Hey everyone, this is Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new piece of mine called Glitter and Glass. You all know that at the end of Raven and the Lion I said that I'd be posting this sometime in January, but I've dwelled on doing so earlier for reasons I only understand I suppose. This is a Rated M Drama/Romance/Horror/Mystery piece with Lucas and Ness, of course alongside other side characters. I am excited beyond excited for this piece which I hope can be twisted and messed up and beyond all sorts of crazy. It has been in the works for a long time, and will often go back and forth between people and stuff- Ness and Lucas clearly. Our main character is Lucas for now, then... well, we'll see. Each chapter will start with just a random sentence or two to just lead into the story, like my inclusion of bible verses in Icarus Chronicle at the beginning of the chapter, hope it pleases you all. This won't be a The Raven and the Lion style story I can tell you off the bat... Enjoy the prologue chapter, Mister and Mister.
People can try and say I'm normal. And so I laugh in their face. What does normal mean to you, exactly?
Nine seconds.
That's normally how often Lucas gives himself before he is standing at the mirror and screaming into it on depressed Friday and Saturday nights. Why aren't you perfect? Why the fuck did you think anyone cared about you? No one will care about you unless your perfect, you screwed up son of a bitch. You're a single, bankrupt, little asshole that no one likes. Deal. With. It.
Once the tears start spilling for the three thousandth time (it is droll and silly, crying gets Lucas nowhere, he knows this, he contemplates this constantly, yet he still does it insistently), he's down on the tiled bathroom floor sobbing into his arms while he rocks back and forth. His voice hurts, his arms are sore, his back is dying in agony, yet all he wants to do is cry. He's beyond stupid. Why aren't you perfect? Why the fuck did you think anyone cared about you? Single. Bankrupt. Dumb. Dead. Gone. Trash. Revel in the hatred of your little pitiful life, you dumb fucker.
He's messed up beyond messed up, Lucas realizes that one morning. But, the issue didn't come from himself, he feels. He's got a perfect life, though he isn't perfect himself. A nice little flat in a high rise skyscraper building in New York City, three closets full of amazing fashion choices he could droll over and still never find the right outfit... tousled blonde hair, a cheeky smile, gorgeous men he could go and screw around silly... yet he loathes and hates himself and his life (there truly is nothing he can do to fix it).
Lucas Indigo, a cheery brat from a family who really had nothing famous to their namesake yet found themselves bathing in a sea of Benjamins and Franklins. Got placed in the spotlight from stupid Facebook video about thermometers and textbooks (who do you think gives a flying fuck about those two things, especially in a combo?), but whatever, they had money, and he was spoiled because he loved shiny new toys. Who didn't?
With the great fortune of bullshit, the blonde boy took himself out of a rural backcountry road in Idaho, when he doesn't even love potatoes, and placed himself in the tall city, tall order, of New York City. Went to school there, a college he hadn't bothered remembering the name of when he dropped out two years in because of complications with teachers and finances... (he did like shiny things after all, remember?), and so Lucas Indigo found himself at the age of twenty-eight stuck in a world where he wished he could grow up yet liked staying in Wonderland. How... backwards.
It was why he'd spend his Friday and Saturday nights at his reflection. He wants things done his way, when the world would not let him have it. People didn't get by begging for things. They earned it. What did Lucas earn? A life of self pity, loathing at what others had, a world of riches that meant nothing except large numbers on post it notes, and a depressed boy from Idaho.
One evening, Lucas finds himself sitting on the floor of his apartment, roughly thirty stories up, and he eyes the balcony. He wants to leap from that balcony, go see if he could swoop around the birds and hawks and make them jealous. His train of thought stops though, knowing that humans can't fly, you dumb fuck, and you'll fall to the road and die a horrible death with cracked ribs and a grotesquely twisted neck... you dumb fuck! Lucas drinks another glass of wine, humming to himself slowly, a country song back in his Idaho days about booze, girls, and more booze. Which is ironic because he hates booze... and girls for that matter.
Well, back up, back it up folks. Lucas Indigo did not hate girls. He hated that he couldn't like them. He hated that he couldn't fall in love with them. It would never happen no matter how hard he tried. So, naturally, what the blonde does is go and tell everyone he's gay. Yeah, that went well. Was he gay though? "I have no fucking idea..." Lucas laughs to himself, taking another sip of wine. In all seriousness, Lucas Indigo had an attraction to men, nothing whatsoever to women... and it infuriated him deeply. A type of infuriation that sat in your veins but never really makes its presence known until one day you're standing in the middle of a street just hollering belligerently at the sky because fuck the rules and you're tired of not understanding why things were the way they were.
There's an analog clock taped to the wall with heavy and excessive layers of duct tape, so many that only the emerald blocked lines poke through the cloud of depressing and shiny grey. The time reads a far gone 1:59 A.M. He needs to go to bed... he really does. But, he doesn't fucking want to because it is his apartment and he decides the rules because it is his fucking apartment!
Another swig of wine, more curses, and again Lucas longs to go flying with the hawks again, just so he can fall to his death.
He loves his life.
Not.
Lucas is tired at staring at the clock, at longing to leap off the balcony, so he goes into his bedroom. His walk is rather done in a drunk manner, stumbling everywhere it seems across the room with that wine glass pouring the crimson liquid all over, there is so much red staining the carpet and couch and walls it looks like there was a murder of a million fucking people. He is unfazed by this. All he can recognize is that this wine is some good shit, it is deliciously satisfying, like an orgasm of his that would last longer than three seconds.
His room is one of those where you can picture in an HGTV magazine, plucked straight from the vibrant and colorful pictures. His bed is structured out of the finest wood, painted over in a charming clash of white and black (Yin and Yang, cotton and gin, fried chicken and Panko, those sort of unifications and perfect bonds). He loves the simplicity yet overthinking that went into designing the place he spends his nights sleeping. A strange, Lucas actually to this day still has no idea what it even is, painting sits above the head of the bed. It looks like a mesh of a supernova interacting with a black hole, but there are random objects throughout like a busted up car, yellow pieces of glitter, and one shimmering shard of glass.
He passes his desk, and there is a mirror plastered on it. Lucas pauses to stare at himself. He's already done his rouse of yelling earlier in the bathroom, he doesn't need to go through the routine again. The desk actually had been a gift from his parents, two people who he loved very much back in the land of potatoes, where they gave him the useless piece of furniture for college work. Which he then dropped out of, so he had no use for the desk. He had no idea why he hadn't thrown it out yet.
"Stupid fucking desk. Just a reminder of my college failure. Rub it in why don't you?"
Across the room, he stares at his reflection. Really, really messed up blonde hair, the tips covered in his sweet glass of wine. Incriminating yet bright diamond eyes that absorb everything with a pessimistic expression. A smile that never seems to be positioned just right. Scrawny arms that seem hollowed out at the elbows because they jut too much to the side like sharp beaks on a cawing crow. Legs that are spotless from the knee to the toes with little gashes from his drunk escapes. Lucas Indigo is naked in the mirror, he's stark naked. He cannot remember when he took off his clothes, perhaps in the time he had started getting pissed off at a failed life. So his manhood is down there, and it is another reminder that he's single because there is zero attention to that area. Even there are times Lucas finds himself straining his hand away from there on the faint promise that there'll be someone out there for him. He knows it.
Lucas wants a mister in his life. So they can walk down an altar on some ruby red rug and be called Mister and Mister. How sweet, right? Except, the boy is single. The blonde idiot who loves shiny things, wine, and walking around his house is naked and fuck, it is a sad feeling that he hates about himself. He cannot recall if he yelled at himself for being single tonight. He frowns. It'll have to wait till next weekend, supposedly.
He eyes his sheets, a smile stretches across his pale lips, and he falls into the comfy sea of cotton and lavender. His genital region sticks up like a radio tower on an abandoned hill with trees that have lost all their leaves, and Lucas leaves it there. The glass of wine drops when he leaps into bed, there is the sound of glass crashing, a tide of blood red wine sloshes upwards, and the boy is content.
There was a mister out there for him. He knew of one single guy that could possibly fill in his depressing sphere of his apartment. Maybe fixate himself on the right path? Did a right path even exist. Fuck it, one had to exist... or why did happiness have a place in the world? But, besides the point, Lucas found just the right specimen. Some strange boy he ran into while seeing a dreadful Broadway rendition of Hairspray. The twenty-eight year old had seen that movie and the play so much, the horrific scene out there in front of him made him want to vomit. And vomit he did. All over this one guy's shoes, fancy, fancy fucking shoes you'd buy at a place where even the smallest thing such as socks were dipped in gold paint and cost as much as your house.
Lucas curses so loudly the song stops, the actors stop singing, because the swear word is so harsh the blonde can call all the attention to him because that's the kind of thing he does. There is an awkward pause, some gasps and hands that fly to open mouths, but in that moment Lucas finds himself just looking at the gentleman who's outfit he just ruined. The man is not angry, but he's furrowing his eyebrows at Lucas. And the boy cannot figure out why would this man do such a strange thing. It as if he's analyzing how to kill him, and the shock just hasn't registered? That's possible.
But the man does nothing, stands up and leaves. Lucas has the male's raven head of hair leave a lasting impression. He wants to run his fingers through that guy's hair so lustfully that it is downright sickening. The man had shimmering aquamarine eyes, ones you'd find being replicated only by computer generated images... but this is real life and Lucas did not vomit over a android's shoes, but that of a man.
They bump into each other in the lobby, and Lucas grins cheekily, still apologizing, but the fortune cookie has already been cracked open and written in it was the message of, 'here's your mister, sir' and it is a gorgeous feeling. The guy only says his name, along with a few pleasantries and then he's gone like a bandit out into the night sky of New York City.
The name is Ness. And you are?
Ness's voice echoes in Lucas's ears. That's all he got. A thirty second encounter, and he loved every single fucking second of it.
Lucas, still naked in his bed, closes his eyes so he can let drunken sleep wash over him.
He has a plan, a very good plan at that.
He's going to get himself a mister, so the two can be Mister and Mister.
This gentleman in question goes by the name of Ness.
A beautiful name, that Ness.
Lucas, still thinking of this raven haired man of beauty and mystery, curls up into a ball. He dreams of perhaps marrying this man, perhaps having rough, forced sex with this man, he cannot get past the idea of having a life with this man, he's a soulmate from just one glance.
They can finally be called Mister and Mister.
Happy one day anniversary.
Well... umm... do I have any explaining to do? I hope not, haha. Okay, so this is the first chapter to Glitter and Glass, a piece that I can revel in saying is fucked up beyond belief but will only get worse as we go. Prepare for the butchering of canon as that is all I do, my readers know that, don't you guys? Our cast will be expanded eventually, but we'll get there. I'm thinking of just one update a week, sometimes once every other week because of life and other projects and things, but glad to have this out. This will be different than a typical Yaoi story I hope, it isn't going to be a PWP actually, more so rated M based on my language use which I'm taking liberties to. If you want to review, there is a glitch to it, so before hitting submit, send the review to me as a PM please, so I can read it while the glitch is fixed because it is a site wide issue which sucks. Hope to see you for Chapter #2: A Passing Interest, from Ness's P.O.V. Love you all! Have an amazing day! Bye!
~ Paradigm