#literally had a post located in my drafts for over a month crying

[cliji]

calling cliji warfield is insane like who are you and why are you inside our house in warville county, population: discord server, ao3 writers, tumblr users, and ppl who like and retweet user vax247 and babigonice and the occasional big artist’s fanarts ❓

[always-andromeda]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐞 “𝐃𝐢𝐨” 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3313

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: sorry, friends. I’ve had this one sitting in my drafts for literally. almost two months. 😬 but no matter, we’re posting this now. I'm a sucker for a dark haired, emo asshole. for those who know me, this attachment was inevitable; forgive me.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (minors, do not interact <3), descriptions of p in v sex, oral, cum play, biting, choking, overstimulation, voyeurism, free use, occasional pet names (princess, baby, good girl, sweetheart), slight elements of sadomasochism, descriptions of cigarette usage, nothing else I can think of!

𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫��𝐚𝐫𝐞 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱)

Let's not beat around the bush. Dio is not great when it comes to aftercare. Hell, he's not even good at it. He's not too eager to get cleaned up, preferring to sit in the post-climax haze and revel in how sensitive you still are. He'll teasingly stroke your outer lips or the raw spots on your side where his fingers had been gripping on. But don't expect him to get all cuddly. If you tried he'd scoff, "Jesus, it's way too hot for that. Give me some space, princess." The most praise you'll get from is him whispering, "Good girl," as he strokes your hair.

𝐁 = 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫’𝐬)

Dio is quite fond of his shoulders and arms. They're perfect for caging you into his space. They look good clad in his worn leather and slung around your frame, not so subtly showing the lowlifes that flit around him that he's already got a girl of his own. He's also a huge fan of your neck. Especially how it looks when it's all marked up. Whether you try to hide them or not,  he’s proud to know that he gets to claim you as his own. 

𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐦 (𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐦, 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)

This man will cum anywhere but inside of you essentially. He's not looking to have any sort of pregnancy scares and protection isn't exactly always at the ready with him. He kind of has to have a top tier pullout game. Besides, you worked so hard to make him cum, might as well actually see the result of your efforts, right?

Sometimes he'll ask you where you want it, but usually he already has a location in mind and it takes a little bit of convincing to change his mind once he's made it up. But be rest assured, wherever his spend lands, he's swiping up some of it on his finger and making you lick it up. He purrs gently, "C'mon, baby, get it all," and pushes his finger even further past your lips. He won't ease up until you do in fact get it all. And he's definitely kissing you long and hard afterwards. What's better than the taste of him still lingering on your tongue?

𝐃 = 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬)

Dio doesn't feel much shame about anything. But one thing he'll never let you know of is just how much he loves marking you up. And not just from hickies on your neck. Sometimes he'll deliberately dig his fingers a little deeper into your hips while he's fucking you. And he feels a tiny bit guilty when you cry in pain, but it almost immediately dissolves when he pictures the gorgeous bruises that'll bloom over your skin in the coming days. Then he has the audacity to tell you not to put your clothes back on, just so he can trace over those spots, soothing them with the instruments that made them in the first place. He's so proud of himself for being able to pull you apart only to put you back together again.

𝐄 = 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

Oh, the man is experienced, alright. And he'd never let you forget it. You might be his Queen of Darkness or whatever other punk rock bullshit he spouts, but Dio sure didn't turn into the King of Darkness overnight. And he proves it right from the jump by making you cum four times the first time he hooks up with you. He somehow seems to know just how to navigate every crook and curve of your body and coaxes the best crescendoing climaxes from you. In both the worst and best ways, Dio is like no other person you've been with.

𝐅 = 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠)

Dio absolutely loves being ridden. Sure, he can fold you in half and pound you like a champ. But he likes when you take the reins. It gets his blood rushing, having you proudly towering over him, taking his cock. It doesn't even have to involve penetration. Grind down on his thigh or even just his stomach and he'll be so hard that he practically has no choice but to palm himself through his dark jeans while he watches the show.

𝐆 = 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

He's as serious as a heart attack. Sex with Dio is intense and always leaves some kind of an impact on you. If anyone’s laughing, it’s him chuckling over how much of a mess you are for him. 

𝐇 = 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲? 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

His dick sprouts from a bush of unkempt, curly, dark hair that trails up his lower stomach. I’m telling you, that bush is thick. And he definitely likes making you bury your nose directly in it when you go down on him. 

𝐈 = 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭)

Whatever sentimental feelings Dio may have for you, they rarely, if ever, come out during sex. In fact, all of his vulnerabilities are masked by about a dozen different layers of sarcasm, superstitious nonsense, and his superiority complex. So if Dio truly loves you, you'll only see that genuine adoration in little glimpses.

It's the occasional peck on your lips when he's just finished and he's still trying to come back to reality. Or him being a little bit gentler with your body when he's fucking you on your period. Or him kissing old bruises on your thighs and whispering, "Sorry, sweetheart," before diving right into your cunt. It may be a bit cold and shriveled, but there is a heart underneath that sardonic, leather coated exterior.

Sometimes in the midst of this fucked up world, he's tempted to bury himself six feet under. But you drag him right back up from the depths of hell every time. He doesn't make you aware of those feelings often, but when he does, you can't help but almost sob at his moments of fucked up tenderness.

𝐉 = 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 (𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧)

He's a little bit of a sex fiend, but he's never been the type to actually masturbate that often. Touching himself only gets him so far. He much prefers having someone else to engage with. It’s the power plays and mutual pleasure that really gets him going.

However, when he does masturbate, it’s a slow, burning build up. There’s not an ounce of desperation in his thrusts as he marches himself towards a release before calmly pulling himself back. Dio doesn’t let himself get off that easy. It’s just his hips languidly rolling into his hand. He takes sharp breaths in through his clenched teeth and occasionally lets out a few low moans. It’s a sacred affair that leads to his eyes rolling back in his head and him spurting ropes of thick spend over his toned stomach. Worn out and filled with self satisfaction, that’s when he lets himself kick back.

𝐊 = 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 (𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬)

Okay, buckle up, because there's quite a few. First and foremost, voyeurism. See the location prompt for elaboration on that point. Bits of sadomasochism here and there. That usually entails some overstimulation, choking, biting, hair pulling from both ends. He just likes sinking his teeth, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, his...everything...into you. He's also particularly fond of making you wear one of his necklaces while he's fucking you. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the pendant bounces against the valley between your tits; he could totally get lost staring at the sight. There's also some traces of a free use kink around everything he does. When the lines between completely innocent and downright filthy are blurred, he's a happy guy.

𝐋 = 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨)

Anytime and anywhere. Dio takes a lot of pride in being able to have you anywhere he wants, especially if there's the chance of being seen or heard and especially if those seeing and hearing are the people that hang around him. Nothing strikes intimidation in the hearts of his followers like seeing their idol make a girl scream and cry for him.

Give him a bedroom. A bathroom. A closet. A couch. Even just an empty wall and he can make that moment last forever for you. Maybe it's his demonic powers or maybe it's just his sheer cockiness that has you melting for him. Either way, it's difficult to stay lucid around that man; you're a complete goner.

𝐌 = 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐧, 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠)

A chase. More than anything, Dio enjoys having something to crave. Sure, having you available just for him can be nice, but he also wants to fight for it a little. Even if it's just an illusion of a challenge, that just makes it more exciting for him. 

𝐍 = 𝐍𝐨 (𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐬)

There are very few limits to what Dio would be willing to do. His biggest no would be adding any extra partners into the mix. He doesn't care if anyone else watches. But if there is even the slightest chance that someone might steal his thunder? It brings him completely out of the moment. God forbid one of his friends suggests a threesome. He'll have them on the ground, beaten and bloody within minutes. You're all his; no one else gets to touch. He's a bit possessive (and insecure) in that way.

𝐎 = 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

While he certainly isn't opposed to giving, he really prefers receiving. There's just something so beautiful about having you on your knees, staring up at him, putting so much trust in him. It's even better if you don't have any experience or at least feign ignorance of having any experience. It gives him a chance to instruct you. He likes being a bit bossy, showing you exactly what makes his toes curl. He'll hold your hair and slowly guide you along the length of his cock, taking his sweet time getting acclimated to the silky smooth warmth of your mouth.

But your lack of experience doesn't grant you any mercy; he'll still find a way to be a bit mean about it. If he's not quite satisfied with the amount of friction, he'll grab your hair and push you down just a little deeper. Just enough to make you gag so he can see the tears well up in your eyes. When you feel his warm cum hit the back of your throat and he finally pulls out, he holds your jaw and orders you to open your mouth just to make sure you swallowed all of what he gave you.

𝐏 = 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

Depending on how he'd like to torment you, he can go either way. But what he loves most is giving you slow, steady strokes. So leisurely in his movements that your heels dig into his back, urging him to give you just a little more friction. Then, right when you're just about to give up on getting him to listen to you at all, he slams right into you. It knocks the breath from your lungs and makes you let out this halfhearted yelp. And Dio watches as your whole body shakes and seems to crumble even further into the mattress. So, yeah, he can do it fast if he wants to. But there's more fun in making you fall apart with just a little bit of control.

𝐐 = 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧, ��𝐭𝐜.)

Of course Dio would love to spend a long while edging you until your legs are trembling and you're begging him to let you cum. But, alas, the outside world exists and he can't always spend his time fucking you no matter how much he would like to.

So, that leads to many quick rounds where he's telling you to keep quiet before putting one hand over your mouth and shoving the other down your pants. It also leads to him breaking out those puppy dog eyes and undoing his belt and the button of his jeans in preparation to ask you to give him one quick ride before you have to go off to work. Just know that regardless of if he's getting or giving that single orgasm, he's going to make it as worth it as possible for the time he's allowed.

𝐑 = 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐬? 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

Of course he's game for risk in almost every sense of the word. That's the name of the game, baby. However, there are definitely times where he can go a bit too far and boundaries would need to be set. Like if you need a safe word? He's there for it.

𝐒 = 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭?)

Dio's stamina can be almost impossibly relentless at times. He'll completely ruin you, pull out, cum on your stomach, and flop over beside you. And before it even has any time to begin to dry, he's already looking over you and asking, "Ready to go again?"

𝐓 = 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬? 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦? 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬?)

I'm telling you, this man would love to get his hands on one of those remote controlled vibrators. They might be on the pricier side but it's completely guaranteed that he'd make every penny completely worth it. He'd keep the controller in one of his big jacket pockets and pat it teasingly whenever you mouth off or tease him a little too much in front of his friends. When you finally push the envelope, he'll simply lean over and whisper in your ear, "You forced my hand, baby," and chuckle when you start to squirm for him.

I also see him being the type that would love to have some sort of bed restraint system. Sure, he'd like to get you all restrained. But he'd like it if you got him all hooked up instead. We know that he likes being presented with a challenge. And being all tied up to a bed frame is yet another hurdle for him to attempt to jump over. But don't get it twisted, he's not whining and begging anytime soon. It's more like he's daring you to touch him, to make him strain against the ropes and grasp for any inch of your skin that he can get to. "Make me want it, baby," he'd sneer defiantly, only egging you on more.

𝐔 = 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞)

This man is top tier when it comes to teasing. He has this way of coming off so gentle, so innocent, and so enticing. His voice would get so raspy and soft and he'd look at you like you're the only thing that he could ever truly worship. He'll play the game and be nice to get you where he wants you and as soon as he does, a switch flips and he turns into the cockiest little monster imaginable. He finds it so humorous when you squirm upon feeling his hot breath. "What? Is my little princess getting impatient?" he chuckles. But he won't hear anything about how he was literally begging to be between your legs just a few minutes ago. He has ways to make sure you don't question him.

Dio is not only proficient in the art of teasing but he is also a huge fan of being teased himself. He fantasizes over the way your fingers ghost over his tan skin and leaves him shivering. Even just your eyes drinking up his lean figure while he's under you renders him speechless. He's completely at your mercy and you better savor it because it won't happen often.

𝐕 = 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.)

Don't expect to be hearing any sort of whimpering or whining from him (the majority of the time). But you can expect to hear some deliciously loud, low groans and dramatic sighs. He also has a tendency to curse under his breath, his voice all raspy and drawn out. One of his favorites, especially when he's sinking into you is, "Oh, fuuuuck, baby," followed by a relaxed chuckle. If he's feeling good, you're going to know all about it.

𝐖 = 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 (𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫)

Two words. Nipple piercings. I just know he has them. At first it was a choice he made for aesthetic purposes. He's got loads of other shiny accessories, what's another one for the collection? But the biggest perk was definitely his nipple sensitivity skyrocketing. That's when they become more of a little secret he keeps instead of something he flaunts openly. He tends to wear baggy clothing so only those who are lucky enough to sleep with him get to see them (and use them against him). Spoiler alert: he'll whimper a little bit if you suck on them just right.

𝐗 = 𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲 (𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬)

He’s close to six inches when hard and on the skinnier side but he knows how to use it well. The underside of his shaft is lined with a prominent vein that is a little bit intimidating on his tan skin. Definitely circumcised with a slightly darker, bulbous, mushroom head tip. It's a somewhat manageable size but he wields it like a weapon.

𝐘 = 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞?)

You never quite know what you're going to get with Dio. If he's in one of his moods, he makes a point to abstain. Sometimes coming doesn't give him the release of stress that he's looking for and he straight up gets bored with going through the motions. But when that craving comes back? Get ready for a big storm.

Look forward to him thoroughly pounding into you, chasing every cry you let out as his balls slap against you. He'll grab at your thighs and hike your legs up just to get the perfect angle, working his way impossibly deeper into you. Get ready for him to be spreading you open and lapping at your cunt like he's a starving man. He'll be licking up every ounce of you and growling at the taste while palming himself through his jeans. In those moments, he swears that he doesn't need to take any drug ever again. He's completely and utterly high off your aura and he'll never need another fix again. Every once in a while he'll purposely go cold turkey because he knows that when he lets out all that feral energy, it's going to feel fucking fantastic. 

𝐙 = 𝐙𝐳𝐳 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬)

Dio is the type to need a cigarette after having sex. No matter how hard he cums, he'll have that buzz running through his system and feels like he needs that dose of nicotine to keep it going. It never really hits the way he wants it to. As soon as he's done, he puts the cigarette out on the ashtray on the bedside table and puts his arm around your shoulder. Then he stares down at you, chest heavy and beaming with pride at his mangled toy. He glistens in sweat and somehow looks like a god, though you know he'd oppose that immediately if you said it. Instead, you let him kiss you like he'd kissed that damn cigarette and you taste its smoky residue and the nutty undertones. But it's the bitterness that takes over. It's always bitter when it ends, always.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

No Christ | BODY BACK Update #4

We're totally going to ignore the fact that it's been 4 months since I last posted a writing update for this book! :)

If you aren't aware, from February-June I drafted a litfic novella called BODY BACK and this is the penultimate update! Harrison has a Shrek moment, feels existentially directionless, imagines a future with Jeremiah--and more! Post under the cut.

Logline: When the effects of 24-Karat Harrison wear off, Harrison is left to mend his fractured relationship with Jeremiah.

Update 1 | Update 2 | Update 3

BODY BACK taglist (please ask to be added or removed :))

@thelivingdeceased @writinglittlebeasts @cuntylittlesalmon @obssesedwithscandaledits @jaydewritesfiction@onomatopiya @euphoniouspandemonium @silassghost @strangerays @rodentwrites @wildswrites @saltwaterbells @encrucijada @cilantrospirit @kiki-is-writing

Writing when life changes & the impacts of place on process

So WHYYY did it take so long for this update to come out? WELL, I wrote the chapter three (24-Karat Harrison) update THE DAY I moved from my university city, and while that went well, the act of changing setting seriously disturbed my writing process.

I'd gotten very used to creating BODY BACK in a very specific way in a very specific place/in certain locations and hadn't considered that a drastic shift in my literal setting could jilt the actual book--as if it too had undergone a major change.

Writing in May was like learning a new craft all over again, which was beyond disorienting. My anxiety was at an all-time high, and No Christ really took the brunt of that discomfort. But now that the book is long over, I'm ready to finish up the updates!

Repetition turns into theme...

Early in writing BODY BACK (chapter 2), I wrote the phrase "Harrison's no Christ," which I then unexpectedly repeated several times in 24kH which made me realize "No Christ" would make a great title.

But "no Christ" wasn’t JUST repetition—the act of repetition created a theme. I love when smaller line-level literary devices can lend to MUCH larger things!

What does it mean to reach a climax of personhood (so you feel like a god) the night before, only to feel godless the next day after the excitement is over? The idea of "no Christ" isn't just that Harrison has no god to follow. I DID want to capture that feeling of faithlessness--when the prayers stop working, when God seems nowhere to be found, but I also wanted to EMBODY "no Christ." How IS Harrison "no Christ" despite seeing himself that way in 24kH?

The plot

No Christ takes place just a few hours after the end of 24-Karat Harrison.

Scene A:

Harrison, who fell asleep in a church, is awoken by a priest.

Scene B:

After disrupting the church service, Harrison heads to the parking lot where he sees a man who looks like his ex, Lonan.

Scene C:

Exhausted from the night before and shaken from the parking lot, Harrison returns to Jeremiah's apartment where he rejects Jeremiah's concern.

Scene D:

Harrison showers the remainders of 24-karat Harrison off, but feels crushed and directionless without the persona. Jeremiah attempts to comfort him.

Scene E:

To help Harrison's hangover, Jeremiah takes him to the restaurant his friend Biyu works at, but her bad impression of Harrison puts him in an awkward position.

Scene F:

Harrison and Jeremiah head to the Greta Arquette, the hotel Jeremiah works at, in a rush of connection.

Excerpts

CW: Mature content ahead. Implications of sex and suicidal ideation. Descriptions of violence.

The opening lines (WHICH apparently tiktok liked):

Harrison wakes to God’s eyes. Dim in this light like a rusted goblet of wine or blood or whatever the fuck. Sad, he thinks. Lusting. Violent in brass.

That leads into a really *sudden* and *intense* recollection of the night previous when Harrison encounters a man named Perry (a friend of Jeremiah's). It's very SUDDEN and very INTENSE lol so here's just a little bit:

They kissed to the sound of someone crying, touched each other the way he imagined Lucifer and Judas might. God’s most hated sons united in exile.

More Harrison and Perry (CW: violence)

As saliva snailed Harrison’s cheeks, he stared at the bathroom ceiling for a hand to reach for him, for a grave to appear. With Perry, he was the runoff, the ashes, the scraps of diary entries dashed into a wastebin. And this was all good, the spit, his desire to be both saved and dead, because it was motivation to knock a fist into Perry’s jaw so he clattered to the floor. He wasn’t the leftovers. The bronze medal. No one could make him feel that way again.

Harrison observes churchgoers:

His jaw overhangs the pew in front of him, a line of drool bisecting the wood. People scoot past him to take their seats—not just people, but believers, all cleanly pressed and ready for god. They’re wearing wingtips buffed with mink oil and Mary Janes heavy enough to bludgeon someone to death.

Harrison becomes interested in the choir when he sees a cute guy (REALLL):

A choir sets up by the frontmost row, unwinding cables, tuning guitars. One woman adjusts her eggplant vest while another fixes her own curl with spit. A married couple flits through sheet music and discuss their kid’s birthday party—little Timothy, little Michael, little James, or whatever generic name. A man with sparkly eyes and a faint scar from a lip piercing smiles at him from the piano. “What are they doing over there?” Harrison asks. The priest bristles. “Who?” “Those people. They’re a choir? I can sing.”

Cont'd - shrek moment/sir this is a place of worship:

He’s aware he’s being loud. He doesn’t need the stares as confirmation. What the fuck does anyone have to stare at anyway? Sure he’s a man with smeared silver eye makeup and mascara tears and a fur coat and another man’s chandelier earring and a cow-print cowboy hat, and what’s this too now, a pair of studded DKNY sunglasses that most certainly aren’t his—but what right do they have? He doesn’t waste his time with gods. He doesn’t need someone to save him at all. And here all these beady people are, their synthetic chiffon dresses like wannabe Charlotte’s webs, their bowties near strangling. They’ve woken up at dawn to do what? Beg a man who won’t listen to them? He’s been there, fucking done that. “Do any of you want pitchforks?” Harrison’s voice booms across the nave, his cheeks flaring.

We find out Harrison stole Perry's moped:

The priest jumps back as he rises, shaking out his sleeves. The movement sends a slim pair of keys flying toward the floor, but not just any keys. The image is as fleeting as a View Master’s neon shuffle, Harrison sweaty and rumpled on the bathroom floor, his head spinning like a taut thread around a spindle. In the velvet night, he hustled toward the club’s parking lot, not thinking about the man he’d abandoned in the stall, not thinking about the man he’d come here with. Something crushed under his boot—baby pink rose petals against the rain-dark pavement, Hansel’s pebbles that drew him forward and when his eyes landed on a teal moped parked in the lot’s north end, his focus was only on how good wind would feel through his too-long hair.

Harrison considers choir man’s potential life:

Harrison leaves when the choir’s mid Holy, Holy, Holy. He only stayed that long, skulking around the backmost pews, to stare at the way choir man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He imagined kissing that spot. If it tasted like bergamot. If it tasted like eucharist. Maybe that man had a lover waiting at home for him who knew—a coppery chem student who’d kiss him wildly between whispered verses of Revelations, their penance to each other in evenings just as dozy as it was holy.

Harrison wonders what happened to Jeremiah after he left him at the club:

Where is Jeremiah now? Perhaps he found a ride back to his apartment complex with a man he invited inside, someone with tawny hair, jetty eyes. Harrison knows his place in Jeremiah’s life, in Jeremiah’s bed, but what’s he like alone? Perhaps he and the man touched gracefully like swans, recited Whitman on the carpet, shared a bunch of green grapes, talked about prophets, prayed the rosary.

Harrison notices a man who he thinks is Lonan (HE IS NOT):

In a past life, that lack of noticing would’ve been impossible, a fatal wound. But there he is, barely aware of the oil-dark hair—just a flash in the corner of his eye—rounding the parking lot. It’s that fast. His head snaps up and then he’s seeing him, his narrow body, his darting walk, his subtle clefted waves. He doesn’t need to check for the eyes, unmarred like the sky, because he’s running now, hat clattering off his forehead, held narrowly against his neck by the stampede strings. The man walks past a silver Acura—he’s a member of the congregation. Of course. But not just any member. This is where he’s been. On lonely midnights, Harrison’s wondered against all his admittance where he’s been in this city—if they’ve touched the same pavement, if they’ve cried at the same intersections. He’s dreamt about him, he’ll admit now, yearned for his hands again, their bony blueness, their abundant warmth. They’re dancing again in a cramped bathroom, in need of no other music but the other’s heartbeat. They’re blinking into cameraflash, silent as a Polaroid prints, holding each other the way the ocean holds itself. As Harrison runs, his face splits into a grin—relief, of course, because he’s hungry for that touch again, terrifying, careful, and here he is, approaching a car—a car, he’s driving—wearing a blue corduroy jacket, reaching for his keys, he’s leaving, he’s going to leave— Harrison yanks the man’s shoulders, his mouth formed so confidently around the name Lonan that he chokes the moment he sees the face.

Aaaand, how to get punched really fast by a stranger who has no idea why you're running up to him (CW: graphic violence):

When Harrison says nothing, too focused on the necklace, too focused on who isn’t standing in front of him, a fist clips his mouth and splits his lip right open. Blood starbursts the air, spats against the car’s windshield, his jaw cranking toward the sky, but he doesn’t notice the crows above or the flossy clouds because it’s August in the cabin again and there are Lonan’s knuckles connecting with his nose, an accident on purpose, his blood mirrored in that bathroom, and there are Perry’s callused hands, sharp with hangnails, steeled with rings, and Harrison might’ve been choked last night, might’ve wanted that, doesn’t want to remember at all. God makes men in his image, and those men know violence like an oath, a birthright.

Jeremiah questions Harrison about stealing Perry's moped:

Harrison adjusts the cowboy hat over his eyes. Segments of light shift through a hole in the crease. “I didn’t steal anything.” “So what were you doing with it?” “Borrowing it.” “Like my ring?” Harrison sits up, removes the hat from his eyes. The room re-saturates like a kitchen sponge in sudsy water and there’s Jeremiah. Clear-skinned, bright-eyed Jeremiah. He doesn’t look like a man who shared a joint with Harrison last night, who drank just as many cocktails on that dance floor and perhaps even more. He’s changed into a pair of ironed jeans and a white cotton button-up he hasn’t done up all the way. A gold herringbone necklace glints off his throat. Harrison sets the hat onto the chair arm. The moment it knocks against the fabric, he feels the urge to put it back on. “You said you weren’t upset about the ring.” Jeremiah opens his mouth. What’s he going to say? Fuck you. He could say that. He should. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Or, Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are? Instead, he clasps his hands in front of him. “Perry’s not happy with you.” Harrison reaches into his pocket and yanks out the moped’s keys which are attached to a teal surfboard keychain. As he rises from the chair, he tosses the set with a clang and Jeremiah barely catches them. “He wasn’t happy about a lot of things.” “Where are you going?” Harrison rubs his eyes. In the momentary flashes of dark, he sees the face of the man from the parking lot. He can’t fight his own flinch. His lip throbs. He’d been so sure of himself. “To sleep.” “Perry says you tried to kill him.” Harrison laughs. “Good.” “Not good.” Jeremiah steps toward him. He smells of vanilla. Greek yogurt.

Harrison adventures in wanting to befriend animals pt. 2:

Maybe he’ll head out now. Walk west for forty minutes, find some water to touch, some better air to breathe. Jeremiah’s not all that far from Red Rock Canyon. He could lie in a field of larkspur, befriend a kit fox.

Harrison deflects emotional responsibility by asking about towels??:

Jeremiah sighs, crossing his arms. He must’ve washed his hair this morning too—it’s still damp at the roots and smells vaguely of roses. He deserves someone who’ll hold him on Thursday nights, who’ll watch reruns of Futurama with him on a blow-up mattress, pray for him in April and actually mean it. When he looks up, his eyes are rimmed clearish red—the same colour of a ruby. “Last night—you disappeared. I was worried.” Harrison looks away. Jeremiah’s tidied—no board game pieces scattered on the table, all the ashtrays cleaned out. The first time Harrison entered this apartment, he was overcome by its intricacy—the disco ball hung from the ceiling, the ivy clustered in beer bottles along the windowsill. Everything that makes Jeremiah’s space his. And he’s worried him in all this time. What must that be like? To make someone fear for you? “Where do you keep the extra towels?” Harrison asks and Jeremiah nearly deflates.

Jeremiah is concerned!!!

When Harrison opens his mouth, Jeremiah approaches him, takes his face so gently he winces. His hand is slippery with cocoa butter, breaths heavy, brows low. Harrison knows what this means. Concern. Maybe he’s afraid, too. But it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t at all. One man’s worry is not his problem. Why would he care? Why would he? “What happened to you?” Jeremiah whispers. Perhaps he arrived home alone last night, stayed up till 5:00AM with his eyes staked by toothpicks. Perhaps this weekend is the worst thing that’s happened to him in a long time. If Harrison were someone else, he’d tell Jeremiah to run. Don’t waste time with shoes. Just throw open the front door and sprint barefoot into the neon street. Keep going until everything is a blur, until everything is the clearest it’s been in weeks. The farther away he gets, the better for him. He could learn how to crochet mug cozies. Buy himself a tomato plant. Spend his mornings in a sunny kitchen with a man who actually loves him.

Harrison has an existential crisis after a shower (CW: description of a bruise):

He glances at himself in the mirror, his shoulders hunched forward, hair veering into his eyes. A purple bruise rings his throat like a necklace of lavender pearls. The last time he’d looked at his reflection in this mirror, he’d found something hidden behind his face, gripped it, then tugged it right out with a tube of mascara and a ring finger loaded with silver eyeshadow. That’s all gone. He’s just a man now. Not naked like Michelangelo’s David, but naked like a stranger.

Jeremiah checks up on Harrison:

He imagines Jeremiah now. Leaning half his body weight against the door, his unbuttoned shirt parting with the movement. Perry’s already picked up the moped from outside. Jeremiah probably lied and said Harrison wasn’t there. In the wind, he might’ve said. Gone North to Missoula. Or maybe, Joined a travelling circus. Or, Took a red-eye to Florence. Or, I don’t care as long as he never comes back. All would’ve been suitable excuses because Jeremiah’s a good guy. A good friend. “I wanted to…” says Harrison, his chest rattling with an inhale. I wanted to: apologize. I wanted to: kiss you. I wanted to: say a prayer into your mouth. I wanted to: find you at sunset and link pinkies in dying grass and read screenplays from the 90s with your head on my chest and thank you like a real man should in the evenings and listen to your breaths when you fell asleep. I wanted to be alive. I wanted you there with me. The sound of Jeremiah shifting. What had he planned to do this September—before Harrison turned up at his apartment? On their first night reunited, they’d sipped mimosas while swapping Jeremiah’s Blackberry back and forth to play Brick Breaker, watched Psycho and only kissed at the ending credits. Jeremiah hadn’t even questioned why Harrison had turned up because he’s a good guy. A good friend. He knows Harrison could eat cinnamon on anything, that he’d gargle with black coffee if he could, that cymbals make his teeth ache, that he can’t tolerate the smell of chocolate anymore. Good guy. Good friend. In another life, they could’ve grown up together, played road hockey in humid Junes, shared a half-and-half ice cream cone, fallen for each other delicately. In another life, Harrison would’ve told Jeremiah he loved him and meant it.

At the restaurant, Jeremiah talks about his future (but does it include Harrison?):

It’s going to rain tomorrow, at least according to the mounted bubble TV on the restaurant’s far north side. Its grainy picture is suddenly the most pressing thing in this establishment—a headline about a collision on the I-80, an update on Katrina, a mass power outage in LA. Behind the screen is a window that leads to the kitchen, and Biyu’s face flashes through it every few minutes. He hasn’t even thought of calling Reeve since the last time he’d been in this restaurant, but he could now—find her in the Yellow Pages, invite her to dinner with him and Suz. Would she like that? Perhaps she’s the same woman who’d sat with him that sunny morning in Oregon, her legs stretched out in front of his and Lonan’s tent. There was something both blunt and guarded about her then. She wasn’t a woman, not a sister, not a friend, but a threat. “I’m thinking of heading east in the winter. Maryland. My grandma turns eighty.” Harrison turns to Jeremiah abruptly, his throat dry. “What?” “For a couple months, maybe. Might meet Rory in Hanoi in the spring. He’s thinking of staying there through the new year.” “What about Greta?” Harrison asks when the real question he should be asking is what about me? It takes him a moment to even register he’s gaping. “I’ll find something else to do. Dog-walking. Printmaking. I’m thinking of getting certified in hypnotherapy.”

After Biyu asks Harrison to pay for the bill and Jeremiah ends up footing it, he describes the atmosphere:

The air feels denser now, unstable like Jell-O. The last time he and Jeremiah were here, their relationship was gauzy, a fumbling newborn. But now something’s clotted. They’re unready again, so used to the other’s face they’ve become estranged.

Embarrassed, Harrison can't focus until Jeremiah makes (A VERY SWEET) deal (CW: suicidal ideation):

Harrison’s ears ring. He looks to the window like it’s an out when in reality, all that’s out there are a couple fir trees and a main road. An eighteen-wheeler whizzes by every few minutes. As Jeremiah talks about a paper he needs to turn in on Tuesday, Harrison imagines what those drivers are doing, thinking. One making plans to shoot darts at a dive bar with his brother, another answering a call from his wife to bring home a stick of butter, someone else considering flooring the pedal, letting go of the wheel. “You could come with me, you know.” Harrison looks up and finds Jeremiah’s eyes honeyed in a strand of sun. The realization is obvious: he’s an ember of a man—an effervescent, sacred light. “Come with you?” “Maryland. Hanoi. Dogwalking. Wherever we want to go.”

Harrison's response to the offer falls flat (this is kind of messy lol):

Harrison looks to his hands. He took off Jeremiah’s signet ring before his shower and forgot it on the bathroom sink. It looks like he’s returned it, when in reality, he hasn’t meant to. And then a touch at his hand and Harrison’s back in the dense Oregon woods, another man trailing a pinkie down each of his vertebrae like they were the keys of a flute, joining their fate lines as the sun sets, holding his face kindlier than he did a cigarette, his eyes coined by the moon. The contact is so unviolent, yet the moment Harrison winces, Jeremiah immediately pulls away, drops his hand to the booth’s seat. Harrison shakes. He can’t look at Jeremiah again, is afraid any more understanding will rive him right here. He’d become more of a nuisance than he already is if that were the case—blood on the ground, on the wall’s tiger. “I think I have a headache.” Jeremiah exhales but grabs his wallet. From a zippered pocket, he pulls out a Tylenol. “You need to eat something,” he says, waving over Biyu before Harrison can tell him not to, can tell him to please use this as an out, to please grab his things and beeline to the door and hitch a ride to somewhere gentler than Las Vegas, to someone more reliable. Jeremiah, just go, he could say. Jeremiah, it’s not too late for you. Jeremiah, adopt a dog who’ll love you. Jeremiah, change your locks. Jeremiah, learn how to refinish a deck this summer. Jeremiah, pick honeysuckle by the fistfuls. Jeremiah, laugh because it’s over. Jeremiah, never cry again. Jeremiah, the earth is vast. Jeremiah, there is still so much time to run.

I'M YOURS:

In a few months, Jeremiah won’t be the same person he is today. Whether he ends up out east or in an art class painting alla prima, he’ll change. He’ll make new friends in Baltimore, dance with them in Fell’s Point, photograph tree swallows together at Herring Run, kiss one of them in the state fair’s scorching sun. And that will be good for him. Harrison’s no Christ, no God. He’ll never be omnipotent. Yet, he is certain of this. “Jeremiah?” he interrupts. One day, Jeremiah will drive a silver birch Cadillac alone, inhale for three seconds as the wind rustles his hair. He’ll keep on that road for hours, count the red SUVs on the way, stop for lunch at a taco stand, buy tarry hot coffees from every gas station he passes. He’ll be an even better man. And Harrison? In a year, he could apprentice for a sculptor, make minimum wage flipping burgers on the weekends, memorize the Dewey Decimal System for fun. Maybe he’ll be like Rory, backpack somewhere no one knows him, somewhere with mountain ranges he doesn’t recognize, somewhere with suburbs and lawns, somewhere no one can find him ever again. But he’s here now, Jeremiah looking at him like he’s simultaneously a glass mid-fall and a glass worth piecing back together with school glue and some patience. Jeremiah, look at me a little longer, he could say. Jeremiah, I can’t remember the sound of my own name. Jeremiah, you’re birdsong in the winter, the first glimpse of sunrise. Jeremiah, I’m so sorry. Jeremiah, you’re young enough to forget all of this soon. Jeremiah, be tender while you can. Jeremiah, please go gently. Jeremiah— “I’m yours.”

HAREMIAH ROMANCE FUN (and what would a future with Jeremiah look like?):

Jeremiah’s got a key to Greta—room 118 to be exact. In the dim fizz of a tungsten sconce, he leads Harrison through the doorway and kisses him as soon as the door clicks behind him, urgent and careful at the same time. Harrison catches himself on the wall, right next to an oil painting of a wide prairie. He wraps his arms around Jeremiah’s neck, winds one of his curls around his pinkie, pulls him so close their pelvises touch. Don’t let go of me, he could say as Jeremiah thumbs his eyebrows, bows for another kiss. Don’t let go of me. They don’t go slow nor fast, but a pace tempered like drizzling honey. It isn’t even really about touching. As Harrison mentally connects the umber flecks of Jeremiah’s eyes like they’re constellations, he imagines a future where he follows him to Maryland. He could take the first leg of the trip, tune the radio to throwbacks, belt Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer in a Burger King drive-thru just to make Jeremiah laugh. They could rest at a motel similar to Greta—the same stuffy wallpaper, the same berber carpet. Surprise each other the next morning with bagels from the bakery a block away. Go crabbing at Point Lookout on their first weekend in the state. Pose next to each other with their catch for a photo snapped by a stranger. Jeremiah might even invite him to his grandmother’s birthday party, introduce him to an aunt as his boyfriend. They’d link arms the entire night, feed each other spoons of sherry trifle. Harrison could bond with a cousin over their shared interests in bushcraft forts and Neo-Dada art. Jeremiah’s mother would invite them berry picking the next weekend, serve blueberry buckle after Sunday mass, everyone still suited and skirted around the kitchen table. Harrison could cameo in their Christmas card photo. Spend Labour Day weekend at a lakeside cottage. Grill chicken thighs with Jeremiah’s father. Play Marco Polo with his younger brother. It’d all feel like an airy vacation.

And a tiny more romance lol:

Jeremiah leans into Harrison’s chest, brushes his mouth against his ear, down his neck. He touches the way pearls shine—with subtle panache. His lips are tangy with soy sauce, tart with cherry Chapstick, and he’s easy to move into like a current eclipsing itself.

Aaand the end of the chapter! THE DRAMA:

Jeremiah, he could say, the earth keeps turning without me. Jeremiah, which city do you think of as home? Jeremiah, I’m dying of a wound I can’t find. Jeremiah, I love you. Harrison’s head no longer hurts. He glances at the bed ahead of them, the duvet untainted, the throw pillows chopped, then back to Jeremiah. He grips his shoulder so tightly his hand aches. He’ll be needed right now—loved right now. He’ll touch because he needs to. He’ll pray for forgiveness someday. “Don’t let go,” he whispers.

And that's a wrap on No Christ! It was so fun to revisit this chapter now that I'm not... unwell, LOL. I hope you enjoyed this update and stay tuned for the FINAL one (which I meant to include here BUT THIS POST WAS SOOOO LONG)

ily if you made it this far okay bye!

Rachel

[the-lincyclopedia]

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime. 

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is. 

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute. 

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault. 

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always. 

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other. 

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad. 

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity. 

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap. 

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form. 

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story. 

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

[fountainpenguin]

Would you say you write a lot of the unrequited love trope? If so do you have any examples?

All I’ve written this week is unrequited Anti-Cosmo / H.P. cuddle urges because pheromones are hilarious does that count

Unrequited love is probably my favorite romantic trope to write (not to read, though, because I’ve found very few ‘fics that cross my path actually commit to the “unrequited” bit and I’ve gotten rather bitter). I read an article earlier this week about how “the reason you can’t stay friends with someone you’re in love with is because if you truly love them you can never be happy seeing them with someone else” and it broke my heart. Perhaps I’m in the minority, but that’s not the way I see love at all.

I’m of the opinion that true love means helping someone recognize what’s best for them and supporting their efforts to achieve that goal- even if that means they remove you from the equation. If my best friend is moving away to find better work opportunities, I still love them and want them to be happy. I don’t throw a fit that they’re not staying in a situation they don’t want to be in just to make me happy. I’d whip out websites and dive into research and we’d make a huge list of pros and cons and be 100% sure this is the choice they want to make, and I’d babysit kids if they want to travel out there to get a feel of the place and I’d cook them meals and help them pack… I’d support them every way I can because I want them to be happy, even if I’m helping them get away from me. My door would be open for them to swing by whenever they’re in town, even if we hadn’t spoken much since parting ways.

That’s love.

To me, that’s a happy, satisfying ending. To some, it might feel upsetting and sad. Perhaps Character A getting the chance to move closer to Character B would be the satisfying ending for some while that ending would annoy me. That’s okay; it’s their taste, not mine.

I for one love the unrequited love trope because I can play with it in so many ways and question “What is real love?” and “How far are you willing to go for someone when kisses and sex are removed from the reward pool?” I crave healthy break-ups and stories about reuniting with your ex years down the road to touch base, conversing with them without your partner getting jealous because they recognize it’s possible for you to have meaningful relationships with other humans and you don’t despise every unrelated person you interacted with before Current Partner came into your life.

In my own writing, the Foop/Goldie relationship is probably my best example of unrequited love. Foop’s had a crush on that girl since preschool, and not only did he lose her, he lost her to the person who is literally his opposite in every way. Can you imagine what that feels like? Talk about unobtainable. And worse… they grew up together. For thousands and thousands of years. There was no escaping her.

His crush never went away, and every now and again he asks if he has a chance (especially with Poof and Goldie on the verge of breaking up every few decades). Goldie still respects him as a person as long as he’s being polite and not trying to force her. They’re still study buddies and good friends and support each other in many ways even if they aren’t dating.

Their relationship is definitely one of my favorites. It has its own problems, but boy howdy is it fun for me. Below the cut, I’ve included a few Foop-Goldie interactions from upcoming drafts. Kind of sort of spoilers, but nothing that ruins your read. I’ve arranged them in chronological order.

“Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Pixies” (Poof POV)

I got let out of art history class early the next day, so I grabbed a milkshake and went home. When I poofed above my bed, I heard her across the hall in Foop’s room. I froze. I still had my backpack on and hovered there, trying to figure out if I was supposed to leave. He was talking. She was sobbing.

“I don’t belong here. I belong with my people, but my people need me here… I need my education.”

“Goldie,” I heard him say, over and over again as her panic rose in waves. I could sense their location on the edge of my awareness, the magic running through their veins. They perched on his bed with legs folded, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Goldie, listen to me. We both belong to sociosexual societies. Extraordinarily few people at this school truly understand what that’s like and how it defines our culture. But if you ever need to cry, I’m here for you. I’m always just… here. Any time.”

“I’m more like an Anti-Fairy than a Fairy,” she choked out. “I wish I was an Anti-Fairy!”

From Prompt 55, “Denial”

Goldie shook her head. “Foop, it’s not real. Fantasizing about your crush’s counterpart is a completely normal part of Fairykind attraction.”

He swallowed, but never took his eyes from her face. “Trust me. I’ve noticed.”

She stared at him, her wings trembling. The longer she stared, the pinker her face became. “Oh. You meant… So then Anti-Marigold… You know, I should go.”

“Goldie!” Foop grabbed her wrist, yanking her attention back to his face. His other arm couldn’t hold all ten boxes, and several spilled across the floor. Giving up, Foop let the rest tumble after them and latched onto Goldie’s hand with both of his. “Goldie, I- I don’t actually struggle in Maths. The only reason I even go to study night is because I get to see you. Goldie…” As the tears began to swim across his eyes, he squeezed her arm and choked out, “I paired with Anti-Marigold because I love you. I mean, she’s absolutely wonderful, but she isn’t you. I like Anti-Marigold for Anti-Marigold-related reasons, but I like you for Goldie-related reasons. You’re talented and smart and gorgeous and brave, and I could listen to you prattle on about bunnies and dewdrops and beautiful things that hold significance to you hour after hour. I sort-of love Anti-Marigold, but I know I love you. Goldie! Goldie, don’t go!” She pulled away and he released her, but grabbed his hair with his hands. “I know I’m an Anti-Fairy, but if I weren’t, would you give me a chance?”

“… The problem isn’t that you’re an Anti-Fairy.”

From a one-shot currently titled “Foop’s Paper”

“Expelled?” Goldie repeated. “They actually expelled you? Are you pulling wool with me?”

“Are you even surprised? I’m guilty of WWU.”

“‘WWU’?”

Foop twisted his mouth into a grim smile. “Writing while Unseelie. There is no greater crime in all of academia.”

Goldie’s wings sagged. “Oh, Foop… What did you do to upset them so much?”

“Valid research.” He waved the stack of pages above his head, and let it fall to the table just in front of her tray. “Here.”

[…]

“Are you serious? Good glory, are you serious?” Goldie slapped the research paper against his chest. “Two months before we graduate from the Fairy Academy, and you decide to pull a stunt like this? For what? A cute li’l joke? You think it’s funny?”

He shrugged his wings, straightening the papers into a tidy stack again. “It’s what I believe.”

“Watch and Learn” and “Shadow” (already posted on my FFN and AO3) also have some good depictions of these two. Goldie supporting Foop even if she doesn’t want to be in a relationship with him and Foop supporting Goldie even when she turns him down is very important to me. They are friends.

[lokisasylum]

End of Year (2021) Tag

[I was supposed to post this on the 31st and forgot I had it in drafts lmao]

1.       Song of the year? ugh, was it “Butter” ?

   2.       Album of the year?

REALLY wished BTS had brought a new album out... so I’ll just say it was Halsey’s “If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power” because that whole album was just *chef kiss*

   3.       Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year?

The Anix

polnalyubvi

Myuu

Keith Wallen

Also went back to listening to a lot of artists I used to stan back in college.

   4.       Movie of the year? I honestly couldn’t have cared less about any of the titles that came out this past year. But I did watched "Stranger by the sea" which is a boyxboy OVA/Anime. The manga was very interesting to read too.

   5.       TV show of the year? RUN BTS & In The Soop S2

   6.       Episode of tv or webisode that defined the year for you? I don’t think there is one...

   7.       Favorite actor of the year? Do BTS count?

   8.       Game of the year? Didn’t play any games this year...

   9.       Best month for you this year? May, because its when I was able to FINALLY get vaccinated after being put on multiple waiting lists while everyone in my family got vaccinated at the start of the year, but “Caretakers” had to wait.

   10.   Something that made you cry this year? Many frustrating moments that happened.

   11.   Something you want to do again next year? Live and survive Pandemic 2.0

   12.   Talk about a new friend/s you made this year I don’t think I really made any “new friends”. But @utopiajeon thanks for listening to my crackhead ass and shenanigans at 2-3 in the morning when the coffee finally HITS. And I’m sorry for making you (literally) choke with all those JK thirst traps.

   13.   How was your birthday this year? 🎂 it SUCKED, we’re still in a pandemic and my bday was during Holy Week so we didnt do anything.... but my brother gifted me with Tiny Tan figurines and the cake was crucified with BTS stickers. So there was that...

   14.   Favorite book you read this year? I finally read HYYH: The Notes 1&2 that someone posted and shared links. (Jimin’s character story had me SOBBING at 2AM)

   15.   What’s a bad habit you picked up this year? I’ve gotten very weary of people in general, so any unnecessary noise makes me irritable. I also hate my new neighbors due to how noisy and toxic they are.

   16.   Post a picture from the beginning of the year

I honestly don’t have any memorable photos worth posting of how that year started. I just remember the first conv I had with my best friend over Telegram making fun of people who started celebrating New Years a little too early with the firecrackers/fireworks and all and by the time 12:00AM hit they ran out of ammo so the celebration was not only short-lived but everyone just sorta went to bed after that LOL.

Which is laughable because the SAME THING happened this year too.

  17.   Post a picture from the end of the year

Started with food and ended with food.

   18.   A memorable meal this year? I had several and usually I always talk about Christmas, but this year my grandma’s birthday was very special because she turned 80 and she is still SO STRONG and lucid and independent after all the things she’s been through in her life that I requested to prepare the “Birthday meal”. She was VERY happy and that made ME happy. ^^

   19.   What’re you excited about for next year? To NOT DIE.

   20.   What’s something you learned this year? That fanwars still suck and the lot of Armys in this fandom are whole-ass hypocrites.

   21.   What’s something new about your place of residence (room, home, or general location) now vs the start of the year? I FINALLY threw out YEARS worth of junk that kept my room (which is the smallest in the house) extremely cramped and I FINALLY got a bookshelf... that isn’t really holding books since all of my Art and History books are not only too big, but also HEAVY AF, so I now keep those in plastic boxes that I can easily move around, while keeping only what’s needed on the new shelf. Like most of my drawing supplies, perfumes, some figurines and of course.. my box of masks.

   22.   Favorite place you visited this year? Didn’t go anywhere so.. yeah...

   23.   If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year (2021), what would it be?

“Hey... its me again. Um, I hate to break it to you but this year is gonna SUCK too in more ways than one. The good news is that you’re gonna finally get vaccinated so you don’t catch that covid shit from ignorant assholes who refuse to take this serious. Also, FESTA this year’s gonna be really cool so don’t be a pussy and buy those tickets! They’ll also have 4 concerts in LA and its gonna be great, you’ll find links easier LOL. You’re prolly gonna get pissed at a lot of things and feel like you need to murder someone and hey sometimes murder is okay. But try and avoid all that bad shit that’s gonna stress you tf out, its not worth it.”

   24.   Did you keep any New Year’s Resolutions?

I FINISHED Forever, You Said. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

   25.   Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

None to offer, still into fanart mostly. But I DID managed to finally finish ONE of the fics I left on HIATUS for two years 8D....

Tag some peeps: @utopiajeon​ , @parkandblues​ and anyone who comes across this tag.

[briinleyisms]

LMAO HEY MTV IT’S MARCY WELCOME 2 MY CRIB

“LMAO” AKA “ ( x ) ( x ) ( x ) #squadgoals”

ok so lowkey have had this muse for like ten years (ive been rping since i was seven fucking beat me) but every rp i bring her 2??? drops after like??? five days likE LISTEN THAT IS NOT HOW U RUN A RP LISTEN!!! UP!!! PUT UR BACK INTO IT!!!

anyhoW ok unlike ivan since i was still figuring out his bg w rosie when i posted his ‘intro’ i actually got brinley figured out and there’s a long version and a short version. imma put the tl;dr up here ok bc the non-tl;dr is overwhelming. personality is like.... toTALLY POINTLESS WHO CARES ABT PERSONALITY but it’s at the bottom i guess :\

TL;DR:

ok basically she was born into a death cult in aliso viejo, california (tbh i just looked up rural places in ca and chose the most recently established one i could find lmao) called ‘the children of the revelation’ bc im extra. lots of fear-mongering revolving around the idea of The End of Days™. leader was a total prophet and totally abused his prophet power. planned out ritual for end of days was lowkey highkey terrifying (‘let’s go die in the river of miracles’!!!!!! [too extra help me]) and one of the ‘apostles’ was like ‘i quit’ and left iN THE DEAD OF NIGHT!!! and lowkey basically kidnapped a few ppl including BUT NOT LIMITED TO brinley and they wound up in hillsboro and ‘apostle luke’ eventually left and now she’s in the oikos house. fin.

also sik tattooz bro.

ACTUAL VERSION THAT IS LONG(ER):

TW: cult (ofc), death, violence

firST it’s of note that i considered being rly fucking extra by putting quotations around her name bc her birth name is genesis like the book of revelations which brings me 2

my Extra™ title for this cult: “The Children of the Revelation”

so it was like a commune located in some place in CA that’s apparently rural and has only recently been established called ‘aliso viejo’ and lmao watch one of yall live there

but yeAH OK commune not just a church like the church of scientology like full on “u chose this life time 2 prove ur dedication”

alright so just full disclosure that i really really want to get this right and i know no one who has ever been in a cult (let alone a death cult) and i myself have not (as is likely expected) so i have already done research but i plan on doing like 100x more since this is a really serious subject. serious to the point that i’m not even using text slang (although i will when i get on with the intro post i just gotta).

anyhoW w that info out of the way time 2 get 2 the actual like point of the cult

first of all her mom joined the cult before she was born (ofc) and she was the gift!!! between her mom and one of the leader’s ‘apostles’!!!

so!!! 

basically: “lmao ur not leviticus enough 4 us.” (probs their slogan)

ok but obviously that’s scratching the surface like the real fuckery lied w/in two thing:

literal death cult (will get to that)

also doomsday cult

which sometimes go hand-in-hand anyhow

ok so the doomsday thing is what was more prominent in her life since she was 16 when she #escaped and never rly disobeyed (so many things 2 get 2!!!)

the leader’s name was ezekiel (cheever this is actually salem circa 1690) and he perceived himself as a prophet and naturally.... had prophecies. one of the most prominent ones was that the rapture would occur at 11:59PM on December 24th, 2011 (take away four days and add a year and u got the end of the world according 2 misconceptions abt the mayan calendar!)

the idea was that if u obeyed what ezekiel told u 2 do (he believed he was the fourth reincarnation of christ) u would end up going 2 heaven on judgment day but if u disobeyed...... yikes.

it depended on the magnitude of the ‘crime’ but for the most part if u disobeyed more than two times u were killed. u were hung or drowned and u were made an example of.

if u disobeyed less than two times and ur ‘offense’ wasnt worthy of immediate death dw!!! u can scrape by w torture!!! and also be made an example of!!!

so basically u were at ezekiel’s beck and call. every little bit of labor he asked u 2 do was like.......... if u didnt do it yiKES!!! ofc children werent expected 2 perform any laborious tasks rather just 2 listen and take in everything ezekiel and his apostles told them.

his ‘apostles’ who (as u can infer) served as his right-hand men were the fathers 2 all the children who would be born inside the cult. they kept ppl in line. they taught the kids when ezekiel was busy. those sorta things u kno???

ok so imma skip over some of the details that are like.... worse??? like theyre all bad but like these are the things i j feel like shouldnt be brought up in an intro post but theyre in the hella long rough-draft bio here that i went ahead and put up for this purpose rly

SO THAT BEING SAID THIS WAS SORTA A WAY 2 SHOW THE SORTA ENVIRONMENT SHE WAS RAISED IN AND IT SOUNDS FUN AND I WOULD LOVE 2 BE A PART OF IT.

so ok imma try 2 make this next part go quicker

basically the ‘judgment day’ was closing in and ezekiel’s plans were rly like no thank u ( (TW: SUICIDE) ’hey guys! 2 make sure we get into heaven not only do u have 2 follow all of my commands since im jesus’s fourth reincarnation but we all also have 2 walk into a river with rocks in our pockets at the time the world is supposed 2 scorch with hell’s fire!’ (END TW) fun christmas activities for u and ur bae.

as it started closing in it was basically all ezekiel talked abt during his ‘sermons’ like wtf??? what a church service.

‘apostle luke’ (i hate myself) was like “ok..... ok the more u talk abt this the less believable it sounds..... like wtf jesus’s fourth reincarnation??? pics or it didnt happen.” and after some months he wound up concocting this plan 2 #escape bc honestly??? 

so he eventually eSCAPED in the deAD OF NIGHT and basically kidnapped ppl like ok sure luke

one of said ppl was brinley which i kno is unexpected. (honestly i think this is like??? maybe the third time i brought her up in all of these bullets??? honestly @me

“wAS NOT WILLING 2 GO!!! WAS NOT HAPPY 2 GO!!! WAS NOT READY 2 GO!!! NEEDS SOMEONE 2 FOLLOW!!! DOES NOT KNO WHAT 2 DO!!! DOES NOT APPRECIATE THIS!!! IS SHOOK!!!” - everyone luke fucking kidnapped then basically had 2 serve as a stand-in ezekiel for

they ended up in hillsboro after like 84 years and he was like “OK EVERYONE GETS NEW NAMES!!! :D” and tbh he probs just pulled out one of those baby books pointed 2 a random name and bam!!! that was their name

so even tho i’ve been calling her brinley this whole time just 2 make it??? not confusing??? genesis became brinley and she was no longer a book of revelations she is apparently a name that’s most prominent in utah

over time ppl pce’d out (not rly bc they wanted 2 but bc they needed 2 like u get what i mean.)

it ended up j being three ppl in their shitty apt!!! one luke one brinley and one kid who has a name but 1) i havent mentioned it yet and 2) i dont want 2 go look for it in the bio tbh

doomsday came and brinley was shook!!! rly rly shook!!! trying 2 find out what 2 do that would be similar enough 2 what thE CHILDREN of the corn would do!!! and luke was like ( x )

a lot more climatic than im acting like it was but this is so long i dont want 2 spend too much time on anything anymore but ok minor point is homemade inkin’ machine (legit mainly bc ryan ashley -dave navarro voice- [has/had] what it takes... to be ink master. -end voice-)

ok luke left eventually and idk so did the kid idk that’s in there and at first she was like “lmao idk what 2 do ig imma squat [man ivan and brinley #parallels] and keep doin what im doin” and she did and ok

aFTER ALL OF THIS OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST WRITE she wound up w the oikos (bc honestly u can only squat for so long and who the fuck would be like “yes! i would like 2 be inked by a kid on the street who doesnt rly have anywhere 2 put anything! yes!” [i would be like that #exposed]) and is now somewhere where ppl dont think the world will end soon wtf

personality but who cares abt that:

WOW THAT WAS LONG

ok!!! so i never rly had a clear definition of her personality i just like... waited 2 see (BEFORE THE RP CLOSED FUCK THAT) but then i watched a long-ass chipotle commercial (theres this one part where a cow is basically abt 2 be slaughtered and idk it’s so sad it was rly playin up that pathos i wanted 2 cry) and i was suddenly like!!! a lightbulb!!! “aha!!! basically fiona apple’s cover of ‘pure imagination’”

SO 2 GET ON W THAT

it’s been five years since she escaped and started desocializing from that lyf she knew but like............ five years compared 2 sixteen i mean which one’s gonna weigh the other out tbh (i just typed ‘way’ i cannot believe myself pls send me back 2 first grade)

so ok literally LITERALLY it is this song like im tryna think of how 2 explain it???

like the lyrics of it are (u kno willy wonka) v bright (albeit a bit ??? during that spin part) but the bg in fiona apple’s cover is so??? dark??? and honestly fiona apple’s voice just makes everything seem darker (i love fiona apple shes such a queen)

so it’s a v contradicting song

and she has a v contradicting personality

like ok one big thing that fits this contradiction is she feels like she needs someone 2 follow??? since that’s how it’s been almost all of her life??? (come 2 think of it i wouldnt be surprised w my subconscious if that’s the reason she’s still in the oikos house [asides from jobless but]) but at the same time like??? she WANTS 2 be independent??? she WANTS 2 be able 2 build a life for herself and around herself and not someone else but??? it just doesnt work that way???

MORE CONTRADICTION!!! bc of that whole ‘death/doomsday cult’ thing she is a p paranoid person??? but??? at the same time??? c h i l l ??? i mean in any case shes always gonna be lowkey paranoid but she doesnt??? rly act that way most of the time??? this could also be filed under “very curious about the norms of this brand new society but also very wary and prefers 2 Not™”

MORE!!! lmao ok religion idek what 2 do here honestly it’s so fucked. she knoWS IT’S SO FUCKED IT’S SO FUCKKING FUCKED but 16/21 years like??? v hard 2 get over that??? buT IT’S SO FUCKED. like no hate no discriminate (speaking of no discriminate highkey bi i love wlw) but also “everyone is a sinner and so am i we are living in sin we are going 2 burn it is only a matter of time satan where u @???” so like??? scared and wary??? but also??? fucked.

A LOT OF FUCKING FUCKERY. 

A FIONA APPLE SONG.

THANK U AND GOODNIGHT

if u would like 2 plot pls do feel free 2 like this or hmu

and if u actually READ that all then holy shit ur a saint u would make it 2 heaven on rapture day