Encyclopedia Chaotica

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 21:33:35 GMT

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 21:20:05 GMT

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 23:17:28 GMT

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 09:49:23 GMT

BUY IT BITCHES

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 09:38:57 GMT

an acoustic video for one of my favorite songs from the best band ever, y'all. watch it! itunes it! be one of the cool kids! everyone's doing it!

...k, so just the first two. BUT STILL. dooooo it!

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 01:56:13 GMT

#01 - Comfort
Pat lays down, automatically finding a spot in Nate's arms, and everything seems alright again.

#02 - Kiss
Nate's tongue drags over the roof of his mouth and ohhhh fuck and then his mind is just gone.

#03 - Soft
Nate's got this soft smile that's pure love that Pat's pretty sure only he's ever seen, and that's the way he likes it.

#04 - Pain
Pat rakes his nails down Nate's back, and Nate only has time to thank whoever the fuck is listening for pregnancy hormones before he's coming like a volcano.

#05 - Potatoes
Pat throws potato peels at Nate for calling him a girl.

#06 - Rain
Pat used to love the rain, but now he's six months pregnant and his stomach is cramping and he knows what's happening and that he's never going to like rain again.

#07 - Chocolate
Pat likes to think that the night they conceived was the night with the chocolate sauce, even though it's at the very end of the period it might have happened -- chocolate + penises = babies is, for no apparent reason, extremely amusing to him.

#08 - Happiness
Nate gets this huge grin on his face, confused when Pat doesn't have the same, and yeah, fine, maybe it's not all bad.

#09 - Telephone
"I will...hit you with my cell phone."

#10 - Ears
They get to a point where all Pat really has to do is breathe on Nate's ear and he's helpless.

#11 - Name
Discussing names makes it too real, so Pat holds off, continuing to do so until it's too late.

#12 - Sensual
Pat made this "guh" kind of sound the first time Nate used that long, slow lick from balls to tip, and sometimes, when Nate catches that one spot just right, he makes that sound and it's like they're teenagers again, with Pat feeling all of this for the first time.

#13 - Death
The doctors ask if they'd like to see the body; Nate kicks a chair across the room and Pat cries some more.

#14 - Sex
"Yes, yes, there, Nate, oh..."

#15 - Touch
"You like that?" he asks with a mischeivous grin and a deft twist of the fingers.

#16 - Weakness
Alone, they're nothing, but together, no one can touch them.

#17 - Tears
Nate doesn't really know what to do with this -- he's never seen Pat cry and now it seems like he can't stop.

#18 - Speed
Eventually Pat gets sick of begging and just flips Nate over, taking what he wants.

#19 - Wind
Nate farts, Pat groans, Nate giggles, Pat begrudgingly forgives him.

#20 - Freedom
They don't need anything but this.

#21 - Life
Nate can't keep his hands off Pat's stomach, even though he's not showing yet.

#22 - Jealousy
Pat wants to scream when Nate leaves him again, and just has to try to be comfortable in the knowledge that he'll be back.

#23 - Hands
Pat gets to a point where he only has to see Nate's hands from across a room to get hard.

#24 - Taste
"Well, I liked the face you made when I ran my tongue over your slit -- it was cute -- so maybe I'll do that again."

#25 - Devotion
When Pat gets his first tattoo, he imagines it's Nate giving it to him, and knows that no one but maybe Nate will ever figure out how much meaning there really is in there.

#26 - Forever
Pat tries to get Nate to talk about the future or forever sometimes, and he always changes the subject.

#27 - Blood
Pat cuts his finger cutting up a carrot, and Nate catches his hand and licks the blood off, giving him those eyes and ohhh fuck forget dinner.

#28 - Sickness
Pat has thrown up three times this week and he fears he already knows what's going on.

#29 - Melody
They just go together, like peanut butter and chocolate or pepper and alfredo sauce.

#30 - Star
I can't see your star...

#31 - Home
Pat locks his legs around Nate's hips and moans, and Nate wonders how he could ever think anyone else could compare to this.

#32 - Confusion
Nate looks confused, and Pat wants to hit him for not knowing exactly what's happening; Pat does...and he knows where this ends.

#33 - Fear
Nate doesn't get angry, he just doesn't, but Pat's anger will put the fear of God in anyone.

#34 - Lightning/Thunder
Pat stares at the lightning with an angry, vengeful look, asking it mentally if it can bring his baby back, and he sortof wonders whether he's going crazy.

#35 - Bonds
Pat decides he's going to get into the stock market at one point, which just makes Nate laugh hysterically for a really long time.

#36 - Market
"If you were an apple, I'd pick you first."

#37 - Technology
The IM each other from across the room a lot -- it keeps Pat amused, and Nate likes hearing him whimper and whine when the IMs turn dirty.

#38 - Gift
Nate gives Pat something for his eighteenth birthday and he's not really sure whether to stare, be aroused, or slap Nate in the head.

#39 - Smile
Nate flails inside every time Pat gives him that sweet smile.

#40 - Innocence
Nate's eyes fluttered and what sight he did catch of Pat made his cock twitch -- he looked so innocent, so unaware of what he was really doing, and it turned Nate on more than he thought possible.

#41 - Completion
Nate feels his heart swell the first time they see what they've made, wriggling around in grainy black-and-white.

#42 - Clouds
"It looks like a turtle!" "Your face looks like a turtle."

#43 - Sky
"Seriously, you don't see the turtle?" "I see your mom."

#44 - Heaven
Nate pins him down and kisses him to make him shut up, and Pat grins because that was exactly the reaction he was going for.

#45 - Hell
The next day, Nate says those words and Pat can almost say them along with him, he's heard them so many times now.

#46 - Sun
Nate compares Pat's hair to sunlight and maybe Pat smacked him a little too hard, because he doesn't do it again even though Pat secretly loved it.

#47 - Moon
They're both pale fucks, so they decide moonbathing is a better option, and far more romantic.

#48 - Waves
Pat swam in the ocean once, and can't help thinking that's what this feels like as he finds an easy motion.

#49 - Hair
They're drunk; Pat finds the word firecrotch very funny, and Nate is entertaining himself by sulking.

#50 - Supernova
Pat's biting his lip for the third time that night and it's floating into Nate's mind, sexy in the most wrong of ways.

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 08:01:01 GMT

A dry cough that leaves my throat feeling more gunky than before, and brings up nothing but the slight taste of old nicotine at the back of my throat.

"You should quit smoking."

"I will."

Five minutes from now I'll light up. An exchange we've had a thousand times. I can remember pretty much every time we've said it. I can trace the ups and downs based on how it was said every time. Or maybe more accurately, by her reaction when I light that cigarette. When we were happy she'd laugh and lean over to kiss me. Tonight she'll just roll over so her back is to me. She won't even sigh. She just won't look.

That old song comes into my head. I can't remember most of it, including the title, but one line stands out to me. Well, I guess it's two. "I've never been the praying kind, but lately I've been down upon my knees. I'm not looking for a miracle, just a reason to believe." On second thought only that second one applies, so I guess it really is just one.

Miracles aren't real. They're just not and I know the argument here is supposed to be "but if they were..." but they're not and I can't really bring myself to think of them any other way, so I can't bring myself to want one. I've never been able to want things I knew weren't real. Operative word being knew, I wanted the tooth fairy to give me money but I didn't know she wasn't real, especially as long as the cash was showing up anyway.

Little things though, a look or a touch or a word, that's real. I need something, anything, just a reason to believe that faith makes any sense anymore. There's another song, one I remember more clearly. The line standing out here is "do you still have doubts that us having faith makes any sense?" I'm sure she does. I'm sure I do, and I'm just lying to myself at this point. I've always been good at that. I can make anyone believe anything, I can talk anyone into anything, including myself. It was once said that I could talk the queen of England into doing a striptease on the bar.

Time for that cigarette. I lean over to the nightstand and pick up my pack and my lighter. I shake one out, the sticks rattling inside the box, and set it between my lips, wiggling it back and forth where it rests. I drop the pack back on the table and light the lighter, hand cradling the flame almost lovingly.

I don't even recognize the sound at first. But within a few seconds I realize. She giggled. When I lit the cigarette, she giggled. I stare at her back, stunned. I put the lighter down slowly, thoughtfully taking the first drag and inhaling the hot smoke. Then I laugh too, the smoke puffing out in a rush, suddenly suffuse with a general sense of well-being.

God save the Queen.

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 07:54:06 GMT

#01 - Air
Nate has just said the worst words he could ever say and Pat reaches, but Nate moves so he only finds air.

#02 - Apples
Pat hides his mischievous little smile behind his apple as he plots in his mind.

#03 - Beginning
Pat jerks back just in time, and in hindsight, he probably knew right from the beginning, that moment there, that this was not brotherly.

#04 - Bugs
Pat doesn't like bugs, and wrinkles his nose as Nate examines one with glee.

#05 - Coffee
Pat can't understand why Nate won't have ice cream with he and Nathalie...it's coffee, he likes coffee ice cream, doesn't he?

#06 - Dark
Pat wants to lash out bitterly, but Nate is smiling at something on the computer screen and Pat is helpless.

#07 - Despair
He can remember the day they did laundry, and what happened the next night, and /hates/ this new guy for taking Nate away.

#08 - Doors
Pat takes to making sure the door is locked at night, knowing that in the light of day they deny it but they'll be doing things they don't want walked in on.

#09 - Drink
Pat briefly considers turning to the bottle when Nate leaves, but he can't think where he'd get it.

#10 - Duty
Pat's mom is gone on another mission, but Nate hugs him one-armed and strokes his hair with the other hand, and it doesn't seem all that bad.

#11 - Earth
Pat's world is getting ripped down every day, and built back up every night.

#12 - End
This can't be the end.

#13 - Fall
Nate rocks down one last time and Pat knows this is just embarassing but he bites nearly through his lip as he comes like a volcano inside his pajama pants.

#14 - Fire
Pat reflects, in a vague sort of postcoital haze, that Nate's hair should have given him a clue how fucking hot he was.

#15 - Flexible
Pat stares at the positions in the porn Nate is showing his thirteen-year-old self slightly wide-eyed and he's not sure he'd be flexible enough for that.

#16 - Flying
Pat, in some weird, disconnected way, isn't sure that what he's feeling right now is possible, and he knows that that doesn't make sense, but then Nate's tongue moves again and the last vestiges of confused thought are wiped away.

#17 - Food
They know they ought to move for something like food, but they're comfortable cuddling, having found the absolute perfect position.

#18 - Foot
Pat giggles when Nate tickles his foot, and the soft smile on Nate's face in response is enough to fill his heart for a week.

#19 - Grave
Pat can't help wondering what chance this really has of ending well.

#20 - Green
Pat tickles Nate's nose with a blade of grass, smiling sweetly when the red-haired boy scrunches his face up.

#21 - Head
Pat licks at it again and he likes the taste, and even more than that he likes that moan, and he reminds himself that this is all...brotherly.

#22 - Hollow
Pat can't seem to keep his eyes off that spot, wondering how it tastes.

#23 - Honor
This is probably wrong, actually, on at least some level.

#24 - Hope
He knows Nate has his other guy now, and Pat is trying to recover from what he has now accepted is a cult, but he really wishes Nate would stop giving him those looks that keep him hoping.

#25 - Light
Nate has a kind of light around him that Pat will never be able to get away from, never be able to resist.

#26 - Lost
Pat would be lost without him, even when he hates him.

#27 - Metal
Pat kinda likes tugging on that little lip ring, just for the noises Nate makes.

#28 - New
Pat simultaneously loves and hates this new beginning, part of him desperately glad for the chance, part of him terrified it will go just like last time.

#29 - Old
And they fall into the old pattern again.

#30 - Peace
But there's a kind of comfort in it, even as it rips them apart, this time beyond repair.

#31 - Poison
It will kill them eventually if one of them can't stop it.

#32 - Pretty
Nate tells Pat once that he's pretty, when they're young, and he's not sure whether to blush or punch him.

#33 - Rain
Kissing in the rain is officially Pat's new favorite thing EVER.

#34 - Regret
He can't bring himself to regret it.

#35 - Roses
They don't do the flowers and cards thing; they don't need it.

#36 - Secret
Pat wants to shout this from the rooftops, but somehow that seems wrong.

#37 - Snakes
Pat squeals like a girl whenever he sees a snake; trouser snakes excepted, unless they're good enough.

#38 - Snow
At one point Pat tries cocaine, but it fills his head with even more memories so he vows never to touch it again, unless he and Nate are happy.

#39 - Solid
Everything and yet nothing about this is any kind of solid.

#40 - Spring
They lay in the grass, facing opposite directions, heads on each others' shoulders, and they both wake up with an ugly sunburn that will hurt and peel for days but Pat, later on, is pretty sure this was the exact moment they fell, for better or worse.

#41 - Stable
Somewhat counterintuitively, he's pretty sure Nate is the least stable thing in his life most of the time.

#42 - Strange
The first time Nate kissed him --really kissed him, that is -- Pat got hard almost instantly and it struck him as odd, because he'd only been hard because of a person maybe twice before, ever.

#43 - Summer
They like when summer comes, cause they can have sleepovers every single night if they want to, especially when Pat gets old enough to cook and do laundry and his mom starts leaving for more missions, leaving them alone in the house.

#44 - Taboo
Brotherly...yeah.

#45 - Ugly
Pat feels ugly next to how amazingly beautiful Nate is.

#46 - War
They only fight once in the entire saga, and Pat sortof thinks he prefers that to the bitterness and hurt and sympathetic looks.

#47 - Water
Pat can't look at showers without getting hard anymore.

#48 - Welcome
Nate throws the door open and Pat grins, because everything -- literally everything -- is okay now.

#49 - Winter
Nate makes love to him, then whispers in his ear that he and Johnny made it official last night.

#50 - Wood
Pat's never gonna be the same after that incident with the hot dog and the laundry basket.

Sun, 05 Oct 2008 18:25:59 GMT

Fuck you to all those people who think they're so fucking superior. This incestuous little cluster of players who think they're better than everyone else because they can write decently and congratulate each other on their wit, who suddenly stop talking to anyone they don't deem worthy. What the fuck ever.

I want to post this to the comm where they'll all see it. They might see it here, I don't know. The thing is they're not bad people and they're not bad players, until they decide they don't like someone and fucking turn on them like a pack of rabid dogs. It makes me sick to watch, and it's been done to me before too, when I know both the girl it's happening to and myself are good players and good writers, and we're not liked because we pissed off the alpha players and/or didn't get our start in celeb RP so we don't treat it exactly the way they all think we should.

Vote time: should I post it?

Sat, 06 Sep 2008 04:54:49 GMT

Character Name: Chris Evans  

Character LJ: the_evster

  Character AIM: xthexevsterx

  Character Age: 19 

 Picture: i give one anyway so ha.
http://bestof.provocateuse.com/images/photos/chris_evans_97.jpg  

Description: Chris is 19 and was born in Boston to a traditional Irish Catholic family. He had a pretty normal childhood with three older brothers and a younger sister. When he was sixteen, he got a girl pregnant. He was, in his own words, "an abusive asshole in high school," and hit her when she was just shy of the legal limit on abortion. She went to the clinic and allowed him to believe she'd killed their baby, getting him sent to a reform school in the process.

At this reform school he had his first non-heterosexual experience. When he came home and came out to his family as bi, they shut him out. The day after he turned eighteen, he fled home and went to Vegas, where he was a hustler for the better part of two years. It ended when he attempted suicide and landed himself in a residential psychiatric facility. While there, he discovered that his daughter, Addison Rose Evans, was still alive, and that Addie's mother had been arrested for dealing drugs. Addie's been in foster care for six weeks while Chris finished his sentence, but now he's out and moving into Stateview with Addie and his boyfriend whom he met at the hospital, Milo. He's still Catholic and still has trouble controlling his anger, but being a father is changing the latter immensely.  

RP Sample: 6:44:22 PM you: Chris smirked and set an away message, setting his computer off to the side. He arrived a few minutes later, knocking on the door of the room Milo had told him to go to. He was wearing jeans that were maybe just a little tight, and a forebrain-searingly bright blue t-shirt that said, in heavy, hot-pink block letters, "real men love unicorns."
7:02:39 PM milosnewhaircut: Milo gave himself to the long count of three before walking to the door and opening it quickly. His dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail pieces in the front falling into his eyes. He had tight, dark jeans on, hangign low enough to expose at least an inch of his grey boxer briefs underneath them, a tight navy blue shirt with the Yankees symbol on the front and 'Jeter' printed across the shoulder barely meeting the band of his underwear. His overall look a strange mix of thuggish and queer. He looked Chris up and down slowly in the door way, eyebrow quirking as he took in his shirt. "And there are people out there that allegedly think you ain't gay?" Milo asked, accent falling thick from his lips by default. He shook his head with a smile, stepping aside, holding the door open even wider. "C'min man."
7:08:29 PM you: Chris snickered a little and stepped inside. "Hey, real men are secure enough to admit that unicorns are awesome." He let his gaze flicker over the other man, lingering slightly on the tight jeans.
7:15:01 PM milosnewhaircut: Milo kicked the door lightly, shutting it and walking over to his bed, flopping back against it, belly up and leaning on his elbows. "I'll neither confrim nor deny." He said clearing his throat a little. His glance slid down his own body and he smiled to himself. "Sorry man, poor choice in wardrobe." He looked down at his Yankees shirt, than back up at Chris with a smile. "I really hope we can still be boys inspite of us kicking your ass nearly sixty years straight."
7:20:40 PM you: "Uh, psh. Whatever," Chris said. "You guys didn't even make the playoffs last year." He sat down on the opposite bed. "And I'm sorry, who took home the title?" He grinned. He'd missed guy-banter, as bizarre as that sounded.   

Out of Character  

Name: Emily

  How did you hear about us?: i put an ad on SRU seeking a comm to bring my line to and someone pointed me here :) 

 Anything else?: Chris and Milo should be in the same apartment, obv  

Did you read the rules?: no i didn't

character list

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 02:44:22 GMT

Billy Parker - Billy is 13, a total slut, and loves pain. He's the cocky little shit who, when you get older, just want to smack in the mouth. He's insecure, as 13yos are, though perhaps less so than some of his peers, and combats it by getting as much sex and attention as possible. Any attention is good attention for a kid like this. Gay, bottom, PB is Alex Evans. Character sn for him is goatparker

Emma Fallon - Emma is 18, and runs in the same group of friends as Billy -- they tend to have cameos in each others' lines. Like Billy, she's pretty much cookie-cutter emo kid, although a lot quieter and saner than Billy. She prefers to choose her words carefully rather than babble on, and is very protective of friends and people she has feelings for. She's extremely shy around girls she's attracted to. Lesbian (but anything above the waist is fair game), versatile, PB is Fallon from godsgirls.com. Character sn for her is emmaleefallon

Tom Kaulitz - Tom is 19 and very sweet and playful. He teases everyone in a friendly, good-nature, impossible-to-get-mad-at-him way. He's also very boy/girlcrazy, always staring at someone and trying to get Bill to agree how hot they are (he never does). He can turn dark and dangerous and sexual if someone triggers that in him, or if he's just in that kind of mood. He's also very close to his twin brother, Bill. They're not attached at the hip but if something's wrong with Bill, Tom is going to know and he'll come, and it doesn't matter where he is, what he's doing, or who he's with. I generally play him AU but I might -- MIGHT -- try RL. Bisexual, generally top unless you know how to handle him. Character sn for him is luvtomiluv

Brian Haner - You might know him by another name -- Synyster Gates? Brian's extremely smart and extremely snarky, but has a good heart and is a good guy. You don't really have to "get past" the snark to see it. The snark is just a part of him. He'll be snarky during sex, and when he chilling on a sunday afternoon with his significant other. He has to make an effort not to be snarky. I usually play him AU, although I might try RL. Bisexual, generally top but he'll bottom if you're good enough.

Jonne Aaron - Jonne is a total sex kitten, but even more than that he's a tease and a flirt who loves being chased and making people want him almost more than he enjoys sex -- almost. He doesn't want anything from anyone except attention and cash; sex, drugs, and money, and his first reaction to love is irritation. Gay, bottom.

Michelle Nolan - Michelle is quiet and sweet and happy. I can play her RL, or AU, in which she's a freelance artist, selling her work through a website and conventions. Straight, but I could try her with a girl.

Jason Conway - Jason is a big burly british footballer type, who happens to be gay. He's a teacher at a primary school and has never been more than 50 kilometers outside London in his life. He's only been out for about a year and is still getting used to the whole thing, but his friends are mostly supportive and Jason is a sweet, caring person with people he has romantic feelings for. Gay, mostly top, PB is Charlie Hunnam.

Damien Cole - Damien is confident, sexy, a smooth talker, and maybe a touch arrogant. He's a seducer, like he was made for sex. He doesn't fall in love easily, and indeed doesn't really care about anything other than his books, his guns, his sister, and his cat (and sex). He'll make anyone feel amazing for a night, but that's as long as it will last. He's old money and doesn't need to work, so he can pretty much just party as much as he wants. Bisexual, generally top but for the right guy who knows, PB is Eric Balfour.

Moria Cole - Moria's a lot quieter than her brother but she's got her confident, playful side as well. She also cares deeply about people. Like Damien, she doesn't need to work, but she does, working as a dance teacher for a nonprofit studio downtown. She likes working with kids and teenagers and loves her work, even though she makes less than minimum wage. In bed she tends to be quiet and unassuming, never thinking she's doing enough so she always tries hard, which makes her pretty good. Bisexual, versatile, PB is Milena Govich.

Chris Evans - I only play Chris AU. Chris is fucked up in the head. Chronic attention seeking, anger, authority, and trust issues, lots of mental and emotional trauma, and being highly neurotic are a brief list of his mental issues. None of them crippling, none of them really treatable with medication. It takes years of therapy to deal with what Chris has. In general, though, he's a shy, sweet guy who hates hurting people. He's also the type who can never just abandon someone whose heart he's broken. Bisexual, versatile. Character sn for him is xthexevsterx

Andrew Wiggin - Yes, he's named after a literary figure. He's a cop and mostly gay, but completely in denial. His wife/girlfriend (they're not married, but Andrew sees that as a bullshit technicality at this point) is pregnant. He'll have sex with a man all evening and night, get home at 5am, get in bed with Starr and pretend none of it ever happened. He'll swear to his best friend with a straight face that he's straight. Because he is that in denial. Gay, bottom, PB is David Krumholtz.

Kate McKenna - Kate is a sweet, happy, bubbly person who's not afraid to kick ass when necessary. She was born and raised in Ireland. Her father is a big American businessman, and her mother the young, single Irish barmaid he had a one night stand with -- that went over well with his wife and kids. Bisexual, bottom, PB is Katie Carr. Character sn for her is katethehealer

Logan Godfrey - Logan is Kate's older half-brother. She moved in with him when she was 18 to go to school. Logan is a workaholic and whoever wants to be with him has to deal with him not trusting anyone in his company to do anything right. He got that from his father. Outside of work, he's a generally laid-back, playful guy who is the first to care and provide whatever he needs for those he loves. Straight but I want to try him with a guy, PB is Matt Czuchry.

Li Kim - Li is the perfect submissive slut. He can take almost anything and has a serious oral fixation. He'll have sex with anyone, as long as they can dominate him properly. Young!Li is about 19, generally happy and trusting, a good guy. DamagedBastard!Li is 26 and biting, snarky, sarcastic, apathetic, and sexually repressed. It's fun to try and make him blow. Bisexual, bottom, PB is Ye Sung.

Daniel Sparks - Fairly standard spacey artist nutjob type. He notices things you wouldn't expect him to notice, while missing basic things everyone will see. Loves art in all forms and can find beauty in anything. Bisexual, versatile, PB is Norman Reedus.

ignore this, it's going away in a bit

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 04:19:00 GMT

It's the year 2055. After a narrowly-diverted apocalypse that resulted in the implosion of the abandoned Icarus Theatre,
The City is getting back on its feet and the seedy underbelly is picking up speed, gaining power and snowballing and
starting to push back against the high-society uppercrust. It's a twisted world of technology stuck in the 1950's where
nobody is exactly what they seem to be and your best friend could be a superhero or space alien in disguise. Now, gangs, sex, drugs, and the gritty side of things are rebuilding the city and chasing the high society crowd to the suburbs. As the downtown area expands with strip clubs and cheap bars, the 'intellectual' side of the town is growing too with a
sudden upsprout of coffee shops and classy nightclubs around the newly-reopened Hargreeves University. But something's
always afoot in the world, even if the paper says it's a perfect day. Keeping your head above water is sometimes half the battle...

Rules || Application || Mod Contacts || Taken and Held || IC Information || Wanted Characters

Come join us. How bad could it be?

Wed, 21 May 2008 21:55:47 GMT

There. i'm bloody done with it now. It's finished, right here, i'm not touching it again. I swear.

ETA: Dammit.

"You should get out."

Alex turned his head, brushing a shaggy lock of hair out of his eyes. "What?"

Chris continued his gentle tending of the scrapes along Alex's back. He'd lost his temper again, and pushed Alex to the ground outside their apartment building. It was hot outside, regularly hitting a hundred degrees in the day, so Alex had been wearing only a thin t-shirt, no protection against the gravel and glass littering the ground in this part of the city.

"I said you should leave me."

Alex took a few moments to digest this. "Why don't you leave me?"

Chris squeezed out the washcloth in the bowl of water, idly thinking it was a good thing he'd laid a towel on the bed before Alex laid down, but wishing he'd picked one that wasn't white. "Because I love you. And I'd miss you too much." He chuckled a little. "And I can't afford rent without you."

"So why do you want me to leave?"

The abrasions covered a fairly large area, but they were mostly shallow and the bleeding had slowed. With some luck, Alex wouldn't scar. "Because I hurt you, and you don't deserve this."

"I know you do, and I know I don't, but I love you."

"That's strange. I don't."

Alex sat up, covering the hand holding the reddened washcloth with his own. "I know you don't. That's why you need me around to do it for you."

Chris didn't say anything, staring down at Alex's shins, so the smaller man continued.

"I don't know what you'd do if I left. Or I think I do know, and I don't want it to happen."

Chris looked like he was going to be sick and looked off to one side. "No. You can't be with me just because you feel guilty or think I'll hurt myself if you leave. That's manipulation on my part, which is control, which is abuse."

There was a long time wherein no one spoke, and Alex just looked at Chris' hands clasped in his own, but he was the first to eventually speak, choosing his words carefully and slowly. "I think you need to accept that you are an abuser. I think you also need to accept that making sure I know it's not my fault doesn't do anything except make you feel better."

Chris lowered his head and his shoulders shook, breath shaky and jumping. Alex placed a hand on the top of his head quietly.

"I have this thing inside me," Chris said, voice cracking and higher than normal. "I can't control it. I can't stop it once it starts. I wish I could but..."

"Shhh," Alex said, gently stroking his bristly hair. "I know. I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. You don't mean it."

"I don't mean it, please believe me."

"I do." A muffled sob as Alex stroked his head. "I do."

Chris buried his face in Alex's thigh, and Alex could quickly feel his leg growing damp. "I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly.

"I know."

Wed, 21 May 2008 21:50:58 GMT

Now that kinkfest is over, I decided to repost all the stuff I wrote for it. Mostly cause I can. None of the notes or info have been altered from how they were posted in the comm (so no, it's not really my birthday, that was a couple weeks ago)

Title:Bat Boy and Robbing
Author: encyclopediae
Fandom: Blood Ties
Pairing/character: Henry/Vicki
Rating: nc17
Prompt: "You think you can take me, bat boy?"
Kink: fighting
Notes/Warnings: Includes graphic sex and vampirism. I did pretty badly with the kink. I mean it's there but it doesn't have a WHOLE lot to do with the actual sex.

Vicki looked up from the papers in her hands. "You think you can take me, bat boy?" she asked her vampiric partner, watching him over the top of her glasses.

Henry grinned.

Vicki rolled her eyes. "Not like that. You think you could beat me in a hand-to-hand fight?" She asked, looking at him normally now, eyes flicking over him in a way that was definitely just sizing him up for battle, and nothing else. Nope, that was definitely it.

"Well, let's see," Henry said, putting down his sketchpad and standing up off the couch, pushing up his sleeves idly as he came towards the center of the room. Vicki stared at him.

"Are you serious?"

"Why not? Don't think you can take me, bat girl?"

Vicki frowned, not understanding the insult. Henry made a motion to indicate glasses. Vicki thought about it another moment, then rolled her eyes. "Yes, very cute. Fine, why not," she said, standing up and kicking her sneakers off. Henry smiled and began to take off his shirt.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I wouldn't want you grabbing at the fabric to try and take me down."

"Hey, but now you can grab at my shirt."

"Feel free to take it off if you like." Henry grinned.

Vicki rolled her eyes. "No thank you. Just no grabbing at clothes."

"Fine. No scratching or pulling of hair, and no blows below the belt."

"What am I, fifteen? No biting. No sabotaging of glasses."

Henry grinned widely, showing his fangs. "Agreed. Anything else?"

"No powers."

"And what does the winner get?"

Vicki thought, though she would look back later and wish she'd thought more carefully. "One favor from the loser. Whatever the winner wants."

Henry bowed slightly, smile reduced to a knowing smirk. "The fight ends when one party yields."

"All right."

"Begin then?"

Vicki pulled her hair up into its ponytail, then slowly began to circle Henry. He circled as well, the pair of them like a pair of wolves, each waiting for a weakness to open up.

Vicki was the first one to lunge, tackling Henry at his middle and knocking him to the ground, struggling to get a forearm across his throat to restrain him, force his submission. But he was strong even without using his vampiric powers, muscles sliding under the porcelain skin, quickly rolling for the upper hand. Vicki used the momentum against him, bucking him off and rolling quickly to her feet again. The entire exchange had taken less than five seconds, leaving Vicki slightly short of breath.

Henry was the next to strike, dropping to one knee to try and sweep Vicki's feet from under her. She'd seen the shift of his weight and was ready, but the jump was still frantic and barely cleared the kick, and by the time she had her bearings again Henry was rushing her, trying to take her to the ground. She ducked just in time, and just low enough that the blow rolled off her back.

The third exchange started just as quick as the first two, with Henry managing to knock Vicki to the ground, and then it became a wrestling match, each trying to pin the other to the hardwood floor. Henry would get Vicki in a headlock, but then Vicki would flip him over her back. Vicki would nearly have Henry pinned, but then he'd manage to buck her away. Eventually Henry got Vicki on her back, pinned solidly, but Vicki was still struggling, making him fight to catch her wrists and stop the blows, trying to hook her foot just so against the floor to be able to roll and flip him off. Her eyes caught his and she was distracted, staring into his eyes as she struggled. Gradually however, her movements began to slow, distracted, Henry's eyes almost hypnotic.

Henry would have smiled, but fighting with his friend had done things to him that didn't exactly happen when he fought demons, and if Vicki was in any condition to notice, she'd notice his expression was one of lust rather than triumph or pleasure, even as he managed to pin her wrists the the floor on either side of her head. Before she could register it or snap out of the semi-trance, Henry dipped his head, drawing his tongue in a slick line from her collarbone up to the skin behind her ear. Vicki gasped, head falling back and there was a sound that might have been a moan, hands flexing where they were pinned. Henry shivered, able to hear the small sound clearly, and flicked his tongue against Vicki's earlobe before moving back down, swirling his tongue in the hollow of her throat before bringing that up too, up her throat and over her chin to her mouth, slipping wetly inside before Vicki had a chance to protest, kissing her gently but inextricably, hotly, leaving the detective unable to pull away even if she'd wanted to.

The kiss left her gasping when he pulled away, legs spreading slightly where they were tangled in his. The movement left his thigh resting against her firmly and she bit her lip, hips pushing against the firm, muscular limb, but it pulled away. She opened her mouth to speak, but Henry beat her there.

"No blows below the belt," he whispered in her ear, running his tongue lightly along the outer shell, tracing the contours.

Vicki groaned, frustrated. "You're kidding me, right?" She tried to sound angry, but it just came out breathless and slightly plaintive.

"You know what you have to say," Henry reminded. "Yield to me and I'll give you what you want," he promised, moving back down the side of her neck.

"Not a chance," Vicki growled, and she began to struggle again, but the vampire's fangs scraped lightly over the side of her neck and Vicki cried out, desire burning through her like the sun. Henry could sense her desire, almost feel it for himself, and even more than that, he could feel her pulse, straining against her skin, beating out a rhythm that sped up a little every time he touched her. He could feel the mortal squirming under him, searching and straining for stimulation that he wouldn't give, still following the rules of the fight. He desperately wanted to bite, wanted to slide inside that gorgeous body with his fangs and with his cock, but the rules of the fight prohibited it.

"God, Henry, just come on," Vicki urged, arching against him impatiently. "Just..." She trailed off, not wanting to ask for it, but needing it all the same, muscles in her stomach and thighs and hips tense and shaking and eager.

"You know what you have to say," Henry said again, moving down her sternum to the spot just between her breasts, just shown by the v-neck of her shirt. He could taste her chapstick, smell her deodorant and the barest splash of a men's fragrance she wore. He let his thigh come forward to where it had been before, just resting between her legs lightly, too lightly for her to have any meaningful friction, just enough for her to want more, to search for it and want it, think about what it could be. There was the thinnest sheen of sweat here, too, from the exertion of the fight and, he liked to think, from his seduction.

"Goddamit, fuck the damn fight!" Vicki groaned, too frustrated to hold out much longer.

"The fight doesn't end until one of us yields."

"I yield," Vicki ground out through her teeth, hands clenched into fists where they were pinned.

Henry rewarded her immediately with a kiss, meltingly sensual and dizzyingly thorough. He sought out every hidden corner of her mouth and plundered it, finding the sweetest spots and lingering there, enticing and seducing her, even despite knowing she was already eager and willing. Before Vicki could even register being lifted up, she was on Henry's bed, sinking into the deep, soft mattress and the silky sheets, with him settling into place on top of her. Her shirt was tugged away quickly and discarded, her glasses removed gently and set aside, an almost startling moment of tenderness among the heat and hormones of the moment. She could feel his tongue again, starting at the spot between her breasts that made her twitch and running up to the side of her neck, where an artery pulsed under the skin, and the thought of what he might be doing there sent something hot and panicked sliding through her blood, eagerness and terror in the same moment.

Henry was obviously nearly as worked up as Vicki was, given the speed with which her bra, her jeans, then his jeans disappeared, leaving him naked and Vicki wearing only a simple pair of eye-searing lime green panties. Henry didn't even seem to notice, kissing her again as he pushed the damp fabric aside. Vicki whimpered into his mouth as cool, nimble fingers probed at her, slipping briefly inside her and sliding easily over a hard little ball of nerves, making her legs twitch. She arched eagerly when hands tugged at the fabric, stripping it down off her legs and tossing it aside. Henry was there again, laying between her legs, pressing her shoulders down into the bed. Then her practical side kicked in and she glanced down, opening her mouth to speak.

Henry got there first. "Microbes can't live inside my body, and I'm dead so I can't get you pregnant. Probably."

"Probably??" The last syllable was muffled as Henry attempted to silence her with a kiss, sliding quickly and firmly inside her at the same time. Vicki forgot her concerns as Henry's tongue pushed into her mouth, taunting hers eagerly as he started to move, thrusting sinuously in and out. Soon his mouth was gone and then all Vicki could feel was fangs sliding into her neck, breaking the skin with a slight pop, all of her being focusing down to three points of sensation, the two searing spots of pain on the side of her neck and the intoxicating pressure of Henry inside her. She might have been moaning, or whimpering or gasping or screaming to the gods and she couldn't tell the difference, all she could hear was her own heartbeat and Henry's as it began to beat alongside hers, could only feel Henry's tongue and lips against her skin, sucking lightly and lapping at the points of pain, the perfect counterpoint to his movements inside her, hard and frantic now, becoming almost frenzied in his feeding.

It happened at the same time, like surf crashing onto the beach, the pair of them coming at the same time, Vicki arching and writhing and crying out as Henry thrust hard one last time and growled against the bruised, bloodslick skin under his mouth. He lapped gently at the wound until the skin was clean, encouraging the holes to close up, then gently withdrew, flopping with a sigh onto his back. They were silent for a few minutes until the vampire spoke.

"I have one question."

"Hmm?" Vicki was already starting to fall asleep, sated and weakened.

"Lime green? Really?"

She smacked him. "Shut up."

Title: Wicked Little Girls
Author: encyclopediae
Fandom: Chronicles of Riddick/Firefly
Pairing/character: Eve Logan/River
Rating: nc17
Prompt: em, there wasn't one...
Kink: weapons (guns, knives, etc)
Notes/Warnings: Takes place after Serenity, with some general spoilers. Includes femslash, dub-con, some knifeplay, dildo!guns, and way too much plot. I really did just want to write some weapon porn, but of course everything with River can't be simple, and then it developed like, setting and plot and theme and all that crap you learned about but didn't understand in elementary school. And then the weapons didn't even get much play (at least not as much as I'd like). So overall I did pretty badly for what it was supposed to be, but it's my birthday (no, really, it is, I'm 19 today) and I'm allowed to suck.

Eve tilted her head, running the flat of her blade along the little one's cheek. "Hmm...you're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

River looked at Eve, face somehow open and unreadable at the same time. "Eve. Eden. A girl with an apple. Where's Kaylee?"

"Oh, don't worry about your little mechanic. Damn, you all seem so protective of her. Don't she ever get tired of having six big brothers and sisters?"

"She's older than me." River tried to straighten things out in her head. Kaylee's age wasn't relevant. She still struggled for sense sometimes, especially in tense situations like this one. Simon was helping her, trying to teach her to block things out again (although he was probably hindering the process more than helping, with his hope and frustration and sometimes oppressive love), but when there was so much battering against her psyche it would all rip through the barriers like tissue paper. And yet she couldn't figure out this snake -- not a snake, not an apple, either, a woman, and a merc -- Eve.

Eve chuckled. She could almost see the gears spinning in the little thing's brain. "Well, your big sister won't be hurt as long as you cooperate."

"She's not really my sister."

River tasted blood when Eve smacked her across the face. "Shut up." River wanted to hit back, knew she could take the apple down, beat it until it turned to cider, even trussed as she was, but they had the crew, everyone, all of them fragile in their own ways except for Mal. It was up to Mal and River to hold the front line, hold down the fort, protect the others and get everyone out. She was dangling by her arms, her shoulders closer than she'd like to dislocating and her ankles were tied together (Jesus on the cross), or duct-taped, she'd been tied too long to be sure. It would still be easy to kill, easy to get free if she fell in the right position. Step on her, right behind the head, crush the spine and the spinal cord, she'd spit for a minute then stop -- no, not a snake, not a snake, not an apple or a tree or a rib bone. Why don't men have only eleven ribs?

"You want something." It tumbled out of River's mouth before she was aware of it, but as she heard it she knew it was true.

"I want that reward." Eve was behind her now, where River couldn't see.

"You want something else." River's voice took on a harsher tone, rougher edges and a lower pitch. "You want me." The vague sounds of movement and Eve picking her nails stopped. "You want to fuck me? Try and make me scream, make me pant your name, lay me down and spread me out and lick the cream from between my legs?"

There was a pause, then laughter. "So what if I do? Is that so wrong?" Eve pressed close behind her, dragging River's back flush against her front with one arm hooked over her shoulder and down across her chest. "You are a pretty thing, and I can make you come like a man can only dream."

"Kaylee's the only one who can make me come."

Eve laughed, letting go and stepped away, back in front of River. "Yeah, I should have known. Although to be honest, I had her pinned for fucking that doctor."

"She is. For now."

Eve smiled, sorting through a pile of knives and guns and other bad things (no touching guns) on a table in front of her. "Oh, I see. Well, you can call her name if you like." Eve picked up a knife, tumbling it over her fingers idly. She seemed to be contemplating something.

"I won't fight you or try to run," River said, head hanging down. "It's safe to untie me."

Eve chuckled. "You know they warned me you were psychic."

"But so are you," River said, lifting her head.

Eve raised an eyebrow. "Am I now." Disbelief and dismissal radiated from her in waves, but River couldn't hear the thoughts behind the feelings.

"I can tell your emotions. You feel very loudly, you know. But not what you're thinking. It's like your mind is blank, blank blackness, black," black as coal, black as death, black as pitch, black the universe outside that window... "Except it's not, it can't be, so you have some kind of ability you haven't developed or tapped into yet. But you're instinctively blocking me out."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'm psychic. Whatever you say."

"You are," River said quietly, head hanging down again.

"You say it's safe to cut you down?"

River nodded.

Eve was suddenly behind her again, pulling her head back and pressing a knife to her throat. "You fight, or run, or even look at me wrong, and I'll snap the mechanic's neck myself." Eve thumbed a contact pad on the cuffs, catching River with one arm as she fell. She moved River over to a pallet on the floor, little more than a slightly-thicker-than-normal blanket just tossed there, and it didn't cushion River's fall when Eve dropped her down.

Eve liked her knives and guns, River discovered, liked threatening her with the knives, making her tremble (although River could tell she didn't actually intend to cut and so just hoped she was acting fear convincingly). After awhile River gave up and let herself enjoy it, and her shivers became real desire rather than fake fear, and when Eve reached under her skirt she grinned at finding smooth skin, slick with arousal.

"I can help you," River said, forgetting that this was about ten minutes too early to bring it up, suddenly reminded when the cold barrel of a gun River wasn't aware of Eve having slid inside her.

But then Eve glowed amusement. "Oh yeah?" she said, twisting the gun and thrusting it in and out a few times. "How can you help me? You're looking pretty helpless right now."

River squirmed, biting her lip. Eve smiled and brushed her thumb over the teen's lips, laughing delightedly as the little thing bit indelicately at the digit. But then River managed to come back to herself, releasing the finger to speak.

"With your ability. I can help you. Teach you to use it -- ah!" The smooth barrel of the gun had slid all the way out and then back in, making River jump.

"Maybe I'd rather have that money," Eve said, and clicked the barrel of the gun back. River gasped, eyes widening when she heard the sound. There was no bullet in the chamber but the gun was loaded and unreliable and there was a 50/50 chance that, if Eve pulled the trigger, there would be a shot rather than a harmless click. It aroused her even more.

"Think about it though," River panted, breathless. "What's the reward for us? Five hundred? How much more could you make if you knew where someone was at any time, just had to think about them to find them? Could reach into someone's brain and find out what they want and what they can give? You could have--mm!--millions."

Eve seemed to consider it, even as the gun continued to move and twist, River writhing on the ground. "And in return?"

"Let us go and don't try to catch us or turn us in ever." Turning, turning, ballerina in a jewelry box, earrings, necklace, pearl necklace, dirty, muddy, muddled, blurry, bad vision, blind, fucked blind, close, fuck...

"If you don't die when I pull this trigger," Eve whispered, low and conspiratorial, "it's your lucky day."

River's breath hitched in her chest and the gun stopped moving. There was a clack as the trigger was pulled and at the same time River was coming, tumbling end over end through the verse for what seemed like forever until she fell with a thud, shaking, onto the deck of a gritty ship with a blanket under her.

"All right," Eve said, wiping the gun off with a rag. "You've got a deal. You help me and we leave you alone." Eve picked up her radio and told her crew to untie and set loose Serenity's crew, let them go back to their own ship, but stay docked.

"And just remember something," River said.

"What?"

"If you try to betray us, I can kill you with my brain."

Title:An Excess of Wit
Author: encyclopediae
Fandom: Makes Me A Supermodel
Pairing/character: Ben/Ronnie
Rating: hard R/light nc17
Prompt: They exchanged numbers before the end of the competition for a reason.
Kink: phone sex
Notes/Warnings: Includes slash and straight dudes almost-but-not-quite cheating on their wives, as well as a tiny bit of daddy!kink. I'm a bad person for writing RPS. Who'd like to spank me?

"Tsk, get outta town, you really got that Prada job?"

"Yeah." Ben could hear Ronnie's grin even when he wasn't speaking. "Apparently I can be editorial."

"That's great man, congratulations."

"Yeah, I'm really excited. So hey, when are you moving to New York, asshole? You keep saying you're gonna do it and yet I don't see you and April here yet!"

"Whoa now, hold your horses. We'll be there a few weeks, but April's gotten all paranoid since the big news."

Ronnie rolled his eyes. "What big news, Ben?" he asked exaggeratedly.

Now Ronnie could hear Ben's grin. "April's pregnant."

"Wow! Congratulations! That's so awesome!"

"Yeah, we're happy about it. It's makin' April all nervous, though, about traveling, so it's gonna take a little more time, but we should be there within a month or so."

"Awesome, I can't wait. I'm gonna meet you at the airport and jump all over you like a puppy and slobber all over your face and then hump April's leg like your baby's conception!"

Ben was laughing too hard to say much, but managed a "fuck you, man" between guffaws. Ronnie said something but Ben didn't quite hear him. "What?"

"I said, you promise?" Ronnie's voice was suddenly low and sensual, like he hadn't heard since they did the lookbook, when the photographer had wanted to try him and Ronnie. Ronnie had whispered things in his ear, things that sent something hot and panicked sliding through his blood.

"Ronnie..." He wished it sounded more like a warning and less like a groan.

"Aw, come on. I'll let you say April's name." Ronnie was mostly just playing, but that groan had not been expected, and now he was intrigued. "Does she have a dress that's too big? I'll put it on, let you fuck me under the skirt..."

The words came out before Ben could stop them. "Only people in this room is you and me."

Ronnie purred, pleased. "Good. Cause April's sweet but I think I've got a few things she hasn't got."

"Do ya now..." Ben said, a hand trailing down his chest towards his jeans.

"Let's just say you'll find a guardian at the gate."

Ben laughed out loud. "Is that right."

"Oh, but he's happy to see you."

"I bet he is," Ben said sitting up and peering into the next room, making sure April was out in the living room, then settling back against his pillow and lowering his voice some. "You want me to fuck you then?"

Ronnie's breath hitched in his chest, not expecting something so forward, and not expecting to find it so hot. "Yes, please."

"What color panties you wearing?"

"If I was there I would smack you in the face with a pillow."

Ben laughed. "I know. Seriously now, what are you wearing?"

"Um, a t-shirt and jeans."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "No boxers?"

"Oh, boxers too."

"Aww." Ben pouted.

Ronnie laughed. "Sorry. I'll take them off if you like."

"Everything else, too." Ben's voice had changed, accent slightly thicker with an edge of command to it.

Ronnie put down the phone almost before he knew what he was doing. Ben heard some rustling on the other end, and a thud as Ronnie fell over trying to get his socks off. Then Ronnie picked the phone up, sitting back down in his armchair. "Alright."

"Did I hear you fall over?"

"Shut up!"

"Klutz."

"Hey, Daddy, you gonna fuck me or not?"

It was Ben's turn to be surprised, not expecting to be so aroused by the name. He groaned softly, rubbing himself over his jeans. "Convince me first."

"Hmm...I'll suck it for you, Daddy, is that okay?"

"Oh yeah, that's good, baby." Ben unfastened his jeans, pushing them down a little to free himself. "Don't think I'm convinced yet though."

"Alright. I'll sit back a little and put on a show for you, get myself hot and ready until I'm writhing and begging." Ronnie's hand wrapped around himself instinctively, doing as he'd said he would.

"Nice..." Ben hissed, stroking himself. "Still not convinced though."

Ronnie made a noise that was half frustrated groan, half pleased moan, and all going straight to Ben's cock. "I'll lay back and spread myself out for you, spread my legs like a whore. I'll use my fingers and stretch myself out, show you how well your boy can take a cock."

"Mmm, that's real good, boy. Not convinced yet though."

Ronnie's voice took on a hard, dangerous edge, but it was no less hot. "That so? All right, fine, Daddy, I'll tackle you to the bed and slide down on you myself. Maybe play with those sensitive nipples while I ride you like a slut."

Ben's breath hitched in his chest and he had to clamp his hand around the base to keep from coming right there. "Oh yeah?" He cursed himself for sounding so breathy and tried to make his voice a little more aggressive and strong. "Suppose I grab your hips, move ya how I want ya?"

"Think you're stronger than me? Think you can control me? Cause I'll fight you, I'll keep moving, try to break your hold. Think you'll win?"

"I will if I flip you over on your back and spread you out like a whore."

Ronnie moaned softly, biting his lip. "Yeah? Gonna do it yourself, Daddy? Gonna fuck me?"

"You know it. You ain't walkin straight for a week, I'll fuck you so hard."

Ronnie whimpered, a shiver running down his spine as he stroked a little harder. "What else?"

"You close, baby?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

"Tell me what else..." Ronnie's breath was hitching in his chest, voice high and cracking and almost plaintive.

"Turn you over on your hands and knees, fuck you like a dog."

"Oh yeah," Ronnie moaned, "oh god, harder..." He was delirious with desire, and hearing him moan wasn't really helping Ben's wits either.

"That's right, baby, come on. Come for me. Let me hear it."

Ronnie did so on command, crying out loud and long, one step below a scream. He arched and writhed in the chair where he sat, nearly breaking the phone he gripped it so hard.

Ben followed quickly, coming with a low, abbreviated grunt as he spilled over his hand and stomach, arching almost clear off the bed.

Several moments later, Ronnie was the first to speak. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Yup."

Title:A Girl and a Gun
Author: encyclopediae
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing/character: Slight Megan/Amita
Rating: pg
Prompt: "Cradle it like you would a lover."
Kink: women with guns
Notes/Warnings: Includes some pretty vague femslash, and girls shooting at targets. I wrote this in 45 minutes. I just wish I could have done it at a time other than 6am.

Amita groaned in frustration and stamped her foot. "What am I doing wrong??" she cried.

"You're still being too aggressive. You're still not quite squeezing right, and you're holding it wrong. You have to be gentle."

"It's a gun, and it's heavy. How do you want me to be gentle?"

Megan ran a hand through her hair, deciding to come at her explanations from a different angle. "Think of it this way. You have to cradle it in your hands like a lover. Trust it and it won't let me down, but if you try to force it you'll--"

"Shoot a twelve-year-old girl in the head?" Amita sighed, looking at the as-yet-unscathed target and the dinged-up concrete wall behind it.

"Yes. Try again. Gentle."

Amita sighed, carefully squared her feet and her shoulders, and lined up her shot at the target, trying not to think so much about the gun. She applied pressure from the heel of her hand and her finger at the same time, like Megan had taught her, only barely flinching when the gun fired, ripping a corner of the paper target off.

"Better. Here, let's try this one again."

Megan took the gun from Amita's hands and picked up another, a revolver. She handed it to her friend and stepped back, indicating for her to take a shot.

This gun was one-handed, so Amita turned her body as Megan had told her, taking a shot at the target. The paper fluttered as the bullet flew past. Megan sighed and stepped up close behind Amita without thinking about it.

Amita was startled, but surprised to find that she didn't entirely mind having the agent so close behind her. She let Megan guide her.

"You're still angling wrong," Megan said, putting a hand on Amita's hip and pressing it back, perhaps-not-entirely-accidentally bringing their pelvises flush. "Completely perpendicular to the target."

"But now I feel like I've almost got my back to it," Amita said, resisting the urge to lower her voice in the close contact.

"You'll get used to it, but this is where you should be. Now relax your hand a little..." Megan's arm came up, lining up next to Amita's. She was an inch or two taller so she had to bend her knees slightly to be at the right height, causing her body to press against the student's. She cupped her hand gently around Amita's, encouraging her to relax her grip a little. "That's it. Now line up your target..." Amita started to shift, turning towards the target as she concentrated on it, but Megan pressed her hip back again. "Good."

"Is this okay?" Amita wished she didn't sound so breathy, and desperately cursed the edge of panic underneath.

"Perfect. Now apply pressure from the heel of your hand..." She stroked the back of Amita's hand with her thumb, feeling the younger woman tense up again, but at the tiny contact she relaxed. "That's good. Now slowly squeeze, and..."

A small hole tore cleanly through the head of the target.

Megan smiled and whispered in Amita's ear. "Perfect."

Wed, 21 May 2008 21:40:46 GMT

Alex only made it a week, the first time Chris hit him. Most people, when their partners hit them, are able to leave the first time it happens (or at least, the first time their partner crosses the line) and never come back, but not Alex. They were 23 at the time. There had been warning signs -- a grab of the arm here, a harsh word there, the occasional threatening loom -- and Alex had known Chris had a hot temper, but always believed his lover would never truly hurt him (beyond, possibly, some slightly-rougher-than-strictly-advisable sex).

Chris looked horrified, but Alex wasn't interested, already feeling his eye beginning to swell. He grabbed an ice pack and a dish towel from the kitchen and packed a bag one-handed. Chris got in a shower so hot that half the apartment filled up with the steam. Chris hadn't come out yet when Alex left, calling ahead to his friend to ask if he could crash for a few days. He sat on his friend's couch with three of his friends around him, disparaging Chris and his actions, as well as a few unkind words in regards to his ancestry and character. Alex just sat there, listening as they tried to convince him to leave Chris and never go back. He tried to just listen, not think and allow himself to be convinced, but it wasn't working. Everything anyone said, he took in, processed, turned over and boiled down in his mind until he came up with "true" or "false." All of their best arguments seemed to be coming out false, except for the two or three obvious ones; "he's big enough to really hurt you, especially if he gets out of control" and "physical violence is not okay."

All these things tumbled through his head as he attempted to sleep on his friend's slightly lumpy couch. And the next night, and the few nights after that. He eventually decided he would go back, at least interact with Chris and see what happened. He didn't believe that Chris had genuinely wanted to hurt him, and he'd heard of cases where someone just made a mistake, and when given a second chance never hurt their partners again. If nothing else, Alex wasn't willing to toss away three years on what might never happen again and felt he at least owed Chris a chance.

He had to lie wildly to get his friend to even let him out of the house, but he managed it, getting out and heading home. He stood outside the door for a long time, debating whether to knock or just go in. He still felt as though he lived here, but at the same time it didn't seem quite right to just enter. He ended up compromising, knocking and then opening the door.

As he stepped into the kitchen, Chris stepped into the doorway from the living room. He looked like hell. He needed a shave and his clothes were rumpled like he'd been wearing them a couple of days. There were bags under his eyes and he looked either sleep-deprived or hungover, possibly both. Looking past him into the living room, Alex could see a series of pizza boxes and sundry other food-related debris, as if Chris hadn't had the motivation to cook.

Their eyes met, and Alex could see his lover's misery more clearly than any stubble or trash could express.

"I don't expect you to forgive me."

"I expect you to make it up to me."

A long pause.

"So you're going to come home?"

Alex stepped towards Chris and pulled him close. Chris didn't resist, hugging Alex back, so hard he nearly crushed him, but Alex found the air to speak. "I already am."

Wed, 21 May 2008 08:21:52 GMT

tubez iz cleer.

note on the ending: Chris and Alex are only 20, so the idea is they're still in college.

Chris wanted to call Alex that same night, but managed to restrain himself. The most he’d gotten in a very long time was a few no-strings-attached blowjobs. He didn’t really consider himself a virgin, but he probably, strictly speaking, hadn’t really had sex either. It was annoyingly complicated and he tried not to think about it too much, but the end result was that Chris pretty seriously needed to get some, and he’d never felt the kind of fire that the other man ignited in him, ever.

Chris made it to about 10am before calling Alex. Or, he tried. He picked up the phone and dialed the numbers, then heard a person say "uh...hello?"

Chris blinked, then realized what had happened. "Oh, sorry. I was just trying to call someone."

"Yeah I figured. Um, I was looking for Chris?"

"Alex?"

"Yeah." On the other end, Alex smiled, relieved. "Hi."

"Hi." Chris suddenly felt intensely shy again.

"You gonna clam up on me now?"

"Heh...no, not unless that's supposed to be something dirty."

Alex laughed. "Well, if you want it to be..." They both laughed a little and Alex spoke again. "So, it was really cool talking to you last night, and I was thinking about maybe meeting up again sometime?"

Chris tried, but he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. "Yeah! I mean, yes. Yes. Uh, is...tonight too soon? You probably have plans or something, that’s cool..."

"No no, I'm free."

Chris sighed, relieved. "Okay," he said breathlessly.

Alex smiled. "Do you want to just meet at Wylde's again?"

"Um, sure. Yeah, that sounds good. I...think I can find it again."

"Well the napkin Bob threw at us has the address on it."

Chris surveyed his portion of the napkin. "I only have the first three letters of the street. Mab?"

"Mabon."

"Okay, that's easy enough. So...when do you want to meet?"

"Well, they open at 8, if that's not too early?"

"No, 8 sounds good. So...I'll see you at 8?"

Alex grinned. "Yeah. See you."

Chris had a few classes that day and couldn't concentrate in a single one of them.

Wed, 21 May 2008 02:16:06 GMT

i wrote the calling and setting up of the date, but it's on my computer which the internet is not working on, and sex in the bed of the pickup truck was too hot/awesome to resist.

They managed to stay inside the bar for about half an hour.

One would think the fire connecting them at the end of the previous night would have subsided at least a little in the intervening hours, but it hadn't. As soon as Chris saw Alex, he wanted him desperately. It was a lot warmer tonight and the darker man was wearing a snug t-shirt, clinging slightly to show off his slim body, and a pair of jeans that seemed made specifically to torture him.

Chris thought that Alex seemed to be thinking the same thing of him (he'd tried to look somewhat nice without looking like he was trying), but he wasn't getting his hopes up. That is, not until Alex snuck a condom out of the bowl and grabbed the larger man's hand to drag him out.

They hit the wall outside the door almost as soon as they were out of the building, kissing desperately. Alex was pinned against the wall, hands clawing and scrabbling at Chris' back, and Chris had gone straight for the gold, one hand grabbing Alex's ass while the other was tangled into his hair. They had to stop for breath but found themselves unable to pull away, mouths open and panting and separated by millimeters, feeling it like an electric shock every time they touched.

"We need to, um..." Chris trailed off, forgetting what the end of that sentence was. He suspected it was something like "move," but that would involve pulling away and that was bad on all kinds of levels. He forgot the problem completely when one of Alex's hands slid down over his hip and towards his cock, kneading the already-significant bulge there and none too gently. Alex shivered at the puff of air over his swollen, sensitive lips that came along with the soft groan, and he shifted so he could get a better grip. When someone headed into the bar catcalled them, that brought them back to Earth.

"My truck's right over there," Chris breathed, tilting his head slightly towards it. In response, Alex grabbed his hand again and pulled him in the direction indicated.

The hundred feet to the truck seemed to take forever to cross, but they managed it, vaulting over the tailgate and into the bed. They were horizontal and half-naked (or at least, less than half naked, but just naked enough) in record time. Alex ripped the foil packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom onto the larger man, letting his fingers linger perhaps longer than necessary. Then they were kissing again and Chris was fumbling into place and thank god the condom was lubed because he didn't think he could have waited much longer and push and muffling Alex's cry with his lips, unable to wait more than a second before he had to move and thrust and fuck, moving to bury his face in Alex's shoulder to muffle the sounds he was making, which could have really been pretty much anything and really, really wishing there was even the slightest chance he was going to last more than three minutes.

He wasn't alone, and it was actually Alex coming, squeezing so hard around him, almost to the point of pain, that sent him over the edge with what he could really only describe as a roar, bitten back so hard he tasted blood and muffled in the crook of Alex's shoulder. It seemed to take forever before he stopped coming, and another forever before he came down, lifting his head to squint dizzily into Alex's eyes. Alex smiled up at him, well-pleased and well-fucked, but the look in his eye said Chris wasn't done yet by a long shot. He grinned and pulled out to deal with the condom, gearing himself up for a very long, very good night.

Mon, 19 May 2008 13:39:43 GMT

The first time they kiss, they're both twenty.

Chris has just had his birthday a few weeks ago. His friends brought him here that evening and snuck drinks back to their table until he was buzzed (he already had a temper and no one wanted to risk plastered), then started bringing him sodas. The next morning he figured out what happened, but he was so enchanted with the very idea of a gay club that he didn't really care, and was back the very next night and almost every night for the past three weeks.

He goes even on a night when he doesn't really feel like being in a club. He meets a pair of aging lesbians who tell him he should go to Wylde's and mention they're just headed there now -- why doesn't he follow them?

Wylde's turns out to be a much mellower place, more full of old queens than young faggots, with a jukebox and a pool table and ash trays on every table and scattered across the bar. He looks around as he enters. A young lesbian at the pool table trying really hard to pull the straight girl she's playing with. Some older men in couples and singles, most of them having conversations with each other. The bartender, however, is talking to someone who looks to be about his age and nursing what looks like a Sprite or a water. He looks sortof skinny and geeky, with pale, vaguely freckled skin, shaggy brown hair that seems to insist on falling into his eyes no matter how much he pushes it back, and big, brown puppydog eyes that Chris probably couldn't resist even from here.

He's still looking at the man when the bartender catches sight of him. Puppy-eyes starts to turn to look at him and he ducks his head, taking a seat on the furthest side of the bar (it curls around so there's four sides, and you're always facing someone).

"What can I getcha?" the bartender asks, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Uh...a coke, thanks." He can't seem to take his eyes off Puppy-eyes.

The bartender follows his gaze. "His name's Alex," he says, looking back at Chris. "You should go talk to him. We're all pretty friendly here."

Chris could have dipped his face in tomato sauce, he goes so red. "No. Thanks. Um...tell you what, can I buy him another of whatever he's got?"

The bartender chuckles, shaking his head a little. "Sure. For that and the coke, four dollars."

Chris hands him a five, muttering something about keeping the change, and quickly looks away as the brown-haired boy -- Alex -- glances up at him.

He looks again when the bartender brings the drink to the other man. He sees the frown and the question on his lips, and the bartender turns and points Chris out. Alex looks at him, looking surprised but very pleased. Chris smiles and blushes deeply and looks down into his drink.

"Hi," comes a voice from next to him. Chris glances up and sees that his new friend has come to join him. "I'm Alex," he says, offering a hand and a smile.

Chris takes it, still smiling that shy, embarrassed smile, unable to turn to look at his new friend full on. "Chris. And yeah, I know." He gestures vaguely at the bartender.

Alex glares. "Bob!" The bartender -- Bob, Chris assumes -- grins and shrugs innocently. "Don't make me spank you again! Remember Christmas?" Bob turns his back and bends over a little, as if to present himself. Alex isn't looking, so he doesn't really notice when Chris' face falls.

"So you and he are...?"

"Who? Bob? Oh god no, no." Alex smiles. "No, I'm not with anyone. Around holidays and things like that this place can get pretty crazy."

"Oh." Chris smiles, relieved, and turns a little so he's facing Alex, almost managing full-on eye contact. "So, uh, what do you do?"

They end up talking until Bob the Bartender throws them out half an hour after last call. Chris shyly offers Alex his number and a walk to his car. Alex pounds on the door until Bob opens up and throws a pen, a cocktail napkin, and a condom at them. Chris is blushing so hard there can't possibly be any blood in his hands or his brain, so Alex carefully tears the napkin down the middle and writes his number on one half to hand it to Chris, and had Chris tell him his number to write that down as well.

Once Chris stops blushing and they stick the condom back onto the window of Bob's car with some gum, Chris walks Alex to his car (Alex insists he'll be fine, but Chris' chivalry has kicked in. This isn't exactly the best neighborhood, and Chris at least looks a lot more capable of defending himself than Alex).

Alex reaches up and kisses Chris on the cheek, the fetching blush on his cheeks the first hint of shyness that he's shown. Chris catches his shoulder though and, nearly blind with fear and panic and excitement, draws Alex back to gently kiss him on the lips.

It takes a couple minutes for them to convince themselves to part, and when they do their cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and slick, eyes glittering, and Chris finds himself really, really hoping that Alex's coat is too thick for him to feel what's poking him in the stomach (Chris hasn't actually gotten laid in the strictest sense since high school). They convince themselves to go their separate ways, no matter how much they want to jump into the backseat of Alex's car (or better yet, the bed of Chris' pickup), and they end up heading off.

The first time they kiss, Chris and Alex are twenty, and that one thing right there pretty much determines and predicts the rest of their relationship.

Mon, 19 May 2008 03:14:00 GMT

I haven't decided whether this bit is complete or there's more that comes after the hand on the head thing.

I hereby declare my love for emily (the one in NYC, since i know too many goddamn emilys).

ETA: it's longer now. apparently it wasn't finished.
ETAA: i'm sick of editing this entry so i'm reposting it in a new entry. again, mostly cause i can.

Mon, 19 May 2008 01:52:02 GMT

DISCLAIMER: I am not trying to excuse people who hit their SOs. I'm sure there are lots of abusers out there who could give a shit when they hurt their lovers. This is just an exercise/first foray into the character of Chris, who loves his boyfriend and cares about him and doesn't want to hurt him, but has this anger in him he can't control.

Tanhks to Tea for getting me off the ground. i was having the most retarded writer's block ever and she gave me a few lines of something that would anger an already jealous and angry person. that was, thankfully, enough to at least get this down. also, there's a line from gilmore girls in here. Cookie if you find it.

"So did I tell you what Daniel did the other day?"

"Hmmm..."

"Chris? You with me?"

"Sorry." Chris managed to close his book. "It takes a second to emerge from Samuel Beckett. He's a strange man. What did Daniel do?"

"He managed to be two hours late to pick up Selena and her daughter. Two hours. And he claims to have an internal clock so he always knows what time it is."

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Has he ever done that kind of thing to you?"

"Couple times. That's why I always drive when we're doing something."

He shook his head in disgust. "That's so disrespectful. Why are you even friends with him?"

"Known him a long time. Does it matter?"

Chris stood up, drawing himself to his full height. He could feel it happening, knew he didn't want these words to come out of his mouth, but out they came. "It matters to me."

Alex stood up warily from the dining room table. "Chris..."

"You know you shouldn't be around people like that. You need to fucking pick your friends better."

"Chris, I know. Please sit back down." Alex was slowly retreating around the table.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do." Chris was following him, the larger man's hands starting to stiffen and clench.

"I'm sorry, Chris. Chris, you're getting mad, you need to take a step back..."

It was almost like blacking out. Chris was aware of what he was doing, but he wasn't in control anymore, and when his body started obeying orders again the back of his hand was throbbing and Alex was on the floor clutching his cheek with a hurt, betrayed look on his face.

"Oh, my god, I'm so sorry, Alex." Chris fell to his knees, almost afraid to touch Alex as he helped him sit up. Alex sighed.

"Yeah. I know."

"God, I'm so fucking..." Chris retreated, drawing his knees up to his chest and pressing his forehead into his palms. He hit himself in the head a few times before Alex came forward, putting his hands on Chris' wrists.

"Stop, stop. Come on, it's not your fault. I know I have to be more careful."

"No," Chris said sharply, snapping up to look into Alex's eyes, gaze straying to his already-purpling cheekbone. "You can't start blaming yourself. You promised you wouldn't."

"I know," Alex said, pulling his lover close, stroking his back soothingly. "I know. I did."

Chris fisted his hands in Alex's shirt, now fighting the tears. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

Sun, 11 May 2008 21:08:27 GMT

10 years ago: My teacher was gay.

5 years ago: I had a huge chip on my shoulder and hated everyone.

1 year ago: I was freaking out over being 18.

Yesterday: I spent my birthday with Emily. Mom bought a cake she knew I don't like because they had it and she wanted it.

Tomorrow: Going to the Planned Parenthood to try to go on Depo.

5 snacks I enjoy: Ruffles. Zebra Cakes. Michelina's TV dinners. Snickerdoodles. lucky charms.

5 bands/artists that I know the lyrics to most of their songs: Panic! At The Disco, Savage Garden, Avenged Sevenfold, tomandandy, Elisa Korenne

5 things I would do with a $100,000,000: pay off debts, pay for college, get Emily fixed up, move out of my parents' house, buy all the movies, games, and game consoles I want but don't have

5 locations I would like to run away to: Ireland, San Francisco, Portland, NYC, Boston

5 bad habits I have: forgetting things, eating too much, not exercising, freaking out, driving too much

5 things I like doing: driving, watching movies, playing on the computer, writing, watching tv

5 things I will always wear: jeans, my brown shirt, clamdiggers, glasses or contacts, no socks

5 t.v. shows I like(d): torchwood, doctor who, law and order svu, numb3rs, queer as folk

5 movies I like: boondock saints, fight club, green street hooligans, doomsday, fast and the furious

5 famous people I would Like to meet: norman reedus, emily dickinson, orson scott card, david tennant, billie piper

5 biggest joys at the moment: i'm 19! new movies. games coming. DOS games for download. an american crime on my replay.

5 favorite toys: computer, diplomacy, tv, phone, car

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 03:18:18 GMT

There's a blindfold over his eyes. It's made of cotton, or some other similarly bland fabric, and molds to cover his eyes completely, blocking out even a tiny sliver of light.

There are earplugs in his ears. They block out sound perfectly, filling his ear canals so that all that's audible is his own pulse, but molded so they aren't uncomfortable.

There's a gag in his mouth. It's not too big, just barely small enough for comfort, but he starts to choke if he tries to make a sound. It's been used so the ball doesn't have the latex taste and smell it once did, and just doesn't taste like anything.

The room isn't used very often, so there's neither lived-in smells like sweat, food, and cigarette smoke, nor the smells of cleaning products. There's no smell.

He's on a bed. Or at least, he thinks he's on a bed, he's been here for what seems like hours, unmoving so he could be in really any position at this point, and he's just not sure. On a scale of zero to ten, zero being bed of nails and ten being sleeping on a cloud, this bed is a perfect five. The sheets are cotton, like the blindfold, and there must be some sort of pillowtop because he can't feel the texture of stitches that he knows the mattress must have.

He can't move. His hands and feet are cuffed to...well, he wants to say the bedpost, but he's not sure, so something immobile. He's pretty sure the cuffs are metal, but there's some sort of cotton lining so he can't feel it against his skin.

He can feel one thing though.

At first he jumped. With no way to sense anything going on in the room, the fingers sliding along the muscles in his abdomen startled him at first. Then he relaxed, recognizing the touch. It took him a few minutes to realize how light it really was. Under normal circumstances he probably wouldn't even feel this. But he supposes these are not normal circumstances.

Now he's desperate, wants to move but can't, wants to see and hear and touch and beg, but he knows he can't. He can feel himself, hard and leaking and he can feel the fingers inside him, preparing him to be taken. He hopes desperately that it's soon, because he doesn't think he can take this much longer without going completely and truly, entirely insane.

Then he's being stretched open and he can't help the sounds coming from his throat now even as the gag presses uncomfortably on his tongue. He feels a hand on his cock and bucks his hips desperately to try and communicate what he wants, sweating and writhing on the bed. The cock inside him starts to move and he can hardly breathe for the need and the pleasure.

It doesn't take long and he's coming, arching and crying out behind the gag. First the blindfold is removed, and even the dim light is blinding. Then the earplugs, and the sound of his own breathing is deafening. The sudden rush of sensory input seems to prolong and intensify his orgasm, until he's shaking like a leaf when he subsides, shivering as the gag is unfastened and pulled from his mouth.

His lover smiles the devastating smile and unties him, then kisses him and pulls him close. He smiles a little and burrows in.

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 10:03:50 GMT

This timeline is a little bit AU. If you assume Torchwood takes place 15-20 years in the future, it fits. But it doesn't, so, slight AU.

When Suzie was seventeen, she got a videogame called Oblivion. She was thrilled with the character creation setup, making herself a tall, beautiful elf with the same features she's got in real life, it takes a couple of hours, but she manages it, and ends up making about five characters, all with variations on her face. Once she got over the character creation, she ended up toying with it for awhile, never getting all that interested in it for a long time. Then, in a quest she accidentally killed an innocent bystander, blinking at the message the game showed: "Dark forces have witnessed your act of violence."

She'd killed people before in the game, and never seen such a message. She saved and quit soon after that, as soon as she was able to ride her horse back to the town. It was a week before she picked the game up again, and she'd mostly forgotten the message. One of the first things she did was find her house and go to sleep, intending to sleep off the minor damage she'd sustained in battle. She jumped slightly when, upon waking, she was pulled straight into a conversation with a man she hadn't seen.

He gave her a dagger and told her to kill someone, marking an inn on her map and promising her a family as he did. She mounted her horse outside the city and followed the road to the spot marked, intrigued. She talked to the bartender inside, eyes wide and hands cold with excitement. No matter what it is, every time she gets agitated, her hands go ice-cold (even sexual arousal does it, but the boys at school don't seem to complain, so she leaves it alone). She bites her lip as she descends through the trapdoor. She smiles, almost feral, as she finds the old man asleep on a bedroll.

"Prepare to die, old man," she snarls, perhaps a little too into it, and clicks the mouse to pull back for a hit.

"Suzie! Dinner!" It's her dad calling her, so she doesn't dare delay, and this deserves time and consideration. So she leaves it running, just pausing the game, and scarfs down her dinner as fast as she dares before running back upstairs, with a shouted request to call her down when their TV shows come on.

She sat back down at her computer, biting her lip as she unpauses the game. She clicked the mouse again, carefully pulling back with the dagger the NPC had given her. "This is a virgin blade," he'd said. "It thirsts for blood." She felt an odd compulsion to deflower the weapon, a dark and jagged thing, evil-looking to most people, but the shape seemed oddly comforting to Suzie. Her mum said she wore too much black, but she didn't care, and the next day she'd gone and bought black lipstick, just to spite her. She quickly turned her thoughts away from what Dad had done when he found it, concentrating on the game as the pronged blade fell.

It was almost anticlimactic, the character gave a jerk, then died. There had been a slight movement before, to represent breathing, but that was gone now. She looted the corpse and, had she been the character, would have tripped over herself getting out of the tavern and back on her horse to ride home and sleep again, as the man had told her.

By the time she was called for the TV shows, she'd gained her entrance. The same man had come to her when she woke, just like before, and told her where the headquarters were and what to do when she got there. She'd snuck carefully through the house, through the door and into the basement, wound tight as a rattlesnake, likely to break something, either the keyboard or herself, if anyone came into the room and startled her now. She saw the door, lit by an ambient red light and gasping at its beauty. A scene of people, not unlike cave drawings, all gathered in worship, with one drawn larger seeming to be a priest, all worshipping a radiant black hand in the sky.

She jumped slightly as a voice spoke when she got in range. It wasn't like any other voice she'd heard in the game so far, a harsh whisper, a bone-chilling rattle, the voice of something ancient and evil and ice, ice cold.

"What is the color of night?"

She's presented with a list of three options, and smiles. "Sanguine, my brother," she says, and clicks the phrase on the screen. There's the creaking sound of a door opening, and she appears inside a large room. She can see people moving, all wearing the same black armor, and a skeleton rattling around. She takes a few steps forward, and smiles when she hears the voice again.

"Welcome home."

Yes. She is home.

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 01:38:41 GMT

I maintain that it's ridiculously fun to play/write drug addicts. I did this scene a long time ago in a roleplay. I'm sure you recognize Moria, and the other character, Zach, was played by the other girl. Moria goes to score and ends up slightly overstaying her welcome. R for graphic drug use.

Moria was shaking. Badly. Her stash had run out two weeks ago, and she'd had a really shitty day. She'd had to kick that Carley girl out of the class again. She had amazing potential, but if she kept goofing off in class rather than applying herself, she'd be kicked out of the studio and would never fulfil it. And then at rehearsal. Oh, rehearsal. Apparently the director was hitting menopause, and she'd been particularly bitchy today, shouting in Moria's face when she failed to get completely en point for a pirouette. Moria had flinched away and nodded quietly, never disputing, until the director walked away with an expression of disgust. Of course, as usual, she'd only tried harder next time around, but it was never fun getting shouted down, especially when she'd had to spend the day doing the same thing.

Larissa could tell what she needed, being one of the little waifs who needed to keep her weight down and strength up at the same time. She'd approached an already shaky Moria at the end of practice and handed her a bottle of water. The label was actually a slip of paper with a name and address on it. Larissa had winked and walked off. Moria had unraveled it with trembling fingers, and that's where she was heading now. She checked her wallet. Yes, more than enough for a decent supply. She breathed a sigh. Relief was on its way, and that thought was enough to make her hands shake a little less.

A little less still meant they were considerably shaky. She nearly dropped the slip of paper as she approached the door and knocked, the sound erratic and weak from her shaking.

Zach was laying on his couch sleeping, legs sprawled and a hand hanging off the side of the couch. The remote had long since fallen to the floor and the tv still played whatever crappy show was on at this point at night. Harli had long since skidaddled off to whatever adventure lay before her; he didn't mind, she was a handful. To hyperactive, always trying to do something, and smoking bud didn't seem to mellow her out enough. His place was a little cleaner since she'd been there, however. Boredom had inspired her to clear off the dozens of beer bottles on the table, and mope the kitchen floor- which thankfully now he can walk on without sticking to it. Zach was something of a light sleeper, and hadn't gotten much sleep until Harli had left. But that, too, was interrupted as he heard the meak knock upon the door, causing him to slowly open his eyes with a sigh. Having superior hearing could really be a drag.

He slid his bare feet to the floor and sat up, scratching the back of his head with a small grunt. He then leaned forward and grabbed his pack of Kools which lay on the coffee table, opening it up and taking out a cigarette. Hearing the knock again he stuck it in his mouth with an, "Mhm," like he had no intention of opening the door. The knock was light, so it probably wasn't anyone he knew. Maybe one of those Jehova's witnesses or some shit. He picked up a matchbook and opened it, picking one off and striking it against the texture to spark it, and light his cigarette. He tossed the dead match on the table with the matchbook, and took a drag of the menthol. After a moment he looked at the door. Might as well see who it was. He took another quick drag before setting it in the ash tray, expelling the smoke as he walked the few feet to opening the door.

"Yeah?" He asked standing there. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, in grey sweat pants that really had no allegiance to his waist and nothing more. He had just rolled out of bed, and he didn't look too happy about it.

"Um..." Moria was caught off-guard. She'd expected...well, a shirt, to start with. Her hands shook a little more violently, so she stuck them nervously in the pockets of her jeans, resting low on her hips over the simple black leotard that showcased well-developed muscle and sharp hipbones peeking over the top. A dance bag dangled from one shoulder with a pair of black pointe shoes peeking out, and her hair was still pulled back in a tight bun. Sharp features were twisted into unease, Moria chewing lightly on her lip and trying to keep her eyes on the man's face. A slightly more difficult task, considering she was eye-level with a muscular and quite tempting chest.

"Er, well...um...Larissa told me..." she trailed off, having absolutely no idea what to say, and hoping he'd recognize the name.

He simply looked at the girl standing there at his door step. He was baffled. Who was this timid chick, and why was she shaking. She looked like one of those people that had just been in a car accident and needed to borrow your phone or something. He furrowed his brows at her, wondering when she was going to spit it out. He didn't have all day. "...Yes?" He repeated, as if to snap her out of it. He took her moment of bewilderment to give her a good look over, wondering what was in the duffle bag and why she was bringing all her shit over to his house. His eyes focused on the shoes, and then he realized what she was wearing. Must've been a dancer. Still didn't explain why she was there. Zach looked at her face as she finally managed to form a sentence.

"There's no Larissa here," he said, shutting the door in her face. What the hell did this look like, preschool? He cursed and went to the couch, grabbing his cigarette as he was about to sit down. He furrowed his brows in thought, and the name did ring a bell. He put the cigarette in his mouth and got back up, taking a drag as he moved to the door and reopening it. Larissa, Victor's not so little, little sister. Blowing the smoke off to the side he wasn't rude enough to blow it in her face, let alone after slamming the door in it. "Why don't you come inside," he said, looking behind her. Satisfied, he looked back to her, pulling the cigarette from his lips. "Just, Uh... have a seat," he said. "Over there." He gestured with the cig in hand towards the dining table, which wasn't very grand but they were relatively clean because no one slept in them.

Moria blinked a few times having the door shut in her face, and spent a few moments in a state of utter confusion. She had just raised a hand to knock timidly again when it opened. When it did reopen, she nodded and entered obediently, swallowing hard as the door was shut behind her. She still didn't particularly like being in rooms alone with men she didn't know. In addition to that, there was the menthol smoke hovering in the air. That was probably worst of all. That one muscular guy had always smoked menthol, whenever...

Snapping herself out of it, she reminded herself that people had to be in the apartments around. If he tried anything funny she could scream. Granted, that had never helped before, but this wasn't before. But no matter where she was or when, she was having a hard time convincing herself that she was relatively safe. The only person that could give her that anymore was Damien.

She really didn't want to sit, her mind instantly alerting her that it made her mroe vulnerable than he was, but she didn't want to do anything wrong either, so she sat here told, pulling her bag onto her lap and jiggling her leg nervously, trying to will her hands to shake less and fishing for her wallet.

Zach may not have been friendly right off the bat, but he more or less wouldn't hurt a fly unless it was necessary. It hadn't been, so far. He looked at her as she seemed to zone out, or maybe she was staring at his apartment. He started to defend but he realized he really didn't care; it was pretty damned clean, in his opinion, and he wasn't about to bust a grape to make it any cleaner. Once she finally stepped inside he closed the door behind her, locking it. That might've been a bit alarming to her, but it wasn't his job to make her feel safe. After all, she'd just come over out of the blue. He still didn't know what she wanted.

"So," he said, turning around and moving to the couch. He would've offered her a seat, but he laid back down where he was, crossing his legs at the ankles at they rest over the arm rest. "What did you say your name was?" He asked, looking at her from the couch. It wasn't that far off; the door was between the living room and the dining room, both of which were more or less just designated open spaces where certain furniture seemed to make sense. She could see into his little kitchen from where she was sitting, most likely. He took a drag from the cigarette as he watched her fumbling with a her wallet. He nearly scoffed and looked to the television. Another junkie. If he would've known that, he probably would've closed the door in her face. He looked at her and took a drag ontop of the other one. Maybe not.

"Moria," she said, swearing softly under her breath as she dropped a few coins, stooping to grab them before they rolled far. "Larissa said you had coke." She ran a hand over her hair nervously, as though afraid she had stray bits poking out. Which she didn't, at least not a lot. Her hair had gotten stronger recently the less she huffed, and held itself into a bun amazingly well, better than she could ever remember it doing. Maybe the practice with less cooperative hair had helped.

She took the opportunity to glance around. It wasn't the west side, but what else did she expect? She was here for drugs, not the scenery. "How much for an eightball?" she asked, finally producing bills.

Moria. Well that was certainly different. He watched her as she dropped her coins and gave a closed mouth chuckle, which resulted in an audible expulsion of air through his nostrils. He unfold his legs and slipped them off the couch, sitting up and grabbing his cigarette from his lips and pressing it into the ashtray. He had smoked part of the filter on the last drag, which was so very unnecessary. It wasn't like he didn't have anymore. He moved to open the pack and grab another one, sticking it in his mouth. It was then she droped the C bomb on him. He looked over at her from where he was. Yeah, he could see her on coke. Now it made more sense. "Did she..." he said simply, setting the pack down and grabbing the matchbook. He lit his new cigarette and waved the match out, tossing it on the table and the matchbook as well.

He didn't sell coke, so Larissa was right to say he had some, but she had a big mouth. "She should've come with you," he said, closing his pack of cigarettes up and standing. If Zach had been someone else, Moria might have reason to be shaking her ass off. But Zach was a good guy, for the most part. He looked at her as she got straight to the point, walking over to her. He bent at the waist, giving her a good close up look. Yeah, she looked like she was feening. With a small "hm," he stood tall. "$150," he said simply. It was his final price. He could've overcharged her, especially since it was his last eightball. But he didn't just carry the shit around on him.

But he did trust her. She looked like a junkie, and she looked like she'd been spoon fed. Which was why he was going to do her this little favor, even though she asked for cocaine as opposed to yay or yago or even blow. It would've made her seem like less of a narc.

"Um...yes, she did," Moria answered nervously. She watched him warily, eyes darting down occasionally to count bills.

"Oh...well, uh, she just...yeah. Told me." *Brilliant. Truly,* she thought to herself. She understood thoroughly why words were Damien's thing. with numbers there was one right answer, and only one. No wiggle room or cause for debate. You were right or you were wrong, and you could get it and move on.

She leaned away nervously as he looked at her close up, a combination of deer in the headlights and any wary, calculating woman. She nodded, hands shaking just slightly less as she counted out the amount and handed it to him. She'd expected a lot more than that, and made the mistake of glancing up at him. He was a lot taller than her, and the fact that he stood up straight while she sat made it worse. She stood instinctively, but that put her really close to him for comfort, so she sat again, shaking a little more again, with nerves as well as withdrawal, still holding the bills out weakly.

She just told me was not the right answer. She should have come with her. You do not send a chick to a drug dealer's house, no matter if they were a girl or a guy- it had been his experience most female drug dealers were lesbians anyway. But they were also unscrupulous in both aspects, and would not hesitate to take advantage of a girl like her in more than one way. Zach had a life, and some morals about him, which was why it relatively pissed him off. Larissa was getting stupid. Clearly she thought this was OK, which meant she probably did it all the time. She was going to wind up in a bad situation, one day. But he let it go. She was here instead of somewhere else, and he was getting business, so good for the both of them.

He wasn't offended as she looked away, in fact it more solidified her case. She looked more like a rabbit in headlights; deer were somewhat calm looking, despite their predicament, but she looked like she was about to bolt for the door and would have had she not been in serious need of a fix. Which is why he didn't feel the need to get into the details. But truth be told, he didn't have a full eightball, just about 3 grams- which was damned close and she probably wouldn't notice. He was doing her a big favor, because it was his personal supply, and he was giving her a pretty good discount. But she was attractive and he wouldn't mind dealing to her on a regular basis.

Zach looked surprised when she stood up nearly into him, and then sat back down, back to her shaking. He stood there for a moment, brows furrowed. He didn't know what to say. She was really addicted. She had probably been doing it for years, but he found it so hard to believe. She was just a big fucking question mark that he really didn't care for. He took the the money from her and counted it twice, placing his bills all face up- something he had a habit of doing, and it bothered him when they weren't. Satisfied, he folded them and slipped them in the pockets of his sweats. "I'll be back, stay there," he said, walking away and towards the hallway which lead to his room. The tattoo on his back didn't give him much more credibility.

Once inside, he moved to his dresser and opened his drawer, pulling out a small black plastic bag- something similar to a grocery bag, though unmarked. He also pulled out a small white one. He closed his dresser and turned the light out, walking back to the dining room. He sat down at the table, two seats to her side, and set them down, pulling the small rubberband from the white bag. He opened it and spread it open, so that she could see the ziplock bag that was inside, and the eightball of coke. Pushing it her way, he opened up the other bag. "For your own reassurance." Again, he was a pretty good dealer. Never overcharged, always came through if he could, always called back if he said he would, hardly ever pinched, and always had proper goods. That sack was hardly cut with anything. He was a no bullshit kind of guy.

Moria sat nervously as he left, then came back holding two bags. She watched both of them warily, as though afraid they might bite her, and she wanted to bite them first. As soon as a bag was pushed towards her, she grabbed it, pulling it close and setting it on top of her reclosed dance bag. She took a deep breath, willing her hands steady, and they shook only slightly as she dipped in with her pinky and got some of the white powder on her nail. She ducked her head and sniffed hard once.

A visible change came over her. Within seconds she stopped shaking, and looked less like a rabbit in headlights and much more like a woman in a leotard sitting in a dining room. She took a few deep breaths, suddenly much, much calmer than she'd been. She took another half a nailful for extra reassurance and carefully tipped the rest back into the bag. it looked a little small, but she wasn't about to question. It was plenty. She was set for a week, at least, maybe as much as 10 days if she was careful.

"Thanks," she said, and there was no hint of sarcasm or perfunctoriness in her voice. She took another deep breath and smiled at him for the first time. "Sorry to just come like this, but...well, you saw me." She blushed slightly, but didn't look ready to die like she might have before she got the drug in her. Addiction really made a difference in the young woman, and she reflected absently that she was amazingly young to have seen so much. She felt like she'd seen four lifetimes, not a fourth of one.

Zach looked at her as she practically snatched it, watching her with a raised brow as she went at it. Watching her, he wasn't sure what to make out of it, but he was 100% satisfied that she was not a cop. With that, he opened the smaller black back and pulled out the small 2.5 grams of shit, opening the bag. He glanced at her as he reached for a small black case, looking at her as he unzipped it. He was surprised at how much she had changed within such a short period, but then again he wasn't a junkie and he didn't deal to junkies either. She seemed much more attractive now that she wasn't moving every five seconds. He smiled lightly, shaking his head as he unzipped the black case.

It seemed like a makeup kit. He pulled out the thick, no edge mirror and set it down, before pulling a short straw from what might've held an eyebrow pencil, once. He pulled out an old, long since voided credit card- the only one he'd ever had- and set the kit down. He scooped a bit of shit on the mirror and set the card down, pulling out a random bill from the fold in his pocket. He didn't look at her, but otherwise looked occupied. "No problem," he said, setting the bill on the shit and picking up the credit card to crush it. He looked up at her as he heard her sigh of relief, catching her smile. She was very attractive. "Yeah; I did." He said, referring to seeing her. "You might want to consider an alternative," he said, lifting up the bill and slipping the excess powder from it.

"This tends to last a little longer," he said, cutting a few fat lines with the card. "And it won't make you bankrupt," he noted, sliding his finger over the edge of the card after the lines were formed and gumming the excess. "Line?" He offered.

She watched him deal out the line interestedly. That was creative. She considered a moment when he offered her some. "I don't know, I've gotta drive home after this, don't wanna take too much." She thought of Damien, and his reaction if he could see her. *Who cares. He can't. And he'd rather see you fine than shaking like a black girl with an iPod,* stated the side of her brain that only seemed to sruface when she was on the drug. She shrugged off the thoughts and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

"Larissa said your name was Zach. Is she as full of shit as she usually is?" she asked with another smile, tilting her head to the side some. She kicked herself inwardly,but it didn't show. Was that really the best she could come up with to tell him to introduce himself? Eh well, she'd much admitted that words were Damien's thing.

It wasn't much creative as it was the way things were done. You had to crush it up, meth was granial, coke was powdery. The dollarbill kept the grains from shooting in every which direction, and instead helped it crush better. Shit could look pretty powdery, and Zach was pretty good at making it so. But you never wanted to buy shit in anything but rock form. That way it was harder for dealers to rip you off. That was OK, because he wasn't selling it to her. She probably had no idea what she was looking at. He grabbed the straw and put it to his left nostril, placing a finger over his right as he inhaled it. Sniffing he looked up at her with a look of confusion. What did driving have anything to do with it?

He smiled to himself and shook his head, before leaning his head back and sniffing again just to make sure that he didn't get reverse drip. Satisfied he pressed his nostrils together for a fraction of a second to take an edge off the burn. That eightball would last her a lifetime. He did the next line as she spoke, leaving two lines left. Repeating the same proceedure he looked at her once he was done, brows furrowed. "Zach? Who's Zach?" He asked.

She shrugged, sealing up her bag and tucking it away carefully into a concealed pocket on the inside of the duffel. She watched him take the drug. She didn't know a lot about drugs, actually, only that meth seemed to be the nastiest. Most of the girls got put on meth. If they weren't already addicted to something else, meth it was, since that was what else Szander dealt in. Anything else he had to buy from friends. So really, being already addicted to coke was a big bit of saving grace for Moria.

She idly put the finger that had held the coke in her mouth, sucking off whatever excess escaped. The nail was fairly long, the primary reason why she'd used that particular finger, so it took a few moments to get the grains from under it with her tongue. She paused in her endeavors and norrowed her eyes at his words, sensing that she was being fucked with.

Meth wasn't the nastiest drug. Meth was dirtier than coke, that was for sure. Meth was like Burger King, and Coke was In-n-Out. Yago was a lot smoother, but it had some different properties too. Either way, shit generally got the job done. Coke was too expensive for it to be an all the time thing, but she was a pretty little ballerina that looked like she had quite a few pretty pennies. Either way, he wasn't sure he wanted to start dealing coke. That was a lot of effort for just one person. So yeah, he was trying to interest her in something he did have, because that little fuck Oscar had split and he wasn't going to snort it all himself. He wasn't that big of a meth user. He was a visitor, not a local, as a friend of his had put it.

Zach watched her suck on her pinky. It was useful, but only if you needed a quick fix. For Zach, a straw or rolled up dollar bill was fine; he had time to cut a line. He laughed as she gave him a dirty look at his denial, shaking his head and standing up, tossing the straw on the table. "I'm just fucking with you, calm down," he said, looking around. He seemed to be missing something. "That's me," he admitted. He picked up the credit card from the table and held it in front of her for just a few moments before he tossed it on the table. True enough, Zachary Pitman was the name on the card. "So how is she anyway?" He asked, running his hands back and forth over his messy mowhawk as he walked away, looking around. He checked the coffee table, leaning over the couch. Nope. He walked into his room, spotting it burning idly in the ashtray there. He shook his head, picking it up and taking a drag before he turned to head out of the room. He must have set it down to grab the bags.

The drag killed it as it was relatively small, so he moved to the couch once more the sit down and put it out. He was something of a chain smoker, but only when he was incredibly tired. He picked up the pack, pulling another cigarette out. "I'd offer you one, but you don't smoke," he said, telling her as he lit his cigarette with another match. He wasn't an idiot, she didn't look like a smoker and she didn't ask for one and upon walking in she seemed slightly bothered by it. Tossing into the table he took a drag and held it, looking at her from the couch.

"I gathered," she said dryly, withdrawing her finger. "She's skinny as ever, little bitch. How she gets her leg over her head with no muscle, I'll never know. It's gotta be the coke. Her and most of the small girls are on it." Moria trailed off. Normally she didn't ramble with this little. Maybe her tolerance was lowering.

She watched him move around the house, wondering vageuly if he intended to put on a shirt. Not that she was complaining. But it was rather distracting. She watched him back as he watched her from the couch, and cocked an eyebrow at him after awhile. "Yes?"

He hadn't seen Larissa in a while. Victor had stopped bringing her over, and he personally hadn't any qualms about it. She was always came over and got spun for free, and complained about it. She was a mooch. He got tired of dealing with her just because she was Victor's sister. Besides, at those times his house was usually a lair of guys anyway, she didn't need to be around that. She used to be a good kid. Maybe not so much anymore. He was a little put off by the fact that she called her a little bitch, but it was more amusing than anything. She was talking to him like he was one of her girlfriends. Zach vaguely understood what she was talking about, but didn't really care enough to elaborate. He was too casual, he didn't like to get too into things unless it was worth it. He was not that spun. She seemed blown. But she was a lightweight.

Zach had no intention of putting on a shirt, just as he had no intention of putting his cigarette out. It was his home, he liked to be comfortable. He didn't walk around half naked at other people's house, that was good enough. He took a drag from the cigarette as she seemed to be bothered, like he was intruding or something. Sucking the air in he shook his head, gesturing lightly with the cigarette. "I'm trying to figure out why you're still here," he said. Before she had time to react he laughed, blowing the smoke out and moving to grab the remote. He didn't particularly give a fuck if she was there or not. People always squat at his house. "You can sample that stuff if you want to," he said, turning the TV off. He was referring to the meth. He'd left them there for her.
"How do you know Larissa anyway?" He asked as he ashed in the tray. Hell, since she was just sitting there, might as well get her talking. He knew she wanted to.

Moria shrugged. "You haven't kicked me out yet. I will if you want, I just didn't particularly feel like going home to Damien yet." She loved her brother more than anything, but even she understood that a little separation was good. A distant part of her mind said that that was utter bullshit, but it was quickly suppressed. "And no, thanks. Don't touch meth."

"We're in a dance company together. She's the tiny ballerina that gets thrown in the air, and I'm the good ballerina who doesn't need a cavalier and usually ends up dancing crones or villainesses. Malificent was a fun one." She reflected on her company's interpretation of Sleeping Beauty. The original never named the evil witch, and neither did the ballet, but she'd seen the Disney movie and come to think of the character as Malificent.

Zach took another drag as he looked at her after she spoke. She was too hot to take everything so seriously. "Stay, stay," he said in a friendly tone, putting his feet upon his coffee table. "I'm definitely not going back to sleep now," he explained. It wasn't just because she was there, but he was a bit spun, so he wouldn't have any need for sleep for a while. It kept him from falling asleep on her. He raised a brow at the mention of some Damien, blowing the smoke out through his nose. He leaned forward from the couch to grab the ashtray off of the coffee table. He set the small, round, white ceramic with green trim on his bellybutton, black writing stating, "Amsterdam" on the top half, and "It's Legal" on the bottom half. He flicked his cigarette over it, the green of the bud leaf slightly visible beneath all the ash.

"That's cool," he said, scratching his chin. If she didn't do meth, she didn't do meth. He'd find someone else to buy it. He listened, taking a harder drag as she spoke- he was smoking too much, he needed to cut it out. But that was his lifestyle, he drank, smoked, shit, slept, and ate when he felt the need; it wasn't very healthy, but that was the least of his worries. He still had some things to sort out with Oscar, and what had happened to him, why he had blacked out, and more importantly why he woke up to find himself bruised and sore in the middle of a park. He hadn't been on any drugs at that point. And bruising wasn't exactly easy, being a lycanthrope.

"Figures," he said, expelling the smoke. "She's on a lot more than blow," he said, more to himself than anything in an almost cynical matter. Either way, Victor had said nothing to him about it, so it wasn't his problem. Zach obviously wasn't her only hook up. "So who's Damien, and why don't you have a dealer for blow?" he asked, more casually than probably expected. But he was curious to know why a withdrawing addict was coming to him so far down the line. Something had to have happened to her dealer before that, and he wanted to know just in case she was setting him up to be in a very fucked up position. "Or did they fall through?" He asked, eyes resting on her.

Moria's eyebrow arched at the comment about Larissa. "Yeah, well, she better hope Madame Le Directeur doesn't find out. She is not the best dancer in the company, and she'll get her ass kicked out for drug use. Not that it wouldn't serve her right," she added. "Arrogant, stupid little bitch who doesn't deserve to dance on the same stage as this company." *Just like you. You don't deserve to dance with this company either.* *Shut up.*

"Damien's my big brother. We live together." She didn't answer the second part until supplied with a decent copout. "Yeah," she said, glancing down at her hands and nodding quietly. "Yeah, they fell through." She swallowed hard a took a few deep subtle breaths, like you learned in professional dance. A performance ballerina could do acrobatics worthy of Cirque, and they still had to look serene, i.e. not panting like dogs.

*Fuck.* Her hands were shaking slightly again, and she repeated the expletive, aloud this time. She reached into her duffel and came up with the recently stored bag, taking a nailful, then muttering something that sounded like "fuck it" under her breath and grabbing a discarded cd case from the table to cut a line. She took a deep breath when the drug hit her, the calming effect kicking in. As an afterthough, she reached up and started pulling bobby pins out of her hair, sticking them in her mouth. She was pretty sure she had seven, but they were usually a bitch to find, and she wasn't absolutely certain on the number.

Zach watched her with a considering look as she talked about Larissa, exhaling the cigarette smoke and taking a quick end drag on it before he put it out in the ashtray. He then put his feet down, glancing at her as he continued to listen, grabbing the ashtray and setting it back on the coffee table. So this Damien guy was her brother. He swallowed down a bit of the drip, licking his lips. The worst part about meth was that you could usually taste it on your lips. Coke could do that too, but it could also numb the tip of your tongue if you licked a little bit. He found it a little odd that they she lived with her brother, but he didn't think too much of it; his mind was going other places. He had noticed her hesistation to answer, which was a little peculiar; he'd given her the other option just to not seem so assuming, but he had a good feeling she didn't have a dealer. He couldn't help but wonder where she was getting it before, and why she couldn't get it now. Zach was not exactly a fallback dealer for coke. He didn't even sell coke, Larissa knew that, and Moria was lucky he happened to have some on him.

"That sucks..." he said, his tone somewhat vague like he didn't quite believe her but he would accept that as a valid answer. He was feeling a little hot so he stood up and walked over towards one of the few windows in the room, unlocking it and lifting it up to let some air in. He didn't have air conditioning, because the apartment paid the utilities and they were cheap asses- and frankly so was he. Feeling the light breeze come through, but it wouldn't cool him down. He turned and sat back in the chair he'd been in previously, above which the window was located. As she cursed he looked at her with a blank expression, followed by a look that hinted at the thought "Ooookaay", as she used one of his cd cases to cut. Granted, he did the same thing from time to time, but it seemed a little rude for a guest to do- atleast without asking. She seemed a little rude. It was probably the coke.

"So," he said, picking up the straw and tapping it idly on the mirror for a moment before retrieving the card from the spot she'd set it down and fixing up the two lines of shit he'd left. He was more or less playing in it. "You're not a big fan of Larissa," he pointed out, though it was somewhat in the form of a question, before he put his finger over his left nostril and slammed the next too lines. Upon finishing the second he lift his head up with a sniff, and then lowered it to look at her pulling out bobby pins. He looked down at the table and made a bit of a face, swiping his finger over the excess dust from the mirror and gumming it before he stood up. "Do you want a drink?" Maybe she had bad drip. His mouth was getting dry.

She failed to notice the look as she took the drug, swiping up the excess as Zach had done with his own to suck it off her finger before she went after her hair. She shook her head at being offered a drink, inwardly triumphing as the movement caused her fingers to find another pin. She was pretty sure that was it, she couldn't feel any more. She stuck the pins into a side pocket of the bag and pulled the elastic out of her hair as well. Long black hair was loosed, falling to her shoulders. Normally it fell straight, but it was slightly wavy from being tightly bound, and she ran her fingers through it to straighten it a little. Her features were softened a little by hair being let down and the skin of her face and scalp not being pulled so tight.

"No, I'm not a big fan of Larissa," she confirmed, resealing the bag and tucking it back into her bag. "How did you guess?" she asked wryly. "This is probably the first good she's done me...well, ever. Little girls need to learn their place." *You were told that once upon a time too.* Her self-esteem, the part that should have told that voice to shut up, was disturbingly quiet.

tl;dr. Another part below.

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 09:46:34 GMT

I wrote this awhile back as a post on a message board. I like it a lot though, so I felt like it ought to be posted here. In this timeline, Daniel is an art teacher at a school, and in a relationship with one of his students, namely the Connor you'll see mentioned at the end.

Daniel dreamed of Jeremy.

Daniel was walking down a road. It looked like Bluff Road, the street he'd spent his childhood on, where he'd met Jeremy, and re-met Jeremy, and loved and lost him. It was twisted, though. The sky was red and the black asphalt was bright blue. In the forest on one side of the road, the trees were twisted and strangely colored. He came to the pond past the dead end in the road, where lost cars could turn back. Jeremy floated faceup in the water, like Ophelia under the olive tree.

Daniel turned away and ran for the river. There was no cliff, the bluff that gave Bluff Road its name, and he splashed a few feet into the river without meaning to. He started to wade back when he noticed the river was flowing the wrong way. He was swept under suddenly, caught in an inescapable riptide. He floated past his old house, the house with the yellow shutters, and the river, suddenly gentle, deposited him next to Jeremy's house. The cliff had appeared again, and he pulled himself up onto the dock, shirtless and wearing just swim trunks, like he'd done in Miami. The tattoo over his heart, the demon on his bicep, and the yin on his belly were missing as well, tattoos he'd gotten after Miami. He climbed the stairs up to the deck, where Jeremy sat at the old white table. He looked up at Daniel, a look of terror and the disbelief that precedes a betrayal on his face. "Danny?"

"I'm here," Daniel said.

"Daniel, don't leave me. Don't leave me..." His form was fading and Daniel reached out, thinking if he could grasp Jeremy he could somehow pull him back into being. When his fingers connected with arm, it was Connor sitting at his desk and sketching. He looked up and smiled at Daniel.

Daniel sat up in bed, knowing he wasn't going to get back to sleep after that. His sheets were damp with sweat, and the windows were just beginning to gray with the light of dawn. He went into the bathroom to wash the sticky fear and pain from his skin.