bakerstreet | ( the affectionate physical contact meme )

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( the affectionate physical contact meme )

the affectionate physical contact meme

you love spending time with your significant other. but sometimes, just "spending time" with him/her isn't enough. you need to have your hands on each other every now and then.

➝ post your character below, with your character's name and series in the subject.

➝ tag other people, using an rng with range 1-8 to roll a scenario.

➝ roll as many times as you want, play out whatever you want!

one; hugging. you just want to give your loved one a warm embrace. be it out of happiness, to comfort them while they're down, or just to give them something warm to latch onto, you just want to wrap your arms around them.

two; kissing. whether it's a peck on the cheek or a deep kiss, a kiss good-bye or a romantic kiss, you find yourself compelled to kiss the other person! be as tender or as passionate as you so choose.

three; holding hands. it's a simple gesture, really -- to reach out and take someone's hand. but that one simple gesture can convey any number of sentiments. what the sentiment is, is up to you, but you find yourself reaching out to take your significant other's hand.

four; carrying. is your loved one hurt and needs a lift? do they want a piggyback ride? or do you just want to spare them the effort of walking? whatever the reason, you're now itching to pick up your partner and carry them to their destination.

five; i love you. you've said it before or maybe you haven't but now you have to say it again or for the first time.

six; dancing. kick up the music, because it's time to dance! but no lone dancing allowed -- you need to have a partner! you can do whatever dance strikes your fancy. personally, i recommend the slow dance, but you can do whatever you want!

seven; massaging. did your significant other have a rough day? did they get hurt? or do you just feel like doing something really nice for them? whatever it is, you're giving them a nice massage now. they'll feel wonderful in no time!

eight; flirting. the easiest way to break the ice or maybe you're just an overly flirty person.

nine; cuddling. sometimes there's just no better feeling than curling up next to each other on a warm sofa. hold each other, lie next to each other, fall asleep on each other -- it's all good here.

ten; wild card! reroll, pick an option, or come up with something else!

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( because sometimes the only ways to say 'thank you' are nonverbal; sometimes the only ways to communicate gratitude are to briefly wrap your fingers around someone's wrist and squeeze; to show recognition and appreciation through the feather-light brush of your thumb over someone's knuckles. )

( thanks, says the ridges of her fingers. thanks for lots of things: thanks for being stupid, and for being smart; thanks for yelling at me, but for listening too; thanks for driving even when you were battered and bruised and probably didn't want anything to do with saving anyone. thanks for just, you know, being there while everyone else was everywhere else. )

( oh, and most importantly, thanks for still being human. that deserves a secondary squeeze all it's own, and then lydia drops her hand. )

[Stiles sucks in a breath and doesn't say anything. He feels as though his breath is caught, words bubbling together in a jumbled mess, wanting to spout free but he doesn't know what order to put them in, which ones to select that will sound right. He stares at her with wide eyes, lips parted as he reads the message in her touch, the silent kindness that makes him hurt in a different way than the ache in his jaw and sting of his lip.

So instead of speaking he does the next thing he can think of and reaches out to grab her hand again, smaller in his and softer, when she pulls away because it's over too soon and it's not enough and he wonders if he's being selfish.

He doesn't think about it, just holds her hand, his grip firm but loose enough so that if she pulls away he won't stop her. As if he could ever stop Lydia Martin from doing anything and he didn't know it was even possible but he thinks he loves her a little more for that.]

[ No, it's good there are no words, because they would only ruin the moment she's allowed him to perpetuate by grasping her fingers. They're limp this time; she's done saying "thank you", and allows this intimate (overly so) moment to serves as him saying "you're welcome", so there's nothing selfish about it, only polite. ]

[ But that doesn't mean they really should be holding hands. They're single handedly (well, double handedly, as they've each a hand in this) undoing all the years of dutiful deterrence she'd directed towards Stiles - she's not supposed to be nice to him, not supposed to encourage him, and while that's not what she means to do, the boy's adept at reading between the lines and she doesn't even know what's written there. ]

[ So Lydia allows the moment to continue until she just can't stand it anymore, and pulls her hand from his to wipe on the leg of her pants. She has a ready-made excuse, too, and turns up her nose as her palm smears across her thigh. ]

Gross, you've got sweaty hands.

[He huffs on a startled laugh because of course, of course she would say something like that, so effortlessly make him feel like he was back in middle school, awkward and obsessed with her and so so uncomfortable with himself.

But he finds that it's okay now, as okay as it ever will be. He knows that she's in love with Jackson, knows he doesn't stand a chance. He watched her love for him freaking bring him back from the dead and he really suspected he wouldn't be able to beat that.

He really didn't have the energy to contemplate the tragic irony that had enabled them to bond over the terror that were werewolves and kanimas and perfectly human psychopaths but still made him unworthy of her time in the school hallway.]

Sorry, it's been a long night and you know, it's you. Something about you makes me nervous, just don't know what it is. [He smiles, looking down, his closed fist bouncing gently on his knee.]

[ Thanks for still laughing, the flick of her eyes to his face reads, and even when she draws her gaze away she is adding that to the list. His palms may be clammy, but they are not that bad - the steady, repetitive wipe of her palm on her thigh soon becomes calming, and it takes a great deal of willpower to cease before the motion begins to look awkward because she's afraid her hands are going to shake. ]

[ They don't, but her fingers are leadened when she stills; she feels better doing something, and quickly draws them into her lap to pick at her cuticles. ]

You should talk to your doctor about that. They could give you things for excessive sweating. [ Let's make this medical and distant; let's not make it personal. ]

Mm, yeah, I'll make sure to get right on that. I'm sure once my face stops looking quite so much like fresh hamburger meat I'll go back to the natural lady killer I was before this whole mess and what respectable girl would tolerate a guy with sweaty palms?

[He was smiling, faintly. He wasn't going to try and lie to himself, that this didn't hurt because he knew this was her saying 'no, never, put it out of your head and forget it' but he refused to wallow in it. Refused to let this make him bitter. It was better that they could talk now, that he could at least be there for her in ways that he knew Jackson would never be able to.]

[ In human ways; he could be there for her in human ways, because that was the exact opposite of what Jackson could manage now. Or forever. Or for the past several months, which she is just finding out now because no one ever tells her anything and that's something she can dwell on later. Maybe. It doesn't even seem important right now because at the forefront of her mind is that she can't even hold his hand anymore without worrying that his nails would elongate and rip open her palm. ]

[ In human ways, because everyone had split and left the normal humans to themselves. Derek had whisked Jackson away with the rest of the run aways (pack, she guesses is the more appropriate term, but it doesn't even roll off her thoughts well, so she doesn't bother trying to roll it off her tongue), his psychotic uncle in tow; either Scott or Mr. Argent had dragged Allison away, and that'd left Lydia and Stiles with nothing to do but clamber back into his jeep and drive a ways away before they both knew that neither had any idea where they were going. ]

[ Apparently they were going to talk in circles about sweaty palms which neither of them really cared about. ]

You never told me exactly what happened to your face. [ Apparently they were going to express concern, too. ]

[Stiles licked his lips, ducking his head, as if that would do anything to hide the marks on his face.]

Uhh, would you believe me if I said a bunch of dickheads from the other lacrosse team?

[He pursed his lips together, his eyes closing momentarily because that wasn't really fair was it, to lie to her about this. She should know that this was what she was getting herself into. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.]

Allison's psycho grandpa-- [He laughed bitterly, because wasn't it just perfectly pathetic.]

He thought he could send a message to Scott. [Scott, who hadn't even noticed, who hadn't even said anything. He flicked his eyes up to glance at her, tone self-deprecating.] Pretty sad, right? I mean, how old is he even? Let's just go with saying he took me by surprise and leave my pride to die an at least somewhat dignified death.

[ Please, Stiles - even if you stuck to your lie, do not demean her intelligence to think she would not see through it. Yes, Jackson had died on the field, and Jackson had had her full attention, but she'd have to be downright deaf not to have heard Sheriff Stilinski screaming for his son. The blackout had been all of five seconds, and when lights had returned, that was not near enough time for anyone to beat him up or drag him off and still have the time to mill about looking as confused as the rest of their team. ]

[ So no. ]

[ Lydia doesn't even begin to believe that, and shakes her head accordingly. Her head stills so as to better fix her gaze on his face at the mention of Allison's grandfather (the more and more she heard about him, learned about him, and guessed about him - the more she hated him) and the subsequent reasoning behind the beating he'd doled out. He even has her full attention through the glaringly obvious emotional defense, which she won't even call him on because in this moment she pities him too much. ]

Alright.

[ And it's a special brand of pity. Not to be confused with the demeaning, cruel you're pathetic sort of pity she more than willingly extended to him on a daily basis. ]

I guess old men can still be pretty underhanded.

[ It's more of a pity the people who have to die for us to appreciate them sort of pity. Or in this case, pity the people who have to get beat up and scarred forever for us to deem them worthy of a few rounds of thanks pity. Either way, there's a lump of commiseration in her throat that has to be swallowed before she can speak again. ]

You know, I have a cream at my house that will help the swelling go down.

[He laughed, honest to god laughed and it was because he was freaking amused, because Lydia could go through so much shit, could find out about werewolves and kanimas and hunters in one of the worst ways possible and still be so seemingly unruffled that all he wanted to do was hug her, never let her go and maybe cry into her hair, but that wasn't his place, she wasn't in any way his, and all he could do was laugh.

He touched the corner of his eye, wiping at a bead of moisture and shook his head, smiling.]

Prepared for everything, huh? All I know is that this has taught me a very important lesson.

[He shook his head somberly, pursing his lips.] Old people are exactly as untrustworthy as I've always suspected. I'm gonna avoid them where I can from this day onward. You stand witness to my oath. Where there is an old person there is me, crossing the street so I don't have to walk directly past them.

Right, because there's nothing suspicious or insulting about that. It's not like they're plenty mobile to follow after you and give you a good pounding for hurting their feelings.

[ Some of them had oxygen tanks, too, and she doesn't really want to think about what his face would look like after taking a beating with one of those. Too late, however, and she winces, maybe feeling a little sick and distracting herself by reaching over to shove him. ]

[ But it's gentle, you know? It's not like she's some little old lady smacking him with a purse full of all her worldly possessions - it's just a tap, a let's go and a let's move onto a different topic. ]

Just drive. Take me home and try not to hit any old people on your way.

I can't make those kind of promises, Lydia, it's just not in me right now.

[His tone was dryly teasing, smiling faintly as he privately thrilled at her shove, easy like he's someone worthy of her time. He hates Jackson just a little more.

Starting the jeep he went about getting them both the hell out of there, his headlights illuminating the dark road ahead.] So, any plans for the Summer? [A lame attempt to change the subject but the best he could do right now, when he was still recalling the impact of his jeep slamming into Jackson, the terrified grief in Lydia's eyes when they'd all thought he was dead.]

[ They're in the awkward place where she can't outright laugh at his dry humor because the hitch in her chest that goes hand in hand with giggling feels uncomfortably close to the hitch of dry sobbing. Now that she's finally stopped crying, Lydia is not exactly eager to start again; her face is already ruddy and blotchy, and she doubts there are any tissues (or rolls of toilet paper) in here. ]

[ So they're going to have to settle for faltering smiles and sniffling. The engine revs to life and, for once, she doesn't even think about how crappy and loud his jeep is. Lydia reclines in the seat, shifting until she is comfortable and propping an elbow on the door. ]

Extensive therapy. [ And she may or may not be joking. It's anyone's call at this point, but any external help would probably prove superficial given she couldn't exactly tell any therapist about werewolves and kanimas and not be sent to the nut house. ] You?

Wise decision.

You're going to have to come up with some pretty impressive allusions to fully convey the horror of this thrilling nightmare while also protecting yourself from being prescribed some pretty intense drugs for psychosis.

[He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, trying to recapture some semblance of normality. Even if the fact that Lydia Martin in his car kind of blew that whole notion out of the water.]

I was thinking of locking myself in my room and never coming out again. I'll keep you posted on how that goes.

Edited 2013-01-03 22:29 (UTC)

Oh trust me - I've already starting thinking up a story, and it involves a lot of people with Hypertrichosis.

[ Though as much as she considers herself above a lot - and let's not be honest, a lot - of people, specifically adults, she doesn't think Ms. Morrell or any other quack would buy that. So really - ]

Staying in my room doesn't sound too bad either. Maybe my parents will buy me a mini fridge with all the money they save on gas when I don't use the car.

Really embracing a future as an agoraphobic, huh? I'd offer to visit and keep you company but I think I'll be too busy embracing my own new found anxiety disorder.

[And maybe that was better, putting some distance between himself and her. Maybe allow himself some time to get freaking over it. He was sure Jackson would be visiting her plenty anyway, once Derek taught him to embrace his inner homicidal wolf and learn some self-control that hopefully didn't lead to more murder.

Fingers crossed there.]

[ It was probably for the better.

Going away on an extended, summer-long vacation was probably for the better, too. Any doctor versed in the supernatural would probably say so, say she should distance herself and give herself some time to come to terms with it all, because apparently diving in head first just got you a swollen face.

It was probably also for the better that they stopped talking so amicably. If the name of his game was Getting Over It, Lydia was probably playing a pretty good accidental defense; for once, she doesn't mean to string him along just to watch him stumble over the speedbumps just for her own subtle, sycophantic bemusement. Some parts of her twinge at being so nice to him, but other parts feel more of an inexplicable warmth towards him - the sort that only comes when you're the "last two", be that the last two normal(-ish; Lydia liked, with all her heart, to think herself normal, still) in a world of werewolves and hunters, or the last two people on the planet after a zombie outbreak. Surviving was a tough thing to do, and it was nice to see others doing so as well, which is why there's full confidence in her tone when she looks at him and says: ]

You're going to be fine.

[ Maybe. Mostly. She kinda hoped. At least he would look fine after the swelling and discoloration on his face went down. Jackson would be fine once he got his issues and his emotions under control, and he was such a perfectionist when he had a goal set before him, she was sure that he would do it in no time. She had no idea when Scott and Allison would be fine, but they would be. And Lydia herself -...well, Lydia might need to be told quite a few times - by quite a few professionals - that she would be fine before she ever truly believed she could regain any semblance of fine. And fingers crossed there, as well. ]

Once we take care if your face, I mean.

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( the affectionate physical contact meme )

three-ish??

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