Rate the Story Game, número tres

9. I really like it.

---

He hadn’t asked him to, but when Ryan arrived at the airport he could see Pete watching for him. He almost wanted to try and avoid Pete seeing him—he didn’t know it, but by being here he was making leaving so much harder for Ryan.

Over the past few months the pair had been involved in a relationship that wasn’t even that. It was nothing. It was fun, something to do, a way to pass the time. They were friends—had been friends for a long time—but this other ‘relationship’ they had more recently formed had nothing to do with that.

Ryan knew that Pete was here at the airport to say goodbye as a friend which was something that he didn’t want. He had tried to be like Pete and not make more of a situation that was not supposed to be anything more than sex and heated make out sessions. But like most people who find themselves in Ryan’s spot, he had found himself thinking of Pete as his boyfriend on more than one occasion which was something he was not supposed to do. He wasn’t supposed to combine Pete His Friend with Pete His Lover and see them as one significant person in his life. They were just friends when they went to movies or to dinner and they were only lovers when they were pressed close together in a sweaty heap on Pete’s bed.

Even though he had desperately wanted to try and avoid Pete he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that spread throughout his body at the fact that Pete was here—that he had managed to get here before Ryan just so that he could say bye and see him one more time.

- Past

9. I love this and I can relate. I've been in that situation and I think it's handled really well.

---

Pete came back in and set the clothes down on the counter. "Is he still kicking?"

Ryan shook his head and reached for the boxers Pete had brought in. It was strange, but he still felt slightly awkward getting dressed in front of him. He'd done it before they were married, but only after sex, really. It was strange to be having a conversation while he was pulling on clothes, towel-drying his hair naked, not even thinking about sex. "No, he's fine now. Knock on wood," he added, reaching out to lightly rap his knuckles against the cupboard.

Pete opened his mouth to say something, but his phone interrupted, the ringtone he'd programmed for Patrick going off. "Dammit," he muttered, digging into his pocket and pulling it out. He gave Ryan a small smile before he wandered into the other room. "Dude, Ryan's naked. What the hell do you want?"

The boy laughed and hurried to put on his boxers. Of course, hurrying wasn't as easy as it used to be. Bending over was not the easiest feat in the world. He had three choices, really, when it came to putting on underwear and pants or jeans. He could either squat and then slowly stand back up, sit down and then push himself back up, or ask Pete to do it for him. He had only brought himself to do the latter once and the first seemed easier in this situation. By the time his husband wandered back into the bathroom, Ryan was tugging on the tee shirt.

---part three of learning to fall

9. I love this. Your writing feels so natural. It's more like looking at a photograph than reading words on a page. The dialogue is very organic, which is such a hard thing for many writers.

---
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, plopping myself down in the doctor’s chair. I wheeled my way toward her as she shook her head softly.

“Leave,” she replied. “Leave this place now, before it’s too late.” She reached in the front pocket of her shirt and pulled out a tissue, folding it over a bit before she wiped her nose. “You think it won’t get to you, I know. I was like that too, when I first came here. But it will. You won’t be expecting it. God knows I wasn’t. Because we sit here every day, and we tell ourselves that the people we see will be okay, or that they’re gonna be in a better place, or that they’re old anyway, or something, anything that will ease our minds.” I felt heat rush to my cheeks, because that was the truth.

“It’s just human nature. But one day, it will happen. She’ll walk in the lab, and you won’t even know what hit you, Paul. First she’ll need a blood test, and you’ll tell yourself that will be all. But then she’ll be back for another, and another, and then she’ll end up being my patient, because there will be something wrong. And you’ll have to sit there and watch as she fights, and then, when she loses her battle, it will tear you apart at the seams.” After dabbing at her eyes with the tissue, she continued in a trembling voice.

“And you’re gonna find yourself just like me, hiding in the room where you met her, crying. Just crying. Because she’ll be gone, and she won’t be coming back.” She raised her red, puffy eyes to mine, the tears streaming down her face.

“I loved him, Paul.”

-uneverything

9. I don't understand what's going on, but it still aches to read, which says a lot, I think.

---

Warning for sexual ~tings.

Ryan was kneeling in the bathtub, a towel under his knees and another under his hands, his head turned as he craned his neck to watch Brendon working. The younger boy swirled the spoon around in the over-large bowl before tapping it against the rim and laying it on the counter. "You know it'll cool down a little once I get it in the bag, but is that good?" Brendon bent over next to the tub so Ryan could slowly dip two fingers into the bowl, nodding once.

"It's good."

Brendon nodded again, reaching out to stroke Ryan's hair before standing back up and returning to the sink, where all of the equipment was spread out. The hook was already hanging from the shower curtain so Brendon could hang the bag as soon as it was full. "Go ahead and take the plug out, baby." His voice was soft, gentle. "And start with your fingers."

It was the gentlest of their "darker" interludes. No name-calling or hair pulling or punishments for noises of pain. It hurt enough on it's own, was degrading enough on it's own, Brendon didn't need to add anything to that.

Brendon felt a small tremor run through his body as he heard the soft moan coming from the bathtub, knew the other boy had just extracted the plug. He glanced up at the mirror, watching the boy set the glass plug on the edge of the tub next to the bottle of lubricant. Ryan picked up the bottle, desperate to fill himself as he opened the bottle, dripping some of the lubricant onto his fingers and rubbing them. It was cold to the initial touch, but warmed up as his fingers moved.

"You're so fucking hot like that, baby," Brendon purred, from the sink where the bag was nearly half full. "Now, go ahead."

---Milk/uneverything else

9. I like how the two interact, and how there's an evident care for each other.

-

It all started with a badly timed bald joke.

Well, if you want to get technical about it, it started because of a man’s genetics, which dates back to a number of varying factors.

But the bald joke definitely had something to do with it.

I often get the blame for things like this. I don’t see why though; it’s not like I have much control over these types of things. (If I did, I’d have given both people a better sense of humour). But there you go. People think that because you’re Fate, you go out of your way to make trouble.

There’s something you should know right away: my job isn’t to cause trouble; it’s to try and sort it out.

Okay, okay, I’ll get on with it.

Like I said, I am Fate. Or Destiny, if you prefer. I overlook the works of you humans and try to make sense your strange lives, all while interlinking the various lives of various people. Remember that friend of yours who you met on your morning walk, or that girlfriend you met on the train? Yeah, I arranged that. (Don’t, however, try to blame me for stuff like wars or floods or anything like that. I work in coincidences, not catastrophes).

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. I’ll stop.

--Untitled

8. I like the fresh sort of narration style, but there's something about it that really is telling too much.

-

Ryan fidgeted nervously at the table, pouring orange juice for two while Brendon set to getting together the proper ingredients for cereal and milk. Which, of course, meant a bit of sugar would be sprinkled atop each bowl with the excuse of "It never hurts anything! We're touring and bouncing around long enough that we burn it off anyways!"

But, today wouldn't be just any old morning breakfast day. Spencer and Jon, having left with Pete and Mikey earlier on to get breakfast at the local Denny's, had presented Ryan with absolutely the perfect opportunity to talk to Brendon about everything, relationships to music.

And, hopefully if he didn't chicken out, that was exactly what Ryan planned to do.

He watched Brendon set the bowls onto the table with a flourish; Ryan's hand went to a side of it to hold it firmly out of habit from when the bus would be moving. His hand dropped a few seconds later, though, as he reached to take a sip of orange juice.

"I think that we need apple juice, in all seriousness. Oranges and milk leave the weirdest taste in my mouth."

"You're not even supposed to drink milk; doesn't it fuck up your voice?"

"Probably. Not like I pay much attention to it- as long as it sounds pretty, it's fine, right?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, feeling more at ease as he spooned Fruit Loops into his mouth. The pair munched along in silence for a few minutes while Ryan gave himself the best mental pep talk he could manage, taking a few deep breaths at the same time.

"Dude, what's up with you? You're all on edge and not Ryan-y. You nervous or something?" Brendon, oh so wonderfully oblivious Brendon, looked at his best friend cluelessly, milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, must be the rally coming up. I'm nervous there's gonna be like, some crazy assassin that's gonna try and kill us all." Ryan blushed faintly, turning his head downwards and staring into his milk, surprised it didn't start boiling from the heat on his cheeks. He slowly corralled a few of the circles against a side, slipping the spoon under them as he snuck a glance at Brendon.

-

BBBfic; this part is the beginning of the selection I posted here last time.

8. I like how it seems real, a scene that could actually happen. But, it felt like something was lacking a bit, maybe not enough description. At least to me.

---

I could taste the salty liquid worming its way down my throat, cutting off all oxygen supplies. The harsh sunlight from above caused me to wince as I sunk further down into the depths of the sea. Pounding, crushing; I could barely feel the pain of my lungs collapsing inside my chest as they filled with the murky substance. The seaweed floating around in the water felt like snakes on the inside my mouth; I didn't try to cough, I didn't try to survive.

No one had ever mentioned that you could see the end coming, but as I descended further down under the water, I knew. It was almost like déjà vu, as if I had died like this before, in another world, another time. When you die, I thought you were supposed to be cloaked in the blackness of night? Spared from the pain, the agony; all traces of any suffering you had endured would be erased as those final moments neared. But I could feel the icy water as it glided across my skin, the shallow, painful breaths I tried to take as I slipped further away from reality. The disgusting and horrifying feeling of seaweed clogging up my throat; the slight, and maddening ticking of time as it slowed.

-Time of Dying-Prologue: It is Time.

on the inside my mouth
I think you mean on the inside of my mouth but why is the seaweed in her mouth? People die from inhaling water, not from drinking it. (for the most part at least)

I'm afraid I'm a little harsh on this topic, see, I'm a life guard and this isn't accurately representing what drowning does. I'd give it a 6.

But if I didn't know, it'd be an 8.

_________________________________________________________________

The world spun as Auria slowly slunk into the land of nothing. Her eyelashes were glued down to her high cheek bones outlined by soft freckles, and long mahogany was scattered randomly from her head, it lay on her face. The sheets and the pillow moving accordingly with every toss and turn she took. Her chest heaved with every subconscious breath, and thin pink lips cracked open by the slightest began drying out at a tortoises pace.

A boy, Max, stood above her, his malignant glare directed at the sleeping beauty as he assessed the poor situation. Within a few strides he was stationed at the other side of the mattress. Settling in on the white downy heaven, his eyes on hinges slammed shut and he was off, searching through the darkness of desire, attempting to find that girl. That dreaming girl.

The room is silent once more, only deep slow breaths disturb the air. The boys taunting smile is slowly wiped away from his face and a look of pure emptiness passes over him.

-Dream Dancer

9. I really like the descriptions. It's well written.

---

He quietly left the bathroom quietly and went into the bedroom. On the bed were a few ballet magazines that Ryan had subscribed to; Brendon must have put them there. He picked up the one on top of the small stack and started flipping through the pages taking in each picture; evaluating it. They were all so perfect. Every single one of them. Why couldn’t he look like that? Why did it have to be so difficult?

“I see you found your magazines.”

Ryan’s head snapped to the side and he saw Brendon standing in the doorway of the bedroom, I cautious smile on his face. Ryan looked down at the magazine momentarily before looking at Brendon again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. It was silent for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Brendon asked. Ryan nodded his head.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. He set the magazine down on the bed without closing it. He kept his eyes on the ballerina’s flat stomach. He heard footsteps and then Brendon was standing next to him. When Ryan looked over at him, he noticed that Brendon was gazing at the ballerina now.

“She’s pretty,” he said. Ryan looked back down at the picture, staring at her long legs.

“She’s perfect,” Ryan said. He felt Brendon’s arm slide around his waist. He felt disgusting.

- Perfect; unposted & unfinished

9. I think I'd need to read more of it to really form an opinion, but I like the emphasis placed on the magazines. It's clear without being spelled out. (There were a few typos btw)

.

9. I really like this. It seems exactly like something that could really happen in real life. Aside from being slightly redundant at times, it's really awesome!

---

Emotions flooding into my mind. Fear...only fear. Not plural. Just one. Only, fear. And the screaming, the blood curdling, harsh as a needle to the brain screaming.

"Justin! Justin!" Justin? But, that's my name! I looked down, the gun slipping from my fingers. Blood, everywhere blood, dripping from my abdomen. Crimson splash dripping onto my hand as I lifted it to the wound.

My eyes lifted once more, to the face of my enemy. A triumphant smirk decorated his lips when he realized the bullet had struck home. The realization hit me that he had pulled the trigger first, given the final blow. Finally, at last. It was all over.

“No! No! Justin!” the screaming had finally stopped, replaced by sobbing. Feet ran towards me as the ground came up to meet me, my vision speckled with spots. Weak, gentle hands reached out for me as I fell, landing with a sickening thud on the blacktop. “Justin,” she whispered, rolling me onto my back, and trying vainly to sit me up. “Please, don’t die, please.”

I let out a harsh humorless laugh. “I-I can’t breathe, Harpy.” A tight feeling, like wire tentacles tight around my ribcage, every time I tried to inhale, a sharp pain, like breathing in shards of glass. Tears fell onto my cheeks, but they weren’t mine.

“No,” I protested weakly. “Do-don’t cry, Harpy.” I pushed myself up, one hand still clutching at the hole in my stomach. As I stood, terrified eyes looked back at me from the boy across from me, merely feet away, where moments ago there had been triumph.

-The Death of Justin Riley

8.5, I really liked it though there were a few little mistakes I noticed. That's basically what knocked it down from a 9. It's well done though.

---

"If you happen to see Andrea again, tell her I can't find Keaton and that I've got me cell on me," he said bringing the small, beaten black rectangle out of one of the pale coat pockets and wiggling it around. "Is there...mightt here be anything a lad could do for you...while he's about?"

Her dark eyebrows shot up clearly questioning the man before her and what he was saying.

"Aw, c'mon, give a man a break. I'm sober. That's got to count for something dammit," he growled his hand slamming into his pocket once again.

Chuckling softly, she actually managed a real smile for the first time in a long time. "No, no, I'm fine," she promised.

His frown deepened and she couldn't help but laugh even more at it. He didn't say anything but spun on his heel and left the house slamming the door shut behind him.

Izzy lay back on the couch, smiling.

--Some Little Princesses, chapter 4

seven point five. it's well-written, it just doesn't seem like there's much going on in this particular section.

---

Ryan hesitated. He knew he had said he would do this, finally try this. He'd grown up a lot since he was a teenager who wouldn't even touch alcohol. But it didn't cancel out the part of him that felt like he was lying to his younger self, that he was giving into everything his father had been. Brendon's hand came up, knuckles gently skimming down Ryan's neck. "Hey, you still here?" the younger boy asked. The pipe was in his other hand.

Ryan looked up, suddenly back in reality, drowning in Brendon's chocolate brown eyes. "I, uh . . . yeah, sorry. How do I . . . again?"

Brendon chuckled. "I'll light for you. Just, y'know, suck in."

"Ryan knows how to suck!" Spencer put in, trying not to laugh at his own joke and failing. He'd shared a joint with Jon before Ryan had come in and they'd packed the bowl. He fell againt Jon, burying his face in the boy's shoulder and trying to fight his giggles.

Ryan's eyebrows furrowed. He really didn't want to look that stupid. "Ignore him," Brendon said. "Just hold your finger on this hole. It's called the carb. Suck in while I light. When I stop lighting, stop breathing for a second, then let off the carb and suck in, okay?"

The boy nodded, accepting the pipe from Brendon, holding it the way he'd seen the others hold it, making sure his finger covered the carb. "And then, I just . . . get high?"

"You might need a couple passes," Brendon said, voice smooth and calming. "Don't worry. We'll get you there."

Ryan nodded and then put his mouth to the end of the pipe, nodding at Brendon to light it.

---uneverything

9.5. I really like it-- It's well written.

---

He quietly left the bathroom quietly and went into the bedroom. On the bed were a few ballet magazines that Ryan had subscribed to; Brendon must have put them there. He picked up the one on top of the small stack and started flipping through the pages taking in each picture; evaluating it. They were all so perfect. Every single one of them. Why couldn’t he look like that? Why did it have to be so difficult?

“I see you found your magazines.”

Ryan’s head snapped to the side and he saw Brendon standing in the doorway of the bedroom, a cautious smile on his face. Ryan looked down at the magazine momentarily before looking at Brendon again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. It was silent for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Brendon asked. Ryan nodded his head.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. He set the magazine down on the bed without closing it and kept his eyes on the ballerina’s flat stomach. He heard footsteps and then Brendon was standing next to him. When Ryan looked over at him, he noticed that Brendon was gazing at the ballerina now.

“She’s pretty,” he said. Ryan looked back down at the picture, staring at her long legs.

“She’s perfect,” Ryan said. He felt Brendon’s arm slide around his waist. He felt disgusting.

- Perfect; unposted & unfinished

9. It's really well written and I like the interaction between the two.

---

“Not everything is as great as it looks, Claudia. Garrett and I were never going to last. I was okay with that. I’m not good in relationships, he knew that, he knew that something would happen and we would break up.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Garrett and I haven’t been really happy for a long time. And actors are fucking babies. We were fighting a lot behind closed doors. That’s why we never lived together. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy…”

“How many times, god dammit?”

She leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. “You’re going to be mad,” she murmured. “You’re going to be mad and you’re gonna storm out of the room and leave me and you won’t want to talk to me again.” Her voice broke. “And then, when it’s all over and the insults and bitchy remarks and comebacks are made and you get over it… well, not completely over it… and you’re in bed while I’m still stuck in this stupid hospital, you’re gonna realize that it was a stupid fight, but I’ll still be pretty pissed and god knows you will be, too, even if you don’t admit it to anyone, and we just won’t talk again… Please don’t let that happen, please, Claudia. Don’t make me say.”

She uncovered her face, looking up at me, tears running down her cheeks. It was harder to be pissed when she was crying, but I couldn’t let her have her way that easily. If she wouldn’t answer that question, there was at least one other thing I needed to know. “Was the baby even Garrett’s?” She had that deer in the headlights look. I had my answer.

-- Love Like This, Chapter 7

9. Oooh, I really like this. it sucked me in. I loved the dialogue. It was deep, but not forced.

---

"Got the papers." Brendon tosses the pack of Zig Zags at Ryan. "Can you just roll one now?" He leans over the seat, fumbling around on the floor in the back until he emerges with the college textbook reserved for such occasions.

Ryan rolls his eyes, taking the book and placing it in his lap. He pulls the prescription bottle they carry ground up pot in from his pocket and squeezes it between his knees as he opens pulls out two papers, licking the seam of the first to press them together. "You just like watching me lick shit," he adds, glancing over at his boyfriend who is staring a bit too intently.

"Your tongue and weed." Brendon grins like a naughty schoolboy. "What's there to say no to?"

"Fuckwit." Ryan rolls his eyes, opening the prescription bottle. "And after I roll this where are we going? I'm starving. I want Dairy Queen or something."

"You're starving so you want ice cream?"

"We have Chinese at your place, remember? Leftovers. I want, like, an Oreo cheesecake Blizzard with cookie dough."

Brendon laughs. "God, why don't we smoke first before you start inventing Blizzard recipes?"

Ryan blushes, lowering his head as he tips the bottle over the paper.

---uneverything

10

----

A small hand pressed to her forehead. "God help me," she prayed out loud.

There was silence for a moment before a soft voice drifted towards her.

"Does God listen to you?"

Renee jumped, her delicate balance upset sending her sprawling onto the floor below. She looked up to see the person who had spoken and disturbed what she had thought was her solitude. The boy who stood at the foot of the stairs was frozen as if he had stopped moving mid-flinch. She had seen him before. He was the new boy.

The one who never said a word.

The one who never moved unless prompted

The one who never ate unless fed.

But she could have sworn that he had asked her a question. "What did you say?" she asked even knowing the answer. She wanted to hear that quiet voice again.

He didn't even shake his head in reply. He simply stood there almost frozen except for twitching fingers that seemed to repeat a pattern over and over again in a halting fashion.

Renee bith her lip as she stood up and watched him. She could have sworn he was watching her through the dark hair that feel across his eyes, but she honestly couldn't tell. FInally she sighed, exasperation running through her. She was tried and stressed. Maybe she was just going crazy...again.

--Heaven Help You

eight point five.

---

"Doctor today, baby." Brendon leans in, kisses the boy on the cheek. Ryan's been like this lately. Jumpy, forgetful. He's falling apart and the meds aren't helping. He shouldn't be surprised. The meds only help for a little while, couple months at best. Then Ryan's changed so much that the meds couldn't possibly work anymore because they were prescribed for a different person.

Ryan sits up, yawning, giving Brendon a weak smile that he doesn't quite feel. "Can we smoke first?"

The younger boy frowns. "Yeah, like, going to see your shrink stoned probably isn't going to help."

"Leave me like a lucky clover."

Brendon pushes himself off the bed, eyes narrowed somewhat, but really just looking like a scared child. "I told you to quit doing that! It freaks me out, okay?" He sighs as Ryan's face falls, raking his hands through his hair. "I just . . . yeah, I'll go . . . breakfast or something. Coffee's in the pot."

He leaves the room and Ryan pulls his legs up to his chest, chin resting on his knees. He can't help the lines. They just come out now. Like reverse writer's block. He's got too much in him to write down now, so it just forces it's way out of him somehow. He only dreams in lyrics anymore. He's not sure where the words come from, but they're ever-present now, hanging over his head like icicles or tree branches, just out of grasp until a wind comes through and knocks them loose.

---You Writer, You Liar.

8. I liked it, I just think the choppy sentences just didn't really fit here.

-

Zeus detonates the sky with fulmination and thunder and electricity and I can hear Hera crying out, trying to relax him but he threatens her with a clenched fist of her own beautiful hair. I'm alone, all alone, palms against my ears holding my breath as Poseidon swallows me whole under a crushing wave. Tumbling beneath the water, cold and cutting, the tide pushes me onto the embankment. Cough cough cough water like cement stuck in my throat. I don't have much time so I gather my dress and broken pieces into my arms, running and running until I reach some kind of farm land spotted with old sod. And just like that Hephaestus sets the land ablaze, burning away crops and marking beaten tracks in the ground.

I have to sit. I need to rest these weary eyes and this tormented soul. Upon this ignited ground there is still hope, I can feel it pulsing on my withered fingertips. I can see it within the white-hot flames licking the horizon, dancing and jumping around on the land. It's hard to stay calm with destruction around, then I remember my family, gone. Cinders, fragments fanned into the air. I remember the stories my grandmother always told me about Aphrodite arising from simmering sea foam, the dismemberment of genitalia, Cronus Uranus Thalassa.

- God Goddess Titan, Whoever You Are

10. I don't know much about Greek mythology, but the writing was so fantastic and real. It made you feel a part of the moment, and I love the raw quality to it.

---

"Well aren't you just the voice of British arrogance." There's no hostility in his features, simply radiating smiles. Susan's leaning on his arm while talking to her nearest neighbor, another blonde bombshell whose name I'll never remember. It's an ideal scene and I hate it, I hate how nice and happy everyone seems when we're all dying inside.

What I actually want to do is throw a fit, yelling until I'm red in the face while Robert calls me a dirty poofter and refuses to ever see me again.

And yet we sit, and smile at one another, as though I never said a word, and pretend my heart isn't beating a hole in my chest. Not even five minutes in and I feel like I'm suffering a heart attack; I cannot even hold up a 'coldly aloof but beautiful' fence around my personality. Surely this speaks to my ability as an actor but I'm only human - and humans have their limits, as we all know, and my limit is apparently the sight of the love of my life fondling his beautiful wife underneath a table while cameras spin all around. The host hasn't even walked onto the stage yet and I'm already counting down the seconds until the end.

"It won't be so bad if you'd just relax, Judesie," Robert coos, in what can only be described as a mockery of our last encounter disguised behind an attempt at consolation.

- incomplete.