bakerstreet | ( angst meme)

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( angst meme)

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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[ He does not pull his gaze from her after her eyes close, watching her compose herself without quite knowing that is what she's doing and not being entirely ignorant, either. His thumb moves lazily against her, with equal intent to comfort and the desire to touch her, eyes lingering on the delicate line of her jaw, the slender column of her neck. She is beautiful and strong and while he does not think to regret the distance that has been between them the last few weeks, he does not want it to continue now.

Gaze moving slowly from eye to eye, he recognizes relief in himself like a cold burst of air through the stifling heat inside his chest and welcomes it. He is unable to help but mirror the smile on her mouth, both corners of his mouth quirking upward without looking smug or amused as he usually does, in this moment he is only grateful. Everything he has pushed into the far side of his mind stays there for now, shunned into silence. ] I do not know.

[ His voice lilts with the edge of teasing he finds so easy to remember, shifting in place so he can sit facing her, both hands moving to rest at the backs of her ankles, shifting up under her skirt to rest just below her knees, head tipping back. ]

You will have to tell me or I may never know. The water, too- [ Jutting his chin to gesture to his left, unwilling to lift his hands from her, he rambles further, content enough to be loose and nonsensical after so many days of muted sorrow. ] may never know who you favor more.

[ His touch comforts, indeed. There have been words, words, so many words that she tires of them easily now. They hold false sympathies, feigned emotions - and in the mire of speaking Ragnar has remained silent, watchful. He has always been a man who carefully chooses what to say and when to say it, but his silence in this instance has been tormenting, his touch absent.

She knows that she is partly to blame, partly responsible for the distance that has fallen between them. She has rejected his touch when he has offered it, the ice of loss cooling her blood. But it warms to him now, her breath catching noticeably as her body betrays the willfulness of her mind to control her response to him. The hand on his shoulder lifts to cup his unshaven cheek, its twin joining to caress over his head, cradling it between both palms. ]

And would it dare to challenge you for my favor, my love? [ Her voice is a whisper, barely loud enough to be heard, the sound but for his ears alone over the water lapping against the rocks below. ] When it knows that you have vanquished every enemy that has been set in your path?

[ His eyes fall shut when her hand lifts to his face as if allowing himself to be vulnerable in her grasp, his limbs relaxing while his fingers flex against her, pressing up the backs of her thighs. Her words make the smile on his mouth shift wider, relaxing into the half smirk that has been so absent from his expression lately. Humming deep in his throat, he finds the sound of her voice over the constant rush of water to be more relaxing than any ale, sweeter than the rarest of wines, almost requesting for her to keep talking, of anything, if only to hear her laugh at him. ]

It could dare. I would not like to make it my enemy. [ One eye opens at this, looking her over, something stony in the otherwise lazy drawl of his voice. ] But it will not. I would drain any sea that tried.

[ Both eyes open as he speaks and then they lower, shifting forward onto his knees in front of her to tilt his head and rest it against her stomach, breathing in slowly. He does not want to think about their dead son, wants to continue feeling stronger than the sea, invincible, worthy. He wants to understand what the gods are thinking, why he must suffer such a loss after being raised so high.

It is unfair, but nothing was promised to be fair. He hums again, nothing but a low rumble from his throat, and pushes his hands to either side of her waist, the long material of her skirt bunched against the crook of his elbows. ]

[ She draws in a breath when he does, her own smile faintly lingering on her lips as she feels that remaining tension leave his body, his shoulders slowly slumping underneath her hands. Her fingers smooth over the rasp of his beard, the hair long now. His braid is long too, she idly thinks. She will have to trim it for him again before another season is through. ]

I would not see you deprive yourself of the means on which to float your ships. Though, I suppose, if you were to drain the seas, you could simply - march. [ Her mouth curves into a small grin at the thought, and she chuckles at her own humor, a small burst of sound that comes as a surprise to even herself.

She caresses his cheek as he presses his head to her stomach, a lingering bittersweetness rising up from within at the thought that the last time he had done this, it had been against the swell of her belly, their son seemingly strong and moving from within. But then his hands are moving over her thighs, her hips and she presses forward into that touch, refusing to look back any longer. ]

[ He snorts at her words, huffing out a breathy laugh at the mental image it draws, but it's the light lift of her voice that sparks warmth up his spine, rinsing the dark from his mood. His mouth purses and twists, blinking lazily as her hand moves over him, not inclined to move further for a long moment. He rests there as if this is the form closure will take, needing this moment to let his son go so when he wakes on the next dawn, he will not reach again for a bottle.

Ragnar pulls away enough to press his mouth to the fabric covering her stomach, taking a slow breath before looking up, clarity coming back to a gaze that was swimming earlier and for days before that. If she will look ahead, he could do so as well.

His eyes narrow, mouth lazy and slanted as his hands ease over the curve of her, pressing in against the small of her back to bring her the impossible bit closer. He has been denied before and will not pressure her now, will accept her answer without another word and he may pout and sulk but that will be the end of it.

Eyebrows lifting, he tilts his head to watch her while nudging the line of her shirt up with his chin, mouth grazing over skin. ] Let us try again.

(( ooc i'm going to be out of town for the weekend, i just wanted to give a heads up for when i disappear! i'd still like to continue when i get back if you'd like to! ))

[ That laugh, his and hers together, is a stark reminder of happier times, of the way things have been and could be again, and she aches to bring it all back, her fingertips traveling along the lines of his face, the angles of his jaw, the shape of his mouth. That same mouth presses against her stomach and she feels the natural response of her body to her husband's touch. It is almost a relief, to know that she can still come alive under his hands, that she can still open and unfurl readily.

She sways, once, in his hold, as his hands press her in further against him, and then she uses the shift in balance to kneel, bringing herself to the level of his eyes. She's still cupping his face in her hands, and she leans forward, brushing her lips across the crown of his head, the spot between his eyes, and then claims his mouth with her own.

The kiss is soft and gentle only for a moment before hunger and desperation consume her, and she chokes back a sob, the sound leaving her closer to a sigh instead. He tastes like remnants of the bottle but his mouth is strong and warm, and she doesn't feel the dampness on her cheeks until the breeze from off the water licks at her face, drawing it to her notice. She won't wipe the tears away, this evidence of her love, her relief. Let him taste the salt of them as well, as she clings to him. ]

[ When she shifts down, his hands ease away, sliding across her thighs with the skirt still tangled around his wrists, watching her carefully. He remains silent while her mouth grazes over him, eyes lowering when her lips find their way closer, mouth opening against hers. Allowing her to control the pace of it, his mouth is soft against hers, his hands holder her tighter when her tongue finds his and he tilts his head for the angle, refamiliarizing himself with with the taste of her.

He does not lift his hands to wipe her tears away, though his eyes open while he tips his head back, making sure she is alright through the taste of salt. When she does not pull from the kiss, he does not either, only slides his arms under her thighs from the sides while leaning back, easing onto his back on the ground while pulling her on top of him. His arms pull back then, resting back on his elbows while chasing after her mouth again, humming low from his throat. He does not dominate the kiss, letting himself yield to her, teeth catching her lower lip just once before letting her claim his mouth again, hands pressing in against the dirt and rock at his sides.

Thoughts spring into his mind to say, belated but clear: it was not your fault, you did nothing wrong, we will go to Uppsala; we will pray, it will be fine. He does not speak them, not now, but he believes all of it, mouth curving into a grin against her; daring, optimistic. ]

[ She has lain with him like this many times, the heat of battle often lingering behind until it co-mingles with lust and they come together under the open sky, in blood and sweat and seed. She knows his strength, knows that it would be a mere matter of his strength to turn the tides of dominance and give him control over this. The fact that he doesn't, that he merely lays back and allows her to move over him, accepts the insistence of her kiss, is like a balm sorely needed.

Her tears dry on her face, leaving salty trails behind. Her legs are half-bared as the fabric of her skirt remains hitched above her thighs, the subtle breeze a gentle caress against her skin, cool in contrast to the warm strength of his hands before they slip away. She frowns once, in mild consternation, and takes his hands where they lay at his sides, moving them beneath her skirt again, back to her thighs and inward.

She nips at his mouth and then rears back to sit on her heels above him, her own hands lifting to the laces on her bodice, slowly pulling them loose. Her breasts are still round and firm, heavy with milk that has not dried up, but she bares them to his gaze as the fabric parts open, and then lingers, heat pooling inside her at the sight of that grin on his mouth - that impish expression that leads her to believe this will be alright. ]

[ Ragnar feels no drive to dominate her, to show off his strength or skill, that is not what this is about and he has never been something so trite as insecure enough to refuse this. There are men like that, who use women like tools to prove themselves, but she is not a conquest and he has never used her as one, never will. She can fight alongside him in battle and it is the same like this.

The sound that leaves him when his hands are picked back up and guided is low and amused, blinking slowly when she sits back on him, his hands moving easily over the sides of her thighs as if not yet accepting her cue; not teasing as much as stalling. He watches with silent intent as she unlaces herself, not bothering to help, his fingers simply grazing over skin as he takes in the sight of her.

He is sloppier than he would otherwise be, less sharp in the aftermath of so much to drink, but he still stirs, growing hard underneath her as he shifts up with the help of one elbow. Half sitting, he pulls her closer against him while ducking his head to mouth over her neck, tongue tracing the line of her collarbone before dragging his tongue over one firm nipple. His mouth lingers parted against her while one hand eases over the side of her ass, fingers tight against her as the other slips up the inside of one thigh, sliding his fingers against her until she's warm and wet at his touch. Thumb pressing in against the sensitive nub of her, he tilts his head back with a quiet growl in the back of his throat, eyes dark and unusually searching as he watches her, sliding his fingers past warmth that yields easily to him. ]

[ The sound of his amusement brings a knowing smirk to her lips, slow to rise in her expression but quick to disappear when his hand shifts down and inside, finding the soft skin of her thigh and the evidence of her arousal. She quickens at his touch, responding with a gasp, an arch of her back and a spill of blonde hair over her shoulders when she rocks against it. She has never felt unwanted in his arms, or undesirable, never just a woman meant to provide him with heirs. On the field of battle, and on this one alike, they are equals, as it has always been.

She cradles his head tenderly, the lash of his tongue and the suction of his mouth eliciting a sharp gasp, a sudden intake of breath. But her other hand is free to indulge in its own wanderings, and she reaches underneath her skirt to find him hot and hard through his trousers. She palms him there, but it is not enough and she soon loosens the fastenings that secure the cloth over his hips, freeing his cock with a gentle push of her hand.

Where he might be sloppy, she is secure, and she shifts her hips slowly to tease, grinding along his length without allowing the one movement that would send him deep inside her. The friction slowly lessens, eases. She braces her hands on his shoulders for leverage, her breathing slightly more ragged as she fights the temptation to sheathe him into her body, wanting to build the sensation for just a few more moments. ]

[ He has missed this and while he has not kept that a secret, he has missed her, the easy comfort drawn from her body against his. This is not solely about the heir that could result and he has always remained inwardly proud that his wife is a woman that can match him in bed, that he still desires her over all other women. It is nothing he would boast about to the men that use their wives for their duty and seek pleasure elsewhere, he does not judge them or concern himself with their business, but he is proud of her, of them, of their family.

His fingers work inside of her with a quick steadiness that he's come to learn as something second nature, knowing her body as well as his own. He does not want to blame her body for the misfortune it brought them both and does not now, easing back onto his elbows once he is freed from the material stretched across his hips, mouth falling open with rush of breath. His hands trail across the side of her thighs, fingers wet with her arousal but not moving to urge her, hips moving just enough to meet the rock of her own, not forcing himself inside.

Easing onto his back once again, he trails his hands down the insides of her thighs, makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat. Following her gaze with his own, he waits until their eyes meet, tipping his head back against the ground while lifting his hips, pulling her down against him by the hands curled around her thighs, eyes lidded and dark. He does not move except to tilt his hips up so he is buried inside her as far as her body will allow, holding her there with his fingers pressing in tightly against skin. ]

[ It is not a question of her willingness; she had been willing, of course, missing the physical aspect of intimacy, but her body had not quite caught up to the wishes of her mind. Her will should never be questioned, least of all where he is concerned. They have quarreled and reconciled time and again, each mending just as passionate and fevered as the fight before it. They are of a certain blood; they do everything with passion in their veins.

She chuckles in amusement at his slight petulance, his impatience at her tease. Lagertha does not doubt her husband's will, either; when he wants something, there is no obstacle that he would not be able to overcome in order to get it. She had indeed attempted to resist his charms when he had first chosen to court her - attempt being the key word, but she too had fallen under his sway, under the power that the gods had always known, that their people know of and talk of now.

There is a shift between them, a barely perceptible movement, but suddenly he is buried inside her and the air leaves her lungs, forcing a gasp from her mouth. She has lost count of the number of times they have done this and yet that initial moment of joining is always strong enough to sway her, and she lingers in his hold. Her eyes find his, her own dark with arousal, pupils wildly dilated, and she leans down to claim his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth. ]

[ There is security in her body, misfortune aside. What resides in the unlit corners of his mind can go ignored for now as pleasure eases down every limb like a slow burn, razing doubt out of him- for now. Each slant of her hips feels like a promise, willing this to be his future as she gasps and tenses above him, heated and languid under her. Leaning up into the kiss, he thinks less, thoughts flashing like wild flame; dark eyes and the tangled fall of her hair, the familiar warmth of her around him.

He is less restrained now, licking into her mouth and grazing the soft inside of her lower lip with his teeth, groaning throatily while rolling his hips against her as if trying to push impossibly further inside. His mouth curves into a smirk against hers, hands sliding to grip her ass with the whole of both hands before tilting his head back, taking the laziest care to keep her skirt bunched up around her waist. Mouth opening like he is about to speak, only silence follows, lips moving wordlessly before his expression shifts back into something dark and impish, heavy hands smoothing up to her waist to keep her balanced well, bringing her closer to him with each jerk of his hips.

He moves not at all like she is fragile but perhaps something is, it is unconscious but everywhere between them; the way his hands do not ease off her as if threatened with her disappearance, or perhaps his own; unwilling to pull the full length of him out of her body with each slow shift of his hips. ]

[ This is what she has needed to fill the emptiness, the knowledge that she is still desired. She recognizes that some of her own misgivings had driven a wedge between them, forcing them apart for a time, but even this has been too long for her liking. Still she has this now, chasing away the darkness in the corners of her mind, suffusing her with warmth and turning her movements fluid as she begins to rock over him.

It is slight, at first, only a small roll of her hips, but he is meeting her there with his own undulations, and it does not take them any time at all to find their rhythm. Her breathing quickens with her desire and then hitches, once, as his hands round the curve of her backside and pull her down onto his length, over and again.

She hears a sound, low and purring, and only just comes to recognize that it is her, moaning softly at the slowness. And yet she craves more, filled but not completely fulfilled by the gentle rocking, and her thighs tense as she shifts to pursue a faster pace, riding him as she sits astride. ]

[ Ragnar has had little reason to ever be unfaithful, has never been left unsatisfied, has grinned with a lopsided pride in her and their family since they were married, since the first pregnancy and every day since. It had only truly been this one hardship that has lingered with it's effects, as distantly felt as they are now, underneath her. He does not take it for granted- her, their family- not even in his most sullen moods or petulant tantrums, reveling in the feeling of her as she moves against him, humming appreciatively at the sharp sound of her breathing.

He has had her every way his imagination has allowed while his preference depends on the day, his mood, and he obtains no real desire to roll over on top of her, not now. But he does not mind the way she quickens the pace of her body, encouraging it by bringing his hips up as she lifts up to sink back down against him, falling easily into a rhythm they have never struggled with. It destroys the patience he had so much of moments prior, his hands pulling away to find her breasts with the palms of his hands, more gentle than he would usually be.

His eyes lid over, flicking his thumbs over either nipple before his hands slide down to her middle, holding her in his large hands as he moves with greater purpose now, exhaling in a slow hiss. ]

[ And she in turn would never stray from him, never leave the safety that his arms provide, that the strength of his victories afford. She might not have loved him when they first met but she grew to love him, and continues to grow in it, until a piece of her leaves with him whenever he departs and does not take her along with him. Sometimes she insists on coming, and every now and then, he indulges her.

This may be an indulgence too, but she is too lost to sensation to dwell in it, her body finding that rhythm as ancient as time itself and preserving it, perpetuating it, moving forward and back until she feels the heat building between her legs, the silent signal of her oncoming climax.

It hits her - hard, and suddenly, practically making her double over against him as she moans and shudders. If there are tears in her eyes again, tears of relief, she does not acknowledge them, riding through the waves of her finish as her body tenses around him, eager to milk him of that seed which is most precious to them right now. ]

[ He is not paying attention to the individual detail of her body now, overwhelmed and overheated in a way that keeps his blood running a few degrees too hot, keeping his hands pressing in against her with stubborn intent to keep her as close as he can manage. If he had the capability of more control, of not letting the quick rock of her body against his dull his mind into something sparking and bleary, he would of been able to predict just when she reaches release, no stranger to the slight twitches of her body or the certain muscle that tenses around him.

But he does not see it coming and the shudder of her figure only stirs him forward, lifting his arms to fold around her shoulders, breathing audible and harsh while finally urging his hips off the ground with less restraint, swift and urgent. He follows not long after, spilling inside of her with one last hard shift of his hips, clutching her close as if his mind is suddenly clear, willing the body against his not to betray them again.

Working his hips lazily just after, through the post-haze of it, he bends one leg at the knee and relaxes back against the ground, blinking his eyes up at the sky above them. Exhausted in the way that makes his mind feel as heavy as his eyelids, he allows his eyes to slide shut with a rough sound in the back of his throat, hands lifting to smooth over her shoulders, otherwise unmoving. ]

[ She is similarly warmed beneath the layers of her clothing, cheeks flushed with a combination of heat and arousal, and even the wind blowing across the water and over her skin does little to cool her, friction and motion ensuring that a light sheen of sweat forms on her limbs before evaporating away in the cold.

She knows the moment when he spills inside of her, and she does not move to pull herself off of him afterwards, leaving him nestled in her body, preserving the seed that he has sown. As he eases back against the ground, so does she, sprawling forward across his chest to rest there, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder as they both allow their breathing to slow to a normal pacing.

And yet she wants to linger in this moment, for a little while longer, so she does, fingers absently walking over his chest as his hands in turn roam over her shoulders, tiny touches in the aftermath that do more to assuage her. By the time she lifts her head to kiss underneath his chin, nuzzling against the hair on his face, she is full of him, and contented. ]

[ He could fall asleep like this, knows he probably will, a sated sound escaping him low in his throat as her fingertips graze over him, her body warm and spent against his. His mind is muted without the discomfort alcohol brings, body tired and heavy in a way that suggests getting off the ground may be the first battle he ends up losing. Laughing abruptly at really nothing, he stops moving his hands over her to fold his arms around her shoulders, feeling relieved as if he has regained his footing after such a devastating fall. It may be temporary but those thoughts do not resurface now as his chin tips up a bit to allow her mouth against him. ]

Do not make me get up. [ Half amused, half asleep, he lifts his head just enough to chase her mouth with his, pressing their lips together briefly before his head drops back and he shifts his body just enough to slip out of her, yawning oddly. It is the end of his sulking- tomorrow he will slouch less and begin preparations for their journey to Uppsala. There will be more strength set in his shoulders and he will dwell less on the thoughts casting shadows in his mind, resolve thrumming through his veins.

One hand lifts as he dozes off, lingering above them as if too asleep to remember use of his limbs, then drops lightly to her hair, mumbling something soft and full of incoherent promise. ]

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( angst meme)

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absolutely!

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