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How to Talk to Your Personal Angel at World by sleeepisaplace for Sixhalfmk
Fandoms: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
13 Jan 2019
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私人天使搭讪指南
- Language:
- 中文
- Words:
- 11,346
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Kudos:
- 2
- Hits:
- 90
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Their eyes connect for a single second and its enough to make Theo feel nauseous - what the fuck is he doing here? He thinks, as he notices he’s got the same look on his face all those years ago when they met for the first time. The corner of his mouth jerks up in a smile and Theo feels the urge to cry or empty his insides in a nearby bathroom, because now his heart is his throat and it’s beating faster than the speed of the car his dad was driving when he died. He feels like he’s going to slip off the bar stool and into a black hole where birds don’t sing and explosions don’t kill mothers.
Boris fucking Pavlikovsky.
The pleasure is all mine.
(Theo and Boris reunite a few years earlier)
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because the opportunities are meant to be seized and to be ignited with the fire of your existence.
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It’s the complete opposite of what they are doing right now, though. This has nothing to do with lust, or desire, or the feeling of wanting more. This is letting someone in, and even though Theo hates letting people in, he lets Boris do it this time. Because pulling up walls is something so exhausting, so extremely tiring, that he simple can’t do it anymore. Not again. Not tonight.
Or, in which Theo has another panic attack and Boris is there to calm him down.
(Soft, sleepy boys, nothing else.)- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,991
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 9
- Hits:
- 106
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you know it’s gonna get better by lsversclvb for borispavlikovsky
Fandoms: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
16 Dec 2018
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We formed a whole.
A whole mess of sadness and despair, certainly, but a whole. Our souls were mixing together, our hearts were suffering together, but we were together. We were alive. We, Boris and I, lived the moment. Whether it was moments when my body was on his, or when my laugh broke my melancholy through his stupid stories, or when he stroked my back while singing Russian nursery rhymes at twilight, these were moments that allowed us to hang on, and continue to live. And they’re probably the best moments I've ever lived in my whole life.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 3,051
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 6
- Hits:
- 93
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if i could exist in / a single moment, i would stay here, in this / darkened room, searching for light
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with a pen in your hand, love in your heart and regrets in your mind; fear slips out on to the page into the words that you left unsaid. the words you left on that sidewalk to be forgotten.
only it’s not that easy.
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He’s sure this is the most honest he’s ever been, but inevitably, this will all be forgotten in the morning. Whatever happens will be pushed to the back of their minds with as much strength as possible, and they’ll move on like it was all some sort of dream. They’ll wake up side by side and start joking with each other like things are normal, they’ll start drinking, smoking, wasting away… and they won’t talk about it; because the curtain in the corner will never come down and the ghost will always remain. In truth, and both of them know this truth, they’re only ever honest with their feelings in the night — and sometimes they beg the earth to stop turning so the sun will never rise.
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"E poi c’era Rich Tozier. Eddie era sempre più sicuro di aver sentito quella voce (o meglio, quelle Voci), e qualche volta gli era sembrato di poter anticipare la fine di una sua battuta, semplicemente perché l’aveva già sentita raccontare.
Quando? Dove? Questo gli sfuggiva."New York, febbraio 2003.
Un Eddie Kaspbrak ventisettenne si impegna a condurre una quasi normale routine da adulto, ormai definitivamente lontano dall'infanzia burrascosa trascorsa nel Maine. Ma alcune voci non vogliono saperne di rimanere mute, e Eddie si troverà ad ascoltarne una familiare alla radio del suo taxi.(o anche: un piccolo scorcio sulla vita di Eddie in quei ventotto anni lontano da Derry.)
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Theo needs Boris and his comforting touch, so the boys end up confessing. Angsty fluffy smut, nothing else.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,145
- Chapters:
- 3/?
- Kudos:
- 12
- Hits:
- 360
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Because that's how they handle things: every three or four months, Boris gets a new girlfriend and disappears from his life, so that Theo can deal with his disastrous marriage, have some unsatisfying, chore-like sex with Kitsey that leaves both of them frustrated and bitter, and fall into a depressive state again. Then one day Boris comes back – talking about how love went wrong, and he tries hard but always loses, but that won't stop him from loving because that's just his inner nature – and in a matter of time they find themselves like this, discovering new layers of skin again, even if they'll try as hard as possible to rip the word again out of their minds.
Trying to fix what was broken from the start is a hard task. Talking about it is out of question. No matter how much time passes. -
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Suddenly, it's too much. It's weight that Theo can no longer carry.
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Eight years is a long time.
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I remember waking up in the night, the clock reading something stupid and the only sound I could hear was the low hum of the fan in the corner of the room, making my brain go even more blank than it already was. I was on autopilot, the whole thing was on autopilot. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb and cold even though it was one of the warmest nights there ever was.
I knew he was sleeping next to me, but I didn’t register it. Maybe if I had let my eyes linger on his sleeping figure a little longer then I would’ve resurfaced and not walked out the room.
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A morning after, a desk filled with nonsense, and suppressed emotions.
'It had been painful, whatever had caused the scar to be made. The red dangerous colour remained years after healing, one that said it still ached if he laid on his side for too long, if he turned a funny way, or if he thought about it too much.' -
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I knew he knew I needed him as much as he needed me. He knew I knew he couldn’t bear to be left alone as much as I couldn’t. We had grown accustomed to being wrong together all the time, while we laughed and convinced ourselves the world was the one that was wrong.
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It’s only when Theo is seated on the plane that he realizes just how impulsive this is. He has no idea what he’s going to say. Hey, Boris, I know this is going to sound really gay, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, and I think about you all the fucking time and I miss sleeping next to you. Let’s make-out??
(Theo finally deals with his feelings.)
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“Out with it, Potter.” Boris says, he holds the cigarette out to me, and I take it tentatively. We’ve done this so many times before, like an old habit, passing it back and forth until it ran out whilst talking about god knows what. This time, though, I’m far too aware that the cigarette has touched his lips when it’s sitting in between my own.
I shrug again, and I ought to stop. I know it annoys him. “You are good for me, more than you think you are.”
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Of all the people in this world, Boris cares the most. His touches, his words, all of his effort. He cares about Theo. But beyond that, beyond caring, there lies the unspoken territory of something else. Something doors are opened to when an arm reaches out and pulls him close in the middle of the night, or when Theo feels himself go warm everywhere, from his skin to his bones; when he falls into that territory but doesn’t acknowledge its existence.
They both know it’s there.
They ignore it, though; they go on with how they are, they don’t speak of it.
Series
- Part 4 of the midnight chronicles
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"Might I ask why there's Doritos everywhere?"
"No."
Series
- Part 2 of moments of half-clarity