bakerstreet | angst ahoy

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[meme] angst

angst ahoy

ANGST MEME


Sometimes we all want to play some angst and see just how far our characters can and will fall.

- Post your characters, name and series in the subject along with any preferences.
- Go to random.org and roll.
- Play!





1. just depressed.
Things are tough, you're feeling worn out, or whatever the case, you're depressed. You need help or someone else thinks you do anyway.

2. abandoned.
You were left behind by everyone you hold dear and now you're forced to see how well they've adjusted, how happy they all are while you're screaming inside.

3. sick.
Cold, flu, or something even worse, all you can do is lay back and let someone take care of you.

4. fight.
You've been fighting nonstop with the other person and it just keep escalating.

5. break up.
You're being broken up with and they won't reconsider... Damn.

6. separated.
For some reason, you've been separated from the other person for a long time.

7. kidnapped.
You've been held captive for how long now? Maybe they've been torturing you even, using your blood to write ransom notes, threatening to cut off fingers to send next, etc. Rescue is on the way though, right?

8. beaten up.
Just because someone didn't like you or maybe they wanted something you had, whatever the case is, you're coming home sporting some nasty wounds and bruises.

9. jealousy.
You just have this undeniable jealousy suddenly and you need to let it out.

10. cheated on.
This goes beyond just suspicion and you have full on proof of what your lover has done. How do you handle it?

11. apathetic.
You're not sad, you're not happy, you just... don't feel much anymore. The sparkle of life has gone right out of you and you're just going through the motions now.

12. addicted.
Drugs, alcohol, whatever your drug of choice is, you can't fight the draw and you can't draw yourself out of the hole, but the other person is going to try.

13. bad romance.
You know this isn't good for either of you, but you can't stop now.

14. fear.
Nightmares, the feeling someone is following you, etc. You can't shake the feeling.

15. insanity.
You're seeing things and hearing them, waking up only to realize you've done things you don't remember or you're in a place you weren't before. You're losing it and you don't know what to do.

16. guilt.
It's eating you up inside and you have to tell someone about it now. You want to be punished and you won't take no for an answer.

17. loss
You've lost something dear to you.

18. wild card.
Combine some options or make your own!

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The loss of her sight had sharpened the rest of Yennefer’s senses, and she frowned, perplexed, at the way the words tripped over his tongue, at the way he hesitated out of arm’s reach. His hesitance made her hesitate in turn, and she did not reach for him, did not let go of the tree, keeping her connection to the unseen gossamer web of magic.

She kept her voice neutral, despite the uncertainty tugging at the corner of her mouth, hating the way the words caught on her raw throat. “You haven’t run away screaming,” she noted. “I suppose that means Triss wasn’t lying when she said the burns are healing well.”

Geralt offered a noise of affirmation. He thought maybe it'd get easier seeing her, but it doesn't. It always made everything feel more complicated. Always at the edge of whisking him onto his heels to enter her orbit, all the while knowing these days she'd rather push him back out.

"Barely noticed, you look beautiful as ever," he said without thinking on it a moment longer. Thankful for the lack of her gaze able to catch the swift kick he takes to his expression. Shock, denial, acceptance. He never stood a chance, this distance.

The unexpected honesty, the utter lack of hesitance in it, surprised Yennefer, and even without sight, her shock and the flush of pleasure it brings her is visible in the curve of her lips, the flash of a soft genuine smile.

"Flatterer," she accused him without heat. It was oddly easier this way, to hear him without having to see him. She lets her hand drop from the tree, letting go of the comfort of her extra senses, and takes a hesitant step towards him, raising a hand to either guide her or reach for him, even she was unsure which at this point.

It was odd to see it. She didn't even smile like that in his dreams. A sinking relief began to roll off his shoulders, back into that familiar feeling. Pulling him forward as she tentatively reached out, to lift his hand into hers. The other held out to anticipate the other one.

There's a pause, once she was in his hand. Sunk back down to a colder reality. "How are you?" he asked, soft and earnest. Not looking for the bullshit, skirting around it as they tended to. They could, but he'd really rather just know.

His hand was warm against hers, the familiar callouses rough against her fingertips, and she threaded his fingers with his. She hated this, the way his physical presence tore at her, how the simple fact that he was here while she was like this warmed her through and comforted her despite herself. She didn’t want this, not Yennefer of Vengerberg, not the court mage that drifted through life unconcerned and untouched. But Yen, the woman who smiled all those years ago when she woke up to him still next to her, the one who was afraid of her own state despite herself...Yen needed this, needed him and his sincere concern like rain on parched ground.

She hated herself for her weakness, and it twisted in her gut at once painful and pleasurable, like pulled healing scar tissue.

Yennefer reaches up with the hand not caught in his, fingertips seeking the planes of his chest, as if to assure herself that he was here, instead of Sabrina’s taunting games. Her fingers met the cool silver of the wolf medallion that hung at his chest and tension leeched from her shoulders as she rested the palm of her hand against his chest.

“It’s all strawberry tarts and apple juice now,” she answered lightly. A pause, a wry twist of her lips before honesty found its unfamiliar way to her lips. “It’s taking a lot longer than I’d thought it would. Turns out Nilfgaard wasn’t the only ones I inflicted damage on that night.”

It was him, he was there. Their paths crossed again for a short and insignificant amount of time. After going long weeks, months, even years without seeing her. Often only spending days like this. Now often farther apart than he preferred, but he preferred to see her at all. It didn't matter anymore what'd transpired between them. That old bitterness and uncertainty that drifted around one of them kicking up the dust when it'd just settled.

Geralt conceded his space, allowed her fingertips to gently roam and prove to her he wasn't just another petty trap to pull a rise from her. Feeling the gentle melt of comfort once she could know with confidence that it was him.

Magic always came with a price. Even the pitiful tricks Geralt manages tends to drain something out of him. What she'd done, he's surprised she didn't wither herself into a husk. His gaze, though she couldn't see it, remained indifferent. Perhaps, slightly troubled. His head tipping aside as he boldly lifted a hand to touch the side of her face, just across the edge of the linen wrap. "You've no progress? They looked fine..." Blank, but not milky like he'd seen in some humans. Not plucked or scarred. Just vivid and hollow.

Her immediate instinct was to jerk away from the light touch of his fingers against her face, against the faint tracery of burn scars she could feel, against the carefully applied linen bandage. But she forced herself to still, to keep her palm against his chest, as if she could feel the familiar ponderous beat. She let go of his hand and instead reached up, hesitant, until her fingers brushed his shoulder, then followed the path up to his jaw. She could feel the tension in him, in the way he held himself.

“The healers are stretched thin,” she said, though that was only half the truth. A pause, and she ran her fingers along the familiar jawline, and along his cheek. “I don’t think I have to tell you that having magic worked on your eyes is painful.” Her lips twisted, and it was clear that she hated her own words, the hoarse rasp of them. “And anything to dull the pain makes treatment less effective.”

He kept it light, despite bearing rough fingertips, unless she'd welcome his touch further. She didn't, nor didn't she lean away from it either. Closer now, he was able to see just the extent of pink skin. All of it had been tucked away the last he saw her, hidden in the dark. He withdrew his touch in lieu of hers, not knowing where else under all that lush velvet he might accidentally frisk by being overly eager to encroach her space.

There was the opposite effect in him under her touch. Patient and waiting as she acquainted herself to him, described the plight to heal her eyes. His tension wound and beginning to melt.

"Have you thought about going back to the temple? They might be able to..." do something. However his thought and reason drifted to lean into the hand at his cheek. He inhaled deep now the scent of her skin. Never knowing, as ever, when the next time it would be he would be able to enjoy it.

He leaned in and her hand was suddenly flush against his face, feeling the planes of his cheekbone against her palm, the weather roughened skin and stubble against her fingers, every curve and contour matching the memory of him. Something broke inside her at that realization, some brittle thing of fear and pride, and she let go of his chest, brought both hands to his face, and drew him close. She tilted her head up and pressed her mouth to his, in the same moment closing the careful distance with a single step.

She should hate this, should hate the way she needed this, him, she who refused to need anyone at all. But he was here and she knew he would not betray her in this state and so she kissed him with a shudder that was not a whimper, that was not months of darkness and pain collapsed into weakness.

She kissed him and for a brief second she felt light.

Moments like this, he regretted trying to leave that night. It felt like a stupid oversight, letting fear overtake him. Fear of this. Knowing they're tied together means knowing they'll never be without each other to the bitter end, but he wondered if it was worth it in any other way but like this. He'd convinced himself he'd be satisfied to know of her even if she seethed at the sight of him, but it'd never be as good.

The kiss is simple, light. It felt like an anointing, almost too brief and fleeting when they pulled away. Geralt's hands carefully held the sides of her face, fingertips brushed into her hair. The absence of looking into her eyes, of having hers look back into his, hurt.

He didn't speak, his lips lifted to press gently to her forehead. Arms gathered around her to keep her close to him. Just a moment longer. He needed it.

She did not just allow the embrace, she leaned into it without the slightest resistance, without the slightest hesitation. She did not break, but the brittle strength with which she had held herself together the past dark months leeched out of her, and she breathed deep, the smell of him and the damn horse she teased him about and the lingering scent of dirt and long solitary roads.

Yes, she could take care of herself. But for the briefest moment she allowed that maybe she didn't have to.

Yennefer let one hand slide back down, back against the warmth of his chest, against the slow steady heartbeat, letting the thrum of it settle deep into her bones, as if she could carry it away with her when he left again. "The healers are hopeful," she told him quietly. It was not something she wanted to admit, because she didn't want the disappointment that came with hope. But he drew it out of her simply by being here. "Managed to see the light of a candle last week. But it unsettles them to hear screaming when they work. Their nerves break."

The words were wry, but there was enough truth in them.

Geralt kept her tucked to him. It'd been a long winter. Calm, but long. Since he'd last seen her, putting her out of his mind was difficult. Nights became more restless and the memory of her, whole and broken, would follow him. He had someone to focus on, at least, but as the season progressed on he knew. He'd needed her, if not for him but for the girl.

When she spoke, he didn't stir much other than open his eyes. Gaze trained on the empty field, spires of smoke from across town. Letting her speak openly about her condition, feeling less and less confident about his own. Why he'd come. For her, but she couldn't help him. Not yet. Fate wasn't always kind to them. They didn't always come together at the right place at the right time.

"Did you yell at them when they stopped too?" He asked, wry in return, only because he could imagine it. Because he'd seen before in her as the djinn tried to break her. He'd heard her screams before, she's the only person he knew wouldn't break.

He did not break the embrace and neither did Yen, her arms moving to wrap around his waist, anchoring herself for a few more seconds, ready to step away the second before she thought he would. She hated that she breathed easier with his arms around her, hated all of this, how much she needed him in this moment. But his words are, at least, something she can answer, words that were somewhere in between, something not raw and broken but neither were they easy and flippant.

“I made two of them cry before Tissaia took over,” she admitted. No pride in it, simply matter of fact. “But even she won’t push the limits, just in case it does more damage.” Frustration slips into her voice at that, frustration and anger at a world that thwarted her despite her will, despite everything she did.

Maybe these things took more time. Geralt had been taken out of service for about as much time, he knew the frustration. He knew Yennefer's impatience and the way she overestimated her own strength.

Geralt pulled from her now, gently putting enough space to look down at her without disengaging either of them. Still wishing he had fierce, violet eyes to gaze back up at him. "Have you consulted the Archpriestess?" He asked. It's not magic, he knew. The healers in Ellander worked more on faith an herbs, put him back together more times than he remembers anymore. He only suggested it again, because it was all he really had to offer her. And felt, well obligated to some degree, to try.

He pulled away just far enough for there to be breath between them, just far enough to clearly be looking down at her. She let her arms fall from around his waist and raised one hand, reaching up to touch his face with sensitive fingertips to figure out the expression she could not see, a light touch along his lips, another over the familiar furrow of his brow.

“You keep asking,” she said, falsely light. “Is that your way of asking me to run away with you?”

Geralt knew what she was trying to do, but he didn't stop her. Allowing her fingertips to flutter about his face. Catching the brush of his eyelashes as she feels that familiar furrow of his brow. The frown on his lips.

"You keep avoiding the question," Geralt answered. Completely avoiding her question in return. It wasn't without reason, he had come with the intention of taking her to Ellander. Or at least pleading a case in defense of it for entirely different reasons. Now he saw no reason for her not to go, if something there could be done to help her. It was only just a strike of coincidence to need her there too.

Her fingers stilled against his brow, as if having found some answer in the expression she found or the tension she felt, and Yen withdrew her hand, reaching up instead to her own head, to unbind the bandage that covered her eyes, lest she stared too deeply at a candle or the sun in an attempt to see any flicker of light. She removed it and blinked, turning her face back to him.

There were lines of tension and weariness around her eyes, burns near her temple that were much more vivid than those that had been visible. And despite her earlier hope, the eyes that looked up at him were still clear, free of any milkiness, deep violet as they had ever been. And still as blank as before.

“What’s really in Ellander?” she asked quietly. “Pointless romantic gestures don’t suit you.” Well, not with her, at least.

She looked better than the last time he saw her, at least. Not that he understood exactly where the damage had actually caused her affliction. Or if magic could only heal it or if it was something deeper than that. The moment she revealed felt cut short when she asked him directly again. Without answering on her own a way that might avail at least some nagging suspicion.

"Hm, well-" Geralt started, already stumbling over his words. He flinched, nose wrinkled as he slowly removed his arms from around her. "It's the child surprise," the witcher admitted at last. The inflection of his tone drifted lower, although he couldn't sense any of the sorceresses of he home listening in. It was a natural inclination by now.

"We believe she's a...Source." The word sounds foreign coming from his tongue. Only more recently understood than something he'd known.

Even without sight, her eyes widened in surprise, and the implications ran swiftly through her mind. Her expression shifted minutely as everything fell into place. It made sense then, for him to have come for her. It was odd, how trust worked with them. That they could not be trusted to stay for more than a few days in each other's company. But could be trusted with secrets and matters of life and death.

It made sense. She understood being sought out for her skills. It was easier than simply being wanted.

A nod, and she reached up, to wrap the linen back over her eyes. "The archpriestess probably still thinks I'm a heretic, but everyone would believe I'd try looking for another cure."

It wasn't about want, but he wouldn't plea his case for that right now. Clearly, the girl had become far more important than his needs or his respect for their distance. Why he bothered to come himself instead of send a letter. And though they had their differences and their problems. For how much he didn't trust her, and yet he still came to her. Because he knew, deep down in his gut, he could trust her with this.

"It's not as though she'd ever turn you away, besides she might be thankful too to have your help" Geralt noted, but he wasn't to be the one to put any words in Nenneke's mouth. The girl's visions were different, far more than what any of them expected. He was merely thankful she seemed to adhere to the request without question.

Rebinding her eyes, Yennefer drew a deep steadying breath and took a step backwards, carefully breaking the circle of whatever intimacy, whatever comfort they’d allowed themselves. She squared her shoulders, and her jaw set, the vulnerability she’d allowed herself buried again. Yennefer drew the brittle strength back over herself like armour, and offered him a familiar smirk, though without the spark of violet fire that her knowing gaze would have offered.

“The last time you asked for my help, it didn’t come cheap. But you knew that already.”

Not that there was any more that could pass between them. There was already too much there.

[ooc; welp my office just closed down...woo quarantine]

"Conversation and company not to do it this time?" The witcher asked, allowing her to recede from him and build herself up. No need to see her expression under the wrap, as he knew the facet of her attitude structured by the way she held herself. As though he might forget at any moment that he'd seen her frail and seeking out his warmth in some of her lowest moments.

He thought maybe to take a step back himself, however stayed where he did. Unsure of what she might ask for in return, although he was willing to do much more for her for free.

[ooc: welcome to quarantine town. We’re on week 2]

“I think we both ended up with more than that,” she murmured. Yen stood for a moment, considered where they were, and the distance to the house and no doubt to whichever horse now answered to Roach. She’d made her way this far alone, but it had been laborious, careful, constantly reaching for the trees and the grass.

A moment of hesitation, and the softest sigh, the slightest slump of her shoulders. “I’m going to need your arm.”

Some sorceress, to be so uncertain that she needed a guide.

Geralt knew she didn't have to be like this. To at least admit a little that help wasn't such an infection on her person. But he'd rather not, his silence enough probably postulated his thoughts well enough. Just long enough before his pause ended and he moved to step beside her to link their arms.

"Not very steep as your payments go," he speaks as though he cannot resist. His steps are careful, measured to meet her pace.

Despite her loathing of her current state and the familiar feeling of helplessness that reminded her too much of the unwanted pig girl bought for a pittance, Yen's lips twisted in a quick small smile at his words, as she felt him slip into place beside her, a familiar comforting presence.

"It's a long ride to Ellander," she responded, her words lighter than she felt as she fell into step with him. She didn't even try to reach for magic, didn't try to see if he was guiding her to the right place. There was trust in that. "There'll be plenty of opportunity to fall deeper into my debt."

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angst ahoy

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