seen from Poland
seen from Israel
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Guatemala
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Yemen
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from Norway
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Africa
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Mexico
seen from Yemen
seen from Italy
Kemistry & Storm, Godmothers of Drum and Bass
Underneath it all, the mundanity of real life and the existential turmoil inside his head, Paul realised that he was tired, terribly tired, the kind of tired that lives in your bones and makes your teeth ache. He had been tired for as long as he could remember and yet he had never, not for a moment, considered rest an option.
Now it was.
He slept and woke and slept and woke and he loved Feyd and he loved Alia and be tried his best to tolerate himself and at the end of each day when that work was done, he did his best to be still, to sleep, to find good dreams.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ch 18/18, 120,679 words
“Does it help?” Paul asked one day over lunch while he watched Feyd pick at his meal, separating the meat from the grain and then mixing it up again. “You’ll have to be more specific.” “Starving yourself, cutting yourself, staying indoors all day. Take your pick.” Feyd considered it for a few seconds, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ve been here for over a month now and I haven’t killed myself or anyone else so it must be working. That’s good, right? A whole month with no casualties.” “Not for most people, no. Though I do concede that you might be something of an exception in that regard.” “I think you’ll find I’m an exception in many regards,” Feyd said with a flash of his teeth. Paul was slowly getting used to the lack of black paint. It made Feyd look younger, more human. “I’m glad to see that passively starving to death hasn’t had any effects on your vanity,” he quipped. Feyd actually laughed at that, Paul did too because it was funny. If they couldn’t find humour in the bleaker aspects of their lives, Paul thought they would have been dead a long, long time ago. Feyd especially. “Yes, well, when I finally take my exit from this world, I can assure you that my vanity will be the last thing to go.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Paul wasn’t sure how long they lay like that, chest to chest and face to face as the water cooled and their skin pruned, their hands wrinkled and grippy as they entwined above the water. In fact Paul was almost asleep when he heard the front door swing open and quiet footsteps head toward the living room. He had mentally braced himself for a snide comment from his sister, likely about his sodden clothes, before he heard an unfamiliar voice.
ANNOUNCEMENT:
I will be posting the final chapter of APTIUT this evening!! I actually don't know how to feel about it finally ending but I hope you guys like it 😭
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
They sat by the fire until all that remained was twinkling embers and the lingering smell of wood smoke in their hair. When they came back inside it was broad daylight and Feyd was shivery and pale, partly from the freezing temperatures but mostly from the emotional strain of it all. Before he could collapse back into his couch cocoon Paul steered him into the kitchen, pulling a chair out from under the table and setting it in front of the counter. leading him gently by his hunched shoulders, Paul sat Feyd down in front of the kitchen sink like a child on hair-wash day. He filled the sink with crystal water and scrubbed at his tangled curls with a bar of thick, luxurious soap that smelled of salt and ocean herbs.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“So this is how you feel?” He asked. Feyd smiled in return, a funny thing like a melted plastic doll, infected with something of the tragic clown. Even now, Feyd was finding humour in all of it. He was good at that. “I suppose it is,” he said with a sigh, diverting his attention back to the series of shallow cuts across his bicep and then to the knife and then to Paul. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I hadn't worked on APTIUT for like a week and getting back to it tonight was like coming home to a warm fire, oh my gosh, I love them
