#why is something generally distressing an 'aesthetic' for people to feel the need to flood a tag with

[purbiworl]

You'd think with that tag that maybe people would actually be talking about the issue it's supposed to be and not just posting hoards upon hoards of "oooh creepy liminal spaces for aesthetic" posts

[rosesgonerogue]

I didn’t so much fall in love- It kicked me in the face Chapter Three

The Wayne Manor was exactly what Marinette had come to expect after years of knowing famous people. It was expertly decorated, but it had an almost somber feel to it - it matched Gotham’s general aesthetic. 

Also meeting expectations was the Wayne family itself. Marinette had done her homework, taking hours to research each member long before setting foot in Gotham. It was clear that they had been warned to behave, but chaos still bubbled beneath their calm facades, she could see it in their eyes. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, allow me to introduce you to Masters Bruce, Richard, Jason, Timothy, and Damian.” 

Marinette nodded to each in turn, her hand unconsciously tightening on Leo’s. She took a steadying breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and this is my son Leo. If you’re interested, I made some macarons for you, as I do for most meetings with my clients.” She set the box on the coffee table. “I would recommend eating them in the next day or so.” 

Tim looked like he was going to faint, and it was then that Marinette noticed the harsh bruise on his jaw - almost like he’d gotten kicked. Surely it had to be a coincidence, there was no way… 

Damian huffed, and the entire family seemed to stiffen. When he spoke, his words were sharp, acidic. “You’re meant to be a seamstress, not a baker. Besides, what kind of professional brings a child to a business meeting? Is his father too worthless to watch him?” 

Everyone in the room froze, and Marinette could feel the warmth drain out of her. She felt eerily similar to when Tikki used ice powers, in fact. There was no way for her to know, but when she spoke, Marinette’s words carried the weight of an avalanche. 

“You yourself are legally a child sitting in on a business meeting, Monsieur Wayne, and I did not object to it because I trust your father to parent you how he sees fit. I could explain to you that other than myself, my only options for Leo’s care are my parents, who are busy preparing for my mother’s surgery while running the most successful bakery in Paris, or my friends, who are all dealing with professional lives of their own. I could explain that, but I shouldn’t have to, because he is my son, and I will raise him as I see fit. And I’m a fashion designer, not a seamstress. This isn’t the seventeenth century.” She paused, staring the offender down. “Do you have any further objections, Monsieur Wayne?” 

A small part of her glowed in satisfaction when Damian ducked his head. “Do as you must.” She missed the way that Tim blinked owlishly, exchanging surprised looks with Dick.

Instead she straightened her jacket, murmuring a few comforting words to Leo before finally letting his hand go. “I prefer getting to know my clients before I actually begin, it helps me make the perfect piece. Does some-”

“I’ll be first,” Jason said, shoving Dick out of the way.

“Perfect. If you’ll come this way, Monsieur Todd, we can sit…”

*************

The satisfied look on Jason’s face was more than a little disconcerting to Tim. He didn’t really feel like hearing the woman who’d occupied his mind for the past day, so he turned his attention elsewhere. He still needed to come to terms with the fact that she had gone head to head with Damian and come out on top after all.

Leo was scrutinizing one of the paintings on the wall, a tiny version of MDC herself. He had the same dark hair, light freckles on pale skin, and wide blue eyes…

No. Please no. Tim glanced subtly at Bruce. Surely he wouldn’t try to adopt either parts. Marinette was an adult with two living parents, and Leo had Marinette, so they were safe, right? 

Regardless, that would be an issue for another time. Tim found himself crouching next to Leo. “That painting is of Monsieur Bruce’s parents,” he said in French. 

The child switched his soulful eyes to Tim’s face, his expression serious. “You know French.” 

“Yes, I really like languages, so I learned as many as I could,” Tim said, resisting the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Your name is Leo, right?” 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 

“You can call me Tim. Are you enjoying Gotham so far?” 

Leo thought hard for a moment. “Maman and I had a lot of fun today, but yesterday was a little scary, the way it sometimes gets in Paris.” 

He desperately wanted to ask Leo more about the scary things in Paris, but it wasn’t fair to ask a child. Instead, Tim let the boy pull him around the parlor, asking questions about anything he found even remotely interesting. 

“And that is the trophy Dick, my oldest brother, got for gymnastics in seventh grade,” Tim explained, hefting the boy higher up so he could see the object in question more clearly. “That’s the ribbon Jason got for a creative writing contest, and Damian’s martial arts trophy. A couple of these belong to Bruce…” 

Leo stared at the glass case like it would afford him the answers to the universe before looking up to Tim’s face. “Where are your trophies?” 

“What?” 

“Everyone else has trophies. Where are yours?” 

“That’s… I mean, I have some, I just didn’t think they were very important,” Tim said with a shrug. 

“But families should be together,” Leo said with wide, unblinking eyes. “That’s why I wanted to come with Maman, even though it made your brother be mean to her.” 

Tim smiled, pushing down the barrage of emotions fighting within him. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. Your Maman is a very smart lady.” 

“Maman is the smartest,” Leo said solemnly. 

“You must be right again,” Tim said conspiratorially. “She’s also the best at making clothes.” 

The boy’s face didn’t change in the least, there wasn’t a trace of a smile, but he slowly patted Tim’s cheek. “I like you.” 

“That’s high praise.” 

TIm golted, his cheeks flooding with color when he found himself next to Marinettte. She was smiling kindly when she said, “Thank you for watching Leo, that really wasn’t necessary. But I didn’t know you spoke French. That’s very impressive, Mr. Drake.”

“Call me Tim, please. And you’ve caught me, I have a deep love of languages. It’s helped in this position, though,” he said with a smile. “Business transactions are a lot easier when you don’t need a translator.” 

“I’ve also found that to be true,” Marinette said, lips quirked. “It’s finally your turn for your consultation. We can do it with or without Leo, whatever you would prefer.” 

“Leo and I are friends now, of course I would need his opinion!” Tim said, just barely noticing that he was still holding the child. “After all, I need his help making sure that I have the best suit at the entire Wayne Gala.” 

That actually coaxed a smile out of the boy, and the resemblance between him and his mother had never been stronger. Marinette looked surprised, but her eyes were warm. “A lot of designers despair over men’s fashion, you know. People lash out whenever you stray too far from the traditional designs, and no one can really reinvent the suit. While it doesn’t let us exercise as much creativity and freedom as women’s fashion, I actually love things like this. Men’s suits are all about attention to detail - how I can work to show your personality in an appropriate but memorable manner. Do you have any specific requests?” 

Against his will, Tim felt his face heat up, doubtlessly turning as red as his vigilante suit. “I fully admit that I was the one who originally commissioned you. I even had to fight Damian. And yet, I haven’t thought about the specifics of what I might want until now.” 

Thankfully, Marinette laughed. “You’d be surprised at how often that happens. That’s perfectly fine. I just didn’t want to leave out anything you desperately wanted. Do you have a specific color for your suit in mind?” 

“Black?” Tim asked helplessly. “I’ve followed your career for a long time, Mademoiselle, but that doesn’t mean that I know anything about fashion. I just know that your fashion seems… magical.” 

Marinette’s lips quirked upwards, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. “That’s an interesting comment. I have a proposal for you, Timothy Drake. If you have any pressing requests I will include them, but I want to keep yours a surprise.” 

Tim swallowed, completely unprepared to deal with the sparkle in her eyes. “I trust you.”

“The exterior is going to be a neutral color because you’re a business man who needs to keep up appearances. That means the most fun we’ll get to have is with the lining. Any opinions?” Marinette asked. “I only bring it up because it’s the most flexible part.” 

“I don’t know, I think all of my suit linings are black or gray,” Tim said, slightly distressed. 

Leo stared him down with serious eyes before saying, “Maman, the inside needs to be red. Ladybug red.” 

“Ladybug? You want me to look like a beetle?” Tim asked. 

Marinette smiled slightly at his comment, but her eyes were fixed on her son. “Are you sure, mon cher? Ladybug red?”

“That’s what he needs,” Leo confirmed. 

Thinking about his brothers’ laughter if he showed up in a polka-dot suit, Tim asked again, “Ladybugs? Are you sure, Leo?” 

“Oh, not the bug,” the fashion designer assured him, finally breaking eye contact with her son. “She tries to keep her existence quiet, but Ladybug is one of Paris’s heroes.” 

“She’s the best hero,” Leo said solemnly. “But you’re nice like she is. You need to have red like she does.” 

There was a strange look in Marinette’s eye that Tim couldn’t quite decipher, but she smiled nonetheless. “You should feel honored. Once someone back in Paris asked me to make something in Ladybug red, and Leo hid the fabric so I had to make it in a slightly different shade. He must really like you.” 

He wanted to say something, anything. Tim had never felt so… he didn’t even know how to describe it. He had spent his life building it into what he had wanted it to be, propping himself up with his accomplishments. He stood alone in his skyscraper, trying to catch up to Bruce and his brothers, but Marinette and Leo had violently dragged him down to the ground, standing outside with everyone. Maybe his family had never been as distant as he thought. 

Or maybe the caffeine withdrawal was finally getting to him.

Taglist: 

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64  @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood

Note: 

Damian’s going to be a jerk in this. Beware. 

[akimbohimbo]

haven’t done this in awhile

Issa tag meme, folks! I was tagged by the insufferable @laffayete to do a thing :) (don’t worry i know her irl im allowed to say that) 

This is gonna be hella long so I apologize in advance :’) 

1. What’s the smell of your shampoo? 

bold of u to assume i ever wash my hair 

OFF TO A GREAT START, YEEHAW Y’ALL 

jk but i guess i will NEVER know because my mom doesn’t keep shampoo labels :’) 

2. What’s your aesthetic? 

things that relate to space (pulsars, quasars, the sun, planets) 

nature (sunsets, the sky, forests, oceans) 

minimalism (in terms of cinematography and posters)

i went to japan last summer and i would consider literally everything about it my aesthetic, especially with the way they organize things  

music-related aesthetics 

anything boujee in terms of fashion: trench coats, pea coats, leather jackets, suits, dresses, jumpsuits, literally anything that naomi smalls and manila luzon wear is right up my alley 

the small of a woman’s back, collarbones, jawlines

anything intricately designed (music boxes)

flowers (orchids, daisies, sunflowers, tulips, roses)

just to name a few 

3. What’s your favourite time of day? 

i really like the hour right before a sunset. the clouds usually start to clear and the colours of the sky start to blend with each other. depending on the sunset, everything is temporarily red or blue, and even if it’s a particularly cloudy or rainy day, there’s a gentle light coming from up above that’s just very serene and relaxing. 

i also really like being outside at 3am, albeit that seldom happens. the streets are very quiet, and there’s this sense of peace that floods over me. it’s like, for a moment, i don’t feel overwhelmed and everything is just. calm. 

4. What do you like most about the beach? 

i love the beach. if i’m being honest, i love the memories i have attached to the place more than the place itself. i’ve been to dozens of beaches around the world, which each have their fair share of beautiful physical attributes that one could potentially admire. some beaches have cliffs that tower over its surroundings, while others have turbulent waters that are filled with flora and fauna; some have soft, white sand and others have mouldable sand that can be used to play with. 

5. What do you worry about constantly? 

not doing enough in terms of academics, or friendships, or even just in terms of self-care. i also worry about my constant need to overthink and my hunger for spice in my life?? these days it hasn’t been hectic and it’s what i say i always want, but i hate being bored. i have an addiction to thrill, and that’s not healthy either. there is so much i want to do, but i keep delaying everything because i am afraid anything i do won’t be worthwhile. this is why my friends tell me i need to relax lmao :-) 

6. What is a song you’ve cried to before? 

i literally have playlists reserved for specific moods. i’m too lazy to write out a full playlist bc i put a lot of thought into them but these are the songs that immediately popped into my head that correlate to my current mood:

if i’m being honest by dodie

once you by jacob collier

quelqu’un m’a dit by carla bruni

i’ll cover you (reprise) from rent the musical

maybe from next to normal the musical

ocean wide, canyon deep by jacob collier

burned out by dodie

visions of gideon by sufjan stevens

chicago by sufjan stevens

let’s get lost by elliott smith

you & i by queen

somebody that i used to know by elliott smith

the predatory wasp of the palisades are out to get us! by sufjan stevens

dancing with a ghost by st. vincent

neu roses (transgressor’s song) by daniel caesar

just a few lmao i cry to a lot of songs 

7. What are some relaxing tips for your followers? 

take long walks and listen to some music. allow yourself to catch your breath when things are getting overwhelming and it feels like you can’t get a handle on anything. drink tea, maybe watch a sunset if you have the time. write, write, write your emotions out. watch some funny movies/comedy bits.

8. What are some things that make you tear up? 

whenever my friends show me that they really do care for me and appreciate my existence??? the other day my friend got drunk and sent me a heartfelt text that said that they were grateful for me being there for them despite the fact that i have an overwhelming amount of shit to deal with on my own. it was at like 2am and i literally cried. i like being appreciated. also dogs. and when my friends send me memes that remind them of me. i also really love good music (more specifically, albums that feel complete). wholesome shit. and showing my friends that i appreciate their existence, too.

9. What is your favourite thing from each of the five senses? 

sound: hearing my friends genuinely laugh. the sound of rain and its pitter patter onto a windowsill. orchestral music. guitar riffs. good cello playing. percussion (love me some good beats). jacob collier’s thought process as he says them out loud. IN-TUNE PIANOS. stradivarius violins. daniel caesar’s soft voice. duets. grainy recordings of jazz. 

smell: oatmeal, chocolate chip cookies, fresh barbecue, food in general. the scent on some of my friends (some of them smell like laundry detergent and i love that). onions sizzling on a hot pot.

sight: seeing people smile. more specifically, jacob collier’s smile. dogs. visually aesthetic cinematography. cameras.

touch: silk. cashmere. the playful, soft touch of fingers or lips running along my thighs and/or neck. a thumb gently rubbing onto my hand assuring me everything is going to be okay. the feeling of my fingers as they hop and skid along a piano. a soft kiss on my forehead. 

taste: i will literally eat anything don’t try me. 

10. What is one alternative reality you’d want to be in? 

one where my mind is calm and not constantly confused and unsure of literally everything. one where i know exactly what i want. one where there is no political distress and everyone gets along and people are all decent human beings with a moral backbone stronger than a chocolate eclair. one where i can do things to my fullest potential without having to worry that i didn’t try or do anything hard or well enough.

11. What are some troubles you face on a day to day basis? 

waking up and contemplating whether things are worth it. not to be edgy but i know i could be doing so much more than i am currently doing with my life. also procrastination. 

12. What is one scene of a book that made you really sad? 

honestly? i block off everything sad whenever i read a book, whoops! i guess the one that comes to mind right now is in the third book of the pjo series, when zoe nightshade dies. the whole thing where she was like, “stars, i can see the stars again m’lady.” that was the first time i ever cried while reading a book, and i don’t really cry much when indulging in media. 

13. Say something to your followers 

i like too many things and im sorry that my blog is messy but also i hope u all still enjoy my content WOO i have too many hyperfixations :’)

im supposed to tag people, so uhh here’s a few of my mutuals. you don’t have to do this btw.

@grandtheftpoptart @matteolcerilli @dear-goodbye @stalkhome-sindrone @mercutiowned @somewherebetweensenseandnonsense @mlmneilperry

[memeclains-blog]

Monster Mash

6k

some light smut at the end, just a forewarning

ao3 link

             Lance was rummaging through his closet, popping his hips to the generic Halloween playlist that was blasting through his room. The sun had just barely retreated behind the horizon and Lance was already actively in search of an outfit. Usually, this would be too early for Lance to willingly rise, but tonight was a special night, which meant Lance had to look his best.

           He was tossing every cute outfit combination he could onto his bed. Humming and scratching his head over each new idea that arose. It was hard work but he thought he had figured something out within half an hour. He was just tugging his jacket on when Pidge burst through his door.

           “It is seven o’clock,” she said. Her eyes didn’t even look like they were opened.

           “Yep!” Lance said. “I’m surprised it took you this long to aggressively tell me the time.”

           Hunk popped his head into the room, rubbing his eyes. He said with a small smile, “You know she sleeps like the dead.”

           Lance groaned, and Pidge shoved Hunk hard enough for him to stumble out of the doorway. When he came back with his smirk, Lance shook his head. His attentions quickly turned to himself though when he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror. He cocked his hips and admired the way his ass totally popped in his pink jeans. With the pastel blue v-neck and the holo jacket, his look was one for the magazines. He did a little twirl and asked Pidge and Hunk, “What do you think?”

           “I think you’re a piss poor excuse for a vampire,” Pidge muttered and trudged back to her room.

           “I think you look good,” Hunk said. “Although, she’s right. You don’t look very goth.”

           “I never look goth,” Lance said. “I’ll drink someone’s blood covered head to toe in body glitter.”

           “But it’s Halloween,” Hunk frowned. “You aren’t going to get carried away with the aesthetic? I’m totally wearing a cape tonight, dude.”

           “I’m prioritizing being cute this year.” Lance took his jacket off and draped it carefully on his bed. Now came the laborious task of reorganizing his massacred closet. That was the real nightmare of Halloween.

           Hunk shrugged and wandered off, leaving Lance to sort through his mess. He only got so far before something caught his attention--the something he had been trying to ignore for the past three weeks. It was a black jacket, shoved to the very corner of his closet, hidden behind his winter coat. His hands twitched towards it, but he didn’t allow himself to touch. He couldn’t. Because touching it for the sake of touching it would mean that he was too far gone for its owner--for Keith--and that was dangerous.

           He didn’t know when this had become such a problem. In the beginning, he only had a mere fixation on creating a stereotypical rivalry between himself and a werewolf. Keith had been the perfect candidate. They had met through Allura, the fae whose Halloween party they would be attending that night and Keith had immediately been able to rub him in all the wrong ways. Eventually, though, there was a shift between them. Lance began enjoying their simulated arguments. The fights, the competitions, became fictional. And then they had begun texting, talking, calling each other independent of the others.

           Maybe Lance had always thought of Keith as attractive, but he had never held this painful tenderness for him. Or so he thought. Then, there was another shift and this time Lance was sure he knew when it began.

           There had been a night months ago where Pidge and Hunk hadn’t been home. They hadn’t been there when he needed a shoulder to cry on and a chest to heave his heavy breaths into. He had been unraveling at the seams and the only person he could think to go to had been Keith. Lance had never flown anywhere so fast and when he’d finally made it to Keith’s apartment he fell apart. Lance had poured his heart into Keith’s lap about everything that had pained him since his vampirism had taken root. He missed the sun, he missed the beach, he missed garlic knots, but most of all he missed his family.

           Keith had been terrible with advice and even worse with comforting. But Lance found just being with him had lifted the weight off his heart. When he returned to his own bed that morning, he could only think of Keith and his awkward patting, and fumbled words. He thought of him so hard that a switch flipped and suddenly he was no longer just thinking, he was yearning.

           Lance had thought he could ignore it, thought he could bury it deeper than his own grave had been. He didn’t want these romantic feelings for someone he knew it would be painful to love. Keith was beautiful, honest, emotional, and willing to give all the love in the world to the people he came to know. Lance couldn’t take that, not with a mortal.

           But then the night Keith had left his jacket marked yet another shift. Another breaking point.

 ---

             Keith had left the jacket there weeks ago. It was rare for him to come over but he’d arrived at their doorstep soaked from head to toe, complaining that Shiro had pestered him into coming over. Lance could not for the life of him understand why Shiro had decided it was a good idea to visit when the rain was coming down hard enough to flood the streets. He had ushered Keith in quickly and when he entered he immediately shrugged out of his soaked jacket. Hunk fussed and brought it to the dryer and then it was just Keith and Lance. Until Shiro materialized and began puttering around the living room with a distracted “Hey, Lance.”

           Keith nodded at Lance’s bedroom and slunk off. It had taken a moment but Lance had followed him and left the entertainment of Shiro to Hunk. Seeing Keith sitting at the edge of his bed, hunched over and rubbing at his temple threw any bafflement Lance had out the window.

           “I needed a friend,” Keith said. He dropped his hand and stared at the carpet.

           This was Lance’s cue to tentatively take a seat beside him and try his best not to stare too hard at Keith’s glassy eyes and scrunched brows.

           “What happened?”

           Keith shrugged. “Just been a bad day.”

           “That can’t be all,” Lance said. Keith shrugged again. Silence wasn’t Lance’s best friend, but it was Keith’s. They sat silently for a while before Keith finally opened up.

           “Shiro doesn’t trust me to handle myself during the next full moon,” Keith had said. He clung to his necklace and toyed with the small, black lion that hung from the chain. Shiro, unlike most ghosts, was not bound to a place, but an object--the necklace. And Shiro, unlike most people, never distrusted Keith. The fact that he was now was an anomaly of the worst proportions.

           But last month had been bad. Keith had nearly exposed himself and, even worse, he had gotten into multiple fights with the other werewolves around town and nearly died on Lance’s front step. Lance could remember seeing him for the first time clearly, it was branded into his mind. Deep scratches had marred his face and bruises had covered him from head to toe. He was a mangled slab of meat more than their Keith. Shiro had been frantic. He could only interact with the living world so much, and carrying Keith to a hospital was out of the question. Luckily, they had been close by and Shiro had urged Keith along until they were close enough for Shiro to bang on their door.

           Keith had barely been conscious. Lance would understand if that night was a vague blot in his memory. That would explain why Keith was so upset, because it meant he didn’t remember the look in Shiro’s eyes. Lance had never seen him like that, with eyes so big and breaths so short. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel much, emotionally, unless they were put under great distress and Lance had witnessed Shiro fall apart and crumble. He was only okay again when Keith was.

           “He’s worried about you,” Lance said.

           Keith hunched in on himself. “He said I should lock myself up in case I go out again.”

           Lance had no idea how that would work, considering they lived in an apartment and had nothing substantial to hold Keith once he wolfed out. But he could see the reason why Shiro would bring such a thing up, even if it would hurt Keith.

           “I’m not sure he meant that,” Lance began. “You should have seen him last month, dude. He was not okay. And I totally get why he would be concerned about this month too.”

           “You agree that I should chain myself up like some fucking monster?” Keith said. His eyes flashed yellow and he shot up.

           “Hey, hey,” Lance said, holding his hands out. “Easy. I wasn’t saying that. I don’t think it’s the best solution, you’d just wreck your apartment. All I’m saying is I understand why he’d say that.”  Lance stood too and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You were in bad shape that night. We were all worried about you, but, honestly, I think Shiro was the worst off. Seriously, I wonder sometimes--I wonder if--if anything worse happened that night--gods, maybe Shiro would have turned into a shade if something happened.”

           Keith looked away and Lance took the opportunity to tug at the hem of his shirt and make him sit again. “Look, I don’t think you should chain yourself up in your apartment but go somewhere you know you’ll be safe and don’t leave. If you aren’t going to do it for yourself, at least do it for Shiro.”

           Keith wouldn’t look up, but after a few minutes of consideration, he nodded.

           Lance sighed and let the tension run from his shoulders. He threw himself onto his bed with a loud groan. “You’re a real piece of work sometimes.”

           “I know,” Keith said and flicked his forehead. “But you’re worse.”

           “Am not.” Lance shoved his arm away.

           “Are too.” And Keith shoved him back.

           Lance laughed and sat up. He hadn’t noticed that Keith had leaned over him for their roughhousing but when he was up their noses practically touched. There were a few dangerous moments where neither of them thought to move away. Lance looked into his eyes and, not for the first time, marveled at their deep purple color. Everything hidden behind those irises was an intensity Lance had always been drawn to. Tonight, there was a flicker of a flame he had never witnessed in Keith’s eyes before. He nearly closed the gap between them. They were so close, all it would take was a tilt of his head and they would be--Lance pounced to his feet.

           “Go talk to your brother,” he croaked. Kissing Keith wasn’t a foreign thought but Lance didn’t know if he was ready for that. Keith’s lifespan was a problem that Lance didn’t want to face. Flings were one thing, but Lance didn’t have flings with his friends. When he began having romantic thoughts for a friend, he got sucked into their everything. There was no way things could be casual. But a serious relationship with someone who would age and die was not something Lance wanted to tackle. He was twenty-five and had only been that age for one extra year. Understanding his lack of mortality was enough to make him dizzy and understanding that his partner couldn’t take that journey with him was nauseating. Kissing Keith would be a mistake, but if Keith stayed any longer it was a mistake Lance would undoubtedly make.

           Keith stood. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, but Lance turned just that little bit away to make Keith suck in a breath and leave the room. Lance heard Keith, Shiro, and Hunk talking for a minute before the front door opened and shut.

           Hunk appeared a moment later, letting the door creak open to announce his arrival. When Lance didn’t immediately tell him to leave, Hunk came up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

           “Shiro and Keith had a fight,” Lance said. “They’ll be okay though.”

           “That’s not what I meant,” Hunk said. When Lance didn’t say anything, Hunk shook him lightly. “Talk to me, man.”

           “I think I have feelings for Keith,” Lance said. He studied his hands and wondered when things had gotten this bad. These feelings weren’t meant to go any further than a stupid, stupid crush.

           “Oh.” Hunk knew what this meant to him. “I’m sorry, man.”

           Lance nodded. “I almost kissed him. I had to kick him out, if I didn’t I would have done it.”

           Hunk squeezed his shoulder and said quietly, “Would that have been such a bad thing?”

           “We aren’t meant to mix.”

           Hunk let his hand drop and he retreated out of the room. But he came back only a minute later and offered Lance a jacket.

           “Keith rushed out of here and forgot this.” When Lance didn’t take it, Hunk set it on his bed. “You should return it to him.”

 ---

             Lance hadn’t returned it yet. That had been at the beginning of the month and Lance hadn’t so much as texted Keith. But Keith hadn’t reached out to him either. Which hurt, even though that was what Lance had hoped for that night. The logical side of him and the rest were in disagreement. He was smart enough to know that he might not be able to handle a relationship like that yet. But he was still stupid enough to want Keith.

           Keith, who would undoubtedly be at the Halloween party tonight. Every year, Allura left the fae world for an entire night and threw a party in her castle. She and Shiro were good friends, which meant Shiro attended every year. And where Shiro was, Keith was. Always.

           Lance reached for the jacket. He might as well do it tonight.

 ---

             Hunk drove them to Allura’s castle two hours before midnight, when the party officially began. They ended up in an obscure road which they pulled off of to go down a rutted path barely visible through the bed of fallen leaves. Trees towered over them in terrible shadows and enclosed them in a tunnel void of light. Their headlights couldn’t reach far enough in the all consuming dark.

           It felt like hours before the trees parted and revealed the Castle sitting atop a craggy hill, surrounded by dark, swirling clouds.

           “Wow,” Hunk said. In that moment, a flash of lightening cracked the sky and thunder rumbled the earth. “Wow. Allura really went all-out, huh?”

           “I’m honestly so proud of her,” Lance said. He hopped out of the car once Hunk wedged himself into a free space amidst the cluster of other cars. “The drama is stunning.”

           Pidge smiled. “This is definitely a castle I’d like to live in. Think Allura will want to be roomies?”

           “Uh, no,” Hunk said. “We need your rent money, don’t even think about it.”

           “Glad to know you’re keeping me around because you love me.”

           Lance laughed and followed them up the decrepit trail that led to the Castle. Keith’s bike taunted him at the edge of the DIY parking lot. It glistened in the moonlight just far enough out of his line of sight to force him to turn his head, despite his initial stubborn resistance. He tightened his hold on Keith’s jacket.

           Hunk glanced at him. “You okay?” Lance only nodded, to which Hunk and Pidge exchanged a wordless look. “Want to leave the jacket in the car?”

           This was Lance’s out.

           He shook his head.

           “No, no, I’ll be good.” He tossed his winning smile at him. “We just gotta sort some shit out and then we’ll be back at each other’s throats in no time.”

           “Christ, if I start seeing more hickeys on your neck than skin--” Pidge muttered.

           “Shut up.” Lance whipped her with the jacket and half-heartedly chased after her when she shot off with a taunting laugh. The steep slope quickly forced him to slow to a walk. He leaned over his knees and groaned. “Can’t Allura have made the path wider so we could, you know, drive up there.”

           “We could always fly,” Pidge said. She turned and smiled at him. “Race you.”

           In a small puff  of smoke, a black bat replaced her human form and raced to the front door.

           “Oh, like hell I’m letting her beat me. Hunk, come on!”

           With that, the world began to warp around him as his eyesight dwindled to almost nothing. He shot up a few feet as his wings adjusted to the sudden weight difference between a healthy man and a flying rodent. There was a moment, as there always was, where he thought he would be sick all over the trodden path Allura had no doubt put too much effort into manifesting. He pushed the nausea away and shot off after Pidge, shoving and biting when she tried to block his path.

           They reached the doors quickly as they bypassed the trail completely and shot themselves over the cliffs, close enough that Lance could feel the scrape of jutting rocks against the web of his wings. At the threshold of the Castle, Pidge changed back before her velocity slammed her little body into the door and caught herself with her hands. Lance attempted to copy her but ended up in a graceless heap at her feet.

           “I win,” Pidge panted.

           Hunk landed behind them with a small oof. “Great race you guys.”

           “It would have only been great if I won,” Lance whined. He dusted off Keith’s jacket and picked himself up just as the door swung open. Coran was standing at the threshold, garbed in a cheap pirate’s costume. Lance almost wished he’d decided to dress up this year, but he really wanted to look cute. He glanced at Keith’s jacket and tried not to think on that anymore.

           “Ah! You’ve made it!” Coran said. “Welcome! Do not be frightened by the phantasmagoric sights that await you in the Castle of Lions!” He swept his arm behind him, leading their gazes to the foyer where the party was already engulfed in the loud, erratic throes of Halloween.  

           Floating candles were the only solace from the pitch dark of the room. Cobwebs clung to every surface. Old portrait paintings of people long dead hung on the walls. Lance was fairly sure he saw a few of them move in the corner of his eye. The decorations were stunning and Lance had to persuade Allura into spilling her deepest decoration secrets. But creeping and crawling underneath and in-between all the decorations was what truly made Halloween--the monster mash.

           Goblins scurried under-foot shouting and screaming bloody murder. Ghouls hung near the rafters and viewed the party beneath them with glowing, red eyes. A few swooped violently near the crowd, exciting a few cries and laughs as they dive-bombed the writhing mass of earth-bound creatures. Mummies and zombies shuffled here and there, werewolves howled and tore their clothing as they allowed themselves to half transform. Vampires flashed their fangs, fae flitted here and there and shot sultry looks to anyone who approached.

           Lance could feel the bass deep in his chest as Halloween music rang into the night. But it was the Halloween music Lance knew, not the pop-culture human stuff that made the rounds. These were the bone-shivering instrumentals composed by the fae, the teeth-shattering rock of the werewolves, and the weeping melodies of the vampires.

           Lance grabbed Hunk’s and Pidge’s wrists and dragged them into the mash with a shout.

           Then they were dancing. Lance slung Keith’s jacket over his shoulder and lost himself in the music. He rolled his hips and pumped his fist to the beat and tried his best to keep track of Hunk and Pidge, but it was only a matter of time before he lost them and began dancing with whoever asked him. Time seeped by him, its only marker the growing population of the creatures of the night.

           Eventually, though, he stumbled into someone familiar.

           “Lance?” he said. Lance ground to a halt before he tipped any further and caught himself. He turned around and saw Shiro. Everyone else was passing through him as if he wasn’t there at all. Lance wouldn’t have known he was visible to others if not for the many eyes that studied Shiro up and down.

           “Hey, Shiro!” Lance said. He flicked his eyes around for any sign of Keith. Shiro could only wander from his necklace so far, about the length of a nice apartment, before he was stopped by an invisible force. Usually, this meant that Shiro and Keith hardly ever left each other’s field of vision. But the party was in full swing and there was no way of keeping track of anyone at this point. Lance let himself relax.

           “Have you seen Keith?” Shiro asked. “I lost him.”

           “Nope, haven’t seen a mullet around,” Lance said.

           Shiro nodded. “Will you help me look for him? I don’t want to go too far.”

           Lance almost wanted to say no. He had been having such a good time, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to part with that feeling. If he found Keith, they were sure to have the conversation they had both so studiously avoided. He could put it off a bit longer, saying no would be so easy.

           “Okay.”

           “Great,” Shiro said. “Why don’t you check over there?”

           He pointed at the grand staircase that led to the upper parts of the Castle. Lance didn’t mention that Shiro had just come from that direction and nodded. He shimmied through the crowd as best he could and tried to stay focused as more than one person fluidly pressed up against his chest and back. More than once, he nearly pressed back just to pretend for a little longer that Keith wasn’t there, waiting to yell at him for being such a massive dick. Instead, he smiled at the dancers and eased past, keeping a look out for his werewolf.

           An hour before midnight, he found him. Keith was pressed into a corner next to the staircase with his arms folded and his chin tucked against his chest. Lance paused, at the very edge of the crowd now. He could step back and become one with the mass of bodies again. But  all he could bring himself to do was stare. Keith was handsome in the low light of the foyer. Shadows danced across his face, covering what might have been seen behind the curtain of hair framing his face. He wore a leather jacket that hugged his broad shoulders and boots that seemed a size too big. Lance had always teased that he was the real vampire, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t think Keith’s whole aesthetic wasn’t something that had drawn him in from the very first day. As if he didn’t have a say in the matter, he stepped forward and closed the gap between himself and Keith.

           “Hey,” he said when he was close enough for Keith to hear him over the music. Keith looked up with wide eyes. “Shiro was looking for you.”

           “Oh?” Keith blinked. “Did he want me take his necklace back or...?”

           “Uh, I don’t know.” Lance shrugged. He had been under the impression that the reason Shiro had been looking for him was because he had the necklace. “He didn’t say anything other than he was looking for you. Where’s his necklace?”

           “With Allura,” Keith said. “He said he wanted to hang out with her.” It was Keith’s turn to shrug. “I’ll go look for him.”

           Lance caught his arm before he was able to get too far. He was beginning to suspect their friends had planned this. Or, at least if they hadn’t, it was a good time anyhow to bite the bullet. “Wait.” Keith backed away quickly and Lance tried not to let the twinge in his chest grow. At least Keith stayed. “We--we should talk.”

           Keith looked away. He pursed his lips and Lance readied himself for a rejection. Instead, Keith nodded his head slowly. “We should.”

           Keith led them up the stairwell and they wandered until they found a secluded lounge. The room was lit with a low light that was brighter than the lighting in the foyer. Lance could see large sofas arranged in an intimate square and bookshelves taller than they were. Keith sat on one sofa and Lance decided he would sit on the one in front of him. The distance would help put him at ease, hopefully.

           “So,” Keith said. Lance waited for a moment but it didn’t seem that Keith would say anymore.

           “So,” Lance began. “How was the full moon?”

           “Fine,” Keith said. “I took your advice.”

           “It was only a matter of time before you realized I was right,” Lance said with a smile. He leaned against the back of the sofa. This was something he could do, something he was familiar with. “Now if only you’d realize I’m right all the time.”

           “That’ll never happen,” Keith said. He looked down at his hands and was silent for a few long moments. “Hunk hinted at something the other night, you know, that--that means you aren’t always right.” He stood and began pacing the length of the sofas, ran a hand down his face. “Are you worried your immortality is going to be a problem for me? Because if you do, you’re wrong.”

           Lance was stunned into silence. He hadn’t been aware that Hunk and Keith had been speaking about him, but even more than that he hadn’t been aware that Keith had been thinking about this. What happened that night had clearly been mutual, but Lance didn’t think Keith would give him a second chance. He didn’t think that Keith would want to speak to him again after being rejected without even an apology or explanation.

           “That’s--that’s not exactly right,” Lance said. He looked down at his feet. “I’m a little more selfish than you’re giving me credit for.”

           “So it’s a problem for you?”

           Lance nodded. He finally looked up and found Keith completely still and looking at him with those deep, endless eyes of his. “If things work out between us--” he had to look down again and force himself to swallow. “If things work out between us that’s going to hurt the most. Because I’ll have to realize you’ve gone all gray one day. I’ll have to realize that I won’t have forever with you.”

           “Lance,” Keith said. “That’s idiotic. Thinking of the future doesn’t sound right coming from you.”

           “It’s not like I can ignore this,” Lance growled. “Last I checked we aren’t living in a Twilight novel. Werewolves age just the same as humans and I don’t know if I’m ready to want you, knowing I’ll have to say goodbye.”

           “I’m not going anywhere.”

           “You will,” Lance said. “You’re going to leave me. Like my family will. I don’t know how many losses I can take, Keith.”

           “You were always going to see me die,” Keith said.

           “What?” Lance said. He felt the earth drop from under him. There was no way to interpret that lightly. Especially because he knew, once upon a time, that Keith’s mental state had thrown him into a dark pit not even Shiro knew he could escape.

           “Not like that, you know I wouldn’t. Not when I have you guys and Shiro. I just meant--I meant that I’m an idiot with almost no self-preservation. I mean, you saw what happened to me last month. And even if I get old enough for a stiff wind to break my hips--you’ve always been the stronger one out of the two of us. My death isn’t something that you’d have been able to escape even as a mortal.”

           Lance buried his face in his hands and breathed out a laugh. “Way to cheer a guy up, Keith.”

           “I just mean that we wouldn’t have thought about that bullshit if we were both mortal. Me dying before you wouldn’t have been something that even crossed our minds until it happened.”

           Keith was right, though. If Lance didn’t have forever stretched out in front of him, he wouldn’t have thought of that at all. But that was probably because mortals knew they only had to live a year or two after the love of their life passed away, not hundreds and hundreds of countless years. Lance didn’t want to be in pain for that long.

           Keith crouched in front of him. “Are you afraid of this?”

           Lance waited a moment and then said, “I’m afraid of the future.”

           “Why?”

           “When I lose you--” Lance looked into his eyes and cupped his jaw. “--I will have to live with that pain forever. And after I lose my family I--I don’t know how strong I can be for that.”

           “I didn’t take you for a coward,” Keith said. Before Lance could recoil, he grasped his hand and kept it there against his face. “Since when have you been afraid of pain? The Lance speaking to me now isn’t the one that become a vampire so his best friend wouldn’t have to face eternity alone.” When Lance tried to look away, Keith caught his chin and kept his eyes facing forward. “Even after Pidge admitted she was a vampire too, you kept your word to him. Why have you turned your back on that? Since when did your decision begin to terrify you?”

           Lance clung to Keith’s wrist and swallowed. “Since I realized that the forever I always dreamed about wasn’t possible with all but three of the people I loved.”

           Keith squeezed the hand still firmly pressed against his cheek. “We can make our own forever.”

           Lance looked away and laughed. Keith didn’t stop him this time. “You’re a selfish asshole, you know that?”

           “I don’t know how the hell else to get you to live your life before you’re two hundred years old and filled with regrets.” Keith fell silent for a moment before tacking on, “Asshole.”

           “So this is for me, huh?”

           “It’s for the both of us.” Keith let him go and stood up. “Text me if you figure out what you want.”

           Lance grabbed onto his wrist before he could walk away. “I already know what I want.”

           “Do you know what you’re going to do with it?”

           Lance tightened his grip and bit his lip. “I think so.”

           He tugged once and then Keith was in his lap and kissing him deep enough to make his dead heart pulse. Lance grasped his hips and pulled him forward until their chests and stomachs were pressed together. Keith gasped into his mouth, tightened his hold on his hair, and kissed him even deeper. Lance became lost in Keith. His tongue, his teeth, his panted breaths became the world.

           “Lance,” Keith breathed. He rolled his hips. When Lance felt his hand being guided from Keith’s hip to the swell of his ass, he nearly came. “Lance, I need you.”

           “Bit fast, isn’t it, babe?”

           Keith kissed the corner of his mouth and muttered, “Do you want to stop?”

           Lance squeezed at Keith. “Hell no.”

           He flipped them so Keith was lying on his back and Lance was nestled between his firm legs. Lance could feel the erection Keith was already beginning to grow under the denim that separated them. He groaned and thrust his hips down, needing that sweet friction between them.

           Keith smashed their mouths together again, moving to meet Lance thrust for thrust. They moved together for what felt like years before Lance could no longer ignore how tight his pants were. He straightened and fumbled with his button and zipper until Keith batted his hands away. His fingers were no steadier but he did manage to free Lance from his jeans quicker.

           With the new relief, Lance’s attention immediately snapped to Keith. He leaned over him and cupped his dick through his pants. Keith closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His throat seemed to work extra hard to swallow and Lance’s mind ran away at the sight of his bobbing adam’s apple. He needed to touch him.

           Lance managed to unbutton Keith’s pants with more success and soon they were both exposed. When they came together this time, it was shakier and slower. Lance moaned quietly at the feeling of their naked cocks dragging against each other. Keith clutched to his shoulders. They both tentatively rolled their hips.

           “Fuck,” Lance whispered.

           “That’s the idea.” When Lance merely shook his head with a huff, Keith bit his bottom lip and smiled. Lance’s breath left him. Keith rarely smiled in front of him, but every time he did it was beautiful. The left side of his smile lifted higher than the other and his eyes sparkled brighter than the sun.

           “Fuck,” Lance said again. Before Keith could respond, Lance was kissing him like his life depended on it. The smack of their lips was his energy. The slide of their tongues was his breath.

           Keith hooked his ankles behind Lance’s thighs and pulled him forward. “Come on, touch me.”

           Lance didn’t hesitate to listen. He wrapped his hand around the both of them. The first time he stroked them his breath was punched out of his chest. Keith guided Lance down until their sweaty foreheads were pressed together. Then another hand was placed over Lance’s and they were stroking one another.

           Lance tilted his head every now and then to catch Keith’s lips. With each stroke he could feel pleasure building deep in his belly. It was almost embarrassing how quickly Lance was pulled to the edge. But based on Keith’s hitched breaths he was faring no better.

           “Keith,” he said. “I’m--I’m close.”

           “Me too,” Keith said. He bit Lance’s bottom lip and tugged. “Come for me.”

           Lance pushed Keith’s shirt out of the way before his hips twitched and he was coming on Keith’s stomach. He groaned into Keith’s mouth, kissing him when he was able to settle.

           “Your turn,” Lance said. He gripped Keith’s cock and stroked him until his back was arching off the sofa and his own come was being mixed with Lance’s. Keith buried his fingers in his own hair as he moaned through his orgasm. The sight was almost enough to make Lance hard again. Lance gently tugged at him, coaxing a few more spurts of come out of him, before Keith grabbed his wrist with a quiet hiss.

           Keith cracked his eyes open after they spent a few moments trying to catch their breaths. “Kiss me, idiot.”

           Lance lost himself in their kisses again. They kissed and kissed and kissed until Keith pushed at his chest lightly.

           “I need to get this stuff off me,” Keith said. He sat up and tucked himself and Lance away.

           Lance reached for the jacket. It was draped over the couch and in the face of his turmoil he had nearly forgotten that it had existed.

           “Oh yeah, you forgot this,” Lance said. He swiped their come away with it and ignored Keith’s indignant noise.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           “You knew, huh?”

           “I knew if you didn’t have an excuse to come to talk to me, you wouldn’t.”

           “Guess Shiro knew that too,” Lance said.

           “I told that idiot to stay out of it,” Keith groaned.

           Lance shrugged a shoulder and draped the jacket back over the back of the sofa. “He was just trying to look out for you. It got you laid didn’t it?”

           Keith shook his head. He kissed Lance one more time, before straightening his clothes and standing up. “I’m going to kill him again one of these days.”

           Lance laughed and stood as well. “Hey,” he said. When Keith looked at him, he kissed him gently. “I wanna take a chance on this.”

           “I sure as fuck hope so, I don’t let just anybody touch my dick.” Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck and said, softer, “I’m glad.”

           Lance didn’t know how it happened, but they were kissing again. His hands were exploring Keith’s back and wandering down to his hips to squeeze him there when he pulled back.

           “We should go back to the others,” Lance muttered.

           “Or we could stay here for a little longer.”

           Lance didn’t protest when Keith dragged him back to the sofa, kissing him all the while.

[bloodandwinemuses]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away!

Tagged by: nobody. Fight me. 

Tagging: @therussianandthefinn, @secondhandmckie, @piecesfromthewhole, @eilidhink & @metalzerotruck, and whoever else wants to do this. 

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS: 01.   Shame 02.   Envy 03.   Curiosity 04.   Compassion 05.   Loneliness

GREETINGS: 01.   A greeting stuck in his throat, a lump stuck there that he has to shift, before he can be nice and gentle and good. An anxious undertone, a quiver in a mumbled,’ Hello.’ The clamor around him is a lively stanza; but he has never learned the lines, doesn’t know how to sing along. A boy at odds with himself; a dreamer roaming escapism grounds, only to discover they’re badlands. His confidence is an act, one that’s not solid, but in flux off stage. There’s the tiniest glint in his brown eyes, and an eagerness – ossified, if only he knew how to unclench his trembling hands, to abandon his comely home in the shadows; to be seen, to be heard, to be understood. Maybe, his insecurity whispers, maybe it’s too soon.

02.   Tense shoulders as he straightens his back, trying relentlessly to make himself appear taller than he really is. An assuring nod while he stands, hands clasped around a tattered sketchbook, listening to his teacher with an avid attention whose solidity never falters. Anything, anything to be seen.

03.   His arms encircle another person’s body, a person who knows it is safe in their middle, in the cradle of his limbs and the kind crinkle around brown eyes.  He places his chin on their shoulders, coos clever little pick me up lines into the hollow a tired mind, and rubs their backs. Friend is a golden ideal to him, placed on an embossed pedestal. It’s a title, to him, and it’s honorable. So, safe in their acceptance, he scoops up what he has, ready to swap anything for their smiles. 04.   Ridiculed, laughed at, stripped off vigor and versatility. In their eyes, he’s what they keep shouting in a relentless choir: a doormat, weak, brittle like ice. Shoulders straightened, arms crossed, his gaze fixed stubbornly at a face he’d rather forget than see every day. No, there is no modulated undertone, no welcoming tone – it’s a warning despite its subtlety. With an army of hyenas ravenous for his confidence inside his mind, he can alter the playground – can unsettle with the wisp of a smile if needed, can dig his claws into the varnish of their resolve quietly, slowly – without leaving any traces in his wake. No, enough is enough. His sanctum, his beliefs, they are no doormat; no funny toy they can toss around. They will be sorry, he knows.

05.  A bounce in his step; a booming voice – loud, too loud, a little over the top. Their breath, their smile, their body – all of them draws him in, holds him cradled in another dream. And their mouth, open and searching, roams his skin and reads the beat below. Rapid, racing, a raspy taunt in his ear. How could he not pull them closer until they’re closer than strangers should be, the seedy bar forgotten. Because they’re no longer strangers, but studying each other. Nails digging up wants and needs, a reddish trail across bare backs. A moan; a promise. They don’t stay the morning, always shying the first strip of light. But he loves them a little every time, and doles out a little time every time. And how is that not enough? A happy ever after isn’t what their nights mean, their greetings friendly outside the bedroom. They are what they are. Not lovers. But givers.

COLORS: 01.   Purple. 02.   White.

03.   Maroon.

SCENTS: 01.   Rain 02.   Acrylic paint 03.   Jasmine 04.   Cypress

CLOTHING: 01.   Horn-rimmed nerd glasses 02.   Creepers [Leopard print, light-brown, with a glitter effect] 03.   Friendship necklace [a round-shaped piece to a circle. In the center, it simply reads, in bolded letters,’ Best’ while the other, owned by Miranda, reads ‘Friends.’] 04.   Harem pants. 05.   Shirts with uplifting lines printed on the front.

OBJECTS: 01.   Sketchbooks worse for wear, which he drags around in hopes of spotting a motive out of everyday life so as to capture faces, moments, or laughter forever. Moreover, though, those sketches are mirrors. While hard to get to know, his drawings are reflections – little peeks into how he feels about somebody or something, respectively.

02.  Jasmine based perfume. Despite the looks he’s received at the shop for calling himself a firm stickler about aromatherapy, he is very particular about scents. All too often, the smell of jasmine has been solace to him, and likewise nipped difficult days right in the bud. 03.   A ridiculously outdated Walkman. The thing is older than him and closer to broken than functional. Why he keeps the thing is a mystery for the ages. Probably for the hipster aesthetic. 04.   Books. Alexander has been an avid reader ever since he was barely able to climb out of his cradle. Getting lost in the woods, in the kingdoms, in the deserts – all of it, he enjoys, needs, and clings onto like it’s his life-line. As socializing can be the treacherous trap Alexander’s hope is trapped in on the regular, he needs the pretense of adventure to compensate for the abyss between him and others. Whatever it is, he can never get the right words out, can never slow his heart down to normal. No, he is an anomaly among them. That’s how he feels – and why, consequently, he is at ease turning pages.

VICES / BAD HABITS: 01.   Internalizing his feelings, assiduously adding to the private cellar in his mind where he keeps anger, sadness, and envy in shiny bottles until he hurls them at himself and others, an alchemy out of which feeling are altered and brewed into Molotov cocktails. 02.   Low self-esteem and downright self-hatred. As somebody who lives primarily inside the internal abode of his own mind, Alexander first blames himself for everything before he would ever seek the flaws in others. 03.  Idealization. In spite of hurt and harm, he is a dreamer embarking on a dreamland expedition in reality – forgetting that these subconscious illusions is unreal; that no matter how much he loves, and how much he is loved, gentle hands will never belong to Greek gods. Forgetting, despite the odyssey to violence and vanity: neither obsession nor honor are sources of light. Because if he can’t touch or see others the way they are, then his heart remains an outpost for ghost towns. It’s not fair; it’s nothing he does subconsciously, however. 04.   Believing there is something fundamentally wrong with him, Alexander stays holed up in his room, shutting himself away from the world. In so doing, the divide between him and friends progressively grows larger until it’s a chasm with no bridges in sight. Most times, he even believes there is no place for him in any group at all. 05.   Overly emotional, overly sensitive – to the point of where there is an over reliance on his own experiences at play and an outright intolerance towards opposing beliefs.

BODY LANGUAGE: 01.  A little smile; a little laugh. He doesn’t slouch, doesn’t hide. No, he’s the one pulling others into his arms, whispering a welcome into their ears. 02.   Broken, teary-eyed, raw, subdued sobs – making himself small as if to hope nobody will find him holed up in his misery. 03.   Trembling hands, wandering eyes, fingers raking through already unruly black hair. Nervousness. 04.   A seductive smile, a sonorous lilt in his voice; a speech weaved together in soft timbres and lowkey make-believe. Pride faked, pride pried out of a book. He can be somebody likable that way.   05.   He speaks in a strident warning, his arms crossed as his gaze is fixed on somebody else. No, the shame crawling inside the safe shell of his skull is little more than a weak distress call. Rude, he knows, to scoff and point fingers like he does. More than rude, he knows, to unravel layers of anger and agony in front of a one-man audience. It’s not like him to cause sorrow; but sometimes, his eyes are rigid and cold. Sometimes, there’s just no happy ending.

AESTHETICS: 01.  An exodus of people interwoven with visitors flooding in – indistinguishable to everyone. On the fringes of sociability, Alexander listens to the music booming through the speakers. A generic tune from the charts – nothing original. Just the same three chord blandness people advertise as creativity nowadays. Here, in the mall, where nobody pays him any mind, he’s secure. From his observing post, he dares enough, hoping to join the masses someday. It’s the closest to shedding his shyness.

02.  Quivering voices, bravado promises in a darkened room. In the hiccup of stage lights, another poet rips his heart apart and throws the bait into the midst, for yearning dreams unwilling to wake up. It’s sacrifice, this low howling. Because they’re only listeners, only consumers. Everybody will take their peace tonight. Nobody will be ashamed at their clever thievery. 03.   A pint of beer in front of him, a play in his hands. He’s huddled in several blankets, fluffy socks peeking out as he reads on. Sanctum.

04.   His hand in his, tugging Avery outside to engage in a pas de deux to the quiet drum of raindrops. Secluded in the vortex of clouds, thunder growls as their breathing hitches in their sore throats; sore because of breathy laughs. And yet, their movement flows like a river, undulating. Steps in synchronization; minds in tandem.

05.   A fall down the oblivion hole. A simple push. Alexander relishes in the numbness, in its mist, his vision just a blotchy mirror into consciousness. It’s been years since self-loathing has gained the upper hand, has encapsulated the soothing paint brushes across an empty canvas so wholly, so fully. It’s been years since he has used his own blood stream to muddle his health.  But he knows  he will be fine, if only for today. Without the drugs, it’s too much. Soft drugs - just a break from his mind.  It’s been years since he has suppressed his tears for this, for an ugly fairy tale that makes him the freak,  and the outsider if he opens up, striking his colors. Shame squeezes him tightly, settles in his entrails – hot, burning, smoldering. 

 It’s good endless corridors lit by blinking bulbs, yet bright in their surgical cleanliness are just a memory now. Haunting, howling, hiding in the crook of happy moments. They’re more than simple remembrances, but he can believe there’s no collateral damage. Cured of his malfunctioning brain, as he hopes. But he knows that’s not how it goes. 

 SONGS:

Boys Don’t Cry – The Cure

Run, Run, Run – Junge Junge, Kyle Pearce

Gasoline – Troye Sivan

Worship – Years & Years

The Love You Have in You – Asbjorn

Human – of Monsters and Men

Day Old Hate – City and Color

Letters Home – Radical Face

We Have it All – Pim Stones

First Light – Lindsey Stirling

Dreams of Venice – Jesper Kyd