#sangrenrp

[sangrenrp]

Hi, I was taking a look through the pages and noticed that the theme for the 'residents' page isn't working properly. It might just be my computer, but I thought it might be something to look into or at least bring to your attention. :)

Thanks for letting us know! The admin had to take a leave of absence for several months for really personal reasons, but now she’s back and graduated college so hopefully everything will be running smoothly soon!

[gunnardown]

Parlor Tricks

Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf [with Aureline Dubois] Time Frame → Friday Afternoon | November 20th Location → Sangren PD | Sangren, CO General Notes → A deal, of sorts. 

It'd been some time since Gunnar found himself in a place like this. The Sangren PD holding cell was a lot cleaner than the last one he'd been in. Quieter, too. The cell in Philly was a dusty place, reeking of piss and body odor thanks to the trio of drunks occupying the spot with him. He'd been younger then, a quiet and shivering teenager of nineteen, picked up on suspicion of theft in an incident he barely remembered. Something about pizza, and the clerk who attempted to apprehend the rage-filled young man and ended up with a broken jaw and nose for his troubles.

With no substantial evidence of the crime and the store clerk's jaw shut, literally (and figuratively, the man was far too terrified to confess anything) he'd been released. It didn't take him long to realize cells weren't the best places for creatures such as him. Too little space and not enough vices to control the darkness that festered in him. And Gunnar was wary of just how much damage he could do, or damage to be done to him in a six by eight.

Already, he could feel the energy humming under his skin, the jitter of restless heat with no outlet, and the sharp jolts he still couldn't control after the night Johnny had forced a confrontation with the hellish eel-like mer-creatures in the black lake of that infuriating forest of magicks.

It was harder to keep track of days. Difficult to decipher blackouts from consciousness, reality from the nightmarish visions of blood in his head. The lives he'd coldly taken under the raseri's control never registered. The guilt of bloodshed never came. Gunnar felt nothing, not even confusion. Just a sinking weight of emptiness and black numbing him throughout.

The police had questioned him, but could find nothing. He hadn't been helpful. Everything and nothing felt real. He had no idea how to discern the truth from whatever scenes played in his own mind, the images of kills totaling at least seven. Bodies bloodied and mangled, ripped apart like paper by hands that didn't shake once while they settled atop powerful, denim-covered thighs.

Gunnar wasn't afraid. There was no room in the six by eight for that, and certainly not in the Sangren holding cell.  Grey-blue eyes held a blank, hollow look while he sat in a corner, far away from the only other individual in the space, a nervous looking college student who alternated between nodding off in a drunken haze and jerking away to glare at the much taller and larger blond.

But he had no use for such a fragile being. Hadn't even registered him beyond human and therefore useless.

He wondered how long they were going to keep him. It shouldn't have been more than an hour, but this was going on four and he was beginning to feel restless in every sense of the word. Beyond pictures and a sketchy eye witness, they had nothing on him. Which was damn lucky, considering Gunnar was sure he wasn't entirely conspicuous during the jerky, heated shift into madness. It was a frustrating thing, losing pockets of time, hovering between reality and things he'd rather not think about.

How easy it was to kill. And how much he enjoyed it.

The badges had returned, nervous men in blue who sized him up and hovered their fingers above their weapons just in case he tried something, but Gunnar had no intention of harming anyone while they moved him from the cell into the same interrogation room he'd sat in earlier, for nearly two hours. At least not now. Whatever energy crackled inside him seemed calm now, just a regular buzz and no sign of surging.

The handcuffs were wholly unnecessary. The metal barely clicked around thick wrists, digging into his skin but the pain wasn't entirely unwelcomed. It gave him something to focus on beyond the moving mouths of the boys in blue. He didn't bother listening to them, knowing they were most likely trying to intimidate him into a confession Gunnar had zero intention to hand over. There would be no truths exchanged between him and the Sangren PD. His secrets remained as tightly shackled to his gut as his wrists were in those godforsaken cuffs.

There was a chain now, something to keep him linked to the table, and he knew he could easily break loose of it all, could rip out the throat of the smirking man in the cheap suit across from him, smear the blood of his victory along the two way mirror to the horror of the other suits watching his every move. One was a woman.

He could smell her perfume, powdery and clean-smelling as it was, even through the thick glass and he tried to recall the last time he'd touch something soft and delicate until it writhed and sighed beneath him. It'd been ages. There were no urges where that was concerned. Only heat and rush and jolt and blood. Dirty things to sink thick fingers into, lives to take and sacrifices for the raseri that howled within.

Gunnar shut his eyes, needing to block out the questions of the obnoxious man in order to resist the urge to reach for him and instead focus on the sensation that combed through the dull, metallic nothingness in his head. It felt familiar, a warm rush unlike the heat that churned under thick skin and if he concentrated hard enough, let his mind go blank and grab hold of the feeling, he could practically taste it.

Gone were the voices of the detectives and badges, the din of the police station, heavy footsteps and ringing of phones and the shuffling of papers and other activities so mundanely human it made him anxious. This was better--warmth, and something sweet...and familiar. 

Suddenly he tasted her, a brief touch of lips pressed to his that were gentle and soft and wicked and everything he loathed, but dripped with smoke and honey.

Steel eyes open, first glancing at the still talking detective who hadn't yet noticed the presence of another, the brown-skinned woman with chestnut-colored curls perched on the edge of the metal table, her slender fingers working through Gunnar's longish blond locks.

"So big now," she cooed and Gunnar couldn't help the shiver that ran through him, part disgust and mostly lust because he still craved her, even as thoughts of curling his hands around her neck coursed through him, hot and snarled.

The witch seemed to sense his torment and merely laughed and continued to trail her fingers through his hair. "Took quite some time to find you. You've been up to things, chouchou. Bloody, bad things. So many lives snatched. I can hear the screams. And I taste another on your lips. A human. And one of my kind." He noticed her amber eyes flash with jealousy at that, and Gunnar's lips lifted into a smirk.

"Cut you out, I did. How d'ye find us?"

Aureline tutted at the question, the soft sound still managing a sharp echo in Gunnar's head, making it difficult to decipher if this was the reality, or if he was still in the police station. The tightness in his wrists pointed to the latter, but the haze surrounding the woman before him, the hum of her smoky magic was confusing. "You cut me out, but I still feel you inside me, my love. And I can make all of this go away."

Gunnar knew she could. Powerful as she was, it would only take but a few words to confuse the human detective, muddle reports, and free him from this metal place with only the marks on his wrists as a reminder. But steel-colored eyes narrowed because her help came at a price and Gunnar wasn't falling for that again.

Not even as Aureline shifted, slinking into his lap in sensuous straddle, pressing honey curves against him in a way that the heat in him called to, the jolt within hot and sharp and her lips curled into a smirk that she pressed to his mouth while whispering "Just a gift, chouchou. No take this time. I want to help."

Helpful was not something he considered her to be, but Gunnar wasn't sure how much more he could endure sitting in that cell, silent at questions and inquiries before the blackness in him took over. 

Cuffed wrists strained against the metal while she studied the silent battle waging behind grey eyes until he finally nodded and she grinned triumphantly, even as he snarled a warning.

"Cross me, and I'll snap your neck."

Aureline gave the harsh words a passing wave and Gunnar looked down when he realized the tightened pressure against his wrists were gone and he was no longer sitting in the uncomfortable chair in the interrogation room, but standing at the outprocessing desk, watching as the woman detective, the one who smelled of powder and soap uncuffed his wrists and apologized for the 'misunderstanding'.

His possessions were returned to him, and he was free to go, strolling out of the police station and stopping suddenly when he spotted her waiting out front for him, sitting atop his bike. Gunnar had no idea how she managed that parlor trick, and his fingers brushed against the familiar leather grips while his eyes shifted to her slender curves straddling the seat, amber eyes watching him with amusement until he climbed on.

"I'd like to see your place, my love" Aureline told him, arms snaking around his waist and her words caressing his ear. "We have some catching up to do."

[annaroskill]

Same Shit, Different Day.

You told me you were good at running away Domestic life, it never suited you like a suitcase

I’m pissed that I came home to an apartment full of boxes today. I told myself all week that I’d get off in time to make some serious progress on at least my closet and bedroom, but of course another person called in sick and I was left covering their shift. It seems like every other person in this place has an excuse as to why they can’t come in. It doesn’t make much sense to me. Once a month, I can understand that. But every other week? 

When I got home I was too exhausted to make dinner, but too poor to go get food so I settled for the left over cheese I’d smuggled from Spartan in the fridge. I knew it wasn’t much of a meal, but I only had a bottle of wine and didn’t want to spoil my potential drunk with too much food. I hate eating too much before I plan on drinking my problems away. But, as my luck usually goes, Barb came pounding on my door. 

I always feel obligated to answer her. She’s this lonely, 70 year old woman, and getting mad at her feels the same as when you get mad at an elderly person in traffic; pure guilt.

I answered only to have her explain how she can smell my cigarettes from her room and how it “difficults her breathing.” I would have liked proper English, but I just smiled and told her I would comply. She is renting my apartment above her garage for cheap after all. 

After a few minutes of over done thank-you’s and a years worth of bullshitting my way through our conversation, she hobbled her way back home. I collapsed on my still unmade mattress. I don’t know why not having sheets or a comforter doesn’t bother me. I guess it’s better than having my Grandmother screeching in my ear about the proper set up of a woman’s bed. 

I’m ashamed, but as as soon as she went inside I lit up another Marlboro and cracked this bottle of wine. Sangren is unique. I haven’t found my place yet, and even though I already spilled a coffee on what seemed to be a regular at work today, I’m more at home than usual. The pack-it-up-and-go side of me is itching to get the hell out of dodge, but I can’t put my finger on why I feel the need to stay. I’m not saying Cole found me a good place by giving me that postcard, but somehow this is closer to the idea of home I imagined in Mayfield. 

[andreashelfish]

Oldest Form of Theater | Johnny & Andrea

Tagging → Andrea Sheldon and Johnny Arcos Time Frame → Sunday Evening | August 9, 2015 Location → The Sheldon residence General Notes → " The oldest form of theater is the dinner table. It's got five or six people, new show every night, same players. Good ensemble; the people have worked together a lot.” - Michael J. Fox

Johnny sat just outside of the home he remembered as Andy's, staring at the number of dishes that sat next to him in Elphaba's passenger seat. He had been sitting there for no less than ten minutes contemplating the covered containers, reminding himself not to wrinkle his face with frowns. He was aware of the feelings he provoked in Andrea's father - intentional and not so intentional - but with this dinner, Johnny hoped to assure the man that his comradery with Andy was healthy and fulfilling and beneficial and human... And said assurance or, to be more realistic, less intentional provoking would not occur had Johnny suddenly appeared with a "poof" in the man's kitchen with several main courses, a few side courses, fresh salad and three bottles of wine. With a sigh, Johnny summoned his phone and called Andy.

Andrea told her father not to worry about dinner tonight, which meant not to call whatever take out place they decided on. So they waited in the kitchen, her leaning on the counter and Frank Sheldon against the sink with a beer in hand. He was telling her about the weirdos he got in the hardware store, her favorite topic. A glance out of the window stole her attention however, when she noticed the familiar green vintage car that belonged to Johnny. Her phone ringing in her back pocket made her furrow her brow, but she answered it after a couple rings. Her dad noticed him out there too, when he realized Andy was staring, so there they both stood, watching Johnny from their kitchen window while she answered her phone. "Hello?"

Johnny: "Hello Andrea," Johnny greeted calmly and politely despite the tightness he was starting to feel just behind his eyes. "I have food."

Frank was iffy about having Andy's friend over for dinner, but glad it was happening. With all of her disappearing lately, and the friends she mentioned but he never saw, it was nice to know what one of them looked like at least. His daughter was an adult and she never had restrictions (not that she ever need them), but he wanted to know that she was safe as he saw her less and less. He wasn't a stranger to what an odd town they lived in. It made him feel overprotective, but he had to remind himself that she was not her mother. This guy (NOT a lover, as Andy had stressed), already seemed weird though, as he hadn't left his car.

Andrea continued peering through the window, listening to Johnny on the line. "Um...okay. You gonna bring it in?" she asked, glancing over at her dad, whose expression mirrored her own.

Johnny: The tightness only increased and Johnny became hesitant. "I do not... know how to. I have a lot with me." He glared at the dishes that he had literally not touched since taking them out of the oven. "I have too much with me."

Andrea: "Ohhhhh," she replied, registering what the issue was. Turning to her father, she told him, "He has too much food." Stepping away from the counter, she walked to the door, phone still against her ear. "We can come out and help you with that, just a sec." She hung up, shoving the phone in her back pocket again and opening their front door.

Frank followed Andy down their walkway to the really expensive looking car that her friend drove. It made him raise an eyebrow, but he was sure to keep his expression non-menacing as they approached. He couldn't see the man inside, but he was brunet, from what he remembered his daughter telling him. "Need some help?" he called out, standing next to her with his hands on his hips.

Johnny was relieved at her answer and after she hung up, he tossed his phone away carelessly and took a deep breath. At the sound of Mr. Sheldon's voice, his attention was towards the house and the two figures standing in front of it. After climbing out of Elphaba, he nodded to the man. "Help would be appreciated." Rounding his car, his fingers brushed against the smooth metal of her until they hooked on the passenger door's handle and he opened it. Then he looked at the father-daughter pair expectantly.

Frank paused when the man got out of the car, staring for a few moments before dropping his arms and running a hand through his hair. "The naked guy," he said simply, looking at Andy before walking forward and reaching into the car to pick up what he brought. "Jesus H, you didn't have to bring an 8 course meal," he said, holding a few containers and patting Johnny on the shoulder prior to walking back towards the front door.

Andrea turned a little red when her father recognized Johnny, sighing and reaching in after him for as many containers as she could hold. "Thanks in advance for the leftovers," she said, carrying them back to the house. The kitchen was obvious and to the immediate right, so she was sure Johnny would have no trouble.

Johnny arched a brow at the 'naked guy' comment and the other came up when his shoulder was patted, but he found himself relieved to only have the wine and a few containers left with no human eyes watching to see the way he flicked his fingers to have the remaining food lift up into the air and follow him into the house. Peeking into the kitchen so he could catch a moment when Mr. Sheldon was not watching, he flicked his fingers again and directed the food and bottles to an empty space on the counter. "I do sincerely hope you enjoy French cuisine," he said, starting in on lifting foil and pulling tops off. "I find I always enjoy it more in the summer."

Andrea saw Johnny use his magic, turning to her father to make sure his head was turned. She didn't think she wanted her dad to figure out the supernatural inner workings of their town over dinner. He'd retrieved is unfinished beer and was sipping it, giving her a look that clearly said "You could have told me the naked guy was the friend coming to dinner. And why does he walk around like a Jane Austen character," or something like that. She was an expert at reading him, so if he spoke the words, she only would have been a little off.

Frank tried not to sigh. "French cuisine in the summer..." he repeated, slowly sipping his beer. "We're not that sophisticated in this house, sorry to say. You been to France?" he asked, looking at Andy to express that he was trying.

Johnny glanced up from the uncovered bouillabaisse and glanced over to Andy as well, confused. "Yes, my mother lives there," he said, making a mental note not to delve too deeply into his family history during dinner. But then, thoughtfully, he added, "My cooking expertise is limited, but I doubted that you would enjoy heavy Romanian dishes of boiled meat and stews with this hot weather, so here we are." He offered Andy a sweet smile, "Do you enjoy seafood, my raggedy one?"

Andrea found a seat on the stool at the counter island, playing with her bracelets and watching the two of them. "Right...well you know how it is up here in the mountains. Sometimes it's warm, sometimes it's...not that warm." At Johnny's question, she shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, I think so. I don't have it that often aside from fish from the Spartan store, but yeah I like it."

Frank finished his beer and set it by the sink. "Your mom lives in France." It was more of statement than it was a confirming question. "That explains a little bit. But Andy and me, we tend to eat anything as long as it's not moving." He smiled briefly at his daughter before raising an eyebrow again when Johnny addressed her. "Raggedy...I'm assuming that's like the doll. Otherwise I'm lost."

Johnny mimicked Andy's shrug. "I just assumed. You know I'm not one for outdoors." Licking his lips, he offered her a bowl of the bouillabaisse with no explanation of where he had gotten a bowl to spoon it into, but with only the word 'shellfish'. Facing her father again, he smirked and held out a plate of grilled saffron lamb. "Yes. Like the doll."

Andrea looked at the bowl, taking the spoon and staring at it for a few moments. "At the risk of sounding like an idiot here, how do you eat this?" she asked, looking up at Johnny. "Cause like...it's got shells in it."

Johnny: "I won't fault you for using your fingers this time."

Frank actually laughed at that. "You know, your mom knew how to eat stuff like that," he told her. "Before I met her she traveled all over with the money she had, sleeping in hostels, trying to find herself and all that. Wanderlust, she called it. She could tell ya how to eat that." He smirked and went to the fridge. "I'm getting another beer, but you want a glass for that wine?" he asked Johnny.

Johnny nodded at the offer of a glass and smiled again. Curious about Andy's mother, he prodded, "Wanderlust? Where did her travels take her?"

Frank grabbed his beer as well as a glass from the cabinet to hand to Johnny. "Yeah. She uh, fell out with her parents. Didn't wanna go to law school, so instead, she hitchhiked. Saved all her money to go across the pond to Paris so she could flex what she learned and all that. From there she made it to most of Europe, cause you know, some people over there let travelers stay with 'em all the time. Worked here and there and went to Egypt. Which she was obsessed with. After a year in Australia, she made it back to the states. When I met her she was sleeping on a friend's couch. I think she ran out of money." He took a sip of his beer, smiling to himself for a minute before shrugging. "No money, but she knew how to eat fancy clam soup."

Andrea leaned on her palm, listening to her father talk about it before shaking her head and reaching for one of the shells in the bowl. "It's funny, hearing about all that. How she just stayed with strangers and hitchhiked everywhere. I don't like to drive Susan through alleyways and make eye contact for too long," she said, laughing a little. "Guess adventure isn't genetic."

Johnny was absently spreading basil rouille on pieces of bread as he listened to Mr. Sheldon talk, the warmth in his tone reflected on Andy's face. "Genetic, no," he agreed, passing her a piece of the bread. "But opportunity can easily trigger adventure in anyone. Even those who don't drive Susans through alleyways or make eye contact for too long. Human motivation is strange. Perhaps you will never be bitten by the same restless bug that your mother was, but I could picture you, penniless and hungry, backpacking through Austria. You're certainly dressed for it already."

Andrea narrowed her eyes at Johnny for his last comment, shaking her head and eating the inside of the mollusk with her fingers. "Maybe it just takes getting out of Colorado. I've already been to Denver. It's beginning," she said, almost snorting.

Frank licked his lips, eyeing Johnny past his beer bottle. "Speaking of clothes, I notice you've got that uh, designer stuff. You like to shop, Johnny? I know you don't get stuff like that from downtown."

Johnny: "I could easily take you anywhere you wanted to..." he trailed off at Mr. Sheldon's words, surprised that the man wanted to address ​fashion​. Tilting his head as his cat did when she was curious, he assessed the question and the man who asked it. "I have acquired a taste for designer, yes, but I do not shop. I keep up with shows and if I see something I like, I obtain it. Rick Owens is a favorite of mine at the moment." He knocked his heavy boots together to emphasize his point. "Very comfortable. I would, however, consider shopping if it would help Andy any. Aspen, maybe." He nibbled his lip thoughtfully before shuffling down the counter to check his salmon paillards.

Andrea squinted at Johnny, wanting to ask if that was seriously something he could do before he turned to answer her dad's question. She sucked her lips in as Johnny talked about shows and some designer that she nor her father were aware of. "I'd like to say that I still think my clothes are fine."

Johnny: "I respectfully disagree," he said, pouring more wine.

Frank's eyes glazed over a small bit at Johnny's explanation. At least the food was beginning to smell good. He hadn't eaten since lunch, and even then it was a bag of chips. "Like...fashion shows? Runway stuff? Gotcha...no idea who Rick is, but I can take a shot in the dark and say I won't find his stuff at the foot locker." He laughed at Andy's comment, not at all offended by Johnny's words. In their house, he was dressed a little bizarrely, and they were from a small town. Comfort was key, and passed that, they didn't give a shit. "I agree, Andy. She dresses just like her old man."

Johnny: "Perhaps I could buy you a few nicer things and you could lead by example," he mumbled, eyeballing the flannel he had come to expect in Andy-filled spaces. In an attempt to understand, he had worn a flannel-patterned item himself - granted one priced well above a "normal" range - but so far he still didn't get the appeal. His eyes lifted to stare wistfully at Andrea's face and whatever it was she was doing with her hair at the moment. "Andy is just so lovely - fashion is merely a device to enhance that loveliness." He lifted his glass and the already half emptied bottle of wine. "Do you usually eat standing up in the kitchen or...?"          

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes. My loveliness."

Frank held a hand up. "I'm good. Been dressing like this for 45 years, I don't think a change is needed. I can't argue with you on her loveliness. Like the perfect combination of me and her mom. Though I'd prefer not to see her coming home in leather pants like Prince." He set his bottle down and walked around the island toward the dining room. "We do actually, but since we've got a guest, the table's in here."

Johnny gave Andy a teasing poke to the side and mouthed the word 'Prince' to her as he followed behind Mr. Sheldon to the dining room. Just from the feel of it, he could tell that it was not a room that they used often and for the second time, he thought about the benefits of protecting the foundations of the overall structure of the house. The containers of food floated behind him as he contemplated the room and where protective charms could go, but he quickly had them down on the table hopefully before Andy's father could notice. "Your home is... nice."

Andrea couldn't help but let out a small giggle at her father's comment and Johnny's reaction. She grabbed plates and silverware, side-eyeing the floating dishes behind Johnny before they quickly found a place on the table, covered in a cloth picked out by her grandmother. Pulling out a chair for Johnny adjacent to the head, she walked around and placed their dishes before sitting on the seat across from him. Her dad sat at the head, as expected, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Frank looked at the table, squinting a little. "You guys got the food on the table in record time. It's kinda creepy," he said, reaching for a napkin and wasting no time and making his own plate. "So, Johnny Bravo. With family in France and talk of Romanian food, I'm gonna guess you're not from Sangren originally."

Johnny stretched his legs out after he was seated so he could lightly kick at Andy's feet, entertained already that he was sitting for a 'family dinner' that would not end in a poisoning. Maybe. Arching his brow at the nickname and passing Andy the plate of lamb, he thought of Frank's inference. "No, not Sangren or either of the Americas, in fact. My family is from a small farming village in Romania. However, Grandmother preferred France after awhile, Mother followed her preference, but mostly we traveled wherever business took us. When I grew old enough, I traveled much myself - this is only my second time living in America, I think. Before this, I was in Vienna."

Andrea took the plate, snorting at her dad's name for Johnny, her smile staying in place as she put cut pieces of lamb on her plate. It then occurred to her that Johnny probably didn't watch cartoons. "It's why he talks so proper," she added, looking toward her father.

Frank sat back in his chair, chewing slowly as Johnny briefly explained his background. "So you lived in all those places, and then you got to Sangren, Colorado and said yeah, this is my new place. I mean, I like it here, it's home, but you could imagine why that seems a little off."

Johnny smiled indulgently at Andy and the thought of proper, then he lifted the platter of chicken and seaweed salad to laden his own plate with it, hungrier than he had been before now that he had wine in him. "Off?" he inquired, tilting his head slightly as he assessed Mr. Sheldon's expression not for the first time. "I suppose you are correct. Colorado may have its own appeal for some people, but I am not one of them. Truthfully, I moved here because it is the last place my grandmother was seen." The allure of the hellmouth was another reason, but he felt the mention of missing persons would be a solid enough point. Considering the company. "She has been gone for years now and I found myself curious as to why." He took a sip of wine to avoid twisting his lips bitterly. "Fortunately, I was able to find a friend in Andy, so the appeal to stay has been much more... positive, lately."

Frank's expression softened at Johnny's explanation, nodding and looking over at Andy. "Well that makes sense. Sorry bout that. Me and Andy know what that's like. Spent four years looking for her mom. I think this town's a little more dangerous than it lets on." He ate a mouthful of lamb, chewing thoughtfully until he swallowed. "Well, I'm all for friends. I wasn't crazy about her working at that bar, but she likes it and she's got more friends than she's ever had."    

Andrea watched her dad, seeing how he tensed as he mentioned the disappearance of her mom. She didn't think there would ever be a time where he talked about it and didn't tense a little. But he was better, and she was happy about that. "Yeah, like three or four," she joked. "Which is more than zero. Makes the days a little better for me too though."

Johnny nodded, opting to remain quiet and with his eyes down as the topic of conversation naturally moved back to Andy's mother. He was glad that Andy had this man, this father who was so aware of the town's intentions and yet still blessedly ignorant of the full extent of its horrors. Johnny wondered what it must be like to be human and in the dark; he would be much more of a coward about it, he was sure. The cheer in Andy's voice lifted him from his thoughts and he stared at her. "Friends can be useful, I'm learning. I only had a few as a child. Acquaintances are easy to come by, but yeah, friends are better." Then he smiled wickedly. "Speaking of friendship, how is August?"

Andrea coughed and dropped her fork, snapping her gaze up at Johnny and glaring.

Frank looked up from his food at the interaction, eyebrow raised. "August? Who's that? Was that the kid you used to have over here all the time for movies? Kid you kept disappearing with? Is he still around?"

Johnny: "No, that was Miles," Johnny provided helpfully.

Andrea tensed herself, slowly picking her fork back up and poking around the food on her plate. "Um, no. That's not him. And no, he's not around." When Johnny spoke, she closed her eyes, biting her lip and trying to keep herself level even though she felt her hands shaking a little. "Milo. His name was Milo."

Johnny observed her behavior with a touch more seriousness, his lips flattening, but not quite frowning yet. "Ah yes, Milo. Forgive me."

Frank studied his daughter for a few moments, picking up on the slight tremor in her hands right away. He didn't have to think about why she might have been getting anxious, and he didn't plan to add to it with the questions he was going to add about August (first of them being, what kind of a name is August). "Well, whoever the guy is, I'm not opposed to more friends. As long as you're still my Andy." She knew what he meant, though as she was in her twenties, he was preparing for the day when that part of her would be different.

Andrea realized she was gripping her fork so tightly, her knuckles were white. At her dad's comment, she finally made a sound in the form of a small laugh, relaxing in her seat a little. "Yeah, I'm still your Andy. Just with a few more friends, who like designer clothes and speak the King's English," she said, looking up at Johnny with a small smirk.

Johnny adopted a perfect "King's" English accent to ask, "Dost thou thirst come late summer months?"

Frank laughed at Andy's comment until he heard Johnny's exaggerated English. "I didn't understand any of that. Are you asking if we're thirsty in August? Because I think it's just a sustenance thing."

Johnny clamped a hand over his mouth, but not before a slight cluck of a cackle let loose from his mouth, the light dimming slightly as he closed his eyes tight and attempted to contain himself. Mr. Sheldon was young, but Johnny supposed he was still a father much like the ones presented on sitcoms and hopeless infomercials.

Andrea: "I usually just nod, or do one of those short laughs. Cause that happens a lot to me," she said, finishing the food on her plate. Pushing away from the table, she grabbed her glass and stood. "I'm gonna go get some water, be right back."

Frank watched her leave, having finished his own plate. He decided to wait until he grabbed seconds. "So you work at the bar? It's good that she's got people there, from what I hear goes on. She comes home unscathed, but you know. I gotta worry, it's my job."

Johnny was warmed at Andy's comments, feeling a kindred moment with her even as he pictured his own father revealing what generation he was from in a single sentence and just barely stopped himself from snorting at that. He was still smiling, albeit a bit more serenely, when Mr. Sheldon poised his new question. "Yes, I am one of the bartenders there. On slow nights, Andy and I talk a lot. On the busy nights, I keep my eyes on her. Our patronage is loyal, so it is easy to recognize faces, both welcomed and not. And our bouncers are commendable, so she is safe as she can be. At least during my shifts."

Frank nodded, leaning his elbows on the table. "You know, I'm glad she's got someone to talk to. Even if they're unexpected, she didn't always have that. So I like it. Thanks for keeping an eye out. I can't all the time without making her feel five years old, it's better if a friend does it," he said, chuckling a little. "I think I'm gonna stick to going to Ted's, but I believe you."

Andrea came back with her water, sitting in the chair and taking a sip of it. "All I heard was Ted's. I can only associate that place with karaoke nights." She looked at Johnny. "He used to take me as a kid, to watch, and it was the funniest thing ever. Drunken middle-aged people belting 80s hits." She took another sip of her water and crossed her legs.

Johnny: "Karaoke," Johnny repeated carefully, as if saying it for the first time and disliking the taste of it. "I've never had to suffer through that before. I heard there were attempts made at Tartarus before my time, but... you know how the crowd there gets. But karaoke aside, your father was just stating his affinity for Ted's. Though," he turned to Mr. Sheldon and smiled, "I hope you can come visit us at Tartarus at least once. If not for the chance to embarrass your daughter, then for a drink on the house?"

Andrea gave Johnny another warning look, sure that her dad didn't see. Tartarus was kept under control most nights, but she still wasn't crazy about her dad being there, out in the open. "I visit him enough at work, I don't think he needs to bother with the annoying people at the bar."

Frank shrugged. "I've certainly seen the outside of it. And she doesn't need me harshing her mellow around all her friends, however many there are, and however weird their names are," he replied, reaching out to nudge Andy.

Johnny: "I always thought 'Johnny' was a nice name," he said softly, dipping a piece of bread into his bouillabaisse, willfully ignorant because Andy was looking at him that way.

Andrea waved a hand and finished her glass of water. "He's not talking about you. Pretty much every name mentioned, but not yours. Despite nothing about you being normal, your name is." She noticed that everyone was finished eating for the most part and stood, reaching to get plates.

Frank grabbed Johnny's plate and followed his daughter into the kitchen. "We can just pop the tops on those containers and put 'em in the fridge unless Johnny wants to take 'em home," he said, waving her away when they got to the sink so he could quickly wash the plates and put them in the rack. He let her get the rest of the food as he did so.

Johnny chuckled and refrained from telling her that his real name was 'Anton'. Instead he said, "I made all of this for you. It would just rot away in my fridge otherwise." When he was left sitting at the table the duo was clearing and then found himself alone in the room when it sounded like they were being productive in the kitchen, Johnny found himself frowning. Andy came back eventually, so he asked, "Should I be doing something? Offering to help? I don't want to help, but I should, yes?"

Andrea laughed, as well as her dad, who clearly heard him from the kitchen. "You don't have to help, we'll be done in a few," she said, collecting the containers. "But you can join us in the kitchen on a stool or something. You don't have to sit in here by yourself." She carried the food into the kitchen and set it on the counter, loading it into the fridge in places they would fit.

Johnny followed Andy into the kitchen and found a place on a counter where he could watch them quietly and drink more wine.

Frank wiped his hands with a towel and turned to face Johnny as Andrea finished filling the fridge. "It was nice of you to stop by with enough food to last us the rest of the week," he told him, offering a smile. "But Andy says you two have to talk and I'm ready to head upstairs until I get hungry later." He turned to his daughter and gave her a quick hug, ruffling her hair before walking out into the foyer to go upstairs.

Johnny nodded to the man and offered a smile, his friendliest, one with teeth. "Thank you for having me, sir," he said, watching the man exit before turning back to Andrea. "We have to talk?"

Andrea kicked the fridge shut and went to sit next to Johnny. "Well," she began, drumming her fingers on the counter. "You wanted to take a look at the scar? That's how you coming over began. Not that that wasn't fun."

Johnny: "Ah, yes," he said at the clarification. He hopped off the counter and walked to her. Then he murmured, "Is there a place where you can take your shirt off and we won't have to worry about making your father dislike me so soon?"

Andrea laughed at that, nodding and sliding off the stool. "We can go to my studio." She led him to the stairs and down the familiar path to her studio from when he was last there. Once he was inside, she shut the door before walking to sit in the middle of the floor, waving him over to do the same.

Johnny opted to sit behind her when she arranged herself on the floor and he tugged at her flannel restlessly. "Let's see the damage," he said lightly, despite the sense of dread tightening his throat and chest.

Andrea sighed, quickly tugging off her flannel. She pulled off her tank top, setting in aside and pulling her hair over her shoulder so he could see it clearly. She hunched, crossing her legs and biting her lip, hoping it wasn't serious. She hoped it looked the same. She tried not to be tense, waiting for him to assess it. "Well?"

Johnny: "​Oh, nu, ce am făcut?​" he sighed softly, touching his fingertips to thin rope of scar tissue he had left along her back. He could see how the creature had burst from her that night, he could smell her blood and hear it's taunts and taste the amber he barely knew how to use. "​Imi pare rau. Cicatricea...​" He trailed off and let him eyes go empty, searching for his blood in hers, searching to see if it was healing and nothing was festering. For a moment - a brief, blink of the eye moment - he thought he felt something, nothing like an echo of what he was looking for, but something acidic, but then he found what he was searching for. The tree's blood, his family's blood warding her spine against any other invasions. He wished he could do the same for the rest of her body, but the scars he would leave behind. His eyes were back to pale blue in a blink and he ran his hand up and down her back, chanting his words and wishing fruitlessly that he had the ability to heal what he had ripped apart for once. "There's been no change from what I see. My spell still holds and it should hold, forever. I'm sorry, Andy."

Andrea reached for her tank top and put it back on, moving so she could turn around on the hardwood floor and face him. "What are you sorry for? That's ​good​ news. I feel like I can breathe a little now. I think out of worst experiences, that's gotta be one or two," she said, attempting to be lighthearted. "But seriously, this is good. I don't know what's wrong with me now, but at least it's not as bad as before. It could just be me. Maybe I'm not getting enough sleep."

Johnny throat still felt tight, regardless of her assurances. "I didn't want to find that I had failed you in some way with the... dark thing, but I find that I am disappointed that I am unable to solve this new problem for you." He gnawed at his lip, knowing that if he was a different witch, he would be able to provide something for her sleep or make an offering to a goddess for her memories and an explanation, but he was not. It would be the long and bloodied route if he were to solve this, but asking her for more sacrifice for something trivial as forgetting one night was unthinkable, especially when facing the evidence of last time's sloppiness. "I could make you a tea my grandmother used to make us. For sleep."

Andrea smiled. "No, it's...it's fine. Like I said, I'm sure it's nothing. I just started to worry that other things had been happening and I had no memory of them. I'm hoping it was just that instance," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Maybe we're paranoid. But the tea, I'd like. My dreams are really weird lately, too. I don't know why. Like, I'm used to nightmares, but things just feel...off."

Johnny sighed and conjured a notebook to hand to her, dark and moleskin. "Here. Write things down. For perspective, at the very least." He pushed himself off the floor and stood, offering his hand to help her up. "Come, I will make you the tea and you will drink it, there will be no nightmares for either of us and you'll draw me another picture to show my cat. This sounds good, yes?"

Andrea took the notebook, smiling down at it before taking his hand and standing up. "Okay, I'll drink the tea. I can draw you a picture, too. Valva will love it. And if possible, she will love me more than she already does," she joked, taking him by the arm so they could go back downstairs.

[tennismacinlouboutins]

Dinner and a movie. Its so refreshing to know that men in this town are able to come up with creative and innovative ideas for first dates. 

[gunnardown]

Relentless

Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame → Wednesday Evening | September 9, 2015 Location → Gunnar’s Apartment General Notes → He’s having dreams. [tw for gore and violence, just in case] 

This wasn't the first night he found himself covered in blood.  

The scenes meld together, making it difficult to tell the blackouts apart. One minute he's shaking, the energy hot and uncontrollable under his skin, uncoiled and lethal, surging with an intensity he hadn't felt since the night he'd gone into the forest. And the next, there's muffled screams and the snap of bone and give of muscle and sinew under his fingers, choking off the pitiful sounds until there's nothing left but the black heat coursing through his veins.

He hasn't felt right since that night. The voices...they shout. Sometimes, he can hear the blood rushing through him, moving on a roar as thick fingers furl into fists. Nothing takes the edge off, not even the pills he'd knicked from the bird's house a week ago. She'd been a pretty thing. Powerful and wild. A beta werewolf with a penchant for marking him.

Her eyes were green and her nails were razor sharp and she sank them into his skin while their hips slammed together in a coupling that was furious and sweaty, drawing out deep, primal grunts from the frustrated berserker as he worked to rid himself of the trembling energy rolling off him in waves. The raseri wasn't soothed by sex. He'd fucked her for hours, twisted tan limbs into several different positions while her sounds shifted from moans and rough growls to tired whimpers and still, he wasn't sated.

Flat on his back, sprawled atop sheets slick with their sweat, Gunnar tried to make sense of what was happening to him. Nothing seemed to burn him out. The jolts ran through him, burning like the night he grappled with the hellish water creatures in the dark woods. It was as if the shocks had knocked something loose inside him, and he was unable to turn it off.

Three nights of blood.

He was sinking into the black now, the voices taking over most of his thoughts, calling for the kills. Stronger, and more brutal. Faces he barely remembered, situations blending and twisting in his rage-addled mind, confusing him to the point where nightmare and reality smashed together, leaving him sweaty and on edge.  

A hot shower cleanses the blood muck and matter from his hair, but nothing washed out their screams. She’d fought him. His chests and arms bore the brunt of her power; deep, angry red lines across thick, heated skin that would eventually heal, even if they did still sting.

Grey eyes flash a cool dull silver when a ripple of heat shocks him again. They came fast and heavy, those bursts of rage and it took him a minute to realize his fist had cracked the shower tile.

Breathing hard, Gunnar stepped from the bath and attempted to tamp down on the voices with more pills. Four of the white one he'd stolen from the were, choked down without water. The blood was caked under his fingernails and he spent a few minutes scrubbing at pale, wet flesh under the scalding tap until it was gone.

His bed offered him no comfort. Through the soap and scrubbing, he swore he could still smell her; dark hair, smooth husk of a voice, sweet cunt, the heady taste of her sitting heavy in his memory and twisted with later images of a long neck riddled with bites when he ripped out her throat. Thick stream of blood dripping slowly between her breasts while she heaved fruitlessly for air.

He doesn't remember much after that. The blackouts see to it. Doesn't know how he ended up at his apartment or where he left her body but his boots were covered in dirt and twigs were tangled in his hair. His guess is the woods.

The pills are strong enough to lull him into a deep sleep but he knows it won't be peaceful. The blood dreams are too frequent, the voices too loud, and he's killed too often for the raseri to be calmed.

Three nights of blood. He knows there will be more.

[gunnardown]

into the woods | blue

“When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead.”

easy to slip into that haze. better than the dark. 

voices grow dim, blood cools. feels thick. 

makes it hard to hit. hard to think. hard to be angry. 

hard to tell what’s real and not, lately. whatever the demon lad was holding’s kept me well and proper fucked for hours. felt like days. might be days. 

close my eyes. can’t see anything. no bar. no open road and dark skies or fresh air to clear a head that never stays empty for long. 

just the blue wall and memories that feel like more than dreams and less like real and maybe might be full of shit. 

maybe she’s lying. can’t tell anymore. couldn’t tell if I wanted to. made sure of that. it’s dirty but does the trick. snort. or smoke. never needles. fucking hate the needles. snorting’s right at the bottom but the high is clean and it lasts longer or maybe it’s the firewhiskey.

no fight. just fog. trying to remember that night. no thinking. just touch. and taste. sweet.

not like french smoke and pretty lies. 

she was soap. paint. vanilla. shaky hands. shaky thighs. sticky heat. lick my lips and taste traces. feel her around my fingers. slick. sweet. wet panties and little skirts. there was a scar. the long one, jagged. still soft, like she was.

must be the high. wrong memories. just mindtricks. 

she said she was with him. maybe she was. hard to explain the wet sheets. and the tape. and the marks. my marks. 

mine. 

not mine. 

the dandy’s claimed them. fucked with her head...somehow. 

stuck with these maybe memories. feels real. still clings to my sheets even if the pictures fade in and out. 

something’s not right. 

he’s...

...not right. 

no thinking. 

best to stay in the haze for now.  

no blue tape there. 

[sangrenrp]

“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why."

- Kurt Vonnegut

In two weeks, our next event will be underway. In order to prepare, ask your muse a few questions: How long can they stay in one place? How good is their self control? Is there anything they��ve been holding back? Someone is restless, and the only way they feel they can calm down is if they make others feel the same way. They need control, and they need company.

[andreashelfish]

What is This Feeling?

Tagging → Andrea Sheldon [with August Stone] Time Frame → Friday Evening | July 10, 2015 Location → His home. General Notes → Compulsion: (n)  an irresistible urge to behave in a certain way, especially against one's conscious wishes.

Andrea had been stalling for days now, mostly because she’d never actually had to break up with anyone before, in any fashion.

She stood outside of August’s house, looking up the walkway to the enormous house that seemed to get more imposing each time she visited. She chewed on her lip, folding her arms and taking a few minutes to go over how she would talk to him. Something about how she just wasn’t ready to be dating someone and she’s not in the right mindset. Something nice.

She didn’t know how long she stood there thinking, but the front door opening got her attention. There he stood, wearing a v-neck and dark jeans, which threw her off a little bit.

“Hi…” she began, smiling and walking the rest of the way to the door to meet him. “I was just about to come knock.” He shrugged, wearing his usual smirk and waving her inside.

“Saw you in the window,” he explained, shutting the door behind her. She simply nodded, looking around at his clean, white meticulously decorated home, trying to figure out if anything had been moved, even slightly. He pulled her attention again, taking her hands and bringing her closer to him.

His kiss was brief, mostly because she made it so. He did the thing where he stared at her, touching her hair with a warm expression. It should have felt nice, but it always felt like she was being studied under a magnifying glass. His piercing eyes didn’t help that much.

“So, I’ve got dinner on the table, and we better head in the dining room before it gets cold,” he said finally. “How hungry are you?”

“Hungry enough,” she answered. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in a t-shirt.”

He laughed, leading her to where the food was through one of his long hallways. “Well you always call me fancy, so I thought since we were dining in tonight, I would show you my lounging clothes.”

She took another look at his clothing and laughed a little.

“Still pretty fancy if that’s what those are for.”

They got to the dining room and he pulled out a chair for her before sitting adjacent at the head. Their plates were already made, placed pretty deliberately: fanned slices of beef and some kind of salad. She almost felt guilty for disturbing it with her fork.

She ate, and they made small talk, which she hated. Though it didn’t seem like small talk for him. He’d ask about her week, listening carefully and seeming genuinely pleased when her answer was positive. Maybe it felt like small talk because her heart wasn’t in it.

When they finished eating they stayed in place, him asking her what she was working on lately.

“Well I’m actually working on something pretty cool,” she said, leaning forward on the table. She figured the ‘no elbows’ rule only applied when they were actually eating food.

“Really? What’s that? Something large-scale?”

“Yeah, um, my friend Gunnar has this place. I think it used to be a garage, but that’s where he lives. And he doesn’t really decorate. His walls are mostly bare, but we were hanging out and he offered it for me to paint. Just off-handedly. And now I’m really doing it. I just went over there to grid and I’m working on it this weekend, I think.” She was smiling, thinking about it. That seemed to make him smile, staring again and letting his eyes rove for a few moments until the expression faded.

“What?” Andrea raised an eyebrow when his silence went on for too many beats. He watched her blankly before the smile returned, this time a little tight.

“You got something on your neck,” he told her. “Well, partly your neck. Some on your collar bone.” His eyes flashed brightly. They were suddenly bloodshot, the veins beneath them darkening and lifting, momentarily convex on his skin.

She didn’t notice that though, already looking down to see what he was referring to. She picked up her unused spoon, holding it at an angle so she could look in the reflection. Right away, she saw a light bruise and realization dawned. She could see how she could have gone without noticing it, though she really wished she had.

“Huh,” she answered.

“Looks like a bruise.” He straightened in his chair. “Your friend do that? The one with the wall?”

Andrea was a little confused, because he still looked pleasant, forced as it seemed. But this seemed like an easy segue into what she wanted to talk about, even though it was so awkward.

“Um…yeah. Last night. I didn’t even notice it,” she replied. He sighed, leaning onto the table.

“This is interesting, because I wanted to discuss where I think we should be going. Because honestly,” he dipped his head a little, laughing for some reason. “it makes me uncomfortable, thinking about some…big, blond guy with his lips on you when I think we could be going somewhere.”

She was going to respond until she realized something, sitting back in the seat and putting her hands in her lap. “How do you know what he looks like?” August licked his lips and shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Gulping, she thought this would be the best moment to say what she’d been rehearsing in her head for days.

“Um, August, I don’t think…well, I’m not comfortable either. But mostly because I think I don’t want to be in a relationship right now…with anybody.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she went on. “And I know you keep telling me to give it a chance, but I don’t think I’m your girl. It doesn’t seem fair to you and I feel weird, forcing it.” She took a deep breath, waiting for him to respond.

“Well, it’s clear you wouldn’t be able to try monogamy when you’re having inappropriate breaks in bar alleys and letting your friends mark you and do God knows what else. When I asked you to try, I meant to actually try.” His words felt harsh, and creepy, considering he shouldn’t have known about the alley but he looked at her like they were having an average conversation. Like it was all amicable. She began to play with her bracelets, feeling a little antsy.

“Well I…I don’t need to do anything special to know I don’t feel right about a relationship. We didn’t say anything about monogamy or anything…”

“But it was clear that I wanted that, right? And you can’t focus on this if you’re always distracted.”

“I don’t want to focus on this.” She surprised herself with the abrupt response, and apparently she surprised him too. He looked shocked, followed by frustrated.

This time, when his eyes changed, she noticed. And there was no confusion on her part as to what she was seeing, just fear as she immediately tried to think of a way out.

“Don’t be afraid, Andrea.” His eyes were still glowing and bloodshot, but as soon as he said the words, looking directly into her hazel eyes, she stilled.

“Okay.” August grinned, glad that she was susceptible.

“Listen carefully, okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated.

“Those marks on your neck were put there by me, August. It happened last night, when you came to see me. You wanted to end our relationship, but we talked and you began to see us in a new light. By the end of the evening, we made the decision to be monogamous.” He spoke slowly, his words measured. She nodded along, eyes blank and hollowed out.

“After discovering how much we have in common, you have decided that I know what is best for you. You value my opinion above all else.”

She smiled, reaching out for his hand, which he gladly took.

“I just think, with all your experience I should listen to you,” she told him.

“Lastly, you’ve begun to think about a future with me.”

She nodded again. “I have.”

He sighed, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. Andrea bit her lip and leaned in slightly.

“Andy, if you stay with me, you will have a real future. I picked you because you have potential, and if you need a little nudge every now and then, I’ll be right here. I know what’s best. Always have.” He leaned over, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

She sighed, knowing she would want more but for now, she was content to look at him, wondering how it was possible she’d never felt anything for him before.

[gunnardown]

A Rough Sketch

Tagging → Andrea Sheldon & Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame → Thursday Evening | July 9, 2015 Location → Gunnar’s place General Notes → Otherwise known as “Miss Sheldon Lives for a Day”. 

Andrea took the truck this time. After her run-in with a body and increasing numbers at the bar, she decided she didn't want to be carrying her art supplies on Susan. And the truck was faster, she wasn't exposed. Her dad was turned in for the night and wouldn't need it again until morning. The ride to Gunnar's was uneventful, aside from stray animals and the occasional other car. She'd come up with a couple sketches for his wall, and while she wouldn't be able to paint tonight, she was pretty excited to plan it out. She always itched for something bigger, her pieces now near her ceiling against the walls of her studio, and this was it. It would just be there, and no one could mess it up. The canvas couldn't snag. She parked when she got there, grabbing a black case from the passenger seat, stopping the engine and getting out. Assuming the door would be open like last time, she turned the knob and discovered she was right. "Hello?" she called out, walking into the hall and to the main space.

Gunnar wasn't really interested in the offerings on television; it was mostly background noise to his drinking. He rolled the slim neck of the beer bottle between his thumb and forefinger, while the action played out onscreen. It seemed incredibly cliche, watching Road House on his night off but it beat actually working at the bar and dealing with drunk college students looking for shit to do on their summer break. He heard Andy approaching long before she opened the door and he turned his head when she entered and offered her a nod as he rose from the couch. "Evening. You want something to drink?"

Andrea walked over and set her case on the table by the couch. "Water's good, if you have it." She paused, rolling her eyes at herself. "I mean, of course you have water. I would like some," she managed. She didn't wast time sitting down. She remembered the wall he referred to last time, as she'd been picturing it in her mind while sketching. She had a small moment of doubt as she thought about what she came up with. "You know, there's still time to back out. We can take a trip to an IKEA and see if they have any good countrysides."

Gunnar gave a small snort as he padded towards the kitchen to retrieve a small bottle of water. "Nah. Fucking hate countryside. Fresh air and...birds, and shit. Fat kids in short pants staring creepy-like from some field. I'll pass." He passed her the bottle and settled on the couch again. "Think I'm good with whatever's knocking around in your head. "

Andrea took a sip of the water, swallowing before she laughed at his bizarre description. "Fat kids in short pants with creepy stares? Where are you seeing this art? Were there instruments of torture nearby? Was that a nun thing?" The image she had actually seemed more terrifying than any beasts. "That's messed up," she said after another sip. After a moment, a lightbulb went off. "Are you talking about cherubs?"

Gunnar shook his head. "Nah. Cherubs are the fat, naked ones. Puffy cheeks and pointing at Jesus, with those sad eyes. The fat kids in the countryside, there was a painting at the home, that one of the nuns had in her office. Creepy children in front of a farmhouse. Real Children of the Corn shit." Full lips twisted into a frown and Gunnar took a sip of his beer. "Never cared for 'em since then."

Andrea realized she was wincing as he described the painting and    straightened her face, taking a long gulp of water. "Yikes. That sounds like hell. It also makes me think whatever I paint up there couldn't screw you up much if you had to stare at that daily. If anything it'd just remind you of what surrounds you here," she said, finishing the bottle and setting it down for the time being. "I brought some graphite so I could grid tonight." Grabbing her sketchbook, she sat next to him, opening it to the sketch she was leaning toward the most. "It's not too bad, mostly trees and these figures," she explained, waving her hand over the drawing. "Some teeth, lots of eyes, some disembodied..."

Gunnar gave a solemn nod. "Aye. Anything's better than punished children in breeches." His gaze was drawn to Andy's work, and Gunnar took a moment to asses the art. Though he wasn't much of an art expert, he could tell she was talented. The scene she set was dark and graphic, but oddly beautiful in a gruesome sort of way. Reflexively, his fingers traced the lines on the sketchbook, his eyes drifting up to the wall, trying to picture the scene's transfer from paper to canvas and he glanced over at Andy, his smile brief but meaningful. "It's proper fucking twisted. But I like it. A lot. You got a good hand for this sketching business."

Andrea bit her lip and nodded. "Well thank you. You smiled so I'm taking that as the full okay. I'm not doing anything crazy yet, just gonna see if it fits on the wall. That's why I brought blue tape." She got up, taking the book with her and going to set it on the floor by the wall before pulling the tape and a pencil out of her case. Thinking about where to start, she turned to him. "Do you have a step stool by chance?"

Gunnar arched a brow at her question. "Sure, lass. It's right next to the recipe books." Despite his momentary sass, he did manage to produce an old but sturdy crate for her to balance atop of. "D'ye need me to do anything," he asked, folding his arms and assessing the massive wall. "Not sure how much help I'd be, with this."

Andrea shook her head and watched him set the crate down before standing on it, pushing up on her tip toes to place the edge of the thin tape against the ceiling. "It won't take very long to grid. You can just spot me since I'm tippy-toeing on a crate and I'm not graceful," she said, pulling out the tape and dragging it to the bottom before kicking the crate over, measuring with the ruler in the band of her skirt and starting again.

Gunnar figured that wasn't a completely difficult task. He watched her balance atop the wooden crate. Lack of grace was right, and after some serious wobbling, he had to hold her steady, large hand gripping her calf while she continued marking out the wall with her tape. "Am I gonna have to stand watch the whole time, to make sure you don't snap your damn neck?" he rumbled, his tone full of amusement. "Thought I could leave you to it. But I can't have you toppling into the television."

Andrea "You probably could just leave me to it, if you're quick and look over every few minutes. Though I feel like you just jinxed me." She continued making the lines until she reached the end of the wall with him spotting her. Going across was a lot easier. By the second line down, she got off of the crate and measured horizontally until the wall was gridded in thin blue tape. "Okay. This is done, and it's the most organized I've ever been," she said, stepping back and eyeing the whole thing.

Gunnar "Right. Blame the jinx, and not your feet." Despite the short laugh that followed, he remained at her side and watched her careful handiwork with the tape until the wall was covered with the blue grid. "Seems like enough art on its own," he remarked while shoving his hands into his pockets. "This all the work for tonight, or is there more ye wanna tackle?"

Andrea took her jacket off, stepping back from the wall and draping it on the couch. "This is all I can do for the night. I think I'm gonna come on a weekend to lay down the actual sketch and paint it in one go. At least as much as I can do. I can get a ladder from my dad's store so I can have a steady hand. Now that it's gridded, it'll just take so much quicker, and it'll translate almost exactly. The hard part is done."

Gunnar nodded at that. "Weekend works. Never doing much during the day besides sleeping, anyway. So ye won't be bothered." With the hard part tackled and her work done for the night, Gunnar didn't mind her sticking around. The movie was nearly finished but he'd stopped paying attention long ago. Picking up the empty beer bottle, he gestured towards her. "Want anything?"

Andrea jammed her palm with her fist, taking that as an invitation to stay for a while, which was cool because she'd gotten heated while putting up all the tape. She found herself staring at it. Part of her just wanted to start tonight, but she knew that was ill-advised with nothing but a crate and the graphite she brought. She needed more of everything. Deciding to stop thinking about it, she picked up her sketchbook before walking over and sitting on the couch. "I'm good actually," she said, opening the book.

Gunnar tossed the bottle in the trash, in the kitchen and dropped onto the couch. His gaze settled on Andy, and a brief smile tugged at his lips when he reached out to flick the corner of her sketchbook, recalling her silent but small art struggle earlier. "Seem restless, lass.  Wouldn't mind watching you work tonight, if that's what ye wanted. Start on like...outlining or some shit. I dunno. Not much for art terms. But you get the point."

Andrea looked up at him and smiled a little, shrugging her shoulders.    "No, it's okay," she said, reaching for one of the pencils out of her case. "I'm just gonna sketch while we watch the credits to what appeared to be Road House. I won't outline until I have all my supplies and a proper stool. I kind of want it to be perfect, so I can wait. Like you said, you're not gonna be doing anything anyway."

Gunnar was satisfied with that, and he propped a boot on the small table in front of the couch while the credits started to roll. "So what you're saying is, I'm gonna be seeing a lot of more of you around here." There was a hint of charm in his words, and the flicker of amusement in grey eyes was brief while he reached for the remote between them. "Don't think I mind that at all."

Andrea smirked as she scribbled, putting the pencil down for a moment to reach over and quickly run her fingers through his hair, her arm entirely outstretched. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're being really sweet." She brought her hand back, continuing to draw and getting a little graphite on her hands. She didn't care, it happened all the time. She just had to be careful not to get it all over the place.

Gunnar was fully prepared to shrug off that 'sweet', but her fingers grazing his scalp stopped his plans. He gave a small hum then, because he appreciated her grazes more than he'd admit, though he was beginning to suspect she knew that. The tiny gesture was quick and playful, and Gunnar found himself leaning over, uncaring about her graphite-covered hands but he did manage a chuckle at the spot she managed to get on her cheek. He wiped at the smudge, rough fingers lingering on smooth skin before he glanced down at her work. "Looks good. Anyone you know, or just a scribble?"

Andrea paused her movements, staring down at the drawing for a few seconds. "I don't know. I mean, I know I don't know this person, but I may have seen someone once and kept them in my brain." She turned to meet his eyes, clearing her throat. "Sketching...painting, it's all a lot like dreams sometimes. You know, how they say the people you see in your dreams aren't necessarily people you know, but they're never people you've never seen. In passing, a body, an image...whatever. We can't make things like that from scratch. Our subconscious is huge." She felt herself about to ramble and shook her head. "Mostly it's just a scribble."

Gunnar didn't know much about art, but he was pretty familiar with dreams of strangers and lingering faces he couldn't quite place but felt familiar all the same. It wasn't something he dwelled upon too heavily, preferring not to muddle through the meaning of them, but he liked her explanation, ramble as it was. "Scribble is the outlet. Way to get it out. Seeing it on paper, maybe it eventually turns into something you might recognize. Or someone..." Gunnar shook his head, as a small but deep laugh slipped out. "Now you've got me thinking way too much into it."

Andrea nodded slowly as he spoke, her smile growing into a laugh at his little complaint. "Sorry about that. But it is interesting, right?" She bit her lip, tossing the pencil aside and closing the sketchbook. "Thinking ​is​ okay sometimes."

Gunnar "Thinking's alright," he agreed with a shrug. "Think I just like hearing you think out loud about it." His honesty was pure impulse, and his hands were deliberate in their touch when he reached for her, arm curling around her middle while tugging her close. The sketchbook was set aside in favor of more thought-free action, this time brushing his lips to hers in a teasing press that only stoked the restless heat under his skin. "You're good at chatter that means shit, " he told her. "Deep stuff. Like you work it out your thoughts...not really for anyone, but if they happen to hear, then it's alright. Proper fucking weird, with your dreams and ramble. But I like that."

Andrea searched his eyes for a moment. "Really?" She didn't expect and answer, didn't want one, really. It was just an automatic response. But her face was warm, hearing him say that about something she felt always held her back. "I guess once I start thinking out loud I forget people are around. And then I'm reminded...and I try to reel it in. Maybe I won't do that here." The teasing would make her restless, and the statement of 'I like that,' gave her the sudden urge to be close. She reached out to touch his face, gripping his chin so she could kiss him again. "That's like the only time I've actually liked being called that."

Gunnar felt her blush, the way her warmed her all over and he let her kiss him properly, grunting a bit at the brief tug to his chin. Large hands slid under the hem of her skirt, gripping her thighs and lifting her gently, easily into his lap and pressed himself closer to her heat. "No reeling it in. Never here." The words were a gruff command as his hand slipped a little lower, calloused thumb tracing idle circles into the silky skin of her inner thigh while he parted her lips with a hard kiss, because Gunnar enjoyed the slight tremble in slender fingers when he surprised her with his strength.

Andrea could hear his words, but continued to tell herself that she ​would​ have to reel it in    somehow, at some point. "I don't want to..." Her whispers    completely contradicted her thoughts, and she wasn't sure why that was. But    his hands on her bare skin (she was beginning to think she wore the skirt on purpose subconsciously) had her feeling a few new things, the main one being that she wanted more of this -- as much as she could have or would allow herself to. She moaned softly, the sound muffled by his mouth. When she pulled back for air, chasing the kiss with reddened lips, she tucked fallen hair behind her ear. "I don't...think I ever got a real tour of your place. Might help with the inspiration," she said quietly, her voice coming out a little cracked.

Gunnar chased that moan, deepening their kiss with a low groan until she abruptly pulled away. It took a minute for the words to register, far too focused on the movement of swollen lips but eventually the suggestion sank in and Gunnar was admittedly surprised, though his face remained unchanging. The break in her tone told him just enough, that she'd never attempted something like this before, and moments like these only emphasized just how human and innocent she really was, with tousled hair and glasses all askew. There wasn't much of his place she hadn't already seen, considering she'd been there before, back when he was half out of his mind and blood-soaked but he didn't bring that up. Instead, he held her close and scooted to the edge of the couch to stand. His grip never faltered, his hands sliding to cup her bottom and he waited until her legs were wrapped around him before he headed down the hall and into his bedroom. Neat as a pin, with plain but clean sheets that he gently deposited her atop of. "Sure ye know this room," he remarked, one knee pressed into the mattress while he hovered above her. It was all he said before cupping her cheek and pulling her into another kiss, leaning forward until her back was against the bed and he was between her legs.

Andrea followed his movements until she was looking up at him, wide eyed and attempting to downplay her arousal. His bed was soft, and like she previously noted, so was he despite muscles and calloused hands and hard kisses. His nose bumped her glasses, and for a brief moment it made her laugh a little before quickly removing them and blindly setting them on a surface nearby. She wanted to touch so badly, comb through his hair, his beard, trail his neck, but her hands shook as she thought of allowing herself anything else. She'd just never done it, or given in to her desire to. He touched her skin, gripped it, but she couldn't do the same right away as what little thoughts that slipped by got a little louder. So she kissed him back, letting her hands hover and surprising herself by gently biting his lower lip.

Gunnar could sense her nervousness, even before the slightly comical bump with her glasses. It was subtle, from the slight tension in her limbs, her brain halting her body's natural instinct to move against him. Though he did enjoy the biting, encouraging it with a low growl and small roll of his hips. Pushing up to his knees, Gunnar gently removed her boots, tossing them aside and waiting a beat before tugging off his shirt. The valknut pendant thumped softly against his chest, brushing the long scar above his heart and he regarded her quietly as his hands skimmed her thighs, fingers making a slow descent to her center, only to trail back up, just as slowly, chasing the earlier tremble. He leaned in just enough to kick off his own boots and to press his lips to hers, keeping his full weight off her while his fingers continued to stoke her inner thigh. "No reeling in, Andy..." Taking her hand, he guided the smaller fingers across his skin, letting them trail down his stomach, to settle at the top of his jeans. He'd let her decide their next destination, giving her the push she needed to get her out of her head and into the moment.

Andrea felt the ache from last time return as she felt his fingers. It was a little unreal, but his reminder, along with feeling his torso under her finger tips were enough to pull her fully into the moment. She still wasn't going to do anything she wasn't ready for, but whatever this was, she couldn't feel herself stopping yet. She halted her thoughts again, going on pure want, her hands working slowly as they lingered around his waistband. Pushing herself up, her lips captured his again in a heated kiss as she unbuttoned them, keeping his underwear in place but pushing the denim down. It shouldn't have been new, seeing him this bare, but it was. The context had her head in a completely different place. She did what she wanted to, feeling him out, dragging her fingers down his spine and around his hips.

Gunnar cradled her face in his palms, grunting at the deep jolt her fingers caused pushing at his jeans. He might have nipped her a little too hard but he sucked at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue while he quelled the urge to surge forward. There was no reason to contemplate anything but the taste of her, sweet innocence with a heady streak of boldness that he enjoyed. Still, he couldn't resist surprising her just a little, his hands slipping to skim her sides, resting at the hem of her shirt and he pulled away from her eager mouth, his kisses melting to gentler pecks when his fingers pushed under her shirt. Silver eyes watched her intently, waiting for the hitch of breath that would tell him she reached her stopping point but even as he brushed the swell of her breasts. "No thinking." He pressed the reminder to her lips while his fingers continued to tease with light strokes. "Tell me what you want."

Andrea shivered, relaxing against the bed and continuing to run her digits along the ridges of his stomach. Soon her arms were wrapped around him, playing with the edges of his hair. What began as light twirling around her fingers turned into tugging the more he touched her and the more she felt it between her legs. His hands under her shirt made her nervous, but not for the reason she expected. She swallowed as his hands traveled. "Gunnar...there's...it's not all normal, under there." Her words were whispered and her eyes only met his between gazes at his lips. "It's kind of like that," she said, bringing a hand down to lightly stroke the scar on his chest. "Just want you to know it's there...because I um, I want you to keep touching me."

Gunnar wasn't sure what she meant at first but his strokes stilled when her fingers met the unsightly scar on his chest. Ragged as it was, the result of a desperate act he still couldn't speak of but was forced to relive bits and pieces each time he looked into the mirror. Large and pale, it never healed quite right, but he wasn't ashamed of it. Not entirely. Still, Andrea's hesitancy made him curious, wondering what could pause their interaction. He found himself kissing her--softly, wordlessly--while his hands moved to tug off the fitted shirt, leaving her bare in the slightly chilly room. Gently--because Gunnar liked touching her gently--he skimmed her body, lips brushing her collarbone, dipping lower to explore the curve of her breast, nose nudging a stiffened peak with a deep hum. She was soft and warm, and he could sense the nervousness rolling off her in waves. Sitting back on his knees, Gunnar pulled her against him, bare breasts pressed against his naked chest, desire churning thick and sluggish in the pit of his stomach, stirring the restless energy surging through him but despite the building heat, he took his time, fingers combing through thick brunette locks until he felt what made her nervous. He didn't have to see the scars, but he could feel them and he wondered what marred her in such a fashion. This wasn't the time to ask; he had no intention of knocking her out of the moment with overthinking. So he did as she demanded, in her shaky and hesitant voice. A single finger traced the line of the scar he couldn't see, running slowly down the base of her spine and traveling back up, circling the nape of neck, just as he kissed her delicate throat. With his jeans around his thighs, he was pressed at hercenter, feeling the faint throb of her through the thin cotton of her panties. Still, he kept his touch lightly, following the jagged path of Andrea’s scar and sucking at the curve of her neck, enough to leave a mark that he nibbled at with another deep growl.

Andrea placed her shaky hands on the side of his face when he kissed her, caressing hairs with her thumb and feeling more sure for a moment before he pulled at her shirt, lifting it off and tossing it aside. She got goosebumps, practically feeling the follicles on her skin shift as he examined her with his touch. She almost wouldn't breathe, somehow afraid and excited at the same time. He would be the first since Johnny to know it, and ever since that night she avoided it; she pretended it didn't exist, bypassing mirrors and carefully dressing. She would feel better if she forgot and went around it. When he pulled her against him, her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. They were so close, and a brief silver flash in his eyes had her staring, lips brushing his as she held her breath again while his fingers roved. When he found the marks, convex and left jagged by a shoddy patch job of black magic, she finally let out a breath. He was touching them, and he kept touching them, his expression unchanging. She should have expected that, but it hit her as soon as his lips met her neck, small fingers journeying to his disheveled hair and curling against his scalp. And the scars didn't feel ugly. They were just a part, like the neck he kissed and the thighs he stroked. It almost made her emotional, grateful to be pulled out of it a little by the sound he made against her skin. Between the press of him and the pressure of his teeth, she felt the muscles between her thighs clench, pressed against the damp fabric of her panties. Surprising herself and assuming it to be a reflex, her hips rocked against his bulge, giving her a satisfying jolt followed by a breathy moan.

Gunnar's hands caught her hips, sliding down to lightly grip, chasing that friction with measured thrusts. His eyes shut briefly, savoring the feel of her fingers tangled in his hair and the damp heat he smelled through her panties. Want was heavy in his kisses, the way his mouth captured hers, the glide unhurried but hungry, a swift change from the earlier tender touches. Gunnar worked to restrain himself, though energy burned beneath his skin, fevered and restless, building with those quiet sounds he stole from her lips. With a gruff moan, he pitched forward, trapping her under his large frame while he pushed his jeans further down and kicking them off. Thick fingers pushed at her skirt, bunching it around her waist, his hips working a slow rhythm, grinding against where she was warm and wet for him. Gunnar was sure to take his time, the ridge of his cock brushing her center and his hands gripped hers, untangling them from his hair to pin them above her head. His grip was tight on her wrist and he matched it with a firm hold on her thigh while he continued to tease her, nipping at her lips and giving her no more than the steady rock.

Andrea clenched her fists where they were pinned, her heart rate jumping as she felt the building tension in her middle. She was still so new to all the clenching and shivering and pulsing she felt in multiple areas of her body. His grip on her wrists only made it worse, and her thighs shook a little from the building sensation. She wanted to fight that off, not ready to stop feeling what she did in that moment. It was like a sweet pain, feeling as though she were at the edge of something and not wanting to topple over, despite craving it so deeply. As if he could read her mind, his movements became slower. She groaned, fidgeting a little under his hold before deepening their kiss, tugging at his lips to communicate. The pulsing subsided only to build up again, and those moans she couldn't stop were back when she head breath for them. She'd never been so conflicted, wanting the slow burn but also what she knew was coming. The "oh my God," felt like someone else had said it, along with the sigh of his name. She would think about this later, wondering how she sounded and whether or not she could have controlled it, but she was in a haze, unable to think even if she wanted to.

Gunnar tasted the whisper of his name with a deep groan, his hips giving a hard, jerking thrust as he struggled to keep himself in check. He was careful not to let his grip tighten too much, wanting to tease but not to bruise her delicate skin. Grey eyes flashed a warm silver and he breathed heavily, more of out a need to focus his strength and keep it under control. It was a difficult task with her writhing; silky skin, wet warmth pooling between trembling thighs, and he wondered about her taste. Needing something to sate his curiosity and perhaps to push her over the edge she hovered above, Gunnar lifted his hips, his free hand trailing down to rest at her center. It would be far better to distract himself using her pleasure; he brushed the front of her panties, teasing her through the thin fabric as his gaze met hers, wanting to see her reaction. Pushing a little further, he pushed past the waistband, a low grunt slipping out at the feel of her, warm and practically melting into his touch. Calloused fingers swirled around her button, his strokes steady and gentle, knowing she'd probably be overwhelmed at first, so he kept it light and pressed a few kisses to her cheek, encouraging her to chase down the feeling he knew she was so close to.

Andrea gasped as soon as his hand neared her core, unprepared for how acute the feeling of fingers pressed against her would feel. She'd only done it herself once, but it was so different feeling large, confident, determined fingers stroking there. She felt herself drip, wetter the more he touched and it was driving her insane. At least it felt that way. If her hands were free, they'd be clawing, covering her eyes or her mouth or gripping onto something but all she could do was clench her fists tighter and flex her fingers as she groaned and sighed. Her back arched, trembling thighs spreading wider under him until she felt her muscles tighten and release all over, like a faucet turning on at full force. It wasn't like what she felt before; it felt like more. Her hands stopped moving in his grip and her knees bent, toes curling as she caught her breath. For a moment, it was like she couldn't make sound, only attempt to until her moans came out quietly. She bit her lip, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move right away. Or talk.

Gunnar rode the graceful arch of her body, his hips rocking into her thigh and he pushed out a rough groan at the friction. Despite the rush of dark heat surging beneath his skin, his gaze remained on Andy. His touch never faltered, not even through her moans as she came undone. Her body buzzed beneath him, trembling thighs and breathy sounds that he took from her with soft kisses. Even in the haze of her pleasure, he still wanted, stroking her folds, soaked and making a mess of his hand while his lips traveled along the curve of her neck, nipped at her collarbone until he could nibble at her breast, sucking a small, reddish mark near the tight bud. Eventually he loosened his hold on her wrist, and slipped his hand from her panties, making a show of tasting her, licking the cream from his fingers with a rumbling moan. The quiet didn't bother him but he wasn't going to give her a chance to settle into thinking again, so he kissed her, parting her lips with another deep sound and shared the sweetness he'd sucked from her, moments before.

Andrea's chest rose slowly as she watched him lick his fingers, a little dazed from the image. Her mouth hung open a little, only to be covered by his as well as the taste of something new -- salty, warm and a tiny bit sweet. She liked it, running her tongue along his lips and letting it explore. She was still feeling a little limp, but she let her freed hands roam over his hot skin. Moans were replaced by contented hums and her legs rose to wrap around his waist, her release leaving her with the need to be pressed against him.

Gunnar gripped the sheets, fingers curled tightly as he fought the urge to rut against her. He could feel her, still warm and wet, the glimpsing taste of her not helping his cause to keep himself in check and he figured the best bet was to pull away before he could no longer resist the impulse. With a final press to her lips, he pulled away, large frame shifting easily from the bed to find the jeans he'd kicked off, needing the denim barrier for when he returned to her. The jeans sat low on his hips and he sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers edging between her legs again, to settle atop her mound. She was a pretty sight, dark hair fanning out against the pillow, bare chest and flushed skin, and still in her little skirt. A small chuckle slipped out and he offered her a brief smile before speaking. "Fancy some tea?"

Andrea bit her lip, following his every movement with her eyes and sighing when he reached for her. It was her turn to stare at him for a few moments before responding, laughing and resting a hand on her middle. She was exposed, and ordinarily that would have bothered her, but his bed was soft and she was comfortable like that. She reached out, walking her fingers along his arm. "What kind of tea?"

Gunnar: "Few kinds," he told her, gaze shifting briefly to her fingers as his own twitched against her skin. "Black tea. Might be some earl grey. Found this cannabis kind from some weird head shop in Denver. Must be witch or demon made. Some kind of beastie. It's proper fucking strong. But really good. Two sugars and a good high."

Andrea smirked, sitting up after a few more moments of laying there. "Seems appropriate," she replied. She didn't want to get up, but it was starting to get cold again and that made her feel the slightest bit  self-conscious. She scooted back, swinging her legs off the bed and walking to where her shirt had been discarded. Grabbing it, she quickly pulled it over her head, running her fingers through her hair. She turned back around to face him, making her way to where he sat until her legs hit his knees. "I can only see you when you're this close," she admitted, pointing out her lack of glasses.

Gunnar followed her movements as she slipped from the bed and dressed. He had to laugh when she was close again, wild hair and glasses-free and Gunnar wrapped his arms around her middle, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "So ye wanna keep me close then?" His forehead rested against her stomach, and he had to take a moment to breathe deeply because her panties were damp and even without the heightened senses he knew he'd still smell her arousal, the scent hanging thick and sweet in the air. His hands shifted lower, settling on her hips, though he was sorely tempted to slip them under her skirt. Tea was a safer bet. Getting high would surely distract him.

[andreashelfish]

Letters to Mom

This is just a journal. So if you’ve found this, I know she’s dead. It’s just easier for me to write my thoughts down if I imagine having someone to tell them to.

Dear Mom,

So. Yeah.

It’s been...odd. Not in a bad way, or even a really good way, just different maybe? I’m still working. That period where I just stopped was the only time. I’m back to being responsible, albeit a little high on the job sometimes. But it doesn’t hurt anyone and it makes me feel better. I’m still sorta kinda dating August, the guy I told you about.

And you know, it’s...no different. I thought over time, after going on dates and letting him kiss me that I would feel something. Anything. But I don’t. And it’s not that he’s not attractive. By the average person’s standards, he’s...beautiful. Really pretty eyes, a nice smile, tailored suits -- yet despite all that, I can’t bring myself to be attracted to him.

It made sense for a while, trumping up my lack of feeling towards him to the fact that I wasn’t over Milo. And yeah, while I feel that I may never be completely over him, since I never got to figure us out, I know it’s not that now.

I know that because it was forever ago. And I kind of did stuff with Gunnar. If you’re thinking ‘wait, isn’t that the bouncer at the bar who you were kind of scared of a year ago?’ then you’re on the right track. A lot can change in a year, especially your perception of someone. Especially when you actually talk to them. They’re not as scary then.

But back to what I was saying, I know my lack of attraction to August has nothing to do with the fact that he’s not Milo, because when Gunnar kissed me, I was absolutely not thinking about anyone else. And that’s the excuse I was making, that it’s not August, it’s just that I’ve been ruined in that department by one person. But it is August.

I was curious the other night. And freaking stoned. And those things together, I just had this need to explore, you know? And he was more than willing to give that to me. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Like, physically. And it was just kissing. When I kiss August, it’s skin touching skin. That’s it. Even just being intimate (that feels so weird to say) with Gunnar was different because I wasn’t thinking. And it felt good not to. I used to think everyone had animal instinct but me, but there it was and I wanted to act on it. He got me out of my head, and not in the way the drugs do. With Milo, it was so...great but different from that because the thing about us wasn’t that he made me stop thinking, it was that I knew he was also thinking. That we both were hesitant and sometimes didn’t know what to say, and that was okay because we both knew what that was like. He made me feel normal, and I could let go a little around him because I began to realize that he got me and I might have been crazy enough to think I got him too.

One of those is a friend, and one of those was an “almost,” but here I am, actually dating someone, who is quick to call them dates and openly says that they would like a relationship at some point and kissing him is like, perfunctory. He doesn’t make me let go, or feel okay about not letting go, he just...passes the time. I told him that I wasn’t sure that I felt anything and he was okay with it. That feels wrong. Shouldn’t he be investing all this time into someone who wants him?

After I left Gunnar’s, I touched myself. And oh god, that feels so weird to write down but that’s a thing we would talk about, I feel like. At least the first time. Which it was. I got weirded out every other time I attempted, and had to do something to distract myself from being embarrassed...at myself. But when I got home that night, I just took a bath and it was easy. 

I think it’s because with what happened, I really really craved release. And I got it. And I get the big deal now. That’s...as detailed as I’m going to get on paper. I’m not ready to be this open about any sexual awakenings, because I’m still, well, me. Awkward and embarrassed of herself when it counts. Though I find myself wanting to feel that way again, confirming that I have to break whatever this is off with August. Not because I’m like...expecting anything from Gunnar, who is my friend, just a really good friend with good weed and a fortunate body (why did I write that wtf), but because the second I realized someone else could excite me with little effort on either our parts is when I realized that would never happen for us. I don’t want to be his anything. And why does he want to be mine? I’m best in the background, hiding behind my hair and glasses, tripping over my shoelaces. Maybe I’m not ugly, but I’m nobody’s dream. My newfound pastime and friendly makeouts on the side are more than enough. This whole, forcing a budding relationship is too much pressure and overthinking as it is, I don’t want to go deeper. I’ll make myself nuts.

I just hate that I’ll have to have this conversation with someone. I hate how much I’m thinking about the past. I hate that my only solution to most things is to smoke. In this town, though, I could be doing much worse I guess. At least Johnny’s back...I think. It’d be nice feeling like I had a confidant again. Or something close to it.

[andreashelfish]

First Thought | Andrea & Gunnar

Tagging → Andrea Sheldon & Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame → Sunday Night | 6/29/2015 Location → Gunnar’s place General Notes → Alternative title that didn’t make the cut: Steak and Quake  

Gunnar wasn't exactly used to having people over for company. His apartment wasn't the most hopping of places, but it was clean and tasteful in the simple decor, and besides, he didn't mind having Andy over. She was good company. Dinner was simple. Steak and fries. The fries, he'd picked up from the diner. They were probably the best thing about the damn place, and he wasn't trying to show off. He'd leave that for the steak. Thick cuts of beef properly seasoned and currently searing in a pan on the stove while the fries warmed in the oven. He figured Andy would be 'round soon so he left the door unlocked, knowing he'd hear her when she showed up.

Andrea turned a corner on Susan, speeding to a stop once she reached Gunnar's place, from memory of the one time she was there before. She parked it in a fairly obscure place and took off her helmet, shaking her hair out and praying her helmet hair wasn't too bad, since she'd not been bothering with a flattener lately. She wasn't as nervous as usual, probably because she had so much on her mind. And she was somewhat used to being around Gunnar, even if being invited to dinner was a little confusing. It wasn't a regular occurrence, really. She ran her fingers through her hair again and walked up, knocking and hoping she wasn't too early...or too late, because she couldn't really remember when he said to come by.

Gunnar: "S'open, lass" he called out, but left the kitchen anyway, and headed down the hall to the front door. He greeted her with a twitch of lips that could've resembled a smile and stepped aside, edging back down the hall towards the kitchen. "Hey. You want something to drink?"

Andrea shut the door behind her, smiling and following after him. "Grape juice or beer is fine," she said automatically. She took her time, looking around at his place. The last time she was there, she didn't really get a chance to look at it, being so preoccupied. She made her way to the couch and hovered there, toying with the bands on her wrist. "Is it cool if I sit?"

Gunnar let out an amused snort at the grape juice suggestion, but nodded as he headed back to the kitchen. He was getting used to her quiet ways, though he was a little puzzled when she asked to sit. "Aye. S'fine. I'll even let you turn on the television." There was another brief glimpsing of a smile before he went to check on the steaks, which were practically finished. After taking the fries out of the oven, he grabbed two plates from the cabinet and set them atop the counter. Remembering the beer, he grabbed two from the fridge, popping the top of one and carrying it out to her. "Fresh outta grape juice, lass. Beer it is. Food's almost ready too."

Andrea smirked at his answer, but didn't bother with the television, content to get comfortable and continue to study her surroundings. One thing she noticed was the lack of photographs, but she also knew it was Gunnar. As he made his way back to her, she looked up at him. "You need more art in here." Smiling appreciatively, she took the beer and held it between her legs. "What's with the steak?"

Gunnar glanced around the room. The converted garage's walls were indeed bare, but he'd never considered decorations. "Art? Like those paintings of countryside or flowers on a table? Can't see any of that in here." He shook his head. "Fries. Kept it simple. Don't wanna break out the good shit just yet. Might overwhelm ye." Back in the kitchen, he plated the steak and fries, placing their dinner on the counter near the silverware he'd laid out earlier. "All ready. Ketchup's on the counter if ye need it." He took a swig of his beer and settled on his stool.

Andrea grabbed her bottle and settled onto the stool next to him. "No, not like countrysides or still lives of flowers. There's something for everybody. More photos, some paintings that aren't of nature, you could even be funny about the stock paintings thing and get some Wayne White knockoffs." She didn't want to ramble, so she reached for the ketchup and squirted it into a lump near her fries. "Looks like some restaurant quality steak, by the way."

Gunnar didn't know who Wayne White was, but he didn't mind the suggestion, nodding a bit while he chewed his mouthful of steak. "Guess I'll have to see what's out there. Never put any thought into it." Though he wasn't seeking out her approval, he still appreciated the observation. "Makes sense. Worked as a cook in a restaurant for a few months in Miami. Small time shit. Grill place. Lots of burgers and steak. Good pay, free food. Didn't have to talk much. Smelled like a fucking grease trap though." Gunnar washed down his food with another sip of beer. "Figured ye'd have that type of place. Art all over the walls. Real personal-like."

Andrea turned her nose up as she chewed, thinking about the smell he described. "Win some, lose some, I guess." She thought for a moment, picturing her space and shrugging. "There's a bit of art. Most of it mine, cluttering up everything. And books, and clothes. It'd probably look cool if it were neater, but I can't bring myself to be better at that. Personal fits, though. Cause I've been living there my whole life." She took a swig of her beer and twirled her fork. "Your place is cool, though, even with the bare walls."

Gunnar: "Had forever to make it that way, your space. Makes sense." Gunnar cut another piece of steak and chewed slowly. "Can't imagine ye being the neat type. Feels like ye do alright with the clutter. Never liked it much, myself. Never had much to clutter any place." The blond shrugged his massive shoulders. The apartment was probably the nicest he'd been in, in a long time. And clean. He was always a stickler for cleanliness, figuring that was due to the strictness of the nuns from his childhood. "S'good, the place. Maybe I'll just give ye one of the walls. Paint it up or summat. Not like I'm using it."

Andrea swallowed a french fry and leaned on the counter to look at him. "I don't know if that's a compliment. But it's pretty true. I think I'm just lazy. I don't think I expected you to be clean. Or messy." She paused, dipping a fry in ketchup. "I don't ever know what to expect from you, actually." Her eyebrows raised at his suggestion, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I've never painted a wall."

Gunnar meant it as a compliment, and said as much, though he did chuckle a little at the 'lazy' of it all. "Isn't that some kind of..." Brows furrowed, he tried to recall the right word, eventually snapping his fingers when it came to him. "Trait. Artist thing. Proper scatterbrain. All that stuff going on upstairs." He shrugged once more while finishing off his fries. "Hard to say what ye should expect. Dunno myself half the time. No filter. No real thought process. Shit just tumbles out. Makes for interesting conversation. But, I don't like mess. Blame the nuns." His suggestion for the wall mural surprised even him, but he rolled with it, since it seemed to please her, surprised as she was. "Seems like it'd be cool. There's all different kinds in here. Brick, concrete, plaster. Whichever ye feel comfortable with painting. There goes the art for the place right there. No need for countryside paintings."

Andrea's smile faded just a little. "You know, my paintings aren't really...like...they're not countrysides, but they're also completely opposite of that. I don't know if they're meant for walls, you know?" She bit her lip, cutting off another piece of her steak. "Not everyone's cup of tea. August is obsessed, but I think he's just kind of a weird guy."

Gunnar drained his beer and moved to get another from the fridge, tossing the empty in the garbage on his way. "Just a suggestion, lass. No pressure on it. Remember ye said summat about painting nightmares or dreams. Seems like that's better than tykes running through a meadow or some shit." Settling back on the stool, Gunnar picked up his knife, trying to recall something about an August. But considering how much he hadn't been around, and the state of his head, there was no way to tell if she brought them up before or not. "August? What kind of name is that?"

Andrea nodded, finishing off her steak, speaking after she swallowed. "You want nightmares on your wall? Because I can do that. Beasts and trees and faces. Just wouldn't really be as welcoming as the tykes. Your dinner party guests could get uncomfortable," she joked, smiling a little more. "I've never looked it up. It sounds kind of fancy though. It works for him. Cause he does fancy stuff. Wears cuff links."

Gunnar: "Seems like they'd match the shit in my head, so why not?" A deep chuckle slipped out, and he chased it with a sip of beer. "Dinner party. Not too many people with invites over here. Not a worry with that. Long as I like it." Gunnar pushed away his empty plate, feeling subdued from the filling meal; he was sure the mellow would be stronger once he smoked, curbing the restlessness and noise in his head, but he wasn't in any rush. "Cuff links. Seems like the right thing for a posh lad. Where'd ye meet such a dandy?"

Andrea was quiet for few seconds as she finished her beer. "You know what? I'll do it then. If it ends up being weird, you could always paint over it. And I like large scale stuff. Lets me pay closer attention to detail." She tapped her nails on the counter, a nervous tick, though despite that she was somewhat relaxed. "A dandy?" she asked, laughing. "I met him at the bar. He's the one that was tipping me so much. And staring. Not the kind of person usually at the bar though."

Gunnar: "Aye. So it's good practice then." Pleased, Gunnar slipped from his stool and carried their empty plates to the sink. Dandy seemed like the appropriate term for such a man, cuff links and a fancy name in such a small town. But he shrugged his shoulders and reached for the cigarette pack on the counter, not taking one out, but flipping the pack, just to give his hands something to do. Vaguely, he remembered Andy mentioning the big tipper. But it was surprising, knowing she was still talking to him. "Still tips ye big then? Lots of time and energy spent on a stranger. Unless they want summat ye got." He let that hang in the air, letting her make her own interpretation.

Andrea leaned on the counter, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he said that, she found herself staring off, in thought until she realized she hadn't said anything for a few moments. "I guess I'm trying to figure out what that is, then. With the fancy restaurants, and seeing him...I'm just trying to get to the bottom of it." She was quiet for a couple more seconds before laughing dryly and shaking her head. "Maybe I just like the attention because it allows me to pretend a little." She pushed back, sliding off of the stool. Whether that was ridiculous or pathetic to say, she couldn't decide. Still, she kept her expression light, walking backwards to the couch.

Gunnar frowned, unsure what she really meant though he didn't question ​where​ she went, staring off like that. Grabbing his beer, he followed her to the main room, plopping down on the couch and giving her an assessing look. "What's to pretend, lass? Figured best way to know, is to ask the dandy what he wants. Better to know, right?"

Andrea shrugged. "Well, I did. He says he just wants to 'get to know me," she said, using finger quotes and taking a seat near him, leaning forward on her elbows. She didn't acknowledge the 'pretending' part again. "It's not that I don't believe that, it just seems a little random, you know? And vague. But free meals are okay, and so are tips. He knows I'm not...like, gonna ​give​ him anything. Also, I know I'm overthinking it." She smacked her head for good measure.

Gunnar wasn't sure he was the best one for this kind of talk but he attempted to listen anyway, drinking his beer and keeping the his glare to a minimum. "So he buys dinner, tips big. Wants to get to know you...don't know much, but it sounds like date shit. Course, you could just take the money and tell him to fuck off." The blond shrugged. "That's what I'd do. Rich dandy with a fancy name...they always want something. Whether or not ye wanna give it to 'em."

Andrea actually laughed at that. "Don't they not give you the money if you tell them to fuck off? I imagine they'd want it back." She kicked her boots off, bringing her legs to her torso and playing with the frayed edges of her jeans. "I think I liked the idea of dating more than actually doing it." Turning up her nose a little, she turned to him, his last comment catching her attention. "Sounds like you have experience with rich dandies."

Gunnar: "Aye. What I meant is, take as much as ye want. And then tell him to fuck off. Or ye could just send your hired muscle after him when you're ready." Sitting up, Gunnar leaned towards the small table in front of the couch, setting down the empty bottle of beer and picking up a crumpled pack of cigarettes. There was still one inside, and he lit it, blowing out the smoke and glancing over at Andy. "Dunno about that. Come across my share of lads with loaded pockets. Easy to charm and hustle. They like a pretty face. Or the easy take. Bored rich guy shit. He's the one spending coin on time he'd probably get for free. Makes sense ye'd get something out of it."

Andrea smiled. "That's true. Nobody's asking them to spend their money. But I guess they'd be used to paying for things they want. It's still strange, thinking of myself being on the other end of that. That's part of why I think he's strange. He's after a busboy in Sangren." She crossed her arms over her knees. "The hired muscle thing is already coming in handy for future scenarios." Staring as he blew smoke, she bit her lip and scooted a little closer. "Is it okay if I take a quick drag? I don't have cooties and I can repay you."

Gunnar made a gruff noise at that, because he still wasn't sure how to respond to any of this. While the man sounded peculiar, peculiar wasn't exactly uncommon in the town. And Andy herself seemed puzzled but still unbothered. So he took that as a cue to shrug it off. "Ye seem alright with the arrangement. And he's not being weird...just rich and bored. So that's cool." He did chuckle a little at her request, the sound deep and relaxed while he passed her the cigarette. "Not worried about your cooties, lass. Got something stronger if ye want that, too."

Andrea took the square between her fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling. "I am for now," she replied, exhaling and letting her gaze follow the smoke. "Nothing crazy has happened. I don't need to add on to my anxiety." She passed his cigarette back to him. "I'd love to have that too, as long as you're offering."

Gunnar took back his cigarette and reached for a small tin atop the table. "Nah, don't mind. Think I actually promised it some, anyway." Inside, there was a glass pipe and a plastic bag. The scent of the kush was particularly strong, potent as it was, and Gunnar packed the bowl before passing to Andy, along with his lighter. "Helps with that anxiety."

Andrea: "It's your promise to take back, if you chose to. But I'm glad you didn't." She graciously took the pipe and his lighter, pressing the end against her lips and lighting the green. It was strong, and she could tell from the tingling of her nostrils when he handed it over, but when she was sucking, it practically filled her head. She released, blowing out thick white smoke and closing her eyes. "It's like the only thing that helps, really," she answered finally. Passing it back to him, she crossed her legs and sat back on the couch, looking at the ceiling as she felt it, almost instantly.

Gunnar held a thumb over the small opening at the side of the bowl and kept the flame low, inhaling the dank smoke, letting it fill his lungs before blowing it out in a slow breath. He licked his lips and settled further against the couch, letting the high sink in. A lesser strain would take at least three more hits for him to feel something, but this only took two. The second one was even stronger and he gave a small grunt at Andy's words and passed her the pipe. "Thought I was all jumbled up here," he told her, tapping the side of his head. "You're about the same, seems like. Not exactly. Ye don't get the urge to rip shit apart. This, keeps me from being all restless-like."

Andrea took a larger hit when he handed it over, watching him as he spoke. She smiled, wide as she couldn't contain it when she got a small rush. "No, I don't get the urge to rip shit apart. A burger, maybe." Her smile faded a little, and she passed the pipe back. "It is all jumbled though. I um, never know how to feel about things, because about ten different scenarios are running through my head. Ten different things I could say. Ten different fears, ten different hopes, ten different outcomes." She ran a hand through her hair. "It's never quiet up there. If I smoke, maybe it'll drop down to two. Which is heaven."

Gunnar thumbed the lip of the pipe, trying to comprehend her words through the thick haze of smoke and the usual dark that clouded his thoughts. Gunnar never considered options. Or fears. Hopes was a foreign concept beyond the basic instincts, fueled by the desire to calm the loudness in his head. But he understood her lack of quiet. And the need to shut it out, if only temporarily. "Y'ever just try saying whatever's in your head? First thing. No second guesses or thinking it over. None of that scenario shit. Ye just go on instinct." Gunnar took another hit, slow and heady and he exhaled in thick clouds through his nostrils. "First thought in your head, right now. Don't think about what ye could say. Say what you want. Right now."

Andrea just shook her head at his question. She never tried that, and she was pretty sure it was impossible. She'd begin to speak, then think about possible reactions to what she could say and go with something else. She didn't trust her thoughts. His challenge would have made her more nervous if she wasn't high, but she just furrowed her brow, followed by a laugh. "Um..." She leaned back on the couch and looked at the ceiling again. "I like your beard. It looks like you take care of it. Like it wouldn't be that scratchy."

Gunnar: Whatever Gunnar was expecting, it surely wasn't what Andy had managed. Laughter was his initial reaction, deep and rumbling and he passed her the bowl, still chuckling. Instinctively, long fingers combed through the thatch of beard, and he offered her a small smile. "Aye. Just conditioner and water. Welcome to touch it, if ye want."

Andrea tapped the hole, watching the red speckles on the plant as she inhaled, slowly blowing smoke and losing herself in it. Time seemed to slow down considerably, and that's what she loved. Less urgency. "Really?" she said, meeting his eyes. She paused, looking for a place to set down the bowl and settling on the arm of the couch closest to him. Leaning on the couch cushion, she reached out and touched his chin, running her fingers through his beard, stroking it with her thumb. "Wow. Good job, Gunnar."

Gunnar automatically leaned into the gentle brushes of her fingers with a soft grunt. Grey eyes flashed silver, only briefly because her touch was nice and soothing and Gunnar wasn't exactly used to nice things, but they seemed to happen when he was around Andy. He recalled the last time she was in his space, when he was half out of his mind and covered with blood. Her hands were less sure while they washed the dried blood and brain matter from his hair, and he'd been grateful for the moment of kindness. He said nothing, but instead watched her, his gaze calm even as the restless energy hummed hotly under thick skin. There was no surge of heat, no rush to move forward and act on instinct, and Gunnar supposed that was due to the numbing haze of the smoke.

Andrea leaned on her fist, continuing to stroke, pet and twirl around her fingers. "People see you, and I think they see rough edges." She was probably stoned now, and the order to say whatever came to mind was still going, apparently. "Maybe it's just me. But it seems like other people would think so. Cause you're all muscles and hard stares. But that's funny, because you're actually soft. Your tiny smiles are soft and you feel soft." She smiled at this, studying him, imagining what it'd be like to sketch him. She probably would later.

Gunnar didn't know how to respond, at least with actual words. The flush of heat in his cheeks felt unfamiliar, catching him off guard. He had no desire to shy away from her silly ramble, though he wasn't entirely sure what to say in such a situation. Reaching out, he curled a hand around her slender wrist, gently, tentatively, letting her fingers still slip through his beard while his thumb brushed the top her hand, tracing idle circles. Gunnar didn't know much about soft, at least when it came to himself, but she was smooth and pale and human, smelling of smoke and something sweet and innocent, and he could see the appeal of such things. His lips twisted into one of those tiny smiles she spoke of, and his stare was anything but stony while he allowed himself those light, stolen touches.

Andrea grinned when he smiled, murmuring a "There it is," under her breath. She loved how it felt in her hand, and she knew she'd have to let go soon. Whether 5 minutes had passed or an hour, she wasn't sure. Her fingers left his beard, but they traveled along his cheek, to his nose and lips. She would definitely sketch him. "So you don't have to think about what you say before you say it?"

Gunnar loosened his hold as her hand wandered, leaving a strange warmth when her fingers traced his features. Confused as he was, he didn't attempting sifting through the fog and black muddle of his brain, preferring to keep in the moment with her whispers and questions. He shook his head, letting the words slip out on a soft rumble. "No. No thought. Never." That wasn't entirely true; but it was easier to shift into thoughtless action instead of considering consequences. Such a moment presented itself now, with her smoke-induced exploration, and he decided he liked her boldness, uncharacteristic as it was. So he rewarded her for it, because Gunnar was as grateful for her gentle touch as he was that night months ago, when she washed the grime from his hair. Curling an arm around her middle, he pulled her closer, silver gaze giving another brief flash before meeting dark eyes. "Maybe some thinking. Only a little. Won't say what I'm thinking now." He didn't have to; he was sure even through her high and innocent touches, she had some kind of idea.

Andrea could feel her breaths become slower and further apart, but her curiosity mixed with her cloudy head were stronger than doubt. It could have been because she was growing more comfortable with him, or it could have been something else. But she found him fascinating, more so than others. His arm around her made her think briefly back to when he was teaching her self-defense and she accidentally felt something below the belt that she wasn't entirely used to. Only this time it was deliberate. "A little," she repeated, her voice a little raspy. She cleared her throat, not used to that either. "Why won't you?"

Gunnar dipped his head, his nose tracing her cheek while he tightened his hold. He could practically taste her curiosity, could hear her heartbeat even over the dull roar of blood rushing in his ears. That sweetness was tempting and Gunnar didn't mind indulging in sweet things once in awhile. And she was pressed to him, breathy and curious and he gave her another one of those smiles she seemed to enjoy, this time in a chaste kiss he pressed to her cheek with a deep whisper. "Better to show, than tell."

Andrea closed her eyes for a moment. Having him this close, she could feel the heat under his skin, and her want almost made her feel guilty. When he whispered, she could feel his breath against her ear and it made her a little lightheaded -- in a good way, if that could be. She wasn't going to do anything crazy. She'd be the same when she left, but she wanted to revel in feeling a genuine attraction she hadn't in a long time, with someone who wasn't unsure, or didn't confuse her. He said he didn't really think before doing, and for some reason that comforted her. It meant there were no motives she had to question, and the thoughts he wouldn't share were obvious. "Okay," she answered, as though what he said was a command. His lips against her cheek peaked her curiosity, and she brought her hand back to his face. She'd been thinking about how different he would feel. A thought entered her head, as the smoke began to clear and she didn't want it to. "Here." She reached over him for the bowl that wasn't cashed yet, as well as the lighter. She lit it, thumb tapping the hole as she took a hit before setting it back down. Leaning in close, her thumb brushed his bottom lip and she opened her mouth, letting the smoke drift into his, thick and heavy.

Gunnar watched her quietly, his hold loosening just enough for her to reach for the bowl, only to tighten once more when she returned. Lips parted, he accepted the smoke, inhaling slowly, still potent and heady and Gunnar pressed forward, closing the gap between them, mouth meeting hers in a smoke-filled, hazy kiss. The groan was deep but he kept his kiss light, lips moving in a gentle glide to gauge her level of comfort, and maybe coax out a few sounds fitting both arms around her middle and gently tugging her into his lap. Gunnar wasn't sure if she'd been kissed before, but that didn't matter; he'd leave her with something to remember, long after the fog had lifted.

Andrea took advantage of the closeness, pressing her palms to the sides of his face and threading her fingers through his beard, deepening the kiss because that feeling between her hips was back and she didn't want it to go away yet. She couldn't stop exploring, her nose brushing against his as one of her hands made its way to his hair, tucking it behind his ear. It was so different from few times before, and it could have been the drugs or how he enveloped her, but she didn't want to dwell on it; somehow it was easy not to.

Gunnar's moan was gruff and unexpected, an instinctual response to slender fingers grazing his scalp. And though the heated energy crackling under his skin called for more, and harder, he resisted, leashing the urge to press her into the couch and instead follow the lead she set. He did attempt a nibble, capturing her lip between his teeth with a deep growl. His hand slipped from her waist to rest on the curve of her butt, giving a small squeeze before deepening the kiss, intense but unhurried. He could feel when her curiosity gave way to something just a little more and Gunnar sat up further on the couch, never breaking their kiss as he shifted her into a proper straddle, thighs pressing against his and he gave a small thrust, the front of his jeans meeting her center and he grunted with satisfaction, his hand still palming her ass.

Andrea moaned against his mouth, something that ​had​ happened before, only this time she didn't shy away from it. It didn't alarm her; maybe it was his sounds or the feeling that it was being coaxed out of her. She couldn't be embarrassed by it, new as it was. She could feel him pressed against her, and as exciting as it felt she knew she had to come down or she'd do something she'd always planned to put thought into. Maybe it was always too much, but she had to find a middle ground. His teeth dragging along her lip pulled another moan from her, followed by a whisper of his name. Pushing her body upwards, leaning his head over the back of the couch, she slowed her kisses, continuing to stroke his hair until she could make herself pull away -- not completely, as her lips brushed his. She studied him just like earlier, hazel eyes roving over his features, standing by her earlier conclusions. "I know I said this...but your steak was very good."

Gunnar bucked his hips at that whisper, bouncing her in his hold as a jolt of heat, white hot and snarling raced down his spine. He'd never heard his name in such a manner, and never from her; sweet and spontaneous, no second guessing or speculation and he found himself chasing the slower presses as Andy pulled away. He kept her close, large hands skimming her sides and settling on her hips while he breathed deeply against his body's instinct to pin her. Those feelings were new, at least directed towards her, and he was sure she had little idea of what her touch was doing to him, or where his mind was drifting, sinking deeper into something primal that felt and tasted like lust. It sat heavy in his gut, warring with her soft fingers and softer kisses. She no longer touched him tentatively, and he liked that she wasn't entirely afraid. Though curious wasn't exactly the safest bet, either. Her words were silly, and he found himself staring at her in confusion for a good minute before responding, his voice rough, but his tone was surprisingly gentle. "Aye. Glad you liked it."

Andrea managed a half smile in lieu of an apology for the random comment. She always did that, saying something irrelevant when she didn't know what to say. No matter what, she still lacked in the art of words and being smooth but it was something she accepted. His hands on her hips were distracting her still from intense thought. "I did..." she trailed off, biting her lip to stop herself from making really bad decisions as her gaze fixed on his lips. "I should go, though." Her words were followed by another kiss she allowed herself, soft and slow as she swiped his soft beard with her digits and leaned forward. Finally, she reared back, stepping off of the couch and pulling the keys to her moped out of her jeans. "Not that I'm going to sleep." She winced when she realized that might have been suggestive. "Gotta work on some sketches for your wall," she added quickly, tucking her hair behind her ears and flipping the keys in her palm.

Gunnar silently watched her slip from his lap and shift from curious to her familiar, slightly nervous state. His hands were still warm from her holding her and he couldn't shake the restless energy that had returned once he'd come down from the kush high. But he followed suit, hefting his bulk from the couch shifting the slight bulge in his jeans while giving her a short nod. "Sketches. You don't have to show 'em. Just draw. I'll buy the materials. Whatever you need." Gunnar didn't mind walking her to the door, and maybe pressing her to the wall in the hallway wasn't entirely necessary, but he was never one for second guessing when he wanted. Thick muscles shifted under the fitted shirt he wore while he cupped her face and claimed her lips in a heady kiss with no desire to hold back, taking as he pleased and offering her a heavy growl that burned his throat until he finally pulled away, grey eyes flashing cool silver and he licked his lips, for that final taste. "For inspiration," he told her simply, and dropped a far more tender press to her forehead before opening the front door.

Andrea had to clench her thighs and press her palms to the wall behind her, hoping the cool surface would ground her a little bit. She closed her eyes for a moment after, lips swollen and hands trembling a little. His explanation of sorts made her laugh and blush simultaneously. To hide the latter, she dipped her head, pushing a hand through her mane and adjusting her glasses. She followed him to the door, stepping over the threshold and facing him one last time. If she had anything to say in leaving, she'd forgotten it, thanks to one minute ago. So she settled for, "Okay, well. Bye Thor." She walked down to Susan, hopping on quickly, shoving her helmet on before starting it and speeding off. She was wired, and though she probably needed rest, she wouldn't be getting any tonight.

[andreashelfish]

Letters to Mom

This is just a journal. So if you’ve found this, I know she’s dead. It’s just easier for me to write my thoughts down if I imagine having someone to tell them to.

(should probably read this para)

So dear Mom,

I stopped going to work for a while. No note, no call, just a completely irresponsible dip-out. I smoked too much bud and became stagnant. It's...really nice of Helena to give me the job back. She says it's because I don't do stuff like that, and I do what I'm told, so a second chance came easy. I just said thanks and took my apron back.

Dad left me alone during all that, cause it was either let me deal or send me to a shrink which proved to be completely useless in high school. We could both keep our money.

I still don't really know what was wrong with me. What is wrong with me. I refuse to believe the funk has everything to do with Milo. When I think about it for a while, racking my brain to convince myself I'm not that person who just shuts down because of an almost person who never moved up from almost and was probably never going to be anything more than an almost...I can't remember where that sentence was going. Anyway, what I mean is, I think maybe it was what he represented, you know? He represented a new chapter of Andrea. An Andrea who didn't hate herself as much. An Andrea who didn't want to blend into the curtains. Who can talk without worrying about how she comes off and be opinionated, and be touched without second-guessing it. And before I could develop into this kind of person, and learn me through another person, he was gone. It's just as pathetic, but it's true, and lying to myself is exhausting. It's like it never existed and it was a really long, lucid dream.

And I have to stop avoiding talking about August, even to myself. It's the kind of thing that would typically make someone feel better, you know? Like this new era of myself would be making a return and my confidence would be building, but that's not...it doesn't feel like that.

His skin is cold. All the time. He's always talking about how he wants to know me, and how he wants to see my studio, and it all just feels really weird. And sudden. I can't help but feel like he has weird ulterior motives, or something is disingenuous. Despite those feelings, I always find myself at his door. Like even though I'm questioning it, I'm still curious. I'm just in that stage where everything he does reminds me of Milo or how Milo does it differently. That's not good. It makes me feel like I just want the attention. The whole thing feels like I should keep it to myself, so I do.

I'm a mess, Mom. I don't know how I feel about anything, and I don't sleep anymore. You'd probably tell me I need time to myself, that I just need to focus on what I love, but my hands shake and I don't trust my head. If I'm not high or doing something, be it sketching things I'll never finish or touching August's hair while he tells me I can choose the pace, I spin downward. Distractions and a smoke cloud are my life now.

I have to go to work.

[sangrenrp]

Hi all! We're back from hiatus, and tartarusbar is now sangrenrp. There's a new batch of characters out, and a few more coming over the next few days.  We'll officially be re-opening on January 26, 2015. However, we're now accepting apps, and if you feel so inclined, send one in!

If you have any questions or concerns, don't be afraid to ask.