OKAY. THIS IS MY ANSWER TO "I AM A FUCKING SHITTY WRITER"
Because I was writing, right? And I realized that I was. And I proceeded to angst about it for a couple of hours.
And then go and change my whole...er, thing of writing? Totally forgot what it was called - and came out with this. Pretty happy, for once.
Jacob groaned, his back hitting the wall, his hands scrabbling on Ryan’s back.
“Mine,” Ryan muttered, nibbling on Jacob’s ear, pulling at his hair, harsh, rough. “Mine. Always mine.”
“Do you have-“
“Yes.” Ryan drew the foil packet out of his pocket, and placed one hand on the waistband of Jacob’s dark grey tracksuits, pushing them down to his knees. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” Jacob threw his head back, reaching down, cupping his hands around Ryan’s arse, under his pants. “Good,” he repeated, too dazed to say anything else.
Ryan paused for a second, hissing. “Fuck. Your nails - do you ever cut them?”
A shiver of fear spiked Jaocb, and he shot up, back ramrod straight, the beginnings of an erection wilting as he recognized the familiar sensation. “Fuck,” he whispered, dropping his hands, clenching them into fists, trying to ignore the elongating nails digging into his palms. “Uh, you should - I -“
“C’mon, no one will find us,” Ryan groaned, placing his hands on Jacob’s chest, pushing him back into the wall. “What ae you afraid of? It’s not your first time, is it?”
“No!” Jacobs answer was violent, matching the shakes beginning in his body. He used his fists to shove Ryan back, and stepped to the side, wincing as his wings stretched at his back. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“Jacob-“
Jacob didn’t answer back this time, running instead. He let the tears seep through his eyes, knowing that they’d only quicken his pace. Ryan couldn’t find out about this. No one could. Not even his parents knew - and he was going to keep it that way.
When he reached his house, he let himself in, thumping up the stairs, darting into his room and locking it. A yell of agony burst through his throat as he yanked his shirt off his back and his wings, crumpled and bloodied, spread forth.
They were large, each one enough to cover his body at least twice. He turned around and grabbed the edge of his right one, tugging at it, crying and howling in pain. This thing couldn’t exist anymore. He was an abomination. He was never meant to exist.
The wing beat furiously against his palm - his own defensive reactions. He wished he could stop it, it just made things harder, but concentrated on pulling it out. If these things didn’t exist anymore, then nothing would fuck up his life anymore, and he would be happy.
After half an hour of this pulling - and a shitload of tears - he collapsed to the ground, curling up. “I give up,” he sobbed, once more. It always happened like this. He should’ve seen it coming.
“I give up,” he repeated, and as he did, his wings spread out once more, as if flexing, before covering him in their soft, white, bloodied, feathers, and rocking him to sleep, just like a baby.
Will anything be done with it? Most likely not. I think I'm sick of writing purely "real world" - writing is an escape. Not a time to wallow in the real world again.
And then go and change my whole...er, thing of writing? Totally forgot what it was called - and came out with this. Pretty happy, for once.
Jacob groaned, his back hitting the wall, his hands scrabbling on Ryan’s back.
“Mine,” Ryan muttered, nibbling on Jacob’s ear, pulling at his hair, harsh, rough. “Mine. Always mine.”
“Do you have-“
“Yes.” Ryan drew the foil packet out of his pocket, and placed one hand on the waistband of Jacob’s dark grey tracksuits, pushing them down to his knees. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” Jacob threw his head back, reaching down, cupping his hands around Ryan’s arse, under his pants. “Good,” he repeated, too dazed to say anything else.
Ryan paused for a second, hissing. “Fuck. Your nails - do you ever cut them?”
A shiver of fear spiked Jaocb, and he shot up, back ramrod straight, the beginnings of an erection wilting as he recognized the familiar sensation. “Fuck,” he whispered, dropping his hands, clenching them into fists, trying to ignore the elongating nails digging into his palms. “Uh, you should - I -“
“C’mon, no one will find us,” Ryan groaned, placing his hands on Jacob’s chest, pushing him back into the wall. “What ae you afraid of? It’s not your first time, is it?”
“No!” Jacobs answer was violent, matching the shakes beginning in his body. He used his fists to shove Ryan back, and stepped to the side, wincing as his wings stretched at his back. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“Jacob-“
Jacob didn’t answer back this time, running instead. He let the tears seep through his eyes, knowing that they’d only quicken his pace. Ryan couldn’t find out about this. No one could. Not even his parents knew - and he was going to keep it that way.
When he reached his house, he let himself in, thumping up the stairs, darting into his room and locking it. A yell of agony burst through his throat as he yanked his shirt off his back and his wings, crumpled and bloodied, spread forth.
They were large, each one enough to cover his body at least twice. He turned around and grabbed the edge of his right one, tugging at it, crying and howling in pain. This thing couldn’t exist anymore. He was an abomination. He was never meant to exist.
The wing beat furiously against his palm - his own defensive reactions. He wished he could stop it, it just made things harder, but concentrated on pulling it out. If these things didn’t exist anymore, then nothing would fuck up his life anymore, and he would be happy.
After half an hour of this pulling - and a shitload of tears - he collapsed to the ground, curling up. “I give up,” he sobbed, once more. It always happened like this. He should’ve seen it coming.
“I give up,” he repeated, and as he did, his wings spread out once more, as if flexing, before covering him in their soft, white, bloodied, feathers, and rocking him to sleep, just like a baby.
Will anything be done with it? Most likely not. I think I'm sick of writing purely "real world" - writing is an escape. Not a time to wallow in the real world again.