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lettersnorth · 4 years ago

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Prompt #22: Fluster

There are some people whose orbit a person struggles to escape. Like a moon that is forever trapped circling a planet.

Sterling was such a person.

Though in Aislinn’s opinion the planet analogy was too generous. Sterling was a black hole. A crushing void that pulled a body closer and ever closer until they were inevitably swallowed whole and not even dust remained. And he did it all with a smile.

She didn’t feel it was too far an exaggeration.

Aislinn had first seen Sterling from the front step of the one room flat she and her da called home in Ul’dah. Calling it home was sarcasm on her part. A sentiment that did not go overlooked by her father. Two more aimless bodies in a wave of Ala Mhigan refugees the city hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

At that time, she spent most of her days fending off boredom by fixing broken mammets people had tossed in the trash. If their chassis were still in relatively good shape she could sometimes sell them back to a few peddlers and merchants in the area. If they were too badly dinged up for the shops, there were more than enough children in the low parts of Ul’dah who were more than happy to get their hands on a real, working mammet, dented or not.

That was when she first saw him, traveling down the crooked, dusty street like he belonged, which she knew he didn’t because she had sat out on this front step long enough to know the faces of everyone that lived in this broken down section of the city. But he walked with a purpose, his gait easy, boarding on lackadaisical, while the set of his shoulders made it clear he wasn’t some foolhardy mark who had taken a wrong turn and lost his way. He never stayed long and she would see him pass by again, going back the way he came.

She first met Sterling on a miserable, raining day. The kind of day that turned the streets to mud and brought out the stench of the slums in a particularly aromatic fashion.

Her front step having no overhang, Aislinn had escaped to a set of crates under an awning in an alley across the way. It would have been easy to simply stay inside but the walls of the small flat left her feeling closed in and suffocated.

He came careening around the corner like Rhalgr himself was on his heels, soaked to the bone, his clothes covered in the muddy filth of the street, a bruise or two already blooming on his face.

They both froze, she with a hand inside a broken mammet’s chest, he with a harried incredulity that she was there at all. His eyes were almost too sharp. Ice chips settled in a dirt-streaked frame. She remembered thinking eyes like that could freeze a person solid.

Aislinn heard the angry shouting and the wet slap of running footsteps drawing closer. The state of his appearance made sense now. Flustered, she wordlessly jerked her chin over her shoulder, to the small nook in the pile of crates on which she sat. He caught her meaning and hurdled behind them with seconds to spare.

When the three highlander boys rounded the corner they slowed to a stop, chests heaving with anger, momentarily flummoxed by the sight of Aislinn, sedately going about her repairs in an otherwise empty alleyway.

“Oi! Seen anyone come through here?” One demanded. “Dark hair, milk-lander bastard?”

Aislinn looked up and blinked, as though just noticing they were there at all.

“Not really, no.”

When they scowled and stepped closer, she motioned to the run down tavern entrance, the building that ran the length of the alley side.

“Alley’s a dead end, anyroads. He mighta ran through the Ale Pail here and out the back end. That goes on up to Pearl Lane.”

If they were the observant sort they might have noticed how she tightly held her breath as she stared back at them from under the cover of the roughshod awning. How she held the set of pliers in her hand just a fraction too tightly. Luckily, they weren’t the questioning kind. After a glance down the alley to affirm what she had said was correct, they were off like a pack of baying hounds disappearing up the steps of the tavern.

The quiet of the muffled rain reigned once more and Aislinn returned to her work. After a few minutes the dark haired boy that was the subject of so much ire pulled himself up from behind the crates.

“Thanks for that.” He said as he sat down next to her and tried in vain to wipe the mud and grime from his clothes.

Aislinn gave a half-shrug and kept her eyes trained on the mammet in her lap as she re-threaded a loose bit of wire.

“What’d you do?” She asked.

“I was minding my own business -“

“No you weren’t.” She cut him off.

He stared at her until she noticed the silence and glanced up. “Well, you weren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t have been coming down here for the past moon or so doing whatever you’re doing.”

“You’ve seen me before?”

“Yes.”

“How come I’ve never seen you?”

“How is that my question to answer? Ask yourself.”

He laughed as though he didn’t know how to reply or what to make of her. “You always sit here?”

“No.” She pointed with her set of pliers to the line of hovels that slumped along the far side of the street like a staggering group of late night carousers. “Over there.”

He peered through the rain in the direction she had pointed. He racked his brain for one scrap of a memory of the girl with the flame red hair sitting at one of those stoops. Something like that should have stuck out. But he came up empty handed. It was an odd sensation, knowing someone could blend into the background like that. An unbalancing of the scales right from the start.

“They think I shorted them. Or rather, that my employer shorted them on the goods I was delivering.” he said, leaning back on his hands as he waited out the rain.

“Did they?”

“How the hells should I know. I just deliver the package. I don’t check the bloody order.” he snorted. “They never had a problem with it before. More than likely they can’t remember how much they asked for.”

She made a conciliatory noise in her throat as she worked. He glanced over and watched her patiently straighten a length of crimped copper wire. The mammet’s chest was an explosion of frayed wires and tangled circuits but he could already see where her measured touch had been, leaving orderly pathways in its wake.

“That a mammet? Where’d you find one of those?”

“Sometimes up in hightown people toss them out when they stop working.” she murmured, deep in concentration. “I fix them up and sell them back to the merchants.”

He raised a brow, impressed at the ingenuity. “Good gil, is it?”

She shrugged and motioned at their surroundings.

That’d be a no, then.

He eased himself off the crates and walked to the end of the alleyway, giving a cautious look around the corner of the building. “I should be heading out before they decide to come back this way.” he said before returning momentarily to the shelter of the awning. He tapped the mammet’s head as though he thought it would get her attention. As if she hadn’t been paying attention this entire time. She lifted her head, a cross look on her face. He grinned, amused by the novelty of being on the receiving end of such a response.

“You know this area pretty well, I take it. Enough to spot someone that doesn’t belong. If you ever want to make a little more than repairing mammets pays, come up to the warehouse district and ask for U’rahna. Tell her Sterling sent you. She could use someone like you.”

Her only reply was for her look of annoyance to morph into one of wary distance.

“Nothing funny!” he made the sign of an oath across his chest. “No Gilded Skirt or nothing like that. Package running. That’s it. A girl that can be invisible could probably run packages all over this city.”

She eyed him a moment longer. “Thanks for the tip.” was all she said.

“Thanks for the save.” he nodded before turning around and making his way back to the alley entrance. “I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for you next time.”

Sterling and Aislinn continue:

Nonagenarian Avail The Train Job Snuffed Wax Muster

#ffxiv writing #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #Aislinn North #Sterling Bekker #the story continues #or begins?

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rimouskis · 4 years ago

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Everyone tells me that your mid-twenties are really hard and that your thirties are the best time of your life. Hang on, life will sort itself out! Just remember that NOBODY has it all figured out, no matter what they post on social media. We're all rooting for you!

I agree with that!

I mean, my life has gotten immeasurably better over the last two or three years. On the whole (pandemic excluded), life has improved with age.

I guess this is a good chance for me to try and practice intentionality and drive. I've found myself caught up in the rat race of comparison--I had a sibling graduate and find a career-oriented job, which I'm very proud of them for, but it's made me think harder about my own sort of aimless wandering through my (very young) adulthood.

I've been thinking critically of it, I guess, which I'm trying to do without unnecessarily beating myself up over anything. I've been pretty happy with my life over the past few years, even if I'm not rolling in money or climbing a corporate ladder. (Hell, perhaps that's WHY I've been happy. I'm grateful to have been doing ethical work these past few years.) I'm trying to allow myself to be grateful that I have built a stable, modest life doing ethical work, while also recognizing that I have ambitions and drive that aren't being validated in this moment.

That being said, I used a lot of my mental energy on other sorts of drive... I've been writing! A ton! I got into running! I had fun jumping around the city and being a young person in a metropolitan area! Like, on the daily, life has been pretty good and I'm very fortunate. I've enjoyed my 20s a lot so far. I definitely believe in settling into yourself as you age. I'm sure 30-something-year-old rimouskis is fondly going to look back on this and say, with kindness, "calm down, dumbass."

But I suspect I need to start putting the pedal to the metal, because while I'm happy to be, like, content with life and plodding along, I'm also so success-motivated and want to grow and change and flourish and I feel like daily contentment has, in a way, provided a cushion that stops me from doing anything too drastic. It's a double-edged sword, right?

You're right that no one has it figured out. Oh, trust me, I've seen that with my own two eyes. I just hope I can find a bit more direction for myself. I love working towards things. I love accomplishing things... but yeah, I have to make sure I'm not holding myself up against some high-paid old classmate of mine that might be secretly miserable or something. You really never know, and one person's success is not going to be what makes you "successful," much less happy.

Anxieties are normal. I'm lucky to be living the life that I am, and I'm lucky my problems are these. I hope I can find something that gives me some sort of pathway or larger life goal, but I'm also glad that I'm capable of being happy in a lot of circumstances.

#...this wildly went outside of the scope of your ask haha thank you for offering uo the space for me to verbalize.#regrettably I have many friends who are in more dire straits than me and so it's much easier to complain online #so I don’t feel like an absolute chud you know?#guh revealing I'm a real person and not a sidney crosby reblogging machine. trepidation.#I'm probably due for my quarterly 'what direction is my life going in' mild breakdown anyways

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drowningbydegrees · 5 years ago

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TITLE: Even in the Dark I Know You (Part 2 of 3) SHIP (if applicable): Geraskier PROMPT DAY: Five - Loneliness MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix WARNINGS: No archive warnings apply, but canon typical violence SUMMARY:

The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach.

A contract goes wrong leaving Geralt captive and stripped of most of his senses by the time Jaskier gets to him.

WORD COUNT: 3,219 (5,361 total) AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for @geraltwhumpweek Part one covered Day four. This one covers the prompt for day five and part three will be for day six. Ultimately, it’s hurt/comfort. The comfort part is a little bit this part, but mostly the next.

Part 1 on Tumblr | AO3 Link

Geralt recognizes that Jaskier’s insistence on assisting isn’t new. He’ll concede that sometimes it’s even genuinely helpful. Only, he’s never been quite so conscious any of those times, and everything is cast in a different light - or lack thereof - being able to move of his own volition and still managing to be so utterly lost. Their exit is far too peaceful to be much of a secret which almost guarantees they have an audience that Geralt cannot see or shy away from. What shred of dignity remains bitterly wishes Jaskier had just left him instead of leading him out of this place like some wayward pet.

There is no hazy light at the top of the stairs this time, only Jaskier's free hand coming to rest on his arm in a steadying gesture when their trajectory takes them upward. It isn’t necessary. He isn’t helpless. Geralt opens his mouth to say as much, but his body picks just then to betray him, the toe of his boot catching on a stair. He doesn’t fall, not really, but the forward lurch leaves Geralt chastened enough not to jerk out of Jaskier’s grip the way he wants to.

He’s been pushing against this spell for days, but nothingness still sprawls in every direction. No matter how hard Geralt strains to hear, silence is all that greets him. What information he can glean with his remaining senses is woefully inadequate for anything more strenuous than existing. Under his shoes, he can feel when they cross the threshold from the marbled palace floors to the cobbled pathway outside. There’s a very slight give later when stone is traded for damp, muddy streets.

They’re walking through town probably, but Geralt can't smell people or animals or even the aftermath of rain he knows must be lingering in the air from the way it settles on his skin. They might be surrounded by villagers or stumbling through the dead of night, and much to Geralt's horror, he realizes he wouldn't recognize the difference. Jaskier is probably prattling away about something the way he always does, and Geralt notes with a distant sort of sorrow that he misses even that.

His only anchor is Jaskier's hand in his, their palms flush, the bard’s fingers slid neatly between his. It's the closest Geralt has to a lighthouse in the storm he's trapped in. How do you know it's even Jaskier? Some fretting thing in him whispers its doubt because he’s never had to recognize someone with so little to go on, but that, at least, is fleeting. Jaskier often rubs the pads of his thumb and forefinger together when he's anxious. It's the same cadence of Jaskier's thumb sliding back and forth over Geralt's knuckles.

"Jaskier," he says, or thinks he does. He can feel the vibration of his vocal cords anyway, though he cannot hear himself speak. He must given the immediate response it earns him. The bard’s hand squeezes his, and there’s a hand patting his forearm through the fabric of his shirt in the way Jaskier tends to in the rare, awkward instances where he’s trying to be… comforting or something, and can’t find the words to do so.

Geralt allows himself to be convinced because what else is there? Suspicion set aside, Geralt trades out pointless caution for a more ambient sort of misery..

---

It’s easy, even for Jaskier, to get stuck on the fact that Geralt isn’t very talkative and leave it at that. The truth is more complex, the bard comes to realize as they trudge back to the inn. Instinctively, he’s adapted to the ways Geralt does communicate, leaving room for a noncommittal ‘hmm’ here, glancing over in anticipation of a raised eyebrow there. All this time they’ve had a language of their own, written so deeply into the way they exist in each other’s space that even Jaskier doesn’t really notice until it’s lost. No longer is Geralt’s silence long suffering or irritated or maybe a little bit reluctantly fond. It’s just silence and Jaskier has no idea how to coax him out of it.

Jaskier knows that ego or stubbornness would have Geralt licking his wounds in peace under any other circumstances. It’s only the fact that he has no way of orienting himself that keeps his hand in Jaskier’s. Somehow, even knowing, it still aches when they finally reach the room, and barely get the door closed before Geralt pulls out of his grip. It’s a safe place to start, and Jaskier is glad he left the witcher’s things where he’d found them earlier if it means Geralt finds his way any more easily.

Though speaking up wouldn’t make any difference, Jaskier watches in silence as Geralt feels out the edges of the cramped sleeping room. The witcher’s fingers brush along the top of the dresser, the windowsill beside it. There’s a tub in the corner, full of clean water from a bath Geralt must have called for and never returned to indulge in. It’s long since gone frigid judging by the way Geralt’s nose scrunches when his hand skims the surface.

The bed is like most beds in most inns in most towns they pass through. It’s passable, big enough for two if they don’t mind close quarters. The blankets are ragged and sort of threadbare, but at least they look clean. There is a brief moment where Jaskier wonders if he ought to break with their usual habit and get a room of his own, to spare Geralt in whatever way he can, but it’s an idea almost immediately discarded. Geralt circles the bed and returns to Jaskier, hands outstretched until they find the loose fabric of Jaskier’s chemise sleeve. He does not so much as twitch when Jaskier says his name, and there’s no ignoring in that moment that this wouldn’t just be leaving his friend to fumble through his routine without anyone to witness the challenge of it. He’d be leaving Geralt with no idea that he was just down the hall.

“You’re going to grouch about this, I’m sure,” Jaskier offers up conversationally, though Geralt can’t possibly hear him to reply. When Geralt lets him go in favor of feeling his way back towards the tub, Jaskier flops down on the bed. “The things we do for love.”

---

At least igni doesn’t fail him. He’s heated up water a thousand times, and even without his senses to guide him, Geralt manages fine. The victory is tiny and largely insignificant, but desperately needed. It’s still a death sentence in his line of work, to be hampered like this, but that’s a concern he shelves long enough to shed his torn, dirty clothes and sink into the almost too hot water. Though it stings at wounds he’d nearly forgotten even having, drawing a quiet, pained hiss through his teeth, settling in the tub is otherwise heavenly.

Not quietly enough, Geralt realizes with a start. If he’d at least had his sense of smell, he’d have expected Jaskier at his back, but instead, the gentle pressure of the bard’s hand around his shoulder is an unpleasant shock. He snarls and pulls away, unable to hear the placating explanation Jaskier is inevitably offering up. Whatever the words may be, they’re accompanied by a bottle being pressed into his hand that he recognizes the shape of, though he’s rarely touched it himself. It’s a question, an offer, drawing Geralt’s focus enough that the tension slowly bleeds back out.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt allows a single, terse nod and settles against the side of the tub once more. They’ve done this often enough that he can believe Jaskier’s fingers burrowing into the knotted mess of his hair are driven by something other than pity. He doesn’t really know what does motivate the bard, mind you, but this isn’t such a new thing as to set Geralt on edge.

And it’s pleasant, in a manner Geralt won’t allow himself to need, but takes refuge in just this once. It doesn’t matter that he’s been stripped of his vision when his eyes are closed to the world anyway. The lavender oil Jaskier is currently using to detangle his hair is familiar enough that Geralt doesn’t need to be able to smell it. It’s enough that he can recognize the slickness of it. The unwelcome silence he’s drowning in is more easily ignored with Jaskier rubbing soothingly at his scalp. If he misses anything, it’s the soft, aimless tunes Jaskier tends to hum in moments like these. He thinks he might hear an echo of it, but it’s only his imagination, wishful thinking as he lets Jaskier’s fingertips trace circles at his temples and card through his hair. Geralt drifts without really meaning to, coaxed ever so briefly into something other than an overwhelming sense of affliction.

---

Foolishly, Jaskier lets himself believe things are looking up. They sleep the way they always do, side by side, and in the dark Jaskier can almost pretend it’s all normal. Only Geralt’s fingers splaying over Jaskier’s heart suggest anything is amiss, and Jaskier pretends not to notice. He turns away to smile, though Geralt can’t see it anyway. With any luck, things will be back to normal in the morning.

Nothing is back to normal in the morning, not that Jaskier knows that. Geralt is still fast asleep when Jaskier wakes, and as far as the bard is concerned, that’s the best thing for everyone. Melitlele knows the man needs it after the state Jaskier found him in.

There’s no real need to be quiet, but Jaskier holds his breath out of some ingrained habit. Jaskier risks a careful caress, sweeping Geralt’s hair from his face, and leaves the witcher to sleep. With any luck, he’ll come back with breakfast and Geralt will be back to his usual, taciturn self, and they’ll waste little time in putting this town far behind them.

As it turns out, the letter the lord sent him back to the inn with has secured them a surprisingly obliging innkeeper. So, his efforts to acquire breakfast go well. They might be the only thing that goes well.

The bed is empty when Jaskier returns, and Geralt is packing. Trying to, anyway. It’s less of a wreck than Jaskier would expect from anyone else in this predicament, but for someone as terrifyingly competent as Geralt, it still breaks his heart to see. Thinking only of the need to somehow comfort his friend, Jaskier sets the tray he’d been carrying aside and reaches out. He does realize his mistake, but only when Geralt startles and pushes him away like some sort of threat. Funny, he’d always thought it would be entertaining to finally get the drop on Geralt. It is, in fact, not entertaining at all.

Geralt takes a wary step closer, and for a second Jaskier thinks he’s severely miscalculated. Only, there’s no violence in Geralt’s body language when he reaches out. Instead, his fingers carefully trace the outline of Jaskier’s face the way he’d done in the dungeon. Finally, finally, he relaxes, apparently satisfied with whatever he’s found. Jaskier swallows against the unanticipated intimacy and wonders if Geralt can feel the way his cheeks heat up a little, but if the witcher notices, he doesn’t say so. Not that he says much on a good day, and this is… not a good day.

It’ll pass Jaskier reminds himself as they muddle through breakfast and then everything that comes after to varying degrees of success. Geralt might be even less well equipped for idleness than Jaskier is, bristling like a particularly affronted house cat at what the bard can only assume are imagined provocations, because it’s not as if he’s said anything. It’ll pass. Jaskier believes that. He just very much wishes he knew when.

---

They’re still at the inn. Geralt is aware of that much, for all the good it does him. The days have started to bleed together, and they’re still at this blasted inn, and Geralt doesn’t know why. Jaskier seems rather insistent on delaying the inevitable future where they have to contend with reality, and the worst part of it is that even if Geralt bothers to ask, he couldn’t possibly hear the bard’s explanation.

Unless, maybe, he’s just waiting for Geralt to find his footing. It seems like the sort of foolishly compassionate thing Jaskier would do. That isn’t fair, Geralt knows, when the thought crosses his mind, but Jaskier’s endless optimism is more than he can handle being the recipient of just now.

Said endlessly optimistic bard has curled in against Geralt in sleep. His breath comes in soft puffs against the witcher’s throat, his presence soothing as much as Geralt doesn’t want it to be. He’s trapped Geralt’s hand between his own and the broad expanse of his chest, a steady heartbeat thumping against the witcher’s palm, announcing his continued existence. It’s proof of life, and Geralt despises that when he pulls his hand out from under Jaskier’s, it feels like losing a desperately needed tether. Blind, deaf, or otherwise, Geralt cannot need this to get by.

So instead, he sets about finding his footing. It’s likely night if Jaskier’s presence in bed is anything to judge by, so hopefully that means he can try this without an audience. At the very least, Jaskier isn’t awake to try and stop him. Gritting his teeth in frustration at the time it takes, he searches out his clothes and boots. There’s no certainty he hasn’t woken Jaskier with his efforts, but there’s no telltale hand on his back when he sits to tug his boots on, no one grasping at his hand when he gets to his feet.

One hand outstretched, Geralt finds his way. One, two, three steps to the door, where the handle is cool under his palm and turns with ease. He remembers enough of the inn to know there’s a window to the right and a hall to the left, so he braces against the wall, feeling out door frames and counting steps until he reaches the empty gap telling him he’s found the staircase.

He stumbles on the first, but the rest are easier, evenly spaced and simple enough to descend. The bottom floor is heralded by the end of the stair railing, and much to Geralt’s relief, he catches himself before tipping forward too precariously. If only the rest could be so easy.

Because he remembers the room, sort of. He remembers that there are tables. That there is a bar at the far end. That the exit is horribly far away from the staircase and that it’s all too much empty space to serve as a guide. None of that stops Geralt from trying, slowly picking his way across the floor and hoping to whatever deity might listen to faithless witchers that he’s at least alone in his fumbling.

The trek to the door is embarrassingly arduous. He grits his teeth when his knee knocks against a bench. He sucks in a sharp breath when he’s tripped up by what he thinks might be a fallen tankard. The whole thing might as well be an eternity, and Geralt isn’t sure what the point is if the rest of his - probably very short life - is going to be like this. But he does reach the door.

The cool breeze that meets him bolsters Geralt’s resolve. There was a point to all this. It’s probably cheating to try and do this in a place he mostly remembers, but he has to start somewhere, and checking on Roach seems as worthwhile a place to start as any. There won’t be any walls to guide him, but Geralt thinks he knows the way more or less, and if he counts the steps, maybe not every time will have to be such a damned event.

Geralt does not, more or less, know the way. He finds his footing, picks out a path clear enough that walking feels almost normal, in a direction that should end with the doors to a stable. It doesn’t. It doesn’t end with doors to anything, and by the time Geralt recognizes the error, there’s soft grass squelching under his boots. The inn was near the edge of town. Geralt remembers that much at least. So it follows that he’s simply gone the wrong direction.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters under his breath, and again more emphatically as the breadth of his trouble sinks in. He’d turned around, reaching a few steps to one side in search for a stable that clearly doesn’t exist, and there’s no telling what direction he’s even facing now. It should be a simple thing to turn around and go back, but now there’s no telling if a given step will take him back to civilization or risk him being hopelessly lost.

And then there’s the rain. He would have smelled it. He would have heard the distant rumble of thunder that must come with a downpour like this. He would have seen the gathering shadows overhead that have all opted to pour their sorrows out on him. If the mage had left him with anything at all, he could have at least avoided this.

But the only thing she left him with was the chill of a harsh downpour that saturates his clothes, and the knowledge that a deluge like this will keep villagers indoors and away from wherever he’s accidentally wandered off to. Aimlessly, he reaches out and while the tree he eventually finds his way to is hardly a refuge, it’s the best he’s likely to get.

Exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with lack of sleep, Geralt sits at the base of the tree. The ground has already gone muddy under the grass, but he can’t bring himself to care. Mud is the least of his problems when he’s fallen so far as to have to wait for help to walk back to a rented room at an inn he doesn’t even know how Jaskier is paying for where he will continue to lose track of time… and everything else.

Geralt has been captured, chained up, jailed, but he’s never been trapped like this, alone in his own head. He cannot listen for approaching footsteps or strain to hear a familiar melody. He cannot scent the air for the presence of some other life nearby. Even the fuzzy outlines he’d briefly grasped onto the first time the mage did this have failed him now. He thinks back to Jaskier’s hand leading him through town, to the bard’s fingers threading through his hair, to the steady heartbeat he’s memorized the shape of under his palm. Even these lifelines are no more than individual points of contact, always one gesture away from being lost to him entirely.

Geralt thinks he understands loneliness. He knows what it is to be alone, and usually professes to prefer it, even if he lets Jaskier chase after him. But here, in the confines of his own head, Geralt learns what it is to be well and truly isolated, knowing the only possible respite is someone else’s mercy offering a momentary connection. Laid this low, Geralt can only sit with his head bowed beneath the pouring rain.

#geraltwhumpweek #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #My fic

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wonderland-irwin · 5 years ago

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Neighbour!Ashton

Word Count: 1862

Warnings: None

Summary: Bella gets locked out of her house when a cheeky friend from her past pops up to her assistance.

A/N: This may become a bigger story, I’m not sure what will happen. Let’s see how much people like this one! Neighbour!Ashton is not the title, its the current concept lol until I find a title. Enjoy! Let me know if you want me to continue this story line! If you wanna be tagged in other parts, let me know! (Also I tried to remove unnecessary commas! I edited the best I could)

~*~*~

Unable to get my feet under me, I slipped on the towel I’d placed on the bathroom floor instead of the bathmat and as I fell to the floor, I grabbed the towel rack for aid, and it crashed loudly beside me. Muttering curses under my breath I stood, snatching the nearest towel and wrapping it around myself.

I fumbled with the lock in the door knob, then once I finally got it open, I hurled myself into the hall. Why was I never able to do anything? All I’d wanted was a shower to wipe the thin layer of sweat I could feel over my entire body off, but I’d barely stepped in and the dogs had begun to bark and howl at something.

I crashed down the stairs, spooking Olive, our grey tabby, and I raced into the front living room. Our shih-tzu’s - a breed of small dog that should be rather chil, however ours were far from - Peekley and Mushroom were standing on the back of the couch in the bay window, heads thrown back barking as loud as they could.

“Hey!” I hollered, pulling my towel tighter around myself, “shut up!” Usually when they did this there was a person walking past with a dog or the poor paperboy. The dogs refused to stop, and I collapsed on the couch, leaning over them to pull the curtain back. Their barking was slightly valid when I saw the white mail van pull away from our house.

“Stop,” I hissed at the dogs as the van drove around the crescent. They were usually good with their barking and stopping, but sometimes they got excessive. It was ridiculous.

I pat to the front door, pulling it open, stepping into the hot summer’s day, then pulling the door shut to keep the air conditioning in. There was barely a cloud in the sky and those home during the day were doing garden work. I grinned when I saw the box on the bottom step. A few days ago I had made a large order of novels I had wanted to read on my summer break, and it seemed to have arrived. I expected it to arrive at the house’s mailbox down the road, but it was so big that they had to deliver it right to our doorstep.

Adjusting the towel around me again, I bent to pick the package up when I heard the front door click shut. I shot up, sprinting up the steps and trying to push the door open. It rattled and I cursed. Our front door had an automatic lock that could only open with a key. My dad worked for a lock company and was testing it on our door, and long story short the thing was useless.

“C’mon,” I begged, rattling the door. It refused to budge and my key was hanging on the hook by the front closet. The dogs started barking from the window, and I shouted for them to stop, the horror that it was mid-afternoon and I was stuck outside in my front garden in nothing but a towel was occupying my mind. I realized I may have left the back door unlocked, and I leapt from the porch, adjusted my towel yet again and darted down the cobblestone pathway, across the hot driveway and up the side of my house to the gate. I reached over to find the hook on the gate, then my stomach turned hollow as my fingers brushed a hard padlock fastened to the hook.

I cursed, balling my hands into fists and I stormed back to the front door. As soon as my dad got home from work I would demand he remove that lock and burn whatever prototypes his company had created. What an awful design.

My parents weren’t going to be home until that evening, and my sister was out with her friends at the amusement park. I was going to be stuck out there forever.

“Bella?”

I whirled around, grabbing the top of my towel and clutching it to my chest in protection. I stared at the person. It was Ashton. I hadn’t seen Ashton or spoken to Ashton in years. He lived across the street, and we’d grown up as best friends. We got to high school and interests changed, our lives got busier, and we started to drift apart. I missed him sometimes. Sometimes someone would remind me of him, or I’d see him when he was home from college in the dark hours of the night lit by the street lights riding his yellow trick bike in aimless circles. Sometimes I saw his posts on Instagram, or I’d simply just think about him. And I missed him.

But mostly I tried to push that missing feeling away. Tried to pretend it didn’t exist.

“Hi,” I said quietly, staring at him. He was the same as the last time we spoke, which was at our high school graduation and our mothers demanded a picture of the two of us together. He still wore dark jeans and ripped band tees. He still wore black converse. Still had those pretty hazel eyes I knew every girl gushed over. He was a little older, had a couple of tattoos, but he was still recognizable as my old Ashton.

“You okay?”

Mm, he still also had that cheeky grin.

His eyes roamed up and down me, and I felt briefly violated before realizing he wasn’t looking at me in a way that meant he wanted to rip my towel off. He was being his usual cheeky self, and was probably very concerned why I was out in the street in my towel.

“It’s a whole thing,” I told him, “but my dad’s stupid lock locked me out of the house.”

“Ah,” he nodded. I nodded in return because I felt awkward, and a silence fell between us.

“Why don’t you come over to my place until your parents get home,” he offered.

I raised my eyebrow, “are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re family.”

“Thanks.”

I adjusted my towel again, and took the steps slowly. Ashton scooped up my large box of books and quirked his eyebrow at me as he tucked it behind a planter on my porch.

“Books?”

I smiled, “of course!” He chuckled as we made our way across the street to his house.

“The water droplets on your shoulders sparkling in the sun are very pretty, Bella,” he said as we walked up his front porch and he opened the door for me to step through.

“Oh,” I said as he pulled the door shut, feeling off guard, “um, thank you.”

He flashed another smile before calling out to his mum, “Bella’s over!”

Ms. Irwin appeared from the kitchen with wide eyes, “Bella?”

I wondered when the last time was that Ashton and I stepped through the Irwin’s front door like this.

“Hi Ms. Irwin,” I waved, my face flushing.

She beamed, “hi, Sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I nodded, “you?”

She just nodded and said, “you two be good,” before disappearing again.

Ashton rolled his eyes with a grin before putting a hand on my back between my shoulder blades and guided me towards the stairs. As we climbed, I looked at the photographs that lined the wall of Ashton and his little sister and brother. There were photos that had been hanging there for as long as I could remember, but some, like school photos, now showed them as older kids, Ashton as an adult.

There was one photo that made my heart stutter. It was Ashton and I when we were about six. We were at the zoo, sitting on a bench laughing, my head on his shoulder, his head against mine. We each held a melting popsicle, the red and pink syrup all over our hands, around our mouths and on our chins. I don’t think a photo has been taken of me where I’ve looked that happy since.

“I love this photo.” I pointed it out.

“Yeah,” Ashton who had been at the top of the stairs, hopped down the last few to join me, “that was a fun

day.”

We looked at it for a moment, then continued to Ashton’s room. I laughed when I entered.

“What?” He asked, rummaging around his closet.

“Ashton, it looks the same!” I wandered around the room. The room itself was painted a dark blue. Ashton’s bed was unmade, clothes were in piles on the floor. He had a desk, where his laptop sat, and in one corner his drum kit, the other a black bean bag chair. Knick knacks and odd belongings sat on shelves and in odd spaces on the floor.

“Like yours doesn’t?” He grinned, passing me one of his t-shirts.

“Okay,” I laughed, “it might be.” My room was still purple and green. The doll house my dad had made me that I made Ashton play with me numerous times still sat on its shelf. I still had fragments of LEGO upon my shelves. My books cluttered every corner. Posters from movies and musicians covered my walls.

He chuckled, moving to his drawer and rummaging around. I pulled on his shirt, a Guns N Roses shirt with minimal holes, and pulled it down as far as it could go. Ashton passed me a pair of boxers, and sat at his desk as I pulled them on and ditched my towel on his floor.

I felt better now I wore clothes and stepped over to him. Folding my arms across my chest, I leant over his shoulder to see what he was doing. A message appeared on the screen once he’d logged in, and he clicked it.

_dirtycliffo: log in!

I grinned, “Ashton, is that Michael?” I hadn’t talked to our old friends in a long time.

“Yes,” he frowned, typing back.

weeniebeanie: no

I suddenly exploded with laughter, clutching at my stomach. Then I leant over his shoulder so I could see his face.

“You still have your screen names from eighth grade?”

“Yes,” Ashton grumbled. He was avoiding looking at me, but I could see in his eyes he was smiling.

weeniebeanie: i hate that game

_dirtycliffo: c’mon. Luke n cal also suck

bread: heyy

“You still act like you're in grade eight too,” I laughed, resting my chin on Ashton’s shoulder as he logged into the game.

“Here,” he said, passing me a headset that was on his deck, “listen in.”

I twisted the headphones so we could both hear and Ashton could use the mic.

“Good, you’re here,” came Michael’s static filled voice.

“Yeah,” Ashton sighed, “but it’s not just me here.”

“Oh?” Calum’s voice came. It occurred to me that even though I wasn’t as close to them as I was Ashton, I kind of missed them too.

“Yeah. Bella-Wella is here too,” he replied, calling me my grade school name.

“Stop,” I laughed, nudging him, and he grinned.

“So it’s just like old times? Hey, Bella.”

“Hey,” I called back, and the boys started their game, talking about weapons and strategies. And I listened along. Just like old times.

#ashtonirwin #ashton irwin blurb #neighbour!ashton #5sos blurb #one shot #5sos one shot #ashton irwin one shot #bestfriend!ashton

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zombolouge · 6 years ago

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Peakly Periodical Volume 19

Or: Dying Light

Hey there, peakers! We’ve had another time skip in this vaguely chronological endeavor. That shoulder injury I got a forever ago turned out to have nothing to do with my shoulder and everything to do with my neck. It’s a vicious injury that has driven me to be stuck inside and in bed for months at a time, but progress has been made with pain management of late and so I’ve finally been able to get back in a chair and at a keyboard to write things again. Healing is…in-process. But that’s better than no healing at all.

My last hike was in December, when I got sick of waiting around and dragged my stiff ass out onto a mountain, because there is only so long I can remain inert before I go insane. It ended up being my last hike for several months, and the warning siren that let me know something really was wrong with my neck, because for the first time I got the pain while I was out there. I didn’t think it was possible for it to start hurting while I was relaxed and active, since that’s the sort of thing they tell you to do to relieve tension and pain. I was being stubborn by going out in the first place, though, and desperately wanted to get another hike in before the year came to a close.

In hindsight, this frustration with the injury probably fueled the problems that I found on this trail. You see, peakers, I made several very bad decisions in a row on this hike. A lot of my “mistakes” up to this point have been me not knowing any better. Slip-ups that were part of the learning process, that I could take in stride. This time, though, I was just plain stupid.

But let’s start from the beginning with this one.

It was a pleasantly warm Saturday. There wasn’t a lot of rain and the clouds occasionally broke to reveal some sunlight, which was nice. I had planned a fairly easy hike, mostly flat and in territory I’d been near before, if not directly in. I was trying not to push myself too far, considering my neck situation. I also had a handful of errands to run that day, and opted to do them before the hike because I doubted I would have the willpower after.

I slept in and started the day slow and easy. I was not in any way rushed. I was leisurely in my pace as I ran my errands. I was enjoying getting out of the house and trying to milk it for all it was worth, expecting the hike to carry me on through the afternoon before I wrapped the day up and put it away. Which would have been fine if I had stuck to my original plan and done the easy hike.

What I did instead, though, was indulge a restless feeling. The hike before this one, on Thanksgiving, was disappointing to me. I wanted something more exciting. I’d been cooped up for weeks on end, sulking over my condition, and the anxiety that brought on was eating away at my sanity. So, as I got in the car and started driving to the easy trail, I decided I would take a chance and aim for a harder one.

Little Si has been a hike I’ve tried to tackle a couple of times, but been rebuffed each time because the parking situation is insane. It’s one of the busiest trails I’ve seen, and there is almost never a free space. You would need to get up and arrive at the lot by about 5am if you didn’t want to fight for space, which is a tall order when you’ve worked all week and still need to eat breakfast before you can rush out the door. On this day, it was about 1pm when I finished all my errands, and I figured maybe, since it was later in the day, I would have a chance to snag a spot. I had hopes that the people who got there in the morning would be finishing their hikes and leaving, giving up the spaces for the next wave of hikers.

So, off I went.

I got to the trailhead at 2pm. In December. On the west coast.

Now, for those of you who have lived out west before, you will know that our sunset occurs at about 4pm that time of year. That means I was starting this hike with a mere 2 or so hours of daylight left. Still, though, that didn’t phase me at the beginning. I’d done night hikes before, and now that I had a flashlight, they seemed to be a cinch. I figured if I was caught out after dark, it wouldn’t be difficult to just turn on that flashlight and enjoy the shadows of the woods!

I shouldered my pack and hit the trail!

The hike itself was fairly mild for most of it. There was a steep incline right at the start, then it leveled out for a ways. The true challenge doesn’t come until the last half-mile on the trail, where it has a very vertical ascent to the summit.

I did find myself enjoying the scenery. There were a couple of places where the trail was difficult to navigate, though. Not in the sense that it was hard to traverse, but it was hard to tell where the trail separated itself from the aimless woodlands. It had a couple of offshoots that don’t lead anywhere in particular, and as I passed them I would get confused about which direction it was I should be headed. Even after all the miles I’d hiked, I was still not the strongest of navigators. I’ve improved on my sense of direction mightily - when this started I could have gotten turned around in a cardboard box - but that doesn’t mean I’ve hit levels where I’d be confident finding my way without GPS. I kept to the trail by virtue of pulling out Google Maps on my phone, which often has trails marked and is helpful in orienting which direction you should be walking.

I was feeling pretty confident with myself as I wound my way through, even though every other hiker I encountered was going down, rather than up. My legs hadn’t yet gotten sore, my breath was even and enduring. My neck was hurting, but I was trying to ignore it. I figured that if if hurt then, the pain I would have later on that night wouldn’t be changed by quitting the hike early.

It was just before the steepest portion of the trail that I started to get nervous. That was boosted by the fact that another pair of hikers had stopped me, to ask if I was familiar with the trail. The pointed out that there was only about half an hour of light left. The implication was that if I didn’t know this trail, I shouldn’t be hiking it in the dark. I dismissed the concerns and lied to them, telling them I was familiar. I couldn’t fathom having much issue finding my way back, as it had been simple enough on the way there.

By the time I realized my mistake, I was too stubborn to turn around.

There’s a point on the trail where I hit this determination that cannot be reasoned with. When I know that I’m so close to the pinnacle that if I turn around I will be emotionally miserable for the rest of my life about it. That’s the easiest time to push, where I get a second wind of energy that propels me to the peak. I had that as I reached the steepest part of this trail, each near vertical switchback promising my addled mind that it could be the last one. That the top was just around the corner. That I would see the world spread out before me just around the bend.

It was true. I reached the top eventually, and it was a staggering view. The city roads could be seen peering through the trees in the distance, street and house lights already lit and dotting the canvas like stars. The sky had turned a deep lavender, the sun already gone past the horizon and leaving only a lingering kiss. Mount Si, the larger of the twin peaks in this area, was close enough that it felt like I could reach out and touch it. I held out my hand, and that was when it truly struck me how dark it was.

The light was dying all around me, everything turning shades of blue and purple as night descended. The temperature on the peak dropped ten degrees in a matter of minutes, and I hugged myself and shivered. I sat there for a bit, contemplating the world and trying not to focus on my neck pain. I was exhausted after the final push to get to the top, that portion of the trail draining me more than the rest of it combined. I could feel my legs shaking from the weariness, which was going to be a problem on the descent.

I knew, in that moment, that a lot would be a problem on the descent. The steepness of this part of the trail was harder than I’d expected, and navigating it wasn’t going to be easy without light. Even with my flashlight to light the way. There were a lot of spots that would require clambering, which meant using both my hands for balance.

I stood there, the wind tossing my hair in every direction, burying the cold through my jacket and into my bones, and knew I’d made a mistake pressing forward.

By the time I turned around, a healthy level of fear had settled over me. I knew the situation I was in wasn’t great, and I knew it was entirely my fault that I’d been placed there. I realized that I hadn’t actually checked my bag to make sure my flashlight was in it. I hadn’t prepared anything warm to wear. I didn’t have any snacks and I was out of water. I hadn’t told anyone where I was because I’d changed my plans at the last minute.

As I descended, the scenarios I wasn’t prepared for played through my head. I thought of a hundred ways that I might get stuck on the trail, injured and unable to call for help with no one to find me. The fear was real and tangible, making my limbs shake even harder on top of the standard trembling that comes with exhaustion. It wasn’t easy to keep moving.

The light completely disappeared before I’d even made it past the first switch-back, so I did find myself trekking in complete darkness. There were spots where I had to feel around to place my foot on stone because I was holding my place with both hands, the flashlight shoved in my mouth so that I could see my breath rising in clouds of steam into the night air. I had to slide downward in a few places because I could find no other way to get down, unable to see the pathways anymore.

I felt a little better after I left the rocky portion of the peak. Still, there was a lot more trail to cover and I felt like collapsing. And, as if to illustrate the continued danger of the darkness, my foot planted right in a hole and sent me flying forward. I remember that moment with more clarity than any other part of that hike. I was airborne for what felt like minutes, and all I could think was “oh, so this is how I die. Here I go.” I was too close to the edge of the trail, and the drop on the side wasn’t one I would come back from. I couldn’t see well enough to know how far I was flying, but I figured I would be well over the edge and off into the abyss. I relaxed, accepting my fate, which was probably the smartest thing I’d done all evening.

When the impact came, I skid through a bunch of dirt and loam, coming to a halt faster than expected. I laid there for a moment, breathing and waiting for a wave of pain, but not much came. I certainly felt bruised, but as I got up I was surprised to note it didn’t feel like I’d shattered all my bones. I held up the flashlight, happily still attached to my wrist by the strap, and noted that I’d come about a foot away from the edge of the trail. Nothing was broken, nothing felt twisted or strained. I was, against all odds, okay.

I continued my trek, careful of my foot placement from that point forward. I didn’t want to press my luck. I got a lot of enjoyment of the utter darkness all around me, despite my fear. Being alone in the night woods is an experience I’m fond of, and I would like to experience it again, just, you know, prepared for things a bit better.

The rest of the hike wasn’t too terrifying. I got through the steep portion and into the flatter woods. I did get turned around and almost lost a few times, but the detours were minimal and I was able to keep to the trail well enough to get back to my car.

I made it home safely. I wasn’t any worse for wear, either, save for a couple of minor bruises. I’d gotten worse stubbing my toe in my own living room.

I’d gotten lucky.

Mistakes and R E G R E T S:

Oh, so many.

1. I accidentally hiked at night. If you’re going to be out after dark, that should be on purpose. You should plan accordingly for it. There’s something to be said for just rolling with the punches, but if you showed up to a boxing match prepared for swimming, the punches are gonna roll YOU.

2. I didn’t pack supplies. Pack extra food and water. Always. You never know when a hike is gonna kick your ass a bit more than you expected, and having the necessary fuel to keep you going enough to get back is vital.

3. I didn’t check for my flashlight. CHECK. THAT. YOUR. FLASHLIGHT. IS. IN. YOUR. BAG. BEFORE. YOU. LEAVE. Checking for it as the light disappears is NOT the appropriate time. I can tell you, too, if I had tried to navigate that trail in the dark with just my phone light, I would have fallen much farther and harder than I did. It would not have been possible. I would have been stranded in the freezing dark or fallen trying to get out.

4. I didn’t take my start time seriously. I should have figured out ahead of time how long this hike would take me and how late it would be when I was on my way back. I didn’t consider any of that until it was happening, and it almost cost me.

5. Nobody knew where I was. When I changed my plans, I should have messaged someone to tell them that. Even if I couldn’t send a link to the trail info, I could have at least given them the trail name via text or something. Or driven to a spot where I had enough signal to do it. Since I hike alone, it’s very important that I let people know where I’m going, so that if I don’t make it back they have an idea of where to send people to look for me.

6. I let stubborn determination override my survival. I wanted to commit to finishing the hike. I was aware it might be the last one I could do for a while until I’d helped my neck, and because of that I wanted to commit to doing the whole thing. I shouldn’t have put that commitment and determination before regular assessment, however. When on the trail, you should always be assessing things. Assess your energy levels, assess your limits, assess the trail difficulty, the time of day, the weather conditions, the temperatures. If any of these get too far out of your comfort zone, it should be okay to turn back. I shouldn’t hold myself to an all-or-nothing standard for anything, but least of all for climbing mountains. If a trail kicks my ass, I’ll come back another time when I’m stronger and kick it right back. Pushing my limits into dangerous territory doesn’t do anything but make this hobby way too risky for my own good.

7. I already knew all of the things above and ignored them. I knew that being unprepared for certain conditions should have made me turn around. I knew that I hadn’t checked my bag for supplies and equipment in weeks and I had rifled through it a few times since then. I knew that I needed to have started the hike earlier if I wanted to avoid the dark. I knew as I was on the trail that I wasn’t prepared for hiking at night. I knew the warning I got from the other hikers was a signal to turn around. I knew that it wasn’t a great idea to change my plans last minute without telling anyone. I knew it all. I knew it all as I went up, and I cursed myself for ignoring it all the whole way down. I ignored it because I wasn’t in a great emotional state due to my injury, and it could have ended up very badly. I was very, very lucky that I got home okay.

Hot Takes for Hikers:

Check. Your. Shit.

This probably goes without saying, as it feels like obvious advice, but checking your bag for everything you might need before you leave should just be part of the routine. I’m at a point now where I don’t think it should matter how short or easy you think the trail might be: check your bag. Have a checklist and make sure everything on it is in there. Every time.

Assess with Every Step

Don’t get so caught up in the adrenaline and the determination that you forget to assess yourself. Know your limits, know when you’re pushing them, and know when you’re hitting them. I know that I, personally, find this difficult. I have anxiety, and so it can be hard to tell the difference between actually survival instincts and plain old anxiety, but I should be leaning towards caution when that line is blurred. Better safe than sorry should be a mantra when you’re hiking alone in unfamiliar territory. I should stop holding it against myself if I end up turning back or giving in early, because some of the times I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone, I’ve landed right in the danger zone. The voice I ignored was the one in charge of self-preservation, and it put me at risk when I didn’t need to be there.

Learning to take the time to assess where I’m at and how I’m feeling is important. Learning to overcome anxiety is great, but I also need to learn to distinguish it from legitimate fear. Fear that is there for good reason. The next step in my hiking adventures is going to be slowly and even more introspective, because my main goal will be to learn the difference. To be able to tell when I need to push my limits and when I need to respect them.

I have a feeling it’s going to be as hard as…well, as climbing a mountain. If I can do the latter, then I can certainly do the former.

Overall Impressions

Song of the Hike: No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine. For obvious reasons.

Animals Seen: A woodpecker, two rock climbers, and my own foolishness.

Mood: Inadvisable determination followed by realistic anxiety and gratitude at escaping death.

Trail Rank: Fully worth all flashlight usage, would hike again in daylight.

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ask-rogertaylor · 6 years ago

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((Here’s another fic. This time the story of when Roger first realised he had feelings for Brian and also had his first gay crisis—and then that one time they kissed and roger freaked the fuck out. This started as a ficlet but I’m sappy and can’t write my thoughts in a concise way .. so have pining sad roger ,, the ending is kinda sad ,, but just keep in mind that Rog and Bri end up together eventually!! Featuring @ask-brian-may and @ask-rogerina! It also has John, Jo, Freddie, Jamie and Melina very briefly!!))

Roger feels light.

It’s the buzz of the alcohol. It’s why he likes the stuff so much. Roger feels heavy most of the time. He doesn’t talk about it, and nobody really knows about it, so he relieves himself of that burden as often as he can. Because feeling light is a relief.

His head is also pretty light. Nothing really seems to be in focus right now. He doesn’t even think he’s moving himself, it’s mostly Brian dragging and guiding him along up the pathway leading into his and Rogerina’s place. The hand Brian has supporting Roger’s waist is very warm, but also cooling in a weird sense Roger can’t explain.

“M’sorry,” Roger slurs, he’s embarrassed, a little. Brian shouldn’t have to be dealing with the consequences of his shitty coping mechanism.

Brian smiles softly, “For what, Rog?

“This. I reek, I’m a mess, and you should be at home right now,” Roger explains, taking in the sweet scent of Brian’s cologne. He really is a stark contrast in comparison to Brian in this moment.

“Rog. I like being with you. Besides, you were right, I did need an excuse to show off my new clogs tonight,” Brian chuckles lightheartedly, but the smile he gives him is genuine and true. Roger can’t help but smile back. He probably looks goofy in his woozy state, but he can’t help himself.

“I had a fun night, Rog. Don’t worry about it. It’s actually kinda funny to see you like this. More blackmail material for me. I would ask you if you had one too, but I can tell you did,” Brian jokes.

Roger let’s out a hybrid of a giggle and a chortle, far too pleased for his own good. Brian makes him feel like he’s on a constant high. He likes being around Brian. He just knows with Brian. He knows this is a companion he’s made for life. And he’s happy to have him in his life.

He looks up at Brian, in this astounding stolen moment. He can see his profile, beautifully framed and lit by the soft moonlight above them. His eyes are warm. His skin is soft. Then he looks over at Roger with the kindest smile and his eyes twinkle with this softness and watchfulness. Roger thanks the universe, and he knows he’s on borrowed time, and yet the universe gave him this one spectacular moment, and he praises it.

And everything else seems to fade and all Roger can see is Brian.

His vision hazes into this rose colour. Flowers are blooming. His heart starts to race. He feels chilled but also very warm. There’s a ringing in his ears. He feels increasingly light. He feels like he’s falling.

Brian knocks gently on the door, and Rogerina opens up within a minute.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Rogi, but your idiot brother here forgot his keys and uh..is slightly..very intoxicated,” Brian explains sheepishly.

She smiles amusedly at her own brother, “That’s alright, darling. I wasn’t asleep anyway. C’mon in, I would help you, but he’s gross.”

Roger flips her off—at least tries to, he’s far too drowsy to actually recognise if he has or not.

Brian dumps him onto the seat by the window, a chuckle escaping him as Roger flopped down like some rag doll. He shook his head and tutted fondly.

“..Well..I mustn’t stay too long. It is late. ..so uh..just—“

“—aspirin and a glass of water by his bed. Make sure he falls asleep on his side. A bucket too. Which is super gross to think about,” Rogerina grimaces.

“You’re a dear, Rogi. You really are. Well..goodbye, see you soon,” Brian announces, but looks over at Roger and comes closer to him, so they are at eye level. He rests a hand on his shoulder, and it’s warm. It also tingles. Roger smiles sloppily at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Rog. Sleep well,” Brian says sweetly, his eyes warm and inviting. It makes Roger feel at home.

Roger watches him as he leaves, and he shifts over to watch the window, his eyes following him as he fades away into the night. When he walks it’s like he leaves a trail of stardust behind him. He’s absolutely magical and Roger can’t keep his eyes off of him. He takes his breath away.

He doesn’t even notice the stupid smile on his face.

“Jesus, you’re like in love with him,” Rogerina jokes casually, as she picks up the coat he’s dropped on the ground and hangs it up on the rack.

Roger’s heart drops and his chest is cold. He feels so heavy and his ears are ringing. The pulsating in his heart gets louder and louder and his hands are clammy and he feels absolutely empty. He doesn’t even remember where he is anymore.

Fuck, he’s in love with Brian.

It’s a sinking feeling that pulls him down to the ground. It takes him over almost completely.

Roger’s scarily light. He pushes himself to his feet, and he stumbles, the world is collapsing in on him and he can’t breathe.

As he ravages up the stairs like he struggling through some sort of rainforest, he feels his heart rate begin to pick up as his head pounds and the lights start to flicker and the ringing of his ears gets too much, he’s so light, so light, until he’s so heavy and he’s falling against his bed and he’s sobbing. He’s crying so hard and he can’t even contain himself, he’s completely lost control, the image of himself he has carefully created for the world to see crumbles into dust. Just like that.

He cries and he cries because he is not meant to feel like this. This wasn’t allowed. His father would be so angry if he found out he had fallen in love with a man. He cries because he knows he cannot possibly have Brian. It hurts so much and it feels like he’s on fire and he doesn’t know how to put it out.

He tries to quiet himself down, stifle the sounds into the fabric of his pillow, for the sake of his sister. Even now he doesn’t want to bother her, not when this is a struggle he should be going through alone.

But his sister would follow him anywhere, and he hears his door creak open. He tries his absolute hardest to silence him.

“..Rog..” Rogerina coos at him gently.

He makes a folly attempt to appear asleep, but a pathetic sniffle ruins his endeavor.

She sighs and hops onto his bed, and lays next to him, and pulls him close for a hug, and it’s just that push for the dam to break.

“I.. love him,” Roger sobs violently into her chest, shrinking into her hold on him to try and make himself as small as he feels. He grabs on to her like a lifeline, shaking ferociously, in fear that if he lets go he’ll never stop falling.

Rogerina offers him a sad smile, “I know. And it’s okay. It’s okay, Rog, it’s okay to feel like this.”

“But it’s not,” He whimpers.

“It is, it absolutely is, Rog — it’s just love. It’s just love.”

Roger doesn’t say anything at that, and merely moves in closer, “I’m scared.”

“I know. And I’m here. I understand,” She whispers quietly.

She doesn’t leave him for a second that night.

Months later, maybe, and Roger is still falling.

It still feels sickeningly light to the stomach at times, and sometimes it makes his heart throb, but he’s learned to numb it and push it to the back of his mind where everything else is. He’s learned to control himself, and he’s painstakingly build up these walls around himself to keep himself from hurting too bad.

But there are still these moments where Brian makes it so difficult. Where he unknowingly swings a hammer and chips down at the walls he’s built for himself.

Moments like today.

Brian looks at the skies above and watches the stars shine.

Roger looks at his own star. But he’s on the ground with him.

They’re both buzzing. They’ve both had one too many. They’re piss drunk. It’s cold outside but they’re both still too warm.

He takes a long drag of the cigarette he’s smoking, and he’s surprisingly silent. He’s not like this. He’s loud and talkative but with Brian he just wants to soak everything in. When it’s all he can get.

“Look, I can see the corvus constellation..” Brian says softly, and when he speaks his eyes are so full of light and there’s that dumb smile of his and Roger can’t help his own smile.

He looks at him longingly. God how he wants him. Roger shifts uncomfortably, knowing full well that he’s just torturing himself, but how addictive the pain was.

But theres something that draws him to Brian. The whole universe is telling him to do this, like his destiny calls for it. And he knows it’s impossible. It’s not possible, they are too different on a molecular level. This is not how the story goes.

But when Brian turns over to look at him his eyes are so warm and those lips look so inviting, Roger collides with him and suddenly a star is born.

A whole new plane of existence opens up, and Roger feels like he’s exploring a whole new galaxy, everything is so exciting and so beautiful and he watches as planets collide and leave spacedust in its wake. Brian’s lips against his feel like they were always meant to be there, and he feels limitless.

But when he pulls away he is crushed by the gravity of what has happened, and it breaks his soul once he’s realises what he’s done. He has made a horrible landing back to reality and once he’s experienced the magic he just has everything is so much worse now.

Roger can’t breathe, “Bri.. I’m sorry, I—“

He can’t read Brian at all.

“I.. I need to go,” Roger says hurriedly, pushing himself off of his feet.

“Wait, Rog—“ Brian tries, only now returning to reality.

But Roger’s too far gone; and he runs like he’s never ran before. He doesn’t know where he’s going but at this stage he doesn’t care, he just can’t face him anymore, and in his drunken stupor he’s completely aimless.

All he can feel is the adrenaline pumping through his system and then suddenly he’s stuck.

And he just cries.

Until he hears a familiar voice.

“..Roger..?”

Jamie examines him, “..What are you.. doing.. in my rose bush?”

“I kissed Brian,” Roger slurs, still sobbing incoherently.

“Oh, sweetheart..” She coos softly.

“Who the hell is that in our rose bush?” Melina asks.

“A dumbass,” Roger sobs.

The two women help him release himself from the tangles of the bush, and once that’s done they drag him into their house, where they promptly drop him onto their couch.

“I’m sorry,” He cries pathetically.

Jamie smiles sympathetically, taking a seat next to him, “It’s okay.. darling.. just.. try and rest, okay?”

And the two of them talk to him for hours until he passes out.

Roger can’t face reality anymore. Everything’s too broken. Everything’s in ruins.

He tells Freddie over text that he’s caught the flu, and that he would just be complaining about Roger’s constant display of symptoms, and that he really doesn’t want to hear Freddie’s yapping. He tells John over the phone to not come visit him, because he doesn’t want his favourite bass player catching this too. And when Johanna tries and visits, he puts on a smile and tells her that he’s fine, that he just needs to get some sleep and he’ll be better soon.

But he doesn’t talk to Brian at all.

He doesn’t talk to him for three days.

He ignores all of his texts. There are hundreds of them at this stage and he doesn’t open one. And all of his calls. He ignores every single one. He ignores his worried knocking at the door, and the stones being thrown at his window. He locks the door when Rogerina lets Brian into the house. He just can’t face him. It’s too hard. It hurts too much.

He can’t even get out of bed.

And eventually he does attempt conversation with Brian again. But it’s empty and almost robotic. It’s rehearsed and emotionless. It’s like they’re complete strangers. Everything is worse now and Roger wishes it could return to how it used to be but he’s ruined it all. It’s just not the same.

He can’t face the music.

*** “God, Roggie — you’re in that jumper,” Rogerina sighs deeply.

Roger raises and eyebrow unamusedly, he’s wearing his glasses for once, gesturing towards a clearly well worn grey The Who jumper, which is also miles too large for him, “This? And? Your problem?”

Rogerina looks exasperated, “You always wear that when you’re sad and recluse. Last time you had that thing on you didn’t leave the house for a week! And last time you didn’t have friends.”

Roger is clearly unamused at that.

“Oh, come on, I’m being honest! Take it off and put on some jeans, get out of the house! And eat something, please! Talk to Brian! Fuck, talk to anyone! Just.. get out of here, okay?”

Roger is clearly unaffected by her pleads and merely sits himself on the kitchen table, looking completely null and void.

She softens, sighing and sitting herself next to him. He looks completely miserable. There’s no light in his usually sparkling eyes, he’s a ghostly pale, and he’s clearly been crying, and his hair is a mess. He’s such a stark contrast to the bubbly and energetic Roger that she’s grown to know.

She takes his hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around his, firmly, but in a way that shows that she isn’t letting him go. She strokes his hands gently. Her gaze is just as firm, and watchful, her focus is all on him. He struggles to look at her.

“..Roger.. please, love.. I know you’re hurting. And it breaks my heart, and if you really can’t have Brian.. would you really rather not have him in your life at all..? Is this worth completely losing him, dear? Because I don’t think it is. Do you remember who you were before you met him?”

Roger blinks, and slowly removes his glasses as he feels tears well up in his eyes. He bites harshly on his lips to prevent the cascading of them, and thinks about it. He doesn’t like the man he was before Brian. In fact, he’s a distant memory, a memory he doesn’t quite want to return to.

Roger thinks about it. And when he tries to place himself in his own head from those years ago, he only remembers loneliness. And fear. And so much rage. So much hatred. He tries to pinpoint the moment those feelings had begun to fade away, and all he can hear in his fucking head is Brian talking about constellations.

He doesn’t even understand them. But the emptiness is replaced by a sense of wholesomeness. He spent his teenage nights with a fucking radio as his best friend, longing and wishing to all the deities out there to give him a best friend, someone who he knew he could tell anything to, someone he could just feel safe with. And he has it now. And Roger feels so dumb for not appreciating that enough. He’s come so far he’s forgotten where he’s come from.

God, he can’t lose Brian because a life without him is so empty. It’s so dark. And it’s cold. And Roger hates the winter.

He feels so selfish and so ashamed of himself in this moment, because how did he let himself become so greedy? Why was he wanting more, when Brian was more than he ever deserved to begin with, how did he let himself get so entitled? He’s forgotten his place, but fuck does it still hurt so, so much.

God, he wants him so bad. And he knows he can’t. But he can’t lose all of this over his own selfishness. He has to be better than that.

That’s enough, Roger. That’s enough now.

And is face crumples and he bursts into tears, unable to contain the pathetic noises he’s making, he tries to angle his face away from his sister, crying into his hands because dammit he’s still got his pride.

But she’s his darling sister and she sees past his bullshit and pulls him into her own touch, and holds him close, kissing him on the temples as he sobs his heart out.

“It’s alright, Rog.. it’s alright,” she tries to assure him as he cries into her chest.

“Fuck.. then why does it feel like nothing will be alright ever again?” He whimpers weakly. It feels like every star in the sky has been put out. It feels like someone has dismantled the sun and packed it away. He desperately wishes to return to a few days ago before he’s royally fucked up, but nothing is the same now. The walls have already caved in and he’s surrounded by its ruins. He can attempt and build over it but the damage has been done. History cannot be erased.

He wishes he could have tamed his heart. Told it to not yearn for what it can’t have. He doesn’t remember where he lost his way and thought that he could even have something this good. What was he expecting? He was not one of these people who got good things like this. He was born in filth. And he was to live in it. That good life was not made for him, and having had a taste of it has made the void hurt so much more because now he knows what he could have but cannot.

God dammit, Brian May, did you have to be an angel?

He exhales shakily. He’s terrified. But he’s not giving up on his band. They will not fail because he was too reckless with his own heart. The band will not suffer because Roger was too stupid to control himself. He couldn’t live with that. His hand lingers over the door knob, and he kicks himself once and lets himself through the door.

Roger can feel the air in the room shift once he enters through the door, all eyes are on him. He inhales shakily, a chilling, buzzing sensation spreading across his chest. He turns over to see his band mates, and in particular, Brian, who’s mouth is agape.

Roger pushes aside all thoughts in his head, and tries to relax, and he puts on a show, he puts on a mischievous grin, “..Jesus, Bri, shut your fucking piehole before a fly comes and chokes you.”

And while he still feels like every wall has caved in, trying to replicate his old self brings him a sense of familiarity that does put him at ease. He knows he’s performing, but it’s all he’s ever known, and it feels like home.

Roger watches the wave of relief wash over Brian’s eyes, and he likes to think the walls are rebuilding themselves.

And Brian smiles that beautiful smile of his where it’s like the sun has decided to shine just for him, and Brian’s glowing and Roger can’t help but bask in that warmth.

Yes, Roger’s heart is aching but Brian is too good to loose.

It was but a silly fantasy to ever believe that Brian could ever be his, god, no way, not him, Roger is not meant to live in a pretty palace amongst royalty. He belongs to the stables and he is grateful he is even able to serve such royalty. His story just isn’t written that way.

Having Brian in his life at all is enough. It has to be enough.

Roger is still plagued by the sickly bittersweet fairytale of love and the idea of having Brian’s hand to hold, and the thought crushes him, and fuck Roger is hurting.

But he’d rather hurt every day of his life than not have him at all. A life without him is so empty and that life would absolutely shatter him. There is a magnetic connection, a molecular bond that draws and pulls him to Brian May, and he knows it’s going to hurt him, but he’s okay with it. He needs him in his life or the balance of the universe will tip against him. He needs him.

He’ll have to settle. And he thinks he’s okay with that.

He’ll make do. He always does.

#roger taylor #brian may #maylor #john deacon #freddie mercury #queen

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austennerdita2533 · 7 years ago

Text

A/N: Okay, so. I couldn't stop thinking about time and how it could affect how Klaus and Caroline would relate to both themselves and each other prior to/after his near-death in 5x13. (Near-death because I reject canon in all forms. Self-care at its finest!) And this is what came out. (Post-TO Finale AU + Light angst + Fluff)

**Disclaimer: The first half of this is literary in nature. It’s written in a more removed POV, and while I usually save that kind of experimentation for my original writing, that's what wanted to come out. I also couldn’t seem to shut OFF the poeticism. So I went with it.**

GOD HELP US ALL BECAUSE THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I WANTED IT TO BE BUT I’M OVER IT.

Kudos to anyone who can guess which famous work/author I punned for my title, btw! Happy reading!

(A03) (FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

For When The Clock Chimes

The hands of time continued to turn because they could, because they brokered no resistance from anything in physics or grimoire magic. At least not to anyone’s knowledge.

It’s how they functioned. They existed to move, to tock away in subsequence. Their only purpose was to track the moments that the rest of the world took for granted or disregarded completely.

And so many people did: squandering each one with the flutter of an eyelash, or an exhale of the lungs that wouldn’t keep, couldn’t stay, their voices rubbing against the edge of a thought before they let the words fade into letters the mouth couldn’t spell or name out loud because it was too soon, too late, not right or so wrong. The look on someone’s face making a person swallow them all back down where they didn’t belong, and never could since the stomach refused to digest omissive lies in any shape, any form. They’d spurn back up to the surface with a rough lurch so it hurt. Scraping at silence until it stung. They’d burn the esophagus into disrepair the whole way like a warning that wouldn’t ground down or away. “Admit it or else, admit it or else.” Screaming bile into blisters because the truth shouldn’t cower in corners forever, and it wouldn’t. It’d always crawl back out because time waited for nothing. And no one.

Time wouldn’t wait for decisions to be made or listen to a voice as it begged “slow down, slow down; please, please, please won’t you slow down.” Wonderful things fluttered past in the same cadence as the awful, the sad, the loving, the wrenching, or as the missed opportunities which were impossible to reel backwards for someone who’d let them skip past like rocks already.

People probably always would overlook these moments. Waste them, too. So few of them wanted to hear how many more ticks they had left before the quality of everything in their lives diminished, or worse, ended altogether. Killing the future in ways that couldn’t be resurrected.

After all, who could bear to tally all the seconds as they fell? As they died?

Why would anyone want to capture the Before? Catching it, wrestling it into trapped silence with thumbs, knees blackening and blueing from too much squirming on top of it merely to preserve the faint sputters of oxygen it expended. As if such a thing could be rewound or duplicated so that Before’s clockwork stores were always full of hours one could revisit with a blank slate, a new page, yet would never need to be scribbled through with chipping chalk or passed by with a feeling of what could’ve been instead.

Only, that’s not how it worked. The past could not be rewritten. It could not be recalculated for a redo, either.

Why would anyone try to cling to this dream when the dust from the After was bound to choke a person with its grittiness again and again regardless of the promises it’d made to keep the throat clear and dry? Free of regret. Unspoiled by grief. Untainted by all those nasty ‘if’s’ that tasted like tarred feathers on the tongue.

Who would care to listen to each beautifully fleeting moment as it gusted away like a dandelion wish on the end of a swollen green stem? Who wanted the pleasure, the pain of cataloguing them?

How long before each second started to sound less like a soprano note in the fabric of infinity and more like static burnt deep into eardrums? Krshhhing with the noise that all middles made as they neared their endings.

When was it wrong to count the stones of time like precious particles no one wanted to throw away? When was it right to grasp them tight, not letting go? Not giving up. Never, never surrendering to bruises or the fight for more un-lived life.

What happened if someone didn’t? Wouldn’t. If one refused to pay out time in elapsing dividends because it was unfair, because the future currency one was already contracted was about to be stolen from out of pockets before it could be spent.

What happened, for instance, to a girl with a woefully devoted, often under appreciated heart which had been taken, broken, or disappointed one too many times to be able to forget how it felt to be denied - what ruin it wrought inside of her when something or someone left her alone again or far behind in a place where she couldn’t follow so that she was the only one who was missing out on everything she wanted? Everything she almost got, almost loved, but might not receive.

What did it mean when she clung to each peal over her head because a part of her was terrified this was the last bell of extraordinary she was meant to hear? To want. To almost reach out and touch. To nearly have it in the palm of her hands, obscured, but lost in a way that was about to be found. Making her feel strong and certain in herself at last - in them, too - her heart open, adrenalized, embracive of the teethy edges which were to chomp through one of her deepest chambers soon, not long from now. Marking her with a brand of unapologetic readiness, of confidence she owed to the creature she was today.

This girl didn’t need extraordinary on her own - not all on her own - but she desired it with this man here before her. She knew that without a doubt now. Just as he was set to disappear.

The only problem was this: she wanted him out there somewhere still living. Still existing like the constant he was, or came to be over these uncountable years. She needed him to stay a fragment of light that’d never fade, that’d never fall from its spot in the sky so she could see it always - with her eyes closed, soul stretched through every shadow or curve of darkness - so she could chase it with feet one day knowing he’d be there waiting for her on the other side.

It was imperative that his coming seconds continued to stretch. Bend. Twist. Multiply. Endure.

But what happened if the hands of time stopped revolving because they intended to sweep the constant of him away for good? How did she feel to know it was nearly over between them? The end? Their last moment? This goodbye becoming the most rotten she’d ever tasted on dry lips since they still thirsted for the hope of another kiss.

It might be the end of every possibility…

The dropping curtain….

The final eclipse…

The threads of a vanishing eternity plunging into a hole that would fray its edges like the snap of a coffin lid…

So what became of her? Of him? Of them and this nearly-something which never came fully to fruition?

What next? What happened after the clock froze with a loud ding to assault their ears, catching their hearts off guard when it resounded out loud into the night with one last chime? Because if they couldn’t reverse the ding above their heads at midnight, if this fate was impossible to prevent, then how come those clock hands halted like lungs holding in a breath before a sigh?

Pssst, let me let you in on a little secret:

Out of time is not where their story ended.

It’s where it stopped—

then started all over again.

Caroline loved to cycle through the city. Preferred it, really. Given the option, she always chose a spontaneous ride over an aimless or idle stroll through the streets when a wandering mood struck her, as one often did. Restlessness dug into her as deeply as fangs anymore; or had, more specifically, for the past three decades or so.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me over it. Wanderlust leads where it wants, where it must,” her companion often said before they kicked off from the curb near their home. “I’ve embraced it myself many times over the years, to be sure, so I have no qualms about following wherever it is it drives you next.”

“Good,” she’d nod, releasing the kickstand. “It’s comforting to know you intend to try and keep up for once, Lance Armstrong. Instead of, you know, tailgating my backside a few tire revolutions away. Like a creep.”

“What can I say? I’m fond of a good chase, especially one with as lovely a view as you.”

“You always were, weren’t you? Fond of chasing me, I mean,” she’d reply with an arched smile, the words soon blurring into an echoed look-back over her shoulder.

“And I will continue to be,” would come the un-ironic answer from somewhere close behind, “thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me, Bonnie, and a few Japanese grimoire spells, you mean,” Caroline would correct in that chirpy, heart-of-the-matter way of hers.

“Certainly. Whatever you say.”

Then off they’d jet together without another word: no particular direction or destination in mind.

As it was, kinetic motion made Caroline more comfortable with her place in the world seeing as how she could travel anywhere inside of it. And she longed to see everything now - every town, city, country, continent; each day or night; the kinds of things nobody could dare to forget when one fought to remain aware. Alive.

She yearned to be everywhere and nowhere all at once these days, and cycling, she was. It’s why she loved it so much.

There was something about the feel of pedals flat against her soles, the bikey breeze cooling her skin before it blew tendrils loose onto the nape of her neck, the wheels beneath her spinning, screeching smoothly with speed as they weaved along windy, bus-trafficked roads or twiggy park pathways to gain that rush of adrenaline that clattered her teeth with joy. With freedom. Or maybe it was the way in which her butt bumped up and down on the triangular seat while a midsummer dusk descended with a multilingual hush over boats, which were docked bow-to-stern in the stilled green canals to her left, the day’s end cresting beyond the architectural diadem of the Tower Bridge as she continued her odyssey, then later, peaking atop the hedged copses and lush treetops in St. James’s Park to illuminate a family of ducklings as they paddled through the golden ripples. Or maybe it was how the moonlight reflected off rows of bricked homes in the borough of Bermondsey as her tires crunched gravel and debris to dust without slowing. It was in how everything whizzed by her in an indecipherable rush of buildings, cathedrals, faces, vibrated conversation, smogged tedium and bustle. Alerting her to the blended chaos of it all. Her ears buzzing with the familiar novelty of progression, of diversified populace and soon-to-be-digitized antiquity.

Caroline was hastened forward through the city, through a still-untapped eternity, by wonder. Diversion. Exploration. Temptation. Love. Each second tickling the hair in her nostrils as it passed before, then behind her.

The moving world around her became an anomalous combination of fast and slow, and the dichotomy thrilled her. It was something she could race alongside or immerse herself in by grasping the handlebar breaks - hopping off her bike with a swing of her leg to trot into a shop, a pub, an outdoor theater; dawdling along the choppy waves of the Thames with this man’s arm wrapped around her waist like it belonged there (and who’s to say it didn’t?) - but also something which she’d never be able to catch fully no matter how hard she tried. And Caroline was okay with that. She didn’t mind.

The truth was she relished a camaraderie with the world no one else besides the man next to her sensed, or understood, so it gave her the luxury to simply be. Feel. To open herself up to the unvaried rhythm of time as it carried them around every bend in this labryinth’d metropolis. Allowing her to bask in London’s steady changeability wherever she rode.

Caroline adored the taste of life rolling by her as her legs rounded harder, faster. Muscles burning with exertion. Slickened with sweat beneath her jeans, taut against her hamstrings.

She inhaled with eyes closed, breathing it all in without stopping: all the honking cars and laughter, the alcohol mixed with blood many tourists smelled of as they paused by some monument to snap a few Instagram photos, the clink of the Tube rails, applause within the Globe Theater, multicultural cuisine, fresh cheeses huddled within market stalls for selling, couples of all ages, pints of beer drunk in crowded avenues, the lift of a cyclist’s arm as she signaled to turn right, a full moon tacked to a twilight sky, music, tea and crumpets, a gentleman’s eye lingering on her legs too long to be accidental, the pruned sidewalk trees. Most of all, though, she reveled in Klaus’s easy proximity. His pride and contentment to be here, to be with her still (even if that meant flanking her rear sometimes), was more tangible than the kiss he left on her mouth at the last stoplight in Parliament Sqaure.

“How do you do that?” she said as they waited at the intersection with their foreheads still pressed together.

“Do what, love?” he asked.

“Make me want each new moment we share together to last forever.”

“My kisses are that potent? How lovely. I didn’t realize,” Klaus smirked.

Caroline shoved against his chest playfully, “Cut it out, I’m serious!”

“Say it again then.”

“No.”

“Come on, say it. Say it…please?”

Shaking her head, “You’re such a glutton for flattery, you know that? It’s exhausting. Seriously,” Caroline teased.

“Ah, but only when it comes from you, sweetheart. No one else. And just so we’re clear—” Reaching out with his hand to stroke her cheek then, his expression liquified, his irises gleaming with an affectionate blue blaze she’d come to recognize as hers, and hers alone. Klaus’s voice was deep, so much barer in emotion than he ordinarily liked to betray, “I’d gladly surrender it all to live in one such a moment of forever with you. I could pick but one, were it required. However, I‘m greedy so only if forced,” he added with a languid stroke down her spine.

“As could I, no doubt,” she smiled softly in answer, her lips poised near his ear and her fingers tangled in the necklaces at his throat. “Still, I’m glad we don’t need to choose.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Limitations suck, o’hybrid of mine. They leave us feeling stunted and starving to surpass them.”

“True, too true…”

“Plus, I’d rather have all of time ahead and behind us like we do now,” she said just as the cycle light changed to GO. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Truth be told, love, I just want us. This. You.” With a thumb hooked through one of her belt loops, Klaus shrugged while Caroline listened, “To hell with all the rest,” he said.

“And you’ll have me, okay? You absolutely will. I know it.”

“How?”

“Because we happen to have forever, you and I. We won back time, we got a second chance to sample everything the world still has to offer,” Caroline said with meaning before she leaned in to kiss him. “And there’s nobody dead or alive I’d rather spend it with…than you.”

After drawing away from his mouth then and settling herself onto her bike once more with a turn of the pedals, Caroline giggled because Big Ben cut in with its midnight song from Elizabeth Tower right as they disappeared back into the London night in unison, the clock hands illuminated almost in omen, or like a reminder gilded in moments that rang out with the words don’t waste me, don’t waste me. Which they didn’t, and never could again.

In fact, if the chimes of the near-death past had taught these two lovers anything, it was that they needed to chase and cherish every year, day, hour, minute, and second of eternity they were gifted because it wasn’t a given in this life no matter how “unkillable” or White-Oak-stake-prone one pertained to be. So chase and cherish is what Klaus and Caroline did. It’s how they chose to spend their passionate, nomadic existence for however long it coiled forward into the future. They loved it minute-by-minute, chime-after-chime…

Together.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #half agony half hope #ashlee bree's writing endeavors #i've been stewing in-hate with this #for a week-and-a-half #because there should be more to this #more places; more dialogue #more examination of where they are or where they've been in the interim #how they've grown together and when #but the ambiguity isn't necessarily a bad thing #plus i couldn't bear to edit it any longer #so i *sings: let it go; let it goooo*

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rom-e-o · 7 years ago

Note

;ljfsldk this was very hard to choose: "9) a sunrise, a bumper sticker, the color orange" ^^;

[Aaaand finished! Thank you so much to @livefreeordie13 for this amazingly fun prompt! I got to stretch my creative muscles in figuring out how to rope everything together, and honestly, it was great fun. I hope you enjoy!]

[Summary: Yu and Yosuke take their first vacation as boyfriends. Their destination is a lakeside condo, three hours outside their apartment in Tokyo. (Implied/nonexplicit NSFW situations)]

AO3 link is here!

Yosuke’s eyes squinted as hard as they could but to no avail. He just couldn’t make out the words from his current vantage point.

They had been driving behind the same car for almost twenty minutes in light city traffic, and for that same amount of time, Yosuke had strained his eyes in an attempt to read a tantalizing bright but still weather-born bumper sticker.

“It’s too far away to read,” he noted aloud, leaning forward in the passenger’s seat in a futile attempt to read the small and weather-worn sticker through the windshield. “Catch up to them!”

“What?” Yu asked, shooting his boyfriend a quizzical stare from his position in the driver’s seat. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I want to read the sticker,” Yosuke explained simply.

“You want me to tailgate so you can read someone’s old car decal?” he replied, silver brow lofting. “Are you serious?”

“C’mon, we aren’t going that fast and the traffic is totally light right now!” Yosuke said with a whine. “Please, partner?”

Yu rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. His foot put a hair of extra pressure on the accelerator, just enough to speed up their rental car a few extra miles per hour. It was enough to satiate his boyfriend, who leaned forward in his head and practically glued his eyes to the windshield in an attempt to read the semi-faded bumper sticker in front of them.

Once they got a couple feet close, Yosuke let out an odd laugh od delight, signaling to Yu that the distance breached was sufficient.

“It says, ‘Honk if…you like big dicks,’” Yosuke said. His tone had changed mid-sentence from intense excitement to expressionless disbelief.

He reread the words a couple times over just to make sure he was reading things correctly. Sure enough, he’d read the raunchy text correctly the first time.

“Wow, that’s totally what it says after all,” Yosuke said, leaning back in the seat as a dry laugh crackled from his throat like ash from a parched fire. “Geez, I remember people in the city being more brazen when I was growing up, but that’s really…”

Yu laid on the horn as loud as possible.

The strident sound completely severed Yosuke’s sentence and sent a shock through his body so strong that he almost thought he could have snapped the seatbelt in two.

“Hey!” Yosuke squeaked loudly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” Yu asked between two extra loud, incessant honks. “You wanted me to speed up to read the bumper sticker, right? Well, I read it too, and I’m agreeing.”

Yu spoke with his usual deadpan humor, but the shadow of a catlike grin on his face was unmistakable. Anyone who knew Yu could see the silver-haired teen was being smug, and Yosuke knew him better than anyone. In addition to being roommates in college together in Tokyo, they’d also started dating shortly after high school.

The car in front of them, which had been driving at a steady pace, slowed and changed lanes. The vehicle sank back in the lane beside the couple’s rental car. A few other young adults who also looked like students, with trendy clothes and goofy grins, rolled their windows down to whoop in agreement and loudly thank Yu for his honk of support.

Yu gave them a thumbs up in solidarity and Yosuke’s soul left his body in absolute embarrassment.

Their first vacation as boyfriends was already going swimmingly well.

“I’ll get us checked in at the front desk,” Yu said as he pulled the car into a parking spot near the resort’s lobby. Upon opening the car door, the aroma of damp foliage and running water greeted his senses.

The summer air was warm, but not humid. A light breeze created a deafening rustling sound that made Yu realize just how thickly wooded the area was. The tree canopy that cascaded down the valley all the way to the lake’s edge swayed softly. With each gust, scatter of petals peppered the pavement below with a pink and green splatter.

The scenery was so different from Tokyo’s. In fact, it almost reminded him of being back in Inaba again. The sounds of car horns and aimless street chatter were replaced with sounds of kids playing in a nearby pool and of cicadas lazily chirping along the arboreal pathways.

Yosuke silently unclicked his seatbelt and staggered out of the seat. He shot Yu a half-lidded look over the roof of the car as he rounded the vehicle to make a beeline to the entrance. The gaze was too soft to be a glare but way too heated to just be a casual glance.

It was a very nondescript look that told Yu he’d done a fantastic job at teasing his friend.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Yosuke asked cautiously. “Don’t make it weird.”

“What do you mean?” Yu asked with an impish grin.

Yosuke just sighed hollowly in response, which only made Yu laugh even harder. He said, “Hang out here. I’ll be back in a minute, partner.”

Failing to notice the faint blush on Yosuke’s face, Yu jogged up the steps briskly and tugged the door open. Before it shut, Yosuke could hear his boyfriend greet the person at the front desk amicably and, as usual, with complete normalcy. The desk attendant would have never guessed that the nice, silver-haired college student she was charging for a room had just spent almost an entire three-hour carried from Tokyo honking at every ridiculous bumper sticker and then proceeding to give every passing car a appreciate wave when they stopped to compliment him along the roadway.

They’d never know, and yet, it sent a tiny thrill through Yosuke. It felt special and a little extra romantic that he was the only one that knew his boyfriend’s weirdness.

After stretching his nimble legs with a few athletic poses that Chie had taught him, he took a moment to saunter to the edge of the parking lot to peer down the edge at the resort’s scenery below.

Even he, a tried-and-true city boy, had to admit that Yu had picked a fantastic place for their vacation. It was picturesque and rural but lacked the usual ruddiness of some other countryside locations.

At first, Yosuke had been hesitant to take a vacation to a resort at all. It just didn’t seem like a typical trip for a college student to make, in his opinion. However, when Yu brought up the idea of spending an entire trip together and away from work and the crazy hustle and bustle of Tokyo, it suddenly sounded a little more appealing.

Even though the two were roommates, it was hard for the two to find time during the day to spend time with each other as a couple. Yu was a popular guy, after all. People constantly vied for his attention, and even on his days off, he usually had a packed schedule. Not that Yosuke could get too mad at him. After all, Yosuke was a workaholic that spent long days and hours stocking storerooms at night and taking business classes during the day.

Taking a trip sounded like a great way to finally schedule in some alone time without interruptions. At least, that’s what Yosuke desperately hoped for. It had been criminally long since the two had had any time alone together for an extended period of time, let alone days to devote solely to each other. They probably hadn’t had such ample free time for each other since high school, but the responsibility of catching a serial murderer forced the prospect of romance to the bottom of their booked priority lists.

Now, they only had to focus on each other.

Had he not been standing in a public parking lot, Yosuke would have actually cheered at the thought.

The sound of the lobby door chime brought Yosuke out of his daydreams.

As he turned to meet Yu back at the car, the two exchanged a brief high-five. Their hands were still freezing from having the car’s air-conditioning on full-blast for the summertime drive.

“We good to go?” Yosuke asked with a grin.

“We’re good to go,” Yu replied with a laugh as he lifted a hand to jingle two room keys. “One for you, and one for me.”

Yosuke laughed a bit. “I get my own key, huh? Fancy. You’re not going to hold me hostage, partner?”

The teasing was well-received, and Yu reciprocated with a leer that made his silver eyes look even more molten than usual. “Only if that’s what you want.”

Yosuke rolled his eyes. With Yu’s hand still against his, Yosuke decided to seize an opportunity to tease Yu in return. Without any warning, he leaned in a pressed a gentle kiss to Yu’s jaw before they pulled apart moments later. The touch of Yosuke’s lips against Yu’s cheek was brief, but it was honest and uninhibited in the appreciation it conveyed. It was a warm, but fleeting sentiment that left always left Yu wanting more.

While Yu always adored his boyfriend’s affections in any form, something about Yosuke’s signs of love had changed recently in a positive way.

The most recent kiss was quite different from the pecks Yosuke used to give Yu when they’d first started dating. The touches had originally been just as sweet but were just as heavy with hesitation and shyness.

Now, Yosuke freely kissed him with confidence and self-assuredness that came from being in a loving, committed relationship.

It gave Yu unbelievable joy to see Yosuke becoming comfortable in his own skin.

“Thanks again,” Yosuke said with an airy laugh as he pulled away from the kiss with a shallow sigh.

Yu cocked his head, already missing the feeling of Yosuke’s lips against his skin. “For what?”

The toe of Yosuke’s sow swirled gently against the asphalt below.

“Well, it was your idea to come here in the first place,” he said sheepishly. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck as he fumbled through his sentiments. “Also, you’re paying for the room, right? I had no idea this place would be so nice. Are you sure you don’t want me to chip in?”

Yu shook his head, bangs swaying gently over his relaxed brow.

“We already agreed,” he said with a wide grin. He reared back his arm with a gentle flick before lowering his hand into Yosuke’s where he deposited a room key. “I pay for the room and you get to pay for food.”

The rental car, along with a pre-loaded fuel card, had been an anniversary gift from the rest of the Investigation Team. Rise especially had been a huge help and, thanks to her plentiful amount of sponsorships for gigs and commercials she’d done, was able to hook the others up with an incredible deal.

“Are you sure?” Yosuke asked again.

“Positive,” Yu replied with finality. That was the end of the matter.

Yosuke recognized the tone immediately from their days fighting Shadows in the TV World. Even though his days as the leader of their Investigation Team were long gone, he could still hear it in Yu’s voice when he spoke with decisive finality. The answer left no room for argument, and honestly, Yosuke hardly minded.

“Don’t worry,” Yu said, tossing Yosuke a sideways grin as he unlocked the driver’s side door and climbed back into their car. “I already have some amazing cat cafes picked out where we can have lunch all vacation long.”

And there he was. His cat-obsessed boyfriend Yu, not the fearless and emotionless leader from the TV World, was back with him.

“You dork,” Yosuke replied, but the words lacked any crunch.

Room keys in hand, the couple jumped back into their rental car and started down a narrow road that was littered with tall, rustic condominiums on either side.

It took a little bit of searching and swerving through the unmarked parking lots before the couple successfully put their hands together and spied the building with their designated room. The couple’s condominium was a corner unit on the top floor and had plenty of windows that would provide a splendid view of the lake behind the wooded resort.

Upon finding a spot and making absolutely sure to set the parking brake on the uneven asphalt, the duo hauled their bags out of the trunk and made the trek up the outdoor staircase to the top floor. It was an exhausting hike, but neither complained because they both knew it would be worth the work. It also helped that they’d both packed light. Yu was an expert at packing his life into a suitcase and Yosuke really only needed Yu, his phone (which held all his music), his headphones, clothes, and hygiene items to be content.

When they arrived at the door, a cute autumnal wreath decorated the wooden surface. It was decorated with oak leaves and what looked, and smelled, like star anise. It was the perfect decoration for such a woodsy getaway. It really felt like they had traveled overseas somewhere together.

“You do the honors,” Yu said with a flamboyant bow as he took a step back. “I already know what it looks like inside.”

Yosuke’s caramel eyes crinkled at the playful gesture. “This place must already be getting to you. You’re already more…extra than usual.”

Yu chuckled lightly at the statement but made no effort to object. With another resigned sigh from Yosuke, he slipped the key into the lock fully and turned it fully. A satisfying click followed the turn, and the door gave way easily with little pressure.

Sure enough, Yosuke was amazed at the interior. Actually, flabbergasted would have been a more accurate word. The ability to form words temporarily left him for aa few moments.

The unit was a spacious, one-bedroom condo with a large living area and tall windows toward the back that offered a perfect panoramic view of the shore.

The interior’s décor was minimalistic, with rustic accents that added to the lakeside ambiance without being too heavy-handed. A few carved bear statues and natural paintings decorated the dark oak antiques and warmly-lit walls.

It was a stark contrast to the minimalistic and natural décor that he was used to from places like the Amagi Inn. Their current room was almost Western in nature and, while it was a strange aesthetic, it was oddly fitting for the rural resort. It was a nice breath of fresh air.

Yosuke suddenly had a feeling that Yu had chosen the resort partially due to the visual appeal. Even though they were only three hours from home, everything still felt foreign enough to feel like an overseas vacation. It felt as if they were hundreds of miles away from their responsibilities when in reality, they were only three hours outside Tokyo.

The kitchen, located to the immediate left of the front door, was simple but furnished with modern appliances that would even put the most expensive stock at Junes to shame. Every surface glittered with chrome perfection as if they’d never been touched before. The lines crisp designs harbored a futuristic minimalism that came dangerously close to clashing with the bucolic décor but fell short thanks to the other homey decorations in the kitchen, such as a few ceramic cat statues and a bouquet of sunflowers lurking suspiciously close to the door. No doubt the flowers were a gift from the staff, and Yosuke wouldn’t have been surprised if Yu had told the staff the bright yellow flowers were his favorite.

The rest of the furniture was made from soft leather and cozy faux furs. A fake fireplace also lurked in the corner near the television. While the fire and logs were most definitely fake, the rosewood mantle looked authentic and polished to perfection. Yu really had picked the perfect place for a getaway.

In the back of the condominium were floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake. The view was so clear that Yosuke could see right through to the water’s edge all the way from the front door.

It was truly a stunning view, especially since the evening had begun to roll in. The sun hung low over the water, making the liquid surface glow an intense silver that reminded him of Yu’s eyes.

It looked like a professionally designed room from a furniture catalog or a magazine. The idea of seeing Yu push up his sleeves and using his masterful skills in such an appealing setting was almost enough to make Yosuke weak in the knees.

Before Yosuke could become completely distracted, something captured his attention and made him refocus on the kitchen. On the slate countertop was something bright that immediately stood out against the backdrop of neutral tones and earthen shades.

There was a tray of sugar cookies, each one decorated with bright orange icing and sprinkled with white sprinkles. There also appeared to be a card on top of the wrapped cookies. While he was too far away to make out the writing, he could spy the names of his friends scrawled in a rainbow amalgamation of signature inside the paper bifold.

“Looks like the staff members weren’t the only ones to send us gifts,” Yosuke said cheekily as he pointed to the tray of frosted orange cookies.

Yu inched his way inside and sat the suitcases down with a huff. He gave the sweets a knowing smile before flicking his gaze back to Yosuke. “Is that so? How thoughtful.”

It was impossible for Yosuke to resist. They’d been driving all day long and he was starving for any kind of calorie intake, even if it came in the form of a condensed sugar cookie. As he peeled back the wrapper and examined the disks, he could see that the icing was homemade but that the floury cookies were absolutely from the Junes bakery department. He couldn’t even care.

He broke one of the large cookies in two and sank the half with more orange icing, another favorite of his, into his mouth. The relief brought forth by the sugary-sweet rush of confectioner’s sugar was almost immediate.

“Holy crap, these are delicious,” Yosuke said, mouth full of crushed cookie. He heard Yu laugh behind him as he completely devoured the remaining half-moon of sugary deliciousness.

“Dude, you have to try these cookies,” Yosuke said, keeping the remaining half of the treat safe and sound in his other hand while he swallowed. “It’s so good! Seriously, they must have stolen your icing recipe—woah!”

The young man hadn’t had a chance to finish his review of the treat due to that fact that Yu, after shutting and locking the door to their apartment, had bent down and lifted Yosuke up into his arms. While they two were very close in height, Yosuke was lighter and less bulky than Yu was. As a result, Yu took advantage of his strength as often as possible to surprise Yosuke with impromptu embraces and multiple occasions where he would lift Yosuke into the air or over his body. He did this on multiple occasions inside and outside their bedroom.

At the moment, he was holding him bridal style in a pose that felt oddly familiar to Yu from their days in high school when they already knew they’d become destined partners, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Not that it really mattered. The priceless look on Yosuke’s face always made the effort worthwhile.

“What are you doing? Yosuke asked. “Don’t tell me you’re going to carry me over the threshold or something like that.”

Yu smirked widely. This time, Yu was the one to drop a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. “I was actually just planning on carrying you to the bedroom instead.”

The bluntness of the statement caught Yosuke off-guard. At first, he was stunned to silence, but quickly let out a laugh as he wrapped his arms around his partner’s neck and hoisted his face upwards again to meet Yu’s in a kiss that took no time to become feverish.

The sound of Yosuke’s heavy sigh was enough to create a bulge between Yu’s legs.

“I can’t think of a better way to start this vacation,” Yosuke added with a laugh, lips trailing down Yu’s jaw delicately. “But…”

He lifted the cookie to Yu’s mouth and pushed the sweet treat between his lips.

“I’m being totally serious,” Yosuke quipped with a wink. “You need to try this cookie first.”

Yu groaned through the biscuit but obviously nodded. It did give his lips and tongue a perfect dosage of sugary flavor, which Yosuke no doubt appreciated seconds later when Yu’s lips pressed against his in another passionate encounter and the bedroom door was kicked shut.

Minutes turned to hours.

By the time the two had emerged from the room, the sun had slipped completely beneath the surface of the lake. Night had overtaken the resort for a few hours until, inevitably, the rays of dawn started to break through a couple hours later. A lavender skyscape of pre-dawn stretched over the landscape, seemingly going onward into eternity.

At least, that’s how it looked to Yosuke.

He was dressed in one of the resort’s complimentary bathrobes and was seated on the condo’s back porch. With his chin propped up with on arm, his caramel eyes wandered skyward in dreamlike wonder. It had been a while since he’d seen a sky so clear. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d awoken early enough to watch the sunrise.

It seemed the resort was having an effort on both of them.

He’d been so busy daydreaming that he hadn’t even noticed the sound of footsteps slowly approached from behind. Before he knew it, a pair of very familiar lips was pressed against his cheek. When he let out a laugh at the tickly sensation, Yu placed another kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Out here daydreaming?” he asked sweetly.

“It’s hard to daydream when reality already feels like one,” Yosuke sighed contently.

Yu circled around to meet him moment later. In his hand, he held two brandy snifters. In each one were jagged pieces of ice and a couple jiggers of pale, warm liquid. The soft aroma gave it away that each glass was filled with orange cognac. It was one of Yu’s favorites, and Yosuke was quite fond of it as well.

He had to wonder if Yu had secretly packed the bottle in his luggage or if he’d run to the store while Yosuke had been in the shower.

Either way, the sneaky tactic warmed his soul as he accepted one of the glasses with a ‘thank you’ that was so soft-spoken it was almost lost on the wind. Thankfully, the two were so close that they barely needed words to communicate with each other.

“Since you brought the booze, shall I propose the toast?” Yosuke asked with a little lilt in his voice.

“Oh?” Yu asked, his moonlight-colored brow crested in curiosity. “Go on.”

His glass moved seamlessly through the air as he gently clinked the crystal rims together. The soft ring sounded like a bell.

“To us,” Yosuke began confidently, shifting his gaze from the sky and back onto Yu’s face. The unabashed eye contract actually brought a coral flush to Yu’s cheeks and Yosuke continued, “The two nerds that stayed friends long enough in high school to know that they loved each other. And…”

He pulled his glass back and leaned forward. His lips met Yu’s in a kiss and, unlike last time, did taste of icing and sugar cookies. This time, the only taste he could sense was Yu’s, naked and uninhibited by any other flavors. The feeling of his mouth, softly agape in surprise against his, was the most amazing sensation Yosuke thought he’d ever encountered. He felt as if he could get more intoxicated off his boyfriend’s kisses than the strong cognac.

Yosuke slowly sat his glass on a nearby table and rose from his chair. He moved over Yu was his usual grace and agility, resting his lap over his boyfriend’s hips so that they locked together in perfect comfort.

Once there, he could feel a distinct pressure against the inside of his thigh that sent a thrill straight up his spine.

His hands, still cold for the drink, cupped Yu’s blushed face. He asked in a low whisper, “Say, Yu…how many days do we have here again?”

Stammering, Yu replied with some difficulty, “Um…five days. Um, four nights too, technically.”

The flustered reply brought another wicked grin as Yosuke bent down and captivated Yu’s lips. This time, he was the one leading their embrace and holding Yu tight in his arms, pinning him to the chaise beneath them with careful pressure.

His lips coasted over the shell of Yu’s ear, pink with an obvious blush. Yosuke whispered deeply against the rise and fall of Yu’s deepening breath, “Plenty of time, then.”

#Souyo #Persona 4 #Yosuke Hanamura #Yu Narukami #long post #text post #livefreeordie13

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bubble-tea-bunny · 7 years ago

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where heaven lives

[bucky barnes x reader]

author’s note: finally turned in the research paper i spent all quarter working on. feelsgoodman

word count: 1,124

He wakes up to find you flittering through the apartment, book grasped in your hands as your feet seem to glide along the floor. You’re a fairy whose crown has not yet found it way upon your head. Perhaps later in the day, when the world starts to wake, as everyone begins to look for you, to you, all these players from their seats in a grand hall, because the fact is the world’s a stage but it’s all your own. And he’s sitting in the front row, immortal flowers resting in his lap that he fashions into a crown for the one who is king and queen and lover.

The book in your hands is new and he asks which play it is this time. You’re happy to talk about it over breakfast. There’s a smile on your face which seems to have been carved into you permanently, dreamed about and brought to life by some long-gone Strazza or Bernini, who saw the sun and wanted to bring that wonder closer to home. Excitement is clear in your voice as you recount the plot of this new story, as you compare it to the other plays of such-and-such a playwright. There are so many, and you rattle them off so casually, knowing their life’s work like the back of your hand, that it’s difficult for him to keep track. But he’s doing his best to keep up.

He smiles as he listens and he’s looking for your wings, listening for the hum of their eager flapping because you’re a hummingbird fueled by more passion than your body can handle, and so you flutter to and fro. You come to those who want to hear your chirps and maybe birds speak in poetry, because that’s all he hears pour forth from your lips. He’s never been familiar with art such as this but you’re the pathway to understanding it, as well as the destination. And he follows that road, the only one on it, keeping his gaze on you to stay steady. He’s placing one foot in front of the other, moving slowly, surely. You’re obsessed with plays the way he’s obsessed with you.

Sometimes he borrows a book for the missions that keep him away from home longer than usual. It makes him feel closer to you in spite of the miles in between. Your soul is in these pages, laced in the ink. And he goes to sleep with it under his pillow because maybe if he does, you’ll come to visit him in his dreams. When he reads, it’s you and him in these roles, and he’s waxing lyrical of his own even though he’s not so eloquent in actuality, but for the moment, this play lets him pretend to be.

But when your characters should speak, he can imagine you saying every word, and he lets out a breath as you disarm his heart wholly and completely. It’s quite the power to have, to do that while being halfway across the world, in your apartment and in the bed he’s absent from but that he wishes he wasn’t. He doesn’t like sleeping in a bed with a side that’s cold and he’s sure you don’t either. When the team reviews the plan one more time before they go through with it, Steve asks him which part of the operation he would prefer to take. What do you want to be? And all he’s thinking is that he wants to be with you.

He’s floating in the ocean, aimless, when you’re not around, and the water which evaporates there forms your light and airy laughs, forms the clouds that bring him to the sky. He can see everything from that height, and staying there with you makes him realize he never wants to leave this place, because he can appreciate the scene on his own but you’re opening his eyes to things he never noticed before. When he finally comes home you can’t contain your joy, because you will always be a bird with too big of a heart, will always be a fairy eager to greet the one who should grow curious enough to step into your ring. He holds you close and smells the lavender in your hair and he’s on the ninth cloud of an infinite amount. But it’s the only cloud that matters.

You’ve begun a new book in the time he was gone for the mission. Your nose is buried in the pages as you lounge on the bed, atop the soft white sheets. When he emerges from the bathroom fresh from a shower, he’s content to stand there for a moment, simply watching as you read, and he wonders if you can feel him watching (he’s sure you do). There’s a slight furrow in your brow as you focus, and he can’t see your mouth because your book conceals the bottom half of your face, but he knows you’re mouthing the words, lips hugging every syllable and memorizing what they feel like. He can’t help but smile as he walks over to join you.

His muscles seem to sigh in relief as he returns to this familiar space. The mattress shifts with his movements but you’re nonplussed. Up close he can see the fine strands of your hair, like little rays of sunshine, and he tells himself it’s no wonder he always feels so warm when he’s near you. And he cuddles close, as close as he can get, and asks you to read to him. You smile gently and say okay and there is so much love in your eyes. And it permeates the words you speak, those murmured words of a certain Doctor Faustus.

You commented once that if he were a city, he’d be Paris. He asked you why, and you said Paris was like its own little universe, self-contained and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. No one’s ever spoken so sweetly to him as you, honey dripping on your tongue, and he remarked that you should write your own play because everything you say is art. You grinned and told him you already have been, and he’s the pages you’re writing on.

He’ll be Paris, so long as he’s your Paris. And you can run away, and a thousand ships will be at your backs. But they will never catch you. Because when he kisses you and tastes heaven on your lips, he knows he will do everything to keep you here with him. And you’ll grab his hand and hold on tight, a link that cannot be broken, while atop your head sits that graceful crown of flowers he has made just for you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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peacekeeper-kala · 8 years ago

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a pharmercy thing

@actualasamisato wanted pharmercy or korrasami fluff and this is rly late and also i don’t actually know her but i am always around to help with pointless fluff

(i’ll draw something to go with this later)

It had been a long, long day in the newly-restored Watchpoint Gibraltar, and between injured trainees, construction of her new laboratory, and catching up with some of the old Overwatch members that had just arrived, Angela Ziegler had gotten precious little free time to relax.

Though every worker was laboring hard to get the facilities cleaned and in fully working order again, there were still patches of dust and cobwebs Angela could see as she walked down the once-again-lit hallways. Her heels clicked and echoed with every step, and some of the workers looked up and gave her a respectful nod as she passed. Though the people here were warm, she couldn’t help but feel that every steel wall and sliding door were nothing but old, icy barriers; they reminded her of the days she spent at Gibraltar when she was young and the halls were filled with life and laughter.

Lost in thought, Angela paid no mind to where she was going, just making a turn every now and again, she somehow ended up in the cafeteria. For once, it didn’t smell of rations and beer, but just dusty and metallic like the rest of the facility. She could hear Torbjörn hammering away at a machine within the kitchen in the back, occasionally swearing whenever something would crackle, or a part would fall off. No one else occupied the room at the moment, and though some part of Angela longed to go and talk to her old friend, she was more concerned with staying out of his way, and so left from the opposite door she’d arrived in.

Most of the early afternoon continued this way, and Angela only paused her aimless wandering when she got a call over the intercom, which crackled and squeaked with the effort, for her to return to her office to examine an urgent patient. Sighing, but glad for the distraction, she found her way back to the main corridor and to the outside pathways, winding her way back to the medical building.

As she neared her office, Angela could hear several strange voices speaking.

“You know you shouldn’t have been up there without a harness or a flight suit or something,” one voice said, female and middle-aged sounding.

Another, younger male voice chimed in after a moment. “Julie’s right. That was dangerous, we could’ve waited for the equipment to come in tomorrow.”

The first voice—Julie—sighed, and Angela could almost picture her rolling her eyes at whatever poor soul had managed to hurt themselves. She wondered for a moment if it was another young initiate, perhaps someone unfamiliar with the workings of the Watchpoint, but the voice she heard next, as she neared her office door, nearly made Angela freeze in her tracks.

“Yes, but it needed to be done. I’ve had worse.” The voice was young and female, and carried with it no small amount of pride. She was grinning to herself, Angela knew. Not ashamed.

“Besides, I’m sure the good doctor will patch me up in no time.” The sound of her voice, the beautiful but sharply accented English, was just the same as when Angela had last seen her. She had to force herself to the door, standing in front of it motionless for one heartbeat, two, three, before she tapped the button to open it on the keypad nearby.

Her office was still crowded with boxes of paperwork and medical supplies, and three people were crowded around and on an old hospital bed that Angela had been using to examine patients in the last few days. The two workers were standing on either side of the figure seated casually on the bed were dressed in blue, almost janitorial jumpsuits. Julie’s long black hair, streaked with gray, was twisted into a braid over her shoulder, and the younger man—Angela squinted briefly at his nametag long enough to make out the name Oliver—looked like he was freshly out of college. Angela stared at the both of them for a long moment, her eyes unwilling to fix on the figure in the middle, until she forced herself to.

Fareeha Amari’s deep brown hair had been cut shorter than last time, falling just to her shoulders, and was half-tied up in a messy ponytail. The tattoo over her eye had seemed to only multiply in intensity over the years, and it stuck out on her tanned skin nearly as much as the various scars that marked her hands and arms. Angela suspected there were many more hidden under her old boots and khaki working pants.

Forcing herself out of her own reminiscing, Angela looked over the Egyptian woman again, this time with a doctor’s eye. There was a cut just above her eye that was slowly leaking blood, and that eye was squinted shut to keep the blood out. Other than that, there were no open wounds, but when Angela’s eyes shifted downward, she could she an awkward bend in Fareeha’s forearm, a little further down than her elbow—clearly broken and likely the cause of the office visit.

It didn’t take Angela long to realize she’d just been standing there, silently staring at the three other in her office instead of greeting them or giving any kind of instruction. She blinked a few times until her mind and words returned to her.

“Julie, Oliver,” she addressed them, “I can take care of Fareeha from here. I can send her back to your area when we’re finished, if you’d like.”

The two exchanged a glance and then nodded. “Maybe you can talk a little safety into her, doc,” Oliver said as the two of them left the room.

Angela couldn’t help a little smile. “He treats you as if you aren’t many years his senior—in age and experience.”

Fareeha returned the expression, though it seemed restrained somehow. “He means well. They both do. And, to be fair, they did warn me that I should’ve have climbed on the old pipes.”

Angela closed the distance between them, gently holding Fareeha’s arm up and applying pressure in various places to feel for fractures and breaks.

“Let me guess, you fell and tried to catch yourself with this hand? Not wearing any safety gear? The one time you’re not in the Raptora suit.” She left the hospital bed to rummage around in a box full of splints and arm slings, and then another with medical tape and sanitizing wipes. When she turned back around. Fareeha had a sheepish grin on her face.

“I never could hide anything from you, could I?” She sighed, looking to the other for a reply.

Angela shook her head once, but said little else as she repaired the other woman’s arm, except for to tell her to brace herself when she had to set the bone. Her pride hadn’t changed, and she barely flinched when it happened, even at the sickening sound. The bandages, splint, and arm sling went on quickly afterwards, with no complaints from Fareeha. The cut over her eye was cleaned afterwards, with a damp cloth and antibiotic ointment smeared over it. Two small bandages were placed over it to hold it together until it could heal.

“If you’re injured nowhere else, you’re free to leave whenever you wish,” Angela finally said as she stowed her medical equipment back in the boxes. She knew she sounded curt, borderline rude, but she needed time to think. Being in such a small space with the woman she’d once cared so much for—her heart was racing, and she couldn’t fight the wild hope that flared like a small fire in her chest. The little ember that had held on all this time that they’d been apart.

Realistically, she knew there was no way Fareeha felt the same. Angela walked back to her to look her over once more, only to be frozen in her place once more a moment later.

Fareeha opened her other eye slowly, testing, and Angela couldn’t help the eye contact she assumed naturally with her. Her warm brown eyes smiled even when her lips did not, though the corners of her mouth tilted up as she slowly reached her good arm out and took hold of Angela’s left hand with it.

“And if I don’t want to leave?” Fareeha asked as she slowly stood from the bed, her voice innocent in tone. It was enough for Angela though; she knew that tone, and though Fareeha’s voice had changed a bit in their many years apart, it was just as devious as it had been when they were both younger women.

Angela was so much shorter than she remembered feeling last time they were together, and Fareeha forced her to look up to meet her eyes as she stepped closed, until the space between their faces was no more than a hand’s length. The doctor could feel tears trying to start, and blinked them back. Slowly, with unsure and shaky movements, Angela reached the hand not locked in Fareeha’s up to the other woman’s face. It hovered just above the surface, until Fareeha tilted her head into it, the smile finally spreading until it crinkled the corners of her eyes as well.

“Please don’t leave,” Angela said, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel a tear or two leak out of the outer corners of her eyes, and Fareeha leaned in slowly to kiss them away. Angela smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since the team had begun returning to base, and used her hand to pull Fareeha closer, until their faces were only an inch apart and they could only see the other’s eyes. Crystalline blue stared into earthy brown, and Angela found herself visually tracing the Egyptian woman’s tattoo as her eyes trailed down to her lips and then back up.

“And this is what you want, Angela?” Angela could see the flicker of doubt in the other’s eyes, the small moment that never failed to occur when the two of them had been involved years ago, and that hadn’t seemed to change now. Fareeha pulled back just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough that Angela panicked and pushed herself up to her tiptoes, until their lips finally met.

It wasn’t really a kiss, Angela supposed. Too light, like the tickle of a feather, and Fareeha was too still. It didn’t last long, and when Angela pulled away, she had a moment of fear that she’d done something awful, until she felt the hand in hers leave to the back of her head, pulling her face back up to Fareeha’s and their lips together again.

This time it was better. It was not gentle or beautiful, but full of the longing that both of them had felt for so long. They kissed once, and then again, shorter, more of a peck on the lips, and Angela could feel the blush that spread over her face as they pulled apart, just enough to breathe. Fareeha’s undamaged arm pulled her closer, into a hug this time, and Angela was more than happy to bury her head in the crook of the taller woman’s neck. Fareeha leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Alright. I’m not going anywhere, then.”

#pharmercy #fic #pharah #fareeha amari #mercy #angela ziegler #overwatch #actualasamisato

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operationrainfall · 5 years ago

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Title Fujii Developer Funktronic Labs Publisher Funktronic Labs Release Date June 27th, 2019 Genre Meditative, gardening simulator, VR, adventure Platform PlayStation VR, Steam, Oculus Age Rating Everyone Official Website

Since college, I’ve been a fan of minimalism. It started when reading minimalist American fiction from the turn of the 20th century, and extended into video games with titles such as Shadow of the Colossus and Journey (which, incidentally, are two of my favorite games ever.) There’s a beauty in simplicity, a kind of tranquility when you’re given something concise and pared-down to only its most relevant forms. Fujii goes a long way toward capturing that same serenity through virtual reality, even if, in the end, it didn’t quite hit the mark for me.

You wake up in the dark and make your way toward colored lights in the distance. Touching them causes them to light up and open a path for you. Since I was playing on the PlayStation VR version, your in-game hands move in tandem with the Move controllers, and for the most part it was pretty responsive. It got a bit finicky if you walked too close to the flower or orb of light or whatever other object you wanted to touch (and you can interact with almost everything). Walking was a simple matter of pointing your Move controller in a direction and pressing the center button to sort of hop to your next spot. Using the triggers lets you grip objects. I spent probably more time than was necessary picking up the weirdly cute creatures in the world of Fujii and petting them. It’s that kind of game.

You can absolutely pet the wildlife and it is glorious.

Fujii has four distinct locations. There’s your hub world nestled inside a tree where you can plant the various exotic seeds you find by traversing three independent and unique biomes. The first two biomes are labyrinthine exploratory areas where interacting with the environment opens up new pathways. The third biome is similar to the opening sequence, in that it’s a dark pathway you have to light up. It was a chill time just exploring the areas, finding hidden nooks and crannies, and petting the aforementioned wildlife. (Seriously, every game needs to let you pet the animals.) The only real goal is to collect enough seeds to take back to your hub area. I spent about 30-45 minutes in each of the first two biomes, and I can’t say for certain if the amount of seeds I needed was all the ones in the location or an arbitrary amount. Fujii is very light on direction. Other than some very basic controls that are etched into the landscape, the game doesn’t tell you how to do anything. It doesn’t give an objective other than find seeds. It goes beyond minimalism and into more experimentation territory. I feel like it would have been a smoother and more overall positive experience if the control schemes had been laid out cleanly and simply right from the get-go (Fujii does this when teaching you how to move). The first half hour or so of my playtime was me fumbling about with the controls and trying to figure out what I was doing. It took away from the otherwise low-key vibe the game gives off.

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Controls aside, Fujii is impressively lovely. The locales are vibrant and distinct, popping with color and texture. Interacting with the animals and plants are what give life — literally — to the world. Gripping or touching the flora and fauna, or sucking up water with your hands and spraying it on the environment, are the main mechanical gimmicks of the game. You collect items by grabbing them and storing them in a little flower pocket inventory. The most fun I had was trying to find ways to get to some far-off item I could see high up on a giant plant or hiding behind a rock barrier. You can pick up an assortment of wild looking seeds, as well as various creature eggs to populate your hub. There are also glowing spheres that unlock doors, which help you reach other seeds.

The first two biomes feature their own version of a Simon Says music puzzle, and honestly I wish there were more of them. Fujii bills itself as a sort of musical adventure, but those puzzles are the only real meaningful interaction you have with the game’s music. Otherwise it’s tonal responses when you go near something. The game itself has really good music that absolutely sets a relaxed tone, I just wanted more of the interactive elements those Simon Says puzzles offered.

You can store the seeds, eggs, and orbs you collect through each biome in your inventory.

My biggest issue with Fujii is that it’s aimless. I spent about four hours with the game. The stated goal is to collect seeds. You bring them back to your hub and plant them, then just tend to them. I think. The game doesn’t offer any input. Collecting for collecting’s sake isn’t necessarily a bad thing (I enjoy Nintendo games, and those are chock full of them), but usually that collecting adds something to the world. You can learn about its inhabitants, wildlife, history. I still don’t really know the world of Fujii. The gardening aspect is also where the controls suffered the most for me, because the space around the planters is small and I’d often end up on top of them or too close to effectively interact with them. For me, it became minimalism without a purpose. It lacked the narrative cohesion that gave Journey‘s or even Flower‘s minimalism a sense of weight, and the collecting felt more arbitrary than the structured freedom of a relaxing game like Animal Crossing. It leaned more abstract in the way Flow did, focusing instead on mood and emotion. As an experience, it isn’t egregious (in fact, I laud it for being experimental), but as a game, it left me feeling unfulfilled.

I also can’t overlook the fact the game crashed on me during my first playthrough of the first biome, or that items would sometimes just disappear into the ether if I dropped them. Having both happen early in my playthrough admittedly colored the rest of my time with the game.

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Fujii was an interesting experience that ended up feeling like a half-finished game with underdeveloped mechanical ideas but a solid ethos. The game wants you to chill and relax, and to its credit it’s incredibly effective. There are very few games that can thrust me into the dark with glowing eyes in the distance and yet make me feel completely at ease. The visuals and music are great, but the gardening aspect just didn’t click with me. I’m glad it exists, though. Games are such a fantastic way to provide unique experiences of every stripe, and even if that experience didn’t fit for me, I’m sure it fits for someone else, and I will never turn away from experimentation within the medium.

Fujii is available on Steam VR, Oculus Quest, and PlayStation VR for $14.99.

[easyreview cat1title=”Overall” cat1detail=”” cat1rating=”3″]

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Review copy provided by the publisher.

REVIEW: Fujii for PlayStation VR Title Fujii

#Fujii #Funktronic Labs #PS VR #Review #virtual reality

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