#not that that matters in the slightest I just have an insatiable need to Clarify

[thebaffledcaptain]

big things happening in the British Corner…

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***Colorful metaphors ahead, not Sims related in the slightest.***

I know everybody’s got opinions on compulsory reading, but I’d like to add my own thoughts (behind the cut) to the pot nonetheless.

I was an avid reader as a child.  I asked for books every opportunity I had.  It didn’t matter whether it was a (sometimes wildly outdated) National Geographic, a D&D monster manual, or Bunnicula, I read it with gusto.  I was insatiable, it was my version of a competitive sport.

I can pinpoint the two things that ended it.

In the sixth grade, I had been reading The Babysitter’s Club series because all the popular girls read it and I felt desperate to fit in.  Apparently, my stepfather felt that I needed some literary fiber to bolster all the fluff, so he hauled out this ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE collection of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets and unilaterally decided that I was going to read a piece with him nightly.  I remember two things from this: being assigned the female parts in the plays that had them but if they didn’t I was not excused, and a strong dread/panic impulse.  I’m sure that in his mind, he was using his power for good, enriching my life or whatever.  To me, he’d wielded that goddamn book as a weapon.  R.I.P. My Love of Reading, 1981-1992.

The absolute final nail in the coffin involved Lord of the Flies.  LotF was required course reading in Junior Challenge English, which was themed around Book vs. Movie.  Now, I need to clarify that I generally enjoyed the class.  The teacher was the same one I’d had as a Freshman who pushed for me to be in advanced classes in the first place, and as a Junior I graded our spelling tests for her.  My Junior year was also the year that my school district started block scheduling, so instead of eight 35-45 minute class periods plus lunch per day, we had four 90ish-minute long classes plus lunch per day.  We spent an entire quarter of the school year on this miserable, horrid piece of literature and its film adaptation, so for five days a week, an hour and a half each day for ~two months, I drowned in Lord of the Flies.  My already deceased Love of Reading got dismembered and dumped unceremoniously in a landfill.

Honorable mention goes to Catch-22, but I’m primarily the one to blame for that.  It was for Sophomore Challenge English, but the assignment was just Read X Novels This School Year.  I thought I’d be into it but I couldn’t get past the third chapter.  I have no idea what happened to any of the characters, but I also found myself lacking any fucks to give.  It remains the only novel I’ve ever started and not finished.

TL;DR: Compulsory reading is shitty, regardless of who is implementing it or where it happens.  If you want to foster an enjoyment of the written word, take kids to the library for a day, and let them browse.  If they are interested in manga or cookbooks instead of novels, just accept it and provide encouragement, not disappointment.

[musesanddrabbles]

A little bit of work in progress (And a half-baked blowjob scene. Lol)

(Inspired by a comment under the song, the butterfly, spider and flower. That Yuuma and Len should just hook up, (I agree). So, 2000 words later, here it is.)

.:.:.:

There was something beautiful about madness...  

It all began when he was ten, scurrying down that darkened alley. The air thick with the stench of rot, suffocating his lungs; a ghastly wheeze, a dying breath. He could taste its salt and bitter. Oh, how frightening, exhilarating, almost in a poetic way.  

An indescribable hatred, blossoming scarlet under his knife, shivering down his spine like permafrost. Spilling a warmth, he’d never experienced. Twisted thrill purring in his guts. He couldn’t recognize the heap of flesh beneath him, was it of human origin? An animal? Well, it hadn’t mattered anymore. He remembered the blade tasted of iron, a little sweet, a little raw. Glistering crimson under the cemetery moon. How deathly silent it had all become.  

Boring. It got boring.  

And now he sat in an empty white ward, across a grinning fox.  

There was a smile on her face, amicable even. But he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. She fiddled with a pen, scribbling the papers as she flicked her wrists. Those incessant taps and scratches were unbearably loud. In a room far too quiet, too vanilla than he would prefer, because normal, just didn’t sit well, after swimming in poison.  

He was told he was sick.  

“Rin, dear, wouldn’t you be so kind to drop that act?” He taunted her, seeing her infuriating mechanical smile unchanging as a soulless puppet.  

That was what she was, a marionette. Dolled up pretty in her pristine white coat and silver name tags. With layers of makeup to hide her cracks, covering them with her meaningless, docile smiles. Their parents might be blind, but, he knew what uglies she hid inside. All suppressed in her beautiful, brittle, lies.

Psychiatrist aye, how ludicrous when a monster played pretend. After all, they had the same gruesome blood in their veins. She clicked her pen, not lifting her eyes to catch his,  

“I’ll appreciate it if you didn’t lump me with you, Len.” She continued writing. Pages and pages of indoctrination, to saw away his fangs, to wash away his sins. Using the same cookie cutter, she was molded.  

He was told he had to be fixed.  

She had really gotten dull... Like a dying lamp, short-circuiting from all the electricity running in her wires. He abhorred the neurologist who clipped her wings, standing beyond the glass panels. Looking at them with a sneering gaze. As if he was abnormal, ephemeral and uncontrollable.  

(They were.)

But he managed to steal sister’s maiden heart, pulling wool over her eyes and convinced her, she was something weak, fragile.  

Sane.

Bullshit.  

Len saw the way Rin devoured Yuuma with her eyes. Her passion betrayed her, rearing greed in a shallow guise of timid, normal. Yet Yuuma was oblivious to her venomous marks, he couldn’t fathom her very existence was destruction; them both. Because no one understood Rin more than Len did.  

He knew it was not Yuuma’s heart she desired, but his life. And that pretty little head atop his shoulders she’d went out of her way seeking. Ah, he was indeed beautiful. Tall, slender, yet lean beneath his shirt. Like a fairy tale, all porcelain and bright. Perfect for her nightmares.  

(Perhaps for his too.)

Despite she refused to acknowledge that, instead she chose to play human. Play the love-struck princess that was - oh, so, pitiful, with the monster of a brother she has. Was it sympathy she wanted, a sorry fuck?  

He wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually lost it, became delirious as she was meant to be. Because, her madness was once something beautiful, a carnation blooming midwinter. Vivid and glorious, crying an unquenchable thirst. And to contain it all, for some sickening, distasteful, love (obsession) she preferred to call it.    

He’d seen the aftermath of her carnage, that insatiable bloodlust when she killed, orchestrating sinful melodies with a sharpened knife that knew only of need. What skillful art she managed to create; mangled limbs of her prey sewed into a chair, their flesh repurposed as candles.  

She was a beautiful monster, now she’s just a dirty liar.  

“You’re tasteless as always.” She flipped through the photo evidence.  

But, she seemed to enjoy being a dirty liar.      

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hypocrisy.”  

A dirty liar chasing a dream too farfetched. Normality dulled her.  

“Put me in a straitjacket and cart me out on wheels, sister.” He leaned into the chair, metals cooled against his back.  

“But, we know you’re the same...” He leered at Yuuma, and back at her. He was probably listening to their conversations. After all, Yuuma couldn’t let his innocent, precious little psychiatrist in training be left alone with a serial killer.  

“Were, Len.” She corrected him, “I’m not like you anymore.” She glanced nervously at Yuuma.  

Just how badly did she want his approval, it was ludicrous watching her prance around in sheep’s skin. The Rin he knew only took, never negotiated. He found himself rolling his eyes,  

“You can pretend all you want, Rin.” He leaned into his palm,  

“In the end, nothing will get you off more than the sound of screams.”  

He looked at Yuuma again, longer than it was appropriate to stare. Observing the slightest crinkle between his brows betrayed him that he was totally uninterested and stoic. So, he wasn’t such a robot as Len imagined.

“You wonder what kind of despair will suit him.” He waved, smirking, “The sounds he makes when you dig a knife through his skin.”  

Yuuma ignored him.  

“Oops, sorry, sister, I forgot, you’re much more graceful than that.” He targeted Rin this time, “You’re the type who’ll take your time to carve his flesh right off his bones, inch, by inch...”  

His words were honed just enough to break her composure as she slammed the pen on the table. Ah, but not enough to shatter her entirely, that plastic smile was back on her face.  

“I think you’re mistaken, Len, we’re not here to talk about me.”  

He hit a nerve, she was going to silence him. Why did she have to hide such beautiful, intense madness. Only he would accept her for who she really was, but oh no. She didn’t want his acceptance, she wanted Yuuma’s.  

“You, brother dearest, are going to an asylum.”  

He folded his arms, grinning ever so slightly. It was funny she thought she could keep him there and end her disfigured story with a happily ever after.  

Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong, there would be a happily ever after. Except, it wasn’t hers to write.  

.:.:.:      

“Not only are you a hedonistic killer, but lusting for your twin sister too? You’re on a whole new level of fucked up, huh.”

“Ah, was that obvious?” He glanced over his shoulders, musing. Rin sure picked the best ones; not merely a genius, but young, handsome, elegant, reckless all together. With just a smidgen of sinister to hint there was enough bad, to handle her worst.  

She had given him a heart to color vibrant, although nothing would stain on black.  

But, Yuuma wouldn’t see that, not with the iron shackles restraining him in the name of pride. Because Yuuma was a genius, he wouldn’t run. Because Yuuma was a genius, he wouldn’t give up. He believed he could tame his sister, wasn’t that true? (Naïve) To make her something she wasn’t.  

Logic simply couldn’t reason with insanity.  

“It just perplexes me, for a straight A’s student that graduated early. You can be anything you want, a doctor, lawyer...”

“A neurosurgeon like you?” He interrupted, tilting his head to the side.  

“Right. And you choose a serial killer.” Yuuma paused, observing him with prying eyes sharpened to strike. As if he was seeing something rare, transient that only blossomed after a thousand springs.    

“Ever thought that life can be a lot more wholesome?”  

“Boring.” He corrected, strutting towards him, claws on his cheeks caressing down his nape. A chuckle ripped out of him, was this the love she spoke about. So beautiful and breakable. His neck, fragile in his hold, pulsing a symphony called fear, enough to bleed through his palms and intoxicate.  

Len understood why Rin was captivated. Yuuma has the same wretched stench as them; a little bit mellow, and a bucket load of wicked.  

“You’re quite the liar.” Len breathed, rolling his name off the tip of his tongue like melting sugar cubes in hot coffee,  

“Doesn’t it get tiresome to wear those goody two shoes all the time?”  

Ah, he caught on. Yuuma answered with silence, prompting him to continue. Fear was an understatement, or rather, misunderstanding...  

“My sister is a temptress.”  

For a prodigy everything normal, must have been so, unbearably, mundane. And like him, once Yuuma tasted poison, vanilla just didn’t appeal.  

“Although, it’s not her face you’re interested in.”  

It was excitement coursing through his blood.  

“You like how broken she is.”  

He inched closer, and Yuuma held his breath. But, his heart was loud on his palm, feathering his touch as he drew to the dead of his chest. Wild, erratic adrenaline Len could taste, something primal, instinctual like an infant seeking warmth from its mother.  

“And, how broken I am...”  

He kissed him, a tiny storm brew between them, struggling for dominance, yet Yuuma didn’t push him away. Ah, sister, dear – your love is cheap.  

His reaction glowed to him with perfect clarify, even under the dead of night. Part disgust, part curiosity, stirring a toxic concoction despite letting him have his way. Despite answering his taunts.  

Lips were soft against him, sloppy, messy, animalistic, of two brass bells resonating in sync. Oh, how sister would be seething with rage, when the man of her dreams writhed in his touch. Perhaps she hasn’t slept with him yet, he smiled with that thought. Roaming hands dug under Yuuma’s shirt. His muscles tensed in response, down the rigid valleys of his finely sculpted abdomen. Decided to settle on the hems on his jeans, undoing his belt.

And Yuuma allowed him.  

Len rested on his knees, elevating his gaze, to meet his look of hesitancy, carnality. Petals on his fingertips, blooming gardens where he grazed. Yuuma was captivating when he was swept away by his pace. Len enamored him with a sly smile. Rin really knew how to pick.    

Beautiful, submissive.  

Liar.  

Calculative, manipulative, Yuuma was a brilliant actor, but Len took the illusions he’d offered. After all, he was enjoying the show, as he couldn’t quite see how this one ends. Yuuma’s stifled, ecstatic voice, wasn’t too bad either. And he touched too tenderly, (lovingly, hah!) weaving through his hair, edging him to take a little more, pushed a little deeper. It choked him, but he didn’t gag.  

Len drew back, holding him in his hand, still slippery with spit that entangled like silk. He licked his lips, tasting the aftermath of his warmth, aching in his jaws. It’d all felt so disgustingly intimate, vanilla, as if foreboding lovers yearning affections. Akin the mind-numbing fantasies sister would spew. Fate and eternity (nonsense), and dare he even mutter that word?  

Love.  

It was far from. But he shudders each time Yuuma bit back a moan. It was stupid, frightening, because he didn’t know what sort of monster he was. And when false passion ends, and the stage came crumbling. Yuuma might very well be the last one standing, laughing with his meticulous craft that fooled everyone. Len couldn’t tell what preceded him. It irritated him enough to convey in his actions.

Yuuma flinched from his teeth, which weren’t eager to please.  

“Do you want to stop?”  

He said with a sympathetic uncertainty. Although, it was a little too late to adopt that mask again, not after he’d shown Len a glimpse of the serpent he could be, and tasted poison only he made. He concluded that only a sociopath would present himself a helpless lamb before vicious beasts and expect to live.  

Oh, but Yuuma was great at his job. Len could kill him easily right now, but for the first time. He didn’t want to, there was something else he wanted. Could he finally call himself normal? That word strolled off his tongue, still bitter where it had stayed.  

He rose to his feet, swiveled his arms around his neck. Repeating the same melodies, selfishly, greedily, he breathed,  

“No.”  

Yuuma brushed away the wisp of blond, cradled his head to pull him close. Len was left mimicking his sultry approach, this time with more confidence, affirmation. The minute part of his lips, the soft half lidded gaze, so placid as if sleeping. As if dreaming while awake. Lost him in the heat of lust, that wasn’t violent.  

Love?  

No, at best it could be called make believe. He kissed him anyway. And he took away the distaste.    

Look at him, a dirty little liar, just like his sister.        

.:.:.: