#outlandishrounder

[strifuu]

/rolls in fashionably late/ Spiiiin! D;

Send me 'Spin' and see what you get:#2 : A kiss

They say random is the new sexy.(Based on our Jailbreak thread. :3)

 With the three weeks they had been labeled as fugitives, they had endured all the running, the chasing, the threats that had been hampering their dreams of reaching home or whatever that place they were foolishly seeking.They had withstood the cold outside and different levels of deprivation in exchange of roaming free—

            But what they couldn’t stand, in fact, is each other.

     One reason was stubbornness always gets in the way and it leaves a sour taste in the mouth. The only difference was Prompto was very able to spit it out—but the other was doing exactly the opposite of that.

     ”Are ya kiddin’?” His brows were arched as he assessed Cloud’s most recent injury, a nasty gunshot in the leg that was more or less starting to get infected in the rain. “Ya bleedin’ buckets, man. How fine is that?”

     ”I am fine.” A total lie; he was too dizzy from the loss of blood, weak enough to be shoved into a pile of boxes without offering much of a struggle. Much to his dismay, Prompto was damn ignoring his wishes again and instead crouched to inspect the wound more closely. 

     ”Get off my back.” He received a scoff followed by a slight pressure from the makeshift tourniquet. Goddamn, it stung more than hell does. “Yeah, ya know if this is your death wish, I’d be glad to leave ya alone.”

     ”I'm not going to die with this.”

     ”Oh good lord. If I had a mirror, I’d be glad to shove it in your face.” The paleness was frightening that his skin was literally white; from a foot away, Prompto could hear his ragged breathing from the irregular rise and fall of Cloud’s chest. He was friggin’ alarmed and the idiot was just trying to shrug it off.

     ”If you continue this, I’d just put you to sleep and pour scotch all over your—”

    “—could leave me and go by yourself—”

     ”—wound so I—” He paused as he processed the last words, head instantly jotting up and mouth popping out in disbelief.

     Did he hear what he thought he had heard? What. The hell. 

     ”Yeah, go on.” Cloud’s vision whirred when he felt himself being lifted up by the collar of his rain-soaked shirt; one moment his back was leaning against a support, the next, his hand was clamping on the other’s wrist to keep himself steady. Slowly regaining his senses, those which aren’t by the pungent smell of his blood, he found himself crouching and face to face with Prompto’s agitated expression.

    “Ya wanna die badly? I’ll give it to ya.” He was scowling, he was spatting his words out while he shook Cloud. He’d forget the bullshit that is the injury—it was more like this guy needs to have his head checked first. “Just don’t get melodramatic over things ‘cause you’re gettin’ disgustin’.”

     But Cloud didn’t reply—he was busy with absorbing the fact that Prompto’s lips were parting and closing just a few inches away—and he’d very much like to blame it on the blood loss that it’s getting annoying already. “Shut up,” he hit back as he gripped the opposite collar, fingers almost slipping because of the dampened cloth. “Just leave me alone and shut up.”

     ”Why how charmin!”

     ”Don’t get too noisy. You ain’t helping.”

     ”How thick, for fuck’s sake!”

     ”I told you to damn shut up, you—!”

     For some reason Cloud managed to pull him closer—much closer than he would ever be happy about, and the next thing he was aware of is that he could see the details of the other man down to how many lashes were there, their eyes are in level but both in shock, and there was subtle movements in his lips.

     A kiss. A fucking out of place, spur of the moment, out of context kiss.

     Prompto froze upon realization though only disconnecting when Cloud pulled back, both their faces red from either the lack of air or embarrassment, or both.

    “What the actual…” He tried to say something but failed; his assailant was just looking at him like an idiot (as expected), as if there was some accusation in those eyes. “…Frick.”

     ”That—that doesn’t count.” Cloud finally breathed out—it’s a wonder how his blood could still rush to his head when he had lost so much that it might have affected his brain. “That doesn’t amount to anything… you’re just too noisy.”

     ”Well… uh. This is awkward, ya genius.” But of course he wouldn’t go down without a fight and he leans in to let their lips brush once more. “That one doesn’t count either—" but his statement was cut off with another. And another. And another. And another, until they just collapsed on the floor and made an incomprehensible mess——

     ———-This is the other reason why they really don’t get along. Apparently pride and sexual tension is the least appealing of combinations.

[strifuu]

Quam Tonitrum || outlandishrounder || Jailbreak AU

{☣} ||     What's in the rain?

     The tipper tapper as the drops fall has its own kind of hypnosis; the constant rhythm would start to compel until it fully consumes, until it takes command to drown any other sound. It is greedy for it drenches indiscriminately, touching everything on its wake, dims the world temporarily with its own kind of darkness.

            For some it was convenient: in the curtains of the rain there would be no need to hide distraught and despair, there's freedom to howl the pain out and it wouldn't be heard. A nuisance was the most common perception on the other hand with the sheer destruction that it carries along with.

     But for Cloud Strife--it was way more than that. The rain was and always had been a life changer, a ghost that always haunts to remind of all the tragedies that had dragged him and condemned him to his personal hell.

            That day when he turned into a criminal was a rainy day; the lights from the enforcer's vehicles were bleeding into the pavement just like how the red bloomed in his hands and from the still bodies of the mother and child a few feet away from him. Coincidentally, this day had been stormy that he couldn't even see the prison's high walls from the small window of his cell from too much fog. More or less the same. The only difference?

     Now was the time that he would make his escape.

            "Hey pretty boy, you planning to cry again in your sleep tonight?"      "Fawkes, leave him alone, you know he's friggin' sensitive, heh."

           Two bulky men were taking their usual rounds again, and from the patterns for the last few months, the last for that night. Wardens, they call themselves, but in actuality they were inclined to bring torture than to implement order, hurting the prisoners for their entertainment. Cloud had been their victim more often than not and the scars that ran along his back and thighs were proof of their atrocity. He had injured his stay believing in the promise of law and justice but after being told that he'd soon be relocated to the death row--he suddenly realized he should have been over it a long time ago.

     As the shadows faded along the corridors along with the flickering lights from the small lamps, the detainee's alertness slowly skyrocketed. His heart was plummeting against his chest as he reached for the makeshift pick he had obtained earlier when they were doing their chores in the garden, a rusty nail whose end was flattened like a chisel. Instead of using it for the main locks, Cloud would use it to unscrew the cover of the ventilation shaft hidden under his bed, quietly, for the other prisoner at the top bunk could awaken any moment. In the darkness he moved towards his desired freedom, relying on the single piece of metal to get the job done and the credibility of his eyesight.

            Relief came when the lid came off with a clunk. The first step was done albeit he was miles away from his ultimate goal. The next was awaiting: to venture the vents like some kind of rat similar to the treatment he have had. A long maze from the third level to the underground levels that led to many dead ends and turns that would have been impossible if it weren't for his lean build, paranoia inducing too in fears of crossing a weak spot that would send him falling into a tighter security.

     "A light...?" It couldn't be missed at the distance: it was coming from a search lamp above ground, the one near the wall. Cloud's heart leapt; there was his beacon, he's near,he could be freed--he could see his mother again--

            However, horror struck him and he almost froze when a silhouette appeared from the other end of the chute after several thuds.

     No, no, no! His mind was racing and he could feel his knees weaken to the point it was almost useless. I'm almost there! I can't just quit--I've reached this far! He gripped the piece of metal that was stashed in his pants defensively. Could I...? Would I...?! Commit another sin just for the sake of liberty?

            But perhaps was too late to do anything else. The alarms had almost deafened him when they started ringing.   

[sharpest-shooter]

As if one Prompto wasn't great enough ---; 

About to start a thread with another Prompto -- you know this is just gonna be flirting and shit all over he place :'] 

[sharpest-shooter]

Chomp! //Because i can. D;

My muse is chowing down on a box of pocky and your muse seems to have a sudden craving for the chocolate covered treat! (or perhaps my muses' lips?~) Send "Chomp!" for my muse's reaction to yours biting the other end of the pocky stick!

Azure optics widened, suddenly startled by another who looked exactly like the elusive male himself. Though the view was rather attractive from up close, the fugitive found himself smirking slyly but quickly tugged the pocky stick away from the other. Slender dactyl would wave the pocky stick, deliberatly to tease the  unruly blond. "uh -- no, Prompto doesn't share food ~" he said rather melodically, smirk still decorating his features.