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And I do.
I wish that Viridian5 would fall in love with Nick and Sean from the Forsaken universe and start writing them like a mad fiend.
::closes eyes and wishes hard::
There. I've done all I can.
Now here's a thing that relates to some thoughts about Helen and math and pretty boys and the fact that Justin carries too much weight.
Crackle Hum
a babble
by stungunbilly
Disclaimer: it's barely there and anyway it is only a pack of lies.
Sometimes Justin strikes out of a clear blue sky.
He pulls into the driveway with the radio blaring something dangerous, thumping bass waking JC out of his half-doze on the terrace. JC blinks dazedly, but there is no way to prepare himself for this, as Justin pulls him by his wrist to an appointment upstairs he never knew that they had made. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
These sudden intimacies are terrifying, but necessary.
It’s as curious and painful as either of them ever gets, curled around each other on the spare bed in JC’s house. The smell of chlorine is heavy from the bathing suit that JC is still wearing, until Justin rips it off without consideration for the skin underneath. They bite at each other, trying to find out what secrets the other is keeping. There are no confessions.
Justin tells JC he likes math, likes the way that numbers line up consequences and put them under his control. JC thinks that Justin lives in a cloud of consequences, every action he takes thundering from above onto the head of some helpless mortal. He remember that the bus school tutor once told Justin that even a storm has a mathematical representation.
JC wants to find the equation that equals the mannish boy scratching at his back. Maybe then he can control something that matters to him, instead of waiting for Justin to descend on him. He says aloud that he’s never been good at math, and sucks a mark onto tense belly flesh.
There are no confessions, but much is laid bare.
~
I want to write this same thing fifty times, different each time, but with a consistent theme. I wish that fifty other people would write it too, and every one another vision from mine.
I'm so frustrated by language, sometimes.
I want to rip it apart at the seams, and stitch it up in a way I haven't seen before. There are so many versions of every story, I worry that if one isn't told then an entire universe will disappear.
Must be time for me to take a nap.
'Night, folks.
I wish that Viridian5 would fall in love with Nick and Sean from the Forsaken universe and start writing them like a mad fiend.
::closes eyes and wishes hard::
There. I've done all I can.
Now here's a thing that relates to some thoughts about Helen and math and pretty boys and the fact that Justin carries too much weight.
Crackle Hum
a babble
by stungunbilly
Disclaimer: it's barely there and anyway it is only a pack of lies.
Sometimes Justin strikes out of a clear blue sky.
He pulls into the driveway with the radio blaring something dangerous, thumping bass waking JC out of his half-doze on the terrace. JC blinks dazedly, but there is no way to prepare himself for this, as Justin pulls him by his wrist to an appointment upstairs he never knew that they had made. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
These sudden intimacies are terrifying, but necessary.
It’s as curious and painful as either of them ever gets, curled around each other on the spare bed in JC’s house. The smell of chlorine is heavy from the bathing suit that JC is still wearing, until Justin rips it off without consideration for the skin underneath. They bite at each other, trying to find out what secrets the other is keeping. There are no confessions.
Justin tells JC he likes math, likes the way that numbers line up consequences and put them under his control. JC thinks that Justin lives in a cloud of consequences, every action he takes thundering from above onto the head of some helpless mortal. He remember that the bus school tutor once told Justin that even a storm has a mathematical representation.
JC wants to find the equation that equals the mannish boy scratching at his back. Maybe then he can control something that matters to him, instead of waiting for Justin to descend on him. He says aloud that he’s never been good at math, and sucks a mark onto tense belly flesh.
There are no confessions, but much is laid bare.
~
I want to write this same thing fifty times, different each time, but with a consistent theme. I wish that fifty other people would write it too, and every one another vision from mine.
I'm so frustrated by language, sometimes.
I want to rip it apart at the seams, and stitch it up in a way I haven't seen before. There are so many versions of every story, I worry that if one isn't told then an entire universe will disappear.
Must be time for me to take a nap.
'Night, folks.
