The Unlovables

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The Unlovables

Everyone loves a hero. As long as they're youthful, hot, charming and conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, all the old, ugly, broke down, difficult-to-love, bastards out there are toiling away in lonesome obscurity trying not to daydream too much about what a relief it would be if someone came along with a soft touch, and a kind word, and the promise that it'll be ok.

Whether canon or fandom branded them as such, whether it's well deserved or not, there's lots of unlovables. They know most beasts never transform for their beauties. They've probably noticed that even in the Disney version Quasimodo ends up alone ffs. Still, props to them for maintaining a shred of optimism about finding love. Even if they'll never admit to being hopeful.

So if you spent prom on the bleachers. If you max-out at a 5 (maybe 6 generously). If you've got a history of first dates and very few seconds; If you can guarantee you'll get the seat to yourself on the train. Chin up, champ. This one's for you

how to play:

Top level with your unlovable characters; State any prefs like gen, shippy or nsfw. Link your permissions pgs. Tell us a bit about what makes your muse a tough sell.

Comment to comfort someone the world finds difficult to love and be the real heroes in this meme.

Comments

[wolfdogwitcher]

He tenses slightly, and the hand holding his balled up shirt shifts to allow her to explore while still covering part of the opposite side. There's a scar there too, the less appalling companion of the one on his face. Thankfully, the one she picks provides ample distraction.

"I'm surprised it's still there." He says. "That is from a spill I took before my changes." He twists little to look at it, to remind himself. "We train using these big machines. I got hit with...the windmill, I think. Which has these big arms on it that turn around q center post. Supposed to teach you how to dodge. Anyway, one of the arms was busted and when it hit me it uh...skewered me, kinda. Even after the old man stitched me up, I swear I was still pulling splinters out of my belly for weeks.

[awarriorsheart]

The poor lighting is on his side at least in the sense that she has to glean to take a proper look at the expanse of muscled skin to make sense of his marks. In a way he could read a little like a map, except she can't quite make that connection in her slightly, somewhat inebriated state. Instead, she listens and her smile returns.

"So you were a wee lad?" She looked surprise. His description of the event had her reaching up with her other hand to cup his (non-marred) cheek, albeit very briefly before she caught herself and withdrew, resting on his leg for support. "Sorry-" she hummed. "'S just... It's different if I think it's a child getting hurt like that. Your training must have been brutal. Even before your... Changes."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Yeah. I came to the witchers at maybe four? Five? A foundling from the mountain roads. Only strong bodies survive the alchemical process so the training is brutal. It has to be." He shrugs. "Those of us who survive are the best swordsmen in the world. Nobody compares to the School of the Wolf."

Hopefully she remove her hand before she could feel the skin beneath his stubbed cheek flush at her touch.

[awarriorsheart]

"So I've heard, and you've given me enough evidence of that."

If she feels it, she doesn't say anything. She tilts her head a little to look at him and frowns, as if the weight of his words is sinking in. His whole life has been absolutely brutal; no wonder folks will say a witcher has no heart or feelings. No wonder he, himself, parroted that mantra earlier.

Her life on the fields was a walk in the proverbial park in comparison.

"Is this..." She hums, trailing off as if denying herself a line of thought and finally, slowly, removes her hand. Her fingertips brush his shoulder, but ultimately rest on her own lap. "Sorry. Here I am invading your space."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"It's fine. I think." He says, quietly. "Just not used to being touched this much." Still, he'd reached out when she'd touched his shoulder, assuming she was wobbly from all the beer and needed assistance. Not that she would just touch him of her own accord.

Though if she did, he would probably simply divert her somehow, like he had done when she asked about his face.

[awarriorsheart]

He would be surprised. Well, actually so would she; she's being rather touchy-feely, isn't she? And though she would like to blame the alcohol, all it has done is leave her more uninhibited.

That leads way to some dangerous thoughts.

"I'm not used to touching someone this much. 'S just you..." She glances down at her hands on her lap, thinking, then finally shakes her head. "Oh, never mind. You'd think I'm being quite silly. More beer?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"I'm down for more beer, but that's the second thought you've started and cut off in as many minutes." He says, and his lopsided expression is one of concern. "Maybe we shouldn't drink too much more. It might be a bad idea."

[awarriorsheart]

"My mind was wandering down slippery slopes. You wouldn't want to know." She holds up her mug and wiggles it a little, playfully, as if that would ease his concern. "I'm good for a couple more at most, don't worry."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Maybe two more." He rumbles, his eyes starting to burn like dying coals in the dark as his eyelids droop. "But then you probably ought to stop." As if he's not starting to get a little buzz going.

[awarriorsheart]

"I'll stop when I'm dead," she responds half-heartedly, but the small wave of her hand signifies that's more an exaggeration than anything else. She dangles her mug in his direction, as if waiting for a refill. "One more, then you can decide for youself whether that's enough, yeah?

"And have you considered my offer? No need to rent a room at this hour. Stay here; I'm not a kat-kata..." She frowns, trying to get the word to roll out of her tongue but it sounds strange at first, as if she's going to mispronounce it. "Katakan. Or any sort'a vampire. So you needn't worry about any bloodsuckers in here, for one."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"I can, but I'll sleep right here." He says, indicating his chair. "Not about to keep a lady from the bed she's paid for." No matter how desperately he'd like to sink into a soft mattress right now.

[awarriorsheart]

"You're too stubborn and I'm no lady." She shakes her head, unsure whether to laugh or to sigh. He is absolutely unbelievable - or so she'd like to say, but it comes off a little like a slurred complaint. "In that case, I'll be sleeping right here," she indicates towards her own chair. Considering how much they've been drinking, she doesn't trust her legs not to wobble too much, anyway.

[wolfdogwitcher]

Stubborn could almost certainly be added to his list of undesirable attributes. He frowns at her, which his scars turn into a snarl on the side that doesn't move much.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's your bed, you should sleep there."

[awarriorsheart]

Stubbornness doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing - it's just a little vexing for her now when all she wants is for him to be a little less tense. Then again, her peskiness can be considered just as troublesome.

She frowns in return, huffing. "Well I don't want to. You need it more than I do. That's not debatable."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"You'll fall asleep long before I do." He points out, draining his mug. "I can just carry you to your bed and that would settle it."

[awarriorsheart]

"You wouldn't dare," he probably would and she knows it. She sets her mug down, only still about halfway through it this time. Yeah, she's nearing her limit before slipping into sloshed territory. "'Sides, it's a matter of hospitality. Would it hurt you to get some proper rest?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Sure, but I'm used to sleeping rough. A night in a chair isn't so bad. At least I'm indoors." He stretches out his long legs and crosses his arms over his broad chest, as if determined to settle in.

[awarriorsheart]

"If you're used to it, then try something new for once. Something different." She sort of touches one of his feet with her own, playfully, before resting one of her legs diagonally atop of his own. Never mind that she has to scoot her seat a little closer, or lean back a bit to do so, or even that she's got an unfairly good view of him now. "Else we're both going to wake up with stiff necks. I'm trying to spare you that much."

[wolfdogwitcher]

Were he a different man-- Geralt, for instance-- he might have made more of the way she laid a leg over his. But because he's a man who has made his peace with the last 40 years of assuming the only thing that might warm a woman to his presence would be Novigradian crowns, he puts any notion that this is some odd sort of flirtation.

"Afraid my manners just won't let me, lady."

[awarriorsheart]

Had he not made his peace with that - and were she a little less of an absolute oaf about displaying her interest in him, this might be a little less strange for the both of them. Might be being the key term anyway.

"I ain't no lady," she grumbled again, but there's really no displeasure to it. "And I'm as stubborn as you. I'll even share if it means you'll get some damned rest."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Share what? The bed? You don't wanna do that." He snorts, turning to get a look at the much contested piece of furniture. "No way there's enough space." And while he had a cursory splash to get most of the mud and sweat and horse-smell off him, he's pretty sure now he smells like beer and exhaustion.

[awarriorsheart]

She looks across the room at the aforementioned piece of furniture, tilting her head to get a slightly better view and shrugs. "Don't knock it until you try it; I see plenty of space."

She nudges his leg somewhat. "You're just makin' up excuses at this point."

[wolfdogwitcher]

He sinks back in his chair and fills his mug one more time with the last of the ale. If he intends to drink more, he'll have to haul himself over to his bags for whiskey.

"Maybe." He rumbles, tipping his head back lazily so that all the gets is the line of his torso, all dark hair and carved muscle (except for a little padding around the hips) and scarred skin.

"he's a 1 but he teases like a 10"

[awarriorsheart]

She's still got her half a mug of ale left, but frankly wouldn't even protest if he drank it at this point. Her eyes are drawn to his figure, her gaze roaming over each line and crevice as they're illuminated by the candlelight.

Oh, no, no, her mind is wandering again.

"You're going to be the death of me," she groans, rubbing her face. "What's keepin' you? Besides your manners - which you've got too many of by the by."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Why's it gotta be anything except good manners? I wasn't literally raised by wolves, you know. Just because I look like one." He says, cracking one glowing yellow eye to look at her. "My old man raised us to be respectful. Probably to make up for everything else."