in when his stepdad said no faggot offspring of mine will live under this roof, but now Dizzee and Thor have made it a home with hot water and proper furniture and Sunday evening dinners open to one and all. Boo Boo begs them to fly out to the Caribbean and stay with him for a while, but Thor refuses to leave the home that took him in when he had no one and Dizzee refuses to leave the home that he chose even when he had everyone. They weather the storm together, watching their friends dwindle and the hedge fund predators snatch up vacant apartments barely cold from their owners’ graves and by the time the nineties and the yuppies roll in, their neighborhood no longer resembles the village they knew, but where else would they go? Still on Pier 34, now surrounded by galleries and glass boxes in the sky filled with lackluster art and computers, but their art stays. Thor has his galleries and Dizzee is in his, but their couch always remains open to any new orphan.

ao3 link

and @goldenfiligree

They pull down the boards over the bands of narrow windows that run down the sides of the warehouse, painstakingly taping over individual broken panes to keep out the wind. Strips of warm amber light fan across the floor in the afternoons, church-like. Holy. It’s colder, so he lives in a scarf and lined wool mittens lopped off above the palm. He gets used to painting in the daytime, in the scant hours before sunset when the light streams in, liquid gold in their little kingdom. Thor builds shelves for their supplies, scavenges wood planks from an abandoned lot and talks the guy at the hardware store into letting him use their saw. He comes home with an inch-wide stripe of pink sunburn across his forehead and curls of sawdust clinging to his hair. Dizzee spends long hours on the pier, knees tucked up to his chest, stuffed into two coats, woolen scarf pulled up over his nose, gloves, hats, staring out at the water. His family used to tease him for endless days of staring out at nothing, living inside his head, motionless like a doll waiting to be wound up. The beginnings of an idea pinballing around his synapses, a spark of new life in the universe. It begins all at once, out of nothing, exploding outwards, expanding. Pure chance.