#it looks somewhat unfinished but otherwise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

souglias · 14 days

Text

People Say To Take Things One Step At A Time For A Reason [GINTOKI]

OR: Gintoki makes a dire mistake about you in his drunken state

Gintoki x f!reader

c/w: gintoki has been drinking, alcohol mention, use of pet names (but for humour effect), all fluff no angst :>

word count: 1.2k

note: something I wrote for fun and sheesh finally a fluffy gintoki fic rather than my usual bittersweet fics. For my followers who saw my post about a gintoki multi-chapter fic a while ago, just in case you thought this is it, this is not it. Inspired by this (I couldn't find the image from the original artist's twitter 0-(-( )

All likes and reblogs are appreciated!

The phone rings at your bookstore at 1am as you're finishing up some administrative logs. It must be a prank for a call that’s way beyond opening hours. Even if it isn't, you decide you don't want to deal with queries at this time. The phone quietens after 5 rings.

Not long later, the phone starts ringing again. It sounds like urgent business for someone to be calling a bookstore twice in the middle of the night.

"Hello, this is Kabukicho books. How can I help you?"

An all-too-familiar voice comes out from the receiver. His words are slurred and you press the receiver to your ears as you strain to listen to him.

"Heyy, are you free for... dinner?"

"Gintoki. It is long past dinner."

"Dinner is any time after lunch and before breakfast."

"I want to sleep and you should too."

You hear whining from the other end of the phone. "Can't you have at least a parfait with me? We haven't met in a while!"

Is this a secret, roundabout cry for help from him? Coming from the very lips of Gintoki, those words feel like stark yellow paint on a white wall.

Regardless, you are a little concerned he's going to die in a ditch somewhere instead of making it home. Even if he's gotten this drunk multiple times before he called you today.

He prompts you again with a "hello" before you hear some crashing on the other side.

You suppose once is fine. It is a solid reason to see the person you harbour feelings for. On top of that, he's right that the two of you have not seen each other for a while. And just maybe, it is a sign that he chose to call you out of everyone else.

(Okay but maybe you're just being delusional. Who else he could even call? Kagura would simply smash the ringing phone at this hour. If he calls up the Shimura household, Otae would tell him to die rather than let her younger brother pick him up.)

You sigh, "Where are you now?"

He hums a little before telling you the bar he visited. You pack up your work (that is still 1% unfinished) and head out into the cold winter night to find him. Gintoki should thank his lucky stars that you like him, otherwise, you would have left him to freeze. Almost no one gets to interrupt your work.

You easily find the telephone booth near the bar he patronised. As you approach the telephone booth, you see a scene you find somewhat humorous. He's bent over backwards in the cramped space, face pressed against the clear glass of the booth and feet propped against the other side. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open with drool.

Taking out your phone, you snap a photo of him before you knock on the door. He's so ridiculously unsightly, but it endears you.

One eye of his cracks open and his lips upturn. You swing the door open and give him an unamused look. That doesn't shake his half-lidded eyes and a wide smile.

"Yo, you pretty thing."

Your heart skips a beat. Gintoki is possessed, or he's lost it. All Gintoki has been calling you is an ugly hag and a shit-faced bitch. To call you pretty is... out of this world.

"You're way too fucking drunk. Get out of there by yourself, I'm not helping you."

As he twists and turns to get himself out of that difficult position, he whines again. "Help me, woman! You can do this little thing for me right?”

Seeing him struggle, you decide to milk this scene. “Well, who am I for you to assume this is ‘little’?”

“My girlfriend.”

You're sure your face is visibly red at this point, and your heart is beating in your throat. You manage to stammer out, "What?"

"You're my girlfriend duh!" He exclaims without an ounce of doubt in his statement.

He's lost it. He's lost it.

"Since when? Huh? Huh? Why was I not informed about this?"

"Huh? Why are you-"

Gintoki freezes and he narrows his eyes at you. It dawns on him that you are not his girlfriend.

To be precise, he has not asked you to be his girlfriend.

Suddenly, he's able to stand upright in the phone booth. He remains rooted there, his body turned away from you. What has he done? His heart beats at a thousand per hour and he thinks he might collapse.

"Did you mistake me for a girlfriend or something? Anyway, you should have told us you have one."

He could pretend to black out now. Or maybe he should try to be smooth.

"Well, no... I don't. I just forgot I wasn't in the future, that's all!"

Gintoki timidly looks over his shoulder to check your reaction. From the puzzled look on your face, he fucked it. He doesn't even remember the exact pick-up line if one like this actually existed. Something about a girlfriend but in the future.

"What are you talking about..."

He averts his gaze again. The obvious way to clarify everything is to be honest with you. It's that easy. It's that easy. But he can't say it. Even in his half-intoxicated state, he feels like he'll keel over saying those three or five words. He did plan to say it some time, but not in this manner.

You watch his broad back slowly shrink inwards, and you hear him mumble something you don't catch. A gut feeling fills your chest. You breathe, slowly regaining your composure. Meanwhile, he decides he should pretend to black out.

"Look, if you wanted me to be your girlfriend, you should have asked me first. I would have said yes. Don't skip steps, please. I'd like some order."

Already amid Operation Pretend-To-Collapse, Gintoki falls backwards and lands on the ground. But his eyes are wide open instead of shut as he lies on the ground, searching for a sign of a joke from you. You lower into a crouch, continuing to stare into his bewildered eyes.

“So, what will it be, darling?”

The weight you put on what you just called him makes him shudder. His face is too distractingly hot compared to his body for him to come up with any kind of retort. He mumbles again with his eyes looking elsewhere.

“Huh? I can’t hear you, you have to speak up.”

Words come out in a murmur. All you hear is the word “girlfriend” but you egg him more. “What?? Is this all you got, Sakata Gintoki??”

His hand reaches for your face and he pulls you towards him, pressing your lips against his. You can smell a sweet alcohol scent on him. When you pull away, you find a fiery, intense gaze in his eyes.

“You’re my girlfriend now, stupid.”

Just like that, he renders you speechless. But a smile tugs on the corner of your lips, and you stifle a laugh.

Gintoki picks himself up from the ground, still a little woozy. You grab his arm to steady him, then decide to wrap your arm around his back. He stiffens slightly but eases into your arm for support. When he rests his arm around your shoulders, both of you begin the journey to his home.

“Just so you know, I have unfinished work thanks to your ‘little’ favour. You owe me now. Maybe you should be the one buying me a parfait instead, honeypie.”

He glances at you only for a moment, unamused, before he turns away. You laugh, getting a kick from the whole night of teasing your friend-turned-boyfriend. Suddenly, you stop laughing.

“You didn’t throw up before you met me right?”

“I didn’t.”

Disgust starts creeping onto your face. “Are you sure? Are you sure?”

“I didn’t, you shit.”

#gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki imagines #sakata gintoki #gintama x reader #gintama writing #gintama imagines #gintama #souglia.s #the way i had titled this 'confess your love for me' in my google docs #also fun fact this idea has been sitting in my drafts for a while #and it was inspired by a particular piece of pinterest art that has him drunk and bent over in a telephone booth

33 notes · View notes

fang-and-feather · 4 months

Text

Ikemen Vampire - Jean x Vincent x Reader

For Fluffbruary Day 2 Prompt: Engagement from @fluffbruary

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

You loved having a place where you and your boyfriends could be alone. With how chaotic the mansion was, it was good to escape such a nosy crowd. Although you went there more often when the flowers were in bloom, which usually coincided with the best weather for picnics.

That was what you and your boyfriends had planned for that afternoon. You found yourself lying on Jean’s lap under the shadow of a tree. He was reading a book aloud, but you found it hard to pay attention when his other hand caressed your hair, almost lulling you to sleep.

“Vincent is late.” You commented, rubbing your eyes to try to keep yourself awake.

The picnic was set, but you were waiting on Vincent, who told you he just had something to finish and would join you.

“He said he had something to do in town.”

You looked up at Jean, surprised by the news. That explained his absence, but you heard nothing about him going to town.

“Maybe he needed something to finish his latest project. He’s been so secretive about it. Vincent has never kept us from seeing an unfinished painting before.”

“He’ll share it when he is ready. Be patient.” Jean told you, smiling.

You smiled back, happy to see how comfortable Jean had become in his relationship with you and Vincent, despite the tough start of your relationship.

“A mystery just makes me more curious.” You laughed softly, prying his hand from your head to intertwine your fingers with his. “It’s not like there are any important dates ahead for it to be a gift.”

“I told him we could have a picnic another day if he was busy, but he insisted.”

It was somewhat unlike Vincent. He didn’t like inconveniencing you, but he would otherwise tell you to go ahead without him, even if it was for you to deny it.

Then you felt Jean shift and sat up in time to see Vincent arrive, carrying a covered painting. He waved at you with such a bright smile that it looked like he hadn’t seen you in years, rather than a few hours. Although you had actually spent very little time together while he was painting.

You waved back, then stood up to go meet him, with Jean following you, but Vincent gestured for you to wait.

When he reached where you were, Vincent carefully set the painting down on the picnic blanket and hushed to pull both of you for a tight hug, and when he pulled away, each of you were treated to a deep kiss.

“Vincent?” Jean asked, rubbing his back.

“I missed you. I know we saw each other sometimes, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted so much to show you what I was working on, but I also wanted it to be a surprise.” Vincent finally pulled away, his smile faltering just a little. “I hope this will be a good surprise.”

“Nothing from you could be anything but.” Jean told Vincent, caressing his cheek.

“That’s how in love we are with you.” You added, kissing his cheek. “We would love to see your surprise if you’re ready to show us.”

“Go ahead.” He motioned to the painting, his smile again as bright as the sun. In fact, he looked almost giddy, which only made you more excited to see it. You looked at Jean, and he nodded with a soft smile, gently taking your hand and guiding you to sit on the edge of the blanket. “I usually paint things as I see them, but this one is more like… something that’s been on my mind for some time now.”

You propped the canvas against the picnic basket and carefully removed the cloth covering it.

It was a painting of a church decked for a wedding, in white with golden details and bouquets of lilies and sunflowers. At the altar, bathed in sunlight, stood a bride and two grooms in a private ceremony. Some would say lonely, but you could feel the happiness of that silent moment.

Fighting the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, you turned to look at Vincent behind you, not a bit surprised but no less emotional when he knelt down with a shy smile, showing you the contents of the little box in his hand.

“I know we can’t exactly have a proper wedding, but I wanted us to have this, at least. It would make me the happiest to be your eternal fiancé, if you would have me.”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded, offering him your hand so he could slip the ring on your finger. Then he kissed your hand, first just below the ring, then on the back.

“I would have no other.” You managed to whisper, whipping away the tears you couldn’t contain.

With a last smile to you, also looking very emotional, Vincent turned to Jean, who had turned around but looked astonished, as if he still couldn’t process what was happening.

“And yours, too.” Vincent’s voice quivered as he pulled another ring box from his pocket. “The two of you are the lights of my life, and I will love both of you for as long as I live.”

Jean finally managed to push through his shock and smile at Vincent.

“You are the lights of my life.” He said back. “Without you, I would still be lost in the dark. And although sometimes it still surprises me that the two of you would want me, it would be my honor to have this bond with you.” As Vincent put the ring on Jean’s finger, it was Jean who pulled him to place a soft kiss on the back of Vincent’s hand. “In fact, I planned to ask you myself, after you were finished with your work.” Jean’s reached to hold your hand too.

“I guess, in our situation, two rings make more sense than one.” You had been thinking of getting them anyway. The two of them only beat you to it. “Although I guess that could raise some awkward questions.”

“Let them.” Jean spoke, to your surprise. Your relationship being something most people considered wrong was something he still struggled a little with. Him being the one to step in to reassure you showed how secure he had become. “It is our relationship. Their opinion should mean nothing. And for the wedding, it diesn’t have to be something traditional.” Jean cast a soft gaze towards Vincent’s painting. “We could have something private. Maybe here?”

But you knew that, out of all of you, Jean was the one who cared the most about having a proper wedding. Vincent seemed to know too, because he lowered his gaze and spoke slowly.

“Are you sure? You know, I wouldn’t mind if the two of you had a proper wedding. It won’t change our relationship.”

Jean turned to look back at him and gently tipped his chin up so Vincent would look at him.

“I won’t get married if it’s not to both my partners.” He spoke firmly, but his smile was gentle, and he moved to caress Vincent’s cheek while tightening his hold on your hand.

“We are not.” You agreed. “It would be nice if we could have this together, but, as you said, it won’t change our relationship. I like Jean’s idea, but if you really want, I know how we can have something closer to a traditional wedding. Someone who could maybe be convinced to help. We don’t have to decide now, anyway. What about focusing on our time together? And later, maybe we can plan our engagement party.”

“You’re right. I would rather focus on the time I finally have with my fiances.” Vincent kissed each of you. “Whatever happens from now on, I love both of you. Forever.”

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground, @queengiuliettafirstlady

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

#fluffbruary 2024 #ikemen vampire #ikevamp jean #ikevamp vincent #ot3: jean d'arc x vincent van gogh x reader #polyamory #ikevamp #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

40 notes · View notes

arteastica · 10 months

Text

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (7)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.8k

You weren’t exactly sure why, but the sight of someone analyzing financial records in the middle of a late-summer afternoon was, all of a sudden, so interesting to you. Long, experienced fingers tapping on the desk, rolled-up sleeves revealing a pair of well-muscled forearms that were generously sprinkled with light brown hair, tense neck muscles occasionally drawing a circle in the air, and jungle-dense eyebrows temporarily locked in a slight frown. He had been sitting there since noon, hadn’t even paused for lunch. It seemed like he didn’t have eyes for anything or anyone else but that paper in front of him. And that annoyed you a little.

So much could have been said about his superhuman ability to focus or his equally remarkable jawline, but he looked up to stretch his neck and saw you. And you figured it was already too late to start pretending you had been busy with something other than staring, even though your ears felt impossibly hot and suggested otherwise. If he thought it was weird that his assistant had been creepily staring at him while he worked, he must have been too polite to tell you, because instead, he smiled softly.

“I will be done soon. Then we can go over the winter budget, as well as anything else you might need for the coming days.”

“When will you be back?” You really wanted to know, but as soon as the question left your mouth, you wished you had sounded more like an assistant and less like a wife.

“I should be back by Monday. Sorry to leave you alone with all of this.” He looked at the papers on his desk.

It’s not like you were taking his place, you were just going to keep his paperwork from piling up and make sure a demoralizing list of unfinished tasks wouldn’t be waiting for him when he returned. You didn’t know what he was off to, though, just that he would be going to Sina, and that he was taking Armin, Mikasa, and a few other soldiers with him. Given that those two were on the list, you wondered if this sudden excursion to the capital had something to do with Eren. Most likely. More like you wanted to think so. Because that, at least, would provide some much needed context.

In all honesty, you were a little hurt he hadn’t taken you with him, and that he was taking some of your former classmates instead. You had gotten so used to being on the receiving end of his polite requests and recurrent demands, that it was a little hard to accept the fact that he would be just fine without you. You had forgotten that, in fact, he had been just fine without you for the vast majority of his time as commander.

But on the other hand, a small part of you was actually grateful that he was leaving. Distance sounded like something that both you and your busy head could benefit from. It just felt like it would.

“It’s fine. When you come back, you’ll find everything exactly as you left it.” You smiled back, trying to reassure both him and yourself that you could handle his absence.

The moon had long claimed her spot in the sky when you were finally able to slip under the covers. One good thing about living in a big castle was that everyone got their own room. There weren’t many scouts to begin with, barely three hundred if you weren’t mistaken, and a lot of them weren’t even positioned in the headquarters. And it was after stressful and unnecessarily long days like this one, that you were particularly glad you had a room for yourself.

Your job wasn’t the problem. Yes, it was true that you were busier now that all of the commander’s paperwork went directly to you, and that his absence had unfortunately coincided with the beginning of the winter stockpiling process, which by the way, was proving to be significantly more challenging than you expected, given the limited resources available. But none of that was the problem. The problem was everything else.

It was the fact that Sasha, Reiner, Krista, Connie and the others had all been sent to another camp so they could be monitored by Squad Leader Miche, and that you didn’t know what they would need monitoring for, in the first place.

It was the fact that whoever was inside the female titan hadn’t been caught yet, and the possibility that there could be a spy living under the same roof as you.

It was the fact that it had been three nights since they had left for the capital, and you hadn’t heard from them at all.

It was the fact that every time you looked at his chair, it was still empty. And most importantly, the fact this made your heart weigh like a rock.

So, when your hand reached between your legs, you were certainly glad you had a room completely for yourself. Your fingers were always helpful on nights when you needed to decompress. So you tilted your head back, closed your eyes, and welcomed them in. But this time, when you felt their delicate touch caressing you through the fabric, you pictured fingers that didn’t belong to you. When they impatiently slipped under the cotton, you saw a smile that didn’t come from your lips. When they delightfully played with your clit and your breath quickened, you saw a face that had become as familiar as your reflection, but that looked nothing like yours. When they stretched you out exquisitely and your mouth opened wide to let out a silent moan, you heard a voice that didn’t sound like yours. And when they entered you repeatedly and you rolled your hips to match their delicious pace, you wanted to moan one name in particular. His name.

But you knew once his name left your lips, there would be no coming back. How were you supposed to look at him again after that? And most importantly, how were you supposed to keep fooling yourself after that?

Shameless. The way you practically ran down the stairs the moment you saw the convoy in the distance. Outrageous. The way your body forgot what a normal heart rate was supposed to be like the moment you caught sight of him. Completely unacceptable. The way your brain spent all that will power trying to stop you from throwing yourself into his arms, some part of you clearly struggling to understand that one is not supposed to hug one’s boss, no matter how long they had been gone for, or how good they smelled. And, most of all, extremely concerning. How the familiar sight of him sitting at his desk had been enough to melt your stress away, even though the winter stockpiling and the other problems you had been worrying about for the last few days were nothing but solved.

Except for one. The identity of the female titan had been revealed. Turns out that had been the sole purpose of their visit to Sina. You had never been particularly close with Annie, not that she was close with anyone for that matter, but still. To think that you had shared a room with her for three whole years sent chills down your spine. So you tried to avoid thinking about it.

And although the alleged spy living among you hadn’t been identified yet, catching the Female had been a complete morale booster for everyone at the headquarters, and as a result, the ale-induced singing was back in full swing, much to the dismay of your ears. You were certain that the ale rations wouldn’t last long. At that rate, they would have no booze left to warm them up during the cold months. And you had voiced these concerns to the commander. But he had just smiled reassuringly, as it was very much in character for him, and told you to let them have it.

“Occasions to celebrate are rare in this day and age, which reminds me,” he pulled a small tin box out of a drawer “I got you something.”

For me? Strange. You couldn’t remember having butterflies for lunch. But you tried to ignore them, and instead focused your efforts on helping your trembling fingers open the box.

And as soon as you saw what was inside, your eyes hurried to find him. Your mind suddenly flooded with memories that you realized were so distant now.

“But, commander, this costs an arm and a leg.” Your voice did nothing to contain the childlike joy you were experiencing. Figs were scarce, especially the ones that grew in the equally limited plots of land inside wall Sina. And this, the dried variety, was your favorite. It was not something people would indulge in often, however.

“Don’t worry about it. You told me it's been months since you last went home. Figured you must miss it.”

And there it was again. That excited flutter in your belly, as well as that problematic urge to jump into his arms. But you settled for an enthusiastic nod instead.

“Fig season, it was the time my father dreaded the most. I always came home from school with my bag full of fruit.” You reminisced aloud, longing present in every word. “It would always end up the same: my father complaining about me not understanding the value of money, all while munching on a fig himself.” You chuckled, and realized you actually wouldn’t mind getting scolded again. “But once he was done lecturing me, I would go to my room, lay them on the balcony, and wait for days. The scolding was agonizing but not as much as having to wait for the fruit to dry. I have never liked fresh figs that much really.” Your eyes drifted back to him just as you were about to start elaborating on the reason for that. “I’m sorry, you must have better things to do. But can I ask one last question?”

He nodded reassuringly, and you went ahead.

“How did you get them? I mean, didn’t Stohess get pretty damaged by Ann- the female titan?”

“I got them before that happened. As well as this.” He handed you a letter. The pretentious golden wax sealing it had already been broken, and upon closer inspection, you realized it was an invitation.

“A ball?” You asked him, voice thick with incredulity. Not only the city had been destroyed, but lots of lives had been lost during Eren and Annie’s clash. “Isn’t it a little… insensitive? I mean, holding an event like this, after what happened?”

“It is. Hange said the same thing. Everyone would rather not go, but we figured this will be a good opportunity to rub shoulders with potential contributors. I’m guessing what happened in Stohess wasn’t much of an issue for the organizers, since the event won’t be taking place there anyway.”

You eyed the invitation again. Mitras. In fact, it was not far from your house.

“You are from the capital, right? I was thinking you could take advantage of the opportunity and get to see your family.” A very pleasant warmth spread through your chest at the idea. You actually missed home quite a bit. “But you don’t have to attend if you don’t want to, so don’t feel pressured. Just think about it. Levi wished he had a choice.”

You couldn’t help letting out a chuckle. Dancing did sound very out of character for Captain Levi.

You eyed the small tin box on your desk, which was now missing more than half of its original content. You had already decided you were going to keep it even after the figs were all gone. It’s not like you were starting a collection or anything, but you enjoyed looking at the box. Something about it sent a tingling warmth down your limbs, and it happened to be the same kind of warmth you felt when staring at him. With the box, however, you didn’t risk getting caught. And that was a considerable advantage.

With that said, he seemed to be very busy now and, as far as you knew, a little staring never killed anyone. Good gracious. For someone reading a fat, dusty book about boring royal history, he was way too entertaining for the eyes. You liked observing him because, no matter how much you did it, there was always something new to look at, to notice, to tell your journal about. You had been wondering for a while, about his hair. It was always perfectly groomed, neatly parted on the left side. In fact, it was so obedient that you had never seen him tucking it behind his ear. He seemed to take such good care of it. No. Actually, not only his hair. Every aspect of his appearance was always so well-cared for.

It was a mystery, how someone with that many daily demands managed to keep a clean shave, impeccable hair, and smell that good at all times. You found the thought of him, taking a few minutes every morning to stand in front of a mirror and take care of himself, oddly comforting. It was nice to know there were at least small moments of normalcy in the life of the 13th Commander of the Survey Corps. You couldn’t stop yourself from wondering, however, how would his hair look disheveled and sticking to his sweaty forehead, and that tingling sensation in your lower stomach reminded you that it was probably time to look away.

So your eyes reluctantly traveled to the other side of the room, where they landed on the old chess board he kept by the fireplace. But even there, the question remained the same: When does he even play? Maybe sometimes, on very rare nights when there were no reports to write and no strategies to plan, he poured himself a glass of wine and sat by the fireplace to indulge in a rightfully deserved game of chess. But whether that happened or not, you realized it would, most likely, always remain a mystery to you. And you found yourself wishing your presence in his office wasn’t limited to official hours.

“It was my father’s.” The sound of his voice drew you away from your discontentment. “He said playing helped him think straight. More rationally.” He paused for a moment and then looked at you. “And less impulsively.” His eyes were all those glacial colors, but you swore sometimes they could burn so much.

“There’s nothing wrong with impulsive thoughts.” You held his gaze firmly as you spoke. “As long as we don’t act on them.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Do you play?”

You shook your head lightly. “I never learned.” Which was weird, given the fact that chess was extremely popular back in Mitras and almost everyone played, even your parents. Whether they enjoyed it or not didn’t really matter, that was besides the point, because in the capital, chess wasn’t really played for entertainment purposes. “My mother tried to teach me when I was little. She insists it’s an important life skill. The game is somewhat of a status symbol where I live.”

He nodded in understanding. “The only thing my predecessor asked before appointing me was ‘are you good at chess?’ In the capital, the game is used as a tool to assess people and their value. If you perform well, they will believe everything you say, they will finance any project you propose, irrespective of the cost. But if your game is weak,”

“They won’t even listen to what you have to say.” You finished the thought. Despite having never seen him play, you were certain a man like him never struggled to be taken seriously. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was old enough to learn.”

“You must be very passionate.” You didn’t intend that sentence to come out in something similar to a whisper, but honestly you didn’t mind. And, if the way his lips curved was anything to go by, he didn’t seem to either.

“Or addicted. When sleep evades me, I play. When I need a fresh perspective, I play.” His demeanor slowly matured into something less playful as he spoke. “When I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling, I play.”

“And when you’re having impulsive thoughts?” You held his gaze boldly, even though it had never felt that heavy before. “Do you also play then?”

“Sometimes. There are some thoughts, however, that I don’t mind having.” His eyes bore into yours as the words left his mouth. “I’m starting to think I like them.”

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee

125 notes · View notes

braxiatel · 11 months

Text

If I were an artist I would call this a doodle, but as I am a writer I will have to call it an unfinished, unedited abandoned wip.

Mumbo and Scar meet in a bar and commiserate about the struggles of being a young adult. Eventually they kiss. Also Scar is trans and Mumbo is autistic because I wrote this fic for me and me alone <3

(Content warning for references to alcohol, sex, and mentions of a character getting disowned)

————

Scar woke slowly to the sound of birdsong.

The pale spring sun was on his face, as warm as the body next to his in a way that made him feel a pang of homesickness.

He stretched, listening to how his joints popped and creaked, before opening his eyes to look around the unfamiliar room.

He had known it was not his city apartment - excuse him, flat - since he registered the birds. The closest he got was the coo of the pigeons that nested above the grand train station. Nothing like the chitter-chatter of songbirds he could hear here. Must be in the suburbs, then.

The room gave little away. Somewhat austere with its dark walls, the closest thing to decorations being a bonsai tree that was somewhat overdue a trim, and of course the rows upon rows of bookshelves with their arranged books standing to attention. Scar blinked, unable to make out the titles between the sleep in his eyes and the darkness of the room.

Instead he turned to look at the person next to him.

The combination of messy black hair and pale skin brought back vague recollections of the prior evening. Flashes of the interior of a very familiar bar, a hand in his, and a row of empty shot glasses in front of him. Well, that explained the pounding headache, at least.

Scar dared to lift the covers a little, getting a better look at his bedmate.

A handsome round face, smeared by last evening’s eyeliner. The moustache had been neatly combed with wax last night, but now it was somewhat comically askew on the man’s face.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo.”

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Scar blinked. Right, he had met Mumbo at the back of the bar.

It was an older place, with good food and decently priced drinks, that meant it had survived since the early ’00s when karaoke rooms had been a must for any self-respecting club.

These days it was mostly used by couples looking for privacy, or by people looking for somewhere to do the sort of substances the owner would kick you out for even bringing into her establishment, the door half obscured by the very curtains that had once framed it as a main selling point.

In short: it was a sound-insulated place in an otherwise noisy environment, with comfortable sofas, that few people other than the poor bugger making the cameras knew about.

It made it the perfect place to catch his breath after a long evening at work. The next guy to man the security cameras had been two hours late - exam season emergency, apparently - and Scar didn’t feel like sitting in the break room where - once again - Angela had just opened a window to smoke rather than going outside, making the whole place an asthma attack waiting to happen.

So Scar had tucked his bag into the basket of his walker and gone into the karaoke room expecting a quiet moment when instead-

“Well, hello there.”

Years later Scar would claim his immediate thought was something in the direction of either “handsome” or “beautiful” depending on what mood he was in, but honestly in that moment he had mostly felt shock followed immediately by concern.

The man in front of him looked as though he had just witnessed something gruesome. Eyes wide, with a faraway gaze and shaking hands.

“Oh, sorry, is this off limits?”

In the present Scar was looking at the man’s sleeping form, marvelling at what a night’s rest had done for him.

Light stubble decorated his soft jawline and Scar’s fingers itched to feel it. Mumbo’s lips were slightly parted in a snore, and he felt their phantom presence on his own. His arm was heavy around Scar’s waist, though it did not feel possessive so much as protective.

Similar to how he had been holding himself when Scar had found him. Huddled in the corner of a couch, as if trying to make himself far smaller than he was.

“No, no. I just came here to sit down,” Scar said. “but I can leave you to it.”

The bus home didn’t arrive for another 20 minutes - if it were on time for once - and his joints would surely protest if he tried to wait it out in the cold winter air.

“There’s room,” the man said, pulling his long legs up to his chest.

Scar paused for a moment. The stranger did not seem dangerous. Upset, perhaps, but there was a million and one reasons one might be upset. He sniffed the air and detected no more alcohol than was usual for the bar.

Well, it was a big couch, there was certainly room for two.

The cracked, white leather sank beneath his weight, creaking as it shifted. The stranger winced but otherwise stayed where he was.

Not a week went by without one of the other employees telling Scar he should try working the bar sometimes. He obviously couldn’t, not with how long it required him to stay on his feet. It didn’t stop him from spending his breaks there though, talking up a storm with the customers and doubling their sales while he was at it.

He was what one might call a people-person, though he very much doubted he would have missed how tense the man in the room with him was even if he hadn’t been.

“My name is Scar, and who might you be?” he asked.

Perhaps he had been wrong in his assessment of how drunk the man was, or perhaps Scar himself was more tired than he had though. Either way, the sentence the stranger spoke was an unidentifiable whirl to Scar.

“What was that?”

The stranger sighed.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo,” the man - Mumbo - explained.

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.” Scar could not keep the smile from creeping into his voice. “Now, Mumbo, I am no expert, but it seems to me that something is bothering you?”

Mumbo shifted, turning his face halfway from Scar’s and resting his face on his knee, resulting in a lock of his hair obscuring the other half. Well, so much for keeping an eye on the stranger with whom he was alone.

“Long night,” Mumbo told him. “I just needed a break. I don’t do well with loud noises or crowds.”

Scar made sure to keep his voice down when he spoke next.

“Interesting place to go on a Friday night, then.”

Mumbo shrugged. “Well, there’s not a whole lot of gay parks or gay cafes about. The man i was meeting up with wanted to meet here.”

Scar offered a look of sympathy.

“Date gone wrong?”

It was at this point he learned that Mumbo was the blushing type, when his cheeks darkened.

“Something like that…”

Scar inched a little closer, feeling the insatiable itch of curiosity.

“You know, people tell me I’m a good listener,” he fished. “I can go first if you’d like. My love life is abysmal. I haven’t had a date in months, and my last steady relationship was with a straight guy.”

Mumbo looked up fully, pausing for a moment, before he said:

“Tonight was a frankly terrible - and misguided - attempt at getting over my flatmate.”

“This sounds like the sort of conversation we could both use a drink for,” Scar said, having long since learned that this was the way of the British. “What’s your poison?”

Mumbo hesitated.

“My treat,” Scar hastened to add. “I get a staff discount.”

“... [Mumbo requests a drink].”

“Coming right up, good sir,” he said.

Another perk to working here was being able to skip the busy friday night line - sorry, queue - at the bar. He was back in the quiet room in no time, balancing the two drinks on a tray.

“Please don’t spill any. You really aren’t allowed to drink in this room, so if we ruin the sofa or the carpet it will get docked from my paycheck.”

Mumbo accepted his drink, clasping it tightly between his two hands.

“Cheers,” he sighed, taking a sip. “How did you end up dating a straight guy?”

Mumbo, it seemed, was the forward type.

“I’m trans,” he said. “We were still together when I realised. He was good about it, you know, just didn’t want to date a guy. We parted as friends.”

“Right,” Mumbo said. “Congrats? On the gender?”

Scar couldn’t help but laugh. “Why thank you, Mr Jumbo, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“My flatmate is straight too… or he was, anyway, until recently. Turns out being in love with him was a lot easier when I thought he wasn’t into men. Back then it was the idea of dating a man he wasn’t into, and not…”

“You?” Scar guessed.

“Yeah, that,” Mumbo sighed, having another sip of his drink.

“Well, he’s a fool to overlook such a handsome man.”

Mumbo snorted.

“You are!” Scar told him. “Look at you. That luscious hair, the stylish suit, those beautiful grey eyes, and those curves? I’d say you’re quite the catch, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Somewhere between the compliments and the way Mumbo bit his lip and blushed Scar had a realisation. Yes, Mumbo was quite handsome, wasn’t he?

“Well, you must be just about the only one in this bar who feels that way. My date walked out after half an hour, and I’ve failed to talk to even a single other man tonight.”

“You’re talking to me,” Scar pointed out.

“I don’t think it counts when one of the staff decides to give you a pity drink,” Mumbo sighed.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening here?” Scar snorted. “I’m off the clock, you know. I’m just making friends. I’m a friendly guy. Look, why don’t I tell you a little more about myself, and you can do the same if you’d like? Great!”

He had continued to tell Mumbo about his life story, how he ended up in the UK, going to university, coming out, getting sick, dropping out, and finally after several years in and out of the hospital, ending up enrolling again while working evenings here in the bar.

Ending up in Mumbo’s bed…

Scar stretched, the delicate silk sheets slipping over his naked skin in a gentle caress. It brought to mind the way soft hands had wandered over his flesh in the dark of the small hours of the night. It had been a while, long enough he was probably going to be sore for at least half of the day. It was a pleasant sort of soreness, though.

He looked up at the face mere inches from his, feeling no shame in taking in the details of Mumbo’s appearance while he slept.

In the low lights of the bar he had not been able to tell, but from the shape of his face he suspected Mumbo would have dimples when he smiled. There was no sign of wrinkles on his skin yet, but by the sharpness of his cheekbones, he had to be in his twenties at least.

The moustache was a nice touch too, even if it had tickled terribly against Scar’s collarbones and abdomen each time Mumbo had kissed him last night.

On the subject of collarbones, Scar could only note his admiration of the rather prominent mark he had left just about Mumbo’s left one. He shivered at the thought of how the other man had whined. Perhaps he would be up for another round this morning..?

Another round… right. He had stayed past the last bus for another round. Mumbo, once he had started talking, had seemed almost compelled to share his life story as well.

“Theodore Bertram Ambrose Osborn Chace the third,” Mumbo pronounced, a seemingly impossible feat giving he was at the end of his second pint. “Former heir to the right honourable Lord Theodore Chace the second.”

Scar whistled and leaned back in the booth he had found them towards the back of the bar, though it might have gotten lost in the noise. The music was as loud as anywhere else, but they had the table to themselves and the ability to wave one of Scar’s colleagues over when they would momentarily need another refill. Mumbo seemed content enough, anyway.

“That’s quite the name. Can’t imagine any loving parent wishing learning how to spell all that on any child of theirs.”

Mumbo picked up his drink, downing the rest of the dark red liquid.

“They weren’t,” he confirmed. “Hence, Mumbo Jumbo. Easier to pronounce.”

And a name that came with less baggage, he read between the lines.

“I have this friend from Sweden - shared a flat with her when I did my bachelor’s degree. He accused me of having a Mumbo Jumbo name, and when my father disinherited me for dropping out of business school and going into engineering… well, it just fit me better. Silly, I know, but what can you do.”

“Mumbo,” he started. “My name is Scar.”

Another thing Scar was learning about Mumbo was the fact that he was a giggler, or at least the drink brought it out in him. His whole face lit up with it, even when he tried to hide it.

“So, your Swedish friend, is he the one you’re pining after?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Iskall moved back years ago. No, he’s from here. We were paired up for a pub quiz during fresher’s week and we hit it off. I think I fell a little bit in love with him the first time he spoke to me. He just… has this energy. He can be such a pest sometimes, but his happiness is always infectious. Even when he’s laughing at your face because he pranked you by glueing the cereal box to the kitchen counter again, you can’t help but join in. You ever met anyone like that?”

“Sounds a bit like my ex,” Scar said. It must be the alcohol warming his insides, he decided. Surely the ‘Yes, I think I would give up most of my earthly possessions to stretch this evening forever if it means hearing you laughter again’ was down to the alcohol.

Mumbo huffed, picking up the drinks card.

“I’m never going to get over him this way.”

Scar rested his chin in his hand, leaning against the sticky table.

“Nonsense. Look around you, Mumbo, this room is full of wonderful men all looking for a good time.”

“Hard to get to know them when the music is so loud.”

Scar laughed. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting you go looking for ‘the one’ right away. But a night with a handsome man might be a good first step.”

Scar hoped he never got tired of watching Mumbo blush. It was just so… cute.

“What, like a one-night stand?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never done that any sooner than the third date,” Mumbo confessed.

“Never too late to try something new,” Scar suggested. “If you want to, that is.”

Mumbo made a noncommittal sound, wringing his hands.

“Just a suggestion. I’m sure there are many other things you could do to create some distance. A holiday, maybe? I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Or maybe a new hobby? Something to get you out of the house”

Mumbo bit his lip.

“Maybe… There’s one thing I’m wondering, though. Why are you doing this, Scar?”

Why was he doing this?

Mumbo was good company, and Scar liked people. In the backroom, the closest he got to social interaction was Samuel showing up to replace him for the late shift, and while the people on his course were nice enough, most of them were a decade younger than him and straight out of sixth form. And Cub, of course, but when Cub would be home in their little two-bedroom flat above the Chinese restaurant was anyone’s guess.

And shoot him, Scar liked to see people happy, and he liked to believe there was people out there for everyone, helping Mumbo find his (or at least the courage to find them) wasn’t such a bad use of his time.

“This is the first new thing that has happened to me in weeks,” he admitted. “I don’t get out a lot - just work and school. I’ve already missed my bus, and the taxi market will be a nightmare at this hour, so I’m stuck here for at least another hour until the Friday evening rush passes. And you’re interesting, I suppose.”

“That was… very honest,” Mumbo said after a pause.

“I tend to be. That a problem?

“No, not at all. Makes it a lot easier when I don’t have to second guess. Dating, making friends - I’m a bit of a spoon with these things.”

Scar laughed. The alcohol was getting to him, he could tell, because the idea of being Mumbo’s friend made something in his chest feel all warm and fussy.

“Do you want to know one thing I don’t think I will ever get tired of? You British people and your funny little sayings. ‘A bit of a spoon’, that’s adorable.” He grinned, doing an excellent job of imitating Mumbo’s accent in his own humble opinion. “Well then, Mumbo, as someone who has been very much enjoying making friends with you - how would you like a sample of my famous, internationally renowned Scar Bontemps wingman service?”

“If you promise me not to try to do an English accent again, I think I’d agree to just about anything.”

Scar gasped. “I am great at accents, Mumbo! I bet you the next round I can convince someone I am British.”

“Well, if you’re handing out free drinks, I won’t say no.”

Scar stood up, taking the first few steps towards the door before he realised what Mumbo had just implied.

“Now, hold on just a moment, mister,” he protested. “That’s it! I’m going to prove you wrong, right away.”

Scar’s head ached, a reminder of just how that bet had turned out for him. The first round of shots had been his treat, the second bought by Mumbo. Dutch courage, he had called it.

Mumbo would surely have an advil somewhere… or whatever they were called this side of the pond. However, trapped between a wall and a man sleeping like a rock, Scar stood little chance of finding them.

It was very gentlemanly of Mumbo to begin stirring just when his need for pain relief was getting urgent, Scar thought.

He moaned, perhaps a sign he too was suffering for last night’s escapades, and tightened his hold on Scar’s waist.

Scar relaxed, letting himself be pulled against Mumbo’s chest, only squirming a little when his hip started protesting at the odd angle.

“Good morning,” he said.

Mumbo sighed, hiding his face in the crook of Scar’s neck. “Hey.”

The way he was petting Scar’s back was sweet, the gravelly tone his voice had taken on from sleep sending a shiver down his spine.

“Something wrong?” Mumbo asked, prodding himself up on one of his elbows.

Scar’s back lamented the new angle he was lying at and he adjusted himself, then adjusted Mumbo with hesitant hands, until he was comfortable again.

“I think an elephant walked through and stepped on my head while I slept - or perhaps a marching band took up residence on the inside of my skull.” At Mumbo’s puzzled, half-asleep expression, he added: “My head hurts.”

Mumbo hummed, the scruff on his cheeks tickling the sensitive skin of Scar’s neck when he leaned in to kiss his shoulder in sympathy.

“Wait here,” Mumbo told him, wriggling out from under Scar and standing up.

Despite his pounding head Scar could not help but lament the dim light of the bedroom. The end of the night was clear to him, but only in flashes. Ones that, sadly, did not include as much detail of what Mumbo looked like naked as Scar would have liked.

However, being a man of the arts, Scar had to admit there was something truly aesthetic about the way the sunlight that slipped in through the curtains lit up Mumbo’s side. One stripe of light painted on his pale skin, filtering through the speckles of body hair and nestling into the curve where his leg joined his torso. As Mumbo retreated into the en suite bathroom, it paned over his backside, upwards, playing with his silky black hair.

How would it feel on a sunny day, warmed by the sun, Scar wondered? He wiggled his fingers against the sheets in a vain effort to satiate the itch to find out.

Mumbo returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water.

Scar eyed them sceptically.

“You keep your glassware in your bathroom?” he asked, feeling entitled to judge the man at least a little after sleeping with him.

“Only one glass,” Mumbo excused, not close enough that Scar could make out his blush in the dark. “Sometimes when I’m working on a project, I get a little… focused. seeing it next to the basin reminds me to eat and drink. It’s clean.”

“You’re a funny one, Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar told him, accepting the water and the painkillers, downing both.

“In the best ways only, I hope,” Mumbo said, flopping back on the bed with a soft grunt.

Scar leaned over him to put the glass on the nightstand, using his position to lay down half on top of Mumbo.

“Just need a moment to wake up properly.”

The last part of the sentence trailed off into a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head, bending his wrist just in time to avoid hitting the wooden windowsill.

As he settled back down, arms wrapping around Scar, it struck Scar how comfortable Mumbo was in his own space. It suited him.

The Scar Bontemps Wingman service was renowned in his circle of friends. Ren liked to say that in another lifetime Scar may have been a travelling salesman, a conman, or possibly both.

Scar wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he was good at this.

Matchmaking was easy. It was all about understanding two fundamental things: 1) everyone wanted something 2) everyone had something to give.

On dark days and long evenings watching the security feed, he often found himself circling the thought that the only reason he found it so easy to talk about others and so hard to talk about himself was that he doubted whether there was truly anyone out there who would be interested in what he had to offer.

With Mumbo it was easy. The man was obviously attractive, passionate, and charming. He had all but convinced himself setting Mumbo up with someone would be as simple as to introduce him to whatever man he had his eyes set on. Mumbo was attractive, passionate, and polite. His laughter was infectious, one evening in his company enough to put Scar in a good mood.

“So,” Scar asked, hand on the bar counter to steady himself after the second shot. “Anyone catching your eye?”

For the first time since leaving the room, Mumbo surveyed the busy room. From the small dance floor - currently dominated by five women who had arrived together and seemed to have some intricate constellation of relationships between them, judging by how a different pairing in the group were kissing every time Scar looked over. To the door, opening and closing and letting what little fresh air was able to slip in into the bar as guests went out into the cold winter air for a smoke. Finally, at the end of the bar where a group of men a year or two their junior were surveying the crowd with feigned disinterest. Bingo.

“How about those three?” he asked, nodding towards the three, well, twinks was the word that came to mind.

“Erh,” Mumbo said eloquently. “Sure?”

“Which of the three do you like?”

Mumbo looked at Scar for another long moment before surveying the group.

“The one to the right,” he revealed. “He looks stronger.”

Muscular men were Mumbo’s type, then. Scar made a mental note of it in case this first attempt didn’t work out.

“Ready?” Scar asked, draping an arm over Mumbo’s shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be,” Mumbo replied, shoulders tense enough that Scar’s own trapezius twinged in sympathy.

Mumbo, Scar quickly learned, was not an easy commodity to sell.

He obviously had plenty of qualities, which Scar dropped artfully into conversation. Why, my good friend Mumbo is an engineer, did you know? Very smart. He volunteers at a repair workshop, on top of working at a garage. Mechanics are so strong, don’t you agree? Who doesn’t love a man covered in oil and sweat? And look at him. How many men do you know that are willing to make the effort of wearing a suit every day?

That part was easy.

The hard part was when the commodity you were trying to sell seemed adamant to fight back against you.

Mumbo, while technically an engineer, needed to become a fully-fledged civil engineer before he could use his degree for anything, so really he was just like any other master’s student. The repair workshop was only to buff his resume, and the mechanic mostly had him doing consulting work - flying machines and cars weren’t so different after all.

The suit though, oh he could talk about the suit! Scar thought he had finally succeeded - on the fourth try - until Mumbo started talking about the seventh tie knot, illustrating how to tie it and detailing when to wear it. Scar made a mental note to go to his new friend next time he had a formal event, and to not bring up his manner of dress with the next man they approached unless he seemed particularly interested in the history of cufflinks.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Mumbo hiccupped over another shot of whisky, provided by Scar. “I’m just not good at this.”

“Nonsense,” Scar told him, downing his own drink and rubbing Mumbo’s shoulder comfortingly.

(Despite his protests that he did very little practical work at the garage, Mumbo was rather strong, wasn’t he? How had Scar not noticed sooner…)

“You just need to get out of your head. Maybe we’re just going about this wrong. What if instead of approaching them, we get them to approach you?”

“And how would we do that, mate?” Mumbo asked, his arm slipping under Scar’s and providing much needed support.

“Dance with me?” he suggested. “We’ll get everyone wondering who those handsome men on the dance floor are, and when they come to ask, all you need to do is seal the deal.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Mumbo confessed. “Can’t dance a single step.”

“It is past midnight, everyone will have had enough to drink that it won’t matter.”

Mumbo sighed. “If you think it’ll work…”

He took a step back, offering a light bow before offering Scar his hand. Scar bit his lip not to laugh. It made sense, it did. Old money and formalities often went hand in hand. Mumbo had probably been taught how to waltz, or something equally formal.

Scar took the offered hand, placing it at his waist.

“You stand there,” he instructed, positioning himself closer to the centre of the floor, and Mumbo outwards so he could be seen from the bar and the booths. That suit really did wonders for his backside…

Now, Scar was not much of a dancer either. He liked it, but there were the obvious challenges.

“You okay?” Mumbo asked.

“My balance isn’t great without my walker.”

Mumbo’s hold on him tightened, and Scar had to wonder why he was suppressing the urge to shiver in such a hot room.

“We can leave if you’d like?” Mumbo offered.

“I was promised a dance, Mr Jumbo, and I’m holding you to that.”

Scar placed a hand over Mumbo’s chest, feeling the other’s racing heart even through the layers of fabric.

“Just hold on to me?” he requested.

“Of course,” Mumbo agreed.

They started out slow. Scar moved, Mumbo followed, the two of them simply swaying to the music.

Whatever song must be popular, because soon a handful of other bar patrons joined the previously sparsely populated dance floor. For a moment Scar thought he might have succeeded in getting someone to see Mumbo for the get he was, but instead the additional people just pushed him further into Mumbo’s arms.

Mumbo’s hand crept around his body, settling on Scar’s lower back instead of his hip, holding him in place.

“You okay?” he asked Mumbo.

“I was just about to ask you that.”

Scar smiled at him. They were chest to chest now, and he had to wrap his hands around Mumbo’s neck to even have room for his arms.

“You’re so warm,” Mumbo told him, swaying to the tune of the music again. Being as close as he was, Scar was moved by him.

“Is that bad?” he asked, both feeling and seeing how Mumbo shivered when Scar’s breath ghosted over his neck.

“No,” Mumbo said.

The music picked up speed, and so did their dance. For the first time since they had left the safety of the karaoke room, Mumbo looked relaxed.

His eyes were on Scar, his attention solely on moving to the music.

How had Scar not noticed Mumbo’s eyes sooner? Dark grey framing light, reflecting the flashing lights on the dance floor back to Scar.

The song changed, but Scar was no longer listening.

Mumbo’s hips were against his, the two of them sharing heated breaths as they continued dancing past the fifth song. Aches and pains forgotten, there was only the beat of the music and the beating of their hearts.

For every rejection Mumbo had run his hands through his short hair, leaving it a mess at this point. Perhaps Scar should smooth it out?

He wanted to do so, anyway.

He got as far as the short hair at the nape of Mumbo’s neck. Mumbo bit his lip, sighing, and Scar could not help but watch those pink lips move.

Oh.

Mumbo was tall, and had to bend his head down experimentally. Scar approached, both of them inching closer, and-

His lips were soft, his tongue inquisitive where it met Scar’s own. He tasted of fruity ciders and burning alcohol, the scent of his subtle cologne somewhat mixing into the taste in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Whether Mumbo was consciously tightening his hold to support Scar when his knees began to go shaky, Scar wasn’t sure.

Scar heard himself moan, and Mumbo responded by biting at his lip.

He gasped, breaking away for breath.

“Cheeky,” he accused, leaning against Scar. “Do that again?”

Mumbo continued as he had all evening, following most of Scar’s whims. This time, however, he cut the kiss short, trailing down Scar’s jaw and neck instead. Oh, how pleased he was he had worn something low-cut tonight.

One of his hands remained on Mumbo’s shoulder - a necessity, his legs were still as soft as jelly beneath him - while the other trailed down Mumbo’s back, and settling on his ass- arse- whatever.

“Scar,” Mumbo sighed. “You sure about this?”

“Wouldn’t be kissing you otherwise,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here?”

“My flatmate won’t be home,” Mumbo agreed.

��Mine will be.”

“My place it is.”

And from there… well, somewhere between heady kisses, needy touches, and affirmations that neither of them expected the other to be at their best after how many drinks they had had, they ended up at the back of a cab, and then in Mumbo’s little terrace house.

“Upstairs,” Mumbo said somewhere south of Scar’s collarbone and north of his left pec, nimble fingers flying over the buttons of Scar’s shirt. It did make sense, with how much Mumbo knew about suits, that he would know how to most effectively remove a button-up. How very talented he was.

“Not great at those,” Scar told him, his walker left at the front door alongside their shoes.“Sofa?”

“Flatmate will be home by morning.”

Scar sighed, tilting his head back to allow Mumbo better access. He had never been with a man with facial hair before, and was delighted to learn Mumbo’s moustache tickled against his skin.

“I’ll help you?” Mumbo offered.

“Sure,” Scar said. By morning he would be decidedly more sober, so getting back down shouldn’t be such a challenge.

He smiled, the events of last night playing out before his mind’s eye.

Kisses that started out hesitant, while hands explored unknown paths, soon turning heated, clothes coming off in the process.

Where last night Mumbo’s body had been marked by teeth, it was now decorated in pretty little bruises. Scar knew he was much the same.

The alcohol had still been clouding their heads, burning past inhibitions, but remdering them slow. To compensate they had moved at a leisurely pace. Warm, soft, and caring, ending with both of them on their sides, inquisitively familiarising themselves with where to touch to make each other sigh in satisfaction.

Mumbo, he learned, had never been with anyone trans before. He was a quick study, though, diligently prepping Scar, carefully listening to Scar’s instructions when he told Mumbo how to hold up his legs so it wouldn’t hurt his joints now or tomorrow.

It hadn’t exactly been the best sex in the world, both of them were drunk after all, but Scar was certain he had never felt so comfortable after a one night stand before.

He was still catching his breath, lying comfortably on this side, when Mumbo slipped into the bathroom. Scar could hear the water running, and after a few minutes, he returned, looking less flushed and much cleaner.

“Sorry,” he had said, lying back down with all the grace of a falling tree, offering his open arms to Scar. “Just needed to clean up.”

Scar could recall waving it off, already cuddled against Mumbo and drifting off to sleep.

In the light of the morning, he kissed Mumbo’s shoulder and was rewarded by him snuggling closer.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, adding a snore that told another story entirely.

It was sweet, and Scar did nothing to resist the urge to kiss him again, planting one on Mumbo’s jaw.

Mumbo shifted to look down at Scar.

“Goodness, you’re handsome.”

He said this with a surprising amount of clarity.

Scar knew this already, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Mumbo’s hand settled on Scar’s waist, his fingers spreading and tracing patterns on the sensitive skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

[Still lying in bed, Mumbo and Scar agree that they both want to get to know each other better. They both find each other interesting and attractive, and even if it doesn’t turn into romance they think they could become good friends.

Mumbo goes to have a shower. Scar thinks of joining, but is hungry. Mumbo tells him where the kitchen is and to help himself to whatever he’d like.

Scar goes into the kitchen and is greeted by Grian, Mumbo’s flatmate - and his ex!

Scar is thrilled to see him. Grian tells him he regrets breaking up without giving it a try, he’s been thinking a lot about Scar, and wishes they at least hadn’t lost contact. Scar doesn’t blame him, and just looks forward to reconnecting.

Grian suggests a time and Scar has to decline because he has just planned a date with Mumbo that day.

Grian reacts weirdly to this, but before Scar can ask, Mumbo joins the in the kitchen. Scar happily tells Mumbo that he and Grian know each other, and how]

#posting from my phone so sorry if the formatting is bad #part of this writing exercise to me is not editing it #so this is what you get I’m afraid #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #redscape #mumscarian #writing

93 notes · View notes

violetrainbow412-blog · 2 years

Text

Safe place [E. M]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: After a bad day, Eddie Munson's arms seem to be the best place to be

A/N: I had a really bad time last week that turned into a terrible day and it comforted me to think about Eddie, and honestly I would like to do the same as the reader. So then it occurred to me to start this and I finally finished it. I hope you like it!

Warnings: family psychological abuse is very slightly mentioned, everything is self-indulgent, hurt/comfort, and Will is also in Hellfire because I decided so

Eddie walked around the room, picking up some of the last litter left lying around. The kids would go to the trailer to hang out and pick up some of the unfinished D&D game since they couldn't wait until next week to continue. Honestly, he didn't care if they saw the state of the place (never dirty, just messy), but Wayne had warned him that he couldn't bring visitors if he didn't get some decency first. So it was that Eddie spent the last two hours picking up, sweeping, and dusting any surface that needed it.

The music was playing all over the place and was probably disturbing the neighbors, but they never said anything anymore because they knew it was useless. He closed the black bag with a knot and while whistling he opened the door to throw it to the side of his house, on the grass. But what were his surprise to look in the direction of the rickety sofa on the porch and find you sitting there, eyes puffy and a cigarette in your hand.

“Y/N?” he asked, frowning violently. The bag fell from his hand and you looked at him with a frightened expression, like a lost puppy "What are you doing here?"

“I… I'll go, forgive me. I thought you wouldn't leave the house."

"What do you say? Are you okay?" he insisted, dropping to his knees in front of you and placing both hands on your legs.

It wasn't the first time you ended up at Eddie's house in this state, but for some reason this time you hadn't knocked on the door and had decided to stay outside, which confused the boy greatly.

“It's nothing, just… sorry…” you stammered, but Eddie didn't wait any longer and got up a bit to wrap you in a hug. You burst into tears on his shoulder, guilt running through you, but feeling like you couldn't do anything else.

"Baby" you heard him say, softly and kindly. He knew well the reasons that had you like this, because, as I said before, it was not the first time you ended up there "Again?"

“I didn't know what to do and I went for a walk and somehow I ended up here. But I swear I didn't want to come to bother you."

"Bother me? You are crazy?" he said, shaking his head frantically "None of that, don't you ever think about it" Eddie was silent for a second, reflecting on your words, and then he spoke back a little louder "Did you walk from your house?!" he asked, half surprised and half angry. He didn't get a response, but he knew you had. “We'd better go inside, okay? You'll tell me everything there” he suggested, helping you to get up carefully and taking the opportunity to take your cigarette and throw it away. He hated that you smoked, even though it was somewhat hypocritical of him.

You let him lead you and once inside you became a quivering mess of sobs and broken explanations. Eddie didn't know what it was like to fight with his parents, for obvious reasons, and a part of him was grateful. Despite all the bad things he had done, his uncle was always there for him and made sure to talk things over, but maybe that was thanks to the mistreatment Wayne had suffered and how he didn't want to repeat it. Whatever the reason, he wasn't in the same situation as you, but that didn't mean he didn't try to understand you.

And every time you cried with him, when he saw you with dark circles under your eyes from not being able to sleep, with battered skin and parched lips, he thought that perhaps it had been better that his parents were not with him, otherwise he could be suffering the same torment as you.

It was difficult for you; In the eyes of others, your family was something that everyone should aspire to. But only you knew the cruel and hurtful words that adorned your day-to-day. There was never physical abuse, but sometimes you felt that words hurt even more than a good slap. In addition to this, the situation with your friends wasn't the best and not to mention the headache that school gave you. Sometimes the smallest of difficulties would make you break out and spend hours and hours crying in your room, feeling more miserable with each passing minute.

One of those times Eddie had found out about it by accident and since then he had asked you to have the confidence to ask him for help at any time, so it was not unusual for you to knock on his door. But today specifically you hadn't had the courage, somehow convincing yourself that Eddie was sick of you, but tired and sad enough to hit the road home. So you thought maybe you just needed to sit on the couch and remember good times there to calm down, which obviously didn't work.

After almost an hour you ended up leaning against Eddie's chest, sobbing from time to time, but the feeling of his hand running over your back that gave you complete peace of mind.

"I'm so sorry for being so annoying”

"You're not annoying," he repeated, for the thousandth time. He didn't mind reminding you every time that he really appreciated you and that it didn't bother him to have you there, because he knew very well that you needed him "And don't say it again or I'll get really mad" he murmured against your hair, leaving a friendly kiss on your forehead.

You had to admit that Eddie's arms were the most comforting and warm place you had ever had the joy of feeling and that all the crying (plus the walk) had left you exhausted. So it was no surprise when you fell asleep there, thanks to the gentle beating of his heart. He smiled when he realized this and didn't let go of your hold as he reached for the TV remote and watched a comedy show he didn't know the name of, on the lowest volume he could manage. He stayed like that for a long time and until someone knocked on the door he fell back into reality; the children would visit. He had been so busy and so worried about you that he had completely forgotten about it.

With a lot of effort he managed to get Dustin's attention without waking you up so he could go over to the window and hand him the key. When the curly managed to open the door and enter, Eddie could see behind him Mike, Lucas, and Will.

"What the hell is going on?" they asked, their eyes widening when the major made an exaggerated hand signal for them to be quiet. The children didn't say anything for a second, just watching the figure leaning on Eddie was a strange and poisonous animal.

"Who is this?" Mike whispered, confused and with a tinge of irritation. You had one arm wrapped around the boy's body and he was hugging you too, while your face was hidden by the fall of your hair.

“Shut up and get off,” he said, as he moved carefully and maneuvered to put one hand under your thighs and the other to support your back. Your head rested against the boy's chest, while you mumbled something unintelligible and the rest of those present saw how he walked carefully down the hall until he reached the room and gently deposited you on the bed.

Eddie was in charge of adjusting the pillows for you and looked for a clean comforter that he always kept for you, because he didn’t think it would be very nice if you had his sweaty sheet covering you, besides he knew you well enough to know that if you weren’t covered by something you couldn't sleep. He carefully removed your shoes, revealing a pair of colored socks, and brushed your hair back from your face as well. When he walked away, he saw that among all those band posters, black shirts, and messy items there was you, as delicate and pretty as only you were, which he couldn't help but smile at. But what warmed his heart the most was that your features were serene… relaxed. You felt good with him.

Eddie then turned to go back to his friends, but he was surprised when he noticed that they were watching him from the doorway.

"What's up?" they laughed, raising their eyebrows mockingly. Eddie pushed them away and punched their laughter limply, fearing their scandal might wake you up. He closed the door carefully and when he got back into the room he was bombarded with questions.

"Who is she?"

"A friend"

"And why was she sleeping with you?"

“Because she was sleepy, duh,” he laughed, shaking Dustin's hair, not wanting to go into too much detail on the subject. “You guys stop gossiping and clean the table. And if any of you make a noise, I'm going to tell Steve not to take you to the arcade anymore” he threatened them, pointing a finger at them.

Between whispers the boys began to put all the pieces and the D&D board, while Eddie went to the kitchen to look for a bag of snacks that was quickly caught by Lucas.

"She is your girlfriend?" Will asked when he and Eddie were a little further away. It wasn't a secret that the major had a soft spot for the Byers boy, perhaps because he reminded him a little of himself or because he was always so respectful towards him.

"Not yet"

"Not yet? What does that mean?" he murmured, with a small smile that bordered on mocking.

“She's not at her best right now… she's got some issues, you know how that is,” he murmured, shrugging, as Will nodded. “Sometimes she just needs a place to be quiet and I don't want to bother her, that's all.”

"But then you like her?" Will exclaimed, but thanks to his friends of his he didn't have time to receive an answer.

Both of them approached the table and everyone began the campaign, with the usual chaotic energy but now expressed in whispers. The children had to stifle their screams and moans at everything that was happening, fearing what Eddie might do to them.

When you woke up, a couple of hours had already passed and you were confused to notice that you were no longer hugging Eddie but a pillow, and that the tennis shoes were already on the floor. You felt calmer now and stretched out on the bed shortly before leaving, rubbing your eyelid with the back of your hand as you walked to the door. You assumed that Eddie had had to go somewhere else and that was why he had just left you, but what was your surprise when you crossed the corridor and heard the Dungeon Master cut off his whispers when you noticed the four looks that went to you.

"Hey" he murmured turning his head, a smile forming on his face, as he stood up and took a couple of steps towards you "I see you’ve woken up"

"Huh, I didn't mean to interrupt"

“No, no, you don't interrupt. Did you sleep well? Do you feel better?" he asked sweetly, placing his hand on your bicep and moving his thumb up and down over the fabric covering your skin.

"Yes, I feel much better now" you replied looking into his eyes and smiling slightly. You were too close to him, so when his hand came up to your cheek your breath caught in your throat. He was touching you gently, very carefully, and tenderly.

"I'm so glad it's like this," he exclaimed. You were about to say something when out of the corner of your eye you noticed the visitors, who were looking at everything with curiosity and quickly looked away, in a poor attempt to pretend to be interested in the game pieces. Eddie noticed this and turned to the boys in amusement. “They're my… friends or something. Lucas, Mike, Dustin, and Will” he introduced them, while the young people saluted you waving their hands “Dumbs, she is Y/N”

"It's a pleasure," you said shyly "I think it's time to go" you exclaimed, now towards your friend.

"What are you talking about? No, no. You're not going to walk home. Stay here and when we're done, I'll take you in the Eddie-mobile "

"That's a stupid name"

“No one asked you, Henderson,” he snorted, making them all laugh. “It'll only take a moment, I promise. Stay” he requested quietly. Under normal circumstances you couldn't refuse what he asked of you, so much less would you now. Also, you didn't feel like you had the energy to walk for miles again.

"I won’t bother you?"

"Not at all, come here," he murmured, taking your hand and leading you to where he was, pulling up a new chair to put it next to his. You smiled at the boys and they did the same (some more than others) which you took as a welcome.

It was so that everyone continued the game and you watched in silence, very attentively because, although you had never been invited to an Eddie campaign, now that you were there you were really having a lot of fun. He so exaggerated and now that taking care of your rest wasn’t an impediment he was screaming with all kinds of voices, completely within the story.

In the end, the boys defeated the creature that Eddie had been in charge of creating, and although you thought he would be disappointed, the truth was that he seemed rather pleased.

"I've been surprised by all of you gentlemen," he laughed, while the younger ones cheered. "I'll go for your reward," he continued, while they frowned. Eddie wandered into the kitchen, then pulled a package of chocolates out of the cupboard, giving each boy a bar.

"Normally he doesn't treat us like this, he's just being nice because you're here," Lucas told you, making you laugh. Eddie also gave you your own chocolate, which you immediately opened to taste.

"I charged an idiot a little more for a delivery and I wanted to pamper you, but next time I'll give you nothing but shit" he complained, making them all laugh. You saw car headlights through the window, indicating that someone had parked outside. "Just in time," he exclaimed, as the children quickly gathered up their things. They heard the horn honking and yelled as Eddie opened the door and you could see a BMW with a guy next to it.

"Is that Steve Harrington?" you asked quietly. He had no siblings and if he did it was obvious that he wasn’t one of those children.

"Get on fast, you have to be home before 9"

"Mommy's here for you, say goodbye to daddy," Eddie said mockingly, seeing Steve roll his eyes, but not completely upset.

"Shut up, Munson"

"Be careful, darling" murmured the long-haired one when all the children were climbing in the car "I love you!" he half shouted between a laugh, seeing Steve sticking the middle finger out at him, but also with a smile on his face.

"I didn't know you felt that kind of thing for Steve"

“We're more like divorced parents, it's a complicated situation” he sobbed, making you laugh. You still had a piece of candy in your hand, which you bit into and then offered to your friend "Do you want to go home yet?"

"Yeah, my parents are probably wondering where I spent the whole afternoon," you replied, wincing. Eddie looked at you sadly and cautiously reached out to hug you. “Thanks, by the way. I haven't slept like this in a long time."

"Always a pleasure to have you around," he replied politely. You buried your face in his shirt and sighed, wishing you could have that kind of peace every day.

"Are you serious?" you asked fearfully. He was free not to receive you in his trailer whenever he wanted, but for some reason he always let you in, comforted you, and took care of you.

“Of course yes, you are my friend and I love you”

I love you, he said. You knew that even if it was just a friendly thing it was a real feeling. Someone loved you, someone in the world cared enough about you.

"Before we go home can we stop by for ice cream?" you asked, still being held firmly by him. Eddie smiled and nodded, placing a gentle kiss on your head.

“Only if you invite”

"Deal"

And when you ate ice cream with Eddie later, and laughed out loud, the world stopped feeling so horrible.

TAG LIST: @sweetdayme4427 @smol-book-nerd @Ilikewomendealwithit @harringt8ns @katsukis1wife @ilovereadingfanfics

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn

325 notes · View notes

under-lore · 1 year

Text

Update on this blog

Hi !

So as you might have noticed, things on this blog have been quite slow for a few months now.

I’ve been asked a few questions about what was going on, or why have i not been posting even close to as many theories as before, etc...

So i’ve decided to try and answer all that as a sort of Q&A update to this blog.

Where have you been ?

I apologise for the lowered activity. My personal life lately has been causing me a lot of pretty bad problems, I’ve attempted 4 times within the last 3 months to pick this blog back up the way it used to be, but something would always come up at the wrong time and have me choose to delay it until that was fixed. Just last week, my personal computer broke down the very weekend i intended on doing so, and it is currently still in reparations so im writing this from a different device.

I do have several unfinished drafts and many things i want to talk and theorise about (i still haven’t posted a couple things that i’ve teased almost a year ago...), but i haven’t been able to find the opportunity to do so. I however have fairly good hopes that i might be able to get this blog back up and running within the next 2 weeks when my computer is fixed.

Hopefully, for real this time.

And again, i apologise about all this.

Whatever happened to the YouTube channel ? You posted one first video 6 months ago, and since then its been quiet...

The channel is not dead. I do intend on posting many more videos there in the somewhat near future. Some based on existing posts on this blog, and some more unique ones.

As a matter of fact, my computer gave up on me the day right after the day i told my friend and temporary editor that i wanted to start working on a second video... Tough luck...

It might be a bit early for me to say this, but once the blog gets picked back up, the YouTube channel should follow suit in the weeks that follow.

What have you been doing ?

Although the blog has been significantly slowed down for personal reasons, i have still made some progress on a few Undertale related projects of mine. While i have been generally staying quiet about those so far, i’ve decided to mention one of them today. After having been in this fandom for nearly 7 years and having seen literally hundreds of these from other people, it looks like it is now my turn to do so :

Im working on an AU

I will wait for a bit more progress before officially announcing it, but i am fairly impatient to be able to start talking about it !

What happened to asks ?

For a while even a bit before the blog lost its steam, i have been answering asks less often.

I used to always answer every single ask i got on this blog, but eventually as it grew bigger, there were too many of them for me to answer and it started to prevent me from posting theories as fast as i wanted to because otherwise i would get late on asks and have way too many in stock.

Eventually, i was overwhelmed by the number of asks i got and couldn’t keep up anymore. So i sort of took a break from the asks and now only occasionally respond to a couple.

I am actually not sure what to do about this situation. Because i do like answering questions i get, but i usually make pretty detailed answers which take time, and this blog lately has been quite short on time. I would be open to suggestions regarding how to handle this issue.

Thanks a lot for reading !

#update #undertale #meta

57 notes · View notes

original-character-championship · 1 year

Text

Bracket A Round 1

Poll 28

Travela "Travi" Varo (@taranza-stan) vs. Finch (@hershelchocolateart)

55 - Travela "Travi" Varo (taranza-stan)

She/Her

She is soooooo Cringefail and Pathetic and I love her for it. She is a member of an adventure Group that travels through Dimensions and constantly tries to seek out new ones. Of course I have the other three members of said Group (mostly) planned out as well, but I can't lie, Travi is my favorite. She isn't a big fan of adventures, which is less optimal considering her line of work, but she still uses everything she know about healing and science to support her Group wherever she can. Also she's basically the human form of an Airship, and if you don't think that's rad then idk what to tell you, you're just wrong.

I'm gonna be honest, I suck at describing Characters. But luckily I can draw, so you can always just check that. But, some things I thought I should tell you anyways:

Her pupils are actually Brown instead of Black, that isn't just an artistic choice

The cloth around her Neck isn't a scarf, more of a simple piece of cloth. Idk how to describe it, it's like an xxl headband for your neck

that and the hair above her eye definitely don't hide anything.

Her hair is a constant mess. Tying it behind her back is the only way it looks somewhat presentable. Otherwise my Girl constantly looks like she suffers from the worst Bedhair imaginable (which she also does)

she's seventeen

I think that's all the important parts covered, her clothes are nothing too special.

56 - Finch (hershelchocolateart)

They/them (later on, it/its)

Finch haunts a house in the Whisper Court Ghost Sanctuary PURELY because there wasn't one before and everyone kept expecting one to be there. They formed through the combined intention and energy put into the building...aaand then the main antagonist messed with the process and they came out a little unfinished. They have no memory and are trying SO hard to form enough of a personality that they can cheat their way through the "You have 30 days to accept who you were in life or you disappear forever" rule of being a ghost when they. Don't have a past to accept. They are so small and so kind and working so so so hard all the time and they STILL get continuously shut down by the people around them purely based on how they formed. Because that's "not how it's supposed to happen." They don't KNOW how it's """supposed to happen""", they can only do the best with what they have. Which is not a lot. But they try so hard anyway

#oc championship #tournament poll #bracket a #round 1 #55 Travela “Travi” Varo #56 Finch

45 notes · View notes

wifiwuxians · 1 year

Text

can we start over?

don't answer that.

[id: a somewhat unfinished, black and white simple drawing of xue yang and song lan. both appear to be bandaged up; xue yang, across his right eye, left leg and chest. song lan, along his neck and left forearm. song lan also has a patch on his left cheek. xue yang is leaning defeatedly into song lan, who is looking away in mild discomfort, but is otherwise static. /end id]

#xy&sl #as per the norm.#xue yang #song lan #my art #mdzs #i am going through some stuff.#some shit has been resurfacing and i'm trying to just deal with it as it comes. there will be more art this month but #maybe not so much Me tjdhgjd #anyways this is yeah just. what it is #if i cant be well i want them to be well. sorry that everything is them now. i have my reasons #comfort characters and all that shit

78 notes · View notes

merakiui · 10 months

Note

Here is one for you!

⚡️Lightning - Have you ever spontaneously added something to your story that you wouldn't have added normally? If so, what made you do it?

And a surprise addition! Are there any WIP you have unfinished that you aren't sure you will even come back to? If so, why?

(ask game)

⚡️Lightning - Have you ever spontaneously added something to your story that you wouldn't have added normally? If so, what made you do it?

I have! When I first started writing DRU last summer, I wasn't sure how to begin the story. Riddle and Cater weren't planned to be in the fic, as it was mainly a story focused on the trio and the reader. In the early version of the story, Idia was intended to play a role in the plot. I had very basic ideas in mind, but none of them were satisfying enough.

In the midst of my agonizing over where to start, I found an unfinished wip titled "Mimicry," in which you're stalked while you work at an old-fashioned diner with Riddle and Cater. The very first diner scene you read in DRU is actually taken from that wip! I was reading it again and I liked the aesthetic of The Devil's Delight so much that I thought to add it into DRU along with Riddle and Cater. I'm very happy I did because from there the story took such a lively shape!

As for the surprise question, there are quite a few unfinished twst wips I have that I'm not sure if I'll ever return to. There aren't any reasons for why they're unfinished. Although maybe it's because I'm not sure if anyone would find these plots interesting. >_< I'll list some of them below.

the devil and his halo -> it was a story in which you escape an abusive relationship only to meet Jade, and he offers you stay with him in the meantime. He's so creepy and you think he's living a double life of some sort, and after a week you think anywhere would be better than here. But Jade won't let you leave.

npc syndrome -> a story in which Idia traps you in a virtual world and you have to find a way out within a certain timeframe otherwise you'll be his forever.

grim reaping -> less of a yandere story and more of a romantic comedy, in which Grim Reaper Idia is summoning for his favorite character in a game just as you appear before him without warning and meaning. Sadly, he loses his 50/50 in the game and now he's stuck with you, a recently deceased mortal who is begging for a second chance at life. Idia tells you that second chances aren't freely given; they're earned. In order to do that, you have to accumulate enough soul points to be worthy of reincarnation. This is done by doing good deeds to ease the weight of the burdens from your previous life on your soul, which have followed you into the afterlife and have made it impossible for you to settle. Idia hates to be bothered with work and wants nothing more than to be rid of you, so he agrees to take you under his wing and help you get the amount of points needed so you can have your second chance...and so he can return to being a gamer.

monops's reflection -> I wrote half of it and stopped because I hit a writing block for that story. Looking back, I realize the concept of "Jade wanting what Floyd has" is similar to The Most Dangerous Game and so I don't think that story will ever be posted because it follows a similar concept. ^^;;;

moray pit -> this was somewhat of an obscure horror concept I had in which a small pool appears in a shallow cove one day. It looks shallow from the surface, but it goes rather deep and is a tight space that the average human can't quite venture in without getting stuck. People in your small town have started referring to it as a wishing well because if you bring an offering to the pool and drop it in it's said that what you desire most will appear. However, you must never stick your hands into the pool and try to pull up what dwells within. The last person who did that was dragged in and never seen again. But that's just a myth meant to scare people away. Or so you think until the area is roped off and put under investigation after too many souls have disappeared. Foolishly, you accept the dare from a few of your friends and stick your hand into the tiny pool, disobeying all the posted warnings. Some say your fingers will grasp seaweed, others claim the smooth weathering of gold coins. Maybe you'll feel skeletal fingers reaching for yours or a smooth tentacle curling around your wrist in greeting. In your case, you put your hand down there, feel a face that is not quite human, and for a moment all is calm. Until your finger is bitten clean off. :) that should have driven you away for good, but oddly enough you can't ignore the alluring tug the moray pit has on you.

#chit chat #rendy-a

21 notes · View notes

iloveminjiu · 8 months

Text

????????? : dreamcatcher x 8th member!reader

(unfinished scrap(s))

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

“you know, yn-ssi.” mijoo says suddenly, drawing your—as well as your members—attention. “i think i understand why your fans call you a princess now.”

you blink, both surprised and confused by the older girl’s words. “you understand?” you repeat, tilting your head and making minji coo quietly beside you. “how so, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“well, first of all, you have that whole aura of being a princess, or at least someone of high status.” she starts, gesturing at you with her hand. “i don’t know what it is about you, but you just… give off that feeling, you know?”

you purse your lips, your brows furrowed. “i’m sorry, mijoo-ssi, but i don’t quite understand.”

“we think it’s because she sits up straight all the time.” yoohyeon says, placing a hand on your knee. “wherever we are and no matter how tired she is, she always sits up straight.”

“that could be it.” mijoo hums, nodding in agreement.

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

you were not, by any means, a princess of any sort.

your members, or, at least, a majority of them, seemed to think otherwise.

“just look at her.” yoohyeon said, gesturing vaguely to you with her hands as she stared at the host—who you, unfortunately, forgot the name of—with expectant eyes. “don’t you think she’s the literal human personification of the word princess?”

“using both the words ‘human’ and ‘personification’ is redundant.” you murmur absentmindedly, lightly scratching your nails on the plastic table in front of you and, as a result, making near invisible marks on its somewhat glossy surface.

“see?” the older girl continued, blatantly ignoring you. “she says things like that and, well, what’s not princess-like about it?”

at this, yubin looked up from the script in front of her. “yn correcting you on grammar is ‘princess-like’?” she asked, her eyebrow raised and her lips pursed.

“well, no, but it’s just the way she speaks, like, all prim and proper.” siyeon chimed in, moving her head off of handong’s shoulder. “like, she speaks like she came out from one of those historical dramas, y’know what i mean?”

“…no?”

“personally, i think you’ve been watching way too many dramas, siyeon-unnie.” gahyeon said bluntly, inspecting her nails. “ynnie isn’t princess-like at all.”

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

“now, for our next question…” the man pauses, looking up from his cue cards and at the large screen beside the camera. “‘to yn-unnie: whenever you speak, i’m reminded of the princesses in k-dramas such as ○○○ and ○○○○○’–”

“she has a good taste in dramas.” siyeon said, nodding her head in approval of the dramas your fan had mentioned and giving a thumbs up at the camera. “super good taste!”

“aren’t those the dramas you’ve been watching, unnie?” yoohyeon asked, leaning forward so as to look at the older girl properly. “those names sound pretty familiar…”

handong, upon hearing this, perked up. “wait, didn’t siyeon-unnie recommend these dramas to them?”

“i did.” siyeon said, her chest puffed out and the corners of her lips curled up into a small yet prideful smile. “that’s why i said they had good taste.”

“because they watched the dramas you recommended?”

she shook her head, her small smile turning into a wide smirk. “because they watched the good dramas that i so generously recommended.”

“kwanghee-nim,” you say, giving the confused man a polite smile. “please continue with the message.”

“oh, uh…” he blinks, looking back at the screen to continue reading the message shown on it. “ahem… ‘whenever you speak, i’m reminded of the princesses in k-dramas such as ○○○ and ○○○○○… why do you speak so old fashionedly?’”

you tilt your head, a curious expression on your face. “do i truly speak in such an old-fashioned way?” you asked, turning to your leader, who looked back at you with an amused smile.

urgh

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

“hello, i am dreamcatcher’s princess ln yn.” you murmur, waving your hand and bowing your head ever so slightly as you smiled politely at the camera.

“princess?” mijoo asked, an amused and curious look on her face. “that’s new– that and the way you introduced yourself. don’t you normally do it like this?”

you cock your head to the side, confused as you watched her clear her throat and pasted on a overly polite smile on her face before saying, “‘good morning, afternoon, or evening, i am dreamcatcher’s teddy bear ln yn.’”

“woah, that’s so similar!” yoohyeon muttered, eyes wide as she clapped. “it’s almost like you became ynnie!”

“yeah!” gahyeon agreed, nodding her head. “it was kind of creepy, to be honest, but it was also super cool.”

hearing this, you blink. “do i really speak like that, dami-unnie?” you murmured, turning to the older girl, who chuckled at your words.

”no, your voice is more deeper than that, but it was a pretty good impression.” she said, seemingly amused. “especially with the way she smiled.”

“ah…”

(did you really look that off-putting?)

“so what happened, yn-ssi?” the male host—what was his name again? anhuk? eunhik?—asked. “why the sudden change in your introduction?”

feeling somewhat flustered, you stammered out a, “oh, erm, well…”, which was, admittedly, probably not the best answer you could have given. fortunately, though, some your members had taken pity on you despite laughing at how red were and how awkward you looked.

“siyeon-unnie had a bet with yn and this is the result of that bet.” yubin answered for you, chuckling. “she even made her promise that she would do it because yn tends to chicken out a lot.”

“i do?” you asked, looking more curious than upset at their words. “i don’t recall having ever ‘chicken out’ or anything of that nature.”

bora huffed, crossing her arms as she raised an eyebrow at you. “do you even know what it means to ‘chicken out’?”

“…i suppose it doesn’t have anything to do with acting or being a literal chicken, does it?”

“chickening out is when you say you’re going to do it but don’t do it because you’re afraid.” siyeon mock whispers—her voice wasn’t lowered whatsoever so was it really a whisper?—into your ear and, just by the tone of her voice, you could tell she was smiling. “and you have chickened out a lot, i guess you just never realized it.”

handong, chuckling in that oh-so-elegant way of hers, hums. “despite how much of a scared cat yn can be, she takes promises very seriously.” her hand, which had, at some point, wormed into yours, squeezed your hand gently before she gave you an equally as gentle smile. “if she promised you that she would do something, she’d do it.”

(handong was pretty. no, not pretty, pretty was too simple of a word. handong was gorgeous.)

“good to know, good to know.” mijoo said, nodding her head with an all too serious look on her face, prompting your members to laugh, if they weren’t already.

“but why princess?” eunhyuk—the male host from earlier—asked, a brow raised. “is there a specific reason for that nickname or did siyeon-ssi just pick one at random?”

“it’s definitely not random.” minji chuckled, looking at the younger girl teasingly. “in fact, siyeon calls yn princess almost every day.”

“really?” mijoo gasped, a hand raised to her mouth.

your members nodded, with yubin going so far as to add, “sometimes, siyeon-unnie calls yn ‘my princess’, as if calling her princess wasn’t enough.”

“what can i say?” siyeon said, tugging you closer to her so that she could wrap her arms around your neck. “what’s mine is mine.”

“yours?” yoohyeon said incredulously. “since when did ynnie become yours?”

“since the moment we laid eyes on each other.” she then turned to you, an expectant look on her face. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“of course, siyeon-unnie.” you respond, playing along with the older girl and saying what you knew she wanted to say. “i am your… princess.”

“what?!” bora said—screamed, more like—her eyes wide. “yah, lee siyeon, ln yn, just what do you think you’re saying?!”

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

“hello, i am dreamcatcher’s kitten, ln yn.” you greet quietly, bowing your head and letting your hair curtain the sides of your face before sitting up straight again. “it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

it’s the first time you’ve ever introduced yourself like this, with the words ‘dreamcatcher’s kitten’ right before your full name. you’ve only ever introduced yourself as ‘ln yn’, usually in front of classmates and or trainees.

“woo!” bora cheered, clapping her hands right in front of the mic and making you—as well as the radio host—wince at the loud sound. still, you smile at the older girl because no one has ever clapped for you before. not as enthusiastically as she did, anyway.

“unnie, why did you do that?” yoohyeon complained, her lips forming a faint pout that would undoubtedly make her cringe later when she watches the live again. “seriously, one day we’re all going to get hearing loss and it’s going to be because of you.”

huffing, bora rolled her eyes. “don’t be so dramatic, yoohyeon-ah, a bit of clapping isn’t going to ruin your sense of hearing.”

despite her words, though, bora leans forward and readjust the microphone so that it’s a bit further away from her, muttering unintelligible words—likely something along the lines of, “kids these days”—under her breath as she did so.

“so, yn-ssi,” the host, who you have totally forgot the name of, says, his eyes fixed on the script he was reading off of. “i noticed that you introduced yourself as ‘dreamcatcher’s kitten’ whilst most of your members just introduced themselves with their names only, save for jiu-ssi.” he pauses, looking up. “is there a reason for this?”

you blink, surprised by the unexpected question. “i… no, i don’t believe there is any particular reason for it.” you murmur, averting your eyes in favor of your hands. “perhaps it is because of my status as the maknae, but other than that…”

the man hums, nodding his head and accepting your answer, as vague as it was. “that isn’t all that uncommon with groups like yours. in fact…”

with the metaphorical spotlight no longer on you, you can’t help the sigh that escapes you. fortunately, it wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the ramblings of the man sitting to your left, but the looks of concern you received from some of your members—minji, yubin, and gahyeon—made it very clear to you that the action wasn’t as subtle as you thought it was.

started out good, went… eh.

━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━

#scrap.catcher

12 notes · View notes

brucenorris007 · 2 months

Text

"Sonic 06: gameplay is shit, story is shit."

Okay, I somewhat disagree but don't see the need to expend energy toward-

*comparison between 06 and Forces is drawn*

My brain: heyguesswhatyou'rehyperfocusednow

I was going to do things today. . . but here we are.

Okay, up top and up front: 06 and Forces are both flawed, yes.

But they are flawed in fundamentally different ways, and Forces flaws are, quite frankly, far more glaring and demeritorious for a franchise like Sonic than 06. Anyone who, years from now, goes on to claim that "Uh, actually, Forces was peak." the way that some people are saying about 06 now will be just as, if not more, wrong. And I'll attribute such claims to declining media literacy.

BEFORE the youngsters in the fandom start throwing things at me, note that I said just as wrong. 06 wasn't ever as good as some of the mainline games prior or even spinoff titles after.

The difference is, most of 06's issues stem from the fact that it reads as pitiably unfinished.

The problems with Forces begin and end with the fact that it reads like self-insert fan fiction that had either zero beta readers or too many beta readers that were all given editing privileges. There's definitely a place in the world for that sort of creativity, but said place is not within a licensed game that people have to pay for; one that drastically affects the canon of the franchise and how the fans old and new perceive it and the characters within.

All right? Okay, let's get into details.

Let's address gameplay first, since I have less to say about that.

On this count, if nothing else, Forces barely edges out by being functional; granted, that's the end of it. I wouldn't go back to play it again, and the 'highlights' I can recall mostly felt like reskins of stages in the style of Colors but shortened, with boss fights reminiscent of daytime Unleashed. I imagine the primary draw for people is watching their customized 'sona jump and fly around whilst listening to dialogue from the main cast.

And this isn't really a substantive point, but the fact that receiving stuff like outfits like loot crates at the end of virtually every stage feels kind of manipulative and annoys me. If there's unlockable features, put some actual challenge between the player and the prize, like how you perform within the stage. Otherwise it's just another example of "shiny, novelty, tickle brain often, get player to play longer."

Setting that brief tangent aside since that's just a trend in games in general and not Sonic specific, moving on to 06's gameplay. And uh, yeah. The USP was, like the adventure games, supposed to be that you got three interconnected stories and three main characters each with unique play styles.

I suppose 06 showed us before anything else that Shadow really isn't as fast as Sonic, and as an idea, Silver's psychokinesis was cool. If the tracking in the Speed Up stages and the hit boxes in a handful of other areas had been ironed out, there's foundation for a fairly solid experience. Project 06 is basically proof that the base of the game had potential that wasn't realized, whether due to time constraints or other reasons.

As far as environs, the concept for Kingdom Valley showed off the most soul, I'd say, with Silver's future coming in close second. Character design for the Iblis fragments (not sure if that's the official name but I'm doing stream-of-consciousness here) and Mephiles I actually like a lot. I don't think there's anything objectively wrong with them and however you rate them will come down to preference.

Also, the model for Sonic is like. . . ridiculously good. He just looks like an older teenager; it fits with the widely accepted idea that he was 15 as of Adventure 2. Polish it a bit and that's just how he appears in my head when I write about him.

That said, there are only about six different environs that serve as stages, discounting the hub areas, and compared to Heroes' twelve stages, it just adds to that incomplete/rushed feeling.

That's about all I can say on the gameplay aspect. Functional yet non-stimulating technically wins out over some creativity yet patchy. They are games, after all.

Now then, the "story is shit" business.

Look, if you're going to criticize Sonic's story—which, yeah, his should be subjected to more scrutiny, being the titular character—then much of what you can say against it also applies to the first Adventure. Eggman wants to collect a thing (emeralds/Princess), Sonic wants him to not collect the thing (emeralds/Princess) because he's obviously planning to do evil stuff with the thing, Sonic manages to get the thing only for Eggman to snatch it out of his hands.

Multiple times.

Meaning Sonic spends most of the games on fetch quests that Eggman keeps one-upping him on until the penultimate fight.

And those are the beats. Of both stories. (For Sonic.)

And then at the end of both games, a monster you've fought in various forms (Chaos/Iblis) reappears to threaten the world on a scale that requires the seven chaos emeralds to combat.

Super Sonic. Rad soundtrack. Credits.

Granted, much like how Gamma's story was the strongest in Adventure, the quality of the three main story lines in 06 also vary in strength, with Shadow's taking first place.

My point is, in a franchise that is about characters, you don't grade every aspect of the story on the same scale. You weigh the grade of various aspects differently; and the point that gets graded most heavily is:

Character moments; which can encapsulate literal moments, arcs, development etc.

And for all its flaws, 06 has character moments, almost immediately, even. Sonic's first spoken line is "My, that's a pretty snazzy performance there!"

Which, after the tension of Eggman interrupting the festival and threatening Elise, cuts through the moment right away and, paired with the next several seconds, shows who Sonic is. He sees Eggman's robots aiming and waits until the last second to jump before going to town bashing up bots. Even as he carts Elise off amidst homing missiles and explosions, he's grinning the whole time.

Sonic does what he does because it's fun.

And his third spoken line, answering Elise's question of why he's helping, is: "No special reason."

Again, that's Sonic. Doesn't matter who it is, he helps people because he Does what's Cool. And as well as being fun, fighting off Eggman and his bots is Cool.

06, as Silver's introduction to the series, also does a decent job establishing his character of Temporal Bulldozer. He can be aimed, but his solution to problems first and foremost is usually smashing, and it's really tricky to change his mind once he's focused. He suffers from myopia arguably as bad or worse than Metal Sonic. Amy's the only one who momentarily gets him to pause and wonder if really does want to kill Sonic.

Which is a character moment for her. As in Adventure 2, Amy will happily break laws and go against who and whatever to help her friends; and as she did with Shadow, she's rather skilled at getting very hurt people to listen.

She's not unlike Silver in her willingness to do whatever it takes, really; since Temporal Bulldozer can and does traverse time on several occasions to make things right. And up until the last moment, it never occurs to him that anyone but he should bear the burden of saving the world. Blaze has to physically shove him aside so she can absorb Iblis herself.

Silver sees himself as a Hero with a responsibility toward the future just as much Sonic sees himself as just Some Guy.

Finally, Shadow. And man, there's a reason a lot of people say 06 was the last time a game featured Shadow written correctly.

It's me. I'm one of a lot of people.

Team Dark in general gets a fair bit of spotlight in 06. Rouge, an anti-heroine with perhaps the greatest self-interest after Eggman, promises Shadow that she'd stand with him even if the very world turned against him. Omega, who loathes taking orders and prioritizes his own freedom nearly as much as Sonic, takes on Rouge's assignment for him without question or complaint to wait out 200 years to help rescue Shadow.

And Shadow, in an in-game line during his first fight with Mephiles, reaffirms all the progress he made in his titular game that was wholly about discovering his identity: "Don't bother trying to deceive me. I know who I am!"

And, in contrast to the Shadow the franchise first introduced us to, the Shadow of Adventure 2 who was thoroughly convinced that his only remaining worth was his ability to keep his promise to Maria, the Shadow who was so resigned that he chose to plummet through the planet's atmosphere to his presumed death. . .

That Shadow is faced squarely with his fate of persecution, asked why he would bother fighting to protect. That Shadow declares that it the world turns on him, "I will fight as I always have."

He's grown such that he's now willing to fight against fate.

And that's pretty fucking cool.

On the other side, applying the same grading method to Forces, we find what I call (as of just now) character fauxments.

Remember how I talked about 06's introduction for Sonic? How he cuts through tensions, finds joy and fun in fighting bullies and bad guys?

The thing about that, which Forces doesn't seem to understand, is that if you lean too hard on the wisecracks and nonchalance, you end up with a character who reads as either obnoxious or totally tone-deaf. Sonic knows when to take things seriously, yet in Forces he's purportedly been tortured as well as locked up for half a year, Infinite's destroyed countless homes and killed who knows how many people, and yet when Sonic interrupts his fight with Silver. . .

I mean, if Sonic was written correct, you'd cut out a bunch of faff and change his line delivery. Show that he's frustrated by his time confined and absolutely raring to throw hands and get to business; because Sonic does understand when things have gotten real, and while rare, he does get angry. Something like:

"Since you like talking so much, mind sharing the source of your power? I can ask the easy way or the hard way. I've been cooped up a long time, so I'm hoping you pick the hard way."

It doesn't need to be the most original lines in the world, but Sonic's banter in the middle of a war shouldn't be long-winded, no matter how pretentious his opponent is (and damn, is Infinite pretentious. Like to the point that it's the most memorable part of the game.) If there's banter, it should be punchy and succinct; quick, like he is.

Instead, Forces Sonic's attitude is just kind of. . . incongruous with the stakes the game claims to have established. But then, since we don't get a truly convincing scene showing the rest of the cast being sad that he reportedly died, that's not too surprising.

Speaking of setting up stakes, here's an idea. Rather than cutting from Sonic laying battered in the middle of the city for a lazy six-month time skip established by text on the screen, make it clear that "Oh shit, things are different" via gameplay.

After Sonic falls, immediately transition into a level. Where you run from right to left to escape Eggman's fleet. Turns everything on its head, you can witness and navigate the destruction as it's happening and if you string together enough environs, you can even have the city burning in the distance or the skyline as you near the end of the stage and escape to relative safety.

Anyway.

And of course, the notorious character fauxment: Tails cowering in front of an offline Omega.

There's nothing I can say about this fauxment that hasn't been said already. It's not the first time in the series that Tails was portrayed as having regressed to a scared child, but it is the most egregious.

And. . . actually, that's about it, at least off the top of my head. Which might speak to how short the game is and how little screen time and action the main cast get aside from Sonic and the player character.

But it's enough to determine that Forces' story, or what stands in for it, is weaker than what 06 offered.

Again, I'm not here to rally a feral defense of 06 as a masterpiece, but its flaws are not on the level of Forces. The reason they're lumped together is the amount of disdain both games got on their release; though in the case of 06, the 2000's were just a weird time when hating things was somehow cooler than liking them, and since 06 wasn't up to par with Adventure 2 or Heroes, people picked an aspect of the game-most often how much the almost final fantasy style model for Elise didn't match up with the Mobian models (and yes, the final cutscene, but there's nothing new I can say about that either, and talking about it here is just an open invitation for someone to blow it out of proportion again) and dogpiled the hate on the game.

Sonic 06 feels unfinished owing to a lot of little and larger details. Knuckles' portrayal and having little to do in the story, poor optimization leading to nearly twenty second loading times, BLAZE BEING A GLOWING NEON MISSED OPPORTUNITY! (SEGA, I know I was literally twelve when the game was released, but my Phoenix headcanon works so well and makes her appearance in both Rush and 06 work! A retroactive fix would be so easy and we could get more adventures in her dimension!)

Even acknowledging all that, though, there were still attempts at creativity that just, for one reason or another, didn't pan out. There's significant potential here.

Forces is just. . . a mess. In every sense. And I understand how a mess can be attractive to a fandom, because a mess means you can take whatever you want from it and organize things however you choose.

But a mess that's sold as a finished game is not the same as a rushed title with visible untapped potential.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic #Sonic 06 #Sonic Forces #analysis #This is a reminder: I'm not interested in telling people how to enjoy Sonic #Just. . .#I have thoughts #clearly #Sonic 2006

6 notes · View notes

maple-the-awesome · 1 year

Text

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,593

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FORGIVE AND FORGET

At first, you had stood a few feet behind Steve, having followed him into the room intending to be an active part of whatever conversation would transpire there, however you've since given up on that plan.

You counted three glances from Bucky. The first was almost immediate when you approached, long and trapped on your figure as he groggily groaned your name. You're not too sure how much he remembers about the last few hours, but it didn't seem to take him long to at least realize his current situation.

After that, his glances were mere blinks that happened to pass over you before darting away to literally anywhere else be it the floor or roof, even down his shirt if it avoided your gaze. His words would fall silent then, his words escaping him with a stumble. That's when you decided it best to leave the room.

Even in absences, you don't go too far, in fact you only move out of sight, leaned against the wall outside where you can still listen somewhat, although Bucky's voice is so scratchy and quiet, it makes his sentences difficult to hear properly. Thankfully, Steve speaks much louder; purposefully, it seems, given how he also tends to rephrase whatever Bucky had said first before giving his own reply. He must be trying to make it easier for you to hear what's going on and stay in the loop despite your distance. Bless him.

A lot's said between the trio, some of which you've already known. You didn't need any refresher on what Bucky remembers about Steve or even the existence of certain words that can set off the Winter Soldier; he's confided in you all of that. What Bucky hadn't ever told you about was the apparent existence of other super soldiers under HYDRA.

It felt like cold water dumped over your body to hear him admit it. Yes, you've never exactly asked whether HYDRA made more super soldier copies, however with something that big - that dangerous - you'd think Bucky would've mentioned it beforehand. Did he not trust you with this information? Did he not think it was important, merely something that would fade away with time? Well, it's important now. According to him, that man who set off the Winter Soldier was asking about the location where the others should be kept; enough to form an army or make an empire fall, as Steve put it.

Fiddling with your fingers, you wait not so patiently on your own, trying to distract yourself from all your burning thoughts by studying details of this broken down warehouse until you hear footsteps to your right. Glancing up, you meet Steve's eyes. He says nothing, but nods; wordlessly permission, as you take it.

From there, you're free to enter the room by yourself. You move slowly, keeping a watchful eye for any reaction on Bucky's part, although he remains hunched over, running his flesh hand through his hair. As for his metal arm, it's no longer entrapped in the press like it had been originally, meaning he must be in a good enough mental state to not run, at least per Steve's judgment anyways (not that you'd argue).

"Bucky...? Are you okay...?"

He doesn't look at you, "...What did I do?"

You're tempted to play dumb and act like you don't understand his question, but that won't help anyone here, will it? So, you move even closer instead, cautiously kneeling in front of him which allows you to be at eye level since he refuses to give you the attention you're searching for otherwise.

"Well, a lot of those government agents are going to be sore for the next few days, let's put it that way. I guess you tried to make a run for it afterwards - according to Steve anyways -"

"- You don't know? I thought you were there -..." He finally looks at you, but when he does, his surprised words die in his throat with a whimper. Initially, you assume it must be out of irritation - a growing annoyance with the situation that he doesn't want to risk taking out on you, thus he shuts his mouth, however there's a different look in his eyes that tells you a different answer; a horrified look.

This overflow of emotion behind his light eyes confuses you until his metal hand slowly inches towards you then suddenly freezes in place with a quiver. Although it doesn't reach its destination and it takes you a moment to realize where said destination would've been, you're upset to have that information click in your head.

"James."

He breaths your name with a broken voice, " I...I hurt you-"

"-Oh, don't you dare," you cut him off sternly, sitting up slightly to cup his cheeks in your hands. He flinches against this touch which would normally be your cue to release him and apologize, but right now you're going to choose to be a little selfish.

Your hands remain firm yet soft against his cheeks, your thumb ever so delicately brushing against his cheekbone as you take your time examining his features. Then, you smile dreamily,"...I'm so glad you're safe, Bucky. Do you know how worried I was when you ran off - and I'm not just talking about back at the apartment, I mean at the government facility, too."

"I had you worried...?" He asks in disbelief. Any other day, he might've scoffed at such a ridiculous idea, however he just sounds like a shaken child with a hint of wonder and curiosity behind his words.

"Uh-huh. I thought you were going to disappear somewhere I couldn't find you, that or you were going to get caught by the man and put through another cycle of abuse like in HYDRA..."

Over the stubble around his chin and the smudges of dirt on his skin, your eyes eventually reach his, studying the complex color that often tends to change in the light as you've noticed. Right now, they're dark, nearly appearing green yet when he turns his head ever so slightly to lean into your touch at last, they capture a glimmer of sun that proves their icy shade.

You sigh heavily, unable to rip your gaze away from him as if stuck in a trance, "...I can't lose you, James."

'Twenty six', you remind yourself sadly. Twenty six now, twenty six then...How terrible would it be to keep losing Bucky at this age? You definitely don't want to make that a pattern. For some crazy reason, you've been able to remember him into a new life, allowing you this special chance to protect him and keep him safe; you gotta make the most of it...

A bit too quickly per his own judgment, Bucky's flesh hand rests over yours. He surprises himself by this action, freezing immediately in waiting for you to react negatively. Against his expectations, you don't shove him away or give him even the slightest sign of anger. You remain where you are, that small tug against your lips telling him it's okay to gently take hold of your hand and give it a squeeze.

"...I could've killed you," he wanted to say something else in the moment and maybe you know that deep down, but whatever those words could've been, they go unspoken, buried in thought alone when he chases another excuse he already knows will be hopeless against your stubbornness.

"Don't you go feeling guilty over something that was out of your control, Barnes. What happened back there was the Winter Soldier. Whatever HYDRA put inside your head, it takes you over completely and gives you no freewill. It's not you.

"We've lived together for the last two years and you've never done a single thing to harm me - and you never did a single thing to harm me before that either. You're a good person, James. You spent every Monday morning helping Rosetta take her groceries up to her apartment, you helped that kid get his cat out of a tree last month - Oh, and you sat through the entire extended cuts of Lord of the Rings with me yesterday! Not a single complaint!"

Bashfully, he turns his head, "...Anyone could do those things..."

"But they don't! Do you know how many times I begged Steve to watch just the theatrical cuts with me? Absolute refusal! I mean, seriously, is he that old that he can't sit through a mere nine hours of film? It's not that bad! It wasn't that bad, was it? Eleven hours plus? You looked like you loved them!"

Bucky chuckles, a sound that goes straight to your heart and is shown through your beaming expression.

Although more serious, your voice is still soft, "...If I thought you were at fault for what happened, I wouldn't be here now, James. I would want to be as far from you as possible, not wanting to risk my record let alone life, but I don't think you're at fault.

"I know you, better than anyone else, if I may be as bold. I knew how scared you were going to be when you came back to, so I refused to leave your side even with Steve glaring daggers at me. I wanted to be here to tell you this: that you're just as much a victim in what's going on and that I want to help in whatever way I can. I want to make whoever that guy was pay for ruining what you've worked so hard to build in these last few years and I want to make sure there's zero chance of anyone harming you through blackmail or the Winter Soldier again...Do you understand me?"

After a moment, Bucky relaxes and leans further into your touch with closed eyes. Once he opens them again, his flesh hand trails up and ever so softly grazes the dark bruises against your throat, ones that took no time at all forming. They're mostly red with a little purple outlining the shape of fingers stretching on each side; nothing that won't heal for you, although Bucky might see them for much longer.

"Bucky," you practically sing his name for his attention yet it takes a few seconds to have an effect.

"...I can't lose you either..."

Your heart skips a beat, your smile faltering for a moment in surprise. Moving your hand around in his, you make it to where you can bring both of them in between yours, holding them gently over your heart.

"And you won't,"...you never have... "I think you'll find I'm a lot harder to get rid of than expected, Barnes. We're tied together, you and I, so better get used to it!"

You soak in the look of his smile and the ever so quiet blow of air through his mouth. You could stay here like this all day if someone lets you, keeping him happy and safe in your company where you feel he's always belonged. It's moments like this that you feel so sure - so sure that this is exactly why you were reborn with your memories: to be here for Bucky; to be here with Bucky.

When you stand to leave, he doesn't follow with, letting his hand fall out of yours as he hesitates in place. Sensing his remaining doubts, you quietly tell him to take his time gathering his likely jumbled thoughts while you go check on the others.

You nearly jump out of your skin when walking around the corner to find Steve standing there, leaning against the same spot you had once been earlier. He kicks his foot against the ground, giving a half nod towards the other side of the warehouse, "Sam's doing a perimeter check. We're gonna try to sneak out of here once the coast is clear."

"Nice," Stuffing your hands into your pockets, you awkwardly rock on your heels, "Good, good..."

Steve himself is equally as awkward, looking around at no place in particular before his eyes return to you, "...How are you holding up?"

There was uncertainty in his voice. He doesn’t seem confident in the exact wording of that question and you don't truly know how to answer aside from, "Fine. You?"

"Fine."

Silence. God. Awful. Silence.

"...And how did you feel talking to Bucky? Isn't that...weird for you?" Where does he even take this conversation? How the hell do you talk to the reincarnation of your best friend's fiancée?

You shrug, walking towards the other side of the warehouse with Steve following your trail closely, "Of course it's weird. I'm just kinda used to it at this point...Well, for the most part anyways…I mean, yeah, it hurts biting my tongue and not being able to tell him how I feel or mention anything about our past together, but what can I really do?"

"You could tell him-"

"- Which is easier said than done,” you sigh, not wanting to have this conversation with another person. Natasha already gives you enough crap as it is, “Steve, he didn't get to end things with Hollie the way you did. The Winter Soldier killed me back then and he almost did it again! You were eavesdropping on us, weren't you? So you heard what Bucky had to say? He could barely even look at me and I know damn well he's still in there blaming himself right now despite everything I tried to say! How do you think he'll act if he realizes I’m Hollie too?! If his guilt is bad now, I don’t want to see what’ll be like if I were someone he actually loves!”

After taking a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose, "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell, I just...I refuse to tell him yet. I need to find a way to break the news where it's not only believable, but also doesn't make him walk away feeling like total shit. Ultimately, he should start getting his own life and mental health on track before Hollie enters the picture…”

"So until then, you'll keep being (Y/n) to him?"

"Exactly."

Steve frowns, "...But who are you going to be around me?"

"...Well, that depends. Who do you want me to be?" You hug yourself nervously, your thumbs rubbing against the fabric of your shirt as you consider the question no one’s really asked you before. No one else knows aside from Natasha who, by default, calls you (Y/n); the only version of you she’s known.

Steve hums, "I'll be honest, this is all...difficult to process. I can't really say I look at you and see Hollie…- but I do believe you, don't get me wrong there! I suppose it's just something I'm going to have to get used to, isn’t it?”

“Feel free to take your time.”

“Stranger things have happened. If aliens and androids can exist, then I guess it shouldn't be so crazy to think my friend has been reborn with all their memories intact."

"Ooh, Natasha mentioned the whole android thing. Must've been interesting."

"Yeah, you'll have to ask your nephew about it," Steve rolls his eyes, annoyed by the memory, however playful towards you. Dwelling over his thoughts a bit longer, he quietly comes to a conclusion, "...I just want you to be yourself. No more trying to accommodate me. If you want to say something, it shouldn't matter who you're saying it as. Yeah, it's going to take some time to get comfortable with, but...I'm just happy to have you around again - as Hollie and (Y/n). You've both been gone for a while."

You blink a few times then tilt your head backwards to stare at the holed roof of the warehouse, "Be myself, huh? I, uh…I actually like that thought."

'Just be myself. No dancing around lies or cover stories. Wow...I haven't done that since...a long while!'

NEXT CHAPTER➡️

⬅️PREVIOUS CHAPTER

20 notes · View notes

jovialjuggernaut-draws · 2 years

Note

Hi. If you want to, how about Riddlebat “Why do you feel the need to always clarify that every compliment is platonic?” in either Batman 66 or comicverse? Thank you.

"Why do you feel the need to always clarify that every compliment is platonic?"

Edward blinked, apparently startled by the question. "Usually straight men appreciate the clarification."

"Even when it's a lie?"

He smiled into his champagne, somewhat ruefully. "They're usually not able to spot the lie."

"You've invited me via riddle to join you at a table set for two, adorned with the same flowers you've left for each of your old flames, on Valentine's Day, no less. It would be pretty hard to miss."

"Yes, well," Edward sighed, swirling the last bit of champagne around his glass, watching the neon lights of Gotham's streets reflect off the golden drink, "you've managed to miss every other attempt. I had to assume this one would miss its mark, as well."

Bruce took the barest sip from his own flute, savoring the flavor. It really was a good bottle Edward had stolen for them. When the Riddler went in, he really went all in. "How do you know I've missed them? This could just be the first time I've said something aloud."

Edward poured himself another glass, offering the bottle to Bruce for refusal before returning it to the little table. "I know because you needed to ask. The Batman never admits he doesn't know something."

"And the Riddler frequently obfuscates, but never lies," Bruce countered. "Why lie about this?"

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Like I said, straight men usually-"

"For that matter, why do you assume I'm straight?" Bruce interrupted.

Edward's jaw dropped, lips parting in surprise. "You mean to say… you aren't?"

Bruce sipped from his champagne, raising an eyebrow Edward's way. "I'm a bit insulted you assumed otherwise."

"Well, then, in that case…" Edward looked a bit mischievous, suddenly, smirking into his flute. "You are, and I mean this as homoerotically as possible, as brilliant as you are handsome, Batman."

"I appreciate your honesty." Bruce sat his unfinished champagne on Edward's side of the table, rising to his feet. "It's important to me that you know, when I turn you down, it's not because you're a man. I just don't like you, specifically."

"That's a shame," Edward tutted, draining Bruce's glass for him, taking care to drink from the same spot he had. "I'll just have to try harder, won't I?"

#riddlebat #batriddler #this is strange love adventures specifically lmao #been needing to write their gay lil date

66 notes · View notes

waitingonthewind · 6 months

Note

Out of all your characters (from games or otherwise), which one do you think is the most like you? In what ways? Was it intentional, or was it an accident you only noticed after the fact?

(Feel free to delete if it feels too personal 🙈)

@undead-potatoes aaaaaa thanks so much for the ask!!! i don't love doing self reflection (i have a hard time in identifying things about myself and often rely on other people to Tell Me Who I Am) but i love talkin about my ocs so this ended up really big

ill pop the majority of this under the cut but here take an unfinished doodle of my first attempt at a fursona in this the year 2023 bc i finally had some insight into What That Might Be for me its a leafy sea dragon bc as a kid i loved dragons and also leafy sea dragons specifically and as an adult i love fish and plants and the colour green ok basics covered here we go

its a really tough one, especially since all my characters have huge parts of me in them (u point to one of my guys and there's a 99% chance they're queer and a 95% chance they're autistic), and the majority of my characters infect me with Their personalities and traits (speech mannerisms especially... i went about 3 years peppering the word gotcha into every other sentence bc of ollwyn. in terms of it being intentional, usually only one or two bits with each character. i try my best to give characters personality traits and interests that differ from my own, or at the very least mix and match bits and pieces.

sometimes i'll try and make characters that are so so different from me but then it backfires because it means that im far more likely to pick up that character's traits (i didn't swear at All in my whole life until i tried making a character outside my comfort zone who Did swear a lot and now fucking look at me). i also don't like doing my Research so going for interests that i don't know a lot about means i don't. know anything about them lmao.

i think it's impossible to have a character that isn't at least Somewhat like you, we draw from our own experiences and ways of seeing the world, after all. i know i put little pieces of myself into every character and it's hard to say if there's any One character that embodies me most.

almost none of my characters really look like me tho

all that being said i've narrowed down my entire list to three of note. all three are dnd or other ttrpg characters bc they're the ones that i find myself having to think most about in terms of how they Think and Feel in any given situation and over time would notice stuff about myself or about them that i didn't realise were related.

i think these days ollwyn wins out personality wise goofy, indignant, lonely, desperate for approval, and loud. they're stubborn and enthusiastic, needs to be centre of attention but doesn't want to take the lead. they don't have many friends but latch onto those they do make. i re-realised my rat dreams because of them. i made em a bard bc i was obsessed with music as an aesthetic.

i made em a half-elf because i didn't wanna be Too out there with character creation (back when i was a terrified lil new rp-er who hadn't touched dnd before and felt i hadn't Earned anything more interesting yet). then magic and stuff happened and they got all the over-the-top design elements i was too nervous to implement initially and even that feels representative of my Own growth in being more Out There with my aesthetics and personality (i.e. completely shutting off my social filter, not toning shit down so much anymore)

oh i know i said none of my characters really look like me but i almost never draw ollwyn with their mouth fully closed and i only realised like years later that it may have been just a mild lil projection of a habit. i got big front teeth and breathing issues and i find it uncomfortable to close my lips Most of the time lmao

my poor unfortunately named aasimar (it was 2018........ i promise...............) takes the cake when it comes to suffering the brunt of my neurodivergence and sensory issues, and represents a significant portion of the judgy parts of myself that i try not to let myself be. strong opinions, blunt, tone issues, big issues with food and touch. comes across as, and often is, very critical. the biggest difference between me and them is that they don't feel bad about those aspects of themself lol

where i spend every moment of my life either desperately concentrating on my wording so as not to come across as rude, or feeling shitty for coming across as blunt/aggressive in tone or phrasing (where 99% of the time i absolutely don't mean it that way im autistic pls im autistic if i wanna be able to get the Right words out the tone doesn't match and vice versa), corona just says what they want or what they think, and if people get offended, that's People's fault for not trying to make more of an effort to understand the way they talk.

sal is my Top Oc Of All Time and as such takes on a lot of random aspects of myself (skin picking, fidgeting, latent anxiety, All of the visual aesthetics i Wish i could pull off, my love of birds, my tendency to Mr Burns Posture my way through life. she's also very very australian), while also inflicting things on me lmao ive learned more about my gender from the years of playing her in her rp campaign than in the rest of my entire life. a lot of her experiences and dynamics with her friends and family reflect a lot of aspects of my own

i only want good things for her and constantly put her through fucking hell

anyway they're all So Much Weirder as people than I can really put on paper and in (relatively) different ways but i just know it all stems from the Who I Am of it all

bonus shout out to beki:

she was my homestuck fankid and first proper oc, which also meant that she was only about two steps away from a self insert. because i made her as a teenager, i feel the distance between us more each year, but im still very fond of her, in the same way i am for my teenage self. i wanna pat her head and tell her she's cool and not annoying and that her friends don't hate her and that things will be okay

i think it says a lot about me that all four of these guys fall somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum (almost in order of least to most aggressively aro/ace. ollwyn's a demiromantic greysexual, corona is demi + grey on both romantic & sexual orientations, sal's pretty much only interested in the One Guy Ever, and beki is sex repulsed, 100% aro/ace) lmao

#ask #undead-potatoes #oc #my oc #character talk #ole two toes sal #beki #ollwyn #i cant tag my aasimar #i just cant #idk if tumblr would block that shit ugh #i named em before it all i swear #ty so much for the ask i love talking abt my fuckin weird lil freaks

3 notes · View notes

helianskies · 2 years

Text

day 1: writer & artist

written for @hwsrarepairweek2022, welcome to the first work of ~a selection~ that i hope to share with you this week!

rating: teen+ ⠀ words: 1.7k

pairing: turkey/portugal 🇹🇷🇵🇹

read it below or over here on ao3!

João woke up to the sound of scratching, quiet and a bit distant, but still invasive. He stirred and dared to pry open an eye, unsure of what time of day he would potentially find himself immersed in, but otherwise quite certain of what it was that had disturbed him. For one, the bed was empty besides himself; secondly, this was not the first, nor third, nor tenth time that he had received such a wake up call…

…what was that thing they said about history repeating itself?

“Dammit, Sadık…” he groaned, rolling onto his back, arms flopped over his face in an attempt to block out the stream of sunlight hitting the bed.

“Good morning,” Sadık replied, nevertheless, still working away in the corner of the room. “Did you sleep okay?”

João had to bite back a laugh. “I was sleeping fine until you decided to start drawing again, querido.”

“Oh, uh… Sorry about that…”

“‘S fine, at least it’s a weekend. I don’t have to be in a good mood for anyone, like clients or co-workers… A day-long strop sounds kinda fun, really…”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping!” Sadık professed all the while, and sure enough, João heard the scrambling and rustling of paper being hastily set down on the floor—the only place for it to go—and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Sadık was good. Sadık was good to him—amazing to him, really—and João treasured that. Sadık was funny, caring without being suffocating, and incredibly wholesome. But, oh my God, was he also a bit of a dork (granted, one of João’s favourite things about him).

While his partner sorted himself out, João sat up in bed and stretched. A yawn fought its way out of him—he tried to smother it behind a hand—and the next thing he knew, he was the one being smothered by kisses, a barrage against his cheek. João could not stop himself from laughing.

“Okay, okay, I accept the apology!” he assured the other, only half-heartedly fending him off.

Sadık seemed relieved. “Good!” he replied. “Am I allowed to continue drawing now?”

João stammered over a response, the words escaping him before he eventually settled on: “Are you going to let me actually see what you’re drawing this time?”

“Well, maybe. Depends how it turns out.”

“You never show me your sketches,” João huffed, giving a pout as though to exaggerate his point (and guilt-trip him). “Considering that I’m the thing you draw more often than anything else, and also bearing in mind you normally paint places and not people, I’d kinda like to see what I actually look like. I hope you’ve been drawing my good side!”

“Every side is your good side,” Sadık promised him. A hand tucked João’s hair back over his shoulder and out of the way, and the intimacy of it, minimal as it was, certainly helped to mellow him. “I’ll show you later on. There’s some things that need fixing, and I’d hate for you to see an unfinished sketch.”

João conceded—compromise was far easier and than pushing for something—and in the same breath, Sadık agreed to take a break. That was all João wanted to hear.

With that settled, he got up from bed, a sudden burst of energy in his body (which seemed to startle Sadık somewhat), and he stretched once more. There was some tension in his shoulder—a massage would surely help, he figured—but rather than getting the hint, Sadık had other priorities:

“You should probably stop giving the neighbourhood a private viewing,” he said, a blanket appearing and wrapping itself around the lower half of João’s otherwise very naked body. The latter was amused. The curtains weren’t even open that wide but bless, if the paranoia wasn’t adorable!

“And here I thought you liked it when I was naked,” he teased.

“I do,” Sadık replied, “but only when I get the private viewing.”

“Mmmh. Noted.”

Still, João took custody of the blanket and kept himself wrapped up, mostly because that blanket was nice and cosy, and he was in no real hurry to get dressed. What was on his mind more than anything was the drawing—Sadık’s little obsession with grabbing whatever medium he had to hand and just beginning to transfer João onto paper. Sometimes, it was nice. He really was a talented artist, and seeing his passion and focus was quite the inspiration, as well as just generally endearing. But sometimes, the real João wanted the attention—wanted the dutiful gaze, the gentle fingers, the artist’s appraisal…

“João?”

“Mhmm…?”

“I’ve upset you.”

“No,” João said, shaking his head (but otherwise unsure how to reassure him). “You haven’t upset me, it’s fine.”

“Something isn’t fine, though,” Sadık nevertheless noted, “and I’ve got a funny feeling it’s still the drawing thing.”

João, knowing how transparent he could be around the other, was hardly going to deny it now. “It’s always the drawing thing,” he said. Not in a confrontational way, however, so much as just a dismissive, ‘it doesn’t really matter’ sort of way. This little thing hardly warranted a serious discussion, he felt. “Like I said, querido, it’s fine. I don’t entirely hate it.”

He just hated it when it got in the way of Them.

(Well, and his sleep… but that was less important.)

Just as João was ready to move on, start the day, debating between a shower and a hug, he was interrupted. Sadık stepped in his path and blocked his route to any exit from their bedroom (for less intimidating reasons that it sounded, of course). João was ready to dig his heels in, either way, so sure that the other wanted to address this blip. He didn't want the talk, he didn't want the coddling, he didn't want the, 'there there, it's okay' because he despised it—had seen it too often in previous relationships. That, and he quite simply didn't want to get in the way of Sadık and his craft. So further discussion was off the table!

Yet, words and diatribe did not appear. Not right away.

Instead, Sadık’s hands came to hold his face, cupping his cheeks and ensuring that João listened to whatever it was he had to say. The way he smiled held a warmth that only Sadık was capable of—a warmth that spread right from his chest, through his fingertips, and into João’s very being. Silly as he thought it was, for the other to draw him so frequently and to be the subject of the other’s gaze in such a way, João... did love it. He appreciated it. Sadık loved him, and he never had to say it for it to be believed.

“Listen,” his partner duly began, “I can’t help it, and you should know that by now. There’s just something so beautiful about you, canım, and I don’t know what it is—but you are just… I can’t resist drawing you, loving you…”

Warmth became poorly-hidden surprise.

“Beautiful?” João repeated, trying to mask his wariness of the word behind a light scoff, a half-laugh. What followed was a brief but awkward pause, an uncertainty about how to respond… “Very cute and romantic of you,” he eventually managed to say as the other’s hands fell away again, “but flattery will get you nowhere. You woke me up with your endless scratchy sketching, and you still have to make it up to me!”

“Ah— Coffee?”

“And?”

“Breakfast in bed?”

João tutted. “I’m not in bed anymore, what’s the point?”

“On the balcony, then,” Sadık suggested. “Coffee and a light breakfast.”

“Better. it’s almost perfect, in fact…”

“Almost…?”

João tapped his cheek. Sadık understood. He leaned in and a peck landed on his cheek (warmth blossomed from the spot, a raindrop rippling in a lake) and, just when João was ready to let him get on his way, Sadık saw fit to then steal a heartier meal from the other, lips on lips, hands on waist.

Yes, well, when Sadık had suggested a light breakfast, João had not expected himself to potentially be on that menu.

(Maybe for lunch...)

“Go on,” João laughed, gently pushing the other away before someone got too greedy (as much as he would have loved to carry on). “Go and make a start on food, or something. I’m going to have a quick shower, okay?”

“Aw, didn't you fancy sharing with me?”

“Just go!”

Satisfied with his jesting, Sadık scarpered off, snickering away to himself through the apartment, and leaving João to himself.

A shower was indeed a good idea. His hair was in need of some attention (really, those dead ends seriously needed trimming; he would have to ask Sadık if he minded helping him with that later on) and, just in general, he preferred to feel properly refreshed and awake before getting on with the day. It put him in a better mood.

Before he did that, however, there was… something he had to quickly do.

With Sadık gone, João returned to his bedside table and opened the middle drawer. From it, he retrieved an old pen and a notebook, already half-filled with scrawl and mess and explosions of random thoughts that came to him at all times of day. But he needed it. It may have been chaos, but it was also important to him—an ongoing project that, much like his hair, required some serious attention.

Sitting down on the bed, João hurried to find where he had left off: a chunk of dialogue more matted than his own locks. Bad, bad, bad. He turned to the adjacent blank page, wielded his pen, and began to write an… alternative exchange:

“I can’t help it, and you should know that by now. There’s just something so beautiful about you, and I don’t know what it is—but you are jus—”

“Beautiful is a big word, and a very sweet one, too. But what makes me beautiful is you—your love. You give me a reason to be. Without you, there would be no one to be beautiful for; I’d be a garden with no flowers, a ship with no sea. You are why I am the way that I am, and I love you for it—more than these words could ever truly say.”

Yes, yes… That was much, much better…

Now, if only he knew how to say that, not in a book, but to a face…

#hws portugal #hws turkey #turkport #hwsrarepairweek2022 #after the last turkport fic i wrote it was hard to uh s t o p #your honour i—

28 notes · View notes