MOVED TO KRYETAR

hey it’s ya gal!!  SO  i’ve decided, after deliberation, that i want to return to tumblr to continue writing! which is a huge thing to me since i just in principal hate tumblr with a burning passion lmao.  ANYWAY.....

i will be making a new blog at some point in the future to write ira on, but i’ve decided as well that i’m going to completely change his story. he will not be the same character he is right now, and i think the storyline i have for him is pretty solid, as well as being something i’m quite proud of. so when i move, it will be to a brand new ira carter.

PRE-STAGES.                                 when in the tricky, calmer waters of what is starting to become something more than just being associates or friends, i’ve noticed that ira tends to remain somewhat distant. he doesn’t entirely latch onto his change of emotions as quickly because he often prefers to bury himself in work, his comfort zone. this being said, ira is a tease; he likes to poke at the idea and make fun of it in a way that suggests he might not be so entirely against it. this part is very circumstantial to who it is ira has developed a penchant for. ira likes to know that if he’s entering some kind of ‘special relationship’ with someone, he will be the one in power of it; especially now that his character has changed so much in the direction of power hungriness.

EARLY ON.                                      this is around the time ira probably enjoys the most. often a time that’s fuelled by one characteristic shared between him and a partner. this can be anything that excites ira, be it sexual or even just clever wordplay; if it keeps ira interested, he’ll have no problem in pursuing it. this is also around the time that ira begins to encompass that need to be in control, and becomes something of a subtle dominant; being the one to organize going-out’s, having the final say in things. he likes to take this time to envision himself with this person and their situation; how he can continue their current relationship, how he can break it off, or how he can further it; generally something that, when and if it happens, is completely out of his control.

“              I’M NOT CONVINCED,   RICK.           ”              i suppose to some degree that my words are final,  that they carry along with them a sort of weight i need him to understand.      the act seems tedious,  though;   when has he understood my work before ?    when will he ?    is he capable of that ?    or am i blowing smoke at a mirror ?          (    i get the repetitive strain,  then,  at the idea of arguing at the brick wall he can be.  rick is never wrong,  never in the wrong,  and i am the demon,  the sourness in the sweet milk of his life.   )     it would be nice for once to see him try coming to me for a change,  instead of me taking all the expenses in the world to see him.

“           if you can’t come to london to see me on that week,  then you should tell me now instead of later,  otherwise i’ll only get more annoyed when you don’t show up.        ”             part of me expects that he won’t bother with it.          i get the sense sometimes that he’s scared of change,  that he’s terrified of shifting from his tiny,  american pond;    but why would i expect him otherwise ?          he has every luxury he needs,  here.          first of all,  he has his beautiful daughter.    (   MY  beautiful daughter.   )      he has his job,  his money,  his house,  his family;         why would i ever expect him to twist from his life of privilege and picket fences ?

in my discomfort i can feel myself twitching,  straining under it,  because i can hardly move from the spot.      it takes my husband,  apparently,  to elicit the more human weaknesses from me,  and i utterly despise that when i want to be nothing but    STRONG.       ------------       in all actuality,  that’s probably a good thing,  however,  that rick can still do that.         i to this day don’t fully envision or imagine myself as a married man;     but neither can i conceive myself to be single,  a loner.

i shake from this,  step toward him,  peer in his good,  just blues.         i admire,  for the smallest of moments,  the beauty he has,  how that’s refining in his age;   the classic masculine,  the fragrant fragility of him,  the delicacy under that layer of southern american gristle.     even now,  radiating from him like heat,  i can feel that he’s      AFRAID     of things.    despite this spoiling my own milk,  i still feel the same ardour in my blood for him.     even if it is infused with the souring quality of pity.

“              ---------------            i can’t keep bending everything for you if you don’t bend back.         ”