jupiter3
desire's a terrible thing
give me a story and give me a bed.
multi by syd.
303 posts
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the shirt is swatted away, but he allows himself to be pulled, sighing heavily like it's a chore. (it could never be, as much as he plays it up. it’s all part of the game.)
"i'm retired because i'm tired," he counters, "you really gonna make this old man get up?"
a tight smile, almost a mirror of patrick’s. he speaks close to his face, like sharing a secret, knowing it’ll rile him up.
“just wondering where that spark is, zweig.”
easy on the ego there. that layer’s not armored today. he’s enjoying the newness.
‘ whaddaya want me to do, take my shirt off? ’
you got it. art dips beneath the collar like he’s there in the dark with him, then rises back out like the sun.
he balls up the moppy thing and slaps art’s chest with it. advantage: zweig. both of his hands drag art’s lazy chair so close he can count his pink sunspots. he’s being looked down on.
‘ you’re retired, not dead. play with me. ’
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organizing this muse page is wild is because a good chunk of these characters i've been writing since i was 15/16... strange to grow up with them and still have them be a part of my creative expression
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practicing data entry and copywriting (re-doing my muse page)
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"i'm not saying all that."
art and patrick are the first. that's what makes it so exciting, so thrilling, to be in control of something like she is on the court.
"i just don't like being bullshitted. that's all."
he snorts so hard he can hear himself from the next week. he didn't know she was into that like that. is that what she's saying?
❝so you want us to, what?❞
see, she keeps harping on that. i'm no this or that; what is tashi duncan? a supernova burning him by, itching at his sweatband and snapping it against his dick.
how many guys has she done this to?
❝make out for your entertainment?❞
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he serves again - never a normal serve, never like art does (not unless there's a secret to be shared).
eyes are locked on her, how she'll send it back to him.
That's all he should ever get to be, her punching bag. She deserves it. Him, too. (Who's pretending? Is she the one walking around with an unwashed ass? How he still looks good is beyond her.)
... She nods jerkily, but doesn't mean yes. Start over.
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he makes a small, disapproving sound, like a marge simpson hmmmph.
"maybe later?"
This close and never touching. It was the era. It's nothing now. A shadow on the wall. A rule that keeps changing.
"I think that's good. Good." He doubles down, also defensive, also searching, aggressively cheery. "Can I meet him?"
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we're so back actually
kind of guy of all time
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defensive, searching:
"you've been on dates." in the decades he's been gone, "you go on dates. i can go on dates."
"You're on a date." He's squared up. You might mistake it for the start of something that it isn't.
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the trouble with happiness.
dialogue prompts from the trouble with happiness: and other stories by tove ditlevsen.
you always ruin things for us.
i've never owned an umbrella.
why were you staring out the window?
you always have been ungrateful.
i'm going to tell my mother.
it wasn't true. i was just drunk.
what are you thinking about?
i want you back the way you were before.
if you feel betrayed, you are betrayed.
hate is just as senseless as love.
it's not really accurate to call you a lady.
do you look like your mother or your father?
is it too late to go to the woods?
people are going to make fun of you.
when you're asleep, you can't be afraid.
what do you want to be when you grow up?
you always have to tell a child the truth.
fathers always forget their children when they haven't seen them for a long time.
no one could say you're impolite.
don't demand much, and you'll get more.
love and marriage rarely have anything to do with one another.
loving someone can't be helped. it comes and goes, like whooping cough.
you're so healthy and well-adjusted.
it's a shame it affects other people, when you feel a certain way.
i've never seen you cry before.
either you use people or they use you.
half our lives is habit.
i'm not going to be controlled by chance.
you don't have to make up silly stories.
don't you think i see what's happening?
has something horrible happened? you look like it.
don't you think it would be nice to have a little cat?
you could try to look a little friendlier.
you don't even know the person you're married to.
what's true for one person isn't necessarily true for other people.
it's a good thing you can think for both of us.
you always were the pride of the family.
you aren't sick, are you?
you can come down off your high horse.
the past never seems real.
can you ever really know your children?
you can't control your circumstances. you can't control your fate.
how? where? when? do you have any hickeys?
it's not like you to be so quiet. aren't you feeling well?
no one really knows the impression they make.
we only bring out in others what we need ourselves.
no love lasts forever.
it's always later than we think.
you should have lived a very different life.
get the doctor, quick.
fight for all you hold dear.
it doesn't matter who you marry.
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soren just grins, cocky yet unfazed by the other boy's fumbling.
"okay, friend boy. i'm soren - i'll be around." indeterminately. until elliott comes back. if she comes back.
"yeah, totally." if he got paychecks. "in, like, really big letters."
he shrugs, then grins. "your loss. it's cool, though. i can just be a boy friend." it takes him a solid moment to realise how that sounded.
"wait—i mean, like, a boy and a friend. a friend boy."
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he's got her there.
"touché. i rescind my comment."
HE'S GOING TO RELENT. He just has to be a little bit annoying first.
"Wouldn't you say that's a little snobby itself?"
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“so there’s a ball and racquet, right?”
all in her personal space, because he's a menace.
"and i hit it so good they pay me loads of money just to do it."
with the cigarette now in her hand, marzia holds it without smoking it, letting it burn as she watches him.
she knows exactly who he is. still, she feigns ignorance with a pout.
"i think i need you to explain it to me."
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"who knows i'm not as smart as you?" well. they both do.
he course-corrects: "i can play smart. i can play anything, really."
"Harsh," she says, but she's clearly detached from however Luke's comment might hurt his agent's feelings. She's not really loyal to anybody—especially strangers, especially people who have to work just as hard as she does in this industry.
"What happens when you do an Instagram live or a book tour and people realize you're not as smart as whoever wrote the book? I don't think you're going about this the right way."
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they want that.
but -
they've got a stacked day, so much to do to keep them all afloat. the pressure is starting to weigh heavy on them. they know cass can see it.
"i can't tomorrow, babe," trying to make it sound and feel so easy, "but i'd love to come."
CASS HWANG THINKS ABOUT IT LIKE THIS: not as a debt to be collected, but as a constancy, a universal truth. We owe each other goodness. We owe our partners, especially, our most earnest and loving selves. Cass delights in being able to do this for Mack and JM.
The gentle touches that follow are a caress to their face, a gentle rub of their arm. But soon, Cass retreats to follow through on their commitment to collecting dishes. She resists the urge to start fiddling with the flowers on the table, instead returning her attention to her partner.
"We should go to the store tomorrow," she does end up musing aloud. "My store, I mean." The florist. "They love seeing you."
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"i was betting they hadn't found your body yet," he counters gruesomely - but he knows he's fucked up. he pivots: "everyone's favorite underdog is a great tagline. your team should use that."
* ❝ be real, bradley. do you seriously think it wouldn't be headline news? mara banks, everyone's favorite underdog, killed in some kind of glamorous boating accident. she leaves behind millions of dollars and a sad, sad string of ex-lovers, all of whom say to our sources that they regret not marrying her when they still could. may she rest in peace. ❞
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@corsey asked: "Are you on a date?"
elfgar doesn't need to know this. they don't need to talk about it.
but they're here, and he has eyes, and can see the young man sitting at the table kermit has abandoned in an effort to steer elfgar away.
"...no." yes.
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