Daniel Sharman Inside the Episode “Red Dirt”
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@bonebreaking
Daniel Sharman Inside the Episode “Red Dirt”
shadowreigned.
The Brooklyn sun shines through their bedroom window at exactly six thirty-five and fourteen seconds — and, despite how often he admires, regardless of where they are, the light on Aspen’s dark Italian skin still knocks the breath out of Nixon. A tender smile touches the corners of Nixon’s lips as he stares, fingers casting shadows over his fiancé while his thumb caresses Aspen’s smooth complexion. What feels like a lifetime spent together, and what will be eternity spent in the future, and Nixon still feels the skip in his heart like when they’d first met. “Rise and shine, tesoro…” His lips press soft against his lover’s cheekbone and his legs tangle endlessly with Aspen’s, desperate for warmth, for touch, for him. Nixon drags his tongue along the shell of Aspen’s ear, places a kiss on his temple, lets the calloused pads of his fingertips trace patterns in his lover’s skin. “There’s food to eat, people to see, countries to take over… We’ve already conquered Italy.” Each sentence, accentuated with a kiss, a bite, a lick. “It’s time to reclaim our throne, darling.”
He wakes with goosebumps blanketing his skin and Nixon pressed against his back, the smoggy New York sunlight peering through the curtains a far cry from Italy’s blazing morning rays, but welcome and warm nonetheless. Aspen doesn’t shift an inch at first, terrified, as he often is, that moving might shatter the illusion of his lover’s body warmth radiating against his skin. No matter how many times he stirs back to consciousness wrapped securely in Nixon’s arms, he can never help wondering if his age has finally caught up to him, if his time-addled mind has begun to conjure ghosts from the past to help ease the burden of an endless existence. Somehow he still finds it in himself to be pleasantly surprised when he finds that not to be true. “Buongiorno, amore mio,” he purrs, lifting his chin a few inches to nick Nixon’s jawline with his lips. “Sounds like a busy type of day. Have you any idea where we’ll begin?”
To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
Mary Oliver, from “In Blackwater Woods,” in Wild Geese: Selected Poems (via oephelia)
A Place in the Sun, 1951.
"I just thought it was time for us to make a home together.” nixpennn
Out of anything in the world, Nixon never once imagined himself in a relationship. Never once did he imagine himself happy, over-joyously so, and definitely not in a ‘till death do we part way. When Nixon imagined his future, be it at twelve or fifteen or even twenty, all he saw was darkness. Black. Empty. Loneliness. He never imagined himself in a place where he’d want to live to see another day, curled up in the warm embrace of a man who knew nothing but to love him wholly.
Nixon got choked up the first time he told Aspen he loved him. It still does. It always will.
Even now, he looks back and forth between Aspen’s unwavering gaze and the gold key between his fingers. Nixon thinks for sure that he’s been in some weird eight month long lucid dream, or maybe he’s in a coma. Aspen feels real to the touch, though. Everything about it feels real. He can’t stop thinking about the way Aspen brought it up so casually. He’d been toying over the idea for weeks, asking Aspen to move in to his shitty Manhattan apartment, but it looks like Aspen jumped the gun.
The mere idea of it all makes Nixon fill to the brim with happiness. He wants the early weekend mornings together, tangled in the sheets with sleepy forehead kisses. He wants the hectic work days, when they’re both rushing for coffee and lunches only to come home crashed out on the couch. He wants the nights on the patio, chain-smoking and talking about everything under the sun. He wants the good days. He wants the bad days. He wants the sick days, and the angry days, and the lazy days, and all of the days in between.
He wants Aspen in his purest form. He wants Aspen to see himself in that same way.
Nixon stares at the key, but he already knows what his answer is. He smiles, slow, the corners of his lips twitching up. Aspen isn’t proposing, but he might as well be. He reaches for Aspen’s cheeks first, cups his jaw as he leans down to press their lips together. He pulls back breathlessly, that same soft smile on his lips, as he takes the key.
“Yes,” he nods, as if his words aren’t enough. As if his actions aren’t enough. He giggles, giddy with excitement, and his eyes shine. “You know what’s funny? I’ve been trying to think of how to ask you the same thing.”
even playing with isak’s hair
I miss writing n also aspen turned 94 on the 16th
The sin in me says ‘I.’ I am all.
Simone Weil, from “The Self,” Gravity and Grace (via exoticwild)
grumpytrans:
dont ever call me a pretty boy as an insult,,,, bc ill blush and get flustered real fast
@sunsetsvibe
she can’t stop staring at the scuffs on her mary janes. years of wishing for this moment, months of preparation, weeks of learning line after line after line until she could recite them backwards in her sleep, and this is going to be what breaks her: the fact that she forgot to shine her shoes this morning.
if everything wasn’t so hopelessly unfunny right now, she would laugh at herself. as it is, she continues scowling down at the white wear marks around her toes as if she can will them away with a look, to no avail. emmy huffs and kicks at the floor, figuring a few more nicks in the patent leather won’t make much of a difference at this point. if the cleanliness of her shoes is going to dictate whether or not she gets this job, she’s already screwed.
she thumbs absently through the script in her lap for the fiftieth time that day, so focused on her long-since memorized lines that she nearly doesn’t notice the door opening on the opposite side of the room. her eyes lift from the paper, and emmy offers her new companion a friendly, albeit shaky, grin. she can only assume that this is who she’s meant to read against — the guy who she’ll be partnered with for this little journey should all go well today.
shifting her weight in her seat, emmy straightens and attempts to look cheerful in spite of how nauseous she feels. for someone pursuing an acting career, she certainly could do a better job of it, but, somehow, she senses he may be just as nervous as she is — or perhaps she’s simply projecting.
“you must be the other chum,” she teases, tentatively patting the chair adjacent to her own. “at least they’re throwing us to the sharks together, right?”
“People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think it means ‘mean.’ It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it.”
- Marco, Book #30: The Reunion, pg. 71 (by K.A. Applegate)
And the sweet little angel couldn’t keep her eyes off the devil.
4am (via 4am-reflections)
siippycups.
it’s only a few more months, she can handle it for a few more months. then everything will be back to normal, and she can finally breathe again. some may say she’s being dramatic, but he’s about the only thing that really holds her together anymore. so she’ll stay cooped up inside their apartment until he’s finally released. she knows that would most likely ease any worry he has about her as well, knowing she was safe in their home. while she doesn’t mean for it to happen, trouble is somehow drawn to her. beau would never give up on him, while she doesn’t particularly like seeing him behind bars; she would never leave him. he means way too much to her to let him go. her cheeks flush a rosy shade of pink, just the feeling of his lips ( even for only a second ) has an profound effect on her. they haven’t touched in months, and she’s sure when he gets back they’ll be all over each other. “ –’s not that hard baby.” she giggles, nodding her head. “— yes, i know. if their fighting and then continual make up sex get any worse, i’ll go over their myself to tell them to keep it down.”
he wishes they were alone. he wishes he could have five minutes with her away from prying eyes, just them, no one else. aspen’s skin itches with the desire to touch her, and he finds himself barely resisting, fingers twitching in his lap. the only thing keeping him still is the knowledge that reaching out for her will bring their visit to a rather abrupt end, and aspen refuses to risk losing even a second with her when those seconds are so few and far between. so he keeps his hands tucked between his knees and folded, hoping his self control won’t fail him. “you’re gonna go give ‘em a piece of your mind?” he cracks a smile at that — his tiny girlfriend, determinedly pounding on their neighbors’ door. she can be feisty, and he loves that.
“they might move me out of solitary.” he avoids her gaze when he says it, eyes pointedly boring into the table between them. “they won’t let me have a cellmate, but i won’t be alone all the time anymore. it’s not final, but i suppose they’re sick of wasting money keeping me holed up by myself. i think everyone’s calmed down anyway.” he’s lying through his teeth; once separated from their target, the other inmates attempted poisoning his food, his water, whatever they could get access to. he can’t imagine what they’ll try when he’s within arm’s reach.
parlenee:
i. do not fall in love with me. for i am hungry and cruel & i will hollow you out with heavy secrets & ugly insides.
i am not beautiful, i am scarred. my mind is dusty archives with paper thoughts that my wildfire heart has a tendency to burn.
i will burn you. i will not provide you warmth.
because i am selfish & frigid & i will steal your offered comfort.
ii. do not fall in love with me. for i am a killer.
finger pointed in a permanent pistol, i will whisper compassion with the heavy barrel of my gun.
iii. do not fall in love with me because i am cruel.
i am jealous & messy & savage & i will show you what a true monster is. i will posses you utterly.
i will suffocate you.
iv. do not fall in love with me. for i am a sadist and i will feed you my chaos affection & you will choke.
v. do not fall in love with me. for i am a liar.
i will hurt you & crush you & scream my strength into the air between us.
i will make you feel wonderful & worthless.
vi. do not fall in love with me. for i am weak.
& i will inhale you more than the stolen oxygen in my butterfly lungs. i will rely on you with my life & i will lock my heart away inside your ribcage because I do not trust myself with it.
vii. do not fall in love with me. for i will need you.
goodbye, blue sky…