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retributory · 2 months

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Can you talk in detail about LBH and what your favorite things are about him?

second go at this because tumblr nuked it the first time. lol. sorry this is so long and unorganized and only a little answers the question this is more of a stream of consciousness nico inner monologue sneak-peek that is binghe themed.

1) just the concept of binghe is very funny and appealing. 2014 edgy mary sue half-demon big dick op sex guy emperor of the whole world domesticated by loser 20-something with a 10k karma reddit account. really good no notes.

2) i think a lot of people (even binghe fans) tend to unintentionally flatten him because it's actually a little hard to write him. the fact that for most of the novel you have a misinformed opinion of him based off of sy's meta-contextual knowledge of events that have not happened and will not happen within the current timeline means that it's hard to actually know binghe's deal the first time around. even after that you have to grapple with the meta-meta-contextual facts of binghe being an alternative version of a character within a character within a novel within a novel that is being affected by a 'real person' within the first layer of meta, but of course svsss being very much a story that is often about being a writer/creative that second layer is played with often . . . to put it lightly i think it's probably a contributing factor to both the fact that he's really controversial and to the fact that a lot of svsss meta can get really, really existential LOL. this is before getting into the fact that you're at minimum actually talking about two characters anytime you're talking about him, so . . .

3) the thing is that i think binghe (both) fans are often incorrect about him because he (bing-mei) isn't actually a puppy crybaby, he's just acting like one. but haters are also incorrect, because similarly he (bing-ge) isn't really a domineering evil emperor. putting aside the very complicated ideas we could get into re: are fictional characters the executors of their own actions when viewed meta-contextually, the fact is that binghe spends most of the novel playing some sort of role. which makes sense! at the time of sy transmigrating, (nominally) 14 year-old binghe has already lost his birth mother, been found in a river, lost his adoptive mother, been ritually abused by his peers in all settings, lived on the streets, managed to get into cqms just to be a scapegoat, been ritually abused by his shizun, etc . . . when sy uses the term 'white lotus,' it's not actually a compliment. it should be noted sy also knows that ultimately binghe is acting nice because he wants adults to treat him nicely, and he does not (yet) have any kind of power or authority to do anything about being treated wrongly. i think probably the first hint of binghe's real personality is when he leads off lmy because he thinks sy is staring at her - i don't think binghe is mean, but he isn't nice either. he's very jealous, he gets upset easily, he doesn't take issue with manipulating others to get what he wants.

(aside: even as a child, he has already very much formed the worldview that existence is transactional, something that is informed even more by sj's treatment of him. even though sy challenges that worldview, he doesn't get rid of it. all of binghe's love language is based around the idea of doing something for him; cleaning his house, making him meals, keeping him safe. naturally i think that's informed by the only affection he's received being at the hands of a woman who couldn't do much for him other than acts of service in the first place, but i also think that usefulness is a core tenet of what binghe believes that he and other people need to be.

i don't think it's controversial to say that bing-ge does not actually love any of his wives. i'd go so far as to say i don't even think he actually enjoys having sex with them - he is purely doing so to fuel xin mo, and would otherwise either not bother with them at all or kill them. being the wife of the Emperor of Both Realms is the transactional reward for providing him with no-questions-asked xin mo-feeding sex, of which he textually will just rape them if they don't agree. because bing-mei actually does love sy, i think he has to consistently challenge the idea of 'usefulness as a core tenet of a relationship,' which is one of the bigger problems they have to navigate).

very much a core part of svsss is that both of these people (sy and binghe) are. hmm. not the best people. bugfuck crazy actually. binghe puts on the waterworks because sy likes fussing over him like an overbearing mother, and while the underlying thing that he's having crocodile tears over really is bothering him a lot of the time, he's playing it up for puppy baby points. but that isn't his actual personality. his actual personality is when sy starts soothing him automatically when binghe gets the idea that sy may have been sexing lqg up in those caves. lmfao

4) speaking of, he's very easy to read as having bpd. i think other people are fully entitled to have their opinions on the matter but binghe's quote-unquote bad personality is majorly explained if you simply operate under the assumption that he has a cluster-b personality disorder (which are caused by childhood trauma, dontcha know . . .). it's easy to view his xin mo-induced catastrophic meltdown in vol 3 as splitting, and his constant back-and-forth of "shizun is the best person ever, shizun is an angel, shizun is incapable of wrongdoing" to "shizun is the worst person ever, shizun is cruel and unrelented, shizun hurts me on purpose" is easy to see as the sort of black-and-white thinking that bpd is characterized by. of course you can just think whatever, but i like to see it that way, especially because binghe is still seen as desirable despite his flaws, while any character that has or is implied to have a cluster-b disorder is usually treated as some sort of inhuman monster.

5) of course, backing off that, did you know i actually rarely like romance? for years i made a habit to intentionally avoid all romance novels because i disliked the genre out of principle. despite being largely into the shipping scene of any given fandom i was in, i both generally did not interact with other fans and also generally avoided anything romance-centric. i avoided mxtx's works (tgcf specifically) for years because i was quite convinced all romance was the same as the very very boring sort of stuff i had unfortunately read, where both the main character and the male lead are completely and utterly perfect and the only conflict is the fact that they aren't currently together. the only reason i read svsss . . . was because someone on my twitter tl at the time was complaining about it, and their complaints sold me on it because they (bq) sounded so weird. i read the entirety of it extras and all in 3 days. it sent me cartwheeling down a rabbithole of a genre i had FOOLISHLY written off. thank you binghe's terrible personality for saving me.

6) i also . . . am eternally enchanted by binghe's borderline horrific body. the satire of 'what does a perfect harem lead power fantasy stallion actually look like' kills me. when sy feels his abs and they're uncomfortably hard all the time . . . his actual literal horsecock obliterating sy's stupid insides . . . i think binghe has body dysmorphia but the opposite way around people usually have it. he wants a smaller dick and a less sexy body. i think he is trapped in his perfect stupid sexy body and it really kills me.

7) this is getting too long i think i have to shut up. my FAVORITE THING ABOUT BINGHE?? his personality. if you put a gun to my head. but he is so cutiebaby anyways. i understand sy completely; i also want to coddle and baby binghe when he does awful things. binghe would have loved puppygirl posting online . . .

#t #i #svsss #sorry holy fuck.#/#long post

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partmathpartmagic · 3 months

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masterlist i guess?

i am working on getting these all on tumblr but it'll be a minute!

Give me six months (formerly Disarmed)

“I think, my love, that if we survive this, I have some work to do.”

Mina/Astarion | 11/11 chapters | Mature (I'll mark the smut chapters!)

This began from the idea that Astarion's friendship ending feels (to me) like his most happy and self-actualized ending, and maybe he needs those 6 months on his own before he can have a romantic happily-ever-after.

But it turns out she was used to being the one in the relationship with her shit together and when that's no longer the case she has some shit to figure out as well...

This is so fluffy, y'all.

Read on tumblr: only chapter 5 is posted here so far (because it's my fave and it stands alone decently) but i will update as that changes!

A flip of a switch (formerly At Your Mercy)

Being as beautiful as he was, people wanting him the way they certainly seemed to everywhere they went, it must be impossible for him to feel safe anywhere. To feel whole. To feel like a mind attached to a body rather than floating outside of it. Gods, but he had such a good mind. … Did he know that? What if he didn’t know that? What if he thought she only wanted his body? Surely he wasn’t that dense? Oh gods, she realized. He absolutely is.

Mina/Astarion | 6/6 chapters (for now) | Mature

A prequel to Disarmed, picking up a few nights after the tiefling party/the first time they sleep together. Focuses a lot on Astarion working through his shit, the two of them figuring out sexual and non-sexual intimacy, all that good stuff. Also very fluffy. I took destiny into my own hands and changed the title and I don’t hate it anymore!

Read on tumblr: only chapter 6 posted so far

The Gift

"I left you alone, and I’m sorry, and it kills me knowing I hurt you, but everyone is going to leave me alone in the end, even you.”

Rielle/Astarion | 4/? chapters | smut-free just sad as hell

Rielle hasn't seen Astarion for two centuries, and then he shows up at her art show (where several of the paintings are of him) for a painful reunion.

This is set 200 years after the events of the game, so the only surviving members of the core party are Rielle (tav), Astarion, Halsin, and Shadowheart, and Halsin and Shadowheart are near the ends of their lifespans. It's about Astarion wrestling with losing the first people he ever allowed himself to care about and the fact that he's an immortal spawn who's just going to keep losing people- is it even worth loving them in the first place?

If you can't tell this is just pure angst lol I am hurting my own feelings by writing this fic

Read on tumblr: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 6

And isn’t that just like a sister?

"She wants to destroy you—but with her, for the first time, you think you make sense."

Female Durge/Astarion | 2/2 chapters | smut-free

An exploration of Durge and Astarion's complicated relationships with their sisters. I edited these minimally so they're a little more stream-of-consciousness. Ch 1 is Durge pov (2nd person though, you are Durge and Durge is you) and ch 2 is Astarion pov.

Read on AO3: chapter 1 | chapter 2

Read on tumblr: chapter 1 | chapter 2

#my writing #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #astarion #bg3 #bg3 fic #partmathpartmagic #masterlist #woo

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year

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Trimax Thoughts Vol. 13 Pt. 1

Oh boy I'm late. Here's my stream of consciousness thoughts!

Legato on the cover... ooooo

...bro.

Interesting that when he asks this, Legato's entire face is shadowed at first. I'm sure that means something. Maybe I'll come back to it later.

Exaggerating his disinterest with yawning... he's done this before to Legato, right? And it's specifically Legato's loyalty that sets off this reaction I believe - shutting down the idea that he is unique amongst Knives' followers.

STOP.

NOOOOOO

hjsdfhdbvjh he's so completely done with Legato

It's to prevent Legato from using his powers??? Okay! Sure!

Wolfwood doesn't make an appearance amongst the GHG again...

Oh... interesting. Okay then. Figurative back to back shot...

I love my boy. :) (Also greatly enjoying the dynamic between him and Elendira right now it's oddly funny)

Legato making this fight about him and what he wants for the rest of his life is so fascinating to me. I'm sorry I wish I was more coherent right now but just. Yeah. Legato's a good character. (I wish he would stop licking blood off the ground though.)

I wish I understood what the hell kind of weapon this is. When did he have this made. What.

Can't believe this is all motivated by Legato wanting to be someone who mattered to Knives. Well actually I can. But still.

Livio seriously yelling for Elendira to wait in the middle of a fight. Whhjdfbjhg he's so funny to me

Livio, canonically: "Waitwaitwait, let me put on my cowboy cosplay real quick."

(I understand the meaning of this, believe me I do, and it's very heartwarming, but also. He's so silly.)

Elendira, canonically: "Fine then, here's my ass-kicking outfit."

I say this as a person who is definitely ace and probably aro... did Elendira just get even hotter? (Please leave my boy alone though...)

Elendira is actually sizzling... and I mean that literally lol. Ok what is going here. Elendira, girl, who are you???

Oh this is kind of fascinating. It seems that the fused entities the Earth fleets have seen before did not involve a clear, central consciousness - they may have been composed purely of Dependents, or multiple weaker Independents who lost themselves like Domina. Either way, somehow Knives is asserting direction to the Plants where the other fused entities did not have any specific will or goal.

Oh... Luida has a tear in her eye thinking of Vash fighting alone...

:'(

RAZLO!!!!!!!

Oh he jammed her gun!!! NICE!

HEJHBSJCHBJDHV (Why is Razlo such prime meme material?)

Um. Hi. What just happened.

So Elendira has some kind of strange ability that allows her to essentially give horrific visions to anyone with a sense of bloodlust. Um. What is she? Is that not kind of similar to the strange auras Vash and Knives were putting up that kind of paralyzed whoever happened to be around with fear? Did Wolfwood not receive a similar vision earlier? What's happening???

Anyways I'm so stressed out this is very intense.

#storyrambles #trigun #trimax #trigunbookclub

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qhazuban · 1 year

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thoughts as i read "savage tongues" by azareen van der vliet oloomi, part 4

ok so here's an example. (also i'm reading the book in epub format and i really struggle with citations in this regard, especially with long chapters, which is something i need to figure out for my teaching!! but anyway...) in the first chapter, right, several pages in there's a section where the narrator says (I'm skipping over some parts with ellipses to highlight the areas that stand out most to me):

I was interested in how desire is shaped by the destructive logic of empire, how at times sex facilitates the transmission of historical violence from one body to another. Xavi [her husband], however, possessed a purity I'd never be able to access. He experienced sex as a bridge, as union, as an explosive, an exhilarating coming together; I didn't deny that was so, but that didn't constitute the entire inventory of my experiences. [...] [...] I resisted the line of thought that Xavi was sure would salvage me from my pain: demonizing Omar [someone who abused her] in order to purify myself. I had no interest in obliterating the contradictions of the past. To the contrary, I wanted to savor them. Xavi was, I felt, asking me to ignore the nuances of my relationship with Omar, the historical and political terrain that had informed it. He didn't see that in doing so I would be sacrificing my own sense of self and my ability to articulate that self in language. He didn't understand, at least initially, how his attitude, pure to the extreme, dispossessed me of my own narrative, my sexuality, my appetite for inquiry, my openness to examining the darkest aspects of human nature, the things most people prefer to look away from. I was left to raise the frightening questions alone. In the process of vilifying Omar, Xavi had unwittingly placed an invisible restriction on my speech; what I needed was an eruption of language. He couldn't tolerate the idea that I was complicit in my own destruction, that I had weaponized what little agency I had and wielded it against myself.

so i really like a lot of this! and it's totally something i would reblog or repost, or save to think about, ha.

but the thing is. even if this is just the beginning of the novel and all of this is explored better later, setting the novel up like this -- and having a stream of consciousness intellectual/emotional style of narrative -- only works if there are just as many questions and unanswered fragments and just -- emotions in the present, not only retrospective -- or maybe just if the language is explored more? i'm not sure. i just feel mixed about this. i think that we need more moments of perplexity and narrative confusion.

idk. i'm having trouble expressing this but, based on what i have been reading so far, as well as interviews with the author etc., it does not seem like there's really a lot of the... turning things on their head?... that i feel would actually make this kind of self-reflection more potent.

i think it probably comes across as *very* potent as-is to a lot of people -- and here i worry about sounding haughty again lol -- and it does feel potent to me too. but in an actual friendship or conversation or interaction or communication between diasporic writers and artists, if it were *actually* to be that and not the absolute shit that goes on in the sorry excuse of a literary world that currently exists -- in the moments that actually truly matter -- it's not just a restatement of what we know and we've read and realized and applied to our lives. there's restatement, yes, but there's also interpersonal hypocrisy and chaos and bizarreness and complexity that summing things up just won't work for.

and i worry that this novel -- in setting things up like this -- like how much can you explore scenes if you have already set things up with such clarity of self-actualization? i don't know if that makes sense. but i am just skeptical about what is actually happening here!!!

and also. so many times people say these kinds of things in the circles i've been part of. but what does it matter if, when it comes down to it, hardly anyone *actually* wants to do the extremely difficult work of exploring complicity, power, nuance, complexity, etc. in interpersonal situations???

#azareen van der vliet oloomi #savage tongues #literary world politics #writing #trying to read #critique

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badbitchwhomeditates · 4 years

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Who the fuck is this bitch?!

Read that again.

The answer is complex, not simple, which is what complex means you dumb fuck ( beep language kiddo). Ok, lets try that again...

Bad Bitch Who Meditates, a 23 year old singer with dreams bigger than the world itself, which is both a good and a bad thing, we will get to the importance of duality later. Either way she´s been struck by lightning and pushed into a corner loads of times in an industry where you have to fight to be heard and seen through the smallest of cracks. And yes I might also speak about myself in third person a lot, simply because I'm practicing being the main character from all perspectives, telling my story but also making everyday feel like an adventurous movie ( therefore the narrator vibes help).

Complaining, complaning, victim mindset bla bla bla you might think, im not gonna bore you, you know that things can be quite shit and you’ve probably heard about the `struggling artist” and all of that before.

Lets spread some more negativity shall we ey?

Maybe not that either, im just welcoming you in to my brain and my stream of consciousness on the journey of becoming or remaining? we shall see.

Im not gonna be here being all fairy lights and glitter in my eyes either, I am tho some days, but lately I’ve been bad, not a bitch cause I would never, slightly a bitch towards myself and I haven’t really done my meditation, its like the second I put down ” bad bitch who meditates, thats my slogan” in a song, I was like, cool its in a tune now so I’ve done the work I can relax.

Nope, it doesn’t stop.

Consistency in self care, healthy habits and your mental diet, the way you speak to yourself, it doesn’t stop. And its fkn annoying sometimes, especially when your chemical imbalance is so imbalanced that you don’t wanna get out of bed. Ive probably dealed with anxiety and depression since my debut on X-factor, oh yeah shit sorry, I have a name too, Im Awa and I won X-factor Sweden at 15 years old, completely changed my life like a marriage, for better or for worse. In that marriage I found myself, lost myself and now im kind of finding myself again...

Ok this is the part below where you get to knoooow me or something...

I guess why I wanted to start blogging again is A) I need to hold myself accountable to remain consistent with my glow up, cause I can proudly say I’ve really done some amazing progress and inner work B) I need to continue doing that and find my healthy balance and not put too much pressure on myself, ya get me? C) maybe help take away the stigma regarding mental health, and I wanna focus on the solutions, thats my whole new life concept 10 % problems, 90 % solutions, like if we are discussing something thats the ratio. Cause how can we ever see a solution if we go slow dancing w the problem for ages?

I know it can feel fkn amazing and cozy, like when you’ve been in bed w someone thats clearly not good for your heartstrings but you stay there anyway because for right now it feels all warm and fuzzy.

Oh silly girl, I mean forgiveness, forgiving other people and forgiving myself that is def something we are going to have to discuss as well, its one of the things I’ve tried to commit to this year. Ive come to the conclusion that its harder forgiving yourself after being too nice, theres only so much space on the scale for resentment, but you go to bed with you all the time and you beat yourself up on why you allowed that to happen? (Did that make any sense??)

Again, another lesson, feedback that we can grow from. Mind management, one of my fav terms, mind over matter. Damn sure that can feel extremely provocative said in the wrong situation. Im gonna be honest on here, ill make an oath or whatever its called ( oh yeah im also Swedish so we will have communication problems here and there, but whatever, I call that acceptance) ill be honest, personal but not private cause I need to protect my energy.

I would declare myself a self care queen but babe writing this, I just had a massive argument w my friend, that made me sad ( oh im a cry baby too, thats even the title of my EP lol), I hate conflict but im really trying so hard to stand up for myself and understand that my feelings are valid too and that uncomfortable situations are growing pains for our souls. I had my first panic attack in ages because this year is just shit and things that I’ve worked on for so long just crumbled down in front of me and I just felt like I was again taking two steps forward and one step back but at least we are moving.

Im not all sad, I’ve rightfully so have had a few bad 72 hours I would say, I don’t like this time of the year that much. But I know why, because I've been slacking w my routines, the ones we´ve carefully selected through trial and error inna real life and w my therapist ( she's real too but you get what im sayin) , it's ok not to be ok either but we have to put some kind of time limit on it so we don't sink into that deep hole again, i don't wanna go back there and I know what keeps me with my head above water and sometimes even frkn flying. We wanna stay consistent w the flying, that feels good, that's a goal now ok? Cause I used to fall into that trap of the deep hole until the pain of the known got far greater than the fear of the unknown.

Im happy we are here today, because as I said 10/90, nothing last forever, good or bad, which is comforting. Things will get better and we hold so much more power in our minds and souls than we realize that ultimately will mirror how we experience life. So im going to be on here, at least once a week, my therapist tells me not to set up crazy goals that I know I might not do because then it will make me feel shit etc so once a week feels reasonable.

Im open to suggestions about what we can chat about, ill share my 10/90, I want my clever friends to maybe drop a quote or blog here and there, Im good on camera, like vlogs or some shit. I probably wont bring you around all the time cause I don’t have the technological brain cells for that to be very honest with you. Maybe ill just come up with cute formats to the camera, thats a word you are going to hear a lot, ”format”, I have a concierge business w my friend Amy on the side of my music career called ” Pure Intuition”, basically we create events, formats and campaigns for brands and make them come true with the right profile etc and we create FORMATS, but if you missed it or if I was unclear Im a super cool singer signed to Columbia UK which was my childhood dream, so we are going to make Columbia our BITCH in 2021 hihi <3 <3. I studied economic entrepreneurship in college and im very business savvy, I love creating formats lol. Im slowly but surely building my fempire. What else, boys, I like boys, men, cute ” god spent some extra time on you”- looking boys, I mean men. I guess we will touch on that in the most anonymous manner, maybe ill just share some past flings cause you know, they’re in the past, passé. So yeah who the fuck is this bitch? you will find out alongside me, myself and I

get ready for the ride

love and light,

badbitchwhomeditates

#badbitch #spiritual development #self improvement #selfcare #main character #music #singer #aestheitcs

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vivwrite · 4 years

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With the Ghost of You(When the Sun Goes Down We All Get Lonely)

Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

or: Ashton meets Luke in a library, and the story tells itself. (AO3 link👇)

ooookay so my first fic for lashton and 5sos . Thanks for reading it. And tbh I'm extremely nervous because English's not my first language. So sorry for the mistakes lol.

One thing: I read Marquez's work in my first language, and I can't find the English version of it, so I translated the title and first sentence to English. There might be a mistake so sorry again lol

Ashton has always loved the library.

It isn't the school library, which is always so grand, demure, solemn, much like a robot- no, too cold and inhuman.

What he prefers, rather, is a smaller one run by a group of retired professors. It seems determined to hide itself in the northeastern corner of the campus, made up of three small but never crowded reading rooms. No matter when he walks through the doors be can find lamps shading yellowish circles on wooden tables, rows and rows of bookshelves up to the ceiling, and seats, beside small windows where the sunlight outside leaks in just perfectly on sunny afternoons.

To him it's always a getaway, a secret hiding place from the stressed and sometimes too fast school life, the only friend he can turn to when he isn't that enthusiastic about life, a comfort when facing another rock bottom. He's already studying a too rational subject; he'd love spending some time being just sensitive in here.

He'd spend hours and hours wandering among the bookshelves, picking one when he feels like it, skimming a few pages before deciding to read on or not. By doing this he feels just like a boy on the beach, amazed by an emerald or sapphire brought on shore by waves from time to time- what matters isn't just the book he gets. It's more of the communicating, the chore he gets to strike.

Unsatisfactory experiment result, loads of homework, a long and tiresome discussion with the professor about his research orientation- which he thinks is too early for him to consider, but she insists that as he has already got postgraduate recommendation he needs to consider it fully right now- and Ashton finds himself wandering in the library again, walking aimlessly, not for finding books, just to feel the connection.

It is a strange feeling, really, to be connected with books. Most of them on the shelves just seem to be books as they are, silent, quiet, lifeless. But, well, maybe it’s just his imagination- but some particular ones seem to be staring back- especially that one.

His hand automatically moves to pick that book out of the column.

It is quite delicate, a hard back small enough to be held on one hand, the title shimmering under the dim lights.

Ann’s Diary.

He remembers reading it in his teen years.

“Sorry, but that's mine.”

Ashton springs from the bookshelf. The book slips straight from his hand, hitting the wooden floor with a thud, as a boy rounds up from the other side.

He's tall- even taller than Ashton. And quite young, a freshman or sophomore, maybe. He is staring at Ashton from behind those strands of blonde, messy curls falling off to his face, piercing pale blue eyes met with his hazel ones, and that made his breath hitch for a second- although those eyes are definitely showing dismay.

"I... I don't really understand." He tries his best to cover all the confusion and fear- dealing with strangers always makes him uncomfortable (although he can manage it by acting cheerful and shit), especially with a pissed one.

But the boy seems determined to stay silent and on edge. He just flips the first page open, gesturing to a mark on it.

It's a two-word initial. Must have written quite a long time ago, as the lines are a bit blurry and the ink has faded into light gray. But he still recognizes the word, written in Italic, reading "L.H.".

Wait. The librarians never said that there is a place for personal collections.

Before he can ask about it the boy swirls around and walks off, leaving alone a dumbfounded Ashton.

He goes to ask the librarians, then the curator(because the librarians know nothing), about books with a L. H. written on it.

"This is a long story, darling, but it's late." Mrs. Hemmings' voice is collected and calm as always, but Ashton can tell that there is something as her eyes are a bit dull, "Maybe the other day."

His favorite spot in the library is a small table tucked behind seven rows of bookshelves of English literature(yes, he counts how many bookshelves are there), just besides a small window. Others rarely find it- unless they're crazy for novels by Adeline Virginia Woolf or they're just too bored to do anything else.

That's why he chooses here- There's no disruption, no noise, only the random shuffle for a person searching for books and pages being turned. Being alone.It suits him.

The sound of a chair pulling broke the silence,ripping him from the novel plot- someone has slipped into the chair opposite of him.

Well, fuck.

Ashton lifts his head from the pages, slight agitation rising from his chest, which shifted to utter surprise as his eyes meet a strangely familiar shade of blue.

Before he could say anything the boy blurts out , "Please... I want to explain."

For a moment Ashton just sits there, staring. Thoughts cloud his mind, tangling messily, laying conflicted- He was so senseless but now he seems so sincere! He won't trust his own voice right now, afraid that something stupid pops up all of a sudden. So he decides to just nod, a silent permit for the stranger to go on.

The boy clears his throat, looking a little nervous, "About the incident yesterday... I'm sorry. Got into something stupid and was shouted at all day long- but, I mean, fuck, even that isn't the reason I became such a jerk to you. I'm not trying to defend myself, but please don't be angry... Oh my fucking god, I don't know what I'm saying." He groans, pushing a hand through his curls, messing it up a bit.

Well, isn't that adorable.

Ashton hears himself chuckling, "I understand, no worries. Everyone has a bad day, don't we?"

He watches as the boy visibly relaxes with the reassuring words, a smile slipping on on his face, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks... Um, what's your name, by the way?"

Oh, right.

"Ashton."

"Thanks, Ashton." the boy's smile widens, "I'm Luke."

So the initial does belong to him. The L. H..

It's not until silence falls that Ashton realizes he may have stared at those sea- blue, sincere eyes for a bit too long. Hastily he ducked his head into his novel, flushed, trying to pick up the stream of Woolf's consciousness again.

"Virginia Woolf?" Luke's voice cuts in, and to Ashton's surprise- filled with pure interest.

Everyone else just thinks he's crazy and nerdy fancying Woolf's works.

"You like her?" He can't help but feel hope lighting up.

"One of my favorite!" Luke's literally buzzing with excitement, like a puppy finally getting some fresh air after a long lockdown in the house, "Never found another person to discuss, though. Everyone just say it's too hard to understand and shits."

And with that their conversation swiftly shifts into a heated discussion about stream of consciousness novels, to Woolf, then Proust, Faulkner, all way up the history, even to Freud- and Ashton finds, surprisingly, that they can strike a chord in every part of it- and the way Luke talks relentlessly, smiling so broad, eyes shining and hands waving- tells him he holds the same feelings, same thought, same passion.

His throat's sore- he hasn't talked that much in like, forever- but that doesn't stop him from being smug like an idiot when he leaves the library.

He's been alone for a long time, But it seems that he has finally found someone.

He starts to spend more time in the library- first just to do some more leisure reading and writing stuff there, then he starts bring his textbooks and laptop there to finish his homework, then even starts to stay there as long as he neither has classes nor needs to go back to the dorm. Yes, he admits it's kind of strange one's never tired of a library- especially that he has already ploughed through every part since he first stepped into it- but he knows why- a cute boy with ocean blue eyes and a smile is always there now.

It has become a routine. Luke accompanies him every day, sometimes already halfway through a novel when Ashton arrives, while other times Luke shows up merrily when he’s buried in the middle of projects and homework, bringing in a sense of cool breeze and fresh air before peeking over and ushering him to take a break(well sometimes the work has to be done, but Luke’s so sweet that he can’t refuse). Their time spent together is usually quiet, Ashton either typing away on his laptop or on a book, while Luke is immersed in his own novel, just piping up from time to time to discuss the plot or asking about the author. Topic wanders- books, school life, bands, music (seriously, how many same hobbies do they hold?).

They have went through so many fields- Stream of Consciousness to Science Fiction, Agatha Christie to Akudagawa, Shakespeare's Sonnet to Samuel Ullman's prose, but the list still seems far from ending. To Ashton's surprise Luke have read most of the writers not only by representative works but also less- famous chapters- many of which he only knows but has never read. He had thought he's an English Literature student, but Luke amazed him again by saying he studies Math actually- the same amazement occurred again when Luke discovered the chemistry paper Ashton's working on.

He can’t recall the last time he felt this content -Well, he can’t even remember when he has become so silent and depressed, on edge and under pressure.

But seems Luke has already become the solution.

Ashton sighs, recoils back in his chair, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes- He never learns the lesson of not leaving your homework to the deadline, fuck it.

Besides him Luke rises his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "You finally done?"

He just groaned, eyes shut."I wonder how the fuck you can even finish your homework. You never seem to be doing anything related to math."

"Maybe that's because all can be done quickly if I want."

Smug idiot.

"Wait till you're a post graduate and you'll know what's torture."

"Will quit right after four years, then."

Ashton scowls, cracks open one eye and spares a hand to flip Luke off, to which he ducks away (he always does) and giggles, "You're of no fucking help."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Don't know. Tell me a story. Or just read something. As long as I'm not thinking my head off about the synthesis route of some stupid fucking molecule I'll be fine."

He heard a light chuckle, "Aye- Aye, Captain, here we go."

The sound of pages turning, Luke clearing his throat, then,"'It's so bitterly cold that my whole body crackles!' Said the Snow Man."

Ashton lifts an eyebrow wearily,"Now you're telling me an Andersen's Fairy Tale?"

"Shh. Shut up and be a good boy. It's my favorite one." then, "This wind can really blow life into you! And how that glaring thing up there glares at me!" He meant the sun; it was just setting..."

Luke reads on, and Ashton finds himself relaxing, sinking into the familiar tale he’s read hundreds of times as a toddler, following the thread of the story, recalling the dialogue, how the Snow Man calls the Old Watchdog “my friend”.

Luke's voice fades for a brief second, then returns, slightly changed, softer, “Then the Snow Man looked, and he really saw a brightly polished thing with a brass stomach and fire glowing from the lower part of it. A very strange feeling swept over the Snow Man...”

Here comes the part- tracing the memory he can still feel it, the confusion when toddler him read to this part, then realization and excitement for no reason when he picked it up again, just for one time, before he come to this city.

He thought a new place brings a new life. That he would finally leave that old black and white town. He thought he knew what life was all about, what love was.

So ambitious, so young, so dumb.

Ashton blinks furiously, shaking the thoughts flooding up away from his mind. He’s here, in his favorite place, with an adorable boy who keeps his company, reading a tale to him. He’s fine, they’re fine, it’s fine.

His eyes lands on Luke.

The small lamp on the table is tilted slightly, soft golden light casting gently down on the boy’s right side, splitting a silhouette, leaving the left side of his face in the shadow. Curls falls off his face, dangling. His long, thick eyelashes turns to an almost-silver color under the light, trembling slightly, dancing altogether with the little particles floating in the air, as those blue eyes, clear as the sunny day but still deep as the sea, moves with each line, each word on the page. Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

The story’s still going, coming to an end, and Luke’s voice, a little raspy now, is merely above a whisper, like if he tells it any louder the fragile, beautiful tragedy will be destroyed.

“Come out, dear sun! Come often, skies of blue!

And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.”

And with that Silence falls, a sad love story coming to its end.

For a while they just sits, looking into each others eyes.

The atmosphere’s changed, he knows it, can feel it. It’s a brand new feeling, one he has never felt, the rising urge, the need, the want, to get closer to the boy in front of him, to truly know him, to be with him, go through everything with him, feel the same with him, to like him, love him.

Hesitantly, he reaches out, slowly, hand trembling.

For a moment Luke seems to be on the same page with him, eyes fluttering shut and automatically leaning in, but suddenly he gasps, like being reminded of something he has long forgotten, and recoils back sharply, Ashton’s hand touches nothing but air.

Why.

“It’s late, Ash.” Luke whispered, not looking him in the face, “Maybe the other day.”

Something’s changed between them.

Not that the intimacy has changed- no. They still meets at the very table, reading and chatting, Luke still listens to his bickering about homework and fucking lab life- but something’s there, like The Sword of Damocles, hanging dangerously, but both just choose to ignore it.

Luke’s still Luke, sweet and gentle, cute and caring. But he’s somewhat quieter then before- he’s still chatting when it comes to their hobbies, but he always stops abruptly after the topic’s over, cutting the conversation.

It’s only that Ashton’s confused, confused about fucking all of it, confused about why Luke refused his invitation, why Luke takes a step back while he finally decides to step forward. It’s like an invisible barrier is built, all things suddenly turns indefinite without reason.

He hate it. He fucking hate all of it.

It’s only worse that he’s stuck in the library right now- it’s pouring outside, he’s left his umbrella at home, his jacket has no hat, and Luke’s oddly quiet.

He’s reading, more of scanning automatically, mind crowded with uncomfortable thoughts, screaming at him to at least find out what’s wrong with Luke(he don’t know how when they’re in this awkward state), to pluck up his courage and try again(well look what a coward he becomes when it comes to pining), to get this mess sorted (to which he has absolutely no fucking idea).

Fucking shitty day.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed- the sky is darkening, pure black seeping into pale gray, as the window starts to mirror the lighted lamp, making it unable to see the outside.

He hears a sigh, then the sound of book shut.

He can see those clear blue eyes from the corner of his eye, a little dim than usual, like the eyes of a sad puppy, and that almost break his heart. He wants to get close to the boy again, tell him it’s okay, he’s here, no need to keep those shit all alone and stuff- but instead he stares intently at the screen, so hard that his eyes starts to water, cursing himself inwardly.

A pause. Then, “Ash.”

Ashton gives himself a slap in the head, then puts on his most cheery face, “Yeah?”

Luke shakes his head furiously, “Don’t... Don’t act in front of me. I know you’re not well these days, and it’s all because of,” He waves his hand impatiently, then pulls his curls, casting out another deep sigh, “Yes, I... feel there is something I need to explain.”

And again he finds himself lost of words, exactly like the last time Luke made an explanation. But Luke’s acting different- strange. He’s frowning, shifting in his seat, hands tightly clasped together, teeth tugging at his lower lip, eyes filled with... fear.

Luke has never gone frightened in front of him.

“Hey, hey.” He reaches out, trying to grab Luke’s hand, but the boy squealed and pulls away abruptly again- so he just sighs, being as comforting as possible, “It’s okay, Luke. All okay.”

Finally the boy seems to have made the decision. He points to the book he just finished, which is lying on the table now, “The second short story.”

“You’re making me a puzzle through Marquez? Typical.” Ashton picks up the book, checking the writer. He’s trying to make a joke, but it came out weak and not funny at all, as Luke just sighs again and rests his head in his hands.

“I don’t know how to say it, so.” God, he hates how Luke’s voice sounds, all hurt and in pain.

“Luke, I mean, I’m not forcing you, but you know you can tell me everything-” panic’s rising, and he feels the urge, that they’re coming to the crossroads-

“Um, Ashton?”

He’s never hated life- the approaching librarian as well- more than now.

“Yes?”

She comes to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder, “It’s ten now and we’re closing in five minutes. You need an umbrella?”

“Um, just a minute. We have something to discuss. I promise it’ll be quick.” He gestures to the seat across the table, where he knows Luke’s sitting.

He expects a nod, but her face is puzzled, coated with a layer he can’t read, “We? But Ashton, there’s no one across the table.”

“What?”

His head whips around, so quick that he thinks he must have strained his neck. He closes his eyes, then opens them again- yes, Luke is sitting right there, in the chair, totally frozen besides the nervous act just now- but he’s there.

“But...”

She only shakes her head, “You’re the only one here all day, Ashton. No one else feels like coming on such a stormy weather.”

With that she leaves.

Ashton turns back to Luke frantically, “What the hell-”

He’s met with a stony face and watery blue eyes. Luke seems defeated and in total grief.

“Tell me, Luke. Tell me!” Panic overcomes him, his voice three octaves higher than usual. It can’t be real, it’s just his fantasy, things like this can’t happen in real life...

Luke holds out his trembling hand, and very slowly, reaches over, linking it with Ashton’s.

A wave of icy cold rises up- from his feet up to his spine, overwhelming him, drowning him, making his head dizzy, the world turning, the sense-

The sense of not being touched.

Luke’s hands go straight through his.

“Because they can’t see me.” The silhouette figure whispers, voice barely audible.

“I’m not as real as you see me, Ash.”

The next three days come and go like a blurry scene.

Ashton remembers it just vaguely- he remembers fleeing out of the library, running alone the dark campus path till his chest burns and every breath becomes a burden. He remembers the rain, pouring down and hitting him relentlessly, flowing off his face, mixed with some warm fluid he didn’t dare to think about. He remembers walking back to the dorm, all worn out and broken down, throwing himself on his bed and crying till weariness finally came over. He slept, then woke, then ushered himself into sleep again, like only in dreamland he could forget all of it, until he was really not able to sleep anymore.

He pushes himself up from his bed and stumbles into the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, even worse than a hangover, purple bags hanging from his eyes and hair sticking in all directions. He sighs, turning to walk from the bathroom, cursing as he nearly trips over something on the ground- but the word died halfway in his throat.

It’s that book. The Collection of Marquez’s Short Stories. He must have thrown it on the floor that night.

Ashton swallows, hesitant- he’s not that sure if he’s ready to face it, that memory, that typical boy- but his hand does it for him, already flipping through the pages.

The second work, what is the second work......

He sees the title.

Someone Messed up the Roses.

He takes in a breath.

Today’s Sunday, the rain’s stopped, and I want to pick some red and white roses to my grave...

His eyes is welling up, but he reads on, about the story of a boy’s ghost and his sister, a wish never coming true, a story of love and regret.

There’s a note, written in Italic, at the corner of the page, end of the story, black ink suggesting it’s freshly written.

You have given me the happiest moments my whole life and beyond life, Ash. It might be like a cheesy novel, but I love you and I’m sorry.

Luke Hemmings

He’s crying before he knows it.

“Fuck, Luke.”

The scenery outside the window’s changing, fading from concrete jungle to fields and woods. On the end of the road, a hill’s approaching.

He’s sitting in the bus, hand clutching at Marquez’s Collection and a piece of paper- a piece of paper Mrs. Hemmings gave him, showing a route to the place he wants to go.

The vehicle stops and Ashton stands, hopping off the bus, going for the iron door just beside the muddy road.

He pushes it open, the rust on it sticking on his hands, the scent of soil coming up to greet him. As he keeps walking stones appears- delicately carved, yet lifeless.

An oak. That’s what she told him- an oak beside him.

He lifts his head, looking around, and found it- an oak, already tall, rising from the soil, pointing straight to the pale-gray sky.

Uncertainty and fear echoes in the back of his mind, trying to stop him, as he just goes on.

He’s already experienced lost once. He doesn’t want to lose it again.

He stops in front of the oak, hesitates before sitting down, cross- legged.

“I don’t know what to say, Luke.”

He stops, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“A part of me is telling me to forget all this, deny it, wave it off as a dream. It’s all just a fantasy, something I pictured, and I’m supposed to, I should...”

“But, Luke, every minute spent with you is so real.”

“They would say I’m crazy, everyone will; I mean, who would believe a person falling in love with someone already gone- and supposed to be in the state of nonexistence? But... you’re like someone I finally found, a person in this world who could understand me... Who I’ve searched for my whole life.”

He sniffs, blinking away the tears welling up, “You know, during my years alone I’ve learned about not to expect, not to hope; but you... you bring the difference, like a light suddenly cracking in. I mean... if you’re there, if you’re really there... please, just please, give me something to hope, to wish for, and don’t just go away like that.”

“Because I’m so lonely,” He finally let it slip, “So lonely, Luke.”

A soft wind picks up, leaves rustling, like an answer. But as he listens on everything just stays silent, like they’ve always been forever. No silhouette, no soft voice belonging to a boy.

The sky’s getting dark, so he just pushes himself up and leaves.

He continues with the life. Attending classes, finishing homework, finally deciding his research orientation. His professor says something about “A big step” and “I know you can do it”, which he just brushes it all off, not truly listen.

He continues to go to the library- but not sitting in that very table anymore, and just stays there for less then an hour each day. He’s read Someone Messed Up the Roses again and again, like all of the other works have suddenly lost their attraction to him.

The pages are all dog-eared and worn out, but he just goes on with it, flipping the pages, ready to read the short story for like the twentieth time.

“I wouldn’t treat a book like that, you know.”

He jumps from his seat, eyes widening, turning around.

Someone turns up from behind the bookshelf.

Messy curls, sea- blue eyes, the lips curling up in a slight smile.

It’s like a dream. He’s in a dream.

Like he can read Ashton’s mind, the blonde walks straight up to him and extends his arms, wrapping him into an embrace.

He feels warmth.

Still no feelings of being touched, the figure still semitransparent, but warmth.

“It’s real. Don’t doubt it.” Luke’s voice is soft, reassuring, barely above a whisper.

Just like he remembers.

The warmth doesn’t fade, like when he’s standing under the afternoon sun, closing his eyes, feeling the hope coming up.

He finally believes it- tears are sliding down his face before he knows it.

“Luke."

#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sosfam #5sos fanart #5sos fandom #5sos slash #first work and I'm nervous as hell

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quietboxcrafter · 7 years

Text

Rational Intensified (Another Stream of Consciousness)

(Non-stream content: I’m going to make an attempt at not running the stream of consciousness through the logical assembler that most of my dreams run through, in an effort to obtain a more pure sample of my thoughts. That being said, they are prone to make less sense.) Entities are floating down the river of consciousness in a manner that truly resembles an apocalyptic future. It’s all twisted about and nothing quite makes sense - however in retrospect, that’s not entirely abnormal.

The connectivity of words function as synaptical crosslinks, carrying a pre-baked logic pathway conceived by the mind of the author - it’s fascinating.

Donuts do cartwheels if you want them to.

We don’t all want to die.

Crabgrass doesn’t grow on trees.

The African Zippo doesn’t light on fire.

Morbid tarantulas.

Morgan Freeman

Piers Morgan Freeman.

Don’t do that if you don’t want to.

The imagination is fickle, do what your dreams tell you.

I can’t lie anymore.

Energy is highly subjective.

(Non-stream content: It would appear that without running the thought-seeds through the assembler, they don’t make as much sense and I’m mostly unable to stream anything read-worthy. To briefly explain the assembler, it’s still stream of consciousness, but it allows raw ideas to be processed by what I’m assuming is a similar part of my brain as that which rasterizes dreams - it simply allows more coherent ideas to be produced. This is what I normally do with streams - I’m going to do that now.)

Now that that pesky nonsense is out of the way, allow us to continue onto greater depth - take my hand, we need to go; let’s do this together.

A thousand stars rotate around the Earth in a cyclic disc spinning thousands upon thousands of miles an hour - what do you have to say about that, child?

Don’t take this offensively, but I seriously think that hat looks ugly, and you should take it off immediately.

Ha! I laugh at your mistakes! Bahahaha! Not to say I don’t make my own though - I kinda suck. I’m sorry.

My phone doesn’t vibrate when you text anymore... Actually I think the problem might be that you stopped texting me altogether.

When the heart shatters, it doesn’t behave as a physical object, like a lattice-based crystal would, when it breaks. No no, these pieces don’t physically break apart and fall, scattered across the floor - they dislodge themselves into a state of multidimensional state of being. As with a four-dimensional shape, a hearts shattered pieces a strewn across several states of being in an almost quantum physical way - think superposition. It’s not pretty, and it’s even harder to fix. But more impossible things have been done before. Don’t think about it for too long.

I say, we’ve certainly made some progress with these cups of tea! My my we’re already halfway through! Good thing our mugs’ capacities are over a gallon!

Would you like some Maple Syrup with that?

If you’re finally done killing people, I’d really like you to come over here and help me with this.

So help me, if you’ve not handed in that report by the end of the class period I’ll have your head - in the school newspaper with an embarrassing quote next to it, because that will make you feel embarrassed.

Don’t subjugate me to this mindless drivel unless you’re willing to take the backseat and watch as I drive us on out of here.

If you really cared about me, wouldn’t you stop the madness?

If I’m crying, and nobody can see it - does anybody know?

Mind you, this level of abstraction can render informaties that belong elsewhere, such a state begins to become reclusive and falls apart when it breaks down.

Metaphysics and the internal rasterizer are beginning to reflectively take in themselves in a sort of archaic dance - how fascinating! I can’t help but be pleased to observe such a situation taking place!

Endless - endless - endless, now you see it, now you don’t.

The beginning of power, the artificial informaties that don’t break down are upon us!

My supervisor has informed me that we’re no longer making sense but I honestly don’t care lol.

It’s much more fun to be crazy and lose your mind because you finally get to let lose a little you know?

Abstractifier Incoherence and a General State of Wellbeing™ TM thank you

It’s breaking down, I’m not sure what to think anymore.

Hearing, listening louder, I’m not making sense anymore and I know it.

Can’t hear a cop out, can you?

Stress in a strenuous environment can belittle you.

I can’t believe you’ve made it this far! Want a cookie?

Don’t mind him - he’s a genius.

I ate a cookie.

Don’t listen to him, he’s idiotic.

Mindful rest stations are a blessing and a curse.

Just kidding they’re never a curse.

A bannapple is an abomination - probably.

Thankless cheetahs rest their heads.

Don’t take this lightly, but I think your hat stinks.

Can you hear him snoring?

I don’t know what to wake anymore.

(Non-stream content: I’m listening to music pretty loud right now, and I think it’s destroying my ability to render/hear thoughts properly. It’s 3:30 A.M., but that really shouldn’t affect things too much. Looks like we’re done for now, this has been fun.)

#stream of consciousness

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