Where were u in '92? | Aston Temple Vickers :: NSFW
One tab,
Two tabs,
Three tabs
Four
One's tongue slithers into his mouth after delicately placing each tab of whatever it was he invested his budget on upon his thin, snakelike muscle, taking a deep breath as he raises his head from the grimy, broken sink. He stares at the broken reflection of his shallow, pitiful self in the dirty, scratched, marked up mirror, half lidded orbs tracing his facial structure and the spider, hair thin cracks with a notable laxness to his curiosity. He ran each line in the mirror, and perhaps even rose his hand to chase his eyes with a modicum of grace to it like a small child learning his world for the first time. At one time during this journey of self discovery, he met his own jade orbs, and concentrated on the steely, growing black, pupils the size of olives and only stretching ever wider, only making his heart beat feverishly ever so faster, the blood rushing around to his body, his head swollen like one who hung backwards; ever so by that thread of sanity that any drug had one's hyperactive mind tangled in. Mouth agape, his eyelids fluttered, pushed, narrowed. His brow furrowed, and he started to perceive the world about him. A string from his head to the ground had been tugged, more than likely stepped on-- Things were once again beginning to become more and less tangible to him, to he, to Vickers.
First was the flush of heat that washed upon his stagnant body. He could feel this reality call back to him, the fantasy still stayed stuck to him, washing down his shimmering, sweat slick body. He blinked, and the gentle, numb hum rumbled in his throat, rose ever so slightly more and more to a harsh, high pitched ringing in his ears. He looked down at his hands, splattered with light blotches of glitter, and then back up at the mirror, and saw the small length of the bathroom, the simple exit-- or rather a curve in the wall-- stretched miles down from his location. First there was a wobble, and then deep inhale, sharp exhale, and the turn on his heel which disoriented him ever so much more than he already was. He would beat this. He had to beat this. The last of a long stream of air curled from his lips, and he found the cognisance to slowly close his mouth.
O n e s t e p
T w o s t e p s
T h r e e s t e p s
F o u r s t e p s
F i v e s t e p s
S i x s t e p s
Aston slowly walked down that long hall with bravado in his walk, with a certain swagger to his step that would make anyone stop and stare. He passed the stalls first, and the sounds hit him in an unholy cacophony.
Thumping against a door.
Moans.
The clatter of a needle.
Seething of teeth.
A snap.
The striking of a match.
The rip of a lighter.
Crumpling of paper.
I N H A L E
E X H A L E
A sharp inhale-- through the nose.
A woman's groans of ecstasy.
Drugs. Lives. Personae. People. People living. People living lies. People living lies, their lives awash down the singular drain that set on the floor. There was then the metallic clank as Aston stepped over this drain, gave the people hope for a split second, hope that was set in nothingness, hope that would be worth no gain in the three heartbeats that rocked his lithe skeleton as he simply breezed past, as he floated onward, stepped on and the over and then off this drain, the lives of those who lived off of those who lived in excess all but denied their momentary glimpse of hope, all thinks to this selfish little man.
F U C K Y O U !
Aston still pressed on, the world becoming more clearer, and yet so much more of a loop. Everything was a blur and yet there was a certain clarity to this hyperspace that Aston was slowly inching through, a certain tepidity to the moment where all was granted to him for the hours, which ticked on down outside this small little room that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. Though his travel was not in vain; what was a ringing became pinpointed noises, and those noises joined into a singular gurgling from the opening in the walls, which in turn was a more certain grumbling upon close, cautionary inspection. Aston was in the belly of the beast. A belly which softly hummed, thumped, groaned, the noises in the blocked distance shook the metal stairway to heaven that laid before him, and the doorway to heaven which seemed to show glimpses into or otherwise lead into a red hot hell. He placed a hand on the dirty, grey, bland wall, and took side steps up the stairs, every step more resolute, every movement slow and sure, careful, building on his paranoia, every noise thumping the door and the stairs threatening evermore to kick him back to the ceramic ground from which he seemed to have originated.
Making it up to the top, instinct has Aston gently reach for the door. It's hot to the touch. It's so hot. Aston's hand is stuck, the heat is almost searing, binding flesh with metal. He feels as if he could just melt right through, and the wonders of the other side would ether hit him like a brick, or be lost upon the door that all but began to swallow his shaking, burning hand. Friction became Aston's friend after several moments, and the door was not quite a stranger at this point, neither friend nor foe to the absently dazed and confused man. Black orbs, aperture wide, scanned, ran the length of his arm, hands, lithe fingertips to the cold, dull, burning grey that was this painted, metal door, and analysed the area his fingers occupied. He was not quite at the doorknob, and oh, what a situation he was in. His fingers drummed against the door, and the neutral, yet curious expression soured into something akin to anger or irritation, the huff he groveled producing a great smoke. Oh, did it billow. whatever it was blinded his sight, and a suddenly clawing hand caught the doorknob before him.
There was a moment in which reality, or wherever he was in the shitty bathroom snapped back into his persona, a dry swallow lent him credence and peace of mind for a subtle time in which his fingers rumbled, ceased the threat to give way; jellied legs thickened, and all that was troubling him seemed to pass with a shudder. He could stand now. The knob was cold to the touch, and he turned it, licked his lips.
One moment, you’ve met, and Aston seems nice enough. Another moment, he’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, slowly, classically flirting with all social finesse, and the moment could possibly last forever, until...
After some amount of time you somehow notice that nothing has outwardly changed, but when Aston seems to look into your eyes, he’s gazing somewhere past your ’deep, beautiful orbs’. The most out of character line he could next utter into your ear seems to confirm your suspicions;
“Darling, don’t make any sudden movements;
it would appear that we... well, I have company...”
Sam thinks it’s ridiculous the bar is open this early, and he thinks it’s twice as ridiculous that he got stuck with this shift when he’s the one who always closes. It’s miserably quiet even with the radio going on in the background behind him, sitting atop a sticky surface he should probably wipe down.
His eyes twitches at the way the patron calls for his attention, and he turns his gaze over slowly to the only other person in the bar. He should be wearing a friendlier face, but he’s not even through his first cup of coffee yet.
It’s going to be a long shift. With a sigh, he wanders over with the mug in hand and leans against the counter. “Yeah, why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
Aston can’t help chuckling a bit, taking another sip of the liquor before him, lithe fingers titillating in the air for just a moment. Phone and cigarettes disappear into pockets, then the cards are, slowly, that Aston may enjoy the song chirping out of the radio, all set up in the way they’d ought to be set up for a competitive game of Klondike.
There is a beat between placing a few cards down and shuffling the cards again that He takes to sigh as he listens to the song playing on the radio. “Mmn, I grew up ‘n The Cure.” He shakes the card in his hand while the words leave his lips, finishing the setup after several minutes.
Aston is proud of his work. With a pleased grunt, he again motions his hands at the cards before him, congratulating himself with another sip from the glass, this time met with subtle seething. “Mmn, You, first.”
1: What's the first headcanon about them as a child that comes to your mind?
2 + the age you're curious about: How would their daily routine be like at that age?
3: What used to be their favorite toy?
4: Did they have any imaginary friends?
5: Was there ever something about them that spooked the people raising them?
6: Who of their parents did they like more?
7: Which food did they like? Which did they despise?
8: Were they shy around people or things they didn't know?
9: Who of the people they know now would they totally liked to marry as a child?
10: If they could invite muses they know now to a teaparty - Who gets invited and who not?
11: Which muses would they like to play with when they were children, too?
12: What kind of outfits would they like to wear? What kind of outfits do they have to wear instead?
13: What do they like to do?
14: What do they hate to do?
15: When offered a treat under the promise that they'd get a second treat if they just waited 5 minutes before eating the first - Would they eat it right away or would they wait patiently?
Piper watches the other with an amused expression, letting their confusion continue on for a couple seconds longer than necessary before finally piping up. “You look a little lost. Can I help you with something?”
too many new sensations flood Aston’s head, his listless pacing down the street just turning into meandering in a circle while staring at his phone. A voice snaps him out of his head, and he turns, offering a sad smile.
“Yes, but no, but yes? I just moved into town.
I’m a little out of my element, I’m afraid.”
her smile is nothing but forced, harsh lines coming through as she grits her teeth together. she feels more like she’s being put on for show, like some trophy that he caught. the same smile is still on her face when she looks up at him, a slight twitch at the corners.
she laughs. it’s also fake. “bite me.”
Hands are delicately placed on the smaller woman’s hips, though not without tact, his award winning smile plastered on his face. He clicks his teeth together subtly in her ear, which is preceded by the slightest chuckle.
Head turns as he’s heading for his car, even if the traffic was usually a nightmare, Shades would rather brave that than using public transport and sitting down in Prada on a seat where someone with flees might have been a few seconds ago. So when the question is asked, he could answer, he still remembers from his days when he definitely couldn’t afford a taxi let alone a car, but he just really doesn’t care about the man’s plight. Tough luck.
“ Sorry, man, no idea. “
He answers with a shrug of his shoulders before he continues to the car park.
“Cheers, mate--”
He too turns away, rolls his eyes, and crunches the paper in tightening fists. There’s a moment where he glances back at Shade, eyes surveying the other male. An eyebrow raises, he notices his clothes, posture, gait, the qualities of someone who you’d doubt seeing on a train in any case, but for the quick moment he looks over, he’s still extremely annoyed. he catches himself by folding the leaflet, seething more barking words to himself before digging in his pockets.
“Fucking New Yorkers. Its no better than LA here, christ.”
three raps of a knuckle against the frame of the open door. Aston’s lazily leaning against the wall outside, waiting for a moment to gauge if he got the occupant’s attention or if he has to knock again. A quick tongue runs over relatively dry lips before a throat clearing grunt is verbalized.
“Excuse me, Sir. I’m looking for a Doctor David Smith?
I was pointed this way, but I’m not quite sure if I’ve gotten lost.”
happy mun-day! some of you might know me, but im gonna guess not lol
My name is Franco, I’m 23, I live in Philadelphia, PA and I have been roleplaying since like 2009. Aston is my labor of love, loss, and vicarious bliss all rolled up into someone that I’ve been writing through for like 3/4 years now and I always have a good time when I write.
fun fact, im a huge homogay and that last picture is of me and the #saltbae. we’ve been together for like two years now~
uhh okay that’s all i can think about saying for now i guess?
I’ll catch y’all on the dash~
"Garçon!” cue the rise of his glass, the rattling of ice. (Asshole.) Aston takes a quick sip of the fresh drink as he awaits the only other patron, the bartender. “Its...” a quick glance at his watch, “Not even eleven in the morn’, and yet here we scallys are.”
A coy grin, and the use of his hands to call attention to his section of the bar. in his space sits an empty beer stein, a glass of whiskey on the rocks, a face down iPhone 7 that seems to be really busted up on the back, a worn pack of cigarettes (one of which dangles between his lips, and a deck of cards, which aston picks up and waggles.
“Since business is... booming, ye fancy a game of solitaire, lad?”
