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guardianreadersofthegalaxy · 1 month ago

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My 2024 film ranking:

Thelma [AKA ‘Not That Martin Luther King Film’] [Comedy] A 93-year-old sets out to recover the $10,000 she lost in a scam. This is so up my street. I love gently comedic dramas with thoughtful direction and beautiful music. ‘Thelma’ could so easily have fallen into realm of lazy straight-to-streaming improv, so I’m glad writer/director Josh Margolin didn’t let that happen. I’d describe the combination of action-comedy with A24-style indie pathos as a sort of Edgar Wright/Greta Gerwig mashup… if you can imagine such a thing.

Dune: Part Two [AKA ‘He’s Not The Messiah…’] [Sci-fi/fantasy] The young Paul Atreides learns the ways of the desert-dwelling Fremen. I hope the Dune series proves to be this generation’s ‘Lord Of The Rings’. Director Denis Villeneuve complements the superb visuals with a screenplay that explores the corrupting effect of power and exploitation of faith. While it’s far from standalone, DV wisely centres this instalment around a self-contained love story, which makes for a compelling and coherent throughline.

Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl [AKA ‘An Aardman Is Good To Find’] [Family animation] When naive inventor Wallace creates a ‘smart gnome’, a jewel-thieving penguin sees his chance for revenge. I’m so glad a children’s sequel finally stuck the landing this year. This has all the thrills, heart, and hilarious sight gags of ‘The Wrong Trousers’, plus some decent verbal jokes from the now expanded voice cast. It’s also surprising scary for a family film! Sure, Aardman gave me nightmares as a kid, but I didn’t expect the Norbots to give the entity from ‘Smile 2’ a run for its money. If it turns a generation against AI, then that can only be a good thing.

Anatomie D’Une Chute (Anatomy Of A Fall) [AKA ‘Fall Out (The Window) Boy’] – [Drama] A novelist is investigated for murder following the suspicious death of her husband. A masterclass in when and how to reveal information to the viewer. The scenes run long, like in a play, but each one builds on the last and informs the momentum of the next. I usually dislike ‘talking-in-rooms’ films, but with actors as great as Sandra Hüller and the young Milo Machado Graner, talking in rooms is fine by me.

Conclave [AKA ‘Ralph Fiennes A Pope’] – [Drama] A Vatican cardinal oversees the election of a new pope. Another primo example of the ‘talking in rooms’ genre. Ralph Fiennes leads an excellent cast of old geezers in robes, and while the endless dialogue could have left this feeling like a TV series, director Edward Berger keeps things cinematic with some flashy directorial choices. After an admittedly slow start, the plot’s riveting, though I was unsure what to make of the slightly random final reveal. Lose the last five minutes and you’d have had a perfect ending.

Between The Temples [AKA ‘Mitzvah Wonderful Life] – [Comedy] An awkward synagogue cantor finds new purpose when he reconnects with his elementary school music teacher. Not a huge amount to say about this one, just a sweet oddball comedy about finding unlikely love amid midlife depression. The constant shaky-cam gave me motion sickness, but the jokes made up for that.

Blitz [AKA ‘Goodnight Mr. Bomb’] – [War] A mix-raced Blitz-evacuee jumps off the train and returns to London to find his mother. I’ll start by praising James Harrison’s merciless sound design that greatly contributes to the film’s sense of danger. The plot’s pretty bare, more a series of episodic vignettes our hero encounters as he ‘Finding Nemo’s his way back to mum. But McQueen’s direction puts you right in George’s little shoes. It’s a brutal experience, but with just enough hope and kindness to keep you from despair.

Poor Things [AKA ‘FrankenStone’] – [Black comedy] A woman with a child’s brain ventures out into the world for the first time. The best I can say is that it made me think and it made me laugh. Amid the weird and nasty elements, there’s an interesting coming-of-age story about a child discovering philosophy, society, and sex. Cut 15 minutes off either end and it would have been tighter, plus you’d lose the headache-inducing black and white.

Rebel Ridge [AKA ‘Boys In Blue Ruined’] – [Thriller] A former marine vows revenge on a small town police department after they confiscate his cousin’s bail money. Director Jeremy Saulnier’s (arguable) crossover to the mainstream lacks some of the indie trappings of the grittier ‘Blue Ruin’ and ‘Green Room’, but that’s fine by me. ‘Rebel Ridge’ swaps moral ambiguity for perfectly gauged good vs evil. Challenging the world’s worst police department is Aaron Pierre’s Terry, a badass with the fighting skills of John Wick and the morals/politeness of Paddington. The final showdown’s a bit limp and bloodless, but satisfying all the same.

The Imaginary [AKA ‘From Rudger With Love’] [Family animation] A child’s imaginary friend confronts the fact he will one day be forgotten. I had my reservations during the mid-point lore-dump, but The Imaginary manages to sidestep potential pitfalls, provided you watch it with your heart more than your brain ie. ‘Tenet mode’. Unlike say most Pixar films there’s no obvious thesis, just lots of themes and images, so it’s pretty subjective. But while it took a while to win me over, by the end I was in tears and not quite sure why… the gorgeous music and animation can’t have hurt.

Challengers [AKA ‘Throuple’s Tennis’] – [Drama] A retired tennis player coaches her husband in a match against her ex. I’m impressed how, for a film with only 3 characters to bounce off one another, its non-stop sexual mind games were able to hold my attention for (nearly!) the full 130 minutes. It’s intense, full of slow motion, aggressive sound design, and abrupt blasts of Trent Reznor’s Work Out/ Make Out Mix.

How To Make Millions Before Grandma Dies [AKA ‘If King Lear Were An Old Thai Lady’] – [Drama] A young man cynically plans to get in his grandmother’s good books in the hope of inheriting her house. Arguably a bit predictable, but well executed all the same. I liked the humour, Jaithep Raroengjai’s gentle score and Usha Seamkhum’s performance.

The End We Start From [AKA ‘A Wet Place’] – [Drama] A new mother cares for her baby in the aftermath of a catastrophic flood. You can tell this was based on a book from the many long, pensive pauses that imply unheard internal monologues. Both plot and dialogue are bare bones and leave much to the imagination, so there’s plenty of room for stunning, drizzly nature shots and Anna Meredith’s beautiful score. My only gripe was the irritatingly quirky presence of Katherine Waterston.

Inside Out 2 [AKA ‘Peep Show… For Kids!’] – [Family animation] A thirteen-year-old has to cope with an influx of anxiety and other new emotions. 2015’s ‘Inside Out’ was probably the best possible version of its own concept. Now Pixar have opted (admirably) for a flawed variation rather than try to recreate perfection. It still looks as great as ever, though I mourn the absence of composer Michael Giacchino. Suffice it to say I laughed a lot, but didn’t end up needing any tissues.

The Holdovers [AKA ‘Teacher Movie’] – [Drama] A teacher, a student, and a cook at a 1970s boarding school are forced to spend the holidays together. This is what I call a ‘plane film’ in that it’s reasonably good but also totally forgettable. My gripes were that the characters got too familiar with one another too soon, leaving no room for growth, and that Da’Vine Joy Randolph’s Mary lacked any flaws or development.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga [AKA ‘Cars’] – [Action] In a post-apocalyptic wasteland, the young Furiosa seeks revenge on the warlord Dementus. A less focused, less satisfying follow up to ‘Fury Road’, but still miles ahead of most modern action. ‘FR’s frenetic editing has been subbed out for carefully choreographed long takes, but the practical effects and thesaurus-reliant dialogue remain. Anya Taylor Joy’s not given much to work with, but Chris Hemsworth shines as the cruel but pitiful Dementus. I can’t wait for him to be upstaged by a co-star in his own prequel.

Woman Of The Hour [AKA ‘You Plonker, Rodney!’] – [Thriller] The true story of serial killer Rodney Alcala’s 1978 appearance on a dating game show. If actor-director Anna Kendrick’s main goal was to portray the sickening anxiety of living as woman, then mission accomplished. I hated it, but do now feel very lucky. Given the horrific nature of the real events depicted, it feels petty to complain that it doesn’t totally fit into a satisfying narrative. Even with some flashing back and forth to create a stronger beat to finish on, the ending still took me a bit by surprise. I feel restricting the thriller to Sheryl’s encounter with Alcala would have kept it more focussed, and would have eschewed the arguably exploitative scenes of violence.

The Wild Robot [AKA ‘Crying Gosling’] – [Family animation] A robot washes up on a remote island and raises a baby goose. Best watched on Mother’s Day. A bit of a let-down for most of the runtime, but it won me over in the last half hour and I really got invested. A lot of the emotional beats felt forced, with heavy-handed music – it’s telling that the one moment that did nearly make me cry was silent. The constant rush of colours and movement often made me nauseous, but I can’t deny the beauty of the faux hand-drawn animation.

Paddington In Peru [AKA ‘Mrs Brown’s Bears’] – [Adventure] Paddington follows his aunt Lucy on a quest through the Amazon. New director Dougal Wilson makes a fair attempt to recreate the charm of the first two Paul King films, sometimes successfully. Sadly, the script’s just not as tight, nor are the visuals as imaginative. And the ending briefly flirts with going in a terrible direction for the sake of a manufactured tear-jerk and fakeout. Still, it’s unmistakeably Paddington, and I did have fun, especially when Olivia Colman was on screen.

Smile 2 [AKA ‘Smiley Virus’] – [Horror] A troubled pop star becomes the latest tormentee of a malevolent smiling entity. Giving this three stars, one for each of its brilliant set pieces: the cold open long take, the horrific conclusion, and the bit with the dancers. That said, the problem with unrelenting nightmares is that they can be a bit unrelenting. Writer/director Parker Finn doubles down on the hopeless tone of the first ‘Smile�� to create a flat rollercoaster of misery. Probably the scariest horror film I’ve ever seen, but far from the best.

Sous La Seine (Under Paris) [AKA ‘Swim Away!’] – [Thriller] A team of attractive boat cops search for a monstrous shark in the river Seine. Sous La Seine toes the line between so-bad-it’s-good and actually good. It’s full of cheesy music moments of cringe and soap opera-level characterisation, but blends those with genuine tension and looks good doing it. And I loved the delightfully evil mayor, who gives the ‘Jaws’ mayor a run for his money. Or should I say, ‘a swim for his money’! Haha.

Wicked [AKA ‘Glin Da Heights’] – [Musical] A green woman who’s known only racism has the profound realisation that the government… is racist. A mixed (and very long) bag. Most of my criticisms stem from the source material – I found the songs generic, and can’t tell why Elphaba’s so shocked by the Wizard’s heel turn, making the extremely milked ending fall flat for me. The real wizard is John M. Chu, who can direct a hell of musical set piece. I also never knew Ariana Grande was so funny, and her enemies-to-friends ‘womance’ with Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba was the peak of the film. Shame there was a whole hour left after that.

La Passion De Dodin Bouffant (The Taste Of Things) [AKA ‘Yum And Yummer’] – [Drama] Love, life, and cooking in 19th Century France. Before this I didn’t realise it was possible for a cinema full of people to audibly salivate. On top of all the fetishy food-shots, I like the ‘Van Gogh’ aesthetic – cicadas, absinthe, art nouveau… but found the film lacking in emotion. The absence of music may have enhanced the immersive sound design but it didn’t do the bare-bones narrative any favours.

El Cuco (The Cuckoo’s Curse) [AKA ‘Womb/Off’] – [Horror] A pregnant woman and her husband swap homes with an elderly German couple. Very much a tale of two halves. It starts off as an unfocused mess of disconnected themes and imagery, but greatly improves when it gives up on being an A24 knockoff and turns into Face/Off. More modern horror would benefit from abandoning ‘prestige’ and leaning more into camp.

Longlegs [AKA ‘Cage Fright’] – [Horror] A psychic FBI detective investigates a series of murder-suicides with links to her own past. For me, this worked better as a horror than as a police procedural. The many research montages had me yawning, but the creepier sequences fared better, mostly thanks to Osgood Perkins’ competent direction. Acting-wise, Maika Monroe and Nicholas Cage do okay yin/yang performances as The Subdued Detective and The Crrrazy Serial Killer.

Godzilla Minus One [AKA ‘I’m Burning Japanese, I Really Think So’] [Disaster] A failed kamikaze pilot confronts his survivor’s guilt in the form of the monstrous ‘Godzilla’. I can’t believe it’s not Marvel. Everything from the decent dialogue, to the competent characterisation, sufficient special effects, mediocre music, and acceptable action left me thoroughly ‘whelmed’. Its only points of divergence from bog-standard Hollywood fare were some nice colour grading, a more serious tone, and a genuinely cool heat-ray effect.

Civil War [AKA ‘Snapped In America’] – [War] A team of reporters brave the front lines on their way to interview a besieged US President. Decent execution but zero points for originality. The spectacle’s well done, but the often-corny screenplay is full of tropes and scenes cribbed from older (if not necessarily better) films. It’s a shame, the images of war-torn Americana could have made for a fascinating photography exhibition.

Hit Man [AKA ‘Ten Stings I Hate About You’] – [Crime/romance] A undercover fake hit man falls for the woman he’s trying to entrap. Maybe the reason this seems so generic is, ironically, that it’s a formula you don’t see much any more ie. two attractive leads + some jokes + mild peril = total plane film. It’s passably entertaining, but I disliked the lazy use of voiceover, boring direction, missed opportunities for tension, and Glen Powell being simply too handsome for me to root for.

Deadpool & Wolverine [AKA ‘Terrence & Phillip’] – [Comedy] It’s Deadpool 3… and Hugh Jackman’s in it… and they’re in the MCU now, okay? Is this what 12-year-old boys see when they watch ‘Rick & Morty’? All the sex jokes and none of the Douglas Adams? For better or worse, Reynolds has taken his schtick to the MCU, with all that entails: bloated runtimes, cameos, scripts that feel like a first draft but also like they’ve been picked to shreds. It’s mainly rubbish, but it did make me laugh. And I like that it normalises same-sex flirtation for what could otherwise be quite a macho character, albeit in the crudest way possible.

Jackdaw [AKA ‘Yorvik Biking Centre’] – [Crime] A dirt biking army vet must rescue his brother from a gang boss. A product of the ‘take x subculture and set a thriller in it’ formula, the subculture this time being Newcastle ravers. There was a strong aesthetic, with more drizzly streets and blaring tail lights than you can shake a The Batman at, but it suffered whenever things went indoors. I found it hard to care about its stock characters, its Darth Vader-reveal, or its Kill Bill Vol. 2-anticlimax.

The Critic [AKA ‘The Wicked Wizard Of The West (End)] – [Drama] In 1930s London, a gay theatre critic hatches a fiendish plan to get his job back. Halfway through this, one character says “why be so predictable?” and another replies “why be so cheap?” They’d have written my review for me if they’d also said “why use so many ultra-closeups?”, “why cast Gemma Arterton?”, or “why do that cliché thing where a character yells in frustration while shaking a steering wheel?”. One star each for the subtle/sassy (respectively) acting of Mark Strong and Ian McKellen.

Kill [AKA ‘The Shit Train Robbery] – [Action] An Indian commando fights to save his in-laws from a family of train robbers. People comparing this to ‘The Raid’ need to get that masterpiece’s name out of their fucking mouths. They’re both bloody, but the similarities end there. I think the train setting was a mistake, as it didn’t provide enough variety of locations. Claustrophobic action is hard to shoot with a clear sense of geography, and in ‘Kill’ it is not shot with a clear sense of geography. Also, the ultraviolent revenge kills might have been satisfying had the baddies (aside from the brilliantly odious Fani) not been such a bunch of wusses.

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longeyelashedtragedy · 1 year ago

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gimme a whole speech on the writing of visited upon the sons, pls

ok! i hope you mean this for real and aren't going to laugh at me for giving a whole long serious answer (omg sometimes the 'i was a weird kid' instinct kicks in) but i assume your kindness 💙🤍

random trivia: i almost never write with music on, cause my head is so wild about music that it's too distracting, but i wrote this with "money" by pink floyd on repeat and i'm honestly not sure why? (i also wrote "digestif" listening to motorhead...not sure why either but u gotta roll with it)

where to start...

i wrote a really big chunk of the beginning while standing under some scaffolding waiting for a freak summer downpour to end so i could go get iced coffee. that's my favorite way to write--in a weird place on my notes app full of autocorrect mistakes and other things like that because i'm so in the zone that my brain is going way too fast for my fingers to keep up.

i was sooooo Absorbed in fact that i didn't realize until a couple days later that i had written it really oddly without realizing? You know how in 3rd person pov even if you're writing one person's perspective and you're in their head so you know their emotions, thoughts etc, you still narrate with the character's name? Like...Mason chokes on the the sip of water he was trying to take. “Uhhh…that’s kind of fucked up?” he manages to squeak out in between coughs. This is making him think things he doesn’t want to think doesn’t want to think doesn’t want to—He coughs again and runs his fingers nervously through his fluffy hair. that kind of thing? what i realized is that i had written this POV really strangely and tho frank is the POV he never refers to himself by name? is that a thing? i was like "well that's weird" and tried to fix it but the fic refused...it made the POV feel too distant when the point of the fic is that he's increasingly lost in his own mind. the closer you as the reader are to that, the better. i trust my writing instincts like--if i instinctively wrote that way then it must have been for a reason! (note that the middle section is written in the "traditional" 3rd person way which again just--felt way better because that section is soooooort of a coherent narrative--which is also kinda done for a reason)

however this meant i had to repeat mason's name WAY more than sounds natural so it wasn't confusing, and if i just Did that with no explanation, that's the kind of thing i'd pick up on as a reader and would consider to be unforgivably bad writing. so, i called it out directly in the fic, and gave it an in-world reason, which then actually became the fic summary 😂 (Mason, his Mason—It’s the repetition that dulls the emotions (some people would call that repression, wouldn’t they, but that word implies something wrong with one’s mental state and there’s nothing wrong at all) My fic my rules!

this fic was written really in like, 2 or 3 days of writing. it was nearly impossible to just write little bits here and there. this pov was very demanding of my full attention because i also had to disappear into franko's mind to write it and it's hard to just like, do that when you have 10 spare minutes. because of this i almost gave up on it because it felt like i'd never be able to regain the momentum of the first writing day and also--also--i struggled with the structure SO HARD. my initial plan was to have the fic start out normally, and then intersperse frank's memories with the present, and each time he re-joins the present from a memory he gets more and more fucked up. (and of course, mason is clueless to it at first, and then he's all ?????) you can see lil remnants of this throughout--i think mostly in the beginning when he pours the rosé. (His fist clenches around the bottle as he pours and Mason catches that too. For fuck’s sake, he’s not supposed to.) Initially, the first section of the memories section--Dad getting too worked up about young!frank wanting to drink something pink--was going to come right before that, so there was a direct context--oh, he's remembering that while he pours. BUT--

that happened to work there, but i realized if i kept doing it like this i was going to be imposing something way too restrictive on the rest of the fic. i'd have to create each bad memory and then make the corresponding "present day" section relate to that memory and there'd be no way to make that happen naturally without seriously forcing some part of the story, and who wants that? this got me so stressed out especially as the (self-appointed) King of the Flashback that i wondered if i should just leave them out altogether. somehow i decided to write all of the flashbacks i would want to have in an entirely separate document, and then just write the "present" parts all at once, and then decide how i'd want to combine them.

2nd trivia point: because of this, this was one of the only fics in recent memory i've ever written relatively in order from start to finish. usually i write a beginning and an end and then fuck around in no order in the middle till it's done.

i can't quite remember what happened next, but i think i then did skip a bit to writing the end, and suddenly my mind wanted to develop something that came up earlier in the fic, at the beginning, where he refers to the feeling of something pursuing him. i think i meant that more in a vague sense at the time, and wasn't going to explore it, but (maybe something from @new-berry inspired me? possibly?) considering how fucked-up i wanted him to be at the end vs the beginning, and how coming out of a dissociative episode your relationship to yourself and to the world around you can be really wonky and fucked up--at least in my personal experience--i realized what if i could make that concept a lot more Real, and put in the imagery of a ghost in the room. but what kind of ghost? well, obviously not an uwu scary ghost, but you can come to your own conclusions as to what he thinks is "haunting" him.

this meant that i could write that last paragraph, which sincerely is one of my fav endings i've written in a long time, and as often happens when i write endings, the whole fic then made sense to me. and i realized instead of writing scattered memories and having frank's behavior in the present Escalated, i was going to drop the entire memories narrative into the fic in one big chunk, creating a story within a story, and have it be so all consuming that he completely loses track of what is happening. (which i feel like is an especially wild thing to do while you're having a Sexual Encounter and thus leaves mason rightfully disturbed--love me some Wretched Sex!!! sorry!)

i had a couple people tell me they completely forgot what was supposed to be happening while they were reading it, which made me so happy because that was what i wanted!

when i see this mf i see a dude who is so tormented and repressed and shaped by how he was treated as a kid. his dad made football his life so oppressively (in some ways) that he has, as he's said, no hobbies other than football and reading and now that football is no longer a good place for him there's just nothing left. add that to the fact that he clearly has never ever really healed from his mom's death in 2008 (and you can say a lot about his disingenuousness and lack of accountability as a coach, but the extended part about how he dealt with grief and loss on the diary of a ceo podcast was so fuckin real and it was a bit wild to see a famous person be so open) i feel like someone like this has a mind like a haunted house and can't quite go about things "normally." i wanted to create this feeling in the fic.

the best writing experiences turn into therapy sessions and when i was done writing i realized that i was expressing something about myself through it, which is how uncomfortable i feel in situations with a lot of very cishet expectations, as someone who is VERY not het and stealthily very not cis. i had already known this of course from conversations with coworkers, but this fic made me realize how much i fucking resent it--how much anger i feel toward it really--which was...interesting to learn about myself i guess.

anyway that's visited upon the sons for ya. i'm sure i left something out, but i feel sad that i'm no longer writing it, cause it was one of those experiences that make me think writing is fun. i always think writing is fun, but you know what i mean?

(footnote: my fic that i've been referring to as 'bitter mutual cheating' takes place around 2 months after this one, and it's from mason's POV and he reduces the whole upsetting experience to one line (Frank sounds panicked, and there’s only one other time that Mason can remember hearing him sound like this–that night with the West Ham jersey where Frank seemed to go kind of crazy and he had to tell the guys in the dressing room that it was his sister’s cat who had scratched the shit out of his back) which is just kind of a fun mindfuck for me. 7000+ words of agony but all mason even was aware of was...that, lol.)

(OH, i forgot! in the last line: Holding his Mason tight like it loves him, that word "like" is important. is he realizing--just for a moment--that his "love" for Mason is just kind of a placeholder for something else? someone else? we'll see...)

#anonymous #answered #thank you!!!!#this is one of the only fics i've written that i have this much to say about lol #i wanted this one to hit a little different #fic saga #visited upon the sons #long eyelashed tragedy

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kinetic-elaboration · 1 year ago

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November 18: Writing Attempt

So, I really did try to write. I gave it a good old college try. But I just couldn't get into it. I don't think I'm like, focused enough. I tried getting into the mood while showering but my mind kept wandering so I never got any kind of momentum going. I did come up with some introductory sentences but as soon as I'd written them down I lost all ideas. Like I was really just putting down about 100 words I'd memorized and that was literally all I had.

I got about 150 words total but honestly I'll scrap a third of those. With each passing minute I get farther away from any coherent writing related thought and at this point what I really want is to go to sleep at some sort of decent hour so I can start pushing my waking up time back. The plan is to do a bunch of cleaning tomorrow but to try to write in the afternoon/evening. Which, I know, is not a plan that worked today but I have to keep trying.

It's just a tough spot right now with this fic because I haven't written it in about 6 weeks, I'm way out of practice, with this and with writing in general, like these last couple of weeks have not been creatively productive, and the last scene I wrote for it was...not great honestly. I've also been rolling this upcoming scene around in my brain for a while, like a rotisserie chicken, and while a certain amount of rotating is helpful, at this point it feels... it's hard to describe but like I'm sort of spinning my wheels on it? Like I have gone over a couple details too many times and gotten used to stopping there and now I don't know how to continue. Like I've driven off the road into a rut.

I really... I want to finish this fic and in the abstract that doesn't seem like it should be so hard. But it is hard, it has been going poorly, and I think I kind of need to give up on having any goal for it. Like, this is the thing I will be working on until it's done and that's just how it is. It takes as long as it takes. I still hold out hope that maybe this first scene will be the hardest, that once I get back into it I'll be on a roll and get a lot done at once, and yhat maybe that roll will even occur during this long vacation I have going on right now--but I just really don't feel much optimism. I feel pretty down about it overall.

#the year 2023 #2023: writing thoughts #just depressed myself honestly but i needed to write something #my eyes are glazing over

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hoseokisgucci · 4 years ago

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You Lift Me Up

GENRE: Fluff and Smut

WORD COUNT: 5K

PAIRING: Taehyung x Reader

SUMMARY: Taetae here sees OC at the gym, one day helps her out a little when she gets injured and somehow ends up in her bed.

WARNING: Tbh there’s some oral in there (fem receiving), some body worship, a lil of undiscovered kinks showing a sneak peek, penetrative sex, a little dialogue heavy, Taehyung being softboi max.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally uploaded this without the smut, but then deleted it, and now I’m putting it up again because I finally got around to finishing it. I definitely wanted to write something gym related because its my safe space but I really also wanted to make it soft because IM AN IDIOT FOR PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE/FINDING THEIR PEOPLE.

“How different would it be anyways? I’ll just ask someone for help if I need it. It’s not like I’ll be abandoned by everyone just because I don’t have a partner.”

“Hey! We didn’t abandon you!! We have exams. Our university made you lonely, not us.” Your friend squawked over the phone.

Taking advantage of this new found chink in her armor, you added, “Yes. An institution is more important than I am. I see how it is. Hungry, partner-less and overcome with despair. That’s my life now.”

She huffed, and you could just imagine her shaking her head at you. “You’re a heathen. I’ll buy you food. Now bye. Duty calls.”

You laughed out an affirmative and slid the phone into the side pocket of your gym bag. The university gym was located close to your dorms, which made it easier for you to haul your ass to the gym even on your lazy days. You were already wondering what it would be like without a partner. You always had friends with you at the gym, be it one or two. You never had to worry about spotting or support ever before, but now these questions crossed your mind. Scenarios where you dropped a dumbbell on your toe or worse, your face flashed before your eyes. You shuddered when a haunting crack resounded in your ears, the sound reminding you to be wary of heavy lifting while you were on your own.

Getting started on your workout was easy enough. A little warmup here, a bit of running and cycling there. The music pumping through your ears helped you keep up the pace as you cycled, body starting to sweat, lips mouthing the words of the song playing through your earphones. When you hit the 15-minute mark, you figured it would be alright to cycle for 5 more minutes.

Just as the song changed, and you looked down to check if the lever for your seat was proper, your heart came up to your throat as someone tapped you. With your hand over your heart, legs coming to a stop, you turned to see the most gorgeous man ever. Scratch that. The most gorgeous being ever.

Lost in your head, you only came to when you realized that his lips were supposed to be forming coherent sentences. That were aimed at you. Raising your hand, your palm faced towards him, you said, “Wait, I can’t hear you.” His lips grimaced, as if embarrassed and he nodded his head. When you turned off your music, paused your timer and turned to look at him, torso twisting in his direction, his eyes quickly snapped to yours, as if he wasn’t just checking out the swell of your ass perched on the tiny cycle seat. You raised your brows at him, which probably kickstarted his brain again. He gulped and said,

“How long will you take?”

You were about to retort and tell him that there were other cycles too, but when you turned the other way, you saw that all of them were occupied.

“Maybe around 4 more minutes.” He nodded in response, gave a quick smile, and when he was about to turn away, you tapped his hand, grabbing his attention once more. You didn’t know why you felt good, having those eyes on you. You were probably going crazy, you imagination making you see the electricity in them.

Rethinking about your situation, you said, “Actually, I’ll get off. I was just going to do some extra cycling, but you can get started.”

He shook his head, curly hair bouncing around as he said, “No no, please take your time. I’ll just stretch some while you’re getting done.”

You nodded your head and smiled at him, hoping that he could understand how grateful you were. You got back to cycling, starting up the movement of your legs once again. Without the music to keep you occupied your eyes wandered to the mirror in front of you. As you scanned your surroundings, you noticed the guy from before, stretching his arms, gazed fixed on your form. The intensity with which he kept looking at you almost made your legs flounder, but you concentrated on maintaining your momentum.

Sighing inwardly, your eyes moved backed to him. He hadn’t noticed you looking at him, because he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather your ass. Wanting to add fuel to the fire, you stuck your ass out a little more and arched your back a little more, making your body look a little more tantalizing. As you did this, you could see his eyes widen a little, hands now hanging limp. You discreetly kept looking at him, and could see him scan your form, his gaze focusing on your face. You cycled a bit more aggressively, the motion moving you from side to side.

If he was watching, you might as well give him a good show. When you eyed him again, he was bent over, legs spread wide, hands touching the ground, stretching. But his eyes, they didn’t leave you, or rather, your butt, even once.

Your timer beeped, signaling the end of your 20 minutes. You slowed down your legs and sat there, catching your breath. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, sweat dotting your forehead and your face glistened. You looked thoroughly wrecked. He was still looking at you. You got off the cycle, walked to him and said, “Its all yours.”

He nodded, and you walked away. You breezed through the rest of the workout, mind occupied with thoughts of big hands and one beautiful man.

Through the next week, you kept seeing him at the gym, on a machine or doing a rep. You weren't ignoring him, per se, but what the hell would you go and say to him? "Hey I think you're pretty hot, come over and choke me?"

Definitely not.

A week without a partner goes by with no problems, but its like your beginner luck in the world of solo exercising has run out when you lose your balance while doing weighted squats. Even before starting the set, you were a bit worried, because the rod itself weighed 32 kgs, and you had added plates of 10 kgs. You never imagined that you'd get injured at the gym out of all places but, alas! Your time had come. When you felt that you had no control over the bar and your body anymore, you tried to brace yourself for impact, but two hands lifted the bar off of your shoulders, which allowed your body to gain some balance. When you looked at the mirror, you saw cycle dude holding the bar in his hands. You quickly turned around and helped him rack it.

With frantic eyes, he scans your body for any apparent injuries and asks,

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Uh no, I don’t think so. Just that, my knee might be a little sprained."

His eyes focus on your knee, hands out in front of him, ready to support you. You start walking, but you can feel a slight tinge in your right knee when you put pressure on it. The discomfort might show on your face, because he wraps your arm around his shoulder, and urges you to put your weight on him. He walks you to the bench and sits you down, your leg extended in front of you.

Squatting near your leg, fingers brushing the hair our of his eyes and off of his forehead, he asks,

"Can you call someone to take you home?"

You take a minute to think if there's anyone who actually could take you home at this moment. And you come up with no one. You tell him so.

Tentatively, eyes now darting here and there, he says

"Uh, would you mind if I dropped you off?"

You blurt out, "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why would you do that? You don't even know me."

"Well I, uh, might have a small crush on you. Not in a creepy way! I just think you're kinda cute. And I would feel better if I knew you'd get home safely."

Welp. That's kinda endearing.

"Okay. Let's go."

He asks for your locker number, goes and gets both of your bags and comes to get you. For a few minutes, you walk with your arm around his

shoulder, half of your weight held up by him. Your pace is probably slower than a snail, what with you trying to clumsily hop and him trying to support you. He stops and says,

"Okay, let's get you on my back. You can point in what direction you wanna go and I'll carry you. It'll be faster and way better for you."

You try to protest but he's already hanging both of your bags around his neck and getting on his haunches in front of you, hands ready to hold your legs. So you climb on.

As he starts walking, he says,

"I'm Taehyung by the way, your beloved servant."

"Well, my dear servant, you shall call me princess then," you cheekily reply as you tighten your hold around his neck.

He laughs and shakes his head, huffing out, "Wow, the audacity."

"I'm sorry. Thank you so much, I'll be indebted to you forever. You're too kind," you sincerely say to him.

He just hums in response, so you leave it at that. Your dorm building isn't that far, so you make it there in no time. You get in the lift, and once it opens on your floor, you tell Taehyung your dorm number.

You tell him your door code, and he walks you in, going straight to your couch and sitting you down. He takes the bags from his neck and puts them aside. Next, he takes off your shoes and puts them near your door.

"Okay, do you mind if I check your fridge? Is there anything like an icepack? To put on your knee?"

"Yeah, there is an ice pack."

He grabs the ice pack, fills it with ice cubes and holds it on your knee. The freezing sensation

sends a twinge down your knee. He urges you to hold the ice pack and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back, he presses a glass of water to your lips, and you drink.

Once you're done, he sets the glass on the coffee table, and settles beside you, grabbing your leg and gently getting it on his lap, urging you to lie down, with your head resting on the armrest. He holds your leg with one hand, and tenderly ices your knee with the other. The action makes you relax your body, all the stress unwinding. Taehyung doesn't say anything, his eyes concentrated on your knee. Feeling the pain in your knee numbing, you close your eyes.

The next thing you know, Taehyung in shaking you awake, calling out your name in his low baritone. When you gain some semblance of consciousness, the first thing that you register is the fragrance of food. Your stomach grumbles, and Taehyung chuckles at you. He helps you sit up, and shoves a takeout box in your hand. You thank him and dig in. Once you're done, he cleans up and comes back to sit beside you.

"How are you feeling now?"

You flex your leg a little, and when it doesn't hurt that bad, you say, "It feels better. I'll just take a painkiller and knock out."

He nods his head, hand reaching out to feel over and around your knee. After being satisfied, he rests his hand on your knee, and looks at you. "I'm glad. Just be careful."

In a moment of courage, you rest your hand over his and say,

"I can't thank you enough. For getting me home, taking care of me, feeding me."

His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he rests his other hand over yours, your palm now sandwiched between two of his. He leans closer to you, and whispers,

"You don't have to thank me, doll. But I can think of a few things you could do."

The way he says these words makes tingles run up your spine, the intent clear in eyes, made clearer by his words. You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa, knowing that Taehyung's eyes are fixed on you. The knowledge that this kind, breathtakingly beautiful man has a crush on you, and moreover wants you, gives you the confidence to act a little, if not more coy. With your head now tilted towards the ceiling and your eyes closed, you channel your inner heathen and say,

"And what would they be, hmm?"

When you hear him suck a breath in beside you, you smirk inwardly. You wait for him to say something, but he just retracts his hands from yours. This action makes you open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, question clear in your gaze.

Just as you're about to sit up and say something, you're hit with a face full of Taehyung, and suddenly his palms are grabbing your face and his lips are on yours. The shock makes your eyes widen, but as you register what's going on, your eyes close and your hand fists his shirt as you kiss him back.

Taehyung's lips feel way better than you could ever imagine, and the warmth seeping into your skin from his palms makes this experience feel real, and not just fantasy. When his lips suck on your lower lip a little harder, you arch your back, your upper body lifting off the couch. This makes him slide one hand off of your cheek and around your waist, and he pulls your body closer to his.

At this point, he's basically straddling you. When his tongue probes your mouth, one of your hands grab the back of his hair and pull. The low groan he lets out as you disconnect from his mouth and start sucking on his neck makes you quiver, the thought of hearing the same baritone in your ear as he pounds into you making you want him even more. He parts from you, and as he sits up, your hands leave his body.

"What do you want?"

You bite your lip, and instead of answering, one of your hand rises to his waistband. Instantly, his hand grips yours, and as he smiles, he leans down to kiss your palm. Against it, he whispers,

"Want me to eat you out? Wanna cum on my tongue?"

You gulp at the thought of this man between your legs, and nod at him. Something in his face hardens, and he drops your hand, only to lean over you and grip your chin.

"Use your words, baby doll. What do you say?"

You maintain eye contact with him and whisper,

"Yes."

Though your answer makes him loosen his grip on your jaw, only makes him move closer to you.

"Yes what?"

"Yes sir."

At your answer, Taehyung's eyes widen, and then a smirk spreads across his face. His hands urge you out of your top, and he throws it over his shoulder, uncaring as to where it lands.

His eyes take you in, and in a second he's getting off you and pulling your leggings and underwear down your body. You struggle a little to lift your ass off the couch, a little pain shooting through your knee at the pressure. Taehyung makes you rest your injured leg straight on the coffee table. After making sure you're comfortable, he leans down you kiss you, on of his hands making their way to your tits. When he squeezes and twists a nipple, your body arches off the couch, legs spreading wider.

Once Taehyung's satisfied from claiming your mouth, he gets down on his knees in between your legs. For the first time, you see hesitation cross his eyes as he nibbles his lower lip. You lean up, and say,

"I want you. Please make me cum, please."

A smile blooms on his face, eyes lighting up as his hands move up your thighs. He leans forward, kissing up the inside of your left thigh, his hands squeezing where they hold you. After a few kisses, he suddenly bites, which makes you reach out to grip his hair as you moan.

Indifferent to your reaction, he moves forward, his hands widening your legs as he comes face to face with your core. Sounding absolutely wrecked, he says,

"Fuck I can't wait to taste you."

With this, he kisses your mound, and then spreads your outer lips.

"Holy shit, darling, it's all for me, right?"

You card your hands through his hair as you whisper an affirmative. Happy with your response, Taehyung leans in and envelops your clit in his lips, and sucks. Slowly, he starts making strokes with his tongue, delving deeper. He speeds up the motions of his tongue, now moving it in and out, and puts a finger in your core. The slide is tight, and it makes you both moan. But he doesn't stop, if anything, he gets even more determined.

Soon, he adds another finger and his tongue moves onto your clit. The added stimulation makes the knot in your core tighten, the arousal pulsing stronger in your veins. He takes his mouth off of your clit with a pop and leans back to see his fingers scissoring as they move inside you. You tilt your head down to take a look at him, and dear God above, he looks wrecked. His hair is all messed up, thanks to your fingers, and his lips are swollen and glistening, and you're pretty sure his chin is too.

Fuck.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as this visual ingrains itself in your eyes, a whimper falling from your mouth as you say,

"Fucking God, please fuck me. Want you so bad, please."

"I'll think about it if you cum like a good girl first."

His fingers speed up, and he leans down to capture you clit in his mouth again. This time, he's absolutely brutal with the way he goes at you, nothing gentle about his mouth or his fingers. Just as you feel yourself climbing up to a climax, he adds another finger, his tongue now flicking across your clit.

As you get closer to the finish line, your moans turn into curse words, your voice getting louder.

"Fucking Hell, Taehyung, don't stop! Shit! I'm s-so close, please, please, I'm gonna c-cum!"

Saying nothing Taehyung curves his fingers inside you as he lightly bites on your clit, and that's all it takes for you to let go. Your body pulls taut, legs shaking around him, hips riding his fingers. His fingers and his mouth guide you along your high, and even after you've come down, his mouth still keeps laving over your clit. You moan in oversensitivity and that's when he deems it enough.

He gets up, but groans out while straightening his legs. You giggle at his facial expression, and he stands over you, hands on his hips, mouth drawn into a pout.

"I just ate you out but you're laughing at me, huh?"

This makes you laugh out loud, and you say,

"Can't believe you're a grandpa."

His mouth falls open, flabbergasted. His mouth tries and fails to form a word, and his mouth just bubbles out a laugh. He's shaking his head as he takes off his tee, and throws it on the couch beside you. Oh you're definitely not laughing now.

"Well, this grandpa did get you off, baby doll. Now, where's the bedroom?"

He leans down to pick you up, his hands urging your thighs to wrap around his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck. You hold on tighter when he stands up straight with you in his arms. He leads you to the bedroom, kicking the door open and walking in. He lays you down on the duvet slowly, mindful of jostling your leg.

Once you're lying on the bed, he goes to get a pillow and puts it below your knee. You make eye contact with him, hoping your smile conveys how grateful you are. He smiles at you, expression shy. Pointing at the bedside table, you say,

"The condoms are in here."

He raises an eyebrow, but gets a condom and climbs on the bed. Once he's in between your legs, one of his hands knead your thigh, the action relaxing your muscles, making you let out a sigh. Seeing your reaction, he leans down to kiss your tummy, trailing light kisses down to your pelvis.

"You look so beautiful like this. So lovely."

His hand glides up your inner thigh, two fingers plunging into you without warning. He pulls out, only to push back in, your soft wet walls accommodating to his ministrations easily. When he doesn't hear you making a sound, he scissors his fingers, and starts sucking a hickey on your hipbone. A shiver runs through you, and you let out a whimper at the sudden influx of stimulus.

"Such a sweetheart, huh? Always ready to let me know how good I'm making you feel."

As he says this, he adds another finger, and the added stretch makes you arch off the bed. Soon, Taehyung has you moaning his name, your hands reaching out to hold onto the bedsheet. Taehyung slows down his fingers, and asks you,

"What do you want? Tell me. Tell me and I'll give it to you."

The husk in his voice makes you groan, the timber of it sending trills of arousal shooting through you.

"Want you to fuck me. Now. Right now."

Pulling his fingers out of you, he whispers, "Then that's what you'll get, baby."

He takes off his gym shorts and his underwear, his cock standing hard and proud, the tip glistening with precum. While stroking his cock, he says,

"Although everything in me is telling me to fuck you like the devil you are, I don't wanna add to your injuries. So let's have you wrap you legs around me, okay?"

Actually processing what he said, you try to move your leg, but the twinge of pain has you nodding your head in agreement.

Seeing your approval, he gives you a smile and tears open the condom. Your eyes trace him as he kneels between your legs. The soft curls falling into his eyes, the slope of his nose, adding to his charm. The strength visible in his shoulders, all the way down to his arms, makes you want things that can only be done behind closed doors. The thoughts of being manhandled, being pushed into the mattress as he takes you run through your head among other lust-filled scenarios, and these make you gulp.

Your eyes follow when he rolls the condom onto himself and strokes his cock in long motions.

His eyes, fall onto you, and seeing how you're entranced by, well, his dick, he chuckles. The sound makes your eyes flit to his, your cheeks already filling with colour, embarrassment flooding your mind.

Taehyung doesn't say anything, just urges your legs to wrap around his waist as he leans over you. That one moment of silence, where you and him are just two people, closer than ever, closer than any galaxies, any stars, seems to last for a lifetime. When he slightly smiles, one of his hands coming up to stroke your hair, you feel a storm brewing where you heart is meant to be. You smile back, and then Taehyung is thrusting into you, the stars in his eyes now clouded by lust.

The first few thrusts are slow, languid and have Taehyung's eyes flitting over your features, looking for any signs of discomfort. But when he finds none, he gains confidence, his hips moving with more purpose, plunging impossibly deeper into you. Your eyes close, head tilting up as your mouth lets out little moans mixed in with whimpers.

Taehyung's thrusts slow down into him just grinding his cock into you, and he grabs your chin to make you look at him.

"Look at me, baby. You feel so good, like heaven. Maybe even more divine than heaven itself."

The sincerity in his eyes as he says this makes your clench around him, throat choking on the words you want to say. You reach out a hand and put it on his shoulder, which makes him pause his movements. Worry flickers across his face as he waits for you to say something.

"G-go faster. Wanna cum. Right now. Please."

The worry on Taehyung's face quickly dissolves into cockiness as he positions himself to pound into you better. His smirk grows as his thrust gets a moan out of you. Continuing with his ministrations, he manages to grunt out,

"This good enough for you, doll?"

When you don't answer him, too busy whimpering, he leans over you and one of his hands reach out and twist your nipple in warning, hips maintaining their momentum.

"Think I asked a question, darling. Come on, now."

The hand you had on his shoulder moves up to the back of his head, and as your fingers entangle in his locks and pull, you say,

"Yes! Yes! Dear God, yes! F-feel good."

He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he hums, the low rumble of his voice making you feel some type of way.

One of his hands land near your head, the other one grabbing your thigh, and its pound town from there. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixed in with Taehyung's grunts and your moans. The boy in between your legs turns into a beast chasing just one thing, and he doesn't slow down. The sound of sex resounds in the room, making you feel downright dirty.

Your eyes focus on Taehyung's face contorted in pleasure and his body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Maybe it's this realization, that you have this beautiful man fucking into you that pushes you closer to your climax.

When your walls start clenching around him, the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach so close to bursting, one of your hands reach down, two of your fingers rubbing your clit in desperation.

"That's it. Make yourself cum on my cock. Let me see you cum, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me."

His words are accompanied by his hips moving faster, hitting the spot inside you, making the fire in you unravel. Your back arches off the bed, mouth opening in a whimper as you cum, body drowning in pleasure.

Your walls tighten around Taehyung, making him let out a choked moan. With two, three more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming in the condom. He slumps on you, letting out puffs of air, catching his breath. When Taehyung taps both of your legs gently, you remember that they've been there this whole time, and, holy shit, your fucking knee was fucking sprained. Taehyung, apparently has the same realization, because his concerned wide eyes lock with yours and he slowly untangles your legs. Your knee gives a twinge in protest to movement but as soon as it's straight and on the bed, you feel fine. Taehyung pulls out, and ties the condom off, getting up to go and throw it in the bin.

When he comes back, it's to you playing with your fingers running circles on your navel. You stop your actions when you realize he's back in the room, your cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment. Taehyung mumbles a 'cute' but doesn't say anything else.

Taehyung has a wet towel in one hand, with which he gently wipes between your legs. And when he's done, he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead, and then he's gone again. Your eyes follow his bubble butt as he leaves the room.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones, and your eyes close. They only open to the sound of something being set down on the bedside table. You open your eyes and turn your head to see that it's a glass of water, and Taehyung, Taehyung is wearing shorts again.

You sit up, grabbing the glass and gulping down the water. The thought that you're still completely naked makes you feel shy, even after all of the things you just did. Taehyung sits

beside you on the bed, taking the glass from your hand and putting it on the table.

"Uhm.."

"I ju-"

Both of you shut up, but when you lock eyes with each other, laughter spills out of you. With a smile on his face, Taehyung speaks first.

"What were you going to say?"

You think for a moment, wondering if what you're about to say will sound weird or not.

"Uh, just that, do you want to stay over?"

With disbelief painting his face, Taehyung asks, "You want me to?"

You try to keep the endearment out of your voice as you deadpan, "Oh no, the monster under my bed just liked your feet and told me to ask you to stay longer."

It takes a moment for your words to register, but when Taehyung realizes what you just said, laughter tumbles from his lips.

Your concerned friends knock on your door the next morning, and a clueless Taehyung opens the door to let them in. Your friends barge in to find you wrapped in a blanket, lying on the couch, Haikyuu! playing on your TV. Taehyung just stands there, neck full of hickies, rampant sex hair, smelling like your body wash.

Your friends look at you for a moment, then turn to Taehyung only to turn back to you. When one of them asks you what the hell you've been doing yesterday and where you've been, you lock eyes with Taehyung as you smugly say,

"What can I even say? It was one heck of a workout."

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfiction #taehyung x you #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bts fluff #smut and fluff #kim taetae #this is filth #this is also cute #taehyung #bts tae tae #bts #bts fic #bts fanclub #dont hate me

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

Something to Lose - Luke Patterson X Covington!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: luke imagine idea so Luke’s old gf is dead and she’s calebs daughter and is trying to get him to stay with her instead of cross over and then he doenst show up in stand tall . I just had this idea and near had a fit trying to get it down love ur writing also 💖

Warnings: angst, a lot of crying, I don’t even think there’s swearing in this one.

Words: 2293

A/n: I hope I did the request justice. This was kinda stressful the entire time writing it just bc of all the ideas that came. Like I’d be writing and then my brain would be like ‘hey what if this happened’ and then I’m like ‘oh that’s evil. put it in the fic.’ you know?

I begin nervously playing with the tulle skirt of my above-the-knee length party dress. I wanted a mini but dad refused to let me be visible to ghosts and lifers in anything ‘revealing’, so we compromised on above the knee. It’s a pretty dress, the black long sleeves are sheer and the back is completely open, and that’s as scandalous as dad would allow. Ironic considering his dancers’ costumes are cut out fringe leotards and nude tights.

And speaking of dancers,

“Who was that?” I ask Francesca as she comes to stand next to me by the black music stands, branded with the infamous Hollywood Ghost Club logo.

“Who was who?”She takes a tiny sip of water and readjusts her massive blue and purple feather headdress. Dad always chooses the most extravagant costumes. Sometimes I wonder how they’re able to dance without falling over from being so… top heavy I guess?

“That guy you were dancing in front of in the denim coat?”

“What are you talking about? I was dancing in front of Willie.”

“Nice try, I know that was Angie. Maybe next time.” On the first day the girls set foot in the place they were such amazing dancers, dad invited them to perform front and center if they wanted to join the club. The downside was he could never tell them apart. I don’t know how though, they’re not indiscernibly identical. I made it my goal to always be able to tell them apart, and they made it their goal to get me to mix them up just once.

“We’re gonna get you one of these days.”

“Yeah, sure. But, uh, do you know who he is?”

“I don’t but maybe you will?”

“What?” Glancing up to Fran’s face she gives me a look and directs me with her eyes before smiling smugly and walking away. I follow her gaze to see my dad standing on the far side of their table, talking with the attractive stranger. His excitement makes his every movement animated and he can’t even seem to string a coherent sentence. Inviting them to sit down, dad starts saying something about Willie and magic? The conversation doesn’t last long and once he leaves, I debate whether or not to approach the handsome stranger.

“Who are we looking at?” I’m startled when I hear Angie’s voice in my right ear.

“Oh. The one at the front table in the denim overcoat.”

“You mean the one Franny was dancing in front of?”

“She already tried that.”

“Dammit!” I laugh at yet another failed attempt.

“I don’t even know why you guys bother anymore.”

“Whatever. Why are we staring at him?”

“I’m debating whether or not I should talk to him.” Angie sends me a look that says ‘have more faith in yourself’ which I gleefully ignore.

“Shoot your shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“My dad could interrupt and say something totally embarrassing. He wasn’t done talking to them, he just had to do rounds.”

“Girl, have you seen how many people are here tonight? He’s not gonna be done any time soon, so go while you still have some time!” Angie punctuates her sentence by gently pushing me forward, and I stumble in the direction of the cute stranger. The sudden jerky movement seems to catch his attention and his eyes soften once they meet mine. He smiles softly as a greeting and when I return the look, he takes that as an invitation to walk my way. I’m standing in the middle of the dance floor, frozen partially out of fear and partly out of curiosity.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” denim extends his hand politely and�� extremely flusteredly? He sounds breathless and a touch fearful. I’m used to the energy as the club intimidates first-timers. I take his hand,

“Y/n.” Omitting my last name tends to do me a lot of good.

“Wow. That’s really pretty,”

“It’s nothing special.”

“You’re really pretty.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“So, uh-“ he trails off in search of a conversation starter, “What brings you to the Hollywood Ghost Club?”

“Oh, you know... just uhm- just a night out.”

“Do you come to the Club a lot?”

“You could say that. It’s pretty much a second home.”

“Y/n, darling. There you are!” Luke watches my face drop from its pleasant ‘chatting with guests’ expression, to a relaxed almost-frown.

“Here I am.”

“And I see you’ve met Luke.”

“Yes sir.”

“I trust my daughter is keeping you in good company?”

“Your daughter?” Luke nearly chokes on the mystical air of the Hollywood Ghost Club.

“I did not choke!”

“You choked.” Luke and I argue over the details of how we met, in the backstage/dressing room area of the Club. It feels like lifetimes ago, but it wasn’t. And yet in such a short time, we had become completely infatuated and comfortable with one another. So much so that me wearing a floor-length evening gown and jewels doesn’t make me feel out of place with his jeans and flannel shirt.

Despite my light laughter, Luke’s face is fairly flat. He’s beginning to stare off into space, inattentive from our lull in the conversation.

“Hey, you okay?” He snaps back into reality.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t sound so sure.” After a long moment of hesitation, he begins to speak, not looking up from the scuff on the linoleum flooring.

“Y/n, I have something to tell you.”

“What’s up?”

“The boys and I… We… we have unfinished business…”

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here- why all of us are here.”

“We’re gonna play the Orpheum tonight. At seven.”

“That’s so cool! Tha-” I feel my words trapped in my throat. “That’s your unfinished business... Play the show you never got to before you died.” I feel a well of tears flooding my bottom lash line. They’re not tears of sadness. “That’s your unfinished business. And you’re playing there tonight. Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out?!” I cry out in anguish. Luke’s face falls from a somber reluctance to break the news, to utter heartbreak.

“Y/n, I-”

“I thought we had something.”

“We do!”

“Then why would you wait to tell me until,” I check the analog clock on the wall behind him, “An hour before you go?!”

“I wanted to enjoy our last day together without having to think about it. I didn’t think it’d make you this angry.”

“Well, I am angry, Luke!” My sentence is punctuated by Luke getting zapped by a jolt of electricity. He groans as he tries to remain standing upright. The tears streaming down my face slow from a mix of anger to extreme worry.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Your dad gave us a ‘club stamp’ that first night we left.” My face falls slack as I register what he’s just said. Without another word, I furiously push out of my chair and out of the dressing room. Each stride is larger than the last as I let my legs carry me into the wings of the Club’s circular stage. When I have the familiar silver tinsel entrance in sight, I stop cold in my tracks. In front of me stands Alex, in a dazzling pink coat and diamond-covered oxfords, and Reggie, in a luxurious red vest and coat covered in black floral detailing. In front of them stands my father in his extravagant purple number that’s reminiscent of his outfits he wore when performing.

My frustrated steps carried me into his sight and the volume of my strides drew the two boys’ attention behind them. Luke. Luke stupidly followed me out here, and father merely looks at me and blinks authoritatively before redirecting his gaze onto my boyfriend.

“There you are. I knew I was missing a third musketeer.” With a snap of his fingers, dad has poofed Luke out from behind me and poofs him back in between his bandmates. When he reappears he’s wearing a deep blue suit with a black, tiered chiffon collar and bowtie.

“Isn’t it nice that you’re all here together?” Dad launches into his huge speech, seemingly convincing them to stay at the club. He mentions everything they want can be theirs here like Willie, the glory of performing, connection with an audience. As he speaks, he steps forward and reaches up. I go to yell and reach for Luke, but nothing comes out. There’s no sound coming from my mouth, and the undersurface of my black heels feel frozen solid to the ground. Dad notices my movement and shoots me a look to knock it off. Luke sees and as he moves to turn his head, dad reaches up to keep his focus forward before adjusting Luke’s collar for him. He continues with his big speech as another jolt graces all three boys at once.

“I suggest you accept my offer because the clock is ticking,” he downs one more sip of water, preparing to perform, “Ouch. You know where to find me.”

When he disappears onto the stage, I’m released from my spot and the momentum of my struggling launches me forward. Luke turns around just in time to catch me and once he does he doesn’t release me from his arms.

“Luke, I didn’t-”

“Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He holds me in his arms, one hand on my head to cradle me close to his chest and the other wrapped soothingly around my waist.

“He’s right,” I choke out my words through heavy sobs, “You don’t know that the Orpheum is really your unfinished business. What if it’s not? These jolts could kill you, Luke. For good. My dad may be powerful, but he doesn’t have the power to bring you back from this.”

When I look up, Luke has a heartbroken expression painted all over his face. Before I can speak again, Alex poofs out from beside us. Sharing a worried expression, Luke and I look out onto the stage where dad has him soloing front and center.

“I-I-I, I made a-a promise-”

“To Julie, I know. But if she’s really as wonderful, and as kind, and understanding, and loving as you describe her to be, won’t she understand?” Luke’s expression softens in realization.

“You’re actually considering staying with Caleb?” Reggie asks Luke incredulously. Before he can receive an answer, he, too, is poofed out onto the stage in Alex’s previous spot, to play a jazzy bass solo. Luke looks all around the backstage area, at the audience, between his band members, and at my dad. Finally, his eyes settle on mine. I can’t read his expression; I wish I knew what was going on inside his head.

“Stay.”

Luke and I run out of time when dad calls his name. He’s poofed us apart so I’m frozen against the downstage wall, out of sight from the audience, and Luke is struggling his way onto the stage.

Dad has him soloing for the audience, to create a musical dialogue between the two of them. Luke, conflicted, looks between me and my dad unsure of how to feel. The performer side of him must be loving the high that comes with performing in the club, but the loyal side of him, I can tell, is yearning for Julie.

When the song ends, the three boys share a single look of concern and remorse, no doubt for Julie. I can’t help but feel selfish asking him to stay. It’s not fair for me to ask him to choose between me and her... But that’s not what I’m asking. If all three of them stay here, they don’t risk dying for good. Surely Julie can understand choosing life, or the afterlife rather, over freedom is a rational trade.

Coming to his senses Luke runs off stage.

“Y/n-”

“It’s selfish of me to ask you to stay-”

“I’m staying.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to die, Y/n. If that means I have to play in your dad’s band, fine. But at least we can be together.” Luke runs the pad of his thumb across my cheek to wipe away the tear shed out of joy. Our moment is ended when Alex and Reggie have also returned backstage.

“Boys, if we stay here, we’ll get to live and make music for as long as we want.”

“You said it yourself, we made a promise. To Julie.” Reggie almost looks like he wants to cry.

“If this is what you want- to spend eternity playing jazz solos behind Caleb -I can’t stop you. But I’m not gonna let Julie down. Not again.” Alex searches Luke’s face for any hesitation. When he doesn’t find the change of heart he’s looking for, Alex nods and fidgets with his drumsticks in one hand. The sudden swell of emotion leads the two of them to hug each other tightly; I can’t imagine their pain of knowing they might never see each other again. When they let go, Luke and Reggie share in a hug and the heartache pulls Alex into their hug.

“Can you do me a favor?” Luke asks, sniffling away a few tears. Reggie and Alex nod,

“Anything.”

“Will you tell Julie she’s a star for me, one last time?” A sharp jolt hits the three of them in unison once more; a signal that it’s really time to say goodbye. With sorrowful smiles, Alex and Reggie poof out of the Hollywood Ghost Club for the last time.

When he turns around, Luke’s face is red and puffy from crying and the sight breaks my heart clean in half. I pull him into a hug and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, Luke.”

“I love you, Y/n.”

***

A/n: YOWZA this really made my heart hurt for Julie sm. I love her and if this were canon I’d have actually kermit.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej

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thesublemon · 4 years ago

Text

planning ≠ coherence

I talk a big game about liking coherence in art, and it’s probably clear that I have an apophenic tendency to enjoy textual interpretation. And this might lead people to think that I have a preference for carefully planned and plotted art, or that I look down on the messy and improvisational. But this is actually almost the opposite of the case. Not because I don’t really like coherence, but because artistic coherence is something more complicated than planning, and isn’t even necessarily possible to achieve with planning.

The thing about improvisation, is that at its best it’s about finding the choice that feels right. I listen to jazz more than any other kind of music, and one of the reasons I like it so much is the exhilaration of someone landing on a musical idea that simultaneously makes a song feel bigger and more complete. A solo isn’t fun if it’s just a bunch of disconnected ideas (similar to how whimsy isn’t fun if it doesn’t also “work”). It’s fun if it picks up on the things that the other players are doing, or ideas that showed up earlier in the song, and then makes them feel like they go together. Even if they “go together” in the sense of being coherently discordant, eg repeating ideas that don’t work multiple times. If beauty is fit, then the joy of improv is finding fit in unexpected places.

This goes for narrative too. In long-running stories like comics, book series, and TV shows, much is often made about whether certain choices were planned from the beginning. If things were planned, that’s a reason for praise, and if things weren’t planned, that’s a reason for derision, either towards the showrunners or towards people attempting to interpret the work. Say, “This plot point only happened because an actor wanted to leave the show. Therefore it has no meaning to read into.” But making things up as one goes is not what makes a story lose its plot, so to speak. Making things up is only a problem if the things the artist makes up don’t go with what came before.

In Impro, a very excellent book about the craft of improvisation, Keith Johnstone calls this process of making-things-go-with-what-came-before “re-incorporation”:

The improviser has to be like a man walking backwards. He sees where he has been, but he pays no attention to the future. His story can take him anywhere, but he must still ‘balance’ it, and give it shape, by remembering incidents that have been shelved and reincorporating them.

Johnstone is big on the idea that satisfying narrative depends on a sense of structure, and that reincorporation is one of the most important tactics for creating structure. To paraphrase him, a story where a character runs away from a bear, swims across lake, and finds a woman in a cabin on the other side, and “makes passionate love” to her has no structure. It’s just a series of events. Whereas if the bear then knocks the cabin’s door down and the woman cries out that it’s her lover, then suddenly it feels like a story. Because not only has the bear been reincorporated, it has been linked to the woman. From this perspective, if a story has no sense of reincorporation, or new developments don’t make sense with what came before, then it will feel incoherent, no matter how planned out it was.

I also keep thinking about Paul Bouissac’s discussion of gags and narrative in The Semiotics of Clowns and Clowning. He explains that what makes a scene funny is not whether it strings a bunch of gags together, but how those gags are organized. To use an example from the book, it’s one thing for a clown to pretend to hurt its thumb, and ask for an audience member to kiss it. It’s another thing for it to keep hurting different parts and then finally hurt its groin and act scandalized at the idea that someone might kiss it. Bouissac calls this sort of repetition “anaphor”:

Anaphor is one of the main tools of textual consistency. In linguistics, it designates the use of pronouns or any other indexical units to refer back to another word or phrase in the text. It links together parts of sentences and bridges the grammatical gaps between clauses, which is a consequence of the linearity of language. In rhetoric, anaphors are repetitions of words or structures that build up the cohesion of discourse and create momentum toward a climax. In multimodal communication, words, gestures, objects, or musical tunes can play the same role by reminding the receiver—that is, the spectator in the case of a performance—of signs and events produced earlier in the act.

One of the things that fascinated me about Farscape as a teenager, was that in contrast to other scifi of the time, it made no pretenses of having been planned—unlike say, Babylon 5. Or even shows like The X-Files, Lost, or Battlestar Galactica that gave you the “feeling” of a plan whether or not they had one, or were capable of following through. Farscape felt incredibly coherent, both in terms of theme and plot, but this coherence came about purely on the strength of the writing’s ability to ideate and then reincorporate. It would take someone’s weird costume idea, like the villain having glowing rods that screw inside his head, and snowball that into a whole storyline where the villain is a half breed of one hot-blooded race and one cold-blooded race, and can only stay alive by thermo-regulating the inside of his brain. And then decide that his vendetta against the hot-blooded race has motivated his obsession with the protagonist since the first season. Yet these twists never feel like “ret-conning” in a pejorative sense, because it all feels narratively and thematically sensible. (Unsurprisingly, making the show was described as “more like improv jazz than plotting out a symphony”).

None of which is to say that I dislike planning or polish, either. Stephen King, as a so-called “discovery” writer, famously writes off the cuff, without outlines. As he puts it in On Writing:

You may wonder where plot is in all this. The answer—my answer, anyway—is nowhere. I won’t try to convince you that I’ve never plotted any more than I’d try to convince you that I’ve never told a lie, but I do both as infrequently as possible. I distrust plot for two reasons: first, because our lives are largely plotless, even when you add in all our reasonable precautions and careful planning; and second, because I believe plotting and the spontaneity of real creation aren’t compatible. It’s best that I be as clear about this as I can—I want you to understand that my basic belief about the making of stories is that they pretty much make themselves. The job of the writer is to give them a place to grow (and to transcribe them, of course).

But his best stories feel like whatever bloat might have been generated from this narrative improvisation has then been pared down to what that improvisation was really getting at. And I can’t lie, I get a particular joy from reading or watching something and feeling without a doubt that the artist is in complete control of my experience. It was one of the most gratifying aspects of rewatching The Wire recently: the feeling that the little meanings and foreshadowings I was seeing in each choice were almost certainly intended. Nothing is more satisfying to an apopheniac than feeling like the patterns you see are actually real. And nothing is more annoying than a story that tries to pull some sort of reveal on you (“Dan is gossip girl!” “Angel is Twilight!” “Rey is a Palpatine!”) that doesn’t make any sense because it wasn’t intended from the beginning. Just because those characters existed in the story before, doesn’t make it good reincorporation. So if a story is a story because of structure, then if the choice is between a planned structure and no structure, the former is almost certainly going to be better.

Point is, it’s not really the process that matters. All creativity is improvisational in a sense, because all creativity involves making things up. What matters is how dedicated an artist is to the integrity of their work. If a writer has carefully planned their whole story out, with every twist and every theme clearly in mind, but can’t adapt if they start writing and find out that something they planned doesn’t actually work, that’s one kind of failure mode. The narrative equivalent of designing a perfect castle and then building it on a swamp. On the other hand, if a writer tries to go with the flow, but can’t reincorporate that flow, then that will be another failure mode. To the extent that I respond to improvisational art, it’s because improvisational art is often more attuned to these questions of whether something is moment-to-moment right. But what matters, above all, is the rightness. That’s what defines coherence. Whether there is a sense in the work that it is oriented around something, and whether the choices contribute to that something.

#posts: art #i could've also connected a pattern language to this #and the post about how it's the solution to high modernism #but hopefully the castle-on-a-swamp analogy will encompass that #the philosophy of 'here are things that generally work but also any solutions must be adapted their environment'

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bloody-bee-tea · 5 years ago

Note

For the meme - Wangxian, 23?

23. “Just once.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian yells over the courtyard and Lan Wangji braces himself for when Wei Wuxian will inevitably crash into his side.

It’s barely a minute before he does, his arm around Lan Wangji’s middle and Lan Wangji carries his momentum by neatly taking a step to the side.

He’s long since grown used to Wei Wuxian’s antics.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji greets him and gently pushes him away.

He can’t handle prolongued contact with Wei Wuxian. It makes his self-control weak.

“Lan Zhan, I passed my test!” Wei Wuxian almost yells and then he laughs, so happy and bright, that Lan Wangji can do nothing but stop and stare.

If he could protect one thing in the whole world, it would be this.

“Congratulations,” Lan Wangji tells him and he can’t help the small smile.

He is proud of Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I have to thank you! Without you I would have failed, I know it.”

“Not necessary,” Lan Wangji denies, because he knows Wei Wuxian.

Business is not his strong suit, but he would have managed the course without Lan Wangji’s help as well. Wei Wuxian is stubborn like that, Lan Wangji knows.

“Totally necessary,” Wei Wuxian disagrees. “Let me treat you to something. Dinner? Coffee? What would you like?” Wei Wuxian wants to know, but Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“You don’t have to repay me,” he tells Wei Wuxian, because it was hardly a pain for Lan Wangji to study with Wei Wuxian.

Sure, it was hell on his feelings, because Wei Wuxian is brilliant and clever, and he likes to play with his pen–twirl it around with his fingers–and it’s all very bad for Lan Wangji’s mental health, but Wei Wuxian is a quick study, and despite his insistence that he will never learn that, he contained the information rather quickly, and even made some amazing intuitive leaps.

It was a joy, teaching him.

“Come on, Lan Zhan, something you like. Anything you would like, as a favor. I owe you, you know. Madame Yu gave me a court nod when she saw my grade. I owe you so much.”

Lan Wangji’s brain goes empty with the possibilities that offer contains. Anything. He could ask for anything, and Wei Wuxian would probably do it, because Lan Wangji asked for it, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t go back on his word.

“It’s okay,” Lan Wangji tells him again, and starts to walk away from Wei Wuxian, but he simply follows him and even attaches himself to Lan Wangji’s arm.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines. “Will you leave me hanging? There must be something you want? Something I can do for you? Anything, come on, Lan Zhan, just tell me.”

Lan Wangji stays quiet, but it seems like Wei Wuxian has only started, because he sends a mischieveous smile at Lan Wangji.

“I’ll just stay like this until I get what I want, you know. Good luck explaining this to your uncle. Just one thing. It can’t be that hard to ask for something. Lan Zhan, just ask!”

“A kiss,” Lan Wangji blurts out and the surprise at his words is so strong, even to himself, that they come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the path.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, and he’s staring at Lan Wangji, with big eyes, and Lan Wangji wants to run away and never think of this again.

“What did you say, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, voice small and unsure and Lan Wangji cannot leave him hanging like that.

“A kiss,” he repeats and then, because he knows Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel that way about him–never could with how bright and amazing and good he is–he tacks on: “Just once.”

And Lan Wangji is looking for it; the disgust and disapointment on Wei Wuxian’s face, but it’s still a surprise to see how Wei Wuxian’s face instantly falls.

There’s a pain in his eyes Lan Wangji never wishes him to experience, and he wants to take it back immediately, laugh it off as a joke, tease Wei Wuxian like he is always teasing Lan Wangji.

The words are already on his tongue–don’t, stop, I’ll think of something else, I didn’t mean it–but then Wei Wuxian steps even closer and Lan Wangji loses all coherent thought.

Wei Wuxian is warm as he leans in, and Lan Wangji is helpless against him, is always so helpless in the face of everything Wei Wuxian, so he bends down, just slightly, and brushes their lips together.

It’s unlike everything Lan Wangji has ever experienced and he never wants it to stop. His hands itch to pull Wei Wuxian closer, but he knows he doesn’t have the right–can never forget it even in a situation like this–and so instead he curls them into his pants.

Wei Wuxian sighs against his lips, opening his mouth just barely, before he presses in for real, and oh–this. This is even better.

It’s hot and ground-shattering like a breath of fresh air all at once and then it’s already over

The kiss lasts maybe five seconds, before Wei Wuxian shoves him away, hard, and slaps his hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he says, voice muffled through his palm but Lan Wangji can still hear the desperate edge to his voice, and then he flees.

Lan Wangji can do nothing but stare after him and wonder if he ruined the one good thing in his life with a selfish wish that clearly hurt Wei Wuxian.

He turns around and goes home.

~*~*~

When there’s an insistent pounding on his door, Lan Wangji shoves his head under his pillow. He doesn’t want to see anyone, and he doesn’t want to speak to anyone, either.

But the pounding doesn’t stop and eventually Lan Wangji drags himself out of bed.

He did not expect to find Jiang Cheng on the other side, fist still raised and his knuckles are already red.

“What?” Lan Wangji snaps out, because he is in no condition to deal with Jiang Cheng right now.

“You kissed my brother,” Jiang Cheng says. “You kissed my brother because he owed you, and he’s in our room, crying ever since he came home.”

Lan Wangji blinks against the pain that statement causes and he shrinks in on himself.

“I never meant to hurt him,” he whispers but Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes at that.

“He’s not crying because you took advantage of him,” Jiang Cheng tells him and pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s crying because he’s been in love with you for years, and he thinks this meant nothing to you.”

“Oh,” Lan Wangji breathes out. “It didn’t. Mean nothing to me,” Lan Wangji clarifies and then clears his throat. “I love him. It meant everything to me.”

“Maybe you should tell him that,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug and a small smile and Lan Wangji narrows his eyes at Jiang Cheng, because really, he’s the last person he should take love advice from.

“Like you told my brother yet?” Lan Wangji asks, and Jiang Cheng bristles at the words.

“It’s not the same,” he mutters back. “Wei Wuxian feels the same for you. It’s not the same with Lan Xichen.”

“Stupid,” Lan Wangji tells him and then forces himself to go a little bit softer. “He does. It’s the same,” he promises, because Lan Xichen has been talking about Jiang Cheng for almost as long as Lan Wangji has been pining for Wei Wuxian, and maybe they all deserve to be happy.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. “Then maybe I should–you know, do that. Tell him,” Jiang Cheng mutters but then he fixes Lan Wangji with a look again. “But only if you do the same!”

“I will,” Lan Wangji promises, because just the thought of Wei Wuxian reciprocating his feelings has his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says, and then immediately rushes off.

Lan Wangji gets his phone out of his pants and opens the conversation to his brother.

Put on some pants and put away the self-pity ice cream, you’re getting a visitor.

Rude, is the immediate answer to his message, and then Who’s coming?

Thank me later, Lan Wangji writes back, before he puts the phone away and goes off to get his own happy end.

~*~*~

When Wei Wuxian opens the door, it’s clear that he has been crying, still, even after Jiang Cheng left.

Wei Wuxian blinks a few times at him, before he scrubs a hand over his face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks.

“I’m just–,” he starts, voice cracking halfway through, and Lan Wangji’s heart wants to crack right along with it.

He never meant to do that to Wei Wuxian.

“It meant something to me,” Lan Wangji blurts out, because if what Jiang Cheng said is true, then Wei Wuxian needs to know that immediately. “It meant everything to me.”

There’s a beat of silence before Wei Wuxian whispers “You said just once.”

“Because I thought you didn’t want it. It was already selfish of me to ask, and you looked so shocked, I tried to save it somehow,” Lan Wangji explains, feels horrible wrong-footed with this many words, but it’s important that Wei Wuxian understands. “I love you. If Wei Ying would allow, I’d do it every day. Every hour, even,” Lan Wangji promises, and holds his breath when Wei Wuxian simply stares at him.

“Say it again,” he demands, but his eyes are lighting up, and Lan Wangji instantly feels more at ease.

“I love you. I’d kiss you every day, every hour, if you want,” Lan Wangji repeats and as always, he expects it when Wei Wuxian throws himself at him.

“Lan Zhan, I love you, too. Yes, every day, you have to kiss me every day!” Wei Wuxian calls out with laughter and Lan Wangji solemnly agrees.

It will make both of them happy. It’s not a hardship on him.

“Have to start now,” he then decisively says and lowers Wei Wuxian back on the ground so he can capture his lips in a kiss again.

This one is different; they are both sure of what they want and it shows. It leaves them breathless and with flushed faces and Lan Wangji faintly thinks that maybe they should take this inside.

But then Wei Wuxian leans in again, and all thought leaves Lan Wangji’s head.

Now with a Xicheng continuation

[Prompt taken from this list, but please don’t send in more]

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #pining #getting together #first kiss #hurt/comfort #fluff #with a hint of xicheng #cause that's just who I am as a person #anon #Anonymous

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hvlfwygod · 4 years ago

Text

SALTWATER, FRESHWATER

summary: a bad omen goes unseen, a plan is in motion, a journey is made, someone comes home tw: drowning mention, electrocution, blood, murder, it's a little gross

PART I

He missed surfing. Really surfing. Major had never been fantastic at it (he wiped out more often than he cared to admit) but he loved the battering saltwater air, the roaring waves. The flip in his stomach when he knew the momentum was taking him, those suspended seconds between him and the water, was probably his favorite. Even if it meant he was toppling over, he’d just break the surface and go for it again.

He almost didn’t break the surface, once. When he was ten, he’d lost his balance and the ocean took that as an invitation to eagerly enter his lungs. The crash twisted him over himself and over himself and over himself, the water rushed in his ears. His senses flattened out into white-clad nothing as he tumbled against the sand. He’d opened his eyes again several minutes later, on the shore with a crowd around him, a broken board and a throbbing leg and an inconsolable mother clutching his face.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she’d kept saying. “You weren’t breathing and I thought you were gone.” A week later he was back out there.

To his left, a bird circled in the sky. Wings flared open as it wound around and around and around. Major squinted, as if he could get a better look from his place on the ground. Vulture, he decided. Probably eyeing some prey out in the forest.

This beach was nice, but the waves couldn’t compare. They didn’t have the same bite of danger, and there were hardly enough to scratch the itch that had been forming for the past few weeks. Body surfing wasn’t cutting it anymore. Maybe he should ask Sefa if he could stir up some bombs and outshine him here on Long Island Sound.

His towel hung around his neck and his shirt stuck to his still-wet torso. The afternoon was dipping into a glittering orange evening, and— fuck, he had dinner plans. He’d completely forgotten. Major checked the time on his phone and, prompted by the number he saw there, picked up his pace back to his cabin.

Hindsight was something else. Major wasn’t sure why he thought back to that day; he hardly liked to recall the sound of his mom weeping over his battered form. That day had been lost inside his memory for years, unlocked for some strange reason at the sight of his hands in the swirl of seawater. The sphinx and all that came after had been tucked away, too. He didn’t like to think about difficult things, but just be happy that they were over, that he was here. But hindsight gave him a lot, including the knowledge that the roof hadn’t been a one time thing.

He wasn’t going to think about that now.

Major was already crafting his apology to Ime while he jogged, racing against the last hour or so of sunshine. Slowing him down was the sight of a young woman, hovering near the cabins, visibly distressed. She seemed to be lost, or confused, moving around and around and around, looking for something in an almost aimless circle. And then, she saw him, and her focus snapped back into place.

“Hey!” she called. Major could see her eyes lighting up from several feet away. “Help me, please!”

“Wh... What’s wrong?” he asked as she approached. Once she met him on the path, she grasped his hand like a vice. Major glanced around quickly for any signs of danger, then settled his gaze back onto the woman.

“Can you help me? Please help me,” she begged, tugging his hand, already retracing her steps and pulling him along with her. “My brother is hurt, we were hiking and he fell and I need help carrying him back, please.”

Major blinked, his mind shifting gears as he processed this. “Hang on,” he said despite not slowing down. “We should get a doctor or something if he’s that—”

“There’s no time!” she snapped, sounding almost annoyed with him. “It’s almost dark.” It looked to him like she was about to start crying. “I don’t want to leave him out there in the dark.”

How could he turn her down? Major swallowed. “Okay.”

He let her drag him into the forest. The temperature started to drop the deeper they wove through the trees, the further the sun started to sink. Major felt the chill along his arms, but his hand must have been warm, because he woman didn’t let go. That, or she was just scared and needed something to hold onto. He quickened his pace so he was walking alongside her. “Were you two far?”

Her face was stony, unreadable, and she dropped her hold on him. “Yes.”

Major frowned, not sure what to make of this. She seemed to be shaking, her voice waved with an emotion he couldn’t place but the look on her face was... determined?

“He’s gonna be okay,” he reassured her. “I’m guessing it’s his leg if he can’t get back?”

She was staring straight ahead, squinting into the sunset. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I can carry him, no sweat. Don’t worry.”

“Let’s just hurry,” was all she mumbled in return, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. Her strides became longer, quicker, pushing her slightly ahead of him again. Major just nodded mutely (though she wasn’t looking at him) and continued, this time staying a few steps behind.

A small part of him always knew, he was pretty sure. He didn’t have the words for it, the acceptance for it, but he knew. Bruises sank down to nothing in a matter of hours. Breaks, sprains, scraped knees, they were all the same. It went a step beyond the gifts of being a demigod. Knowing now in concrete terms, if this were him, stuck in a forest of expanding shadows, would he even be scared?

Major thought again about his mom, her arms tangled around his shoulders. He thought about the way his heart seemed to scramble back into beating while the ocean spilled out of him as he coughed and coughed and coughed. He thought about waking up on that roof, the rush of water pouring from his ears, how it felt like he was ten, all over again. Such different ways to die, but his throat had burned all the same.

Major thought, too late, about texting Ime.

Dammit. He really needed to get his head on straight. He pulled out his phone with a sigh. At least he had a better excuse for being late.

I’m soooooo sorry, I’m helping someone out. will be late :(

His service was spotty this far into the woods, so his text took almost a full minute to send. And it took while for him to get Ime’s reply: major bummer, but only a minor offense (:

Despite the stiff, serious air between him and this stranger, Major smiled.

They walked, for a long time. Major checked— it’d been nearly twenty minutes of walking. How far had they gone, and why had it seemed like she’d slowed down? Major realized he was looking back at her now, just slightly, to make sure he was going in the right direction.

She refused to look at him, but he noticed a nervous twitch in her hands every time he turned his eyes onto her.

Finally, finally, she pulled ahead. “It’s right up here.” Major followed eagerly. The sun still had a half hour of brilliance left, but under such a thick canopy of leaves it hardly mattered. He wanted to get out of here before the darkness made it impossible.

But when they turned into the clearing, there was nothing. A stream curled past them and forked in two, populated with tiny fish, a squirrel bolted up a tree, but otherwise, it was just them and the darkening sky.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “Shit, mate, you think he moved on his own?”

“Must have,” she replied, her voice stiff. She walked ahead and stepped over the stream, her shoulders squaring, as if something bad was on the other side. Major trailed behind, yanking his phone back out and turning on the flashlight. Deep red light illuminated the bark, and his additional light did not bring much else.

A terrible quiet seemed to come over them. Major knew he was reading too much into it, but it sounded as though even the water had stopped gurgling as loudly.

The woman pulled a cassette player out of her jacket, taking a deep, slow breath. Major thought that was supremely odd, but he didn’t pause to ask about it. “I’m gonna search downstream a bit. Want to meet back in ten?”

“There’s no... You don’t have to,” she said as she turned to face him, walking to the edge of the water, holding the player out like she was giving it to him. Major frowned, staring at it, then at her hand, pressing play—

A shock erupted at his abdomen and spread across his torso, down his arms and his legs. Major was too stunned to do anything more than grunt before his jaw locked and his muscles went rigid, his heart crashing out of rhythm. It hurt in an awful, indescribable way, and it burned, and when he crumpled to the dirt it felt as though he was going to vibrate out of his own body. Major felt the impulse to scream and thrash, nerves sparking through his brain and limbs, but it was like he forgot how, like everything stopped working all at once.

His last coherent thought was that it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. He wanted to shout to the woman that it didn’t matter, please stop, he couldn’t die. But as the shockwave screamed through to his bone, the world seemed to melt away. All he saw was a monster’s jaw snapping open, all he felt was a wave swallowing him, all he heard was a rush of water in his ears.

PART II

Up to this point, Linnaea had been very surgical in her approach to murder. What were the exact biological functions she would need to cease in order to turn off the brain, and how quickly could she get there? The procedure was purely biological, almost mechanical in nature, and had nothing to do with the character of the person inhabiting the body.

In fact, she had been very careful to avoid thinking of him as being a person at all. In all her notes, Linnaea had referred to it as the “body” or the “vessel” or other things of that nature.

How can I cause minimal damage to the body? How can I ensure that the vessel is completely shut down?

Linnaea gripped her fingers tightly around the cassette player in her hand. She could feel the vibrations of the weapon pulsing in her palm. It was a special commission, unlike any other weapon here in New Athens—a concealed stun gun with a barbed tips capable of delivering 1,000 milliamps of electricity. Linnaea had hoped for higher. A more powerful current would mean a more definitive result. She wasn’t trying to torture the body after all, she only needed to create a vacancy. But any higher, Fionn explained, and they’d have to switch to a much bigger weapon. Linnaea couldn’t afford to lose the advantage of surprise. Keep it small, she instructed, and I’ll hope for the best.

Linnaea released her finger from the trigger and held her breath. For a moment, she only heard the babble of the streams that forked around her.

She waited.

Then, a murmur.

Linnaea hissed. The moaning started to evolve into a pleading whine, a half-hearted please… Pl…

Linnaea tuned it out. There’s no good in listening, she reminded herself. Just lead the cattle to the slaughter.

Linnaea pushed the button again. In her head, she started counting down slowly from thirty. She focused only on the numbers and not the gurgling sounds erupting from his throat.

Twenty-five, twenty-four...

Somewhere miles beneath her feet, her brother was drowning in a river. So soon, he would taste sweet reprieve.

Nineteen, eighteen...

A sharp crack rang out from the ground in front of her. It sounded like something bent way out of place. That would need to be fixed later. Fuck.

Twelve, eleven...

Linnaea had made every effort to learn as little about this person as she could. She made no note of the people he sat next to when he ate. She kept her headphones on when she eavesdropped on his conversations so she wouldn’t have to hear him laugh. She kept a hazy account of what buildings he entered and exited for the last few weeks, only holding onto a general idea of the roads he took and when. Linnaea was so good at disposing of anything that wasn’t absolutely critical that she had gotten overconfident in the days leading up to this moment and let her guard down.

Five, four...

Linnaea bumped into him on the way to the forest. He didn’t even look her way, just kept on walking after a nonchalant apology. The moment was brief, but lasted long enough for Linnaea to get an earful of his friend call out, “Hey, Major, look at this...”

Two, one.

Linnaea held her breath. That had to be enough.

She waited.

And waited.

A gurgling whimper.

Linnaea let out her breath as a tear fell onto her cheek. How was he still alive? How could anybody hold on this long?

Before Fionn had started making the weapon, he had asked Linnaea about her fighting style. “Medium range,” she explained. “I’m good with throwing daggers and I’m fine with a sword. But I don’t like it when they get too close. I’m not so great with close combat.”

“Don’t worry. I have an idea,” Fionn responded with a grin.

A few days later, when Linnaea came to pick up the weapon, he pointed at the big red record button. For close combat, he explained. When you want it to end.

Linnaea stepped forward, the crunch of dead leaves underfoot echoing the sound of Major’s bone breaking just a moment ago. Linnaea shivered. She knelt to the ground in front of him, trying her best to avoid his gaze and tune out his weak sobs. She pressed the big red button and two prongs shot out of the bottom of the cassette player.

Linnaea wanted it to end.

With both hands clutched around the little metal box, she plunged the prongs into Major’s chest. 1,000 milliamps straight to his heart.

Linnaea didn’t bother counting down. She just knelt there with her finger pressed down on the button and waited.

And waited.

PART III

The smell of burnt flesh greeted Jordan before Linnaea did, and he pressed the sleeve of his sweatshirt into his mouth to keep from gagging. His eyes watered as they found Linnaea, and he made sure to breathe through his mouth as he looked down at the body on the ground. Another wave of nausea rolled through him as his mind connected the sight, the smell, and the sound of Linnaea crying, and his hands shook as the blood rushing through his veins felt like an electric current. Run, his body coaxed him, get away while you can. He tilted his head back, looking up at the trees as he took a few grounding breaths, whispering a few “fuck”s with each exhale.

He continued to breathe out of his mouth, focusing on the sound of the river rather than the fact that he was now probably an accomplice to whatever had taken place before he arrived. He dropped his basket and ran his hands through his hair, almost dizzy as he tried to muscle memory his way through the ritual.

This was different from chalking things out on his floor, and different still from carving sigils into the ground for a bird. There was no sparrow to place in the center of the circle, but a body to teleport into it. He didn’t look at his face, not wanting to know.

He told Crinitus to find north as he had before, told him to dig, poured out water, lit incense. As the circle was cast, he wondered if the smell was gone, but didn’t chance a breath. It was close to dark now, and he looked at Linnaea once more, wondering if he was as pallid as she was. If he didn’t do this, he told himself, there would be a dead body with no spirit in it at all. This man would have died for nothing. Out loud, he said, “I need your blood. Just a drop. From your finger or something. I can use the shit I have, but yours is…” He trailed off since she was already agreeing.

From the basket he had brought with him, he pulled out a jar where he’d drained a steak before his roommate was going to eat it, and as he held it out to Linnaea, he felt very stupid for not considering that this entire event was probably going to make him nauseous. He looked away as she contributed to the concoction of blood, honey, other herbs and oils, then poured the entire thing out at the dead man’s feet. He crouched, then dropped to his knees before the body as he bowed his head and prayed to Hekate Chthonia, Hegemonen, Empylios, and Pammetor, opening the gate to a world beyond their own.

Jordan didn’t seem to notice that the lines he’d etched into the ground around the body were glowing a dark purple, or the fact that black drool dripped from his dog’s mouth. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice anything happening around him at all as he leaned forward, pressing his hands into the mix of blood and earth.

It felt as though he was sinking into the earth, some invisible weight pulling at his knees, and then he was standing, his dog’s leash in his hand. Linnaea was no longer beside him, but the image of the dead man flickered at his feet for a moment. He hadn’t learned his name, hadn’t even looked at him; he wouldn’t be able to find him. Besides, there was someone else he was looking for.

Lucien. He called out, pulling open the ground as though there was a cellar door there. Lucien. He was walking down stairs, the way illuminated by a purple glow coming from Crinitus, and soundtracked by the bell that he had attached to the dog’s collar. Lucien. Things were beginning to stir now. He realized that his hands were coated in the blood mixture when drops of it slid from his fingers and turned to wisps that evaporated into the air. Lucien. Spirits reached for him as he called out, but Crinitus kept them from making contact, snapping at them with jagged black teeth and glowing eyes. Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

Jordan wished that he knew what Lucien looked like past the description Linnaea had given him. This shortcut to the underworld was much longer than he remembered it being. The bird had been right there, ready for him to pluck up and guide back to its body. He was afraid of being down here for too long. He knew he wasn’t actually in the underworld, or at least, not physically, but some part of him had to be, and that part was growing cold, exhaling breaths that he could see, being reached out to by spirits that weren’t the one he had been asked to retrieve. Lucien, where are you?

He called out once more, and was pulled forward violently by Crinitus, who was barreling towards water that Jordan knew he should go in. His dog knew who they were looking for, and when he reached the bank of the river, he realized that it didn’t matter that he didn’t know what Lucien looked like, because the massacred eidolon was barely recognizable at all. His stomach finally gave in, and he doubled over as he retched, dirt pouring from his mouth instead of bile. He was down here for far too long, but he wasn’t going to give up now.

“Lucien!” He screamed over the river, and the spirit seemed somewhat responsive to this. Jordan dropped to his knees, ripping away at the weeds coating his arms. He tugged at him, trying to pull him from with water without letting the lapping waves splash him. “Lucien, we have to go,” he said urgently, kicking at the spirits that were tugging at his jeans, his dog too busy tugging at the man’s shirt to ward them off. Some laughed at his attempts, taunting him, telling him that he was too far gone, he ignored them. Others pulled at his hair and clothes, still jeering, or asking them if they could tag along. When they touched him, it was like ice on skin, and he flinched, desperate as he pleaded with Lucien, daring to move further into the mud. “Linnaea is waiting for you.”

Finally, this seemed to mobilize Lucien, and he was out of the water, staggering to his feet, and Jordan retched again as his legs, bloated and black, bowed under his weight. Lucien took a step forward, and Jordan took his hand to guide him, convincing himself that it was not skin sliding off under his touch, that this was all metaphysical, that none of this was real, that the body was in the ground, but he was doubled over again, spitting up more dirt. He pulled him away despite this, almost frenzied as he followed the sound of the bell, now distant, relying on the pull of his dog’s leash as his eyes began to cloud over. And then Jordan was on his hands and knees, in the woods, Linnaea at his side, a cadaver in front of him. He was shaking, unsure if the spell had worked at all, but all he could do was hope as he dropped to the earth, cold, caked in mud and sweat and blood, out of power, unconscious.

PART IV

Lucien didn’t know what he was waiting for. He was in a pool of bloody river water, his legs submerged, his arms overgrown with damp weeds, his ruined stomach a home for worms and rot. Ghosts from upstream passed him by, curious, crawling onto the banks beside him and watching as he sank into the mud. How much time had passed since he saw her last, since he moved last? Being dead made it so hard to tell.

Lucien didn’t know what he was looking for. Perhaps she had already come. (He was too dead to remember her name, but he grasped onto the memory of her voice saying I’ll make this right.) Maybe he missed it. The current slowly ate him, but still he waited, hoping he wasn’t too far gone to make it back.

Lucien!

Something alive said his name. Lucien’s eyes— hazy, half-opened, coated in a layer of film— flickered around in his soft skull. Weeds fell away in clumps.

A pull on his arms, sliding him forward and out of the water. Cold hands gripped at his face, his cave of a torso, wrapped themselves around his legs. Lucien, we have to go. Linnaea is waiting for you.

A flash of heat went across his back, like the name injected the smallest scrap of life into him, and he fumbled into standing. A hand that felt more solid than the rest pulled away at his skin, and his legs were too ruined to walk, but he moved anyway. A spray of dirt came out of his guide’s mouth, and then they were going, away from the river. In a few short seconds they had gone farther than he ever managed alone, back when he was still a fresh spirit and not decomposing.

The path illuminated in front of him, as if it had been there all along, just out of reach. Before Lucien’s eyes was a tunnel of roots, a staircase, an unfamiliar forest. Ghosts were at his heels, his shoulders, pulling him backward, but as he got closer he shed more pieces of the river. It formed a little stream in his wake, like the water had forked off into a new current, about to flood out into the land of the living.

Then, he saw her, and it was like seeing the moon peek over the crest of a hill— his sister was right there, his sister— and Lucien ran, suddenly desperate, suddenly remembering why he had waited for so long. With every step, he felt a little more alive. His stomach knit itself back together, his bones took on a weight. Ghosts still clung to him as he passed the threshold, only halfway evaporating—and then, all at once, a painful, awful crash into flesh. Lucien felt himself thrashing inside a body that was not his, scrambling for an anchor, grappling off a desperate, shoving force that was trying to push him out.

Nerves turned on like little starbursts across his skin. A name that was not his came to him, and this body hurt. A burn flared over this chest, a broken shoulder blade, the heart groaning inside a trembling ribcage. The jaw clicked as Lucien forced it open.

He was here, but it was wrong. There were fractured spirits inside this body with him, carried in on Lucien’s back and stuffed inside the bones. Pieces of hands, eyes, heads, kneecaps, teeth, an assortment of parts all shuffling in here with him.

And another singular, whole spirit, the one who never fully died, fighting to take back control. A life that was not his flashed before his eyes, like dying in reverse.

Lucien?

He opened his eyes— these were his eyes now— and saw her. Major’s voice creaked out of him. “Linn… aea.” It sounded wrong, and the spirit inside him wept.

Linnaea.

A horrible pressure built inside his skull, and for a split second, all he could hear was a distant plea. Get out, get out, I’m not dead.

Lucien tried to sit, but being alive was too much all at once. He couldn’t move, not yet. His body shuddered, and when he turned his head and coughed, worms spilled from his lips. A creek babbled by, to his left. Linnaea, he repeated, the thought coming out like a sob— he wasn’t sure who it was that was crying.

Lucien.

But it hardly mattered. None of the flaws of this vessel mattered, not when he could hear his sister’s voice, ringing in his mind, saying his name back.

#saltwater freshwater #sp: major #major #sp: lucien #lucien #major x linnaea #majorlinnaea1 #major x jordan #majorjordan1 #lucien x jordan #lucienjordan1 #lucien x linnaea #lucienlinnaea5

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feral-space-possum · 6 years ago

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Close to You [Lifetane]

Game: Apex Legends

Ship: Lifeline x Octane

Idk there’s some light pining in it from Octane or something, idk what to put.

“I know you can fix this on your own,” Ajay’s annoyance was more for show than anything. Octavio knew this. He knew she would rather he come to her over something silly than end up without a working prosthetic—that didn’t mean she was going to be all rainbows and sunshine about it though. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy scraping years off of my life trying to guess what kind of,” She shook her head with a sigh as she tried to find the correct word to describe his actions. “ridiculous schemes and stunts you’ve been trying to pull off.”

“Don’t tell me your one of those ‘here for a long time, not a fun time’ people, Amiga.” Octavio retorted with a laugh. While Ajay worked on one of his prosthetic legs, he propelled himself with the remaining prosthetic leg in a rolling chair. It was their compromise, otherwise, he’d be hopping around on one leg out of boredom, something Ajay said was dangerous and annoying. If it was anyone other than Ajay, he wouldn’t accept the compromise, the chair was too slow, too bulky trying to careen around corners as he tried to make the time Ajay spent repairing his leg fun.

She wasn’t wrong when she had stated he could repair it, but…he enjoyed messing with the combat medic. She always had some sort of retort for his nonsense, but in the end, he knew she would have his back. You couldn’t buy that kind of friendship and trust for a million dollars.

Octavio pushed off of a wall with his remaining leg to give himself momentum, careening along Ajay’s workstation in her home, before coming to a halt right in front of the table she had all of her equipment laid out on. Bits and pieces of his leg lay in the middle.

“So tell me, Doc,” Octavio made a show of being all up in the business of what Ajay was doing. Resting his chin on his hand as he looked up at her. “How bad is it? Is the leg going to make it?”

Ajay pretended to be mulling it over, putting down one of her tools to stroke her chin as if lost in thought over this conundrum. “I don’t know. We may have to amputate….” She paused for dramatic effect, “Your head from your neck.” A wicked, joking grin covered her face.

Octavio let out a faux-shocked gasp, partly going along with Ajay’s bit and partly to hide the fact that her smiling face was a sight to behold all on its own. “As exciting as that sounds, don’t I need those two connected to each other?”

“Hm, one way to find out for sure.” She picked up the tool once more as she returned to her repairs. “Either I advance medicine in a shocking way or find a way to finally keep you still and out of my things. I call that a win-win.”

“So harsh!” Octavio spun in the chair, just to do something. He enjoyed being close to Ajay, but damn, that didn’t mean his craving for excitement was magically cured thanks to their proximity. Life didn’t work like that, and he definitely didn’t want it to. “I think I want a second opinion.”

“You also need a major dose of Adderall.” She retorted. “There’s your second opinion.”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t know anything about medicine and that you just lied to me throughout our entire friendship just to be able to build and work on my legs.”

“Yes, I played the perfect long con.” Ajay stopped what she was doing to stare at Octavio with a raised brow. How she managed to keep her voice level and face straight was a feat in and of itself. “I knew that one day, you would perform a stunt so daring it would cost you your legs. Then decided, ‘yes, I want to fill my days with fretting over the oh-so-famous Octavio Silva instead of getting work done for ventures to frontier planets’. You found me out.”

It took him a moment to get over the fact his voice sounded a lot better being said by her than anyone else before he continued speaking. The wheels in his mind never stopped going full throttle, but Ajay had a way of making them slowing for just a split second in a way others could never achieve.

He laughed to cover his slight embarrassment at the way Ajay seemed to knock him just slightly off-kilter without seeming to try or even realizing it. He tapped his left temple, “I see through your lies of having a medical license.”

“And yet you still let me patch you up and repair your prosthetics. Maybe it was you who just wanted to spend time with me since, supposedly, I have no real medical knowledge.”

“In your dreams, Amiga.” A paltry retort, usually he was able to shoot back with something much more devastating. Something that could keep their banter going for a while longer, but there she was, making his brain go off the rails just long enough that he couldn’t form a full, coherent sentence other than some lukewarm ‘in your dreams’. What, was he five?

If Ajay noticed the lukewarm response, she didn’t comment. Her attention was once again focused completely on the leg on the table. From the look of it, she was almost done. Part of Octavio was glad, he could escape the scene of his embarrassing reply relatively unscathed, but also that meant he’d no longer have an excuse to bother Ajay in her place of residence.

Knowing himself, that wouldn’t remain the case for long. He’d do some sort of stunt and end up needing her help again….well, need wasn’t the truth. Want, fit better. But what kind of friendship was that? Constantly asking for her help was bound to get annoying. But he wanted to see her, though their interests weren’t always aligned. The most daring thing she’d done that he had personally seen was using his jump pad in the midst of a firefight in the games to get the high ground for just a moment. He remembered she’d commented about that fight, thinking her stomach was going to go through her knees after the games had concluded. Still, he needed something perfect, something that didn’t revolve around the games or something being wrong with his prosthetics.

“I’m done. You can finally go back to raising hell for others, instead of just me. I know you like having an audience.” Ajay hooked her foot around the supporting column of the chair Octavio was sitting on, pulling him close enough that she could reattach the prosthetic for him.

He was going to be caught dead complaining about it.

He didn’t slow down for anyone, he just happened to be lucky that Ajay could keep up with him—in a certain sense of the word. She seemed dead set against using his stim to make herself faster in battle. Her loss.

He watched, barely breathing, as she leaned forward to reattach the leg. Her brows furrowed and, if he wasn’t intent on not ruining the moment and their current proximity, he’d tease her over the lines between her eyebrows and claim she looked old or something. Classic.

“Do you reattach all of your patients’ limbs for them, or just your favorite ones?” Shit. He couldn’t manage to go five minutes without making some sort of stupid comment. He’d tried. Still managed to ruin it.

Ajay rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. “Oh, you consider yourself one of my favorite patients, huh?”

“Of course! What’s not to consider me a favorite over?”

“The fact that you have called me at three in the morning over your prosthetics repeatedly.”

Well, yeah……he could concede that point—but he wasn’t going to. “Just keeping you on your toes. Who needs a solid, what is it, four hours of sleep, anyway?”

“I’m surprised you are shooting for four hours.”

“Oh, I’m not! But my fans say I should. And then they go and say that’s not close to the amount you’re really supposed to get. Amateurs. Who needs that much sleep to function?”

Ajay pinched the bridge of her nose. This man was a trainwreck. “Technically, you need eight. Yes, you, Octavio Silva.”

“Hm, sounds fake.”

Ajay snorted, rolled her eyes, and made a shooing motion with her hand. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with that conversation. It’d be more likely she could convince an enemy team in the games to give up and let her squad come in first, which was to say: impossible. “Get out of here, before I learn any more about your horrible sleep schedule that causes me actual, physical pain.”

He gave an exaggerated salute, hopping up from the chair. He gave the leg an experimental bend at the knee, kicked it forward, before seeming satisfied with your work. “What do you know, maybe you weren’t just in it for the long con after all.”

Ajay tried to look annoyed, she really did, but while she managed to narrow her eyes at him, it was obvious she was fighting back a smile and failing miserably. “Don’t you have some fans to impress?”

“Always.” Too bad she didn’t seem to be one of them.

#lifetane #that's the ship name right?#idk man. my writing is bad but i wanted to post this #first time writing for this ship.#first time posting writing online like this since high school #freh writes

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thesmellofstorms · 6 years ago

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Elu Boarding School AU part 3/?

The chapter could probably do with some proof-reading, but I thought I'd post it now since we're all in dire need of fluff today ah ah. I hope you'll enjoy ;)

“Lucas…”

Lucas was being shaken, and he could hear his name being called repeatedly in a soft voice. He opened his eyes slowly and the first thing he saw was Eliott’s face, which was really close to his own. Lucas could think of worst things to wake up to.

“Mmh…”

He wasn’t fully functional yet, and coherent speech was not on the table for now.

“You’re going to be late for class if you don’t get up right now” Eliott informed.

Lucas was up in a second, as soon as Eliott’s words had reached his sleep-addled brain. He checked the time and noticed it was already fifteen to eight. He would have to skip breakfast, which was tragic. He had no time for a shower either, but it didn’t matter as much: he’d take one in the afternoon after class. He took the first items on the piles of clothes that were in his cupboard and changed in front of Eliott, he had no time to lose.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you earlier, I started getting worried by seven thirty, but then I thought maybe your first class was at nine so I checked on your schedule, sorry about that by the way, but it was right here on your desk. It says you start at eight, but I thought the teacher might have rescheduled or something. Still woke you up, just to be sure.”

“Well I’m lucky you did!”

Lucas put his hoodie on and then brushed his teeth at the sink which was in a corner of their room. After, he took his backpack and put his biology book in it. He hoped he didn’t need anything else. He had no time to think about it.

“See you later”, Lucas had already opened the door and had a foot in the corridor already when Eliott called his name to hold him back.

“Your hair is all over the place” he explained, before he put both his hands in Lucas’ hair and tried to tame it at the best of his abilities. Lucas froze and didn’t move a finger until Eliott’s hands left him.

“There, perfect. Off you go.”

“Thanks.” Lucas replied before clearing his throat. Then, he regained momentum and was out the door in a matter of seconds.

When Lucas went out of the classroom after first period, Eliott was there, and he handed a sheet of paper to him.

“Your biology homework”.

Lucas’ eyes widened. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten his damn biology homework even though he had worked on in until late last night (because, of course, he had ended up finishing it after watching a movie with Eliott instead of before, which meant he had gone to bed late, hence his hectic morning).

“You’re a life saver, man.”

He was so grateful he could have hugged Eliott.

“No problem. I’ve got to go, I have class in five minutes.”

“Sure…” Lucas had class too. Biology, in fact. Eliott had been right on time. “See you tonight.”

During the break, Lucas was so hungry that he had to resort to eating one of his precious chocolate bars even though he was with the guys. He ended up giving one to each of them, and he then ate a second one, because these things weren’t very filling, albeit delicious, and Lucas really was hungry. That was why he should never skip breakfast. Now he only had two Nougattis left, and that was truly devastating.

At lunch, Lucas, Yann, Arthur and Basil ended up at the same table as Chloé and one of her friends. Lucas would have preferred avoiding her, but there had been no other seats left, so his plans had gone out the window.

Surprisingly, Eliott was there, for once, sitting at the table right next to theirs, with Alex and a few girls from their class. Lucas had noticed him immediately upon reaching his table, and Eliott had noticed him too. He had smiled and winked at Lucas, making him nearly drop his tray, as he had tripped on his own feet. Thankfully, he had managed to right himself and the tray he was carrying at the last moment.

While they were eating, they mainly talked about the bar of chocolate and the red rose Chloé had apparently found in her locker this morning. She kept staring at Lucas as she spoke, making him fear she thought they came from him. He had nothing to do with it, and he certainly didn’t want to get any credit, because it could only mean more attention from Chloé. This was the last thing he needed.

The guys brought it up again during their afternoon break, asking Lucas if he was Chloé’s ‘secret admirer’ (where were they? In some soap opera?).

“Really? Are you really asking me this?”

Lucas rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if his friends even knew him at all.

“I was sure it wasn’t you. You’re not romantic enough.” Arthur said.

Lucas, feeling offended though he didn’t really know why, opened his mouth so he could reply but he ended up closing it without saying a word, two seconds later (which was the time it took him to understand he had no counter-argument).

“I think it might be Eliott.” Yann said.

Lucas frowned.

“Why would you say that?” He asked. He didn’t see why Eliott would be interested in Chloé, he wasn’t in the same grade, and Lucas had never even seen them talk to each other.

“Well, he kept throwing glances in her direction at lunch. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“No, it can’t be him. Have they even met?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve been spying on them.” Yann replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Lucas tuned them out, imagining Eliott and Chloé together. He had to stop almost immediately: it felt far too weird.

After their last class, Lucas went to his room directly so he could get his things and then finally go take a shower.

Each shower was divided in two parts: the shower cubicle itself, and then a space in which you could change, which was separated from the cubicle by a curtain. It made it easier to get dressed without getting your clothes wet, which was nice… however it also made it far easier for your stupid friends to steal your clothes while you were showering so you had to leave the bathroom stark naked, which was the opposite of nice.

It had happened to Lucas, and countless other boarders, many times, so he wasn’t exactly surprised when he exited the shower to find out his clothes were gone. However, he was exasperated, and would have loved to be able to strangle Basile. He was sure it was his idea. It generally was.

It was also his fault, though. Why did he tell them he was going to the showers? It had been such a stupid move, he couldn’t believe he was still making rookie mistakes like that after more than a year spent at boarding school.

Luckily, ten minutes after he had finished his shower, as he was still refusing to get out despite the fact he was freezing his ass off by staying there naked and wet, Lucas heard someone come into the room.

“Er… hi? Who’s there?”

“Alexis… Who’s asking?”

Lucas sighed from relief. Alexis was a nerdy guy from his year. He was usually nice, so he’d probably agree to help him.

“It’s Lucas. Can you find Eliott for me and ask him to come here with some clothes and a towel please? My dumb friends stole my stuff. Again.”

“Sure… what do I get out of it, though?”

Lucas rolled his eyes even though Alexis couldn’t see him. Great, now even the nice nerdy guys asked for compensation.

“Er… A Nougatti?” He asked, praying it would work so he could get out, and also that it wouldn’t work so he could keep his precious candy even though he’d still be stuck here and probably catch pneumonia or something before someone found him.

“Make that two, and we have a deal.”

“Damn, dude, you drive a hard bargain. But okay.” Lucas agreed, even if it broke his heart. He had to choose the lesser of two evils right now.

Alexis went out and Eliott arrived about five minutes later, saving Lucas for the third time that day. Lucas could have kissed him.

“Thank God you came. You’re my official saviour from now on.”

“That’s fine by me.” Eliott said, as he passed Lucas his things through the curtains. Even if he couldn’t see him, Lucas swore he could hear his smile in his voice.

He got dressed quickly as his roommate waited for him, and once he was out of the dressing-room, Eliott looked at him weirdly. He was going to ask why, but Eliott beat him to the punch by talking of his own volition.

“Damn, Lucas, your lips turned blue.”

“Well yeah, it’s freezing in this damn bathroom.”

They got back to their room, and Lucas took his last chocolate bars from his bag.

“Ouch, and now you have to give two Nougattis. That’s tough.” Eliott sympathised.

“Yeah, and they are the last one.”

Lucas pouted. He sounded like a five-year old whose toy had just been taken from him, but that was also how he felt, so it was fitting, at least.

He left again to deliver the goods to Alexis’ room. Alexis immediately gave one to his own roommate. He was taking Lucas’ sweets from him, but still, Lucas had to admit he was a nice guy, sharing the reward with his friend even though the guy had nothing to do with it.

Lucas stayed a few minutes to chat, but his teeth started clicking, since his body warmth still hadn’t got back up, so he excused himself and retreated to his room. He wanted to burry himself under his comforter and not move for at least two hours.

When he came in, he found a steaming cup of hot chocolate on his desk. Apparently, Eliott had gone to the cafeteria to get Lucas something warm while he had been talking to Alexis.

Lucas was speechless for several seconds, not knowing how to express his gratitude.

“Eiott, you are the best. For real. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, it was no problem. I needed coffee anyway, I have a philosophy paper to write and it’s going to get messy.”

Eliott was trying to downplay his gesture, but Lucas would take none of that. It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for him in a very long time.

“If I can help in anyway, just tell me. I suck at philosophy, but I can go get you as many cups of coffee as you want, oh and snacks too. Snacks are important.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer.” Eliott replied with a smile. He took a sip from his cup of coffee and watched Lucas do the same with his hot chocolate.

Lucas didn’t know why Eliott was so present all of a sudden, but he certainly wouldn’t complain if that was how things went from now on.

#SKAM France #Elu #Lucas Lallemant #Eliott Demaury #Boarding School AU #fanfic #part 3 #fluff

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ironeyedkiller · 4 years ago

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Repercussions

JM: *Bonded male instincts are complete bullshit. Fuck the Scribe Virgin for ever making this hell a thing. Oh hey, V’s father already did that, didn’t he? Kind of like he went and fucked my mate. So what if we never got mated, it doesn’t change the way I want to strangle Vishous every time I see him, from as far away as possible. Before I leave the room so I don’t die trying to kill him. Rhage had the history of sleeping with mated females, but Vishous? No, his rep is all about hardcore, whips, chains, wax and my vanilla ass has no clue what else. God, I hope Xhex made him bleed. No, wait, I hope she didn’t. I hope they both hated it. Almost a month my brain has been running around these tracks. And tonight, I got sidelined. Pulled from rotation, but staying at home is out of the question.*

Xhex: [I should have expected this. I know how bonded males get, but the grid that lands on my lawn takes me by surprise nevertheless. It's not the lust that's a shock, it's the boiling rage. The explanation is obvious, but what are the odds that @VishousBDB_ would somehow end up where John Matthew could pick up my scent? Clearly, pretty fucking high. Realistically, I should have expected this a while ago. I know my cabin is set up to keep any vampire from materializing inside, but I wouldn't put it past John to rip the place apart. It would probably be smart of me to put some real clothes on, but I don't feel like rebuilding my home. Growling low, I pull the door open, crossing my arms over my chest as I place myself firmly in the center of the entrance.] What are you doing here, John?

JM: *Goddamned biology. All it takes is seeing Xhex standing in front of me in a sports bra and panties, and my anger disappears, overwhelmed by my lust. In spite of those shiny barbed metal bands around her thighs. Groaning, I shift around, trying to make room for the erection behind my fly. Fuck. Did Vishous see her like this? No way. No way. Fuck that. He probably saw her naked. Gloriously. Fucking. Naked. Those cilices of hers probably helped him get off. Oh hey, lucky me, there’s the anger that brought me to this door. Pinning the image of her riding V to the front of my brain, I step in close and mouth the words, not bothering to sign. “What do you think?”*

Xhex: [Oh yeah, that mental visual tells me all I need to know about how close the two males got. And how low an opinion this one has of me. Then again, if the idea of having sex with me wasn’t utterly repulsive to Vishous, who knows what might have happened?] Jesus, John, I didn’t fuck him. [Scanning the male up and down, my body heats, in spite of the fact that I know I should tell him to leave. Pissed off, possibly drunk, and definitely aroused is a distinctly dangerous combination. It doesn’t look like he’s injured at all, and he’s obviously not dead.] Did you attack him?

JM: *Xhex is blocking me better than any door. I’d rip down a door, but fucking bonding keeps me from being able to hurt this female. Gnashing my teeth, I take a half step back, exactly far enough to sign right in her face. 《I wanted to. I almost did. Why was your scent all over him?》

Xhex: [I exhale slowly, biting back every nasty thing I am tempted to say to drive him away. The smartass in me wants to answer with sarcasm, and let him think the worst, but he deserves better. I never gave any explanation why I left, but running doesn’t seem to have deterred John Matthew. Maybe a little brutal honesty will finally show him he’s better off without me.] The class was a nightmare, so he offered me a drink. He needed to feed, and so did I. I’m sure you can figure it out.

JM: *After the word feed leaves Xhex’s lips, a strange noise blocks out everything else. The growling in my head is what I imagine I would sound like right now if I had a voice. Vishous and Xhex, MY Xhex, wrapped up together, feeding from each other. No way they didn’t fuck. Instinct takes over as I need to reclaim what’s MINE! Baring my fangs on a hiss, I pull Xhex up into my arms, striking hard and deep. The first greedy pull tastes wrong, even though I know it shouldn’t. My momentum carries us deeper into her cabin. Couch, bed, wall, kitchen counter, eventually we’ll hit something that I can use to get leverage to finish reclaiming MY Xhex!*

Xhex: [My breath leaves on a gasp as John’s fangs sink deep. Fuck. Why does this have to feel so right, when everything else about us is so wrong? Wrapping my legs around his waist, I’m pretty sure we’re going to be all the way in my kitchen before he stops. Sure enough, I feel my ass hit the counter, and John’s erection press against my core. Shifting my feet to rest firmly on his ass, I arch my body closer, grinding slowly to not break the seal of John’s feeding. If I were a female of worth, I would kick his ass out right now. Too bad for both of us that I’m not.]

JM: *Whoever built this cabin deserves an award, because this countertop is the perfect height. Xhex’s feet on my ass are driving me closer to where I want, no, where I need to be. With the counter keeping her perfectly positioned, I slide my fingers under the waistband of her panties, and rip the flimsy fabric to shreds. Fuck. I need to be doing this in front of Vishous, the entire fucking Brotherhood, any man who has ever looked at her ass. Every last man alive needs to know that Xhex is MINE!*

Xhex: [John’s ownership fantasy is as loud in my head as his bonding scent is strong in my nose. It’s the shot of sanity I need. Reaching up, I grab his nose and pinch it closed until the need to breathe forces him to release my vein. The moment I feel his fangs leave my skin, I plant my feet and hands firmly on his chest, pushing back as hard as I can.] NO! I am NOT yours! This gilded cage bullshit is why I left. [Hopping down from the counter, I step out of the shreds of my underwear as I advance on the male looking to put me on lockdown.] Whatever you think happened is not your business, because I am not property to be owned!

JM: *Watching her advance on me, half naked, still bleeding, all I want is to take her. The breathing thing was a dirty trick, but it’s not like I would have listened while I was feeding. Not sure I’m listening now.* 《Let me seal you up. Please. I know you’re not property.》 *Logically. Logically I know my Xhex is not property, but thoughts of claiming and marking are the only things raging through my mind.*

Xhex: You are here, right now. Did you even think to ask Vishous when you caught my scent? Did you think at all? You're running on bonding, and it's unhealthy. [Inhaling deeply to make my point about the ownership warning that's overriding every other smell in my cabin, I stalk over and tilt my head to the side.] Seal me up, and leave.

JM: *Every shift of her body is pure sex. The comment about scents sets off a flicker in my brain, but I focus on the fact that she is still bleeding to cover my intention. Leaning down, I know I still need to feed, but I lick the wound to start the healing. Snapping out one arm, I use it to pull Xhex tight to my body. My other hand reaches down, driving two fingers into that slit I'd love to be buried deep inside. Fuck, despite her protests, she's ready for me. Bringing that hand between us, I mimic her action, inhaling deeply. "This," I mouth, "this is what I scented on him. You. Aroused. Like you are right now." Extending my tongue, I lick my fingers clean, watching her eyes track the motion.*

Xhex: [My body is a goddamned traitor. I want to kick John out, but the way my body loosens at his touch tells me that's going to be almost impossible now.] Threesome downstairs. I had let my symphath side loose on the trainees, and it wasn't content to leave that emotional buffet alone. Not that it's any of your business. [I really am telling myself to step back, push away, shove his ass out and slam the door behind him. Instead, my hand slips around, into his back pocket.]

JM: *Threesome? My legs nearly buckle at the thought of Xhex between Vishous and Butch, the two of them… but wait, Butch wasn't around? The rest of her statement finally filters into my brain. Barely. Does she want a threesome? I'd rip any male apart that tried to get near her, but what about a female? And who? It's not like my fantasies star anyone but Xhex. Whoever she picks, I guess. Lady's choice. The strike across my face has the surface area of a slap, but the force of an uppercut, and I stagger back.*

Xhex: If you are finished shouting porn into my head. Get. The. Fuck. Out! [Each word is punctuated with a sharp jab, little more than a sparring punch, before I drop back into a fighting stance. Genetic hardwiring might have my body heating with the dark spices permeating the air, but higher brain function has to prevail sometimes.] If you need a refresher on how to guard your thoughts, join the trainees next time.

JM: *Guard my thoughts, huh? Godzilla chowing down on Tokyo is the only clear image I can grab, something to do with my need to destroy a lot of hypothetical males. Whatever. I'll go with it. Rubbing at the bruises forming on my ribs, I keep that latex lizard suit pinned front and center in my brain before I drop low and charge Xhex, catching her in an awkward grip as I tackle her. Knocking her into a chair, I land on my knees, one of her legs over my shoulder and her bare core inches from my face. Perfect. Pinning her legs in place with my hands firmly on her cilices, I squeeze, driving them deeper. Drawn by the taste I already had, my tongue slides between her delicate folds. Yeah, she told me to leave, but her arousal is undeniable. If she tells me again, I'm gone, but despite being mute, I'm sure I can make a convincing argument.*

Xhex: [The chair is toast. Yeah, that is honestly my first coherent thought as John tackles me. And my last. My breathing turns to a gasp as pain flares due to the metal spikes digging deeper into my flesh, then a moan as John claims my core with his mouth. The counterpoint between the pain and the pleasure is overwhelming. Spearing my hands into his hair, I scrape my nails along his scalp, pulling him closer.]

JM: *All I can focus on is wiping the memory of every other male from Xhex’s mind. Forever. Maybe Vishous didn't do anything with her, but the way she seems into this pain right now? Giving those barbs another squeeze wrings another moan from her throat. I bet she wanted to. Damn her. And damn me, for waiting too long that night. Alternating between long strokes, and sucking on the bundle of nerves like I know drives her wild, I can tell she’s getting close when her hips start to buck. No way. Not until I’m ready. This has been torturing me for weeks, she can handle torture for one night. Fuck! I have to stop thinking about Xhex that way, or I might still try to kill Vishous.*

Xhex: [All my efforts to get any leverage are thwarted by John’s grip, and he is clearly determined to keep me right at the edge. Growling in frustration, I twist my upper body, looking for any purchase. The chair creaks, but short of dematerializing, I’m not going anywhere.] Fuck, John!

JM: *Oh good, she still knows my name. By the end of this night, I’m going to make sure she forgets her own. Locking eyes with Xhex, I back off from her core, knowing exactly how close she is. Turning my head slightly to the side, I don’t need to know anatomy to see the vein I want to tap. I feel my fangs elongate as I open my mouth to strike. I barely got a taste before, and while I can always call on the Chosen, this is the female I want to feed, and feed from. Biting above the cilices, I drink hard, not caring if I leave a bruise.*

Xhex: [Feeling John’s fangs sink into my thigh is all it takes to send me over the edge. Throwing my head back, I let myself enjoy the moment as John continues to feed. Dark spices flood the room again as my body settles, and I test the grip that is keeping me pinned. No luck. Panting hard, I struggle to sit up, the angles all working against me.] If you’re not getting out of my house, you need to get out of those clothes.

JM: *Finally, we’re on the same page. Licking the wound sealed, I don’t need to feed any more, but I’ll still take any chance I can get to leave my mark all over this female. Leaning back, I don’t let up on my grip, studying her face for any sign of deception because that shit is like breathing for symphaths. All I see is that my female is every bit as primed for sex as I am. I smirk at the developing bruise on Xhex’s thigh before dropping my hands to the hem of my shirt, and pulling the fabric off over my head.*

Xhex: [As soon as I can move, I’m out of the chair and working John’s fly to free his erection. We're both kneeling awkwardly on my pine floor, tugging at clothing. I dimly realize that John is barefoot, something that escaped my notice earlier, but it’s a fucking blessing as he twists around and plants his back on the floor so I can finish stripping off his jeans. The scent of dark spices thick in the room screams that this should mean something, but to me, this is a one night stand. Worse, because there are a million reasons to walk away, and only one selfish one for going forward.] You know this won’t change anything, right?

JM: *I nod my head slowly, carefully maintaining eye contact as I lower my bare ass onto the wood floor. It’s immaculately clean, smooth, and even a little warm, like I care right now? It could be sandpaper, slush, or even a bed of nails under my backside, as long as Xhex doesn’t back out. And yeah, I’m always hoping something will change with us, but in this moment I will take whatever I can get.*《I know. I don’t have to like it, but I know.》

Xhex: Good enough for me. [Tossing the denim on my abused chair, I straddle John’s hips, reaching between us to stabilize his erection as I slide myself down. My body barely needs any time to adapt, though I feel a vague unease at how similar this feels to our first time. I'm in danger of getting caught in my own head when John takes matters - and my hips - into his hands, thrusting deep enough to force all doubt from my mind.]

JM: *Yeah, this is totally too much like that time Xhex took me in her crash pad, but I'm not some fumbling virgin anymore. Pistoning my hips, I may be on the bottom, but i'm the one controlling the pace this time. Feeling my balls start to draw up, I ease off my pace. Tilting my head to the side, I reach up and cup the back of Xhex’s head with my hand, urging her down to feed.*

Xhex: [Licking my lips, I feel my fangs drop as I zero in on John's pulse beating wildly in his neck. Opening my mouth on a hiss, I strike, and feel the strong body beneath me jerk in response. I know this male too well. He’s not about to let me stop feeding, not even if I rip his throat out when the sex gets rough. Wrapping my arms around him, I hold on tight.]

JM: *There is nothing like the feel of Xhex’s fangs, and I have to hold myself still after the sting of her bite. No reason to be a one pump chump twice with her. With her arms around me, I keep her anchored at my vein, using my free arm to push my torso up and flip us over, taking control.*

Xhex: [As everything shifts, my legs come around John’s hips, locking us together as he moves. I let him set the pace, concentrating on not ripping his throat open as I feed. The rich taste helps my focus, but only for so long. Licking the wound sealed, I give myself over to the sensations, moving my body in sync with John, still letting him lead.]

JM: *It takes everything I have to hold back while Xhex is feeding, but I manage it. Barely. The instant she's done, a handful of thrusts is all it takes to start the rolling multiples that always happen when I'm with her. And then it's up, never releasing, as I take her again, up against the wall, back to the chair. Losing track as my bonded side takes the wheel. Hours later - days? - my body finally spent, my head drops, hitting the floor. Rolling over, keeping Xhex on top of me, my only thought is that this is how things should always be with us.* 《Come home with me. Even if you did sleep with V, I don't care.》

Xhex: [And this is exacty why I should have kicked his ass out. Getting my legs under me, wobbly as they are, I can feel the change in the air around me. Reaching for his jeans on my chair, I keep my eyes firmly away from John.] It will be dawn soon. You should get back to the mansion. [Turning back to hand him the garment, I look him in the eyes, keeping my gaze - and my tone - even.] I think it’s time you started feeding from the Chosen again.

JM: *I open my mouth to ask about staying over the day in her basement room, like I expect sound to miraculously come out of my lips, when Xhex’s next words knock the breath right out of me. Ignoring the clothing in her hand, I sign furiously* 《NO! I want to feed from you. I want you to take MY vein when you need to feed.》 *Pulling my hands through my hair, I pace a tight circle, coming back to stand right in front of Xhex.* 《Please. I would rather feed from you. And I offer my vein freely. Please.》 *All I can do is wait for a response now. Any response. Because every chance I get to prove I can be more than a bonded male, all I do is the opposite.*

Xhex: [Unhealthy. That was the exact word I used, and it is exactly the right word. Fuck, this male might go on the vampire equivalent of a hunger strike if I refuse to let him take my vein. Inhaling deeply, still holding John’s jeans, I close my eyes, releasing the breath slowly.] Fine. I will let you take my vein when you need to feed. [I open my eyes, narrowing in on his as I speak my next words slowly and clearly.] But I want it witnessed. This? [I gesture between our two mostly naked bodies] Has to stop.

JM: *Witnessed? Like I can’t be trusted? I guess she has a point, but it’s not like I want anyone watching the inevitable reaction. And I didn’t miss the lack of her agreeing to feed from me either. Taking my jeans, I bend over to pull them on, searching the pattern of the wood floorboards like they can give me words to change this. Of course they can't, but a movie scene comes to mind instead.* 《As you wish.》*No clue if Xhex ever watched Princess Bride, but at least I know what I mean by it. Reaching behind Xhex, I inhale her scent deeply as I grab my shirt. She wasn't wrong about dawn, so there is really nothing else to say. Pulling the fabric over my head, I take the short walk to the door, and pause with my hand on the doorknob. Nothing. Not one word. It kills me to not turn around for a final look, but I catch the briefest glimpse as I close the door. All my earlier anger is gone as I scatter myself back to the mansion, feeling worse than before I left.*

Xhex: [Waiting for John to leave takes forever. My cabin is a complete mess, and reeks of sex. I take a few minutes to right the furniture, but there is no way I can spend the day here. I take a quick shower, scrubbing myself down twice with Dial. The scent will fade from my cabin, but I need the reminder off of my skin, now. Grabbing a fresh set of underwear, I dematerialize to the door of my underground rooms. At least I'll be able to breathe down there.] #BDB #AU #SL #Repercussions

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littlemissmitsukihorenake · 8 years ago

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I couldn’t go to PAX East, so I did this instead

So I’ve been browsing through all the fandom reactions to Anti’s...”fun” appearance at the PAX East 2017 panel (wish I could’ve gone, but college), and after watching all of them and then finally watching the full introduction video, I figured it was time to compare what I saw to some personal headcanons that I pulled up from the last Anti appearance in Say Goodbye. So what seems to be consistent?

1) Anti. Fucking. Loves. Dubstep Buildup.

If what the entirety of October 2016 had shown, he’d rather pop in and out of videos instead of actually hijack the entire video. Some people assumed this is because Anti is feeding off the energy of the fans who love and tour the #anti hashtag in order to increase his power to finally “show up”, in a sense. And I’ve concluded that Anti does this in a horror-game-like manner: leave a seed of doubt in your brain and let it grow naturally. If we assume that he grows in power depending on how many people think about him, yeah, it’d be a lot easier to gain a BUNCH of power if he’s leaving these small seeds while broadcasting to a room filled with crazy fangirls who were just getting off the rush of Darkiplier rather than drop a few videos here and there and building off of comment space.

Looking at one of the Youtube reactions to people during this panel, few people were reacting to the first big glitch (repetition of “before we start”). But knowing how people work in a panel setting, they’d be spreading his name through the crowd. You could actually hear the crowd slowly and finally realizing that he’s showing up. Building momentum and cheers...which he actively feeds on. It’s actually quite brilliant, like a vampire who feeds on blood working in a donor center and drinking the blood that’s about to expire brilliant. So by the time the second big glitch (screen goes out) comes around, BAM, look at that influx of power!

Buildup. Payoff. We can confirm that he works that way.

2) He really doesn’t make any sense.

Anti...dude...why the hell do you keep cutting your neck like that? Is it because you like seeing people bleed? You can’t even see yourself bleed, it’s on your neck! You can’t look down and see your neck bleed! Last time you did that you just passed out after taunting the audience and then just never appeared until now stopped showing up in videos at your max October frequency!

...anyway...

3) ...I think the yandere is Anti, man.

Sorry, Mark. I still kept believing that Dark was a yandere even after you called him a manipulator. But yeah, no...Dark isn’t a yandere. Cause Anti is. He clingy as shit. He literally spends an entire half of the intro just kinda mad that we found someone to “replace” him *cough*Dark*cough* and that we were all forgetting him and stuff.

The only reason why no one is bringing this up is because this demon is yandere to very, VERY clingy fans. It’s literally a match made in heaven. Or hell. Or fanfiction.net, whichever tickles the fancy.

4) Or maybe he’s a glory hog?

Look, maybe the reason why I think one of these guys is a yandere is because I just like the idea of yandere Youtubers, I get it. I’m weird. So let me play the benefit of a doubt and say that maybe Anti just loves the attention because he feeds off of it. Remember, the entire first part of the introduction video is just Jack telling us to take out our phones to record a message. What message? To Anti. Because fangirls love Anti and nothing gets him off gives him more thrills than seeing grown women fling themselves at his feet. It’s Monsters Inc. all over again...only this time, it’s fangirl screams, not terrified screams.

Whatever, it’s screams. Can’t discriminate screams.

5) Jack is losing his grip on his body at quite the pace.

Of course, if you were paying attention, you’d hear Jack saying “help me” when Anti is bragging how he’s always here. But it’s different now. Instead of screaming it out in a very muffled manner, you can actually coherently hear the syllables, but it’s quieter and he’s crying(?) about it. Kinda like he gave up after hearing just the fangirls cry out as if they prefer him over...you know, the real deal. Kinda depressing, but hell, if there is a lore going on, then I’ll drop this as a headcanon too.

Then again, it could just be my speakers bugging out or my sort of bad hearing telling me this. Gonna admit, I’ll need one more Anti video to confirm if this is happening or not, and given the reaction to this specific event I’m gonna wanna give Jack and Robin a good...ten months break from this.

And there goes Anti’s second canonical appearance, fueled only by the screams of the fans off the body of the creator he stole it from. I’ll keep making theory posts about you, dude, as long as you keep giving me more to think about.

#antisepticeye #jacksepticeye #seriously I should be doing homework #but no #it's anti #and it's my spring break

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ijnttio · 8 years ago

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For the past year, I have been making alot more money, I have been doing my dream job, I should be happy about that hey?

Sometimes I am, sometimes I want to jump up and down for joy about how far i’ve come, and the exciting things to come.

Other times, i’m just like I am now, a log just laying here, can’t be bothered to put on clothes, can’t be bothered to make food, even though my stomach is growling, can’t be bothered to drink water even though my mouth is as dry as a desert.

I think it must be depression, but I think of other people I know who have had depression, and it can debilitate them so they have never done much in their life because depression has been holding them back. It makes me feel like maybe I am just being whiney, and I don’t really have it at all, and that this is just a momentary lack of feeling. Then I think, well hey, i’ve been experiencing these feelings on and off for well over 10 years, that can’t be a coincidence can it? I’ve had friends who have had depression roll their eyes at me confiding in them that I feel like I may be going through some form of depression, as if they are the only people who could ever have it. I was trying to get advice and ask for help, and I get attitude. I have never brought it up with them again.

I think i’m going to try to go to a walk in clinic tomorrow and finally, for the first time ever seek professional help, i’m not sure if this is the way to go, but I honestly have no idea what to do, google only helps so much. For some reason writing in this blog is lifting a bit of the heaviness thats been pushing on my chest for the past couple weeks, so maybe I should just continue this? Will I go through with the doctor appointment? I don’t know, i’ve been trying to summon up the courage to do it for nearly a year now, and I have yet to actually see it through.

I’ve never been actually suicidal, I feel like one of the main things that has prevented me from even trying has been “what if I survive, and my family just makes fun of me for having attempted? My cousin once wrote a suicide letter years and years ago but didn’t go through with it and my sister laughed behind her back calling her a crazy bitch, she’d probably have worse things to say about me” Honestly though, I really don’t think i’d even try, I don’t want to die, I just want to feel like the old me again. Sure, I used to self harm when I was a teenager, but that wasn’t actual attempts on my life, I found that it gave me physical pain to make the pain inside seem less? if that makes sense? When my mum discovered I had little cuts on my wrist she freaked out and basically called me an idiot and made no attempt to actually find out why, and try to remedy anything, it just blew over and was never talked about again. That made me feel even worse about myself, but by then I had discovered street drugs and was self medicating while trying to be a fun person, I managed to be somewhat popular at that time, though the friendships were meaningless because we were all party friends. I found my best friend around that time, him and I were almost inseperable (as much as we could be with him living one town over) and we were thick as thieves until I moved to another province, then he moved to the same province, just another city, then I moved to that city to go to college, and we tried to make that friendship spark again, but it never took momentum, because we were party best friends, not real ones. It makes me so sad to know my best friend of 7 years wasn’t real. He never cared about my problems when I tried talking to him about them, but if we didn’t talk about his problems I was the worst person ever. I knew our friendship was over when I decided to do my birthday celebration on my actual birthday, just a dinner since I had to go to class the next morning, he refused to come because “you aren’t like going out out, i’ll just stay home” That hurt, but not as much as it hurt to see pictures of him on Facebook from that night out partying only a few blocks away from where my birthday dinner was. That was the end of that friendship.

That brings me to another old friendship that went awry. Because of me, because I was selfish, and because I was a shitty teenager that wanted to be cool and have new cool friends. I really regret this because she was such a great person, and was always great to talk to, and I feel like if our friendship lasted to adulthood, she would probably be helping me through my issues right now. We were hanging out almost every day, I would usually go to her house because I didn’t like being at home because my parents were drunks at the time (mostly sober now though) and my sisters treated me like absolute garbage, I honestly think my one sister is the biggest reason for alot of my mental health issues, and why I get such anxiety when it comes to social situtations, and believeing nobody cares about me, but that is for another time. Anyways my friend and I did everything together, all the stupid teenage stuff like trying our first cigarette, stealing a sip of her dads beer, going out to movies and just generally being teenagers at the mall (so typical, I know). We went to different schools, but that didn’t stop us from always finding each other. Eventually I met another bestie, someone who would turn out to be probably the biggest mistake of my life (I was like 13 at the time, and I am now 25 and I still consider her to be my worst mistake of life) and she got me into all sorts of trouble, she got me into doing ecstasy, cocaine, acid, mushrooms, who knows what else was mixed in with all that shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if I inadvertently did meth. Anyways I thought my old friend would give me shit and not want me to be doing all these things, so I simply stopped talking to her, I never gave her a reason, I never gave an explanation, I just fucking dissapeared. It was an awful thing to do, and I still regret it everyday, I ruined of the best friendships I had for a girl who ended up getting me suspended from school, getting me into drugs, getting me into trouble with the cops, sneaking out of my friends basement at 4 am when we were 14 years old to go get drugs. Obviously yeah I could have said no to all of these things, I didn’t have to go with her, but I was just so excited to get included in with a “cool kid” that I basically said fuck it, and fell down the rabbithole of self destruction, I think this was the beginning of my depression, and I know it’s the reason I have a hard time remembering things, and I have a hard time thinking about stuff, i’m more than certain I have a bunch of little holes in my brain from all the drugs we did. Luckily for teenage me, my parents were usually too drunk to even realize anything was going on, I narrowly missed getting caught only a couple of times, but I really wish I hadn;t gotten away with it so much, I wish I had been caught, I didn’t like who I was becoming, I could feel myself being a stuck up bitch who thought she was cooler than everyone else, I stood by and did nothing but laugh when she made fun of my old friends, I let her make fun of me and treat me like shit, I let her run all over me and spend what little money I got at that age. I moved to a different province, and she did too and even though she was an hour drive from me, we still managed to get into trouble over there. I can’t remember exactly what ended our friendship, but I think it had to do with me finally standing up for myself and saying no. you can’t treat me like this, you can’t talk to people that way, you need to stop being so arrogant and self centered, you need to get your shit together, i’m trying to save up to go to college and you keep dragging me into this shit again. Then there was some sort of fight about her being a loser for dropping out, me being a bitch because I was calling her out, me being a piece of shit for petty much anything I did. It was awful, and even worse, she spread bad rumors about me through that whole city she lived in, that it even affected me years later, when I started dating a guy from that city. These are the 3 friendships that make me refuse to have a best friend again, not that I can even handle being social enough to have best friend. I think I only really talk to two people, and i’m fairly certain they hate me right now anyways. One I called her out for being self centered because we made plans to go to a certain event and shes like ok lets stop at this place for cheap drinks first, then we get there and it’s for someones fucking birthday which she did not tell me, and she clearly planned on just going to the birthday so why make plans with me to go to the other event? I was waiting all night for her to be ready to go to the event we were supposed to go to hours ago, around 1130 im finally like ok, I want to go the the thing i’m going, if you want to stay here that’s cool, you do you. I wasn’t upset I just wanted to go to the thing I went out for, and she started freaking out being like oh my god why are you making such a big deal I wanted to hang out with you tonight so that’s what we are doing, and I was lik e ok but you didn’t even tell me we were coming for someones birthday, you haven’t even said more than 5 words to me since we got here, it’s cool you can hang out here i’ll just go to thing alone, really don’t worry about it, then she huffs and puffs and makes a huge deal about how now she has to go to the event and leave the birthday party, and we finally get there at like 1am, which is barely enough time to get any dance in, and then she fucking starts passing out, and so I get her water make sure shes ok and coherent and I start taking her outisde to get her a cab, and she refuses to let me come with her, and I hate leaving a drunk friend in a cab, but she wouldn’t let me in so I made sure she gave the driver the proper address and went back inside. I haven’t heard a word from her since...I have no idea if she even remembers the night, but I keep feeling like she’s stewing hate for me. But it’s fine, honestly our friendship is so shitty anyways, I usually don’t like to hang out with her because I know she is very self centered, I don’t think she even realizes she is though, it’s the way she was raised, she can’t help it, she doesn’t know what it’s like to have people tell her no. Everything always has to go with what is easier for her, I suggested we go to a restaurant, she’s like great but let’s go to this location (the one closer to her house so her dad can drive her because the other location is too far). I suggest we go to a movie, and can we carpool since I am kind of on my way to the theatre for you? (I am only 10 blocks out of the way) and she refuses because it’s too far, a guy she was seeing offered to drive me home from the bar and she keeps telling him no I don’t need it, he decides to do it anyway because she is nice like that, she tries to convince him to drop me off at 49th which is about 8 blocks from my house because it’s easier for them to drive to her house from 49th instead of 57th, he basically says fuck that i’ll drive her all the way home I can’t believe you’d suggest that (thanks dude!), I ask her if she wants to come stay over at my place for a movie night, she says oh you should just come to my house instead..it’s shit like this that I just cannot stand, how can a person not realize how selfish they are? This is probably another reason I have issues talking to people.

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tomaschronosart · 8 years ago

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I can remember writing a story about a cackle of hyenas whom were mindlessly roaming The Unending Desert, from memory I had depicted them as these anthropomorphic creatures – nearly human enough to recall. I was in Mrs. Dyer's class, so grade 6. I remember how calm and confident I felt doing this particular task, it seemed like I knew how to flow and tap into some source from the get go.The feeling of calm comfortability was very rare for me. Mrs. Dyer played the entire class a song and requested we create a narrative based on our initial thoughts, feelings and reactions to the song. As a kid with a bed time, I mostly just passed out from exhaustion, instead of actually going to sleep… I would lie awake every night, wired, manic and fearful. I began writing stories in my head early on in an attempt to soothe and channel my chronic anxieties.. I had constructed the usual traumatized-child-fantasy-universe – a safe place where I could manifest the perception of control. I never minded sleeplessness, as it created an apt environment for cognitive free-running, I adjusted. My fantastical bedtime stories were vanilla, from memory.. drug cartels, mercenary adventures in the jungle, sci-fi opera journeys and sometimes just a regular old adventure where me and mine would acquire some kind of drug or person or thing. For a long time, I had an obsession with unearthing new control techniques to quench the thirst of my firmly embedded insomnia - I had stock-standard/methodical/repetitive stories that would take 2-3 ours to ‘create n complete’. If there was a satisfying and coherent beginning, middle and an end to te story, I could sleep. Nights were always hardest and darkest for me – I have no idea how old I was when my sleep hygiene began deteriorating. And though, sleeplessness was uncomfortable and I was never keen on being tired – After doing the reading recovery program, I could finally read, so I was quick to pick up the –read-in-bed- habit. I began hearing other peoples stories, a welcome change. if I was feeling particularly flowy, I’d organize one of my card collections. I would try to master some new drawing technique... but I could sit behind a computer for 18-24 hours straight and ride the wave playing some puzzle or anything else repetitive enough to numb my mind. I remember how icy cold I’d get during winter - how blue my hands would become after hours of sitting stationary at my desk.. I would leave my window open throughout the night to keep the computer cool, it lagged if it overheated. I used to think that if I didn’t pay any attention to the cold, I would not feel the cold. Before I was 10, I had not come across any one thing that transfixed me. I had not yet become addicted to anything yet, I think? – that is until Puzzle Pirates!!! Shit, when that fucker came into the picture.. well, I no longer gave a shit about anything but Puzzle pirates. I could not cope with the disconnection, exile and the incessant bullying I copped from my peers. The frustrated messes waiting for me at home were suckin down durries, grog and sugar as hungrily as the machines cha-chinning for their money at the pub. I still am heeding these calls I am too tired to remember. I am still sweeping the dust away from these things I cant forget. At times, I miss the calm comfortability of not needing drugs; I miss the warmth that seeped away whilst roaming the waking world; I miss my Lunar lover, who would speak to me in dreams/ through dreams i could See through, cast away, be at ease. I hold on Tightly- still, To whatever vice’ll’suffice. seeming to soothe and appease the beast / my early coping strategies of hermitage and avoidance, protect me from momentum Games and story telling and art replication – I wanted to draw cartoon characters, as I was exposed to their stories more than my own peoples. I can still remember the countless hours, days and weeks of social isolation and voiceless anxiety. Sugar – one of the quickest ways to soothe my boiling baby brain. I keep thinking of the root of this addiction as a loss or lack of social belonging , or maybe I am lamenting another warped perception of my self .. I remember that I was so emotive and empathic and open but also unregulated, neglected and full of painful confusion. I forget that I still am. I felt so damn old all the time. I remember the sunshine splattering through the windows, onto the dashboard of mums old Ford Laser. We were doing one of our usual trips to Warrandyte for her housekeeping job with then Heffernans. I remember looking out over the balcony at the rear of their place, taking in the kilometers of bush and possibility. I black out their olympic size swimming pool - i nearly drowned in it a few times. While I was peering out across the sky,I was fretting over forgetting how I came to be standing there. I did not understand how I forgot- I remembered the sunshine On my face, So I knew, I had gotten there, though I could not remember how. I wanted to be a boy. I was a boy. I became a girl, as expected. , football was a medium, a bridge for the repressed masculinity – I didn't like to exercise, I did not want to be made of aware of my breathing, bleeding bio sac. my body was unimportant and sickly and tired and stressed and depressed, chronically– I reflect now and see how maladaptive a depressive I am. Always, wanting to escape the confines of the very thing I want to inhabit and realize? //// ah!!! the system that creates its own dependence, to substantiate its usage of the finite well, shall never recognize its own self-destructive carelessness. For having ignored the infinite well, the system, as it stands, shall fall. And that well that never runs dry? Well, I always forget about it. I use everything I have ever touched// to coin a collection of concepts Only I can comprehend. But, this is making it easier. I can see a bit clearer now. I can ease into the next step, less weary than before. But why? The further away I wander, the more susceptible I am to rot. In time, these things will return … and of my soul? My soul shall ache and pupate once more, Forlorn, I remember///! how I forgot – to start, To stop. And who's justifications am I leaning towards now? My deep dwelling fears and my leering observations are erratic, Unsustainable, Confusing. THE MAD ARM OF THE Y – an obstruction arises along the path creating the crossroads of forever, Two new paths, the same old path. I am alone, finally – at peace. At ease, with my failures, for now. No mirror I stumble upon can stave off my stare, Why should they? to see through what I can only see when I Stop, start and Refresh is my responsibility. I am so sorry, that I show A me that thinks it can have something It is not worthy of. Give me nothing and give me everything - I have been in all of the wrong places. I know I think wrong, and that I have made it too hard on myself. I know these revelations have been a long time coming but- I sat there and I remembered, It is to me and to me alone that I must consort with. I seek council amongst my memories and I find shelter in my solitude. These flickering unrealities I thought were gone - Pls, just hold onto the everlasting, Try, bust through space and time and just- Breathe. My desire for my true end has faded, I see life again, manifest. The 10,000 directions in front of me, the Myriad forever, the calf of endless suffering howls my name so doggardly. And change and change and change And grow and grow and grow, And that's all u r doing and that's all U can do. individualism is not the thing That u share with me, nor I with u. I remembered just now, that Id like to talk with u and, Share space. How I miss fixing shit with you. How u and me, we used to sit in the park and heal our aching thoughts- Work'd be done and the day was forever- and the thoughts would come, and go. And I miss it cause it kept me closer to my people – for when I speak amongst my kin, I am Home and full hearted – But I lost all my chill, I lost all my capitol, frankly. Then - it snow balled, as it always does. I feel I have been too sad to be a friend, too fucked to really feel love, I fear I am to scattered to comprehend my responsibilities And I’m too damn lonely to ask for help. And so what? Now what? Just keepin up with the fuckin fog is hard enough, I know I just gotta slow down and risk a bit of pain and ease into warmth and trust that its true. My silence has done me a disservice. My love for u, eternally/ Evergrateful / be am me, For all is as it could be. Chained to nought but my fears, Lovingly I say to u, from the mouth of Beth Ditto, “If everything u do has a hole in it, then everything u do has a hold on me, I been here before I should be used to this, But I can't take it no more, I can't take it no more, no oooo, Ooooooooo ooooooo ooooo,” (And to me I always sing:) “Yr mangled hrt, yr bitter love that's hangin onto memories, Ur lettin go of everything that ussed to be, U build me up to let Me down…” And from the channels of me, I wonder, what am I releasing? Capitulating with comrades, A sparrow new found – tiny and fragile, Like glass, Rock hard and clear/ transparent but, still. It is shattered Spraying and sputtering nuggets of raw energy. Crack and singe, whatever mind of mine is waning by the wayside. Moments of forever, Of the eternal calm of belonging- Jan Cadman’s Kyneton property, We’s just yabbies in the dam. / I think I can see, I wanna chill, like when I was there. As conceited as I can be- some people I never need to feel again. Thin ice, let me drown. My neck is under deep, it's me and me alone that keeps quiet. I've been drowning, again, like always. I just got sick from telling people.. Only I can save me, I forgot, I forgot.

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