as if my whole past

(( music : playlist ))

Fri, 18 Apr 2014 09:55:05 GMT

( that's where music comes from )

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(( boomtown app ))

Mon, 14 Apr 2014 02:44:21 GMT

( boomtown app )

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(( LOG : liquor ))

Wed, 02 Apr 2014 15:39:37 GMT

[Characters:] Claude & Jean Louis
[Date:] 31.12.2017 / 01.01.2018
[Summary:] Oh God, they are so drunk.
__________

[He's drunk. So drunk. He's not stupid, he feels it in his fingers, he feels it in his toes... Nevertheless, he abandons Vincent in Mireille's otherwise wholly engaging company, in order to cross the room to where Jean Louis has just poured himself another shot of their most expensive whiskey (a gift he's brought himself) and sit down next to the other man. Vincent's boss. Their once so highly profiled State Minister. Icarus fell, huh?]

You better have brought us something good.

[He gestures to the bottle of whiskey, half-empty already next to Jean Louis' full glass.]

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(( FIC : post ))

Mon, 31 Mar 2014 12:53:47 GMT

( the drums of war )

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(( FIC : family name ))

Mon, 31 Mar 2014 08:12:07 GMT

[Title:] family name
[Prompt:] Family
[Summary:] He can't run from his surname.
__________

"I'm French," he answers when he's on job and people ask him where he's from - it's an old habit, accentuating his nationality, from way back when his father left for the Ivory Coast, leaving Claude with nothing but a big hole in his childhood naivety and a surname that could give people the wrong idea.

"I'm French," he says, cutting off half of his family tree. The half whose roots extend beyond the pond to a country Claude never visited willingly. Because he might not be able to run from his family name, but he can definitely run from them.

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(( FIC : about your partner ))

Sun, 30 Mar 2014 13:42:51 GMT

( questions about your partner )

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(( LOG : the wall has fallen ))

Sat, 29 Mar 2014 19:39:20 GMT

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 03.06.2010
[Summary:] You don't get closer than this. Not to anyone. Not to yourself.
__________

[Claude is sitting up in bed, popped up against the headboard with a (still unpublished) book in his lap - a poetry collection that Didier has sent his way for a friendly review before it hits the streets. He reads over the various contributions with a slight frown on his face, concentration drowning out all other thoughts than those concerning the poetic composition of a French-Senegalese vocabulary.

He saw his doctor yesterday, though, did Claude - to hear the results of the various tests and blood work he's had done over the past couple of weeks. All clean, of course. Not that he'd expected anything but, but even so. Some things aren't worth throwing caution to the winds for and STDs definitely count amongst them.

Besides, if he's (they're) going to start practicing unprotected sex... It better not be on Vincent's account.]

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(( FIC : back cover ))

Fri, 28 Mar 2014 12:00:33 GMT

[Title:] back cover
[Prompt:] History
[Summary:] Every book tells the same story about him.
__________

Claude Bérubé (born 1965)

Claude Laurent Bérubé is a French-Luxembourgian journalist and author who has lived and worked in various countries such as France, the Ivory Coast and Senegal as well as worked regular correspondent jobs all over the African continent.

Trained as a journalist from three different universities, he began his professional career as an author at age 22, contributing to an independent French-Senegalese poetry collection under the pseudonym Lau de C. In terms of genre, however, he now primarily writes celebrity biographies.

Privately, he resides in the vicinity of Luxembourg City with his spouse since 2010, Vincent Fortesque.

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(( FIC : oblivious ))

Fri, 21 Mar 2014 08:25:18 GMT

[Title:] oblivious
[Prompt:] Without
[Summary:] There's no luxury to an unrequited love.
__________

It quickly becomes a romance he travels to and from, leaves (for Africa) only to return to later and on top of it, it's an unequal romance as well. Claude knows none of his feelings are reciprocated, not the affection (not in any way that matters) and certainly not the overwhelming desire. To fuck or be fucked, whatever would suit Matthieu better, but Matthieu regards him as a close colleague, hardly even as a friend and is as straight as an arrow anyway, even when dead drunk at Le Monde's annual Christmas party, hanging over Claude's shoulder. Oblivious.

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(( FIC : poem ))

Fri, 14 Mar 2014 15:15:21 GMT

THE OLD MAN'S LEFT ARM

they are as useless
as an old man's left arm
these words we throw
to the wind
that blows in our faces
like indirect slaps
we won't have to take responsibility for

punched with an amputated left arm
the arm of a cynical old man
who refuses to miss it
and its once gentle touches

we throw words around each other
like arms
disembodied
unattached to our shoulders
so we can walk away
shedding no tears

- From A Good Day to Go, Claude Bérubé

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(( FIC : king of his castle ))

Fri, 14 Mar 2014 12:40:58 GMT

( my kingdom for a refuge )

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(( fic by sentence ))

Thu, 13 Mar 2014 18:10:49 GMT

139.5. BETTER HALF

140.10. GONE

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(( LOG : never without purpose ))

Sun, 09 Mar 2014 09:55:48 GMT

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 22.12.2016
[Summary:] It's a question of cause and effect.
__________

[He isn't exactly seething inside (anymore), but he definitely isn't pleased. If Vincent hadn't been so God damn attached to his job, Claude would have contacted the high and mighty Jean Louis Duroc himself and asked for an apology. In written form. Claude might not be all that active in the journalistic world anymore, but he still has all his contacts left and someone would be bound to find it an interesting angle - homophobia endorsed in the State Ministry of Luxembourg. Again, if Vincent wasn't so bloody dedicated to his new position as spin doctor for the State Minister. Claude couldn't do it to him. Not even if it's right. Not even if he'd really like to.

So instead he undresses quickly, to the sound of Vincent showering. Chases the cats out of the bedroom before crawling under the covers, Plato bouncing for the door and Socrates following after at an entirely unhurried pace as is his style. His groove. Claude loves that cat, it's so damn relaxed. Relaxing. There's nothing better than the evenings when it crawls up onto his lap and deems him worthy for pillow, purring gently and inviting a scratch on the head and some heavy (cat) petting. Well, maybe sex is better, but that falls under another category and involves different parties.

... Great and now he's horny, too - on top of being irritated.]

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(( CR : future lovers ))

Thu, 06 Mar 2014 22:12:28 GMT

( there's no love, like the future love )

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(( FIC : 21 questions ))

Fri, 28 Feb 2014 15:16:25 GMT

( 058.6. misc/random prompt - 21 questions about you )

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(( FIC : a native tongue ))

Thu, 27 Feb 2014 13:55:25 GMT

[Title:] a native tongue
[Prompt:] Meaningful
[Summary:] Two conclusions about Vincent's French.
__________

You can tell two different and very distinctive things from listening to Vincent speak French.

One, he’s definitely not of French descent. Sure, it’s a subtle difference, but Claude knows most of the French dialects by heart now, having travelled throughout his home country for so many years and the sort of… flatness to Vincent’s French corresponds with none of them.

Two, it’s obvious that Vincent has spoken French since birth – no pun, no wordplay is ever lost on him and you can try as you might to hide anything at all in your words, he’ll find it.

Easily. Effortlessly.

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(( FIC : strauss, op. 114 ))

Wed, 26 Feb 2014 13:52:12 GMT

[Title:] strauss, op. 114
[Prompt:] Obvious
[Summary:] He knows that waltz pose was perfect.
__________

It's just practice - and not even for any big contests. A small show at the annual Christmas market nearby, that's all. Nevertheless, Liliane drags them both to a halt in the middle of a perfect waltz pose, shoving his shoulder slightly as she steps back.

"You're doing it wrong, Claude!" Her voice is frail from teary frustration. Her beautifully shaped shoulders rising and falling in time with her breathing. In and out, the same motion he'd fucked her with. With about as much impact, too. Empty exhalations. So Claude doesn't defend himself.

Because they're not really talking about dancing anymore.

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(( FIC : tastes ))

Mon, 17 Feb 2014 15:20:09 GMT

[Title:] tastes
[Prompt:] Writer's Choice (Woman)
[Summary:] What if... Claude had fallen in love with Mireille Duroc.
__________

Claude realises – during one of their hour-long interview sessions – that he would really like to kiss her. Because Mireille is incredibly beautiful like this. Relaxed, with a cup of tea held gingerly between her slim fingers. There are several reasons as to why the urge should disturb him, of course. They’re both married, not to mention that he is, for all intents and purposes, very much… well, gay. But it has ceased to matter. Somewhere along the road, he’s fallen in love with her.

Months later, when he finally does kiss her, it’s like tasting a new kind of freedom.

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(( FIC : für elise ))

Sat, 15 Feb 2014 08:33:22 GMT

[Title:] für elise
[Prompt:] Innocent
[Summary:] What if... Vincent and Claude had gotten children.
__________

The watch on the nightstand reads 03.14 when Élise starts crying. “Your fucking turn,” Vincent mumbles, rolling over on his side, leaving Claude to get up and blindly make his way to her cradle near the foot of their bed.

She stares up at him through the darkness when he leans in to pick her up, her crying ceasing momentarily. As he adjusts her weight, she’s so light in his arms and he rocks her gently while heading for the kitchen where her bottles are stored.

“Hey little one,” he says in a low voice, smiling. “Don’t mind us, okay?”

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(( FIC : fool me once ))

Thu, 13 Feb 2014 19:30:01 GMT

[Title:] fool me once
[Prompt:] Hurt
[Summary:] Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...
__________

Jean-Baptiste leaves Claude’s apartment in a huff, waving one hand in the air melodramatically and muttering in Luxembourgish under his breath. The door closes behind him, cutting off the stream of words that Claude doesn’t understand anyway, leaving the both of them alone. Jean-Baptiste on one side, Claude on the other. Claude sits down on the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair and sighing. Loudly. There goes. Another relationship. Because his man couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

And when looking at himself in the mirror later that night, the only reason provided is his own face.

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(( LOG : it's getting better ))

Thu, 13 Feb 2014 15:15:36 GMT

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 13.02.2014
[Summary:] Happy birthday, birthday boy.
__________

It's been a long week. God, it's been long... Too long. He's been to New York on behalf of Le Monde, to cover the opening of a new wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a wing dedicated to traditional and contemporary African art. He has talked to everyone and their mother, if they were of even the slightest relevance to the collection. University professors, artists, museum directors, sponsors, you name it. Yes, he's been around. And all the while, Didier has been with him, knowing quite a few of the contributors and having sponsored the transfer of several native pieces from Senegal. Heaven knows, he loves Didier, but the man can make for very taxing company when you catch him in a sour mood and he's been in a sour mood from the first Senegalese piece was revealed to they went their separate ways at the airport earlier today. It has been very obvious that he'd been much less impressed with the Americans efforts than Claude who has given the exhibition good reviews overall.

Finding his keys blindly, he unlocks the front door, stepping inside mostly without paying attention to anything around him except for the handle of his suitcase and his coat, hanging over his other arm. It's an act of supreme balance, preventing either Socrates or Plato from escaping out the door before he can close it behind him, while at the same time stopping his coat from sliding down or his suitcase from slipping through his fingers. Which is probably the reason why he doesn't notice either the little bows around their necks or the bells attached at first. Because really... under any other circumstances... He puts the suitcase down, hangs his coat away and finally straightens up fully, looking down at the cats. Unable to notice anything but the light red (almost pink) bows. Poor cats. Next thing he notices is the amount of candles lit all around the hallway - and the kitchen and beyond the kitchen, the living room. Candles everywhere, but no husband in sight.

"Vincent?"

There's the lovely smell of food cooking, so his man has got to be around here somewhere. Doing God only knows what.

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(( muserevival's drabble challenge ))

Thu, 13 Feb 2014 13:15:08 GMT

( 50 drabble prompts )

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(( FIC : beautiful morning ))

Wed, 05 Feb 2014 15:38:10 GMT

( i feel no despair, no regrets or sorrows )

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(( FIC : picture perfect ))

Fri, 31 Jan 2014 21:12:10 GMT

( we first make our habits, then our habits make us )

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(( bakerstreet ))

Wed, 29 Jan 2014 17:48:10 GMT

THE TFLN MEME

THE RANDOM SCENARIO MEME

THE HOLIDAY PARTY MEME

THE INSOMNIA MEME

THE WOULD YOU RATHER MEME

THE I'D HIT THAT MEME

THE HUG MEME

THE STARRY NIGHT MEME

THE BOASTING PLATFORM MEME

THE RANDOM SCENARIO MEME

THE SUPPORT GROUP MEME

THE SEXTING MEME

THE HEART MEME

THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME

THE PICTURE TAKING MEME

THE TFLN MEME

THE REVERSE PICTURE PROMPT MEME

THE AWKWARD BONER MEME

THE IC ANON QUESTIONS MEME

THE STICKY NOTE MEME

THE REVERSE OTHER-WORDLY MEME

THE IC ANON QUESTIONS MEME

THE TRUTH MEME

THE USERNAME MEME

THE TRUTH OR DARE MEME

THE STARTING A NEW LIFE WITH YOU MEME

THE RANDOM SCENARIO MEME

THE COFFEE SHOP MEME

THE TFLN MEME

THE IM MEME

THE FORMAL WEAR MEME

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