ask [ meet victor trevor. ] [ see what he's done ] [ and whose names he keeps ] [ listen to his stories-- ] [ will you know him, then? ] theme · {current location: outside of Kautzen, Austria}

How do you find who you are?

The same way you find anything you've lost --just look where you last had it.

The Romans never saw it coming: all roads lead to London.

[Independent rp blog for a modernized ACD's Victor Trevor. Important information in the links above. Please tag as 'mrtrevor'.]

leave your identity at the door.

[interlude] Their Eyes Yield Sunrise.

He woke to gold. 

He woke to gold on the insides of his eyes, painting the underside of his eyelids, a thorough coat that had been applied while he was sleeping. No, that wasn’t quite right. What was that? Oh- that was the sun; it must be. Victor’s eyelids twitched experimentally. Yes, these were his eyes, and that warmth on his face must be the sunlight, pouring through the top of the open window where the blind hadn’t been pulled. And that warmth, settled by the crook of his shoulder, pressing into his chest…

Victor’s brow furrowed and he opened his eyes, and spotted the cracks on the ceiling first, tiny hairline fractures in the bone-plaster above, before his gaze blearily shifted down and noticed the dark blond locks splayed slightly out over his bare shoulder. 

John.

He smiled to himself, and doing his best not to wake the other man, reached up to rub his eye and clear his vision a bit more. It had been so long since the sun rose before he did. He supposed they both had slept in a bit, compared to their usual schedules, but after John’s still-healing injury and the hours at the wheel on Victor’s behalf, they had clearly needed their rest. The birds were up, for once, their tweeting in the trees around sounding far-off.

Taking these few moments he had before John woke as well, Victor shifted slightly onto his hip, turned to gaze down thoughtfully at the man. He’d seen him in the morning, of course, but this was a different sort of morning. This was a golden morning, not blue, not gray. John’s thick lashes shone even more now, each caught individually, it seemed, by its own ray of light. Even his eyebrows seemed to shine gold. And his brow was so relaxed, the rise and fall of his chest so even.

Victor rested his elbow on the pillow, and his head on his hand, impossibly tempted to brush the hair that had fallen in John’s eyes away, and only resisting at the thought of waking him. He did look, as strange as he felt to use the word, beautiful, dressed in Norfolk gold.

5th Sep 2012 · 163 · reblog
x eye of the storm x their eyes x sunrise x ALRIGHT x makes sense to ME x captainjhw
  1. captainjhw reblogged this from mr-trevor
  2. mr-trevor reblogged this from captainjhw and added:
    Victor’s eyes followed the trails John’s took, as he’d fallen into the habit of doing automatically, and he tilted his...