#ruomas

         THE   TOUCH   STARVED   PUCK     starts  crying  immediately.

ㅤ“ i should have said something, but i couldn't find something to say so i just said nothing. ” love them or hate them, the sounds of a bar were unmistakable ─ a fact which was only enhanced in the sticky gloom of after hours patronage ; the hum of overhead lights more noticeable when only a few were left on, the echo of ice hitting an empty glass, the glug of a pouring bottle taking on a new & almost embarrassing shade as a nearly deserted room gave the sound an obscene bodily quality. when those sounds rung out there was truly only one place a person could be, and it was, conveniently, the one place where rogue could always be found.

"have ya tried drawing a picture?" it's a tease, albeit a soft one. eyes washed over the other -- studying, curious, eager to dive into this perceived problem even though it was none of her damn business. and to think, she was usually SO good at minding that.

SYMBOL  HEADCANON  QUESTIONS  /  @ruomas

Oh,  all  the  time.  It's,  like,  instinctual  for  him  to  disregard  his  own  feelings  in  favor  of  others'  comfort  --  even  when  he  has  no  memories.

Puck  is  a  sensitive  person,  &  he  is  so  very  Aware  of  that  fact.  He  is  also  So  Very  Aware  that  he  is  big  and  tall  and  scary,  so  he  knows  his  reactions  can  frighten  others,  or  even  potentially  come  across  as  threats  if  he  responds  angrily.  In  general,  anger  is  an  emotion  he  just  doesn't  let  himself  express  or  even  feel  at  all.  He  is  always  watering  himself  down  to  avoid  conflict  where  he  can.

Cruelly, Iago doesn't seem to take Viator's cry for help very seriously, and sends another leaf floating down the stream he's currently fishing in, plenty entertained by that alone. Well, that, and the torture they've been subjecting him to.

"Hm. I doubt it. I imagine you would have to travel at least a krill-ion miles for that," Iago replies flatly, somewhere around the thousandth pun they've tormented the man with since the start of this little venture.

⸻ It's easier than you might think for her to say it, but that doesn't mean she says it with any regularity. Really, the only time she says I love you is to Benji and they're typically the one who says it to her first. Love is a sacred word and emotion, so she's selective in who she says it to. Ultimately, if she means it, she doesn't have difficulty saying it; she simply doesn't make it a priority to mention, compared to other forms of physical and verbal affection.

𖤝 … @ruomas.

her heart does something soft and complicated in her chest at viator’s words.... a gentle folding inward like the closing of a flower at dusk. she understands, perhaps better than most, what it means to go unwitnessed. to be unseen. to move through the world with one’s truest self tucked away behind careful walls, shown only to the moon and the dark and the silence of an empty room. but she does not want to be sad for them. not when there is sweetness to be made instead.

they let her in, and that is reason to be happy.

“like this?”　sayén asks almost beaming, and there is a sly warmth curling through her voice. she does not wait for an answer. instead she clambers — there is no other word for it, given the frankly unreasonable distance between her height and theirs — scrambling up against the solid warmth of their body until she is close enough to count every lash, every fleck of green in those beloved eyes. her small hands find their face, cupping the sharp planes of their jaw, fingers curving against the warmth of their cheeks. the contrast of pale pink against tanned olive, their sun-kissed skin she wishes to kiss as well.

she stares at viator. unblinking. her fully black eyes are wide and round and faintly absurd this close, dark as the space between stars, reflecting nothing but their face.　“like this?”　she repeats, and her voice trembles with barely contained laughter as she leans impossibly closer,　“or this?”　she pulls them down — or tries to, which is its own kind of comedy, and presses a flurry of kisses across viator’s face. their forehead, their nose, the bridge of their cheekbones, the corner of their mouth. swift and ridiculous, a pouring rain of affection. the pink creature showing love the only way she knows how; with her whole heart and absolutely no dignity whatsoever.

when she finally stills, her lips hovering just above theirs, she is grinning so wide her cheeks ache.　“you will have to catch me like your fish.”　she kisses them, soft and sweet and lingering.

@ruomas