A bit of a wildman - archived

Bumi is a ray of sunshine in my life. Started RPing him almost as a joke, and he’s since taken over my soul. I guess that’s the way he is- or at least to me- a wild wave washing you over before you can know.

Sadly though, RPing has been hard for me lately, and I can’t find the strength to try it anymore.

I’ve made lots of friends through this, and I loved every like, question, thread I’ve gotten with this sweet, chaotic boy. I’ll be forever grateful for the love you’ve shown him.

I won’t be deleting this blog, because I can’t even process that thought, but I won’t be coming here anymore. If anyone ever feels like reaching out, for whatever reason, you may do so at my main @ragdollrory, and I’ll be more than happy to talk to you, about absolutely anything at all.

It wasn’t often outside of the islands that she was blessed with the presence of another Oceanic soul, and so at once Beth felt both very proprietary toward and attached to the man. Neither quite nostalgia of her ‘uncles’ nor just the simple feeling of home, but a mix of both and the enthusiasm of not being alone in the crowd so to speak. His smile though was exquisite and tugged hers into something luminous in return. He knew. He understood.

She doesn’t stiffen at all or feel out of place when he takes hold of her neck. There was no need to shy away from kin and that was exactly what he was. A cousin from a different island but born of the same mother, and respectful of the ways handed down from generation to generation. She takes delight in the canvas of his soul, of rope burn and sea-spray, of sun and wind waving in the gently blowing breeze, and beneath that a verdant growing, volcanic peaks and weathering joy. If fills some of the empty places she has and asks very little to nothing in the exchange. The embrace says I know you. I see you. We are the same. Slight fingertips catch the dampness on his cheeks as she then brushes back against his hair before settling back on her feet with a contented sigh. She cannot help that she’s been too curious for her own good but he is generous and chooses to answer her all the same. It only enchants her further. The clear love he bears his husband is beauty and life itself. She does not envy him but hopes someday to be able to speak of someone in that very same way. She takes his hand readily and has a seat beside him, charmed by the civility of his manners. She murmurs thanks when he holds out the chair for her and manages to prop her chin onto her hands, supported by her elbows on the tabletop. Her eyes never stray from his face, occasionally darting from the warmth of his gaze then down to his mouth before moving back again. She doesn’t mention her father is an Admiral of that particular branch, but for a moment her teeth worry against the inside of her lip. “See, I nevah understood dat, ya know? Like if ya in da service an’ ya happen t’ fall in love wi’ someone else in it, why dey goddah…is no’ right, ya know. Jus’… awful an’ I’m sorry dat happen to ya. Both of ya. But a’ leas’ ya did meet, an’ now ya togeddah. Sailin’ round from port ta port sounds pretty amazing t’ me.” She grins again when he officially introduces himself, and moves a hand to brush the back of his wrist. “More’n a pleasure t’ meet ya, Bumi. Elikapeka Riley, Oahu, Hawai’i. Also lived a lotta places, but ya no can separate one of us from da wattah, eh? Ya can call me Beth, though. Everyone does.”

“You would think that at least they would care about keeping their numbers, instead of what someone does in the intimacy of their love life, but-” Bumi shrugged. He’d long ago decided nowhere that didn’t accept him and Iroh as they were, was worth his time, nor his grief. There were fond memories from his time in the Navy, he’d met Iroh there after all, but also Julie, and so many good friends. Visited lovely places. He couldn’t complain that much, not where it landed him where he was now.

—Bumi’s right, Iroh does like that. More so, he likes Bumi in general, likes Bumi like a fish likes water and a lion their pride, a wolf their pack, and in all his life he has never once been one to turn down being touched by the man.

He allows the touch, if allowing means he sinks into it and gives his all to the sensation of his friend’s fingers entwined with his own. His cheekbone nudges Bumi’s shoulder as they go, abandoning the remnants of crab and their drained thrice-refilled glasses and the ghosts he’d expelled in the restroom. He lets Bumi lead him into the light beyond the dark enclave of the restraurant’s antechamber, and smiles.

“Always so worried about money,” he comments fondly, relying on touch more than vision as he’s blinded by the evening sun; he cloes his eyes entirely after they wet with moisture, and trusts that Bumi’s hand in his will not lead him astray. “You can have it all, haven’t I told you before? I don’t care anything for it, I don’t need it.”

What’s his is Bumi’s, his heart, his gut, his mind, his cock, Bumi can take whatever it is he pleases, and vaguely Iroh hopes he might be stripped raw, left desecrated, left loved so that perhaps when he reflects back on his life as an old man—if he makes it so far—he’s able to feel the satisfaction of having been adored by someone who actually understands him.

They end up in line for the tickets, looking out over the brilliant arcs the coasters in the fare etch into the saturated evening sky; Iroh’s nail drags across Bumi’s palm as they wait.

The saccharine scent of cotton candy draws Iroh from the depths of his thoughts; shy, inquisitive eyes catch Bumi’s as they wait for their turn at the register.

“I didn’t pull you away from anything important, did I?” He asks, suddenly filled with doubt. “It might have been presumptuous of me to fly over. For some reason, I can’t remember if I asked, or just told you I would be arriving.”

“Still.” Bumi’s fingers tightened around Iroh’s in an appreciative gesture. He knew Iroh care little over such things, in a way only someone who’s born both with money, and a kinder heart than most people with his bank balance had. But Bumi cared, because that was how friendships worked, right? Iroh fucking flew over to see him, and Bumi paid for the damned crab.

He wanted to do it, needed to, for many reasons, all in different states of logic, but all important for Bumi to feel like he was pulling his weight in the friendship. At the very least, he needed that.

The way to the fair was comfortably silent, Iroh’s presence so close next to him, the warmth that radiated through Bumi’s body from where they were joined at their hands, was well worth paying for every crab and bottle of tequila in the world.

“Don’t be silly,” Bumi turned to Iroh, free hand moving far too easily to rest on the man’s hip, and he couldn’t even begin to understand what was it with him that day. Whatever was making him lose the very careful hold he’d had on his emotions up until then. He bumped their foreheads together, happiness and a healthy amount of panic touching at the smile on his lips. “I’m never doing anything more important than you." 

He can’t breathe.

The world slows on the drugs he’s so thoughtlessly injected, so much so that Iroh can see every fucking lash, each color in Bumi’s eyes as he leans forward, the world reduced to shades of gray apart from that stunning lapis, his mind reduced to a thought: just what is it the maniac has set on doing now?

Just how is it he will choose to unravel Iroh this time?

All modicum of thought, of beating, of living itself stills when their lips meet, something brief and powerful, the very moment something tender and fragile within Iroh’s chest chooses to fracture. For a moment, while their lips touch, while Bumi’s thick fingers are on his jaw and his mustache dances along Iroh’s bare upper lip, he is whole, for the first time in his life he is whole.

And then the warmth is gone, and he can almost feel a gear slip loose. He is reduced to big, clumsy hands that can’t seem to do anything but fist at the table, and cheeks that burn without his permission, a half stiff cock, and shame.

“Once again you’re too kind to me, Wildman.” It’s a monotone, and he affords Bumi a smile he doesn’t feel as he scoots out of the leathery booth. “Bathroom. Sorry. Just a sec.”

Iroh doesn’t know how he makes it across the restaurant and into the bathroom, doesn’t know how he manages to secure the room without anybody else inside. All he feels is the door at his back as he collapses against it. The fingers that wind up to obscure his face.

He lets out a rattling sob, tears bead at the inside corners of his eyes. His fingernails dig into the side of his mouth to keep from making any noise.

If it’s a panic attack, it’s not one he’s had before; if it’s ecstacy, it doesn’t feel remotely good. Iroh slides to the floor. Sobs wrack his shoulders. Tears leak down his jaw and neck.

He debates calling Kya; his fingers slide along the glossy edge of his cell, tempted. But even if he managed to reach her, what would he say?

That Bumi has started jokingly kissing to show affection will be Iroh’s very end.

His fingers trace the shape of his mouth; his hands feel as though they’ve been hollowed out from the inside of the palms. It’s a pain that seeps into every facet of his shattered being. Bumi’s proclivity to touch is what has done him in in the first place, hooked him, lured him, trapped him. It is Bumi’s careless touches across his jaw and neck that sends him reeling, wanting, lonely and craving more, coiled into himself at night and repeating, over and over, that Bumi deserves better than him; a pretty woman who can bear children and the weight of their own existence without breaking more often than not, someone inherently whole.

He is not that; for that reason alone, he is not worthy of even considering telling his best friend how he feels. He will bear it now as he has before, and he will bear it as he stands beside Bumi at the altar as his future wife approaches them both down the long aisle, and maybe then he will be able to fucking forget how every particle of his being yearns for Bumi’s touch.

His eyes are red, but nothing unnatural, he assesses, dragging himself to stand in front of the mirror some minutes later. His hair is a mess, although Iroh suspected it may have been in a similar state before they had even met on the pier.

He is ragged and unkempt, he is high as a kite and now drunk, too, he is on a trip to see his affectionate best friend and then, when he leaves the following day, he will be able to ebb off of each high.

His quarters in their vessel will help, small enough not to notice that he is alone. His duties will fill the void in his chest just fine enough. He will set his phone off for some days, and he will forget.

“You fucking fool,” he says to himself, breath steaming at the glass. Iroh wipes it, and gives a great effort to compose himself, and leaves the restroom once more.

Bumi’s expression is innocuous as he returns, and Iroh ruffles his hair somewhat as he slides back into his side of the booth, and smiles.

“You know, I see what all those girls find so interesting now.” His eyes linger on Bumi’s lips. “Beneath all that scruff, you really are soft, aren’t you?”

Bumi watched Iroh leave with a nod, unsure if his friend had even seen it by how quickly he left the table, and the second he saw Iroh walk into the bathroom, his head hit the table. He was lucky enough that he hit no cluttery, nor fell onto the crab, although he would’ve deserved a fork to his forehead.

He was an idiot. A stupid, good for nothing, giant, irresponsible, mess of an idiot, who can’t have a nice thing and accept it for what it is, without following his own selfish needs and fucking it up ten times over.

He felt like crying, and maybe he did, amidst the hair pulling and the incessant cursing to the tablecloth. What a massive moron he was. Why on Earth had he done that? What, in his many years of amazing friendship with Iroh, told Bumi it was a good idea to kiss him? And today of all days, too.

True, they had done plenty of dumb things while drunk, or high. He could even admit to them having shared some flirting banter on some night out with their crew, head hazy with drinks, and spirits joyous with the celebration of the moment. But it had never moved from that, teasing; the kind you share with someone you know as intimately as they did, allowing you to prod at the other’s proclivities for a good laugh and a taunt back.

Why? Why, oh fucking why, did Bumi had to go and fuck it up so monumentally when he’d been doing so good so far?

A hand let go of the aggressive rubbing of his eyes he was now at, fishing his phone out and writing a very detailed text to Kya, stating why he was the worst human being in existence at the moment. After he hit send, and asked for the check so that he could at least save Iroh from the shame of having to keep sharing a table with him, Bumi sent Shiko a text as well. Shorter, completely vague but apologetic, and asking the girl to kick him again next time they met. If she were to forgive him at all, that was.

Bumi hoped he’d manage to appear somewhat composed once Iroh returned from the bathroom, even when his chest felt like it would crush around his heart and lungs any moment now.

His laugh at Iroh’s joke felt almost alien from his raw throat, brain scrambling to find something to answer and aid Iroh in the man’s attempt at diffusing the evident tension. “Ha, sure. I guess it’s all the chapsticks I steal from Julie. You know, self care and all that.

“I, um- I payed already, you can get the check next time, or just pay for the games at the fair. If you don’t mind me winning you a prize with your own money.” His voice was slowly returning to normal, and he even managed a wink, hoping it was seen as the many others they’d shared before, and ignoring the new voice in his head telling him everything was wrong now. 

He’s gone and done it now, fallen headfirst into the dumb way his brain slows on drugs like this, the liquor and good food and Bumi’s touch, why had he gone and touched him like that, just what was it that had possessed him?

Something dangerous, Iroh thinks, and suppresses a grimace, and—coils his fingers into one another on his lap, and evaluates his plate. It’s better that he not lose control of himself, or better yet, lose control of himself in the body of some pretty boy whose name isn’t Bumi, who isn’t Bumi, who will like him for a night and leave him to the fish the day after, who won’t be taking him on burdened by so many of his fucking issues.

“It’s—a remarkably dumb story.” And his cheeks are warm, and his fingers a little slick as they tug through his bangs so that they hang in front of his eyes in that messy way they always have no matter how hard he’s tried to tame them. “Myself, and a box of matches, and three other wasted sailors.”

And a bottle of lube, and a full beaker of everclear, and three days without eating, and five months’ not wanting to live. A night of crazed joyous mania in the midst of an impossible void.

His lashes flutter towards Bumi as he pushes it away, props his sharp jaw on threaded fingers and looks his best friend’s way.

“You’ll still win me a prize, won’t you?”

“Fuck.” The word was but a whisper that got lost between Bumi’s lips and the plate, his gaze dropping from the way Iroh’s gaze burned like a curse through him. His heart stammered in his chest in an all to familiar way already, but there was a something more to it now. He looked back up.

Bumi knew he was hopelessly in love with Iroh, had been for years now, but the way his golden eyes sat on him from under his long lashes, the pink blush on his cheeks, and that smile- The sweet request, and the way something quite so innocent looking shouldn’t be able to melt Bumi like this.

But it was just what Iroh did, every day, without even meaning to. And Bumi was doomed by the tender and almost bashful way his friend was staring at him, chin perched on his hands.

He moved on instinct, a hand caressing across the color already fading from his high cheekbones, fingers cupping his jaw with the care Iroh deserved. With the fear a man like Bumi should have, walking on the breakable thread that was loving his best friend. He dared not look away until the very end, hoping to find his common sense along the way; something that reminded him of how much liquor they’d had, and how this was probably the worst idea his lovesick brain had had.

His lips pressed against Iroh’s, and finally Bumi’s eyelids fell, his pulse skyrocketing out of control. It wasn’t longer than a couple of seconds, but they were enough for Bumi to know nothing would ever feel like this ever. It was the confirmation he needed, that he was a fool for trying to find elsewhere what only Iroh would be able to give him.

Kalden scoffed. “Building a new kitchen? You think I will be the one to build a new kitchen?” Saving his daughter from the evil, evil man, he lay a hand on Tonraq’s chest, then gestured towards Bumi in the same motions. “You two– you two heathens are responsible for this.”

“What’s a heathen?” Tikaani squirmed, clearly wanting at the brownie batter smearing Tonraq. He held onto her tightly.

“Your father would be the perfect example. Promise me you’ll turn out nothing like him, my darling.” Another jab at Tonraq, a glare at Bumi, “and that one is the worst of them all! Unko Scoundrel!”

A peal of laughter rang in the air. Scoundrel seemed to be of some amusement, negating its impact as both guilty men began to laugh. Flour fluttered from their clothes, batter from their faces and hair. Shaking his head, Kalden had half a mind just to drag in the hose. He was a mess himself, however unwilling.

“Shall we take a picture for Iroh? He’ll love to see this.”

“Oh, no no, I would definitely build the new kitchen, don’t you worry.” And to be honest, he would. Bumi did love all those projects, and even though last time he did something as big had been a while ago in his parents’ home, he was confident in his skills.

“I would make it so that you get a little more room around the counters though, seeing you two are big men, and it gets a little cramped in here.” Of course he used the opportunity to show Kalden just how small the space was, pulling man and daughter into a tight hug, Tonraq already under his other arm, as they prepared for a selfie or two. 

bold denotes relevant traits / skills italics denotes situational traits / skills with some proficiency

- repost, don’t reblog -

FULL NAME:  Bumi Kaitiaki NICKNAME:  Idiot, mostly. xD

╳   FLAWS.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | complaining | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgemental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive

♔   STRENGTHS.

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful  | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic  | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

🖌 SKILLS & HOBBIES.

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | beach combing | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess (pai sho) | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | singing

“Listen. Hey, now-” A hand patted Tonraq’s shoulder, probably a couple more times than originally intended, but Bumi needed to make sure the man in front of him was the real thing, if a bit blurred at the edges. That was probably the alcohol’s fault, though. “Listen, Tonraq.

“You just... go up there, and dance to Barbie Girl. That’s all.” Bumi stated, a palm sweeping in front of them in a definite motion. “People’ll love you, we get a free bottle to drink, just like that.” It took two attempts, but he managed to snap his fingers. This one he wouldn’t give the alcohol, but his wet fingers from the chilled bottle he’d been honing up until that moment.