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

[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."

[awarriorsheart]

"Yours is a good old man," she nods and though she was trying her damnedest to not look, she's only human and her gaze is drawn to him again. She forgets he can probably see her better than she can see him. "Raised you good, from what you're tellin' me. But that's not- I mean it's not really the point. I've offered a compromise."

She pauses, hitches in a breath, then suddenly tips her head back and downs the rest of her drink in an obvious effort to not look at him.

"You're not scared of somethin', are you?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Scared?" He snorts, confused. "I spent four hours last week being hunted in the woods by an especially cunning werewolf. I'm not scared of a bard. Part-time huntress or not."

He's quiet for a moment before something else occurs to him.

"And even at my drunkest, you wouldn't have to worry about me. That way, I mean."

[awarriorsheart]

At his latest observation, Brynn coughs up the last of her drink but quickly regains her composure, slamming the mug down on the table and leaning forward on her seat for support. Her leg slides down from atop of his, but still rests snug at his side and she's staring at him intently.

"What makes you think I'm worried?" She arches an eyebrow, bemused.

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Nothing. Just...bears mentioning is all." He says, face burning. "You barely know me." And yet here he is half naked and drunk anyway.

[awarriorsheart]

"Well, am I not getting to know you better?" She offers, nudging his foot with her own. Her own face is a little on the red-tinted side and she sort-of hesitates before adding. "You're beginning to leave a little less to the imagination. Or- or more, you know. For a bard."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Yeah? Are you going to make up fanciful stories for all the scars I didn't tell you about?" He tips his head back again. "Gotta save some in case we run into each other again." He scratches his broad chest, trying to feel less self-conscious than he does all of a sudden.

[awarriorsheart]

"No, it's no good if you don't tell me about 'em yourself." There he goes, giving her an unfair view again. She rubs her face, trying to at least be polite enough not to keep staring. "I meant- well. You're showing me a little of your life, yes, and more than that."

[wolfdogwitcher]

He doesn't seem to notice her staring now, but mostly because he seems to be giving into the temptation to close his weary eyes.

"I'm sure whatever you make up'll be more exciting and heroic anyway." He rumbles.

[awarriorsheart]

"'S not about being heroic. I want to hear them for you, otherwise they're meaningless." She nudges the back of his leg with her foot. "All done with your booze, witcher?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Ran out." He says. "Can't be bothered to go get more out of my stuff. Probably for the best. I don't wanna be responsible for the hangover you'd get trying to keep up with me."

[awarriorsheart]

"That'd be on me and me alone," she concedes. "I'm all done for now, but if you want, I can get you some more. I think." She pauses. "Not sure I'm walking any distance for a bit."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Mm." He's still for a drowsy moment or two before he heaves his enormous figure upright and thumps over to his bags, where he crouches and rummages for a while until the bottle of whiskey appears in his hand and he returns to the small table.

"Should I trade you a scar for another song?" He asks. "Before you pass out and I put you to bed?"

[awarriorsheart]

She watches him go and leans her weight against the table, almost toppling her mug over. Thankfully it's empty and she sets it back in place, but she stays leaning, one elbow on the table and her chin supported by her palm.

"Nonsense. You won't do such a thing unless we're sharing." When did she decide that? Now, apparently. "Fine. One more - you choose - and I will sing you a song from my land."

[wolfdogwitcher]

"What about one from a mermaid?" He offers, looking over his ravaged arms. "There we go." He shows her the back of one of his thick biceps, where there's another bite. "Never seen another one like her, about twelve feet long. Black and smooth like an eel. Spoke a dialect of Alder Speech that I couldn't understand. She'd been drowning pearl divers off the Koviri coast. Took a chunk out of my arm. I think I still have some of her scales in my stuff somewhere."

[awarriorsheart]

"A real mermaid?" Alcohol or no alcohol, her surprise is as genuine as it was before, however being more uninhibited she leans in, tracing the bite mark with gentle fingertips. "Did she sing, too? Was her voice as enchanting as sailors claim?"

She glances up at him and smiles softly. "Did she try to charm you too?"