sonder

Wemmbu’s had hundreds of bad days. From watching an empire he was forced to build be blown to bits, loosing his best friend in the end dimension, loosing the reoccurring battles with FlameFrags— nether, he’d been seen by the entire server, on his knees, at fucking LettuceK’s mercy.  If he had to, he would’ve put the latter at the top of a list ranking said bad days. Would’ve glowered at the memory atop its pillar if it weren’t being commandeered in this very moment.

He was on the ground, a wing twisting uncomfortably beneath his body weight. His legs kicked feebly, mace just *barely* out of reach, on the ground above his head. It had been a usual Sunday, one of the more relaxed eras of the server where there was a significant lack of factions trying to overtake Unstable. He had decided to meet with Flame at his base, Eggchan obviously in tow— the man had followed him everywhere prior to being freed from the end, but following his release, his attatchment seemed to worsen. Not that Wemmbu minded, no, he couldn’t ever find it in himself to be genuinely peeved over his too-heavy footsteps or his stupid questions or that *god awful* armor.

Wemmbu and Flame had agreed to some peaceful duels, nothing more than horse play. It was an all-day thing, Egg could wander around with his book and document wildlife or do whatever egg did, and Wemmbu and Flame could bond over their shared interest. 

It was meant to be good practice— a good outlet for Wemmbu’s ever burning energy and a chance for Flame to analyze any of the voidling’s new strategies.

But as the day dragged on and the sun somehow grew more overbearing as it began to set, Wemmbu found himself growing increasingly agitated. He was hot, hungry, exhausted, and frustrated because no matter what he did, Flame would remain two steps ahead.

He grunted, bending his leg to knee the man on top of him in the stomach as he reached for Gambit once more. It didn’t get him anywhere, Flame barely wincing at the flailing leg as he wrapped a hot hand around the his wrist. He pushed the appendage into the packed, dry dirt with his palm and Wemmbu groaned in aggravation, head lolling to the side. 

“Do you yeild?” Was hummed above him, Flame’s tone bordering smug. Wemmbu huffed again, more mindless complaints flowing from his tongue as he squirmed once more. Flame’s hold tightened on his wrist, hand heating to something mean as he pressed harder, pressed *closer*.

“*Do you yield?*” he asked again, words louder with emphasis as he dropped further into Wemmbu’s space. Wemmbu, who had *totally* been paying attention, turned his head to face Flame again. When he was greeted by the other’s face mere inches from his own, he thinks he might’ve lagged. He had yet to look the other in the eyes, instead taking in the glinting sheen of sweat painting the other’s dark skin, the way his blind fold had loosened and allowed him to see the beginnings of the other’s eyes, yellow and orange cracks adorning the skin around. Or the small scar just above the tip of his nose, or the way his lips were cracked in the biome’s arid heat. He licked his own, seemingly reminded of his dehydration.

A voice woke him from his trance, a simple, gruff, “You good?” uttered from the man above him. His eyes snapped back up to Flame’s blindfold— Wemmbu blinked, a defensive smile tugging at his lips as he pushed against the other once more. 

(He wouldn’t ever hear about it, but Flame couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Wemmbu’s scarred face— the lighter shade of purple freckles dusting his cheeks and nose, the scar over his chin from a fight Flame wanted to learn about, those stupid, smart-mouth lips—)

“Bro— get off,” he laughed, the noise tense and breathless. He can feel something deeper, a warmer heat creeping up his neck and down his back, pooling in his stomach and cheeks. Flame seems to stare at him a little while longer before he’s eventually forced off by two strong hands at his shoulders, Wemmbu rolling out from under him. He dusted himself off and stood up straight, wings stretching out as he reorganized his thoughts. Atleast Egg didn’t see that, the man could read him like a book. He looked over to where his near-broken helmet had been discarded, meeting Egg’s sat form, that near-sighted eye tracked on his face with an amused glint.

Wemmbu scoffed, brows furrowed as his wings puffed up. He busied himself with repairing his chest plate, the task far easier than meeting either man’s gaze.

walrus