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Black Swan (2/?)
Title: Black Swan
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musadinessuno
Beta: my pumpkin, the lovelythekeyholder
Pairing: BellDom
Rating: overall R, PG-15 this part
WARNINGS: teenage angst and pointe shoes (yesss) - also, bit of language for this chapter. :))
Summary: everyone's got secrets.
Disclaimer: I do not own Muse, I swear (although, I'll admit it, I had the best conversations of my life with the poster on my wall). This story is a work of fiction and Matt Bellamy is no closet ballerina. Sadly. I bet he'd look good in a pink tutu.
Author's Note: so sorry it took me so long, but I've been incredibly busy with uni and stuff - real life is also a real bitch sometimes! I'd also like to thank again everyone who read the first chapter; if I'm a bit more confident about my writing is mostly because of your encouraging feedback! Hope you enjoy this one as well! ♥
Previous chapters:
(uno)
“You’re too tense, Matt. Relax.”
Matt tried to do just that as he hoisted his hand from the bar, his wrist producing a small snapping sound when he turned his arm in position. He checked his pose in the mirror and bent his knees, finding it very hard to relax with Margareth’s breath on his neck, her constant scolding in his ears. He almost wished he could turn her on silent mode sometimes, like a TV, and ignore her presence despite all the mirrors in the room.
“Tailbone down, don’t stick your bum out!”
“I’m not -”
“Shush!”
“But -”
“I said shush!”
Feeling very much like Meg was trying to get on his nerves on purpose, Matt suppressed a groan and rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids, not even bothering to correct his pose as he proceeded with the exercise. He knew he was doing it the right way, but for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that evening his teacher kept coming up with grumpy remarks about his alleged lack of concentration.
His head gently swaying along with the music playing in the background, Matt kept bending and unbending his knees with smooth moves, his heels never once leaving the ground. As to prove his point, though, just as he prepared to move to the next position, Margareth stopped him again to tell him to breathe – just like that, almost tenderly: “breathe”, as if he had never done anything quite like that in his whole life.
“I am breathing, Meg,” he snapped and puffed his cheeks till they looked like two apples as he took in a ridiculous amount of air. “How else would you explain the fact that I’m still alive?”
Margareth’s face remained still, not a trace of that trademark mocking smile of hers on her beautiful features. Her green eyes regarded Matt with a warning glare, nothing more, nothing less; she didn’t need to say another word to make it clear that she was not pleased with his silly retort.
Bashfully, Matt lowered his own eyes to the wooden floor, his teeth biting on his lower lip as he murmured a tiny “sorry” at her direction. It wasn’t like he was scared of Meg – although sometimes she could be rather intimidating – but the boy had a lot of respect for his teacher, so much that he actually felt a bit embarrassed by his little outburst.
Not only had she accepted to give him classes for free, but in the last three years Meg had proved him to be more than just a dance teacher. She was a good listener, a friend, and she was gifted with a sixth sense when it came to determine his moods. This was unnerving sometimes, but Matt would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t secretly crave for that kind of attention.
And yet, as she kept looking at him like she was trying to drill a hole in his head and spy on whatever was going on inside of it, the boy couldn’t help but think that it was none of her business.
He didn’t want to tell her about that morning on the school fields; he didn’t want to tell her about his friends; he didn’t want to tell her about that feeling of rejection that was eating him up inside, filling his gut with stones, his mouth with more and more lies…
No, that was none of her business.
“Well,” he said, gripping the bar again and forcing his thoughts back to the exercise. “Shall I move onto fourth now?”
Margareth was still looking at him, her brown, wavy, hair dancing around her face as she shook her head no. “Well, I guess you can,” she conceded, though, pausing a bit before adding, in a whispery voice: “if you feel so inclined to do so...”
Choosing to ignore the weary tone in her retort, Matt moved his right leg to draw a quarter circle on the ground, turning his heel out as much as he could with the motion, before lowering it in front of his left one and adjusting his arms to stand in fourth position.
His eyes never leaving their azure twins in the mirror, he bent his knees as far as possible with his heels firmly on the ground. He took extra care to keep his balance – no tucking, tipping, tilting or twisting – before setting his right arm to float like a wing against his side.
It was only then that Margareth spoke again.
“Don’t pinch your shoulders!” she barked, her face a mask of concentration as she took on checking Matt’s moves from the mirror. Needless to say, the boy wasn’t doing anything like that, but the lack of the usual comeback from him only spurred her to get even nastier in her reproaches, in hopes of getting the reaction she was looking for.
“Watch your hips, keep ‘em parallel to the floor – and just what is that, zombie ballet? I told you to relax, not to move like a bloody corpse!”
Tensing up again, Matt shut his eyes and forced himself to keep on moving, his ears deaf to everything but the music. He knew only too well what Meg was doing – trying to rile him up so that he would snap and let out whatever it was that was troubling him – but he wasn’t willing to give up yet.
Still, he could simply not bear the fact that he’d been spending the last two hours doing stupid exercises at the bar when they should have been practicing grips instead. He had an audition for a most important role in two weeks – in fact, Meg had signed him up for that shit! – and here he was, like an idiot, working his ass off for nothing.
As for that, Matt did not only find demi-pliés to be incredibly boring, but, after hours of exhausting workout, he’d also started noticing a burning pain in the back of his thighs, his ankles begging for mercy as he struggled to keep his heels planted on the ground all the time.
Ever so slowly, the boy turned his head around to look at the teacher. “Meg,” he called, trying his best to sound as polite as possible. “Do you think we’ll have any time left after this? I wanted to show you -”
When Meg lifted her cane and hit him on the back of his thighs with it, Matt was pretty positive he didn’t really do anything to deserve it.
“Ouch!”
Groaning, the boy restrained from flexing his injured leg, knowing that Meg was most likely going to strike him again if he dropped the position. “What was that for?” he snapped, though, failing to hide the contentious note in his voice.
Meg refused to meet his stare directly, her hands resting on the cane while she kept her eyes trained on the figure in the mirror. “Go lower,” she commanded, ignoring both his questions, “you can go lower, just bend your knees.”
“What?!”
“You heard me.”
The look on the teacher’s face was, if possible, the scariest and yet the most serene Matt had ever seen on her. For a split second he considered the idea that she might have been joking all this time, but he quickly pushed that thought aside when he saw her fingers twitching around the handle of her walking stick.
“Are you - are you serious? Like, actually serious?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows. “It’s impossible, you know I can’t bend like that, I’m not -”
Margareth didn’t even let him finish; she hit him again, this time on one of his calves. Matt let out a yelp of pain, eyes stinging as his hands shoot down to rub at the sore spot, pose be damned.
“Jesus, Meg, what the fuck?” he shrieked, feeling rather humiliated when tears suddenly started running down his cheeks. He moved his arm quickly to hide them from her, rubbing his eyes against the soft fabric of his tee while he fought to slow down his breathing back to normal.
He wasn’t even sure if he was crying from the pain, or because he was tired, or maybe because he felt like he didn’t deserve to be treated like that – all he knew, though, was that it had to stop now, just as it had started. Matt didn’t like crying in front of others; he didn’t want people to think that he was weak and, most of all, he didn’t really need any of that pitiful shit they usually came up with in these situations.
“When you dance,” he heard Margareth say, her tone everything but apologetic, “the world stays out of it. Now, I want you to look at that mirror and tell me what you see.”
Startled, Matt pinched the point of his reddened nose, his eyes blinking a stupid amount of times against the wetness gathered at their corners. “I probably look like a shit on two legs,” he mumbled, spidery fingers brushing away the last trace of tears from his cheeks with skittish moves.
Margareth gripped the boy’s wrist, gently tugging at his hand. “Well,” she said, relieved to see, at least, that Matt wasn’t shying away from her touch. “Just take a look at that shit then.”
“What for?”
“You just do it.”
Slowly, fighting back another sob, Matt lifted his gaze from the floor, his mouth a thin, wobbly, line as he took in his appearance.
The boy in the mirror looked every bit like him. He was slender, not too tall, his hair a dark shade of brown and his eyes the colour of the winter sea. His face had a sharp look to it, his cheekbones standing high and casting shadows over the moon-pale skin.
And yet, as he kept on looking at him, Matt was sure that that boy, unlike himself, wasn’t really feeling any pain in his legs, or the sticky wetness of sweat and tears on his skin as it blushed pink from the exertion. He looked tired, yes, but he wasn’t – not for real; he wasn’t even breathing, his chest merely copying Matt’s gentle motions as he inhaled more air in his lungs, his eyes only blinking when Matt did so.
“Your technique is perfect,” Margareth said, her voice almost a whisper, and Matt could see her fingers trailing down through the boy’s hair, though he hardly felt their touch on himself. “But I might as well look at the shit on two legs in the mirror and it would still feel the same, you know what I mean?”
Yes. Yes, Matt knew exactly what she meant.
The boy in the mirror was just a copy. A cold, empty skin with no soul. He showed no feelings, no passion – he was a fake. He was a fake.
“Is that how you see me? Is that how you really see me?”
His mind in a fog, Matt just kept staring at his reflection, asking himself the same question again and again. His vision blurred, his chest aching, and yet, weirdly, all he could think about was the peculiar smell of wet grass and the muddy stains on his red wellies as he played in a puddle in their back-garden – and suddenly he was three again, and his mother was laughing along with him as she helped his small hands to spoon more mud in them, their clothes all dirty and soggy when they blew the invisible candle on their mud cake…
Soon, he felt Margareth’s arms encircling him from behind, trapping his whole body in a fierce embrace that felt like the rain, the sweet scent of her skin, like cinnamon cakes, invading his nostrils. Unable to move, Matt found himself standing awkwardly with his feet still in fourth position, his fingers brushing lightly against Meg’s where they lay across his stomach.
“I’m sorry, I - I lost time,” he said, feeling rather stupid, but he just didn’t know what else to do. Meg’s answering giggle was a bit muffled by the skin of his own neck, her head coming to rest on Matt’s shoulder as she held him in a bone-crushing hug for one more moment before letting go.
“What do you mean, you lost time?” she asked. “You zoned out?”
Not trusting himself enough to speak again, Matt just nodded, Meg studying his every move from the mirror as she resumed her position behind him.
“I know you’re more than that, Matthew,” she smiled, her voice soothing like chamomile tea. “I can see it when I look into your eyes. They’re full of water, and I’m most certainly not talking about tears. Now, if you try to hide the most powerful force in the universe behind an iron mask – well, excuse me if I call you stupid, then, but do you know what happens when iron meets water?”
His nose scrunching up as if he were struggling to give his opinion on the matter, Matt answered Meg’s question in a quiet voice.
“It wears it down.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. Her face fell a bit when she noticed the boy’s expression – his cheeks red, eyes wild – and soon Meg felt like hugging him again just to prove him that she was there for him; she didn’t, though, choosing to force her presence on him with words instead.
“Let it go, Matt,” she said, whispering right into his ear. “Drop the facade, it’s not worth it.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy, Meg, but really, it isn’t.”
“I never said it was, did I?”
His head bowed in contempt, Matt turned around to find Meg still staring at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Go get changed now, pup, it’s gotten late,” she said, her fingers gently tilting his chin up. “I’ll be off to the city this weekend, but I’ll leave you my keys just in case you feel like coming in and practise a bit, alright?”
Matt felt his heart still in his chest, the prospect of going home now less appealing than ever. A quick glance to the clock on the wall proved him that it was, indeed, pretty late, though; Meg never stayed after nine, she had a husband waiting for her at home.
“Yes – right – it’s late, practice tomorrow,” he stumbled, cursing when he noticed that he wasn’t making any sense, again. “I mean, err, thank you.”
Giggling, the teacher tossed her hair behind her shoulders as she put her coat on, before bending to pick her stuff from the small bench at the corner of the room. “No worries,” she said, and then, as if she were about to forget something incredibly relevant, she added: “Oh, Matt!”
She stopped mid-track, one hand hoisted securely around her walking stick, the other already digging in her backpack. Matt watched her as she produced something from her bag: a set of keys and a small, silvery package that looked suspiciously like a box of sweets.
“These are Tunnock’s teacakes,” she explained, as if answering Matt’s unspoken question. “And I want you to eat all of them as soon as I’m out of here, alright?”
“Why,” Matt asked, not wanting to lose the occasion to tease her. “Don’t you want one?”
Meg turned around to look at him, looking positively murderous. “I’m on a diet, you skinny fucker,” she growled, her green eyes reduced to slits. “You, on the other hand, look like you haven’t had a proper meal in ages.”
“I skipped lunch today, I know,” Matt said, before adding, quickly: “it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good,” Meg squinted at him one more time, “because if you ever dare to come in again on an empty stomach,” she went on, “I’ll kick the shitting daylights out of you.”
And then, with nothing but one last floating kiss, she was waving him goodbye in her usual way, walking backwards through the door with a smirk on her face and her red scarf around her neck.
The fresh night breeze stung his face with its icy, tiny fingers, Matt keeping a deliberate slow pace as he walked down the hill. He loved that look on Teignmouth, the small town looking rather picturesque at that time of the day, when the streetlamps set out a series of small flickering flames as their orange light hit the black windows of the pubs.
Humming a quiet melody to himself – one he couldn’t remember hearing anywhere before – he reached the small patch of grass near the ice cream parlour, pausing only when he felt the urge to take another bite of the sweet treat in his hand.
He did it then, taking in the rich flavour of dark chocolate, followed instantly by the fluffy sweetness of the marshmallow hidden inside of it; Tunnock’s teacakes, Matt was sure of it, were way better than sex.
Not that he’d ever had sex with anyone in his life, but still, they were the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Just as he made to start walking again, his coat hanging loose around his shoulders, he heard someone calling – well, actually shouting – his name. Dumbstruck, he turned around to see just who it was, but all he managed to catch before he was literally tackled to the ground was a glimpse of longish blond hair and a manic white grin.
“Matt! Oh my God, what are you doing here at this time of the night? I thought you never came out of your bedroom after the Sun set, started to think you were a closet werewolf or something!”
Finding it very hard to speak with Dom pressing both his elbows down on his stomach so forcefully, Matt only puffed his cheeks, signaling for the blond to get off him in order to be able to breathe again.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dom,” he squeaked once he was released from the deathly grip, “I’m not Chris, you know?”
“Yeah, you don’t smell like him,” Dom said, actually taking a sniff of Matt’s armpits, before scrunching his face away in half mocked disgust. “Ew, you stink!”
“And you look like an idiot, you - wait, what the hell are you doing - hahaha! - stop it!”
Matt sputtered out a shrieking laugh as Dom kept digging his fingers in his ribs, tickling him till the brunet openly begged for mercy. “Please,” he said one more time, his fingers tangling with Dom’s as he tried to peel them away from his aching sides, “please, everything but this, really, I hate tickling, I’m terrible when it comes to it, sometimes I even start laughing before they touch me!”
“Really? Aw, how cute,” Dom said, giggling a bit himself. “You have the craziest laugh, I swear!”
“Yeah, cute my arse,” Matt shot back, his eyes already checking the grass around him for his messenger bag. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, somehow absently, relaxing a bit when he noticed that it had slid behind his back when he’d fallen on the ground.
“You know,” he heard Dom say, “I had a date.”
Matt did his best to feign some kind of interest. “Oh, cool, so you did go out with Pat, in the end,” he uttered, his voice trembling with what he hoped would result as pure excitement. “How did it go?”
“‘t was shit.”
“Oh.”
They just sat there in a comfortable silence for a few more moments, Dom lighting a cigarette after Matt refused to take one himself. Neither of them felt the need to mention what had happened on the school field just that morning – it was all forgiven, and long forgotten.
Maybe that was what being friends was really about, right?
Lifting his bum from the grass just enough to pull his bag against his side, Matt rummaged inside of it till he found the crushed box of sweets. Much to his surprise, two of them turned out to be still reasonably edible, although they didn’t look as round and perfect as they had before.
“You want one?” he offered, extending his arm to present Dom with the treat. The blond took another drag off his cigarette, turning his head to peek suspiciously at the squashy teacake in Matt’s palm before accepting it.
“Is this your twisted way of telling me that you hate me?” he asked, sounding rather amused despite his best effort to keep a straight face. “I know I can be a complete dick sometimes, but really? Mashed mushy marshmallow cake?”
“I’ll have it if you don’t want it, Mr Fancy Pudding,” Matt retorted, his mouth already full of mushy goodness. “I could literally eat a whole box of these and still crave for more.”
Dom regarded him with a skeptical look, his left eyebrow shooting up as he poked at Matt’s flat belly under his blue sweater. “How do you keep so fit then?” he inquired, his grey eyes growing huge as he pressed his whole hand against the brunet’s abdomen. “Seriously, you have, like, proper steel abs. It’s actually freaking me out a bit.”
“It’s not like I eat a full box every day, Dom – stop, stop touching me!”
“Are you actually a werewolf? Or a vampire? You look more like a vampire to me, all pale and freaky and stuff. That would also explain why you listen to fucking Beethoven all the time instead of Oasis, like normal people do, you know.”
“I’ve never heard of a vampire with phenomenal steel abs before.”
“Yeah, but I guess they’re kind of fit, though, right? I mean, they’re dead, they can’t exactly get fat.”
“You’re an idiot,” Matt said, chuckling a bit despite the initial discomfort. Dom was still looking at him with a cryptic smirk on his face, his long fingers fidgeting with the bobbles on the brunet’s sweater almost absent-mindedly. “Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from too much smoking, “yeah, I’m an idiot. What’s inside that bag?”
Unable to stare back into eyes as grey as the storm, Matt found himself wondering just what would happen if he told Dom about his ballet classes in that moment. As he hugged his bag and all its contents tighter to his side, though, he somehow felt like it was hardly the right time for revelations – not because he didn’t trust Dom enough, but maybe because he wasn’t ready to drop the mask yet.
“Blood sacks,” he croaked in the end, adjusting his coat around his shoulders before moving to get up from the grass. Dom didn’t laugh at his lame joke, but Matt was actually relieved to see that he didn’t look mad at him as he’d been that morning, either. Rolling his eyes in a dramatic way, the blond held his arm out to help him stand, half of his mushed teacake still nestled between his fingers.
“You want the last bite?” he offered, almost as a sign of peace.
Biting down on his lips, Matt looked longingly at the sticky white fluff coating Dom’s thumb. “You sure you’re not eating that?” he asked, quickly pushing aside the absurd idea of liking the digit clean.
Dom shrugged his shoulders a bit, his tongue making a clicking sound before he lifted the corner of his mouth in another cheeky smile. “Sure,” he said, “you can have it. In fact, I insist you do.”
With that, he stood on his knees and smashed the last bits of the squishy cake right on Matt’s lips, forcing him to open his mouth as he tickled his sides with gentle fingers, the brunet’s small frame shaking with blubbering giggles once again.
Satisfied, the blond retrieved his fingers, unable to hold his own barking laugh as he took on the way Matt’s face was flushing red, bits of chocolate and marshmallow fluff smeared all over his mouth and cheeks.
“You know,” he admitted, “you’re actually quite funny when you’re not busy sticking your nose in a book.”
“Not my fault if you’re a sad, ignorant fuck,” said Matt, battling Dom’s hands away when the blond made to help him clean up, “I know it might sound absurd to you, but I actually enjoy reading.”
Dom shook his head, still smiling, his eyes winking mischievously.
“It’s not a problem if you want to live on the dork side of the moon, Matt,” he pointed out. “But it’s nice when you take a trip to the bright one, you know. I like hanging out with you.”
Fingers stopping abruptly in their ministrations, Matt opened his mouth to say something, but all he managed in the end was a simple nod of his head. He felt a bit stupid for that – he could have said “thank you” at least – but soon he realised that he didn’t really need to.
“C’mon, it’s almost eleven,” Dom said after a while, glancing at his wristwatch as he straightened up, two muddy splotches soaking his jeans where he’d been kneeling on the grass. “I’ll walk you home,” he offered, looking at Matt with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t want your nana to get too worried about her little Vlad here, do we?”
“Aren’t you afraid that I might just slash your neck and leave your body out for the seagulls once we’ve reached a dark alley?” Matt teased, his crooked tooth shining whiter than his companions under the moonlight as he snarled.
Leather jacket hanging carelessly on top of his shoulder, Dom clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Gotta risk it to get the biscuit, right?” he said, his fingers drawing invisible commas in the air as he started to walk towards the main street.
Matt ran after him, his messenger bag swinging against his side. “Wait, Dom,” he called, “what biscuit?”
Smirking, Dom turned to look at him, his fingers already digging in his pockets for another cigarette. “Can’t tell you,” he chuckled. “It’s a secret.”
Author:
musadinessunoBeta: my pumpkin, the lovely
thekeyholderPairing: BellDom
Rating: overall R, PG-15 this part
WARNINGS: teenage angst and pointe shoes (yesss) - also, bit of language for this chapter. :))
Summary: everyone's got secrets.
Disclaimer: I do not own Muse, I swear (although, I'll admit it, I had the best conversations of my life with the poster on my wall). This story is a work of fiction and Matt Bellamy is no closet ballerina. Sadly. I bet he'd look good in a pink tutu.
Author's Note: so sorry it took me so long, but I've been incredibly busy with uni and stuff - real life is also a real bitch sometimes! I'd also like to thank again everyone who read the first chapter; if I'm a bit more confident about my writing is mostly because of your encouraging feedback! Hope you enjoy this one as well! ♥
Previous chapters:
(uno)
“You’re too tense, Matt. Relax.”
Matt tried to do just that as he hoisted his hand from the bar, his wrist producing a small snapping sound when he turned his arm in position. He checked his pose in the mirror and bent his knees, finding it very hard to relax with Margareth’s breath on his neck, her constant scolding in his ears. He almost wished he could turn her on silent mode sometimes, like a TV, and ignore her presence despite all the mirrors in the room.
“Tailbone down, don’t stick your bum out!”
“I’m not -”
“Shush!”
“But -”
“I said shush!”
Feeling very much like Meg was trying to get on his nerves on purpose, Matt suppressed a groan and rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids, not even bothering to correct his pose as he proceeded with the exercise. He knew he was doing it the right way, but for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that evening his teacher kept coming up with grumpy remarks about his alleged lack of concentration.
His head gently swaying along with the music playing in the background, Matt kept bending and unbending his knees with smooth moves, his heels never once leaving the ground. As to prove his point, though, just as he prepared to move to the next position, Margareth stopped him again to tell him to breathe – just like that, almost tenderly: “breathe”, as if he had never done anything quite like that in his whole life.
“I am breathing, Meg,” he snapped and puffed his cheeks till they looked like two apples as he took in a ridiculous amount of air. “How else would you explain the fact that I’m still alive?”
Margareth’s face remained still, not a trace of that trademark mocking smile of hers on her beautiful features. Her green eyes regarded Matt with a warning glare, nothing more, nothing less; she didn’t need to say another word to make it clear that she was not pleased with his silly retort.
Bashfully, Matt lowered his own eyes to the wooden floor, his teeth biting on his lower lip as he murmured a tiny “sorry” at her direction. It wasn’t like he was scared of Meg – although sometimes she could be rather intimidating – but the boy had a lot of respect for his teacher, so much that he actually felt a bit embarrassed by his little outburst.
Not only had she accepted to give him classes for free, but in the last three years Meg had proved him to be more than just a dance teacher. She was a good listener, a friend, and she was gifted with a sixth sense when it came to determine his moods. This was unnerving sometimes, but Matt would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t secretly crave for that kind of attention.
And yet, as she kept looking at him like she was trying to drill a hole in his head and spy on whatever was going on inside of it, the boy couldn’t help but think that it was none of her business.
He didn’t want to tell her about that morning on the school fields; he didn’t want to tell her about his friends; he didn’t want to tell her about that feeling of rejection that was eating him up inside, filling his gut with stones, his mouth with more and more lies…
No, that was none of her business.
“Well,” he said, gripping the bar again and forcing his thoughts back to the exercise. “Shall I move onto fourth now?”
Margareth was still looking at him, her brown, wavy, hair dancing around her face as she shook her head no. “Well, I guess you can,” she conceded, though, pausing a bit before adding, in a whispery voice: “if you feel so inclined to do so...”
Choosing to ignore the weary tone in her retort, Matt moved his right leg to draw a quarter circle on the ground, turning his heel out as much as he could with the motion, before lowering it in front of his left one and adjusting his arms to stand in fourth position.
His eyes never leaving their azure twins in the mirror, he bent his knees as far as possible with his heels firmly on the ground. He took extra care to keep his balance – no tucking, tipping, tilting or twisting – before setting his right arm to float like a wing against his side.
It was only then that Margareth spoke again.
“Don’t pinch your shoulders!” she barked, her face a mask of concentration as she took on checking Matt’s moves from the mirror. Needless to say, the boy wasn’t doing anything like that, but the lack of the usual comeback from him only spurred her to get even nastier in her reproaches, in hopes of getting the reaction she was looking for.
“Watch your hips, keep ‘em parallel to the floor – and just what is that, zombie ballet? I told you to relax, not to move like a bloody corpse!”
Tensing up again, Matt shut his eyes and forced himself to keep on moving, his ears deaf to everything but the music. He knew only too well what Meg was doing – trying to rile him up so that he would snap and let out whatever it was that was troubling him – but he wasn’t willing to give up yet.
Still, he could simply not bear the fact that he’d been spending the last two hours doing stupid exercises at the bar when they should have been practicing grips instead. He had an audition for a most important role in two weeks – in fact, Meg had signed him up for that shit! – and here he was, like an idiot, working his ass off for nothing.
As for that, Matt did not only find demi-pliés to be incredibly boring, but, after hours of exhausting workout, he’d also started noticing a burning pain in the back of his thighs, his ankles begging for mercy as he struggled to keep his heels planted on the ground all the time.
Ever so slowly, the boy turned his head around to look at the teacher. “Meg,” he called, trying his best to sound as polite as possible. “Do you think we’ll have any time left after this? I wanted to show you -”
When Meg lifted her cane and hit him on the back of his thighs with it, Matt was pretty positive he didn’t really do anything to deserve it.
“Ouch!”
Groaning, the boy restrained from flexing his injured leg, knowing that Meg was most likely going to strike him again if he dropped the position. “What was that for?” he snapped, though, failing to hide the contentious note in his voice.
Meg refused to meet his stare directly, her hands resting on the cane while she kept her eyes trained on the figure in the mirror. “Go lower,” she commanded, ignoring both his questions, “you can go lower, just bend your knees.”
“What?!”
“You heard me.”
The look on the teacher’s face was, if possible, the scariest and yet the most serene Matt had ever seen on her. For a split second he considered the idea that she might have been joking all this time, but he quickly pushed that thought aside when he saw her fingers twitching around the handle of her walking stick.
“Are you - are you serious? Like, actually serious?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows. “It’s impossible, you know I can’t bend like that, I’m not -”
Margareth didn’t even let him finish; she hit him again, this time on one of his calves. Matt let out a yelp of pain, eyes stinging as his hands shoot down to rub at the sore spot, pose be damned.
“Jesus, Meg, what the fuck?” he shrieked, feeling rather humiliated when tears suddenly started running down his cheeks. He moved his arm quickly to hide them from her, rubbing his eyes against the soft fabric of his tee while he fought to slow down his breathing back to normal.
He wasn’t even sure if he was crying from the pain, or because he was tired, or maybe because he felt like he didn’t deserve to be treated like that – all he knew, though, was that it had to stop now, just as it had started. Matt didn’t like crying in front of others; he didn’t want people to think that he was weak and, most of all, he didn’t really need any of that pitiful shit they usually came up with in these situations.
“When you dance,” he heard Margareth say, her tone everything but apologetic, “the world stays out of it. Now, I want you to look at that mirror and tell me what you see.”
Startled, Matt pinched the point of his reddened nose, his eyes blinking a stupid amount of times against the wetness gathered at their corners. “I probably look like a shit on two legs,” he mumbled, spidery fingers brushing away the last trace of tears from his cheeks with skittish moves.
Margareth gripped the boy’s wrist, gently tugging at his hand. “Well,” she said, relieved to see, at least, that Matt wasn’t shying away from her touch. “Just take a look at that shit then.”
“What for?”
“You just do it.”
Slowly, fighting back another sob, Matt lifted his gaze from the floor, his mouth a thin, wobbly, line as he took in his appearance.
The boy in the mirror looked every bit like him. He was slender, not too tall, his hair a dark shade of brown and his eyes the colour of the winter sea. His face had a sharp look to it, his cheekbones standing high and casting shadows over the moon-pale skin.
And yet, as he kept on looking at him, Matt was sure that that boy, unlike himself, wasn’t really feeling any pain in his legs, or the sticky wetness of sweat and tears on his skin as it blushed pink from the exertion. He looked tired, yes, but he wasn’t – not for real; he wasn’t even breathing, his chest merely copying Matt’s gentle motions as he inhaled more air in his lungs, his eyes only blinking when Matt did so.
“Your technique is perfect,” Margareth said, her voice almost a whisper, and Matt could see her fingers trailing down through the boy’s hair, though he hardly felt their touch on himself. “But I might as well look at the shit on two legs in the mirror and it would still feel the same, you know what I mean?”
Yes. Yes, Matt knew exactly what she meant.
The boy in the mirror was just a copy. A cold, empty skin with no soul. He showed no feelings, no passion – he was a fake. He was a fake.
“Is that how you see me? Is that how you really see me?”
His mind in a fog, Matt just kept staring at his reflection, asking himself the same question again and again. His vision blurred, his chest aching, and yet, weirdly, all he could think about was the peculiar smell of wet grass and the muddy stains on his red wellies as he played in a puddle in their back-garden – and suddenly he was three again, and his mother was laughing along with him as she helped his small hands to spoon more mud in them, their clothes all dirty and soggy when they blew the invisible candle on their mud cake…
Soon, he felt Margareth’s arms encircling him from behind, trapping his whole body in a fierce embrace that felt like the rain, the sweet scent of her skin, like cinnamon cakes, invading his nostrils. Unable to move, Matt found himself standing awkwardly with his feet still in fourth position, his fingers brushing lightly against Meg’s where they lay across his stomach.
“I’m sorry, I - I lost time,” he said, feeling rather stupid, but he just didn’t know what else to do. Meg’s answering giggle was a bit muffled by the skin of his own neck, her head coming to rest on Matt’s shoulder as she held him in a bone-crushing hug for one more moment before letting go.
“What do you mean, you lost time?” she asked. “You zoned out?”
Not trusting himself enough to speak again, Matt just nodded, Meg studying his every move from the mirror as she resumed her position behind him.
“I know you’re more than that, Matthew,” she smiled, her voice soothing like chamomile tea. “I can see it when I look into your eyes. They’re full of water, and I’m most certainly not talking about tears. Now, if you try to hide the most powerful force in the universe behind an iron mask – well, excuse me if I call you stupid, then, but do you know what happens when iron meets water?”
His nose scrunching up as if he were struggling to give his opinion on the matter, Matt answered Meg’s question in a quiet voice.
“It wears it down.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. Her face fell a bit when she noticed the boy’s expression – his cheeks red, eyes wild – and soon Meg felt like hugging him again just to prove him that she was there for him; she didn’t, though, choosing to force her presence on him with words instead.
“Let it go, Matt,” she said, whispering right into his ear. “Drop the facade, it’s not worth it.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy, Meg, but really, it isn’t.”
“I never said it was, did I?”
His head bowed in contempt, Matt turned around to find Meg still staring at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Go get changed now, pup, it’s gotten late,” she said, her fingers gently tilting his chin up. “I’ll be off to the city this weekend, but I’ll leave you my keys just in case you feel like coming in and practise a bit, alright?”
Matt felt his heart still in his chest, the prospect of going home now less appealing than ever. A quick glance to the clock on the wall proved him that it was, indeed, pretty late, though; Meg never stayed after nine, she had a husband waiting for her at home.
“Yes – right – it’s late, practice tomorrow,” he stumbled, cursing when he noticed that he wasn’t making any sense, again. “I mean, err, thank you.”
Giggling, the teacher tossed her hair behind her shoulders as she put her coat on, before bending to pick her stuff from the small bench at the corner of the room. “No worries,” she said, and then, as if she were about to forget something incredibly relevant, she added: “Oh, Matt!”
She stopped mid-track, one hand hoisted securely around her walking stick, the other already digging in her backpack. Matt watched her as she produced something from her bag: a set of keys and a small, silvery package that looked suspiciously like a box of sweets.
“These are Tunnock’s teacakes,” she explained, as if answering Matt’s unspoken question. “And I want you to eat all of them as soon as I’m out of here, alright?”
“Why,” Matt asked, not wanting to lose the occasion to tease her. “Don’t you want one?”
Meg turned around to look at him, looking positively murderous. “I’m on a diet, you skinny fucker,” she growled, her green eyes reduced to slits. “You, on the other hand, look like you haven’t had a proper meal in ages.”
“I skipped lunch today, I know,” Matt said, before adding, quickly: “it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good,” Meg squinted at him one more time, “because if you ever dare to come in again on an empty stomach,” she went on, “I’ll kick the shitting daylights out of you.”
And then, with nothing but one last floating kiss, she was waving him goodbye in her usual way, walking backwards through the door with a smirk on her face and her red scarf around her neck.
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The fresh night breeze stung his face with its icy, tiny fingers, Matt keeping a deliberate slow pace as he walked down the hill. He loved that look on Teignmouth, the small town looking rather picturesque at that time of the day, when the streetlamps set out a series of small flickering flames as their orange light hit the black windows of the pubs.
Humming a quiet melody to himself – one he couldn’t remember hearing anywhere before – he reached the small patch of grass near the ice cream parlour, pausing only when he felt the urge to take another bite of the sweet treat in his hand.
He did it then, taking in the rich flavour of dark chocolate, followed instantly by the fluffy sweetness of the marshmallow hidden inside of it; Tunnock’s teacakes, Matt was sure of it, were way better than sex.
Not that he’d ever had sex with anyone in his life, but still, they were the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Just as he made to start walking again, his coat hanging loose around his shoulders, he heard someone calling – well, actually shouting – his name. Dumbstruck, he turned around to see just who it was, but all he managed to catch before he was literally tackled to the ground was a glimpse of longish blond hair and a manic white grin.
“Matt! Oh my God, what are you doing here at this time of the night? I thought you never came out of your bedroom after the Sun set, started to think you were a closet werewolf or something!”
Finding it very hard to speak with Dom pressing both his elbows down on his stomach so forcefully, Matt only puffed his cheeks, signaling for the blond to get off him in order to be able to breathe again.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dom,” he squeaked once he was released from the deathly grip, “I’m not Chris, you know?”
“Yeah, you don’t smell like him,” Dom said, actually taking a sniff of Matt’s armpits, before scrunching his face away in half mocked disgust. “Ew, you stink!”
“And you look like an idiot, you - wait, what the hell are you doing - hahaha! - stop it!”
Matt sputtered out a shrieking laugh as Dom kept digging his fingers in his ribs, tickling him till the brunet openly begged for mercy. “Please,” he said one more time, his fingers tangling with Dom’s as he tried to peel them away from his aching sides, “please, everything but this, really, I hate tickling, I’m terrible when it comes to it, sometimes I even start laughing before they touch me!”
“Really? Aw, how cute,” Dom said, giggling a bit himself. “You have the craziest laugh, I swear!”
“Yeah, cute my arse,” Matt shot back, his eyes already checking the grass around him for his messenger bag. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, somehow absently, relaxing a bit when he noticed that it had slid behind his back when he’d fallen on the ground.
“You know,” he heard Dom say, “I had a date.”
Matt did his best to feign some kind of interest. “Oh, cool, so you did go out with Pat, in the end,” he uttered, his voice trembling with what he hoped would result as pure excitement. “How did it go?”
“‘t was shit.”
“Oh.”
They just sat there in a comfortable silence for a few more moments, Dom lighting a cigarette after Matt refused to take one himself. Neither of them felt the need to mention what had happened on the school field just that morning – it was all forgiven, and long forgotten.
Maybe that was what being friends was really about, right?
Lifting his bum from the grass just enough to pull his bag against his side, Matt rummaged inside of it till he found the crushed box of sweets. Much to his surprise, two of them turned out to be still reasonably edible, although they didn’t look as round and perfect as they had before.
“You want one?” he offered, extending his arm to present Dom with the treat. The blond took another drag off his cigarette, turning his head to peek suspiciously at the squashy teacake in Matt’s palm before accepting it.
“Is this your twisted way of telling me that you hate me?” he asked, sounding rather amused despite his best effort to keep a straight face. “I know I can be a complete dick sometimes, but really? Mashed mushy marshmallow cake?”
“I’ll have it if you don’t want it, Mr Fancy Pudding,” Matt retorted, his mouth already full of mushy goodness. “I could literally eat a whole box of these and still crave for more.”
Dom regarded him with a skeptical look, his left eyebrow shooting up as he poked at Matt’s flat belly under his blue sweater. “How do you keep so fit then?” he inquired, his grey eyes growing huge as he pressed his whole hand against the brunet’s abdomen. “Seriously, you have, like, proper steel abs. It’s actually freaking me out a bit.”
“It’s not like I eat a full box every day, Dom – stop, stop touching me!”
“Are you actually a werewolf? Or a vampire? You look more like a vampire to me, all pale and freaky and stuff. That would also explain why you listen to fucking Beethoven all the time instead of Oasis, like normal people do, you know.”
“I’ve never heard of a vampire with phenomenal steel abs before.”
“Yeah, but I guess they’re kind of fit, though, right? I mean, they’re dead, they can’t exactly get fat.”
“You’re an idiot,” Matt said, chuckling a bit despite the initial discomfort. Dom was still looking at him with a cryptic smirk on his face, his long fingers fidgeting with the bobbles on the brunet’s sweater almost absent-mindedly. “Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from too much smoking, “yeah, I’m an idiot. What’s inside that bag?”
Unable to stare back into eyes as grey as the storm, Matt found himself wondering just what would happen if he told Dom about his ballet classes in that moment. As he hugged his bag and all its contents tighter to his side, though, he somehow felt like it was hardly the right time for revelations – not because he didn’t trust Dom enough, but maybe because he wasn’t ready to drop the mask yet.
“Blood sacks,” he croaked in the end, adjusting his coat around his shoulders before moving to get up from the grass. Dom didn’t laugh at his lame joke, but Matt was actually relieved to see that he didn’t look mad at him as he’d been that morning, either. Rolling his eyes in a dramatic way, the blond held his arm out to help him stand, half of his mushed teacake still nestled between his fingers.
“You want the last bite?” he offered, almost as a sign of peace.
Biting down on his lips, Matt looked longingly at the sticky white fluff coating Dom’s thumb. “You sure you’re not eating that?” he asked, quickly pushing aside the absurd idea of liking the digit clean.
Dom shrugged his shoulders a bit, his tongue making a clicking sound before he lifted the corner of his mouth in another cheeky smile. “Sure,” he said, “you can have it. In fact, I insist you do.”
With that, he stood on his knees and smashed the last bits of the squishy cake right on Matt’s lips, forcing him to open his mouth as he tickled his sides with gentle fingers, the brunet’s small frame shaking with blubbering giggles once again.
Satisfied, the blond retrieved his fingers, unable to hold his own barking laugh as he took on the way Matt’s face was flushing red, bits of chocolate and marshmallow fluff smeared all over his mouth and cheeks.
“You know,” he admitted, “you’re actually quite funny when you’re not busy sticking your nose in a book.”
“Not my fault if you’re a sad, ignorant fuck,” said Matt, battling Dom’s hands away when the blond made to help him clean up, “I know it might sound absurd to you, but I actually enjoy reading.”
Dom shook his head, still smiling, his eyes winking mischievously.
“It’s not a problem if you want to live on the dork side of the moon, Matt,” he pointed out. “But it’s nice when you take a trip to the bright one, you know. I like hanging out with you.”
Fingers stopping abruptly in their ministrations, Matt opened his mouth to say something, but all he managed in the end was a simple nod of his head. He felt a bit stupid for that – he could have said “thank you” at least – but soon he realised that he didn’t really need to.
“C’mon, it’s almost eleven,” Dom said after a while, glancing at his wristwatch as he straightened up, two muddy splotches soaking his jeans where he’d been kneeling on the grass. “I’ll walk you home,” he offered, looking at Matt with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t want your nana to get too worried about her little Vlad here, do we?”
“Aren’t you afraid that I might just slash your neck and leave your body out for the seagulls once we’ve reached a dark alley?” Matt teased, his crooked tooth shining whiter than his companions under the moonlight as he snarled.
Leather jacket hanging carelessly on top of his shoulder, Dom clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Gotta risk it to get the biscuit, right?” he said, his fingers drawing invisible commas in the air as he started to walk towards the main street.
Matt ran after him, his messenger bag swinging against his side. “Wait, Dom,” he called, “what biscuit?”
Smirking, Dom turned to look at him, his fingers already digging in his pockets for another cigarette. “Can’t tell you,” he chuckled. “It’s a secret.”
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I love the way you describe Matt. He's just so Matt, you know? I can't wait to learn even more of his dancing and see more of Meg, she's great!
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I love all the details about ballet in the first part, the technical aspects of it makes it so more real; I loved how Meg brought more insight into Matt's character; I love how you're getting teenagers absolutely right and I think it's amazing how you can tell, from only two chapters so far, how Matt is definitely a teenager yes, with all the drama anad angst of a typical one, but how more mature and an "old soul" (can't find a better expression for it), an artist, he is at the same time.
Oh and btw, I love Dom too lol, and the contrast he provides. The ending was just wheee haha
Amist that all, I can't believe English isn't your first language. It's not just that you manage to choose the right words to convey a certain feeling or mood everytime, but it's also the beautiful style, that also fits the type of story so well.
I can't gush enough, this is just brilliant. Happy New year and may we have more of this story (#SOON) and more stories like this <3
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My English really isn't anything great - of course I feel more comfortable when I write or speak in my own language, but I do try my best. I'm constantly looking up for synonyms and word meanings, or even whole periods on google, because sometimes a sentence would make perfect sense in my head, but then I end up noticing that I wrote it as if I were to write in Italian and, trust me, that does not work at all. XD
Ask Brigi what the beta session was like, she kept coming up with "um, I think this might be an italianism, it doesn't make any sense in current English" and "THIS SENTENCE IS TOO LONG!". I shall thank her endlessy for the help and support she provided me with. ♥
Anyway, all I can say about Matt is that I FUCKING HATE TEENAGERS, OKAY - BLOODY ANGST, BLOODY MOOD SWINGS, BLOODY VAMPIRE ATTITUDE (he is, indeed, as you pointed out, an old soul u_ù)
I'm not going to promise anything, but I might be able to get the next chapter ready relatively #SOON
HAPPY NEW YEAR, DARLING, AND THANK YOU AGAIN, SO SO MUCH ♥♥♥
*smooches*
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I know exactly what you mean with looking up synonyms and stuff, I do that myself too :p That's why it takes me so long to write anything myself haha Also, that's why I'm saying you've got great English, cos English isn't my native tongue either (I'm Portuguese) so I know how it is to try to express yourself (writing!) in another language.
Actually listened to The Swan Lake this afternoon, inspired by this :D Happy to hear we'll get more Swan soon wheee
*smooches back*
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Yes, exactly - that takes a hella long time! Also, being the scrupulous grammar nazi I am when it comes to Italian, I'm never completely satisfied with what I write in English. This is both a good and a bad thing. A curse, actually. XD
I would have never guessed you were Portoguese YOUR English is G R E A T ! One more reason to compare you to hot chocolate! ♥
I study Japanese and Korean at Uni and I already picked English for my extra-exams, but I remember wanting to take Portoguese because it sounds SO LOVELY! Really, it's one of the sweetest languages I've ever heard. /envyenvyenvy
Awe, I love Swan Lake - well, I love everything from Tchaikovsky - so glad you felt inspired too and listened to it! ♥♥
*hugs*
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Yeah, I'm never completely satisfied with what I post in English. I may be satisfied enough to post it but I always think someone else would be able to write what I meant way better than me heh Plus, I think my English is regressing? Aren't you supposed to improve it the more you use it?? Ugh!
Japanese AND Korean? Girl, you've got balls HA! I've studied Russian but kept to the latin alphabet otherwise :p My French used to be better than my English but these days I can barely speak it although I will understand pretty much everything I hear :/ I understand Spanish, as it's so close to Portuguese, and I studied German for two years but I retained zero..
So yeah, I dabble a lot and master nothing :p
Eww Portuguese haha It's the only accent I can't stand :p We've got great literature but apart from that, I don't really like it. I can't even write in Portuguese, which is quite sad because I love the writing process but English suits me more, it's more "factual". I think it won't be difficult for you to learn if you really want to, seeing as they share similar roots :) If you need lessons, let me kow haha
Would LOVE to learn Italian btw. It's so expressive and creative and TA-DA! lol Been on my mind for a couple of years already but I keep postponing. Maybe 2015 will be it! <3
Added you as friend, btw :) Do you have Twitter?
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That's exactly what I think when I post, by the way: "someone else would be able to write what I meant way better than me". That's actually one of the reasons why I think this story's not so popular - but hey, I'm only just beginning, there'll be time for that. I just hope my English won't regress like yours, haha! (it looks perfectly fine to me tbh!) XD
Yeaaah, I've always been kinda obsessed with both Japanese and Korean culture, my dream goal in life is to live in Tokyo one day. ♥ /dreams the kawaii dream at its fullest
Russian is actually pretty cool, but I could only take it if I took French at uni (don't ask why), and I hate French with a passion. I mean, I can perfectly read and understand, but I just can't bring myself to speak or write in French, I sound ridiculous! XD
As for the dabble, we're on the same boat together, me and you, darling. *pats on the head, hugs*
Nooo why?! I think Portuguese has a lovely sound to it! Whenever I hear people talking in Portoguese I always think "they must be in love", because it does that "bijubijubiju" thing and I don't know, I just love it! XD /isn't making any sense
As for the literature - yes, yes, you've got GREAT literature. ♥
Ok, deal: I'll teach you how to speak Italian if you teach me how to speak Portoguese. Take it or leave it, hai tutto da guadagnare. u_ù
Thanks for adding me, darling! :D
I don't have Twitter (I kind of never really understood how it worked HAHAHA), but I might give it a go. I'll most definitely let you know if I get an account! ♥
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https://twitter.com/elymania__
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Just added you ;) I don't use Twitter for much other than fangirling (and I don't even tweet about fic) and the odd rant about life but I think it's great to keep up with stuff and people :)
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Wow! So beautiful! I loved the ballet lesson. It felt so real.
But what's with the biscuit? Can't wait to read more.
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Thank you so much for taking time to read this - you might be able to find out more about that biscuit soon enough! ;))
Happy New Year! ♥♥♥
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As I said, this was s good! Love all the details and how easily the conversation flows everywhere! I'm so intrigued with Dom's last words as well!
Shitty comment is shitty
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I know Meg's attitude is somehow, well, creepy (beating someone with a stick - doesn't matter if she didn't really hurt him - it's still rather deplorable), but that's actually what happens, more than often, in a dance class. My own mum does it - she even puts her feet on her student's back, pushing them further down when they're stretching! That witch! :O
Thanks so much for reading this, though, and for your lovely (not shitty at all!) comment. ♥
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Solitamente non gradisco molto le AU (penso: fanno il mestiere più figo del mondo, che senso ha scrivere una AU?) e non ti nascondo che ho riso non poco quando ho letto il summary e ho notato che "Matt Bellamy" e "ballet dancer" figuravano nella stessa frase (SI MUOVE COME UNA PAPERA, ALTRO CHE CIGNO, COME TI SALTA IN MENTE, DICO IO); detto ciò, ho trovato inspiegabilmente *attraente* il primo capitolo e non ho potuto fare a meno di fiondarmi nella lettura del secondo quando ho visto che avevi aggiornato. Se ti suono in qualche modo contrariata, sappi che lo sono, perché la tua storia è una AU, Matt Bellamy fa esercizi alla barra e, contrariamente a tutto ciò in cui ho sempre creduto, MI PIACE PURE.
Mi ci sono volute venti righe per dirtelo, lo so, ma necessitavo delle dovute premesse per dirti quanto segue.
C'è una bella differenza tra questo capitolo ed il precedente - e non parlo solo della loro lunghezza; lo so che hai dovuto dare più spazio ai dialoghi penalizzando un po' l'introspezione del personaggio (fermo restando che li trovo molto gradevoli e che la scena allo specchio è particolarmente bella ed efficace), ma pare che si inceppi un po' nella forma. Cioè, aspè, mi spiego meglio: l'inglese è una lingua cattiva (sì, cattiva) e rende meglio nella sua forma implicita. Ora, non so se stia stata opera tua o del betaggio, ma ho notato che hai spezzato molte frasi e reso esplicite espressioni che magari potevano essere riassunte bene con un avverbio o una "fisarmonica verbale" (come la chiamo io, quei verbi resi in -ing che accostati a nomi e aggettivi rendono l'idea di una proposizione esplicita - fisarmonica perché sono "brevi" ma si "allargano" nel senso - stommale, lo so XD). So bene che in italiano tutto questo non accade, però so anche che non sempre le frasi necessitano di essere rese esplicite o staccate dal loro gruppo solo per non creare periodi troppo lunghi; l'inglese è tutto per la brevità concettuale, certo, ma tu stai scrivendo un lavoro originale, quindi puoi fare quello che ti pare. Non aver paura di giocare con i suoni e le ripetizioni, sei molto brava con le metafore e hai uno stile molto disinvoltamente poetico -- osa. :)
Aspetto il prossimo capitolo con inaspettata trepidazione - e nel frattempo ti rinnovo i complimenti. ♥
-cheedori
P.S. ma tu non sei su EFP - no, perché sono andata a controllare. Pura curiosità: perché non scrivere in italiano? Guarda che avremmo bisogno di autrici come te lì! :D ♥
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TUUUUUUU SEI CHEEDORI
SEI LA CHEEDORI DI MEDS E HTTT
IO TI ODIO
NO TI AMO
CIOE' TI ODIO, AGGIORNA CAZZO
/oscilla per la stanza aggrappandosi alle tende
Grazie per aver scritto in italiano, almeno ho avuto la certezza di intendere quello che volevi dire. Grazie anche per aver letto e per aver commentato con una critica così costruttiva, sul serio, mi fa molto più piacere ricevere questo tipo di feedback che altro. ♥
Purtroppo devo dirti che questa è anche la prima volta che scrivo in inglese, quindi diciamo che non ci ho ancora fatto la mano... però hai ragione quando dici che questo capitolo si "inceppa" un po' rispetto al primo. Ad essere onesta, molte cose, molte espressioni di cui parlavi, ad esempio, sono state cambiate in fase di betaggio, proprio perché inserite in periodi troppo lunghi o talvolta non propriamente comprensibili (specialmente nel caso delle metafore, ho dovuto renderle tutte esplicite perché suonavano strane e forse anche imprecise nella comprensione).
Ciononostante, grazie mille per le parole di incitamento e per i complimenti che mi hai fatto, ho apprezzato molto che tu ti sia soffermata sull'aspetto "acustico" del mio modo di scrivere perché è proprio una delle cose a cui tengo di più. ♥
Permettimi di fare una danza della gioia perché sono riuscita a convincerti a leggere una AU, anche XD (LA MORTE DELLA PAPERA, QUESTA ME LA SEGNO AHAHAHAH)
Non sono su EFP e non ho mai scritto in italiano perché non ci ho mai creduto molto, onestamente, però non chiudo le porte a questa possibilità! :D
*hugs*
x Ely
P.S. ti ho aggiunta come amica qui su LJ, spero non ti dispiaccia! ♥
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ti ho scritto in privato così non inondiamo il post con le mie considerazioni
mai richieste in primo luogo sara shut the fuck up, scusa se ti sono sembrata una rompiballe. ;)x
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I also enjoyed Meg quite a lot. Love that she doesn't coddle him but is a little rough around the edges. You can see that she cares for him, though.
And then there's Dom. Dom, Dom, Dom. I'm so relieved that he isn't mad at him for earlier, but instead they jumped right into being friends. I love that. AND THE BISCUIT COMMENT.
More. Give it to me. Now.
<333