Sometimes, people tell me random things and then stories happen. Like that time a friend told me to write a Doctor Who stapler monster. Stuff like that
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Evidently Deviltown, Part 7bendingsignpostJuly 18 2011, 05:08:17 UTC
Mickey’s a great boyfriend, really. He’s funny, he is, especially when he’s got a new joke or something. She’s heard all the old ones, seen all his bits - and she means that in every way - and there’s a sense of comfort in the familiarity. He’s like a sofa she keeps sinking into. Maybe she’s not tired when she lies down, but it’s comfortable, eventually. She just has to work through the restlessness first, sometimes.
He’s handy, and patient, and generous. He fixes the dryer and the washer and everything, really. He’s always doing whatever she asks him to do, whatever she wants. He loves her so much. Her mum’s always telling her what a catch she’s found. He’s always doing these little things for her.
It’s like, when he gets that new laptop he’s been going on about, instead of selling his old one, he gives it to her, calls it an early birthnight present. She doesn’t really need it, tries to say so, but he goes on about the country-wide free wifi like it’s the second coming of Jesus fucking Christ until she says thank you. On her actual birthnight, he has work, so she goes out with her friends instead. She can’t get laid and there’s no point holing up somewhere strange until sunset if she’s not going to get laid in the process.
She comes home just as the sky is starting to make her feel prickly only to discover that her mum is out for the day. Howard, again. She’s buzzing slightly from what Shareen likes to call spiderwine. She has no idea what’s in it, besides the blood. If she’s sick, it’ll stain everything, and she really doesn’t want to have to clean tonight of all nights, home and alone on her birthnight.
Not quite alone, she remembers. She opens up the door and wobbles in, plopping down on the floor next to him. He’s reading but she doesn’t care, just starts complaining. She’s saying all these things that she might not mean while sober, that she hopes she doesn’t mean while sober, and he reads on until she runs out of breath.
“What was that bit about the laptop?” he asks after a pause.
She cranes her neck, looking up at him.
His eyes never hesitate in their tracks across the pages. He reads so quickly.
“He gave me his old laptop,” she says. “It’s slow and broken down. Didn’t even ask for anything.”
He goes on reading. He’s ignoring her. She tries to get annoyed with him and can’t, too focused on Mickey. Besides, she might as well get annoyed with a cat.
He turns the pages five times. End of the chapter. Closes the book, puts it down.
“How about we take a look at it?” he asks.
“It’s old and stupid.”
“How about we take a look and make fun of it?”
She thinks about that. “Yeah, okay.”
She gets up and fetches the laptop from her room. Coming back, she realizes she forgot to lock his door, but it’s not like it matters. She opens the laptop, types in her password and hands the thing to him.
He pokes around it for a bit, clearly without an idea of what he’s doing. At least, she doesn’t think he does. They sit with their backs to the wall, leaning, except she’s leaning on him, cheek on his shoulder. He likes her better there, on his right side, know that he knows she bites his left.
She listens to him breathe and type, his vague chatter forever under his breath. Her eyes fall shut to it, closed against the glare of the screen.
It’s nice.
She hears an odd sound and then it’s even better.
“Are you-” She lifts her head, looks at his face. “You are, you’re giggling.”
He points helplessly at the screen. “I found his porn!”
“You what- oh my god, this- What. He gave me his computer and didn’t delete his porn?”
He laughs and laughs, pulling her along with him. He reads out the titles with nothing short of glee. She laughs until it hurts, until she’s gasping.
“Stop it,” she begs through her giggles, almost crying. “Stop it.”
“Not until I figure out if ‘Virgin Love God Sacrifice’ has a Love God who’s a Virgin or a-”
She has two seconds to react before it hits, but somehow she manages to be sick in his toilet rather than on his lap.
He’s at her side before she’s done retching. His hands are warm on her back, making circles. “Sorry,” he says.
Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1bendingsignpostJuly 18 2011, 05:10:24 UTC
She tries to shake her head, but there’s nothing for it. She’s not saying anything for a while yet. And then the noise settles in, the dialogue, and she laughs into the bloody toilet.
“Careful,” he says.
She tries to control herself but only gets down to the point of snickering. “Turn the porn off.”
“I’ve never seen telly before, you know,” he tells her. “I’m sure this is all relevant to my education.”
What education? She thinks it but doesn’t ask it. “We’ll find you something better,” she promises, lifting her head up from the toilet. “Something with a title that makes sense.”
He hands her his cup and she rinses with the water. The consistency is strange. Too sloshy. She spits into the toilet, feeling terrible. He flushes it for her, still rubbing her back. “I’ll turn the porn off,” he says. “Evidently, it’s a virgin sacrifice to a sex god.”
“I thought you lot couldn’t reproduce.”
“Neither can two gay blokes, but that’s never stopped them.” He pauses. “I assume.”
“Not gay, then?”
“Dunno,” he says. “Let me meet a man and we’ll see.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that’s completely ridiculous and that’s her giggling again. “Oh, no, none of that. Rest, lie down, doctor’s orders.”
She keeps on giggling even as he eases her to the blanket-covered patch of floor. Not very soft with only one blanket. “You’re not a doctor.”
“I could be, someday.”
She giggles on. “You’re cute.”
“I don’t know if that was complimentary or condescending,” he says in a huff. But he turns the porn off and shuts the laptop.
Head aching, stomach rebelling, she doesn’t expect to sleep. She doesn’t expect to feel happy either, but that doesn’t stop her in the least.
She wakes to soft breathing and attentive brown eyes, but not the breathing or brown eyes she’s used to. Paler skin here, freckled across the nose. She hurts a bit, empty inside, famished. Worrying her lip, she doesn’t reach for him. Tame doesn’t mean willing and for some reason, right now, that bothers her beyond what she could ever say.
He sits up. Unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. He lies back down facing her, resting on his side. He closes his eyes.
It must be past noon, she thinks. Long past. If she can hold out for a few hours more, maybe four or so, she can stagger down to the corner store, pick up a pack of frozen. She’ll be fine.
His hand settles at her hip. Pulls her closer, brings her face next to his, brings her to stare into his eyelids. His hand travels to her back, to her nape. He draws her in, intentions as clear as the skin he presses to her lips.
She holds to him, to his terribly thin form, pulled with him when he rolls so gently onto his back. She lies across his chest, face in the crook of his neck. Waiting. Breathing. Feeling him do the same.
Long, sure fingers stroke her hair. They smooth out tangles, brush against her ears, her scalp.
She opens her mouth, touches with her tongue, and his hands never falter. Not at the touch, not at the shallow bite or the slow suckling which follows. His movements slow, become tired, weighted, never quite stopping, not until she does.
Warm arms fold over her shoulders. Soft words tickle her ear.
“Happy Birthnight, Rose.”
6.5k words in 24 hours. This thing is eating my brain.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1mylittlepwnyJuly 19 2011, 05:22:00 UTC
OH. OH.
First it was all LOL MICKEY'S PORN WHAT A PRICK and then, then, you slow it down and he holds her hair AND THEN. That entire last bit. His present for her, given soft and dsugiokdl almost lovingly and she's on top of him and he's rubbing her back and you have no idea how much I want them to run away together to fight the system. None. It is incomprehensible, how much I want them to do this.
I SWEAR TO REPLACE YOUR BRAIN JUST AS SOON AS IT'S DONE EATING IT, OKAY. JUST LET IT FLOW.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1bendingsignpostJuly 20 2011, 21:54:23 UTC
/sgkfjl;serkfogiop[lf';r
You know, sometimes, I try to picture your facial expressions, but all I can ever visualize are hyperbole and a half illustrations. Possibly because you fill me with the same sort of ohmygodwhat joy.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1bendingsignpostJuly 20 2011, 22:44:41 UTC
A visual explosion of enthusiasm.
Oh, and there's a typo in the next part. Should be " It’s not like Jackie knows his face or his stupid ears or the crinkles around his eyes when he reads about Quidditch or talks about Hagrid. " Dramatically changes the meaning with "not" not there.
I'm thinking of reformatting, too. Comment chain feels less clunky now that the threads are compressing anyway.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1mylittlepwnyJuly 20 2011, 23:02:00 UTC
I'll never need a self portrait (is it a self portrait still when someone else paints it?), it's all been drawn before.
I read that with such stars in my eyes (SUCH STARS) that I didn't even catch that, man. I must auto-correct on my way down the page because it never occurs to me that I wouldn't know what you meant on at least some level no matter the typo. /at one with the universe when reading your fic lol WHAT UP
I am just saying, you should post this like, officially. Crimes are being committed as we type because so many people don't know about its existence.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 7.1bendingsignpostJuly 20 2011, 23:25:18 UTC
I'm trying this new thing where I finish all of my shit before I post it instead of just having an outline and pissing people off. So I'm having fun here and would like to keep the piecemeal commenting because I really feel like that's changing the way I write this. Tiny scenes. Call it an exercise in pacing, I certainly am.
He’s handy, and patient, and generous. He fixes the dryer and the washer and everything, really. He’s always doing whatever she asks him to do, whatever she wants. He loves her so much. Her mum’s always telling her what a catch she’s found. He’s always doing these little things for her.
It’s like, when he gets that new laptop he’s been going on about, instead of selling his old one, he gives it to her, calls it an early birthnight present. She doesn’t really need it, tries to say so, but he goes on about the country-wide free wifi like it’s the second coming of Jesus fucking Christ until she says thank you. On her actual birthnight, he has work, so she goes out with her friends instead. She can’t get laid and there’s no point holing up somewhere strange until sunset if she’s not going to get laid in the process.
She comes home just as the sky is starting to make her feel prickly only to discover that her mum is out for the day. Howard, again. She’s buzzing slightly from what Shareen likes to call spiderwine. She has no idea what’s in it, besides the blood. If she’s sick, it’ll stain everything, and she really doesn’t want to have to clean tonight of all nights, home and alone on her birthnight.
Not quite alone, she remembers. She opens up the door and wobbles in, plopping down on the floor next to him. He’s reading but she doesn’t care, just starts complaining. She’s saying all these things that she might not mean while sober, that she hopes she doesn’t mean while sober, and he reads on until she runs out of breath.
“What was that bit about the laptop?” he asks after a pause.
She cranes her neck, looking up at him.
His eyes never hesitate in their tracks across the pages. He reads so quickly.
“He gave me his old laptop,” she says. “It’s slow and broken down. Didn’t even ask for anything.”
He goes on reading. He’s ignoring her. She tries to get annoyed with him and can’t, too focused on Mickey. Besides, she might as well get annoyed with a cat.
He turns the pages five times. End of the chapter. Closes the book, puts it down.
“How about we take a look at it?” he asks.
“It’s old and stupid.”
“How about we take a look and make fun of it?”
She thinks about that. “Yeah, okay.”
She gets up and fetches the laptop from her room. Coming back, she realizes she forgot to lock his door, but it’s not like it matters. She opens the laptop, types in her password and hands the thing to him.
He pokes around it for a bit, clearly without an idea of what he’s doing. At least, she doesn’t think he does. They sit with their backs to the wall, leaning, except she’s leaning on him, cheek on his shoulder. He likes her better there, on his right side, know that he knows she bites his left.
She listens to him breathe and type, his vague chatter forever under his breath. Her eyes fall shut to it, closed against the glare of the screen.
It’s nice.
She hears an odd sound and then it’s even better.
“Are you-” She lifts her head, looks at his face. “You are, you’re giggling.”
He points helplessly at the screen. “I found his porn!”
“You what- oh my god, this- What. He gave me his computer and didn’t delete his porn?”
He laughs and laughs, pulling her along with him. He reads out the titles with nothing short of glee. She laughs until it hurts, until she’s gasping.
“Stop it,” she begs through her giggles, almost crying. “Stop it.”
“Not until I figure out if ‘Virgin Love God Sacrifice’ has a Love God who’s a Virgin or a-”
She has two seconds to react before it hits, but somehow she manages to be sick in his toilet rather than on his lap.
He’s at her side before she’s done retching. His hands are warm on her back, making circles. “Sorry,” he says.
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“Careful,” he says.
She tries to control herself but only gets down to the point of snickering. “Turn the porn off.”
“I’ve never seen telly before, you know,” he tells her. “I’m sure this is all relevant to my education.”
What education? She thinks it but doesn’t ask it. “We’ll find you something better,” she promises, lifting her head up from the toilet. “Something with a title that makes sense.”
He hands her his cup and she rinses with the water. The consistency is strange. Too sloshy. She spits into the toilet, feeling terrible. He flushes it for her, still rubbing her back. “I’ll turn the porn off,” he says. “Evidently, it’s a virgin sacrifice to a sex god.”
“I thought you lot couldn’t reproduce.”
“Neither can two gay blokes, but that’s never stopped them.” He pauses. “I assume.”
“Not gay, then?”
“Dunno,” he says. “Let me meet a man and we’ll see.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that’s completely ridiculous and that’s her giggling again. “Oh, no, none of that. Rest, lie down, doctor’s orders.”
She keeps on giggling even as he eases her to the blanket-covered patch of floor. Not very soft with only one blanket. “You’re not a doctor.”
“I could be, someday.”
She giggles on. “You’re cute.”
“I don’t know if that was complimentary or condescending,” he says in a huff. But he turns the porn off and shuts the laptop.
Head aching, stomach rebelling, she doesn’t expect to sleep. She doesn’t expect to feel happy either, but that doesn’t stop her in the least.
She wakes to soft breathing and attentive brown eyes, but not the breathing or brown eyes she’s used to. Paler skin here, freckled across the nose. She hurts a bit, empty inside, famished. Worrying her lip, she doesn’t reach for him. Tame doesn’t mean willing and for some reason, right now, that bothers her beyond what she could ever say.
He sits up. Unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. He lies back down facing her, resting on his side. He closes his eyes.
It must be past noon, she thinks. Long past. If she can hold out for a few hours more, maybe four or so, she can stagger down to the corner store, pick up a pack of frozen. She’ll be fine.
His hand settles at her hip. Pulls her closer, brings her face next to his, brings her to stare into his eyelids. His hand travels to her back, to her nape. He draws her in, intentions as clear as the skin he presses to her lips.
She holds to him, to his terribly thin form, pulled with him when he rolls so gently onto his back. She lies across his chest, face in the crook of his neck. Waiting. Breathing. Feeling him do the same.
Long, sure fingers stroke her hair. They smooth out tangles, brush against her ears, her scalp.
She opens her mouth, touches with her tongue, and his hands never falter. Not at the touch, not at the shallow bite or the slow suckling which follows. His movements slow, become tired, weighted, never quite stopping, not until she does.
Warm arms fold over her shoulders. Soft words tickle her ear.
“Happy Birthnight, Rose.”
6.5k words in 24 hours. This thing is eating my brain.
Reply
First it was all LOL MICKEY'S PORN WHAT A PRICK and then, then, you slow it down and he holds her hair AND THEN. That entire last bit. His present for her, given soft and dsugiokdl almost lovingly and she's on top of him and he's rubbing her back and you have no idea how much I want them to run away together to fight the system. None. It is incomprehensible, how much I want them to do this.
I SWEAR TO REPLACE YOUR BRAIN JUST AS SOON AS IT'S DONE EATING IT, OKAY. JUST LET IT FLOW.
Reply
Dude, do you have any idea how bored this man is? He has a deck of cards and seven books and that is it.
It is incomprehensible, how much I want them to do this.
We'll see how that goes.
Reply
We'll see how that goes.
/sgkfjl;serkfogiop[lf';r
Reply
You know, sometimes, I try to picture your facial expressions, but all I can ever visualize are hyperbole and a half illustrations. Possibly because you fill me with the same sort of ohmygodwhat joy.
Reply
Reply
Oh, and there's a typo in the next part. Should be " It’s not like Jackie knows his face or his stupid ears or the crinkles around his eyes when he reads about Quidditch or talks about Hagrid. " Dramatically changes the meaning with "not" not there.
I'm thinking of reformatting, too. Comment chain feels less clunky now that the threads are compressing anyway.
Reply
I read that with such stars in my eyes (SUCH STARS) that I didn't even catch that, man. I must auto-correct on my way down the page because it never occurs to me that I wouldn't know what you meant on at least some level no matter the typo. /at one with the universe when reading your fic lol WHAT UP
I am just saying, you should post this like, officially. Crimes are being committed as we type because so many people don't know about its existence.
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