don't break

i have written you down, now you will live for ages. all the world will read you, i can feel your pulse in the pages.

[loveshack-deactivated20200917]

WHAT IS LIFE IF NOT AN EXCUSE TO BE A LITTLE HOMOEROTIC WEAR SLUTTY CLOTHES AND LISTEN TO LOUD MUSIC! WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO! 

[dinah-lance]

Zoey Deutch attends the 2020 Vanity Fair Oscar Party hosted by Radhika Jones at Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts on February 09, 2020 in Beverly Hills, California.(Source: Getty Images North America)

[muddysocks]

im a total mess.... but.... a glittery, light pink, soft mess

[redrola]

[the-bluespirit]

[medusawrites]

Tenderness lives inside of me like a small creature. She’s wide-eyed, skittish and all too affectionate if coaxed out of the dark corners by someone who appears safe.

When you grab my throat and call me doll, Tenderness hides. She knows you’re softer with others, has seen how delicately you touch those you love. Tenderness knows you’re capable of saying what I want to hear, but knows the professions of love I crave are only on your lips when whispered against another person’s neck.

She tries to warn me, tells me I’m not the same as the woman you love. But I wish we were, so I ignore Tenderness and pretend she doesn’t need to be present or nurtured. 

“We don’t need to have some tender romance,” I lie. 

But I’m also inconsistent. Tenderness sometimes binge-feeds on fantasy and she coerces me to speak more freely than our casual lust has allowed. 

“I want more—I want you—in whatever capacity that leads us towards.”

These words lead me to be a second choice, a sinful escape, a midnight text when the one you love is asleep beside you. You tell me I’m enough, whisper that I’m beautiful, kiss my hand moments before you whisper how amazing those same fingers would feel around your cock. 

Your empty words are bottled honey, as thick as they are suffocating, warm on the tongue. But Tenderness is not fooled—she still cowers behind my ribs as I struggle to pull her out. She knows honey-glazed words will stick longer than you intend to stay. 

I just wanted you to fucking love me as much as you love her. You even said it was possible. 

It should be noted, the words I wanted to hear most were only muttered against my neck right before you would climax. Love is not found under ambient lighting at three in the morning. 

Daylight is where love comes out. It’s not attracted to shadows, but is most prominent under the broad sun. It’s clear and it’s sometimes warm and it’s sometimes under such a bright light that it highlights every flaw and mistake that a curtained bedroom can hide after midnight. 

I will not live in the shadows. I will not lie on my back with my legs spread and my soul exposed for someone who does not want a romance fed by sunshine. 

Shame and humiliation live in darkened corners—I will not force Tenderness to share space with those demons. 

[medusawrites]

I won’t love you, as much as I’m trying to. 

Our bodies don’t curve together. I cringe when our lips squish unevenly together. 

I don’t want to love you, even when I force it.

Gentle fingers refuse to act as a siren’s song as they whisper across my back. 

I wish I craved for your touch, hoping I’ll come around soon. 

Your breath smells. 

Your music sucks. 

You’re not driven or passionate. 

You have the spirit of an unmotivated turtle. 

You refuse to see me for who I actually am-- an asshole. 

An asshole who doesn’t know how to break this off. 

[medusawrites]

egyptian cotton has nothing on that heart you wear on your sleeve. sunbaked skin pours between sheets like warmed honey, whispered I love you's stick and cling to our skin as we hide from the world. a universe lurks behind those haunted eyes, war and peace brimming over the edge. cliffside and winds are gusting up around us. crisp sea salt biting the air isn't strong enough to overpower the memory of your dark curls drenched in lavender conditioner. whiskey-colored locks spill across pillow cases as your dreams comfort you more than i ever could. we're both at ease as you lie beside me. our demons can't touch you as they suffocate beneath the bed spread. i wanted to wrap you in adoration, but your favorite sweater is cheaply sewn together with doubt. you're comfortable and i'm terrified. i cling too tight. seams threaten to split and run.

i love you, i love you, i love you.

you're gone.

[medusawrites]

We were already skidding towards a collision, digging our heels in wouldn’t have stopped it at this point. It didn’t help that I pulled you in and crashed head on. I guess it can’t be called an accident if I swerved willingly.

She knew long before she ever said anything— that was the Narcissa way of living. She had the ability to see each route her life could take, yet stayed on the route her parents had already mapped out for her. It was the chess player in her, seeing each vantage point and opportunity. It was the frightened little girl in her that never veered off course.

Her speed had accelerated each time she was near him; who needed to test the breaks? The girl knew her limits– it wasn’t as if she’d lose control. It was a game she hadn’t played before, but she surely knew the rules. Still, she lingered on that edge each time he neared her, thoughts of wreckage keeping her from going above the speed limit.

Both drivers had their hands on the wheel– they knew it wouldn’t end well, but a clear head was supposed to keep the impending damage from being too severe. What Narcissa hadn’t realized, was that she was driving in fog the entire time.

His light broke through the murky clouds, new found clarity causing her to increase her speed. She could see clearly now, it’s alright. There was no clear end in sight, but at least she could see where she was going now.

The breaks still weren’t tested. She could pull this car over any time she wanted to. Threatened to do exactly that numerous times.

The two were closer to complete wreckage now, racing towards opposite ends of a red light. If they didn’t slam on the breaks soon, the crash would surely kill them.

Headlights shone in her eyes, blinding her from anyone else around them. Stop. Slam on the breaks before this ruins everything.

She sped up. Pulled him in for the kiss. Begged him not to leave.

It’s too soon to tell if there were any survivors, but one thing’s sure: no one is peeling their eyes away from the wreckage.

Bad Brakes Discovered at High Speed--- ( k.s. )

[medusawrites]

The girl who smiles with cold lips as she plays with a string of pearls. Her mother gave her them, not as an act of kindness, but as a collar. To chain her, to remind her who she belongs to. The Blacks. The bloodline, one that’s so pure.

The girl who possessed muddy thoughts one time, when Sirius was first exiled. Her favorite cousin, a chunk of her heart gnawed away. She thought she possessed the knife that cut him out, but it was only when her mother smiled with a mouthful of blood did she realize.

The girl who has never once made an independent choice. Words of superiority have always been wrapped around her, feeling like velvet until they began to tighten around her throat. The ribbon that choked her was tied into a bow. Her lie would always be beautiful.

The girl who never dares to speak up or pull away at the constriction. She’s been pampered and posed in just the right manner; moving out of place would only disrupt the entire picture. The brunette who was positioned beside her for so long dared to untie the knot. A look around shows more than one abandoned ribbon on the floor.

The girl who clings to hers even tighter now, only adjusts the noose to make it more presentable. Now more than ever, she’s expected to keep the stiff pose. Her mother’s stern voice can be heard bellowing all around; reminding her to always smile.

The girl who moves the velvet up over her eyes, fighting the sight of what lies beyond the constriction. She will see no evil, for what lies beyond the comforting truth must be nothing more than slander. Muddied blood will only taint the perfection that has been orchestrated now; far too much work has been put in at this point.

The girl who lifts the blindfold to take a peek. It’s beautiful; it terrifies her. She quickly pulls the velvet over her eyes once more. Her fingers find the string of pearls; they’re a reminder to be polite, obey and you’ll belong. She believes it to be a simple rule to live by, but it is awfully dark when her eyes are shielded so.

The boy who removes the blindfold she’s clinging to. Her nails dig in, she protests as he removes it. He promises that there’s more beyond the surface, she just has to take the plunge. She’s not ready, she struggles with every advance he makes. He never forces her into the water, nothing more than a quick splash here and there to introduce her. He swears he only did it because she wouldn’t stop looking.

The boy who holds her hand when she dips her first toe in. She’s frightened, searching desperately for a life vest she doesn’t need yet. The water feels great, he promises her. You’ll love it more than you were ever told you would. Waves aren’t something to be afraid of; the monsters on the shore where she stood were far more frightening.  

The boy who watches her take off the string of pearls and throw them aside; he witnesses her first breath of fresh air. He sees her face light up as she moves deeper into the water, the shadowed figures on shore becoming smaller. They can’t reach her anymore.

The girl who finally says screw being polite; she never liked Black velvet anyways.

—Mother, I Made Friends With a Gryffindor. (  k.s. )

[medusawrites]

Retirement wasn’t an option—not for these two.

Their happy ending wasn’t written to include a lazy tropical island, infused with tequila kisses and sand covered toes. What they needed almost more than each other was the t h r i l l; something they followed almost as much as the cops chased them.

Fingers were loosely intertwined as he sped down the highway. He didn’t care to slow, weaving throughout the cars as she sat quietly beside him. There was no finish line they had to cross; nothing but the fuel of one another driving them forward.

She was starting to drift to sleep beside him; the circles she traced against his thumb slowing as her head grew heavy. Rori’s grip was loosening on the hand beside her, her chin almost falling to her chest before he gave two gentle squeezes on the hand he’d been latched to.

Just cause I’m at the wheel, doesn’t mean it’s nap time, chillun’.

A hazy grin lifted to meet him, shifting in her seat to comfortably look at the man. “I could always make it snack time—crumbs would decorate your seats so well.” A low chuckle escaped, inaudible over the dull roar of the highway.

You and your fuckin’ crumbs can decorate the side of the road, if that’s what you’re wanting.

His eyes flicked to the brunette, making sure her seatbelt was still intact. Without warning, he slammed on the breaks, her scream accompanying the sharp u-turn he took. As the two faced an upcoming stream of traffic, wide eyes flicked to him—a heightened laugh rolling out.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The cars were coming closer, speeding towards them with little apprehension. As horns began to blare at them, her heart began to pound—wild hazels flipping back and forth between him and the oncoming headlights. Her voice was lifting in fear as he sat idly, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel.

As if he was waiting for something.

“B r o o k s.”

Once the stream of cars was less than seven paces away, he threw his car into reverse—speeding backwards along the highway. He remained close enough for her to see the reactions of the opposing drivers; her reaction being more important to him than theirs.

He’d taken her breath away; catching her off guard entirely as her stomach lurched forward with the unexpected stunt. Rori’s face was drenched with shock, jaw slack from the deep inhale she’d taken to get ahold of herself. As she caught the looks of the bewildered drivers, the girl erupted into a fit of laughter—a smile plastering itself onto her face as she waved to the drivers in sight.

Her head fell back against the seat as the giggles continued to bubble out. As they began to catch up with the cars behind him, he flipped a hard U once more. Her joyous shriek brought about a smile on his own features, her hand pulling his in again as he settled into the monotonous freeway.

“You’re insane.”

Translation: I love you.

[medusawrites]

A one shot inspired by this Leverage AU post.

He was sitting at the table when she walked in; eyes glued to pages before him. Bellamy was bordering on exhaustion, words blurring as he tried to find more depth behind them. He studied the mark, he knew the mark—but he couldn’t figure out how to con the man.

Before Bellamy —unwillingly—left his previous job, people wondered how someone of such an early age could be so good at his job. He was young, a bit of an ass—and yet even as he had problems making friendly with his elderly coworkers, he still got the job done. The Blake boy had a method; one that he didn’t care to hand out to the rest of them. You can only rob a thief, if you think like them. He would enter the mind of a criminal; stalking their trail until he went in for the kill.

It wasn’t as if he was an actual thief; he’d only been stealing what legally belonged to them.

An open palm struck the table, an enraged sound curling out of him. Bellamy hit the top two more times before swiping the entirety of papers onto the floor. He was lost—he needed guidance on which road to take them down. The team was running out of time; having only two days before their target left the country.

She came around the corner at the sound of his frustration, silent steps carrying her across the table from him. As he looked up at her, she could see the baggage hanging heavy beneath his eyes—darkening from the last time she’d checked on him. Bellamy’s jaw clenched as she searched his gaze; finding nothing but desperation and exhaustion. He needed help, she could feel it. The pair said nothing to one another as she reached down to pick up the papers, Bellamy turning away in shame as she did. There was evidence of his outburst—he didn’t like her having documented proof of his downfalls.

If she was judging, she didn’t seem to say anything. He felt gratitude, not showing it with anything other than a flat grin. She never saw it. Lifting the disheveled papers onto the table, she sat before him- sorting through the mess to reorganize. She needed order if she were to help—her clarification came from seeing all of the pieces.  

This was more complicated than the ol’ razzle dazzle—there were four new components to the heist. They could do bigger, better; yet even as she saw the pieces, she couldn’t figure out how to orchestrate them. Her lips pursed as she re-read everything; the words coming together with the same incompleteness they had before. They were missing something; but she couldn’t figure out what.

Bellamy watched her take the same position he had minutes before; hunched over this impossible problem. They were supposed to have a simple con; in and out—leave the mark broken and alone. Yet there were complications; throwing all backup plans out the window. The frustration was evident in her eyebrows, synched together as if squeezing them hard enough would help her find their solution.

It didn’t.

The two said nothing as her head rested on her hand; supporting the weight as she continued to read. “Playing the toddler son card isn’t an option.” She said it more to herself than to Bellamy; he already knew this; they tried to save the innocent; not use them as bait. He fingers at the pile of papers she has under her elbows, the girl’s body lifting slightly to give him leverage. Bellamy pulls out the sheet directly behind hers, diving back into work alongside her.

“Did you talk to them?”

She nods, even though he’s not looking to her for acknowledgment. “They need you in there, Bell. They didn’t come here because of me. This whole operation—it’s inspired by you. They believe in what you want to do here.”

Bellamy’s head still hangs in direction of the desk, his gaze flicking up to her as he processes her words. His jaw clenches instinctively once more, as his eyes flick towards the floor. Her words have stirred an embarrassment in him; even if it’s precisely what he needed to hear.

“They don’t need me—they need a fucking plan.”

As if the words registered something within b o t h people, their eyes look up and meet; a glimmer of light igniting in Clarke’s. Their heads turn towards the door, as if waiting for comedic timing to bring the other three into the room with them. Since no one magically appeared, Bellamy stood- assisting Clarke in grabbing the scattered files they’d been pouring over.

The pair walked side by side into the room where the remaining three sat on the couch—appearing to fight over what would be watched on the television. While both Clarke and Bellamy habitually internalized their problems, no one ever said they had to do this alone.

Bellamy kicked the remote up and out of Monty’s hands; handing it over for Clarke to stick in the hem of her jeans after clicking it off. The leader’s hands hung on his hips as he looked them over, the blonde by his side as he started. “We need a plan.”

Clarke picked up where he ended. “We have three other geniuses in the room, and we weren’t even using it to our advantage.”

None of them were alone now—these five were a team.

It’s about time they acted as such.

[medusawrites]

Your body was constructed with decaying bones. I tried to be your foundation, but ended up crumbling along with you.  Only after I pulled myself from the wreckage, did I realize that you had created this mess with your own two hands. And you had no intentions of leaving to begin with.

loving a self-destructive person. 

[medusawrites]

There's nothing more heartbreaking than watching the determination slip from a fighter's eyes.

[medusawrites]

I think our greatest fault can be found in not knowing who we are. By the opinions and views of others, the vision in the mirror can become drastically distorted. The flaws we have are misinterpreted and misconstrued into something different entirely. Fighting our own human nature will exhaust you to the point of deprecation, and really, what's the point?

Come to terms with your flaws, expose your defects to yourself. Don't relinquish this power to anyone else. They'll abuse it-- people with jaded perspectives always do. 

[medusawrites]

I want to hear your bottled up words that can't make their way to paper.

[medusawrites]

be selfish- everyone else is.

You’re expected to rebuild each morning. 

As the sun rises, the people who claim to adore you will expect you to be the person they come to see across from them. Friends and family alike will gather around in search of guidance or comfort, condemning you if you’re unable to provide the services they’ve attributed to your name. 

As this unjust power is inflicted upon us, we find it unfair. We prepare to defend our inadequacy and hope that just once, someone will understand that you’re unable to provide precisely what they need. 

——But they never do. 

An honest mind slips from our grasp as we fail to remember that we damn our cherished into these expectations as well. Our beliefs solidify the fact that our friends will always hold a listening ear, that our families will prop you up in times of hardship. 

You see, we forget that they too have to rebuild themselves each sunrise. Digging ourselves out of the pit of selfish tendencies is a never-ending journey. It is in the human nature to self-defend, to act in the survival mode. This frame of mind has kept us alive for thousands of years—— perhaps it’s not as bad of a trait as we project it to be.