clearwinged - Tumblr blog

[clearwinged]

he stares, amusement somewhat apparent in the folded line of his mouth. "are you adopting my hobbies now?" it's a teasing nudge, one that seems to highlight the distance they've travelled, proves oliver's comfort when set in minwei's company. he's so often on his own -- by intention -- and then by fate, that the plain-ness of their arrangement continues to surprise him. he takes a sip, clears his throat, and recounts the order of yu minwei's inquiries. "i remember dreams as they are. not all of them are -- as feverish. and no siblings, that i know of. i'm born here, from here. and i'm not -- entirely anchored. i'm mostly weighed down by the simple fact that there's always more to know." and then, fondly, with a sheepish, vague gesture, "more people to know." oliver doesn't even think of it as searching. he meanders, wades through moment by moment, nearly reptilian with his focus. and he knows there are stories to be shared all over the globe, but stubbornness keeps him certain that the uncut gems live right around the corner. the journeys that keep his world spinning on an axis -- they come from neighbours, from cabbies, from repairmen, from salon artists. and oliver likes the faces they make when he asks them questions. he takes another sip, eyes drifting down then to the mug nestled in yu minwei's cradling palm. "should i get us food before i continue?"

@rowan-revelry

How peaceful.

To have Oliver's voice turn words this way and that, taste of coffee on his tongue, his mind idly occupied with the images and thoughts that come tumbling into the room; like they're passing puzzle pieces between each other.

He thinks: Sounds like you're in awe of the moon. The world. Life. Art. Sounds like your mind marvels even in your sleep. (And humms.)

He thinks, when Oliver's musings land where they do: Flattery? It'll get you everywhere, love. (And smiles, arching his brows in teasing challenge.)

He thinks: How unfair - how often have I let Oliver ask all the questions, and how little have I asked him in return? (And tries to think back, eyes far away.)

And finally, chin resting on the back rest of the couch, having studied the shelves, ceiling, carpet and now returning the gaze to Rosenbaum, he says:

"Do you remember everything like this? Like a rich tapestry?" And, more importantly: "Do you have any siblings? Are you from out of town? Do you want to stay here all of your life? Why novels instead of journalism? How do you feel about your parents?"

Thoughtful and quiet, undivided attention on Olivet.

@clearwinged

[clearwinged]

the recognition is immediate, though it's sympathy and a knee jerk, compulsive worry that swings to the forefront. she sinks to a bended knee, a slow reaching but gentle hand resting atop soleil's shoulder. "have whatever moment you need," cass adds, intent on reassuring her. "...do you want to talk about whatever's bothering you though? you can be as descriptive or as vague as you like." she offers a tilted smile then, "plus i've been told i'm a good listener."

Crying in public spaces? Soleil has reached a whole new low, and this time she's not sure she wants to dig herself out. Every girl needs a bender of nothing but sobbing. That's a completely healthy idea, right? She gasps and looks over her shoulder when she hears someone whisper out to her. Seeing it's Cass, she quickly wipes her tears away, but undoubtedly still looks like a sad case. "Hey," she sniffles. "Yeah, m'alright. Just, uh... havin' a moment."

[clearwinged]

he nods, eyes alight when daniel stitches his response without any -- perceived -- barrier. the frank nature of their discussion; the sincerity is like honey to him, like perfect fodder for the curious machine that churns in his head. it makes the transition easy, natural. for someone naturally deprived of social charms (or so oliver's been told) -- daniel swings without hesitation. "is it safe to assume you're an atheist? or agnostic?" and then, because inquiries of faith and religion tend to weigh heavier than other topics, he offers vulnerability of his own. "on text i would say i'm the latter, though labels as a whole tend to muddle identifying affairs -- when it comes to my own personal preference. there are cultural beliefs i hold that grey and bleed into faith, but not in the organized, measured way people tend to talk about religion." oliver pauses, lips curling up at the edges of his mouth. "have i bored you yet? -- or am i still 'interesting'?"

he thinks a lot, has dissected things from every angle, every potential thought one might have. it doesn't leave a lot of room for daniel's own opinion, but he knows that oliver would hear it regardless if he tried to share. he doesn't, not quite yet.

"i've always loved the concept of religious far more than i've loved the actual experience. not even in the—i don't know, standard way of approaching it. i mean—" he paused, frustration etched across his brow, coffee turning in his hands, "that holiness, devoid of a god or whatever, that pedestal that you're talking about, it's a beautiful image. like catholicism. it's a pretty picture, some fine aesthetics, but when you look at it too closely, it falls apart. it's inaccessible to the very people who craft it, who inspire it, who consume it."

he isn't sure if that makes any sense at all, and he's certain that oliver will point it out if that's the case, but his next words a proof that it doesn't need to be coherent. "you are interesting, but you're something else too. i don't know if i could explain it to you, but maybe you've got the nail on the head. maybe it's nature for me too."

[clearwinged]

"whoa! -- whoa, don't worry -- didn't mean to make you jump." habit's why his hands reach out instinctively, steadying shoulders without prompt. it's part of his brand anyway, touch, intimacy without full -- in-depth -- logical -- sound reason. plus he's seen her around enough to feel familiar, to know inklings. stripes overhears more than he should sometimes, because he balances somewhere between curious -- and attentive. his ex had said it sweet once; maybe just a little bit obsessive too -- a little bit like a dog wearing a cone. it funnels. circles down the metaphorical drain. sounded like a compliment to him -- sounded like an insult to everyone else. he tips his chin down slightly, eyes like marbles when they take in the flush of her cheeks. "sorry, i wanted to talk. to you. i've uh, seen you here quite a bit. assuming you're from the area?" a thin sliver of tongue darts across stripes' bottom lip. "i c'mere a lot."

@clearwinged meet rosemary clement lookin' at me.

"no, no, have them call pierre. he'll get it sorted out. he's more equipped to handle stupidity." rosemary waved a hand over her coffee for a moment, phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear as she poured far too much sugar and just a dash of cream. "no, well—no, just have—alright, alright, fine. ok. call me back when you get ahold of him." she waited for the click, tossed her garbage in the little bin and then grabbed her phone, shoving it back into her bag before grabbing her coffee and spinning on her heel, nearly running into the stranger she hadn't heard approach her. "fuck!" mortified, her cheeks filled with a deep crimson as she looked the other over.

[clearwinged]

he grins, pleased, feline almost with the way he noses against the hill of her cheek. she's perfectly charming -- delectable with phrases that kane finds himself often stumbling with. "so are you -- so are you," he murmurs, repetitive into the swoop of her neck, before leaning back -- finally granting her a moment's breath. he's sitting back on his heels, one languid palm snaking from the edge of her chin, down collarbone, down stomach. there's a cheeky glint in his eye, but kane gnaws at himself instead, and peels up off the couch. "lemme' be a gentleman again," he drawls, light on his feet. and he marvels when he returns, when the warm dampness of a cloth meets her skin, absorbing residue and fluids and proof of his interest -- in quick succession. there's a godly effort taken to resist following the trail with kisses. it helps, somewhat, once his briefs are slid back on -- their half-dressed state alluring still but manageable. kane tosses the cloth into his bathtub, then returning to stand, hands on his hips. the smile he pulls is a pleased, playful one. "pizza?"

there's a warmth between the two of them, not the friendly type like running into an old friend, but not just the physical type either. like they are two difference forces of nature, generating their own heat and weight, drawn into each other and seeing what reaction comes from their encounters. when she's felt cold her entire life, the life of an antonova is often a frigid one, kane is a blast of heat that seems to change her every molecule.

she's never left unsatisfied, in any meaning of the word, whether mental or physical entanglement. sasha's used to having pleasure with one or the other, but never both. when they've had their fill, when she is spent and feels like her head has wandered as far away from her as it can from the push and pull, from the ocean waves that crash over them both, she finds herself with a chuckle in her chest as he checks in on her.

"no bruises i wouldn't be welcome to gain." she hums happily as she grins up at him. "i am good, though, if i were a more bashful woman, i'd be embarrassed at my inability to keep quiet when i am with you. i'm very good, kane. and good god, so are you."

[clearwinged]

kane lets him lead the way -- though he jogs, and sprints in bursts of unshakeable energy. the streets are largely empty at this time of night, roads but playgrounds for the swing of their limbs, the hollering of their calls. it's thrilling. a jumpstart to the heart, a hammering familiar and tailed with adrenaline. erik seems to meet him toe to toe, grin to grin -- and through the amusement, kane appreciates him quietly too. he leans against the shop window, one knee propped up when they arrive. "what's this secret place of yours, huh?" his left palm cradles the neck of a cheap merlot, while his right pinches the handle of a 6-pack. it's a lot for a single night -- one shared with two in some hazy post-coital state -- but the more they sip, the more subjects they have to aim for. the more subjects they have, the longer erik keeps to his side. he's itching for another smoke, but he distracts himself with a pointed look, eyes draping across the other's profile. "somewhere private y' bring your lovers? -- or your own self?"

the cool in the air is just enough to keep him from turning the challenge down. he'd rather be outside anyway, and maybe this is a good idea to go an grab his bike, take out out, head off to the bluffs with kane. "i know a place. we'll have to stop by my shop. it's a quick walk from here." he nods as he follows after the once was stranger.

there's something in the air, something palpable that he doesn't have the vocabulary to vocalize, or the guts to either. pockets becoming memories, like the air is captured up and stored away to become the strongest, most vulnerable and sentimental moments in his life. something he'll chase for far too long after kane's left him in the dust.

erik tries to pretend he can't feel it, can't feel the melancholia that he knows he'll look back on this, drowning in the emotions he can't grab again. he pretends it's not a creature in the night, baring down on him as he collects his things and dresses himself once more.

[clearwinged]

it's an unnecessary compliment -- which is why oliver warms. kind and high in regard, even if presumably half-hearted, because it's sincere, and real, and yu minwei doesn't need to covet him. they're already friends, acquaintances, partners in -- artful discussion -- in worldly deep dives. but his lips purse, a slight frown surfacing when they teeter back into dream territory. food will have to wait, apparently. "small, somewhat." he thumbs the edge of his mug, then hovers the pad of it in range of the steam. the heat collects, wetting his skin. "small in heart. big in -- mind. like my ribs were very tight, bounded and tied down. but my head felt like it was ballooning." oliver skims the digit, wipes the condensation clear from his finger. "there's a sense of -- this is too big to survive -- too large to navigate without a wave, a backsplash. and at the same time, because it's like -- storeys tall, there's a wonder to it. like looking up at a mountain from the base." he turns to look at yu minwei, his figure splayed and long. "i have to look up often anyway," oliver reasons, not gesturing, though his stature is implied in the statement of it.

@rowan-revelry

Oliver studies the whale of his memory; Yu Minwei studies Oliver.

Amused and fond while he listens, ridiculously patiently, to this impromptu retelling surrounding a completely imaginary whale. Cup empty, he sets it aside, and says: "You're halfway to a poet already." But then, softly inquisitive, completely disregarding the fact that Oliver was trying to veer back into the mundane world of coffee and breakfasts and teasing: "What did it make you feel?" Cruel, really, making a writing man try to dictate something like this - but Oliver seems fond of his recorder, so maybe not as cruel as it could've been. Oliver is just answering a question of how he slept, it could mean nothing, but Minwei is not in such a hurry that he can't investigate it a little - more walking Oliver's errands than his own. He doesn't care a bit about whales and their inner lives; but he does care about Oliver's writing, and Oliver's mind, and whether he remembers things that matter to him even more clearly or if it's arbitrary, a cruel level of detail afforded to absolutely everything.

@clearwinged

[clearwinged]

kane lets out a relieved, ever grateful sigh, chin tipping up to the ceiling. "thank fuck." he's just responsible enough to toss the box onto a kitchen counter, before returning to her, limbs crowding the natural glow of her skin. he mouths the small traces of grease from his fingers, before catching her lips in the transition -- each kiss stretching outward with the unbridled time. they're saved from interruptions then. knowing this, kane takes his time, eyes her from every angle -- threads his fingers, pinches the soft curve of her hip, swallows every hitched breath, every gasp, every moan that tumbles out. she satiates his appetite -- bends into something artful, something worth painting -- and kane finds himself heaving, loose and light-headed once the waves have crested, and dipped. his cheek's nuzzled against hers, soothing -- wet -- sweaty hands coming up to push himself up. "christ. jesus -- y' good? feelin' alright?" his left index and thumb find the red of sasha's blush, caressing down the shape of it. a pleased, lopsided smile forms then. "didn't bruise ya or anythin' did i?"

matches struck against her skin, his kisses are enough to make her want to give up on the pizza idea as well. she didn't bother to fix her appearance as he leaves her, save for removing whatever half gone article that still remains against her skin.

more giggles bubble up at his dramatics, she watches him as he pays, following with hums and haws at the fact that they were interrupted in the first place. that time limit still beating against her heart at a dangerous pace.

"personally, i think pizza is best cold. at midnight or the next morning, both are better than hot and ready at the door." she beams, pushing herself up onto her knees as she watches him maneuver with the pie in his hands. god, she likes him far too much for the future of her own happiness, but she can't do anything to protect herself. she's too far in it.

[clearwinged]

"all the more reason to challenge ya," kane suggests, teasing. "we'll make a bet of it. we'll take some drinks out -- chug 'em dry, use 'em as aiming practice." he says it matter-of-factly, then pushing back against the rail, retreating to the warm indoors. it's late out, quiet in a presumably safe neighbourhood, and kane's itching to make most of the company. this is a pit stop, a short-lived passing spark of chemistry, and as reckless as he knows this plan to be, he wants the night bolded, italicized, etched into his head. (scraped in long enough to withstand inevitable blows to the head.) "c'mon -- let's get dressed -- y' know where we could go yeah? somewhere secluded?" he's swerving to look erik's way, stumbling limbs nestling into discarded pants and shoulders shrugging over a loose long-sleeve. kane shoots him a knowing grin. "promise i won't try any funny business out there."

erik's eyes narrowed, searching kane best he could to discover his drive. he wasn't as easy to read as others could be, familiar, in ways that shouldn't matter but certainly did, but he couldn't see through him perfectly. "maybe i could." he hummed, fingers itching for his keys, but the bike was in the shop, so he didn't have much of a choice but to wait.

kane's shoe hits him lightly, playful, and erik finally breaks a smile, letting himself relax. "i don't know if i could come close to beating you. i'll remind you that dare's job involved the guns and mine's the baseball bat. we could take out mailboxes like shitty teenagers and i'd fair better than shooting." it wasn't entirely true, but erik tended to keep his hands off firearms if he could help it.

[clearwinged]

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[clearwinged]

oliver smiles, small, knowing. "i made you coffee," he argues in light defence. "plus -- i wasn't trying to find a scoop. the scoop had somehow found me. and when i looked out my window," he turns then, following the motion by peering over at the sunlight streaming through open blinds, "i saw a whale. a behemoth. like a scene from a movie -- a singular, black eye -- tiny in comparison, like a bead, a drop of ink." his attention sways back, chin tipping up with a distant interest, as if relishing in the real, solid memory of it. imagination and the blur of dreaming tend to make asses of his skillset -- the detailed nature inscribed mirroring the experiences he held while conscious. (psychedelics would presumably drive him mad.) "a pinprick wound upon an island. navy, dark blue skin, barnacles and bubbles framing my view. it's a pity animals can't verbalize their stories in words familiar to us," he muses, slowing then to take a sip. it's too early to expand on the ways mammals like them differ -- and are the same -- so oliver relents, shoulders sinking, relieved by the grace of minwei's smile. "what do you want to eat then? -- with the understanding that this isn't a breakfast buffet."

@rowan-revelry

The brazen confession of dream madness hangs in the air between them for a moment.

It takes Minwei a couple more seconds to process what's just happened, but when he does, he laughs. He bends forward, a little, and there's a relief to it; an untangling of a knot that makes him down the rest of the coffee in one swig, and then lean back. If previously he'd sat with his elbows on his knees, quite literally at the edge of his seat - now he splays, catlike. Grinning, one arm along the back rest, cocking a head towards him. "Still trying to find a scoop, even while sleeping. No one's surprised." With a spark of brazen annoying, he knocks his knee against Oliver's, fondly. "I'm hungry. Is this how you treat your guests? You starve them?" He wasn't, not very, but there's a gleeful joy in being demanding; and he's happy Oliver's a sledgehammer; happy he's still himself, even in the light of day. Bleary and tired, but still himself - it's not always the case. People come out rendered differently in the daytime - (and not an insignificant amount of Yu Minwei's aquaintances get skitterish and uncomfortable if caught in sunshine, because he belongs to the clubs and not to their day jobs.)

@clearwinged

[clearwinged]

Auction, Quan Barry

[clearwinged]

kane glances out into the purple expanse of the night. "maybe y' could start there. lil' trips. taste somethin' from hands that haven't already made ya." he doesn't mean it cruelly -- not at all sourced from a place of judgement (he'd be more of a hypocrite than he already was) but one of acknowledgement. there's freedom to be had, opportunities to be tested, roads to be cycled through. "how good of a shot are ya? huh? -- think y' could beat me? best outta' three?" kane kicks him then, light against bare ankle. a daring, competitive -- perhaps flirtatious -- smirk sets when he meets erik's eyes again.

erik clicked his tongue, leaned back against the rail and looked up at the sky. what was there out in the world that mattered? if he thought about it too hard, he'd have to admit there was no push or pull, to stay or to go was never a question he had explored. either side of it, like he was untethered but shielded from the wind. it didn't matter which way it blew because he didn't know what he wanted from his life. sometime he resented the fact that he'd even been born. that was too deep for the conversation though.

"most of my life was decided for me. i learned to fight because i was asked to, i learned to shoot because darius needed someone to go with him to the range." he thought he'd be more interesting by the time he met someone whose opinion seemed to matter to him. "i like driving, i don't know if there's anywhere specific i'd ever want to go, but i wouldn't mind just being on the road." he should take his motorcycle out more, or his truck. both were hardly used.

[clearwinged]

it isn't that he gets lost in it -- muddled in the head with the prospect of some stuttering breath, some blown pupils -- but it's focus, sharp-eyed priority that fuels kane into near perfect ignorance. so he groans, exasperated, when their interrupted -- the buttons of his shirt spread, forehead resting nestled into a hint of cleavage. she's delightfully warm under him, rosy-cheeked and laughing when the delivery person continues, incessant. "christ -- who'dda think pizza was ever a bad idea?" kane mumbles, lips still pressed against sasha's collarbone. he pulls away with visible reluctance, a toying pout perched atop his reddened features, and drags himself -- feet shuffling backward to the door. this way, at least, he gets to marvel just a little longer. he gnaws on the corner of his lip, grin eventually replacing a childish scowl, and kane pivots -- turns on his heel for the exchange. if the delivery guy stares, or squints, picking apart his half-dressed state, he's none the wiser. the door swings shut once there's a pie in his arm -- a long, long, sigh trickling behind when sasha comes back into view. "what d'ya think 'bout cold, day-old pizza?" he plays, eyebrow lifted, teasing with the implication of his shifting appetite.

sasha had never dealt with romance before. lust, she was familiar with, grief and wrath and sorrow deeper than the congo river, but whatever they had now, whatever nameless thing that she couldn't see, it was new, and she could reach out and touch it. touch him.

his arm pulls her in, his fingers dance across her skin. delicate and yet possessive, like he might never let her go. security spreads across her body with the flush of excitement and promise of pleasure. it's not just lust, dripping with want and need, but rather something else, lust laced through it. she doesn't hide herself, not with him. she doesn't quiet the shivers and moans, his kiss draws her in and she is his. like he is a tornado, tearing into her lift without warning, burning fires intermingled with electricity.

it's not a lot of time, but the time limit only spurs her on, and she's never felt the urge to slow herself down when she'd with him. there's that teenage giddiness like knowing her parents could come home at any minute as they fool around on the couch. he finds something she didn't even know she'd lost. when there's a knock at the door, sasha is half dressed on the couch, covering her mouth to smother her giggles, embarrassment and lust leaving her flushed.

[clearwinged]

the bleary corners of sleep seem to cling, stubborn in it's hold, and weighty enough to pry either of them from a caffeinated, wakeful consciousness. they're half-present, presumably moments away from draping across furniture with a sigh. oliver feels the tingle of it underneath his eyelids, the creeping -- wordless plea. he answers bluntly instead (mostly because he can't communicate otherwise), setting the coaster to the flat of a knee. "i had a dream where i was expected to attend a wedding. the wedding of a previous co-worker -- one i hardly even speak to anymore -- but in this dream, i had to take a cab there." he recalls it easily, vivid as if read from a page. "which was fine. there're many stories to be find from taxi drivers and the like. but he began to drive into the ocean -- and his car seemed to -- morph into a submarine. he explained that the wedding was being held underwater. dream logic suggests i believed him," oliver explains, free hand gesturing matter-of-factly.

@rowan-revelry

Yu Minwei is ready to throw an arm across his face and despair, when Oliver acts first; hovering a hand above his forehead, touch without touch.

Minwei lifts his gaze a little, an uncharacteristic bout of shyness, tries to mumble something about how it's probably fine; but the man has already concluded as much, and is moving for the kitchens. A little overwhelmed, for no good reason, Minwei rubs at his own face. When Oliver comes back, he reluctantly sits up; but takes the cup with far more gratitude. A hum of approval, toes curling in awkward, and he buries himself into the welcome aroma of coffee. There's a quiet beat where he just sips the caffeine - black - and then watches Oliver, trying to pick out which note he should start off on. Mulls over his reply. "No," he rasps, finally. "No, not at all. Not too early, I mean." Strangely polite; the way you get when you have the faint sense you're perhaps being a small bother, a problem in someone's every day. "I-" He almost doesn't want to confess it, as if it betrays something, but he does anyway: "I slept. Which is saying something." He takes another mouthful of coffee, looks away, darts his gaze across Oliver's shelves again. "You?" For crying out loud, what's next, remarks on the weather? He furrows his brow, looking out the window. What had he been thinking, coming back to Oliver's apartment; nighttime is Yu Minwei time. Whatever the fuck morning and daylight was, it was not his time. Even the small slit of sunshine coming in through the window was threatening a headache later on.

@clearwinged

[clearwinged]

matt & axel for @dialsdrnk.

he's stiff, jaw clenched tight enough for a near audible grind. his shoulders ache with unspoken pressure, and although matt knows better than to ease it with liquor -- knows the hangover will only string him into thinner, thinner strips -- he's desperate. it's hard every time. it burns through him every time. so he taps, index and middle finger lightly rapping atop the surface for the bartender's attention. "hi -- a beer and a shot -- whiskey, neat, please." his lips are curled into a thin smile, respectful on the surface, even if the buzz of his despair drips into pinched brows, and hiked shoulders.

[clearwinged]

starter call !! ( specify muse and/or ship if preferred !! otherwise i'll randomize !! )