#wakingdrcams

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams continued from [x]

Chance encounters seemed ages ago; meeting simply because of the bond she had with his sister, but that obsessive desire to have him never once faded. Lydia was also a friend though &&. she knew better than to step on toes as well, keeping her head on her shoulders &&. any needs to herself. Lyla stuck with work &&. very disappointing one night stands to keep those urges in check, but he always wormed his way back under her skin one way or another.

Alexis' mention of her brother does make that bit of worry spike up, but it's guised as simple acceptance to help her best friend out. She told her she would check in &&. update once she knew what was going on. &&. it took some well timed maneuvering to get inside unseen. Though she is starting to kind of regret it -- Wes was a mess.

He tastes like cheap alcohol &&. cigarettes &&. desperation &&. she aches for him -- wanting nothing more than to follow that demanding touch against her. To allow herself to sit on his lap &&. let this all play out - probably not for the better - but she has to pull back. She can't do that to Lydia or Alexis. Soft, delicate fingers rest lightly against the line of his jaw, smothering the urge to lean back in &&. forget about the taste of alcohol on his lips, but she can't. Not like this.

At least, not this night that is. Slender arms come up to cross over the strap of her chest holster, turning to watch him as he attempts to leave. "You taste like cheap alcohol again tomorrow, Wesley, don't expect a kiss back."

[lured-into-wonderland]

It isn't the first night Wes has kept vigil outside of Nunnally's place, parked in his car across the street, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be trying to infiltrate her family's house. Shit's been escalated in severity since the recent discoveries in her case, and he isn't about to let the house go unattended; whether he hires Cecilia to keep watch, or whether he does it himself, until things get sorted out, he considers her safety his responsibility.

The night is cold, but Wes likes it, keeps him awake. His heater is on very low, just enough to keep his fingers from freezing off, and he's lowered the window a couple of inches while he smokes so he can tap the ashes outside. He doesn't think Nunnally knows about his stakeouts, but he's been proven a damn fool for underestimating her when she exits the front door in a heavy jacket, boots, and her nightgown, and moves as quickly as possible to his passenger side door, knocking when she realizes the door is locked.

"Jesus fuck," he says as he reaches over to unlock the door to let her in before turning the heater up to keep her warm. "What the hell are you doing out here? You're safer inside, go back to bed." Even as he speaks, he tuckers the jacket closer around her neck to make sure whatever heat is stored in there with her doesn't escape. (from Wes @wakingdrcams !)

The moment she leaves the building her body immediately regrets leaving the warm house. It’s a chilly night, and a heavy jacket gives less protection than she has expected when putting it on. Though Nunnally is not the one to give up and forces herself to walk until she ends up knocking on Wesley’s car window.

It wasn’t the best idea not to dress up properly. Her elegant silk nightgown, richly decorated with lace, might appear to be a summer dress, but it is definitely a bad choice for this night. So, Nunnally welcomes it with relief, when Wes opens the door and lets her inside. Though the temperature inside is hardly satisfying. She shivers.

(“Would you mind putting the heater up?”); is what she’d like to ask, but she isn’t going to. She isn’t going to complain. To give him an excuse to send her away. But even before she is able to actually fully comprehend these thoughts, Mr. Wade - (or maybe she should call him Wesley) - turns the heater up and tucks her into her jacket. What an intimate and caring gesture that is for her!?

Her blue eyes open widely; as if surprised how tender the man is towards her despite all his harsh words that made her wishing to hiss at him.

“I couldn’t sleep…” – she murmurs turning her face away from him; Nunnally doesn’t want Wes to see the faint pink on her cheeks – “I’ve thought you might want some company…”

Probably he doesn’t; he made sure she doesn’t feel t welcomed, but Nunnally is going to pretend she didn’t get that part. She makes herself comfortable on the passenger seat. There is a chance he’s happy to see her, but he's just not sure how to express it better. Their relationship is complicated in her mind. No, she hasn’t had much to do with private investigators, but they don’t behave in a way Wesley does. Nunnally is sure he cares about her m o r e than just being involved in her case. More than she is paying him for. Is is because he’s such a man? Or because…?

She’s not even sure how to ask this question herself. Even less how to ask him about it? Should she invite him in?

Yet, his presence here is a p r o o f to her. Nunnally is sure there is nothing in her case that would justify his vigilance over her. Or is he hiding something?

“Are you so annoyed that I came? Where would I be as safe as here with you?” – she tries flattery, but, somehow, she’s sure it will not work with him. Or perhaps he’s displeased because he was sure she wasn’t aware he was guarding her?          

“I have been supervised all my life…I…I’ve learnt to notice…” – she doesn’t provide any more justification, but Nunnally hopes Wes can understand what she is trying to say. She moves closer to him; almost leaning on his shoulder. She cannot stop wondering how her head, now surrounded by her messy blond hair, would look on his shoulder. But Nunnally doesn’t reach to him; not taking that last step for them to touch.

“So, any developments in our case?” – she asks instead; though she’d rather ask why he is staying there so often. It finally becomes warm and cozy in the car. She unbuttons the coat letting the upper part of her nightdress to be partially seen: --

“I intended to ask if you’d like to get inside, but now the house seems so far away…”

“Wes…”

“Am I really in danger?” – she doesn't feel she is; she is feeling surprisingly safe next to him in that car. Even if she is improperly dressed.

“Or rather…why do you care more…” – than I am paying you for.

@wakingdrcams

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams: johanna kissed gwen: "a kiss that leaves lipstick stains"

the night had grown heavy &&. weighted against the back of her mind -- swimming into consciousness &&. out of it as her head dips, catching many a times as her chin brushes her chest. her eye lids felt like iron blocks, gritty against dry eyes, as she rests her chin in her left hand &&. the same elbow on the table before her, eyes swimming over the spread out papers &&. books with blue pen still loosely gripped between fingers.

matt had kept the diner open late that night - something to do with the fall festival going on down town - &&. gwen had simply taken advantage of that -- spreading her work out on the table. she just didn't think she would be falling asleep -- coffee still steaming at her elbow. it was the fourth cup of the night even.

it was hard keeping herself occupied while jo is off at work, but she manages all the same. frequently jumping between felix's bookstore &&. lapointe's diner.

a low, tired hum rolls free from gently parted lips, leaning into the warmth that had blossomed across her cheek -- johanna. her smile is dopey &&. tired as piercing baby blues practically pry themselves open to see her, feeling the tack of lipstick as she kisses her cheek. "hey, gorgeous." the words are bleary -- coated in the exhaustion clouding her mind.

[stingslikeabee]

which subtle way of saying "i love you" are you?

"are you sure you're okay?" you wear your heart on your sleeve. you're probably the first to tell a person you love them in an unsubtle way -- because you love them, and they deserve to know it! maybe you're not entirely open about what you feel all the time (it depends on the situation and the person you're with) but you're generally comfortable around emotions. your own and others' -- and you'll make sure to encourage the people you love to be honest about how they feel, too. you'll check in with them to make sure they're okay, and you know your closed-off loved ones well enough to check in with them again when they've assured you that yes, they're fine, don't worry. because guess what? you'll happily worry about them, and they'll get it in the end. your love is the healing type; you're patching up scars you might not even know exist.

tagged by: @macrodatum (ty, I LOVE these!) tagging: @fire-branded . @5judgements (Gabranth pls!) . @finalslay (Adam!) . @holyguardian & @wakingdrcams (gimme Wes!)

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams sent a random ask: "John wakes up to the other side of the bed empty and cold, the corner of the blanket flipped back and the fitted sheet wrinkled where Milo presumably got up. He must have been up for a while now, given the chill of the bed. Nightmares, probably. They aren't always loud or violent nightmares, but are terrifying all the same. Grabbing a sweater, John makes his way to the living room, the kitchen, the extra bedroom, only to find them all empty. Outside, then. With how cold the nights have been getting, he hopes Milo put on a jacket of some sort, but, just in case, John grabs an extra as he heads for the front porch. Outside, only the sound of cicadas and the gentle creak of the old porch swing can be heard. It's peaceful, though he doubts Milo's mind is the same. Without speaking, John takes a seat beside him and rests his hand on his own knee, palm up and fingers spread just a bit, a silent offer for Milo if he wants to take it. Comfort. Support. The promise and reminder that John is here for him, even when things are bad. John doesn't talk about his own PTSD often, his own issues, his own reasons for seeing Dr. Hayes. He isn't always the best at talking. But he is good at supporting - his daughter, his significant other, their town - and always tries to do his best for them all. With his other hand, he takes a cigarette from the pack that lay half crushed between them. He forgot his lighter, figured he wouldn't need one when he left the bedroom, but Milo will understand. They always do."

the nightmares had been unstoppable that night. every time he blinked, closed his eyes, those haunting memories lingering like light shadows from the fires. they were always there -- never fading. he didn't want to wake john, so he simply slipped out while he slept. he contemplated a beer, but knew that would lead to a second, which would lead to a fifth, &&. from there--- it was simply better if he didn't.

chilly air bites at exposed flesh, nipping against ribs &&. spine as he settles on down to the porch swing; the heels of bare feet rocking him against the cicadas hymn. if he was tired enough, he would let the chill of the night &&. the rhythmic hymn lull him into a minor slumber, but sleep wouldn't be here anytime soon.

forest green hues fixate on the edge of the tree line, setting that pack of cigarettes down beside himself -- ignoring it as long as he can despite the lighter being inside.

he feels the shift in weight next to him despite never breaking that line of sight with the trees. john always seemed to carry this sense of comfort around like a shroud, oozing into those dark shadows coating his mind, but he still remains frozen in place -- that distant shadow crowding his mind &&. dragging him back into that lash of fear he was sluggishly crawling out of. falls chilly bite nips at exposed flesh once more &&. it isn't enough to break that spell -- simply allowing those phantom reactions to prickle over his build.

his breaths are even in this dissociative state, simply drawing on that quiet comfort john brought with him, inhaling that perfume of smoke as he lights a cigarette. made the craving for one of his own much stronger.

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams sent a random ask: ""Good morning, Felix!" December smiles warmly as she opens the door to the bookshop. The shop has been open for mere minutes before she entered, but she has her own store to run, so she always tries to get to the neighboring shops bright and early. She holds a bouquet in one hand and a thermos in the other. "How are you?" As he speaks, she busies herself with removing the wilting flowers from the vase on the counter and replacing them with the fresh ones and filling the vase partway with water from the thermos. She'll end up taking the dying flowers to compost so the farmers can use it. It feels beautiful, if a rad morbid, in a way, something dying but helping other things live."

hearing the bell above the door tinkle with an arrival didn't lead felix into any panic or expecting anyone else other than december. this had become their morning routine &&. he quite enjoyed it. "morning, de!" he calls over his shoulder, fiddling with the display window while she works. thumb &&. forefinger come up to pinch his own chin between them, stepping back to admire his work -- something still wasn't right.

"i'm okay. we got a new shipment of books in last night i still have to put out." that was a project for later today though. ocean blue hues turn towards her, finally giving up on the display window for the time being, he'd figure out what was missing eventually. "what about you? how are you?" those same delicate fingers, adorned in simple rings, lift to tuck a stray lock of brown hair behind his ear -- it must have come loose from the bun he put it in this morning. either too short or he was off centered in pinning it back. "anything new &&. exciting at the flower shop?"

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams // december comforted jason: "“  look at me,  you’re safe.  and you’re not alone.  and i’ll never let you be alone again.  you understand?  ”"

darkness engulfs every bit of light streaming into that room, the distant clicking crumble of the tunnels reverberating off the walls around him. clarice was just here, so where did she go? he watched her disappear. watched her get pulled away into the depths of that swirling darkness &&. he couldn't react in time to save her. "clarice?" his voice is like a gunshot in the quiet -- though the screeches are just as loud, if not louder. his heart leaps into his throat &&. his shoulders tense. his steps fumble him backwards away from the darkness, grabbing hold of one of merwin's arm, jason plunges into the depths of that darkness only to be tackled into a new memory. they were surrounded. statues &&. creatures everywhere. there didn't seem to be any escape, hope dwindling into oblivion, &&. the ground disappearing beneath him -- scraping along his pack as that thing drags him further into the tunnels. his struggles were futile, kicking &&. flailing in its grasp -- anything to get free. the ground quakes, that creature raising above him &&. the ground quakes again -- harder this time. one arm raises to keep it away from him, grunting with the effort to push it back a bit, fear darkening his eyes. he was gonna d--

"jason." chestnut hues blink to clear the sandy memories from his mind, staring up at december as breathes catch in his chest. he wasn't in iraq. he was in their bed. he wasn't in danger. he was having a nightmare. she was waking him. he swallows thickly, shifting up in the bed, kicking the tangled mess of sheets from his legs &&. places his head in his hands -- taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

he almost flinches when her arms wrap around his shoulders, downplaying as nightmare jitters. "look at me, you're safe. &&. you're not alone. &&. i'll never let you be alone again. you understand?" jason's slow to move, gripping tight to her arm around him, afraid to let her go just yet. his grip is tight, but hers is tighter, &&. he's appreciative of that more than words are capable of expressing. "thank you."

the exhaustion in his voice is astronomical, but it's the weight behind his eyes when he finally does look at her that speaks of the truth. the nightmares were getting worse. if there is one upside thought -- he didn't hurt her this time.

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams // Wes was soft with Maddie: "“Thought it might help to have some comfort food after last night.”"

Last night was the first night back in his home after that hospital stay. While she knew that being there she would be under close monitoring, it did nothing to help her appetite. She ate when she knew it to be necessary, but she didn't eat much.

Guess the staff wasn't the only one that noticed.

Pale baby blues are hesitant to find his own with a small smile &&. nod. It would be nice, &&. it would probably help more than that sandpaper coated substance they tried to pass off as food.

She'll try, even if it is just for Wes, she will try. Nimble fingers shake &&. dance over the metal fork in front of her, slow to pick it up, &&. slower still to take that first bite.

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams // @poisonpicked

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams liked for a starter // Jason &&. December

They were on lockdown. No one was allowed to leave &&. the only ones allowed to enter had to be adorned in hazmat suits as if they had some infectious disease clouding around them. But he could only do so much to relieve that boredom encroaching upon his mind. Arms raise up to drape over the back of his head as he rests it in the crook of his elbows, almost in the appearance of praying -- he wasn't. His faith had been shaken, only slightly, down in that temple. Jason. His head lifts when he hears his name -- was that... No. She was back state side. The Lieutenant is slow to stand, keeping one hand placed on the table, desperately searching for her. December shouldn't be here. Couldn't be here. But... chestnut hues narrow before widening. "December?" Her name leaves him like a reverent prayer as he slowly leaves the room he had been calling home. "I... You shouldn't be here."

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams continued from [x]

There always seemed to be something that was there, some sixth sense on her end, that allowed her to know when he needed that support that was only special to her. Graham never knew how she knew, he's just ever grateful that she did. &&. he was glad it was like that. He hated asking for help &&. he never needed to with Alexis. She had come into his life so suddenly, so unexpected, that he felt he was never good enough for her -- always taking, never giving. Nightmares, encephalitis, semi-blindness, the list was endless. Why did she stay? He was spiraling now, there was no stopping it.

The taste of her lips lingers on his tongue, drawing her in ever closer, relishing in her support. The profilers hands squeeze around her own, following closely behind her to the bathroom. Callous fingers slip free from her own to help her with her dress, gently tugging the fabric free from her shoulders, lips trailing along her skin. He wanted to thank her again for her continued help &&. support, but knew it to be redundant -- why spoil the moment?

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams continued from [x]

It had been a long day. So much that could have gone wrong, had gone wrong. All menial things in the grander scheme of pictures, but at the moment -- the grander scheme simply did not exist. Kayla can feel that threat of tears burning against the back of her eyes, returning that quick little kiss as she slips past him.

"Yeah, yeah." A brief pause. "I'm fine." She flashes him an almost believable smile as she sheds her jacket, not noticing that lilt of surprise. "I could just use a drink." That's not a good answer. It was always her mothers voice - what she hopes is it - that hisses to her when that seemed to be the appropriate answer. "Sorry I didn't call."

[notthedyingtype]

@poisonpicked // @dcwnseeker/@wakingdrcams // @omniterror

[notthedyingtype]

Vik got zero bingos :[ Also, he's family oriented, but mostly found family. His sister is the only person he's kept in contact with, and he takes care of her because she falters a lot, but she's trying. I guess Vik could be considered mysterious, but mostly because he doesn't talk about his personal life much, and he's very abrupt and blunt in how he speaks, which makes people not really reach deeper for him.

vik gets a bingo for simply trying though okay? he's precious lil baby &&. jasper loves him all the same

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams sent a random ask (random asks are love, random asks are life) to miranda: "Kazuyuki had been born of winter, cultivated in the falling of snow, honed by the sharp whistle of cold wind between wooden slats of a cabin on a mountain. He has never known mortality, may never become acquainted with it. Even his human figure has been chosen by him, shaped by his own will to encapsulate his desires and his needs. A lost child can lure people to danger, and such a form would benefit his growing hunger in months where feeding is more difficult for him. But a child cannot find the carnality of bodies entwined in a sensuous and deadly dance the way a man could, and feeding is only half the fun of the dance. Miri, though, his sweet Miri, his beautiful Miranda - her entire domain is nature itself. Seasons hold little sway over the ebb and flow of her power, because all semblance of hot and cold, rain and snow, wind and blistering sun, lend to different aspects of her personality, her power, her love. Kazuyuki is weaker in the summer and thrives in the winter, yet Miri has it in her to shelter him when the heat scorches him, and walk beside him when the chill envelopes them. How lovely she is. How stunning, her entire being. Claws retract and fangs shorten as he slips into his human shape from his beastly one, his face taking on the angled look he has come to favor. Hooded eyes and sharp cheeks and lips he knows Miranda loves with a grace he often feels I'll equipped to deserve. And yet, he will never turn her away, will never deflect her approach. She is his mate, his soul, his wife - were they to put a human word to their bond. With open arms, he welcomes her, stepping close and embracing her. Despite the cold, he is warm, and she still feels like autumn's branches holding their final leaves before submitting to winter."

sunshine had formed the day her eyes had opened, it's gentle caress always warm against her skin -- trailing her path in golden starlight from birth. her steps had molded the stars in the sky, nourished the breath of life among the trees, moss cutting a path through her heart, &&. the wind breathing life into her lungs. she was a god among mortals -- no one held dominion over her, but she held dominion over all. the elements &&. the earth communed with her daily. the weather was her sacrament &&. destruction was her call. the winds could bow the trees or move mountains, but she never heeded to their calls -- letting nature rage as it was inherently created to do so. a brutal, but beautiful, thing nature was.

much like her kaz. he was ever stunning, glorious in human form &&. out of it; a beauty that she would truly cherish in their home of solitude &&. quiet. or wherever he pleased to be. she would follow wherever he lead her to without a second thought or glance back to what may be left behind -- none of it truly mattered when he held her in close like he did now. ready to cast it all away in a moments notice if he ever dared asking it of her.

petal soft finger tips dance along the column of his spine as he simply welcomes her into that embrace, burying her nose in the hollow of his throat. he always held onto that sharp note of freshly fallen snow. a crisp cleanliness that reminded her of the summers rainfall. full lips peel back into a warm, striking smile -- bringing one hand forward to cradle his cheek in the soft velvet of her palm. he was her everything &&. she would burn the whole world down just to see him again if anything ever happened to him.

gentle lips find his own, holding him close as she relishes that every little sway of time that passes between them. they were ageless. they were timeless. let days pass within his hold, she didn't want them. she only wanted him.

[notthedyingtype]

@wakingdrcams continued from here

he was too slow, that is all there is to it -- graham hadn't been quick enough to find francis, let alone catch him. rough fingers press firmly against the gauze lining his cheek, keeping that left eye shut in hopes that it wasn't already too far gone to the damage -- though it didn't look promising. breath hisses between his teeth as he attempts to clean himself up a little more.

panic shakes his nerves -- water soaking more than the washcloth held between callous fingers, singular blue hazel flashing to the mirror every few seconds in search of francis, but finding nothing. his gaze drops to the puddle (damn near it) of blood at his feet, stress spiking in his chest &&. adding to that barricade in his mind. fuck, this wasn't good.

the beats of his heart nearly double when alexis's voice breaks through that adrenaline fueled haze coating the depths of his mind -- singular eye finding her, frantic &&. fearful. shit. where was francis? he keeps his pressure firm against the gash in his cheek, turning towards her carefully, but not daring to speak. he didn't know the full extent of his injuries, there wasn't a need to exacerbate them.

but he can't just let her be unprepared either. he fights against the taste of blood coating his tongue, spitting it into the basin of the sink as he shakes his head. "r-run..." he can't let her get hurt. he would never forgive himself if she wound up hurt because of his slip up.