#and (cliche as fuck) but get rid of my old stuff and give myself a much needed girly makeover

[daydreaming-in-daisies]

life has been feeling dry af lately

[leapyearkisses]

Director’s Cut Commentary - Orbs Are Bad News Part 2

Second part of me blathering my thoughts all over this old story per the request of a very nice anon! I am still sleep-deprived, so yay~ Sorry, this commentary is probably way less interesting, since this part is just the sexy stuff, but if you have any particular questions, please send me another ask!

Happy to do any of my stories or just answer asks, whatever. I clearly enjoy reading myself talk XD

Comments in bold below the cut! This part is NSFW. Well, it’s all kinky but there’s also sex.

I forgot to mention this in Part 1, but the title of this story is because the homebrew campaign I ran for my friends involved magical evil crystal orbs. Hence they are bad news.

"Are you ever going to stop sneezing?" Remembrance asked.  At the same time, Cordes said, "One thousand blessings, Llewellyn, one for each."  The two of them were several yards ahead on the road, and only Cordes was looking back over his shoulder.  Right now, the four party members were the only travelers on this particular stretch, although as they got closer to civilization, they'd started to pass the odd wanderer, farmers with wagons, even a merchant or two.  The woods here were broken up periodically by stretches of arable land, clear-cut several decades ago and now waving with wheat, flax, or various vegetable leaves.  The fields were golden in the late sun.  Their shadows stretched behind them like taffy, rippling on the cobblestones.  The day was vanishing quickly, and Gerrit could sense his companions' impatience to move on even as he stopped again himself, drawing out his handkerchief in a now very familiar motion.

 Stick your people in a world. That’s my advice. Don’t have them just floating around in a no man’s land of generic scenery. (Also why I like period/historical snzarios and fantasy stuff, because reading about plain people in an apartment somewhere is boring to me.)

Llewellyn, for his part, could not answer them, face buried in his elbow as he ducked with another reluctant outburst. "Hahktschiu!  Hahh- happtsch!"

"Bless," said Gerrit, and he stepped in front of the elf to shield him marginally from view.  He laid one warm hand on the back of Llewellyn's neck and lifted the handkerchief with the other, capturing the next sneeze in the flannel folds.  He settled his fingers firmly around Llewellyn's nose.

This was an arrangement that had been born out of necessity three days ago when the party had raided a bandit camp's plundered stores.  Along with a good stash of gold and gems, they'd found a blue crystal orb, cursed perhaps, that had summarily become attached to both of Llewellyn's hands, rendering the sorcerer unable to do most anything... including take care of his cold on his own.

 On the last episode of Orbs Are Bad News...

Llewellyn blew his nose into the handkerchief, wetting the cloth and dampening Gerrit's fingers through it.  Originally quite opposed to such a display outside of the most private circumstances, the elf had been forced to put his pride aside and let Gerrit help him.  His fever had abated the previous day, but the frequency of his sneezing had increased, as if his body was insistent now on ridding itself of whatever illness remained.  It was a horrific prospect to Llewellyn to catch the resulting mess every time in the sleeve of his robes... so he suffered Gerrit to hold the handkerchief, even though they were walking along the road where any might see them.

Despite some initial teasing, Remembrance and Cordes had quickly grown accustomed to the practice and now cared not at all, except to complain.  "We're going to have to camp again," grumbled Remembrance.  "Five miles from Veigh and we're going to be stuck without a bath!"

 Is five miles a realistic figure here? No fucking clue! I frequently engage in excessive and specific research for my stories, but I didn’t look up how long one might hike for in D&D. Oh well.

"Is there anything I could do for you?" Cordes asked, somewhat exasperated.  The priest had made several herbal concoctions for Llewellyn over the past few days, but none had helped the elf's nose much.  Cordes's specialty was unfortunately not the curing of disease but the mending of bones and flesh.

 I will take any opportunity to make up an excuse as to why the snz cannot be contained. You’re welcome lol

"Ndo," Llewellyn growled, as fed up as the rest of them.  "I'm beyond heh- help. Hngtschiu!"

"Bless you, arimelda," said Gerrit, trying to keep his voice even.  He shifted the handkerchief so that Llewellyn could have a drier spot, trying to ignore a glimpse of slickness on the elf's face.  "Remembrance, Cordes, why don't the two of you go on ahead?  Find an inn, get a room, take a bath, whatever you want.  It might be prudent also to send a message ahead to the Mages Guild about the orb.  Will you do that?  Llewellyn and I will join you when we arrive."

 An elvish word appears! I researched this but not walking.

Cordes nodded.  "Yes, I'll draft a letter as soon as- Hey!"  Remembrance had grabbed his arm and was rushing ahead already.

"Let's go, man!" she said.  "Everyone loves a damn priest; you're my ticket to a good room, so may your god help you if you dawdle."  Her pointed tail swished as she practically jogged down the road.  Cordes spluttered but could no more stand up to her as to a tornado, so off they went.  It was a remarkably short time before the two of them were out of earshot, disappearing around a bend.

 And again, removed so that the main characters can bang, lol.

Gerrit sighed but turned his attention back to Llewellyn, who was blowing his nose again.  The handkerchief was running out of clean corners this late in the day, but the elf leaned back this time when he was finished.  "All set?" Gerrit asked.

"Yes."  Llewellyn rubbed his eyes on his upper arm, wiping away a spare tear from the effort.  "...My apologies."  He cleared his throat, refusing to meet Gerrit's gaze.  "We may arrive after dark."

"You're ill," said Gerrit, trying to fold the flannel in a way as to avoid his pocket getting wet.  "We'd move faster if you let me carry y-"

"No."

"Then I don't mind taking a more leisurely pace."  Gerrit smiled.  Even after everything, Llewellyn was stubborn.  Honestly, since they weren't really in a rush, he didn't really care when they reached Veigh; they'd only detoured here to try and remove the orb.  If Llewellyn, the most inconvenienced, didn't want to give up his pride and piggyback on... well, Gerrit found his noble hauteur inexplicably cute.

 Me too, buddy. Don’t worry, you can carry your elf later.

He also wasn't in a particular hurry because it was awfully uncomfortable to make any sort of time with his arousal pressed flush to his thigh.

A reminder that sex is usually going to be involved in my stories. The snz is not enough by itself.

Llewellyn coughed into his elbow and then started walking again.  Gerrit had pulled back his hood for him in the morning and braided his hair, and the crown of plaits caught the afternoon sunlight like an obsidian.  Gerrit tried not to let his eyes linger on the sorcerer's pale nape.  Or any other part of him.  He and Llewellyn had been travelling together for close to three years, working for their current patron in the capital, and in that time Gerrit had felt himself growing closer to the elf.  Wanting to be closer, anyway.  

Llewellyn shot a glance at him and caught him looking.  Gerrit flushed and turned his gaze back ahead to the road.

"You've been very accommodating during all of this," the elf said, tone carefully neutral.

Gerrit shrugged.  "It doesn't bear mentioning.  We're comrades."

"Comrades," Llewellyn repeated, an edge to his voice that Gerrit couldn't quite place.  "Is that all it is?"  He kicked a stick that had fallen to the cobblestones, sending it into the brush. Somewhere to the right, bumblebees droned over a meadow.

 Llewellyn is kind of a asshole and not super great at communicating with any level of affection, although he does get better.

Gerrit swallowed.  "Yes?  You and I, we've helped each other before.  I consider you to be a steadfast companion."  Eyes on the road.  Eyes on the dappled play of shadowed leaves and light on the ground.  "Why do you ask?"

"So shy," Llewellyn exclaimed, a tad mockingly.  "You've never been shy about taking me to bed, Gerrit."  Despite his short height, the elf seemed to find it easy to look down his nose at the much taller fighter.  "Has something changed?"

 Height difference is also personally sacred to me.

"Changed?"  Eyes on the road.

Llewellyn stopped walking.  "You called me 'arimelda.'  'Dearest.'  Did you think I wouldn't hear you over my sneezing?"  He couldn't cross his arms with his hands trapped by the orb, but the set of his jaw was determined and his firm brows were arched.  "I wasn't so distracted then as you seem to have thought."

Gerrit shoved his hands in his pockets.  He stopped walking but didn't turn.  "Apparently not," he muttered.  "Look, we can set it aside.  Doesn't have to mean anything – doesn't have to change anything.  I know a highborn elf like you wouldn't consider an official relationship with a half-elven bastard, and I've known that from the start.  For my whole life.  So... I care about you.  But it can just be as comrades, or whatever you want it to be."  Llewellyn was quiet, and after a long minute, Gerrit did turn on his heel, desperate to know what kind of reaction he'd provoked.

 The angst of the half-elven existence! Gerrit is a very typical half-elf in terms of D&D characterization, lol. Despite that, I do find these different-lifestyle pairings interesting, so they keep happening, cliche or not. There is a definite pathos in the elf/human relationship because of the different lifespans, of course - most famously depicted through Arwen and Aragorn, probably, although he’s not the exactly typical human. Anyway, it kind of varies how people like to determine elven and half-elven lifespans in D&D depending on the PHB and your DM’s weary forbearance lol, but Gerrit and Llewellyn will expect to live similar lengths because I’m a sap.

He saw Llewellyn standing with his eyes closed and head titled back, lips parted.  The elf's nostrils flared as he gasped.

"Are you going to sneeze again??" Gerrit asked.  He threw up his hands, then went for his handkerchief once more.  They ­did have an arrangement.

He strode back over to Llewellyn's side and tucked the cloth around his nose again, thumb and forefinger just resting on the elf's nostrils.  He started to rub Llewellyn's back.  "You have the worst timing, you know?  Here I am, spilling my heart to you and everything."  

 I laughed writing this part, too. You can’t always let things just be angst.

"Sh-hhuh-t up, I jh- just nih-" Llewellyn gasped again and gave in; he had no other choice.  "Hahktscht!"  He moaned and pressed closer into the handkerchief, thick congestion only aggravating the itch that remained inside.  "Hkktschtt!  Hngtscht!  Hahh- ah-- ankcxttschiu!"

 That sure is a bunch of letters crammed together!

"Easy... it's okay."  Gerrit massaged Llewellyn’s nose, tried to soothe the irritation.  He guided Llewellyn to the side of the road, and, in a moment of calm, settled him to sit on the grassy bank.  He followed, kneeling at the elf's side.  Llewellyn was tearing up again and his nose was twitching against the pads of Gerrit's fingers.  Gerrit felt electric all over.  He found himself wishing the handkerchief was gone so that he might touch the soft, heated skin of Llewellyn's septum, coax the elf to relax and loose his tension, sneeze into Gerrit's palm.  The mess didn't bother him; none of it bothered him.  He was supremely unbothered.  His cock was almost painfully hard.

It took several more minutes punctuated with more urgent expulsions before Llewellyn seemed to trust himself to speak.  His eyes were wet with unshed tears, eyelids tender and reddened.  His nose was brightly ruddy, running to chapped.  He had to take a shaky breath, collecting his thoughts.  "Gerrit."

 I’m a very visual writer. This kink is extremely visually-based for me. I wish I could draw as well as I want to so I could depict these scenes how I imagine them, but eh.

"Yes?"  Gerrit lowered the handkerchief, gently pinching as he did to clear any lingering moisture.  He wasn't ready to hear a rejection, nor did he feel particularly ready for a lecture or a tirade or even a logical exploration of why a relationship was a bad idea.  He wanted, if possible, to keep walking to Veigh, side by side, listening to the bees and dragonflies and songbirds settling in for the evening, feeling the light breeze on his face, replete with the scents of summer.  

"Kiss me."

Gerrit blinked, mental caravan bunching to a halt.  "What?"

 i am so funny omg

Llewellyn nudged him in the chest with the orb.  "Kiss me.  You're all worked up."  He cleared his throat.  "And judging by the state of you, you're not put off by my cold.  So?"  He tilted his head to the side, gently, closed his eyes.  "I want you to kiss me."

 An example of the B character not really forcing the admitting of the fetish but just kind of not caring. That is also okay, and I think it’s normal. People don’t just admit to all their kinks immediately upon entering a relationship.

Baffled, but feeling as though maybe all was not lost, Gerrit obliged, pressing their lips together.  His own eyes slid closed and he cupped Llewellyn's cheek, deepening the kiss, touching their tongues together, trying to convey how he felt.  Whatever had changed.  The kiss lasted for too short a time; Llewellyn broke away to breathe, eyes half-lidded, but he didn't lean away.

 I’ve never kissed anyone, but I consume media. I feel like I am pretty good at depicting things regardless of experience.

"I'm not going to dismiss you out of hand," he said.  "You or your feelings.  But I would ask for some time to think."  He looked up through his lashes.  "Are you feeling better?"

 Another thing I like in romance, even in kink short stories like this, is a more realistic portrayal of the confession than just “It was obviously meant to be~”

Gerrit could feel his pulse in every extremity.  "Not really," he managed, and he kissed Llewellyn again, this time sliding one hand under the elf's head and one at his hip and pressing him back to lay in the grass.  He moaned in his throat as Llewellyn kissed back, and when they had to break for breath, he started to kiss at Llewellyn's forehead, jaw, throat, wherever he could touch skin.  His hands roamed over the elf's body, smoothing over hip and thigh and belly until he could start to undo the buttons on Llewellyn's close-cut robes.

"Gerrit," gasped Llewellyn.  He moved the orb between them, jamming it into Gerrit's sternum.  "You are not going to sleep with me on the side of the damn road!  Get ahold of yourself!"

 He has standards!

Gerrit growled at the quick pain in his chest, then shook his head and leaned back.  He flushed deeply and pulled his hands away.  "Oh.  Oh, fuck, sorry.  I-"

"Pick me up."  Llewellyn lifted his arms.

"What??"  Gerrit's brain was having a hard time keeping up at the moment, all of his blood being elsewhere.

"There was a thicker copse of trees back about thirty feet, on the left."  Llewellyn waved the orb at him.  "Pick me up.  We can lay down there."

 His standards are NOT that high! But he does have them!

So.  So Gerrit ducked his head into the circle of Llewellyn’s arms and picked him up, holding him securely and setting off down the road again, back the way they’d come.  The elf was right; there, about twenty feet back from the bank, was a thick copse of pines, all grown together with wild geranium and maidenhead ferns.  Gerrit pushed through, shoulder first.  Despite its proximity to the thoroughfare, the inside of the stand was quiet and shielded completely from view.  This would do nicely.

 Told you you’d get to carry him soon.

He set Llewellyn back on his feet and made short work of undressing him, first freeing the sorcerer from his pouches and bags, then undoing the silver buttons on his robe from his collarbone to his crotch.  The rich fabric fell open appealingly.  Next, Gerrit freed the elf from his boots and leggings.  A long white shirt, woven from the finest of elven angora, still covered him, but Gerrit pushed the fabric up over Llewellyn’s belly, leaning in to kiss the elf again and touching him intimately.

Llewellyn moaned and nudged Gerrit’s hip with the orb.  “Now you,” he said.  “I want to see your body.”

Gerrit complied, making quick time shedding his cloak, pack, leather armor, breeches, boots.  Two daggers, two short swords, caltrops, a bow and quiver, a glaive, and a spiked whip followed.  He pushed them to the side as Llewellyn rolled his eyes.

This is another funny trope lol, like when a hero or assassin or someone has to go through airport security and the metal detector keeps beeping because they’re carrying 18 knives on their person. Fighters are proficient in every weapon, so why not have one of everything?

"You can't possibly have a use for all of those," the elf said, and then Gerrit captured his mouth again.

He laid Llewellyn down on the soft carpet of pine needles, using his cloak to cover the ground and double as a makeshift pillow.  The elf was beautiful in the shifting shade, skin flawless.  He had the orb resting on his chest and it glowed intermittently in the inconstant sunlight.  The gold chain netting that encapsulated both the orb and Llewellyn's fine-boned hands glimmered.  "You know," said Gerrit, smoothing a hand down Llewellyn's bare thigh.  "You'd look pretty good bound up in gold chain."

"This isn't enough for you?"  He scoffed.

Gerrit laughed.  "It would be fun to tease you.  I love it when you fuss at me.  So cute."  He dodged Llewellyn's elbow and settled down on his stomach, hooked one of Llewellyn's legs over his shoulder, and nuzzled the base of the elf's cock.  "Ready, arimelda?"  His own cock was under him, pressed to his stomach in the confines of his shirt.  He could feel his pulse in the head of it, quickening with the scent of his lover.

"Yes, you prick," sighed the elf, and he moaned when Gerrit started to kiss him and lave his skin.  His fingers flexed on the orb, longing to wind into Gerrit's hair.

 Licking is kind of thing, and I love writing about fellatio so. Yay~

Gerrit took Llewellyn into his mouth eagerly, fingers curled over the elf's thighs, fingertips pressing at the sensitive inner surface as he sucked and teased and swallowed.  Like this, he could focus on Llewellyn's pleasure.  The noises the usually stoic and prideful sorcerer was making were enough to make Gerrit moan, mouth full, and rock his hips.  Nothing pleased Gerrit more than seeing Llewellyn undone, seeing the elf flushed and open and undone for him.  And he shivered, all over, when he heard the elf's breath catch and his tone go wavery.  He thought he could come from this, listening to Llewellyn sneeze while pleasuring him implacably with a heated, well-placed tongue.

 This is also VERY IMPORTANT. Caretaking to the point of like, partner worship idk. It’s good!!

"Aa, aa, ahh- ih- Gerrit, I-" Llewellyn drew his knee up, curling, heel drawing along Gerrit's back.  "I nih- need to snih- hh-"

Gerrit drew his head back, let Llewellyn's cock free for a moment.  He didn't loosen his grip on the elf's legs, though, wound up and desirous.  "Okay by me, melda, it's okay.  Feel all right?  Want me to stop?"  He was breathless himself, had to force the words past the distraction of his arousal, but he would abide.

 Consent is the sexiest thing.

"No, don't stop," Llewellyn groaned, then turned his head to the side.  "Hpptscht!  Hah- Haktschiu!"

"Bless, bless."  Gerrit kissed Llewellyn's thigh tenderly, then nipped it, drew his tongue over the hurt, sucked a bruise to mark its place.  He swallowed Llewellyn down again as the elf cried out in pleasure and then bent with another helpless burst.  Gerrit wondered if he could make Llewellyn come simultaneously with a sneeze and what that might feel like.  The fantasy set him alight.  His abdomen was tight, his cock like a brand on his stomach. He redoubled his efforts.

Gerrit felt it first, when Llewellyn came, in the tightening of the elf's thighs and stomach, then tasted the salt of his release.  His world narrowed down to taking it in, swallowing, milking with his mouth while Llewellyn cried out, going until the elf was pushing him away, keening, oversensitive.  He didn't wait to lift Llewellyn then into his lap, cradling him with one arm and stroking himself with the other hand, desperate to come as well.  Llewellyn pressed his face to the junction of Gerrit's neck and shoulder, tightly gripping the cloth of Gerrit's shirt as they rocked together.  The elf's nose was gently wet and he was panting, sniffling.  Gerrit came with a shout, holding him close, shaking with an overabundance of pleasure.  He let go of his cock and embraced Llewellyn fully.  He had enough presence of mind not to confess to anything, but he couldn't stop himself from murmuring how beautiful, how soft.

 okay. o__o There’s only so much I can say about writing the porn lol. I write what I want to read.

Gradually the world came back.  Birdsong, first, and the bees, the sounds of the trees swaying in the light breeze.  The lingering heat of the day, dampened by the shade and the growing dusk.  The musty smell of pine needles and the sharper hint of sap, the scents of sex, the pressure of Llewellyn astride his lap, the bite of uneven ground against his knees.  Llewellyn was touching his cheek, trying to say something sweet, failing because of his cold again.

 I tried to write this part so that it would not be immediately obvious to the reader, as it is not to the characters, that the orb is gone.

"Ah- hh- Ttschgktst!"

Wetness against his neck.  Gerrit wound his fingers with Llewellyn's and kissed his jaw.  "Bless you," he said.  "I'll find you a healer in Veigh.  We'll get you well again.  Right after we free you from the orb."  He laid his cheek against the back of Llewellyn's hand tenderly.  Then he paused. "Wait."  Straightening, he brought his hands between them.  The right was laced with Llewellyn's left.  "The orb is gone."

Llewellyn straightened also, looking down at his hands.  His hands with no orb.  He lifted them both, amazed.  And then wiped his nose on his wrist, sighing in pleasure.  Gerrit tried not to blush despite everything.

 Me too, buddy.

"Where did it go?" he asked, looking past the elf's shoulder.  "Why did it come off?"

"Who even cares at this point??"  Llewellyn had let go of him and was stretching, running his palms over his body, touching his own arms and face and cock, finally able to move and feel again after three days of magical bondage.  He wiggled his fingers and then clapped his palms together, raising a small flame with their parting.  "I have my freedom back.  I can cast spells again.  I can-" He smiled brilliantly.  "I can touch you, too."  He dropped his hands suddenly to Gerrit's lap, nimbly taking Gerrit's cock between them.

Gerrit lost track of the orb immediately.

 Me too, buddy.

---

It was dark indeed when the two of them made it to the inn in Veigh, but both were in high spirits.  Gerrit had relinquished handkerchief duty back to Llewellyn with a great internal mourning, but he could always fantasize about this again in the future (he did, frequently), and he knew that Llewellyn, despite his best efforts, would catch more colds on the road (he did, more frequently than he would like).

I would love to play a fetish-friendly D&D campaign, but it would be way too embarrassing, probably. My current PC has allergies, but I have never mentioned them in-game and probably never will lol. God help me if my DM ever remembers that I wrote them into my character sheet.

Remembrance and Cordes had only been able to secure one room, it seemed, with two beds.  Gerrit resigned himself, going up the stairs, to sleeping on the floor. But... it was apparent upon entering the small space that... well, their priest and thief had ended up taking up only one of the beds, together.  Gerrit and Llewellyn traded glances.

"I don't think I want to ask," said Llewellyn, going for the free bed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Gerrit replied, joining him.

The untold story, lol

In the morning, Cordes, with great dignity sprung from embarrassment (the cause of which he did not volunteer) informed them that a letter had not been sent to the Mages Guild yet.  He was immensely relieved to find that one was no longer needed and quick to congratulate Llewellyn on his newly regained freedom.  Remembrance just chuckled from the bed and took her time buckling her armor back on.  

Already in Veigh, the party spent some time stocking up on medicines and liquefying some of the heavier treasures they'd liberated from the bandit camp.  Gerrit sent a message on to their patron to expect them back in the capital in a couple of weeks, barring disaster.  They purchased horses and set out, ready for the next adventure.

---

The orb lay still in the pine thicket, nestled like an egg among the ferns, waiting for the next hapless traveler. 

 Faust’s Orb of Rope Bondage. Make a Will saving throw [DC 15] upon touching the orb with any body part, wearing clothes or not. Upon a failure, the orb will find its way to adhere to the hand of the hapless adventurer. If both hands touch the orb, they will both be stuck. If two people fail the save, one of each of their hands will be stuck. The spell can be broken only if each attached party has an orgasm.

I GUESS

[rheyninwrites]

Old Friends Part 2

f!OC Modern AU

I knew the ride with Arthur might be awkward, but not as awkward as having to tell a complete stranger that my boyfriend had left me stranded at a party where I knew no one. As I paced, the minutes ticked by faster than I expected, and soon I felt a buzzing from my back pocket, and checked the screen. Arthur. My stomach began tying itself in knots while my heart decided to flutter off into the night.

Gee thanks, body. As if I didn’t already know that the ride would be nerve wracking.

“So you just got on Whiteacre?”

Ah yes, let’s avoid “Hello” and all that other nonsense. No one needs politeness anyway!

I may joke to myself, but I knew if anyone would be okay with leaving off small talk, it would be Arthur. Like I said- a man of few words, usually only the essential ones.

And swearing.

“Yep. You see my headlights yet?”

“No. Wait! Yes. I think. You still got that bigass redneck truck? With the tilted left headlight?”

“Yeah. But I told you, it ain’t a redneck truck.”

“Darlin’, if it’s big and rusty or big and chrome, it’s a redneck truck.”

Why the fuck did I just call him Darlin’? And why the FUCK do I always go into that Deep South accent to match his when we talk? Is it some bizarre version of Hanahaki disease, where I’m cursed to talk in the same accent as the guy I’ve had a practically lifetime crush on? If that’s the case, it’s a good thing it wasn’t Sean. I’ve lived my whole life in the south, so the accent is bound to pop up occasionally. I think people might notice if I suddenly developed a thick Irish brogue.

About then Arthur pulled up in that big cream truck of his. As old and rusty as it was, he seemed to have a soft spot for it, and treated that old junker better than lots of guys treat brand new trucks. It was kinda sweet to see how well he treated it, even talked to it sometimes. Still, I couldn’t resist ribbing him about it a little as he hopped out to let me into the passenger side.

“You still got this old thing?”

“Woman, the day I get rid of Boadicea is the day she leaves me sitting by the road with no hope of repair.”

I laughed the first real laugh I had in weeks as he stood beside me, lending me his shoulder for balance as I climbed into the beast.

“Yeah, well, I’m bettin’ on that being sooner rather than later.”

He gave the front end a dramatic hug as he made his way around. I couldn’t help but take him in, those broad, strong shoulders, tight beneath his t-shirt. The way his thick brown hair fell against his forehead. The familiar stubble on his chin. The blue eyes that always seemed to look straight through me, tucked beneath the eyebrows that seemed to be always a little furrowed. Still as handsome as ever, making my heart race.

“Aw, girl, she didn’t mean that. You and I are gone be together forever.”

Another laugh out of me as I reached to put the seatbelt on, but he stopped me with a shake of his head.

“Seatbelt there’s broke. Been meaning to fix it, but I ain’t had the chance yet. Wasn’t really too worried about it as I usually don’t have passengers.”

“Well just how do you plan on guaranteeing my safety in this dangerous giant machine?” I asked dramatically, throwing out my arms.

“Jesus, woman, you allergic to me or something? I smell that bad? Just sit in the middle, that belt works. I promise you I took a bath this week.”

Oh. The middle seat. Right beside him. When I’ve just dumped my boyfriend. In the middle of the night. When he’s basically just rescued me, looking practically good enough to eat.

Dammit.

This was like the beginning of a really cliche porn film. I slid over to the middle and went to buckle the belt, but, hey, wouldn’t you know it, it’s trapped under his ass.

A really bad cliche porn film.

“Shit. Sorry about that.”

He worked the latch out from under himself, then grabbed the buckle from me and fastened me in, making me feel much more like a child than I was comfortable with. With that, he turned the truck around and began the drive back toward civilization.The drive went on in complete silence for several minutes. He didn’t usually like to listen to music when he was driving because it gave him some time to work out the thoughts in his head. While I am usually a music listener, for once, I enjoyed having nothing to distract myself. I just zoned out and considered exactly where I was in life, which wasn’t exactly great. A decent job, but not really a career, no house, not kids or pets. Not much of anything but myself. Suddenly I was pulled from my thoughts by Arthur calling my name.

“So, uh, this guy you’re datin’, he just up and left you in the middle of the woods?”

“Yep. Not the first time, either.”

“Jesus, why do you stand for it?”

“Well, I’m not anymore. He’s history. I just gotta make it official and let him know.”

“Bastard like that don’t deserve to know nothing. Leaving his goddamn woman in some shithole in the middle of the woods . . . .” His knuckles were practically white from gripping the steering wheel in his fury.

“Easy, Tiger. You’re gonna break your precious girl, handling her like that.”

“Well it ain’t right! You deserve better. Someone like you, . . . .”

I don’t know what it was, something about the way he said it, and what he didn’t say. He’d been protective of me since we were kids, but this, somehow, felt a little different. I was probably being foolish as hell, but I felt a little coil of hope unfurling in my stomach.

“Just where am I taking you, anyway?”

Where indeed.

Shit.

“ Uh, honestly, I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I used to live over in Oak Park. My car’s there, some of my stuff, too, though not much- he never was willing to give up room in his space for my stuff. But, to tell the truth, I can’t stand the thought of heading over there right now, and I definitely don’t know what I’m gonna do once I get my stuff.”

I folded my hands in my lap, suddenly feeling ashamed of myself. I’d let some idiot come into my life and make it something I never wanted. He told me what to do, where to go, and when to be there. I had made myself so much smaller, just for him. I had stopped being myself. The realization of exactly what I had done my my eyes burn with tears.

Arthur pulled the truck over on the side of the road and wrapped his arms around me. He just held me for a long time without saying anything, letting my tears fall down his shirt and into his lap. It was a warm and wonderful comfort, one that I felt I didn’t deserve at all. What happened to the strong girl he used to know? The one that nearly broke a guy’s arm in high school when he tried to grab her tits as she walked down the hall? How could she turn into this sobbing mess?

He rubbed slow circles between my shoulder blades, gently soothing me. When he finally spoke it was in a deep, quiet voice that sounded tinged with tears of his own.

“We’ve all been fools for love, sweetheart. At one time or another, we all have.”

Great. Just what I needed on this wonderful evening. More sadness.

The hope that I had felt unfurling earlier shriveled up and hid. I knew exactly what he meant and who he was talking about. Who else could it be?

Mary.

[distantidea]

Just, some talk about Life is Strange: Before the Storm an shit

Obviously, spoilers (also bad English because I’m fucking tired and I have a headache that’s fucking killing me. Fuck)

I honestly don’t remember how I found LiS in the first place but I’m so fucking thankful I did? I checked in Steam, I spend 18 hours on LiS. I played one full run with kinda neutral romance decisions and had a second full on Chloe run on like start of episode 3, I think? I enjoyed LiS a lot, so going into BtS I didn’t know what to expect. 

Well, BtS didn’t have any problems with fulfilling my expectations.

Until episode 3, but we’ll come back to it later.

Episode 1 was honestly love on the first sight? While LiS had more ‘implied’ relationship between Max and Chloe, BtS didn’t give any shit to being ‘implied’ and ‘toned down’. Literally winking to Chloe on their second meeting? Ye, gay. The dreams with William hardcore fucked me up, the first crash? With the zoom to Williams face? Please never again I fucking cried. I seriously loved the park part, you could feel how good Rachel and Chloe were getting along, so the sudden drama felt even worse. I loved the junkyard scene and Chloe’s raw emotion and then going after Rachel.

Episode 2 was amazing. I loved the act (me being a huge Tempest fan) and the junkyard bit with the car and shack. I still don’t like the principal and Rachel’s fathers a dick. Chloe please don’t vandalize your schools toilets, someone has to clean it you fuck... I loved getting to explore the junkyard and finding shit for the car. Rachel is amazing! I didn’t mention this earlier but I seriously loved getting to choose Chloe’s clothing. Act!!!!!!!!!!!!! ‘’Chloe, please do it for me’’ ‘’...fuck’’ SAME CHLOE, SAME. I don’t like people going off the script but fuck it, it got so fucking gay and gross I don’t mind oml. The street scene? F U C K Y E S! The Amber house, no thanks :^/ 

Episode 3. ... ... I didn’t like episode 3 as much as 1 and 2 but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t fucking good too. Okay so. I liked the explaining scene at the start, it was cool. I still hate Rachel’s father. The bedroom scene was great, just so soft and full of love. Chloe dying her hair (well, part) was nice and I liked her episode 3 clothes best. The scene between Joyce and David? I liked it, tho I didn’t like the David scene after it but okay. Fixing Chloe’s car was fun and I liked how coupleTM Rachel and Chloe looked. Damon can rot in a shallow grave for all I fucking care. I understand the need to have plot and get story going but it’s fucking uncomfortable to watch 15 years old girl get stabbed. The time lapse at the hospital hurt me so much which is good that we had the light scene with Steph and Norths. I didn’t like the part in Mr. Ambers office at all. And then you add Eliot in it? Yeah no thanks. I was kinda ready to forgive him until they revealed that he was working with Damon the get rid of Sera. Meeting Damon and what do you know, more violence against 16 years old girl, it feels like were back in LiS episode 5. Talking with Sera was kinda meh, after having Frank get rid of Damon off screen. I told Rachel the truth. Had it been like, ‘tell her that Chloe met Sera but she didn’t agree to meet Rachel’ or ‘tell Rachel that you didn’t meet Sera’ I would have thought about it, but I felt like the choice was ‘tell Rachel that her father had a deal with a known drug dealer who stabbed her to kill a person, her mother’ or ‘don’t tell her shit :)’. You can miss me with letting Rachel live in dark and having Mr. Amber get away without problems.  I loved the end scene moments and I might have gotten about 30 screenshots. The last scene was fucking uncalled for tho.

Chloe: I loved having choice to decide what she wears, I liked fixing the car with her and just doing normal things. I saw myself in her, trying to find your own place, falling in love and trying to figure future out. Rachel: Gonna sound cliche, but I saw my girlfriend in Rachel. I loved Rachel a lot and thinking about how both of them end up in LiS breaks me. Only thing I don’t like about her is the basic bitch ‘what, you’re not my real parents even tho you raised me for the last 13+ years? Fuck you I’m gonna find my real parent/s’ but like, I dislike all characters that have that plot so. Joyce and David: Okay. Sure David tried to understand Chloe and I liked being able to agree to try and start again with him but he just wasn’t so likable. Joyce was kinda :/ but I understand how she was feeling about Chloe but also no... Rachel’s parents: Fuck Mr. Amber. And I didn’t like how Rose doubted being able to call herself Rachel’s mom anymore... You’re her mother and that’s it. Sera: I have hard time with understanding her. Also like for real, why couldn’t she just wait for Rachel and Chloe after the act? She was there and it would have been good try.  Damon: I would pay money just to see Frank dig a grave and dumb his body there.  Frank: I like Frank’s character and how he cares about Chloe on some level but I can’t get over selling drugs to underaged teens but whatever, he’s fictional.

The more I think, I would have loved this game if it was literally just fluff between Chloe and Rachel. Just dealing with normal teenager stuff, restoring Chloe’s car and having fun in their junkyard shack... Just give me Before the Storm Minus Damon Merrifucker and Sera, where Mr. Amber isn’t perfect but he’s trying to do the best to everyone while not dealing with criminals. Also no Eliot thanks.

[krxt-blog]

3/29/17

The older I get, the more comfortable I become with the thought of killing myself. I'm not sure what that means. Do I hate myself? Am I allowing the world and the people in it to make me hate myself? Or have I hated myself all along? Is there a difference between "hating yourself" and "not loving yourself," or are those 2 things synonymous? Can you hate and love something at the same time? I feel that way about my cat. My brother. My boyfriend, sometimes. I guess I can feel that way about myself, too. I could probably go on longer about all the reasons why I am certain I hate myself. That's easy. But what about love? One reason I know I love myself is that I wish I had a clone of me to be my best friend. I wish I had another person who looked just like me, acted just like me, shared the same interests and the same sense of humor and the same feelings and the same past experiences as me. We could be together when we wanted to be together. Be alone when we wanted to be alone. There would never be anyone left out or confused or upset because we would share the same feelings at all times. So, why can't I just be alone with myself and it be the same thing as my fantasy? Is there 2 mes already? How does one even love THEMSELF? It's like that would require there to be something else to love. Ya know? I guess in contrast, how can one hate themselves either? Love is a projection on something else or a shared between feeling 2 beings. Same with hate. It requires 2 entities. I, as a person, am only 1 entity. Hating or loving is irrelevant. That's why it's called BEing. One person can just BE their self. Not love their self. Not hate their self. Not anything their self. Psychology talks about the id and the ego and the super ego. I couldn't elaborate on the difference between those things and be confident in my explanation, but that makes it seem like there are 3 selfs. Or even 4. Is there just a SELF underneath those 3? Am I having a spiritual revelation or am I going insane? I am always wondering. He gets mad at me for asking "why" so much. WHY is that so bad? Cause it forces one to think? It forces one to not be so sure or so confident. I guess that my lack of confidence is the maddening part, and it seeps out with every single "why." But why can't it just be taken as curiosity instead of uncertainty? I'd rather be curious than wrong. But would I rather be right than curious? Have I ever even felt "right?" Everything always feels wrong. And even when I think it's right, someone or something comes along and convinces me it's wrong. The point is that I should stop listening, I guess. But I am always listening. Even when I shouldn't be. ESPECIALLY when I shouldn't be, it seems. Look at me now, even. How many times have I said "I guess" or "it seems?" How many fucking question marks are there in this stupid note? I can't make up my mind. Ironically, that's the only thing I can make my mind up about. I can also confirm that writing things down feels good. I haven't done this in a while. I always think about starting again but then I don't do it. It's easier to write when there's an inner conflict. Seems like since mom died, it's just been outer conflicts. Things I can't ask questions about because there are no good answers or ways I can twist things to be to my liking. It's all bad. I don't wanna write about things I can't at least pretend to know how to change. I can ponder all day long about what it means to love myself or why I am a shit person. I can bring my mom back from the dead or change the way my father loves me or get my brother's brain back or figure out how to master being in a relationship. Too hard. My heart is pounding now. I can't sleep. He's in the other room just wishing I was asleep, I'm sure. Seething at the fact that I keep moving around and getting up to go to the bathroom. Or maybe I am making all of that up. He doesn't understand perception. Thinks it's immature. Thinks I'm dumb. Thinks I act like a preteen because I enjoy getting 8 (hell, even 9) hours of sleep. I don't get it. I can be petty and say it's jealousy. I can be insecure and say he's right. I can be neutral and forgive him. ...is that being neutral? Or weak? Should I just kill myself so all of this stops? I am going to question myself to death. My foot's shaking now. It moved from my heart to my foot. I read that people who shake their foot or their leg are physically channeling stress out of their body. My foot is almost always shaking. What am I so stressed about? Existing. This is why I think about killing myself. Like it's a pleasant way out. But then I think about all the people who would still be here and what a burden I would leave them with. Yet, aren't we supposed to "not care what other people think?" Another contradiction. Another internal struggle. Another damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. For the record, I am not going to kill myself. I want to get old. It is a gift. But I also don't wanna be bitter and sick and alone and poor. So... Man, fuck life. I always wonder why I can't just be normal. I know I don't see others' internal lives. I know no one is perfect. But, is anyone just normal, at least? Healthy relationships. Healthy self esteem. Fulfilled. Certain. Not completely certain, but still okay with that fact because "such is life." Knowing nothing is promised and that anything can happen, and being excited about that instead of being scared to death. Not casually contemplating suicide. Ya know, normal. I feel like I've met some of those people. But I don't know for sure. It might be impossible to feel all of that all at the same time. We all have our moments. It's a mixed bag. I just feel like I have felt none of that ever. And I don't know how to teach myself to feel those things. Or even how to fake feeling those things. My heart stopped and my foot stopped. To me, those are noteworthy achievements. Deep breaths. Everything's gonna be ok. Tomorrow is a new day. This won't matter in 5 years. Express gratitude. Yadda, yadda, yadda. How many bullshit, self help cliches can I pull out of my ass before it makes me fall asleep? I wanna throw my headphones in and find something to fall asleep to, but that's even stressing me out. If the cat cries, Chris may just murder it. Should I get rid of the cat? She's not nice. She's not a good pet. She's annoying as fuck and makes me lose sleep and fight with my significant other. But I feel like a bad owner and a failure if I give up on her. Another instance of feeling like everything I do is wrong. I can't win. I wanna end this on a better note than "I can't win." I want to fucking win something for once. Do I turn to god? Today on Rupauls podcast, he used the word "god," but said it just represented what can't be explained. Ru is not religious, but spoke of finding spirituality. It will save me from the incessant devil vs angel on the shoulder thing, apparently. I would love that. I can go full circle with this and say that religious people think that god loves them. They KNOW that god loves them. So if I wanna love myself, maybe I do need god's help to do it. God equaling the unknown. The whatever's there that makes me want to win. To be right. To be kind. To love and to be loved. These things are inherent. People become cold and forget about this stuff, but I think deep down, it's still there. And it's a little mysterious. Is THAT "god?" Do you find god when instead of saying "to be" and start saying "I am?" I can win I am right I am kind I do love I am loved ...I am god? I am god.