Altschmerz (Connie & Maj)Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.
“Congratulations.”
She smiled. Excitement breathed into the word, inflating it like a balloon. She hesitated. Poised on the balls of her feet before impulse, panic, propelled her forward. She hugged Chauncey tightly.
This way, at least, she rationalized, with her chin resting on his shoulder and his arms circling her waist, he wouldn’t be able to see the pink blotching her cheeks, her lips faltering while she struggled to maintain the weight of her lie – I’m happy for you.
So easy to say.
Marjorie heard Connie’s, “thanks,” first, as a quiet mumble in his chest. She felt like the proximity might burn her if she lingered too long. Their relationship was limited to accidental hand brushes, collar fixing, tie adjusting, pen sharing, takeout splitting, late night meetings, sometimes – such small gestures, when she thought about it. Nothing compared to this Ursula, whoever she was, all silk robes and romantic gestures, Maj imagined, lazy mornings and tangled sheets and long-weekend Parisian escapades and puppy co-parenting–
She stepped back, tucked her hair behind her ear, “Ral told me this morning,” in between bites of a bagel, in between sips of coffee, casually dropping the news, what? Connie hasn’t told you yet? And her, feeling like she had the wind knocked out of her, needing to sit down at the kitchen table, only replied faintly, no.
No, I hadn’t heard.
Her hand fell to her side, playing with a simple silver bracelet on her wrist, fidgeting to subconsciously mask her guilt. She wanted to be sincere. She wanted to mean it. She wanted to share his happiness (though he didn’t look particularly happy, at the moment, he looked like he might be sick) like any good friend would. But she was tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of overthinking, overanalyzing. Tired of smiling when she wanted to say, no.
No, you can’t marry her.
“We should celebrate,” she offered, stupid, stupid, “maybe dinner… or drinks?” seeming more assured than she felt in her withdrawal. They had been side-stepping one another for years, after all.
If he wanted to dance with her, or maybe, if she was worth dancing with, metaphorically speaking, he would have asked.
(Right?)
Chrysalism (Andy & Sara) The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.
Lightning veined across the sky, somewhere over London, near enough to the flat to engulf the room in a shock of light like a camera flash, briefly illuminating everything before plunging it back into shades of slate and grey.
A crack, a grumble, followed only by the softer tap of rain against the window, steady and insistent, the faint gurgle of the gutter, otherwise quiet, save for the rustle of Sara’s sweater, the peel of a page turning, the grit of a ceramic mug being put down and picked up off the floor next to the window seat.
Andy stayed his breath just to hear those sounds.
He sat, stretched, his back resting against the wall, Sara nestled comfortably against his chest as she alternated between book and tea while he watched, fascinated by her seamless rhythm, her soft inhales and soft exhales, occasionally skimming words or paragraphs to piece together what she was reading.
He glanced outside.
Below them was a trickling parade of wellie-wearing, raincoated people, mushroomed by umbrellas being pulled by the wind, zigzagging to avoid puddles and drops falling from awnings. Andy fought back another yawn, breath misting the glass inches from his face. He could feel its coolness radiating against his cheek.
“Poor Custard…” he laughed a little, words slurred from his half-asleep state, warm and cocooned, “out there in this mess.”
“Hm?” Sara asked.
Neither of them had spoken for a half hour, at least.
He only nuzzled the back of her head in reply.
Kenopsia (Cole)The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.
He stalked down the hallway, a predator without prey.
When he thought of home, it was the home from memory, not the home that remained.
The castle was quiet, no thundering gale, threatening wind – even the sea seemed to be holding its breath.
Echoes of footsteps, of laughter, a missing pitter-patter, on stone, on carpet, one of his brothers stealing down the bannister when their mother wasn’t looking. No sounds, no smells, just dust, decay, something stale, something rotting, old wood, the foundation itself.
He wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, sweat beading his temples. The place felt like the inside of a furnace, air so thick it was difficult to swallow. Sun streamed in through arched windows, mockingly, particles floating listlessly on beams falling over disused, broken furniture, brown boxes of old, once-loved things.
Cole passed by a drawing room (where Chauncey took the blame for breaking blue and white porcelain vase, when it was really the dog), the billiard room (where their father always entertained, a ghost of cigar smoke and whiskey, low voices deep in conversation), the dining room (dinnerware stored in cases and cabinets, empty table and empty chairs, hanging art covered by white sheets, giving the room a gaunt, mausoleum quality), the pantry (where Custard would sometimes wander in the middle of the night, tiptoeing to pluck food off shelves he couldn’t reach).
He found Ailsa outside, in a chair by the knot garden overgrown with thistles and weeds, an ocean of purple and mossy green.
“Another bad day,” she said, glancing up from her book only after finishing the page. Her face was drawn in a waxen smile. If she sensed Cole’s bubbling anger, she didn’t show it – a practiced air of resignation, of abandonment as bitter as the house’s.
12 YEARS A SLAVE!!!! other good us historical movies/tv series for your time period are john adams (hbo), turn (amc), the crucible, 1776 (the musical), the last of the mohicans (!!!), lincoln, the conspirator (maybe), how the west was won, gone with the wind.
It wasn’t a morning in the Codename household without coffee, regrets, and the sound of a screaming child. Charlie stood at the kitchen island, hungover and half-asleep. His son was running circles around him and screaming at the top of his lungs. There was a cup of coffee in front of Charlie, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting there. He glanced down, almost surprised to see the mug was still in his hands.
At that exact moment, the front door opened and Charlie gave an even more bewildered look at the person who walked in. It was too much for him to deal with at once. Charlie took one look at the grin on Fergus’ face and mumbled a vague insult about his dumb face.
“Hungover?”“No.”
Fergus laughed and came up behind Charlie, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. Charlie was too tired to even complain about how sweaty Fergus was.
“I think you need to get more sleep.”“No, I’ll be fine, promise.”“You’re putting salt in your coffee.”
Charlie froze. There was a pause before he forced himself to look at the container in his hands. Realizing what he had done, Charlie placed the salt back on the counter. He turned away from the kitchen island, burying his face into Fergus’ shoulder. All Charlie could do was emit a low whine that harmonized with his son’s screaming.
Luckily for them, Fergus had spent enough time around the Lavoie’s and he knew how to take care of them. As Pip made another circle, Fergus held out his arm to catch the child.
“How about we put on a movie and then I’ll make lunch. How’s that sound, Duckie?”
Both Charlie and Pip nodded in agreement (though Pip was a bit more enthusiastic). Charlie turned to nuzzle into Fergus’ neck, mumbling a ‘thank you’. They all knew Charlie was going to sleep through the entire movie. He raised his head slightly, but the effort was simply too much. A sleepy kiss was lost in Fergus’ beard, somewhere along his jawline. It was a bit of from Charlie’s intended target, but he had already fallen asleep.
///
Theo/Evie + Stomach Kiss
“Theo is the love of your life.”“Theodore Roosevelt?”
Theo lowered the piece of paper he had fished out of the fortune cookie. He narrowed his eyes when Evie didn’t even so much as glance at him.
“No, Theodore Lee,” he huffed. It didn’t matter, the moment had passed. Theo tossed the piece of paper onto the pile of takeout trash. He still couldn’t believe that had eaten that much food.
“Where did it all go?”
Evie finally looked at him and shrugged. She wasn’t about to turn down free food. It had been the only way Theo could con her to come over (or it was the other seventy texts Theo had sent). With a sigh, Theo shifted to rest his head in her lap. Surprisingly, Evie let him do it with minimal complaining. He wondered if it was safe enough to ask if this had been a date.
That would require having an adult conversation and Theo had eaten too much food for that. Instead, he poked at Evie’s stomach until she slapped his hand away.
“Stop that, my stomach hurts.”“If I ate orange chicken like that, my stomach would hurt too. I’m pretty sure those vegetables were for decoration.”
His only response was a groan and a lazy slap to the side of his head. If anything, it was more affectionate than aggressive. The thought made Theo smile.
“I know how to make it better,” he said. Before Evie could protest, Theo turned and pressed a kiss to her stomach. It was followed by a little pat and a grin.
“Better?”“....no.”
///
Daniel/Zelda + Goofy Kiss
If the night could be defined by the terms ‘embarrassing’, ‘awkward’ and ‘PR nightmare,’ it was guaranteed that Daniel and Zelda were somehow involved. There had to be some higher power messing with them. it was the only way to explain why they were locked in a coat closet together. The awkward height of the racks meant that Daniel was huddled over, desperately trying to keep the few inches of space between him and Zelda.
“I was here first.”“Shut up.” “You shut up.”“Oh, real mature.”“Yeah, just like you.”
The argument turned into them hissing over each other. At one point, Zelda tried to hit him, but there was simply not enough room. Daniel swatted at her hand and the whole thing dissolved into some strange wrestling match.
“Ow, that’s my eye!”“Well you’re pulling my hair!” “Fine, truce. TRU-OW.”
In one last attack, Zelda had slammed her foot onto Daniel’s toes. He groaned and doubled over, his head nearly resting on Zelda’s shoulder. Daniel looked up with an accusing glare. The triumphant grin on her face made him want to scream, but even if he was locked in a coat closet, Daniel would have more class than that. All of his screaming would have to be done internally.
Now that they weren’t arguing or hitting each other, their proximity was a little more awkward. It was obvious both of them were slowly becoming more hyper-aware of their situation. Daniel had backed Zelda into the door, closing the few inches of space between them. It couldn’t hurt to try. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about it.
Their lips met and for a second....
It was awful. They both recoiled, almost instantly. Daniel tried straightening out his suit and Zelda was trying to shoulder the door open. The door gave in with a groan. Despite the confusion of the other guests, Daniel and Zelda walked out. Both took one last look at the other and walked the opposite way, shaking their head.
“Nope. Nope.”“Too soon.”
///
Charlie/Ysolda + Any of the Above (Nose Kiss) (calling her Ysolda so there’s no confusion~)
It was somewhere between the hazy morning light filtering through the bedroom window and his first cigarette when Charlie decided he loved Ysolda. He put the cigarette out on floor of the balcony and climbed through the window, back into the apartment. The sun was starting to rise and Charlie was sure to draw the curtains shut. There was a temporary moment of blindness as he made his way back to the bed. His toe connected with an empty whisky bottle and he winced at the wobbly sound of glass against the hardwood floor.
The room fell silent for a moment, punctuated only by a soft giggle from Ysolda. It was enough sound for Charlie to trace to the bed and crawl back in. He settled comfortably at her side and drew her close. There was a bright flash of light and the sound of paper burning.
“Look what I did while you were gone,” she said. Her tone carried a light teasing edge and he couldn’t help the smile. Charlie didn’t have ask. Ysolda held the joint out for him. He leaned forward slightly to grasp the joint between his lips and took a deep drag. The smoke buzzed in his lungs. Or maybe it was the whiskey that still lingered in his veins. Honestly, Charlie couldn’t tell anymore.
Outside, they could hear the beginning of early morning rush hour. It meant it was time for them to sleep. Exhaustion made them lazy and the drugs made them crave each other’s touch. They found themselves curled up in the middle of the bed, foreheads pressed together. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at ease.
“I love you.”
He already knew her answer.
“No you don’t.”
Charlie laughed softly and leaned forward, brushing a light kiss against her nose. Maybe he would try again next week.
i followed you for rp reasons!! human touch! that was the site name... right?? omfg that was so long ago. another time, another world [stares out window wistfully]
tbh sometimes i go back on human touch and cry silently........................ that site had such a damn good vibe (and was the BIRTHPLACE OF MASON SCOTT) and i met so many cool people through there :’)
