 |
|
 |
| Author |
Message |
Estoc
Joined: 20 May 2010
Posts: 109
Location: Canada
Sun Jul 18, 2010 9:12 am |
 Post subject: Stress Writings |
 |
|
EDIT: So, to avoid spamming the writings section this is just going to be a thread for all my stress-induced creations, writing-wise.
I've been incredibly stressed recently, and last night forced myself to sit down and write something, because that always helps me calm down and here's the result.
Also, I dunno if you guys listen to music when you write, but it helps me immensely sometimes and these two songs are what put me in the proper frame of mind for this dumb little thing. (If you want copies of these songs, let me know, I can post them up on mediafire or something for you.)
Between The Bars - Elliot Smith
Hide And Seek - Imogen Heap
______________
Comfort
Today is quite possibly the worst day we’re spent in the studio so far, and it’s not looking up. My head aches, my eyes burn, my throat hurts, I’ve been up for thirty-two consecutive hours and I’m sick and tired of working and reworking these lyrics. I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like. It only serves to strengthen my resolve that people who drink to get drunk are not only disgraces, but complete fools. It doesn’t help that the one and only string that Jack doesn’t have a replacement for has snapped and we’re currently waiting for him to get back from the shop that’s a half hour away or that Sam has decided to lug the needed equipment around, making my head echo with the sounds of his moving. No, there’s very little that could make today much worse.
Adam, thankfully and unsurprisingly has sided with me on this, sitting beside me on the couch, an arm around my shoulders, my head lolling onto one of his; yet another reason why he’s so near and dear to my heart. He knows me better than I know myself; knows when one line in a set of tortured lyrics will set me off and is there with his arms wrapped around me, telling everyone else to back off until I’ve calmed down. Or when Sam is making as much noise as a herd of elephants in a room filled with… potentially noisy objects. Regardless, he is truly a blessing.
“There’s another room with a couch where you can lie down if you want.” God, that sounds good. I mumble into his shoulder and somehow he understands, helping me up and out of the room, stumbling down the hall until we reach the door and let ourselves into a pitch black room that is blessedly silent. We blunder around, searching for said couch before tripping over it and I end up sprawled on top of him, half-laughing, half-snoring, both from utter exhaustion. I can hear him chuckle, the vibrations running through his chest tickle my cheek and sound like low rumbles of thunder in his chest. It’s pleasant.
His breathing evens out, I can hear the quiet whoosh of air in and out of his lungs, the gentle beating of his heart, the fluttering of mine as it struggles to match his, the feeling of complete tranquility when it finally does. His fingers are in my hair, tangling in it, rubbing feather-light circles that have me floating on air, hovering in that halfway place between sleep and awareness. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so at peace; the various aches and discomforts seem worlds away for the moment.
The rumbling in his chest starts again, but this time, he’s not laughing. It takes me a minute in my blissful half-slumber to realize that he’s singing. Or humming. There’s no difference.
It just so relaxing and even that doesn’t do it justice. It’s like there’s this piece of Adam that I’ve known was there and that I’ve caught glimpses of before but that I’ve never really encountered. There’s this naked feeling, this… rawness about it, something that has me curling closer to his warmth, my arms around his neck as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. I can feel his arms around me like two steel bands; arms that are infinitely gentle but so protective, an embrace that I can’t help but feel should belong to a father. Or a lover.
I’ve never heard the song before. Maybe he’s making it up. It just sounds so him so fundamentally Adam that I can’t help but think that it was either written by him or for him by someone who really knew him.
Time drags. It’s beautiful. A second turns into a minute… turns into ten minutes… turns into an hour… And we’re still here, Adam’s still humming, I’m still floating in between and neither of us want to go back.
His humming eventually slips into silence, his hands in my hair still, his breathing slows and deepens and I can hear the air in his lungs once more, the beat of his heart. I’m struck by how utterly precious this moment is to me. As I think about it, I would trade this moment for nothing else on Earth; nobody and certainly nothing material. It’s an experience that would be cheapened by mentioning it in the same sentence as anything and anyone else.
And I’m finally drifting off, I can feel it, I’m slipping from where I float to slide down into darkness and it’s never felt so good.
_________________
| Let me be your constellation, baby ||
|| I'll make you see stars |
Last edited by Estoc on Mon Jul 19, 2010 2:02 am; edited 1 time in total |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Katsu
Joined: 16 May 2010
Posts: 221
Location: Right here. *points*
Sun Jul 18, 2010 9:38 am |
| Post subject: |
|
|
Very nicely written! It's incredibly realistic and even though it's short, reading it makes me feel as if I know who these people are. The sloppy one, the overenthusiastic/chaotic one (the impression Sam made on me) and the calmer, rational one who is there to keep the card house from tipping over.
I love your style, it's easy to read but at the same time you describe things so thoroughly that I can envision what's happening even without knowing where they are or what they look like. And it's so sweet! Like these characters don't necessarily have a relationship or something, it's just so... I dunno. It's awesome ^^
_________________
My boys: Raven, Andante 'Dante' Ho’elun, Alexander, Kaneonuskatew (a.k.a. Kane) and Altair Fenthe'an ab Narkhan & Darai. |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Lid'l
Joined: 06 May 2010
Posts: 663
Location: Taking to the sky, like a Wild Butterfly~
Sun Jul 18, 2010 9:20 pm |
| Post subject: |
|
|
This story literaly turned me to mush . . . so sweet. I agree with what Katsu said above. You have a very detailled style that can suck you up as a reader and make the characters come alive in your head. Their good points, their defects; they're all there. I love it.
Though I d dislike the fact youre stressed out, you do write great stories when you do ^^;; Then again, I've always liked your posts up till now <3 Keep up the good work, darling <3 <3
_________________
Charas, topics and plotlines~
Don't meddle in the affairs of slash writers, for you are cute and go well with other men. |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Estoc
Joined: 20 May 2010
Posts: 109
Location: Canada
Mon Jul 19, 2010 1:45 am |
| Post subject: |
|
|
Thank you both so so much. <3 It means a lot to me that you both like my writing, and my style. I've had a lot of people tell me that it's not to their tastes, or that it's dark (which some of it is), so hearing positive feedback from people whose own writing I respect - and who I respect in general - is really gratifying.
It's so incredibly cathartic for me to write when I'm having a rough go of it, so expect more. Lawl. ><;
EDIT: Oh look. Another one.
Based off the 'Velveteen Rabbit' which was totally my favorite childhood story.
Musical inspiration provided for your listening enjoyment:
Over The Rainbow - Matthew Morrison and Mark Salling
________________
Real
The clock read 11.03 PM and next to it, wearing soft pajamas and nestled into the blankets, Luke slept, clutching his week-old stuffed rabbit to his chest. There were the usual noises of night; the last of the summer crickets outside the half-open window, the creak of the rocking horse as a breeze touched it, the sounds of the master and mistress of the house slipping into bed and wishing each other a good night. The moment they slipped into slumber was the catalyst for some more unusual noises; the sounds of the boy’s playthings getting up and moving about.
The rabbit’s button-blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he twitched an ear and then eased himself from the boy’s arms, careful not to wake him. There was a soft thump as he flopped off the bed and landed on the floor, narrowly missing a regiment of toy soldiers who looked offended. He apologized and the troops continued marching, the rabbit watching them for a moment before hopping over to the rocking horse. It was clear that the horse had seen better days; the lacquer had been rubbed off the wood in many places, the tracks had been repaired many times, the saddle long lost amidst fond memories that the boy held as he slept.
In the week that the rabbit had spent at his new home, he and the rocking horse had grown to be good friends. They talked often when no one was about and the horse had recounted many of his stories for the rabbit, much to their mutual delight.
The two sat in companiable silence for a moment before the rocking horse spoke.
“I’m going to be thrown out soon.” The rabbit was shocked – and a little appalled.
“Why? I thought he loved you.”
“He does. He’s too big and too old for me now. And I’m no use to anyone else the way I am. I used to believe that if you were loved enough that all your fur fell out, your threads were rubbed raw and all the wooden parts were splintered that you would become real.” The silence held their tongues for a moment.
“And you don’t believe that anymore?” The rabbit asked, looking down at his glossy imitation fur, still a clean blonde color. The horse didn’t answer, but didn’t have to. “I’m sorry.” The rabbit said, the emotion clear in his voice. He reached up and the horse lowered his neck so the rabbit could embrace him. “I’ll miss you.”
“Nonsense,” the horse said rather abruptly. “The boy loves you now and you must be sure to make him happy. Have I ever told you the story of the third day of July, two summers ago?” He had, but the rabbit shook his head and listened intently as it unfolded yet again.
As the sun peeked above the horizon and the sounds of a stirring household started up, the toys all returned to their proper places; the soldiers marched back to their posts by the train station whose tracks ran in a figure-eight on the floor. The engine resumed its position rounding the corner going into the station, the small wind-up mouse scurried away under the bed. The rocking horse and the rabbit shared one last embrace before they too had to return to how they had been left; the horse by the open window and the rabbit cradled protectively in the boy’s arms.
That very same morning, Mr. Puget slipped quietly into the boy’s room and gently lifted the rocking horse, carrying it downstairs and putting it out in front of the house with the garbage bins. The rabbit saw it and couldn’t help the tears that he was supposed to hold back from soaking into his coat. No one noticed.
The weeks and months wore on, turned into a year, and before long, a year and a half had passed and December had arrived. The boy had taken to naming the rabbit Hunter – a fact that the stuffed toy was very proud of – and bringing him everywhere with him. His fur had gradually gone from a sleek satiny blonde to a coarse dingy grey and as the boy grew another year again and again, he got shabbier, but never thrown out as the rocking horse had been.
Instead, he was placed on a shelf, high above everything else – out of sight, out of mind, out of the way – and left for dust to settle on. But he didn’t mind. He was sad and even a little envious of the boy’s new playthings; a box with moving pictures that was placed in the corner of his room, a shelf of models of Buckingham Palace, the Seattle Space Needle, the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building, a bulletin board of sketches and ideas.
And then one day, the boy woke up and started packing. Hunter watched as almost everything the boy needed for college was packed neatly and snugly into several boxes, suitcases and bags and piled into the car. He sent a silent call to the boy ‘<i>Please please please take me with you!</i>’ but it went unnoticed, unheard, unwanted, like himself. And for the second time in his life, the patched, faded, grimy stuffed doll cried with the sound of the car pulling away as the backdrop for his misery.
Three days Hunter cried and on the fourth, as he stared out into the empty space of the room with cold unseeing blue button eyes, he dreamed of a shape. She – it was certainly a she – didn’t really have her own shape but was a lot like the stuff the boy used to glue together the models of those buildings. It spoke.
“Hunter. Do you remember the rocking horse?” Of course he did. He had promised never to forget him. “How he believed that if he was loved enough that he would become real?”
‘<i>Yes,</i> Hunter thought, ‘<i>But he was thrown out instead.</i>’
“Yes, but when it was clear that he would never be taken into a home again, I made him real, his reward for being as good as he was. And I’m here to do the same for you. You love your boy more than any other toy I have seen, you cried when he left you and wanted him to take you with him.” Yes, he had. He was a little ashamed. “Your devotion is admirable and I’m willing to grant your wish and let you go with him wherever he goes.” Hunter’s ragged ears perked up as much as they could as the cloth melted from them and fell to the shelf in shreds. His head followed, and then the oddest feeling of total disembodiment until he was left standing, dizzy and disoriented but real in the boy’s bedroom. The mirror he had never been nearly tall enough to see himself in now showed a handsome boy with clean blonde hair, dressed casually, brilliant blue eyes staring right back. He smiled and so did the boy in the mirror. The shape hovered over his shoulder.
“Ready?” She whispered. He nodded and blinked and found himself in a boys’ residence. Still a little shocked, he sat at the window and looked out, watching for his boy’s car, grinning widely when it pulled up in front of the dorms. Several endless moments later, a tall, thin brunette entered the building, scanned the list to find his room number and roommate, and went to deposit his belongings in said room. Hunter reached out to help him with his bags.
“Are you Hunter?” His boy asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Luke” He offered a hand
“I know.” They shook and shared a smile.
_________________
| Let me be your constellation, baby ||
|| I'll make you see stars |
|
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Lid'l
Joined: 06 May 2010
Posts: 663
Location: Taking to the sky, like a Wild Butterfly~
Wed Jul 21, 2010 10:55 am |
| Post subject: |
|
|
Whaaaa~ This story is so heartwarming! I really felt for the poor stuffed rabbit and am glad he got a happy ending <3
_________________
Charas, topics and plotlines~
Don't meddle in the affairs of slash writers, for you are cute and go well with other men. |
|
| Back to top |
|
| Author |
Message |
Wybsu
Joined: 17 May 2010
Posts: 385
Wed Jul 21, 2010 12:19 pm |
| Post subject: |
|
|
I finally found some time to read your stories~ and woah! They're good! I love short stories like these~ Especially the first one is really cute!! *wants to cuddle up to someone as well* maaw~
You're writing style is brilliant! Don't let anyone ever tell you different, Andrew! <3
_________________
Let us meet in our dreams... |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Estoc
Joined: 20 May 2010
Posts: 109
Location: Canada
Sun Aug 01, 2010 6:06 am |
| Post subject: |
|
|
Thanks you two! <33333
I rarely write fluff anymore (I dunno why, I used to love it), but it's been nice to go back to it for a bit. I should do that more often. c:
____________________
This one's 18+ gaiz, so if you're not into explicit yummymansmut you may want to opt out of reading this one, kiddies. c:
Also, it's AssCreed FANfiction, not ORIGINAL fiction by any means, so again, if that doesn't float your boat, go away.
In the nicest way possible, of course. <3
Le necessary listening material:
You And Your Heart - Jack Johnson
Heading For Nowhere - Jets Overhead
I highly recommend Jets Overhead, I think they're fucking fantastic. They're from the capitol of British Columbia, Canada, (my other home!) and not only are they sweethearts in person, they're one helluva live performance to see.
Lastly, for those of you not Italian-inclined, here's a rough translation of what I've thrown in. Be warned, though, it's been a very long time since I've taken any Italian courses, so I might be off.
Il mio Dio - oh my God
So - I know
Chiedo scusa, il mio amico - I apologise, my friend (literally, 'I ask excuse/forgiveness, my friend')
l'ha Mancato - I missed this/you (literally, 'it was lacking')
Il mio Amore - my Love
Sì - yes
Dagli Dei - by the Gods (literally, 'of the Gods' or 'from the Gods')
Dirlo - again / once more
L'olio - [the] oil
Sono pronto - I'm ready
Il mio Dio, per favore! - my God, please!
Miniera - Mine
Più - more
Poiché lei ama - As you wish / as you say (literally, 'since she loves'; I believe it's an Italian idiom. I could be wrong.)
___________
Leonardo growled at the painting in front of him, frustrated with several small bits, a few large bits and everything in between. Angry at himself for his lack of patience and the difficulty he was having, he carefully quashed the urge to throw his paintbrush across the room and instead, forced himself to place it – and his palette – gently on the desk. He paced the room in irritation, frowning; he wanted Ezio back already, he missed the scarred assassin and his deceptively gentle fingers and eyes. He always knew what to do when the artist was in bad humor.
Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Leonardo snatched his hat from where it hung on by the wall and left, the door creaking miserably as he closed it a little more forcefully than he had meant to. He frowned and walked with angry feet down the street, the exercise and sunshine helping to clear his mind.
It was a busy day; people flocked to the vendors that lined the streets, the jingle of money exchanged for small trinkets, food and other goods was loud in the blonde’s ears, the glint of the brilliant light as it slanted off something polished and caught his attention. The call of a bird overhead caught his attention and he looked up to see a large falcon wheeling in the sky, making a small circle before catching sight of something Leonardo couldn’t and streaking after it. He felt the dissatisfaction and annoyance slowly start to seep from his body, as if it had been a poison, but his shoulders and back still remained knotted with slight worry and an obvious ache that emanated from his chest. He knew he was pining, realized how pathetic he felt but couldn’t seem to eradicate the feelings entirely, despite how much he scolded himself.
He turned down an alley, the sunlight momentarily obscured, before reemerging onto another street, this one only marginally less busy, but quieter. Small shops lined the cobblestone way instead of vendors and the people were more sedate in their business. His frustration almost gone, the artist continued down the street, his pace slowing to take in the scenes from everyday life; it never failed to inspire him, the littlest things were often the ones that made the most monumental differences. He paused by a standing cart of hay, contemplating buying an apple or some such thing to eat as he walked, one eye still fixed on the people as they went about their business.
So preoccupied was he with his trains of thought that he never noticed his captor until those arms, reminiscent of steel bands, were about his shoulders and a cheek next to his own.
“Surprise.”
He gasped sharply, surprised, shocked until he turned his head slightly and caught sight of a familiar scar along smiling lips from the corner of his eye.
“Il mio Dio, how you frightened me, Ezio.”
“So. The hammering of your heart against your chest tells me as much. Chiedo scusa, il mio amico.” Leonardo took a deep breath, secretly reveling in the feel of having his friend’s arms around him once more. The embrace brought memories of hazy pleasure to the forefront of his mind and he smiled distantly
“I.. l'ha mancato.” He murmured.
“I missed you too, Il mio Amore.” Both men, assassin and artist, could have stayed in the embrace indefinitely, but they were beginning to attract stares from passerby and neither were particularly fond of the unwanted attention. Ezio leapt from the cart nimbly, with the graceful ease that made Leonardo think of large deadly cats.
“Do you still keep your studio?”
“Sì.” Neither said anything more as Ezio smiled in a way that promised wickedly sinful things and melted into the shadows. Leonardo found himself hurrying back to the studio, alone, but with considerably happier thoughts than when he had left. He nearly ran the last several feet to the unhappy door as it was hurriedly slammed closed after him, his feet taking him back to the room with the still-damp painting sitting rather mockingly on the easel, his attention entirely on the man sitting casually on the balcony railing just beyond the bed, his legs crossed casually a Cheshire grin playing about his lips, as if scaling a building was a daily occurrence. Which, Leonardo was forced to admit, it probably was.
Unimportant matters were thrust aside as Ezio walked into the room properly, greeting his blonde artist much more intimately, touching their lips together for the first time in several weeks. Hunger consumed them both as the darker man and his fingers sought the clasp of his artist’s cloak, the cloth slithering to the floor with the satisfying rustling whisper of expensive clothing. Those fingers, ever impatient, didn’t wait to feel if the cloak had fallen before setting themselves to work on undoing the belt and tunic underneath.
There was a short respite in the kiss, mutual room to allow the other to breathe before Ezio’s teeth were teasingly nipping at the other’s jaw, his neck, nosing beneath his clothes to leave stinging bite marks along the muscle that joined neck and shoulder.
“Ohhhhh… Dagli Dei, Ezio...”
“Say my name again. Dirlo.” The assassin sighed as his artist undid his belt and sash, dropping them to floor just as fast as he’s disposed of Leo’s.
“Ezio, Ezio…” The blonde chanted the name as if it were a warped prayer of some sort, a hymn, something that would save him. Neither one of them could wait; rather roughly, Ezio shoved Leonardo’s chest onto the bed, his hands anxiously pushing down soft, well-made trousers to grip pale hips that he knew every dip and hollow of. He kicked his own trousers down as far as his boots would allow, his tongue reacquainting itself with the shivering artist’s ear.
“L'olio?”
“Sì, on the table – ah! There!” He bit his lip as Ezio rocked against him, pressing himself against Leo’s exposed backside. The assassin snatched up the oil, spilling some in his haste to dip two fingers in. He wouldn’t’ve bothered, but he knew Leonardo had not seen any other men in the time that he had been gone. It flattered him, but left him a little impatient when he had to take precautions not to hurt the man beneath him. His actions, however, belied his hurry and were gentle as he made sure Leo was comfortable.
“Sono pronto, Ezio, I am ready.” He needed no reassurance as he pushed firmly, slowly, demanding. There was no minute for adjustment, no time to let the artist get used to it again; he didn’t need it. Already, he was arching back, pressing his ass back against the assassin, pleading loudly in Italian for more. It turned Ezio on to no end.
“Ohh, il mio Dio, per favore, Ezio -- oh! Mmmm, nnh...!” The sound of flesh meeting flesh was obscene and loud in the open room, but neither noticed. Leonardo’s face was pressed rather uncomfortably into the bed, but he didn’t care – the feeling of Ezio’s cock as it moved was something he had missed more than he cared to admit. He felt a slight change in the angle of penetration as Ezio bent over the other and brushed his hair away from his neck, pressing kisses to the skin there.
“Miniera.” He mumbled sharply, pressing deeper into the blonde’s body, one hand leaving its place on the other’s hip to glide down to the his erection, toying with the soft, barely-there blonde curls that led the way. His fingers, not soft and pampered, but rather, callused and work-hardened, were electrifyingly satisfying in their coarseness as they slid along his length, maddeningly slow and gentle.
“Più, Ezio!” He moaned into the sheets, his voice muffled but understandable
“Poiché lei ama.” Ezio complied with Leonardo’s demand, his hips moving a faster, harsher tattoo against the skin of the blonde artist’s bottom, his fingers tugging more insistently at his partner’s erection, coaxing the other to the spire of ecstasy and blind pleasure that he, too, teetered on.
All too soon, he’d lost his balance and fallen, his grip on the other’s hips tightening almost painfully as he let his self control go, taking Leo with him. Numbly, he was aware of wet slickness on his hand, of his artist falling, half-on, half-off the bed in a rather uncomfortable position. His mind still fuzzy, he gently lifted the other’s legs and put them on the bed, laying beside the blonde and wrapping himself around him.
“Il mio Dio, Ezio, but I missed that while you were gone.” The words were slightly slurred and tired-sounding, as if he were fighting to stay awake.
“Go to sleep.” Ezio muttered fondly, kissing the man.
“… And you’ll be here later?”
“Sì. Always.”
_________________
| Let me be your constellation, baby ||
|| I'll make you see stars |
Last edited by Estoc on Sun Aug 01, 2010 1:28 pm; edited 1 time in total |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
| Author |
Message |
Katsu
Joined: 16 May 2010
Posts: 221
Location: Right here. *points*
Sun Aug 01, 2010 11:29 am |
|
| Back to top |
|
 |
Page 1 of 1 |
All times are GMT
|
|
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum
|
phpBB skin developed by: eXtremepixels
|
