A Guide To A Successful Omegle RP
I’ve RPed quite a lot on Omegle by now and I seem to understand better now what makes a successful RP. I am not saying that I am a good RPer (I guess I will never consider myself one), but there are some things that I’ve noticed over the time that can make your Omegle experience better, which are the following:
- First of all, don’t be rude. This is more of a general Omegle/Internet etiquette rule, but very important while roleplaying. Just remember that if your conversation with the partner is completely anonymous, it doesn’t mean you have the right to insult them. Be tolerant when it comes to their grammar, remember that not the entire fandom population is native English speakers. If their grammar mistakes or writing style bugs you too much, it’s most likely you will notice it at the very start of the RP, so you can just disconnect silently without leaving rude comments.
- Don’t be afraid to talk to your partner OOC. Brackets are wonderful things when it comes to it, so that you don’t get mixed up with the actual roleplay. If there is something unclear to you about what your partner’s character did or said, just ask them about it! I am sure they will be fine with explaining it to you.
- Be tolerant when it comes to your partner’s ideas or AU’s. If you see a prompt that you are not willing to participate in - don’t! Just disconnect and go find someone else to rp with. Don’t hate on people for liking different things. E.g. if mpreg is not your thing - just press the ‘disconnect’ button. That’s all, easy, isn’t it? There is a lot of hate going on around Tumblr about people making various crossovers. You have the right to just ignore it if you don’t like it, don’t spread hate. Leaving a ’wtf is this’ comment after someone posts a prompt that you don’t like won’t make you any cooler, it will just make you an arsehole.
- Don’t run off leaving your partner clueless to why you did it if the RP has been going on for a while. If you see that it’s not going the way you were expecting it to, just tell your partner politely that you are not feeling it anymore. It sometimes really hurts when someone disconnects on you without saying a word, though this is a tricky one because it can always be because of the crappy internet connection. Anyway, it’s always better to just excuse yourself nicely.
- Be creative and try putting as much effort into the RP as your partner does. If you receive replies in long paragraphs with detailed descriptions and deep stories, try and participate in it too! And if you are not in the mood for that sort of roleplay - don’t waste your partner’s time, because there is nothing more anticlimactic than receiving a one-line reply after putting so much imagination and work in your own writing.
- Try to be accurate when writing. Just try and put some logic in your replies, be realistic (especially when it comes to wounds and injuries). When your basic knowledge doesn’t cover a topic that you need to write about - do some research. Just tell your partner you need a moment to think about it and go google it!
- Don’t drive your partner’s character. I can’t stress this enough, because there is nothing more annoying than your character being driven by someone else, it just makes you want to throw a tantrum and disconnect right away. It’s called ‘roleplay’ for a reason, you stick to your own character! If there are more than one character you can just talk to your partner and decide on who plays who or you can share the supporting characters if needed. There are only a few occasions when driving your partner’s main character is fine: It’s when something general and obvious needs to be done. For example, if the characters need to get to a different setting and it’s clear that they will be driving by a car or a cab, to make it quicker you can just say ‘they both got in and drove off’ or something like that. But be careful with this one too, because there might be times when your partner’s character might not want to cooperate, so it’s always better to just ask them if it’s okay.
So yeah, that’s pretty much it. Maybe those are just things that I feel, but I hope you can all relate to them as well. If you find that something needs to be added - you are welcome to say so!
Omegle is still down.
From what I’ve read on the tag, it’s down due to Hurricane Sandy- and for such a reason it’s unsure when it’ll come back on . Of course, many of us are probably itching to RP.
RPers, I propose moving to Chatous while we wait for it to come back up. We’ll have to go back to how it was like before there were Omegle likes in order to filter, but if it means that we can get our RP fix I’m more than happy to try it out. We’ll have to see if it can handle having a bunch of people on it- but we’ll play it by ear and try it out.
PASS THE MESSAGE ON!
Please find me!! PLEAAASE? I JUST HAD THE MOST AMAZING CHAT WITH YOOOU.
- You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
- You and the stranger both like Johnlock.
- Stranger: John? - SH
- You: Oh, but your dear John is with me. Would you like him back? -JM
- You: ((It's Johnlock! I promise! ))
- Stranger: ((Okay! Haha. I love a bit of Moriarty!))
- Stranger: Give him back - SH
- You: Give him back? Oh, but dear, this isn't grade school you know. It's our little game. -JM
- You: And why should I give him back to you? -JM
- Stranger: Because if you don't I will make you pay - SH
- You: Pay? I will kill him before you do that. I will let him go of course.. If you do something for me. -JM
- Stranger: Name your price - SH
- You: You. -JM
- Stranger: A trade? - SH
- You: Of sorts. -JM
- Stranger: What do you want. - SH
- You: I want you to accompany me to a Bee Gees concert. -JM
- You: What could I want Sherlock? -JM
- Stranger: Could it be your precious Moran back? - SH
- You: Oh please. I have no interest in him anymore. -JM
- Stranger: Sweet Jim, really touching. He sings a different story - SH
- You: Oh, well, he's delusional. I'd like to know a little secret. Have you ever loved someone? -JM
- Stranger: Have you? - SH
- You: Well, other than myself, no. -JM
- Stranger: I do believe that's another lie - SH
- You: You haven't answered my question Sherlock. I have a gun in my hand and John next to me. -JM
- Stranger: No I have never been in love but I do not see the point to your question - SH
- You: Have you ever cared for someone? I want an honest answer Sherlock. -JM
- Stranger: No - SH
- You: Not even for your precious John? -JM
- Stranger: What is the point of this exactly? - SH
- You: Oh, just curiosity, if you will. I want an answer Sherlock. -JM
- Stranger: I want John back - SH
- You: Why? -JM
- Stranger: Because he is a good, innocent man. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this. - SH
- You: So you expect him to assist you in your cases, and live with you, and yet, he is not to get into trouble? -SH
- You: *-JM
- Stranger: I expect him to not get hurt Jim, which means if you even so much as touch him - SH
- You: Sherlock, do you love John? -JM
- Stranger: No - SH
- You: So you wouldn't care if I killed him? -jm
- You: *JM
- You: ((Sorry! Stupid fingers))
- Stranger: ((Haha don't worry about it ^_^))
- Stranger: Jim, I'm warning you - SH
- You: But you don't care for him. Why would you care if he were dead? -JM
- Stranger: Because he doesn't deserve to die - SH
- You: But why would you even care Sherlock? -JM
- You: Since when have you cared for civilians? -JM
- Stranger: John is /not/ a civilian - SH
- You: Oh? What is he then? -JM
- Stranger: He is mine - SH
- You: Your what? -JM
- Stranger: Just mine - SH
- You: But you don't care for him. How can he be yours? -JM
- Stranger: This is getting tiresome Moriarty. What do you want in exchange for John? - SH
- You: You care for him? -JM
- Stranger: What do you want? - SH
- You: Do you care for him? -JM
- You: I want answers. -JM
- Stranger: Why? Why could you possible want answers to such questions? - SH
- You: Do you care for him? -JM
- Stranger: If I answer will you let him go? - SH
- You: Yes. Unharmed. -JM
- Stranger: Yes - SH
- You: Do you love him? -JM
- Stranger: No - SH
- You: No? -JM
- Stranger: I don't love John - SH
- You: No? Not even a little? -JM
- Stranger: Jim - SH
- You: Yes Sherlock. -JM
- Stranger: Let. Him. Go - SH
- You: Why? -JM
- Stranger: Just do it - SH
- You: No. -JM
- You: /Do you love him/ -JM
- Stranger: Yes - SH
- You: Yes? You love John? -JM
- Stranger: Yes - SH
- You: Good. I love you too Sherlock. -JW
- Stranger: J-John? - SH
- You: Yes, Sherlock? -JW
- Stranger: W-Where are you? Did he hurt you? - SH
- You: I'm in your room Sherlock. And honestly. You should have figured it out by now. Don't you think? -JW
- Stranger: Sherlock burst into his room, his eyes wide.
- You: John looked up from his phone and grinned. "Hello Sherlock"
- Stranger: "John? What? Where's..." he stammered. It was all clicking into place slowly, his adrenaline fuelled body shaking.
- You: Smiling, he stood up and walked to Sherlock, and placed his hands on Sherlock's face. "I'm right here."
- Stranger: "/Why/ would you do that!?" Sherlock exclaimed.
- You: "I needed an answer Sherlock. Can you guess what question it was?" He asked, shaking his head at the oblivious sleuth.
- Stranger: Sherlock was...Sherlock was angry. How could John do something like that? Had he any idea how scared Sherlock had been? The man stayed silent.
- You: John understood the silence and asked him, "You love me. You said so yourself. Do you think you would have ever come to this conclusion if I hadn't done this?"
- Stranger: "Yes! I already bloody well knew!" Sherlock shouted. "You didn't have to.../pretend/ you were in danger! Do you have /any/ idea how stupid you are!?"
- You: John stepped back, his arms falling limp. "You-You knew?" he stammered. "You knew this whole time and you couldn't be bother to tell me?"
- Stranger: Oh no! John was /not/ turning this around on him. Sherlock crossed his arms. "Yes because you made it so obvious that you wanted me to tell you didn't you John!? Going out on dates every other night! Constantly moaning about people assuming we were together. I couldn't come within a foot of you without you jumping away and saying 'people will talk'!"
- You: John walked back on shaky knees and sat on Sherlock's bed. He listened to Sherlock's accusations and his eyes widened in anger. How dare he? "Of course I did! I liked you from that moment in the taxi. Why do you think I went out so much? So I could get away from /you/! You who would act so very oblivious to everything. Did you ever notice that the only times I went out to dates was when I /didn't/ come home drunk? My dates included sitting at a bar and moaning about how my stupid flatmate wouldn't notice me."
- Stranger: "John I told you right from the start that I wasn't good with feelings, didn't do well with emotions! What did you expect me to do exactly!? You could have just bloody well told me! If you weren't such a bloody coward! But no! Instead you have to terrify me half to death into thinking that you might be /killed/ at any second!" Sherlock continued to shout. He was having a full blown emotional breakdown, feelings he'd been repressing for years bubbling to the surface.
- You: "Oh! You made that perfectly clear on our first meeting. You're married to your work. Why would I bother? Why would I even chance giving myself the hope that my stupid flatmate, the oh-so-brilliant Sherlock Holmes might ever love me?" John shot back, although considerably calmer. "Coward? Look at what you're doing. How can you call me a coward when you're so afraid of your emotions?"
- Stranger: "I am /not/ afraid of my emotions John!" Sherlock flew forward, grabbing John's shirt and pulling the man up till their faces were an inch apart. "I'm afraid of losing you." he whispered before sealing his lips over John's.
- You: "Oh? You seem to be petr-" John's words were cut off by the proximity of Sherlock's face. He froze when Sherlock's lips came crashing down on his. Sherlock? Was this really him? Was Sherlock really kissing him?
- Stranger: Sherlock pushed John back onto the bed, never once breaking the kiss and slide on top of John's body, steadying himself with a hand either side of John's head, pushing his lips more forcefully onto John's.
- You: John seemed to wake up when he felt Sherlock's weight on him. He moaned in response and began kissing him back with earnest. "Mmmm" He groaned out. Raising his arms to wrap in Sherlock's hair, John tugged on the curly locks he's loved since their first meeting in Bart's.
- Stranger: Sherlock had to eventually pull his head back to catch his breath, his body felt like it was on fire as he looked down on the other man.
- You: John looked up and smiled. He caressed Sherlock's face, tracing his cheeks and his hands fluttering over his eyes.
- Stranger: "/Never/ scare me like that again." Sherlock growled, glaring down at the other man.
- You: John laughed and nodded, pulling Sherlock back down, to kiss him. "Never." He said between kisses.
- Stranger: Sherlock nibbled on John's lower lip seductively, moving one hand to cup John's face.
- You: Sherlock's actions elicited a moan from John and he laughed breathlessly. "Are you sure you've never liked anyone before this?" He shouldn't be this talented without previous experience.
- Stranger: Sherlock pulled his head back, raising an eyebrow. "Why? Am I doing something wrong?" he asked.
- You: John smiled and rolled them so that he was on top of Sherlock and said, "Nothing. You shouldn't be this talented with your tongue Sir Holmes." He bent slightly to nip on Sherlock's jaw.
- Stranger: Sherlock inhaled sharply. "Well Doctor Watson," he said, his every word dripping with lust, "you'll be glad to know I'm a virgin. I must just have /natural/ talent."
- You: John almost moaned at the sound of Sherlock's husky voice. "Oh, I don't think I'd care about that. As long as I'll have you to myself starting now." He growled possessively. "Do you know how much I hated the woman? She touched you. She wasn't supposed to. You're mine."
- Stranger: Sherlock ran his hand's up and down John's back. "Yes John. I /am/ yours. Always have been, always will be." he replied, looking up at John, his eyes begging the man to kiss him again.
- You: Smiling, John tangled his hand in Sherlock's hair again and kissed him softly. "Good." He said and hesitantly gave an experimental lick on Sherlock's very long and sexy neck. Somehow, every time John saw him with his blue scarf, he wanted to rip it off him and mark him.
- Stranger: Sherlock moaned. "John..." rumbled deep in his throat. He'd gladly let John mark him, wanted everyone to know exactly who he belonged to. Because he loved John and he'd be damned if he let go of the man now.
- You: John took Sherlock's moan as encouragement and sucked on his pulse. He groaned when he felt his pounding hear through his veins. "Fuck. Sherlock."
- You: ((I think my internet blanked. Are you still there? ))
- You: ((Hello?))
- You: ((cries))
Omegle wouldn't let me save or post the log.>.<
- You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
- You and the stranger both like Winglock, and vamplock.
- You: I know about your wings, John. -SH
- Stranger: My /what/? -JW
- You: Wings. You have them. I hate repeating myself. -SH
- Stranger: I don't have "wings" Sherlock, that's ridiculous. -JW
- You: It may be ridiculous, but you have them all the same. -SH
- Stranger: Are you on something? No one can have wings. -JW
- You: I assure you, I'm completely sober. I have evidence. -SH
- Stranger: Oh do you? -JW
- You: Yes, and if you come home I can show it to you. -SH
- Stranger: This is stupid... -JW
- You: What's stupid is you insisting you don't have wings when I already know about them. -SH
- Stranger: I'm busy, Sherlock. What is this "evidence", anyways? -JW
- You: I have been finding feathers all over the flat for some time now. They all appear to be from the same source, and the greatest amount was found in your bed. -SH
- Stranger: So you instantly think I have wings? -JW
- Stranger: Maybe I just bought a bird. -JW
- You: They are too large to belong to any sort of local or domestic birds. -SH
- You: Also, they are the same color as your hair. -SH
- Stranger: Do you see me wandering around with wings coming out of my back? -JW
- You: No, but you most likely have fears of being experimented on. Whether this is ingrained or caused by past experiences I'm uncertain. -SH
- Stranger: So you haven't seen any wings on me for yourself? -JW
- Stranger: If I did, it would be nearly impossible to hide them. -JW
- You: Oh no, I've seen them. -SH
- Stranger: You have not. Because I don't have them. -JW
- You: You had just woken from a nightmare. You thought I was asleep and walked past my door with them out. -SH
- Stranger: You must have been dreaming or something. -JW
- You: I was not. -SH
- You: Now stop trying to deny it. -SH
- Stranger: You have no photographic evidence, therefore there is the chance you were dreaming. -JW
- You: ...John, what are you afraid of? -SH
- Stranger: I'm not afraid of anything. I don't have wings. -JW
- You: Circumstantial evidence says otherwise. -SH
- Stranger: It proves nothing. -JW
- You: Normally you would not protest so much when presented with this much evidence. This means you're afraid of something you think might happen if you admitted to having wings. Perhaps you think I would want to test on them? -SH
- Stranger: I'm working, Sherlock. -JW
- You: This does nothing to change my opinion. -SH
- Stranger: You're distracting me. -JW
- You: Fine, but I intend to continue this conversation once you return to the flat. -SH
- Stranger: Yeah? Well, I don't. I'm coming back late and going straight to bed. -JW
- You: Refusal to talk only confirms my claims. -SH
- Stranger: No, it confirms that I am tired and don't feel like talking. -JW
- You: I will keep bothering you about it until you do something to either confirm or disprove my claims, and really the only thing you could do to disprove them by now is show me your back and have it not have wings. -SH
- Stranger: Right. Well, I'm going back to working. I'll be back later, maybe. -JW
- You: Maybe? You don't intend to stay somewhere else just to avoid me, do you? -SH
- Stranger: Maybe. But then again I don't think I should leave you alone. You seem a bit out of your mind. -JW
- You: And you are making this much more difficult than it needs to be. -SH
- Stranger: You just keep thinking that. I'll bring groceries. -JW
- You: Get milk. -SH
- You: And nitric acid. -SH
- Stranger: ... Just the milk. -JW
- You: I need the acid for an experiment. -SH
- Stranger: Disapproved. -JW
- You: You don't even know what it is yet. -SH
- Stranger: And I don't want to know. -JW
- You: You're hindering science. -SH
- Stranger: Just my intention. I'm not getting any acid. I'll be back in a few hours. -JW
- You: Fine. I'll get it myself later. -SH
- Stranger: John put his phone back into his pocket and leaned over his desk with a sigh, a hand running through his hair wearily. The last time someone had found out about his wings, it didn't end well and John was nearly caught again. He now regretted not having cleaned up those bothersome feathers. Stupid molting little things. It was difficult for him to continue his work for he next few hours, the thought of returning home to be interrogated still bothering him. It turned night and John was sent home for the day. He stopped at Tesco's as promised and picked up a few groceries (including the milk, not including the nitric acid), returning to the flat not long later. Quietly, he unlocked the door and entered 221B, heading straight for the kitchen to drop off the bags. The conversation from earlier had to have left Sherlock's mind by now. Maybe. Or maybe not.
- You: Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his fingertips pressed together when John arrived. He didn't say anything as the doctor passed him by, but he was clearly observing him. There were signs of stress in his eyes, and a few of his nervous habits were standing out. He also refused to look Sherlock in the face, which pointed to guilt. His jumper was rumpled in the back, maybe from adjusting some sort of wing brace? Sherlock couldn't understand why John was being so stubborn when all of the evidence was staring him in the face. He stood up and quietly moved to stand behind him as he put away the groceries. "John..." he rumbled.
- Stranger: John was too engulfed in his own thoughts to notice Sherlock approach him. At the sudden voice, John jumped and dropped the bag of apples he was holding with a swear escaping his lips. He groaned as he bent down to pick it up, turning to Sherlock while wearing an annoyed frown. The apples were put away, but this time John's front was faced towards Sherlock rather than his back to the man. The brace he wore was uncomfortable and cramped, probably even needed to be taken off, but this was obviously not the time to adjust it. Later, when he was alone and away from the detective. "What do you want, Sherlock?" He grumbled as he finally finished putting the groceries away with the milk being the last of all.
- You: Sherlock could see that John was on the defensive, keeping his back away from him. He didn't want John to fear him. "You know what I want," he said softly. "And you don't need to be afraid of showing them to me. I would never do anything to harm you, you must know that by now." He kept a reasonable distance to keep John from feeling threatened.
- Stranger: John laughed dryly and humorlessly, shaking his head slowly while pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache was bound to come on. "I'm not... I don't have wings," he said as if it were a joke and took a few steps back, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Really, Sherlock could be so persistent at times. "I have feathers in my room, big deal. You had a dream, big deal. That doesn't prove I have any /wings/. It's not even possible."
- You: Sherlock sighed. Was John really going to be that stubborn? "You really want me to stop bothering you about this? Fine. Take off your shirt. If you really don't have wings, it should be no trouble for you to show me. Once I see you have no wings, I'll never mention it again." He kept his eyes on John, calculating his reaction.
- Stranger: John merely stared at Sherlock, keeping silent as the frown turned into more of a glare. His heart rate started getting faster now as he grew nervous and wanted nothing more than to disappear. Or fly away. Or just go to his room and barricade the door from anyone that may want to enter, to prod him with little needles or sticks. He chuckled, "I'm not stripping for you. Anyways, why are you so interested?"
- You: Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's not stripping; it's only your shirt." His face then became soft. "And I'm interested partially because I've never seen anything like it, and partially because you are my best friend and I want to know more about you."
- Stranger: John somehow felt more comfortable now as both Sherlock's tone and expression became more softer and safer. It was a promising thing and John was tempted to confess about his past. Then he remembered how familiar these words were. "Of course you do," he said sardonically. "Every scientist probably feels that way, always interested in the next step of evolution..." He didn't notice how much darker he had become, in both his words and just him overall as his fists clenched slightly.
- You: Now they were getting closer. But John was becoming upset, and that wasn't good. "You were experimented on when you were younger," he said, more as a statement than a question. "Your therapist did say you have trust issues but probably never guessed the reason for them." He wanted to touch John comfortingly, but knew that probably would not be received well at this point. "John, last year, you asked me to promise never to experiment on you in any form, and I did. Regardless of whether you have wings or not, that promise still holds true. I gave you my word, and I never intend to break it."
- Stranger: John flinched at the sudden memories that flooded in at Sherlock's words, taking another step back even though the distance between himself and Sherlock was large enough already. His gaze was averted towards the wall instead of Sherlock and he started to feel a bit too uncomfortable. Still, even at this, he was all ears and soaked in the detective's words, becoming confused and not knowing whether he should tell or not. It was too late to prove the collected facts otherwise, anyways. "Drop it." He warned in a hiss, so close to taking out his wings and scaring Sherlock away instead.
- You: Sherlock swallowed thickly. He was treading a very thin wire at this point. John seemed to feel cornered, which was the last thing he wanted. He took a step backward to give him some space, but said gently, "You know I can't do that, John. This is going to go around and around my head and it will distract me from cases to the point where I'll hardly be able to think until I know that you trust me. As it is it's been bothering me for over a week."
- Stranger: John continued keeping his glare on Sherlock for a good few seconds before smiling. "You don't know when to stop, do you?" He said sickening sweetly. His temper had had enough of this and now he didn't want to stop himself any longer. Not that it was his fault, anyways, Sherlock just wouldn't stop even when warned. With a sigh, he took a few steps forward, slowly approaching the detective. "You're a selfish and persistent brat, you are. When I tell you to stop, what do you do?" He took off his coat with a swift movement. "You continue on. What do /I/ do?" Next was his shirt, discarded with little care as his restrained wings were revealed just barely. "I give in. Because I am stupid and because I am your friend." His fingers were fumbling with the front straps now, undoing the brace. "But could you maybe, for once, just do what I say-" The wings suddenly shot out in a long expand, revealing the molting feathers that matched John's own hair as they flapped angrily, matching their bearer's feeling. "-and /shut up/?!" He shouted, fairly close to Sherlock now.
- You: Sherlock's eyes were wide with shock, first about John's temper, but then about the wings that were sprouting from his back. Feathers floated down, landing on the top of his head and in front of his eyes. They were exactly as he had imagined them to be. "Beautiful..." he muttered quietly. Then his expression became guilty; he may have gotten John to reveal his wings, but the shorter man was now furious with him. "John, I'm sorry," he said uncertainly.
- Stranger: A wince was sent throughout John's body, even up to his wings where his feathers ruffled in defense as Sherlock spoke. "Of course you would be fascinated by this, it's an abnormality of nature!" He spat his words like venom, attempting to control himself and fold his wings back in. It didn't work. "No, you're not 'sorry'. Because you had to go investigate, because you had to go squeeze the truth out of me, because you had to go an invade my privacy. Don't say you're fucking sorry, because you're not." His hands were covering his face now in humiliation.
- You: John's words definitely stung, and Sherlock wished there was something he could say to fix things, but he knew there wasn't. John was now thoroughly convinced that Sherlock was the bad guy, and it was Sherlock's own fault. "No, I truly am sorry. It was not my intent to hurt you in this way. I did not know my limits." He began to back away. "If you wish, I will stay somewhere else for the time being to keep from causing discomfort."
- Stranger: John took a few deep breathes, his wings started to slowly lower and become calmer. It was stupid but he was nearly on the brink of bursting out in sobs, angry sobs at both himself and those scientists. He allowed himself to fall into a sitting position with his wings wrapped defensively around himself, his face still buried in his hands. "I can't let you leave now." His throat was dry and hoarse from his shouts. "I can't risk you telling anyone."
- You: Sherlock sighed and knelt down next to John, still not touching him. "I do not intend to tell anyone, John. We all have our secrets, and I would never betray yours, just as I assume you would never betray any of mine. You have nothing to fear from me."
- Stranger: It was then that John's anger subsided, transforming into the aftermath that one may feel after lashing out at their best friend: guilt. And embarrassment. "I know," he whispered quietly. "It's a natural instinct of mine. It's not you. I'm sorry." It was not only an apology for the distrust he felt at that moment, it was also to cover all that he had just done minutes ago.
- You: Sherlock gave a quiet sigh of relief; John was finally calming down. "It's alright, John. Mistrust over something this unusual is to be expected." He carefully stood up and then offered a hand to John to help him up from where he was sitting.
- Stranger: John sat in his position for a bit longer before looking up at Sherlock with tired eyes, glancing at the hand that was offered to him. With a heavy exhale that he did not even notice he was holding in, he took the hand and slowly stood. He suddenly noticed how weak his entire body felt now.
- You: Sherlock could feel John wobble a little, and he put a hand to John's shoulder to steady him. "Why don't you sit down on the sofa," he suggested. "I can make some tea." It wouldn't be the best tea, but it would be drinkable, and he was going to do his damnedest to get back in John's good graces.
- Stranger: John gave a noise in some sort of agreement as he wandered off towards the sofa, carefully sinking into it. He didn't feel like binding his wings again, however; it was refreshing, to have them free and expanded, even in front of Sherlock. For some off reason, he actually felt more reassured from this, to have someone know his secret.
- You: Once he was sure John was sitting down, Sherlock began preparing the tea, turning the kettle on and pulling down two mugs. So many more questions were bubbling up inside him, but he forcibly shoved them down. John didn't need any of that, and he definitely didn't want it right now. He would offer up information as he saw fit.
- Stranger: Silence fell in the room as it seemed the two men had nothing more to say to each other. Sherlock probably had questions by now, that was just the sort of person he was (being a consulting detective and all), but he said nothing more. John still felt terrible for having lost it. He cleared his throat awkwardly, running his hands lightly against the feathers. "Do you really think they're beautiful?" He said with disbelief, not knowing what else to say.
- You: Sherlock looked up in surprise, just as the kettle finished boiling. He hadn't expected John to say anything more. "Well, yes," he said, with certainty. "I've always thought wings were beautiful, and yours are quite breathtaking." It helped that they were also attached to John, but he kept that information to himself.
- Stranger: John shook his head slowly, looking at his wings with a bit less disgust than he usually did. If Sherlock was being honest, then that would be a comforting thought, to know that they weren't as hideous as John thought. "I'm molting. They're ugly now. That's why there are feathers around the flat." He looked back to the kitchen where a few feathers were scattered from his outburst. "I'll clean them up later."
- You: Sherlock had figured that John was molting. He actually had a lot of information about bird stored away in his mind palace, although understandably some things would be different. He was oh so tempted to pick up a feather - just one - for study purposes, but he restrained himself, taking the tea out to the sitting room instead. "John, your wings are not ugly," he insisted, handing John his mug. "I highly doubt such a thing is possible."
- Stranger: John glanced up as Sherlock handed him the mug, taking it gratefully and holding it close to his chest. He scoffed lightly. "Sherlock, it's something that is definitely not normal for a human to have. It's not only ugly but disturbing as well." He could feel the warm tea slither down his dry throat as he took a sip and sighed. "You have questions. I don't mind answering now, it doesn't even matter."
- You: Sherlock was ready to continue praising John's wings, but the shorter man was right; the questions were niggling at him insistently. Therefore, he sipped at his own tea and organized his thoughts. "You were born with wings, correct?"
- Stranger: John shut his eyes carefully, striving to keep his focus and remember his past. "They tried to slip the DNA into my system, but I wasn't born with them. After noticing this, they took me in for further experimentation. That was what encouraged these to grow over time," he flitted a wing in gesture. "It was illegal what they did. My parents didn't even know."
- You: Sherlock frowned. He was unaware of any projects that that involved that sort of thing, but then again, that was before his time. "Who did all that?" he questioned. "Do you recall the name?"
- Stranger: John shook his head, mumbling a near-silent 'no'. He took another sip. "I can't remember any names, not even of the scientists. But it was some sort of lab or company that did this as an underground organization. There were others like me there, other test subjects like me. Probably of other hybrid mixes, though, like dogs or reptiles or something..."
- You: Sherlock swallowed. He hated the thought of John being experimented with in such an invasive way. He wondered if the company still existed and resolved to do what he could to dissemble it if it was. "Are your parents aware of your wings' existence now? Or Harry?"
- Stranger: John tapped his fingertips against the mug lightly, his wings now calmed and folded against his back. "They notified authorities when I was kidnapped, but the wings started growing when I was in my early teens. I think the hormones started reacting with the foreign DNA then. I didn't want to tell them, though... I didn't know how... So I kind of had to deal with it myself and hide them. I ended up being found again later, though..." Now /those/ memories he recalled the most clearly.
- You: Sherlock's expression became dark as he imagined what they must have done to him upon discovering the wings. He knew for a fact that scientists could be downright cruel in the name of research. "You do not have to tell me of your experience of being found if you do not wish to," he assured him.
- Stranger: John stared into his tea, the mug being a bit more than half empty now. "No, no, it's fine, it's just... Well, obviously it's not fine but..." He leaned back in his seat, the wings repositioning. "It was painful, as you might know. And sort of traumatizing. Very much so, actually. It was during Afghanistan, I don't know how they found out but they did. I got kidnapped, next I woke up in a lab with IVs inside of me and my wings. More torturous than the last. I really can't remember how I escaped, though. It was probably months later, I think from a counter-organization that found us. I just found myself in a hospital one day and there were others like me. It was odd... I stayed there for a bit then I was released once recovered, with better knowledge as to how I can hide them. My team knew of my disappearence but thy didn't know it was /them/ that did it." He didn't notice until now that he was shaking just slightly, even his wings quivering.
- You: Sherlock saw the trembling and set aside his own mostly forgotten tea in favor of placing a comforting hand on John's shoulder. He kept his hand away from the closest wing, just in case John didn't want them touched. "And you haven't let anyone see them since," he muttered thoughtfully. He observed the wings, his eyes following the curvature of them. "Can you fly with them?"
- Stranger: John himself did not flinch - even though the sudden touch had suprised him. Instead, it was his wings that tensed at the touch, ruffling for only a few brief seconds before relaxing. His own shaking ceased a bit and he nodded. "I can, I think. I don't do it much, in case people see. But the wings and I were both designed to work well with one another, so I'm supposed to be able to."
- You: Sherlock nodded, gently stroking John's shoulder with his thumb. "That would be a stunning sight to see, I'm sure," he said almost wistfully. When he was a child, he had always loved studying any creature in flight. He then asked, "How sensitive are your wings?"
- Stranger: John laughed quietly, downing the last bit of tea before setting it down on the coffee table. "That would be odd, to see a human flying with actual feathery wings." He imagined the thought. Indeed, it was... odd. Interesting, though. Perhaps he ought to try it out sometime. "They're pretty sensitive. They're used to being tucked in most of the time, but they're still a bit sensitive. Just not used to contact, though."
- You: Sherlock watched the wings move in accordance with the way the rest of John moved. He wanted so badly to touch them, but instead he pulled the hand that was on John's shoulder away to press his fingertips together. "Is it painful to keep them bound?"
- Stranger: "Oh God, yes," John said almost instantly after Sherlock had asked. "It's like tying your arms behind your back so tight that they can't move and just keeping them there for the rest of the day. It just feels so good to stretch them..." They suddenly expanded fully again, flexing and stretching out the pain they had dealt with for years. A few more feathers were scattered.
- You: Sherlock gazed in awe at their full glory. He had never seen anything so magnificent. A feather floated down into his lap, and he picked it up absentmindedly. It was very soft, just like the feathers in John's room had been, possibly even moreso because it had only just fallen out. "Feel free to keep them out while you're in the lat from now on," he suggested.
- Stranger: John peered up and watched as Sherlock picked up the freshly-fallen feather, then looked back at his own wings. They weren't beautiful, not to his eyes at least. If they weren't attached to him, he might be amazed, but not when they were his own. "Nobody has ever seen them except the scientists, neither has anyone touched them," he said. "You've seen them. You can touch them. If you want, that is... I mean, it wouldn't matter now."
- You: Trying not to look too excited, Sherlock cautiously reached out to pet the wing closest to him. It was one of the softest things he had ever touched, and he could feel the muscles move beneath his hands. An almost incredulous smile came across his face. "Amazing," he breathed.
- Stranger: The wing tensed again but only naturally; after all, it had never been touched before. Soon, John relaxed in the touch and the feathered limb almost enjoyed the caress. A small smile formed on John's lips. "I guess," he responded modestly, a small hint of red on his cheeks. This fascination could just be the scientist in Sherlock talking, for all John knew, but he didn't mind.
- You: With every stroke, feathers fell out. It almost made Sherlock feel like he was the one making them drop, but he knew that wasn't true. "How long do moltings usually last?" he questioned, now carding his fingers through the feathers. "Does it itch?"
- Stranger: At every stroke, John felt relief. Relief that both someone knew and cared, and that the need for touch could be fulfilled. He nodded. "It's always itching. It's been going on for a little less than a month now, but I think in a couple of more weeks it should be gone. I have to soak them in warm water a lot, which is why I have been bathing often, as well as apply some sort of itching cream."
- You: Sherlock made a face at the thought. "Sounds tedious," he said. The stroking was bringing him comfort as well; contentment that trust had been established once again. "How many time per year does this happen?"
- Stranger: John clasped his hands together over his lap, sitting still and allowing the stroking to continue. "It really is, especially when you're trying to keep it a secret from your very nosy flatmate," he gave Sherlock a look. "But it only happens once a year or so. It's still always a bother to deal with."
- You: Sherlock pointedly ignored the obvious jab, his hand moving closer to the base of John's wings, where they connected to his back. "Is there any way I can...help, perhaps? Make you more comfortable?"
- Stranger: The feeling as Sherlock brushed closer towards the base sent a shiver down John's spine, like an itch that had needed scratching. "Nothing really." He mumbled somewhat sadly. He suddenly brought eye contact to Sherlock. "Now, you are to tell nobody. No one at all, even and especially your brother. If anyone else finds out, /they'll/ find out. It's already risky to allow you to know."
- You: A rather exasperated look came across Sherlock's face. "As I said, I don't intend to tell anyone unless you wish me to. And if Mycroft hasn't found out on his own by now, I doubt he ever will." He could understand John's insistence, though. The last thing he wanted was for John to end up in the hands of the people who had done this to him in the first place.
- Stranger: Mycroft seemed to be the one that worried John the most, with him having connections to various science facilities. One of them could even include the one that did this to John. "And you are never to experiment on me. Without my permission, at least. Even if you ask I will be hesitant." It wouldn't come as a suprise to John if Sherlock did want to test on him.
- You: Sherlock looked slightly sheepish here. The scientist in him was demanding more information, of course, but he would never want to make John uncomfortable. It didn't matter that most of the tests he wanted to do weren't that invasive; John was top priority. "You have my word," he promised.
- Stranger: John gave a nod of approval, even though he could see a small change in Sherlock's expression, what seemed to be disappointment or something else related. "Well, maybe you can do just a few..." He reassured. After all, Sherlock would be keeping this a secret, it was the least he could do. "As long as they're not too uncomfortable."
- You: Hopefully, Sherlock glanced down at the feathers surrounding them. "If I could perhaps just take one of these," he said, holding one of them up for John to see, "That would be sufficient for now."
- Stranger: John gave the feather a quick scan before deciding that it was acceptable. "Go ahead. It's not like I need it, and it's better than being prodded or injected." The last bit he mumbled more to himself.
- You: Giddily, Sherlock pocketed the feather, intending to examine it under his microscope later. "I promise never to inject you with anything just for the sake of seeing what it does," he said. "If anything is injected, it will be medicine."
- Stranger: John could sense excitement in Sherlock at just being able to have a new little idea to toy with. How adorable. "Thank you," he said in a breath of relief. "For that and for being able to accept me and not, you know, turn me in. I'm sorry about earlier, I was just... scared, I suppose..."
- You: Sherlock smiled warmly at him. "It's alright," he assured him. "It was perfectly understandable. And of course I would accept you. How could I do anything else when you did the same for me?"
- You: ((I'm sorry, it's been absolutely lovely, but I really must go.>.< Would you consider continuing this over email?))
- Stranger: ((Sure! I can send you my reply, what's your email?))
- You: ((That would be YaHiHiLSa@gmail.com. Do you mind if I post the log to Tumblr?))
- Stranger: ((Got it. And sure, you can post this. It's been fun, dearest stranger!))
- You: ((Same to you.^^))
- You have disconnected.
Last night on Omegle...
- Stranger: I HAVE FOUND A BUTTON THAT MAKES ALL THE LETTERS STRONGER.
- You: That's the caps lock button, Thor.
- You: And stop using it, you sound as though you're shouting at me.
- Stranger: YES, I FIND IT MORE SUITABLE.
- Stranger: THERE ARE MANY PEOPLE ALSO CONFINED TO THIS, WHAT DID YOU CALL IT?
- Stranger: THE SITE OF WEBS.
- You: It's called a website, Thor, website.
- Stranger: YES. SITE OF WEBS.
- SITES OF WEBS. I CAN'T. Whoever you are, Thor role-player, find me!
Oh my god this just happened on Omegle. Was totally cracking up to whole time
- You and the stranger both like Blam.
- Stranger: I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable when I hugged you... - B
- You: What? No, man. Hugs are awesome. Specially from my best bro -S
- Stranger: Yeah... But the breath mints... - B
- You: Totally thought that was Bro-ner. Just saying -S
- Stranger: Bro-ner? - B
- You: Like, Like its a boner, but you get it around your bros. Totally normal and not at all wierd. Happens to me all the time -S
- Stranger: I'm... Pretty sure that's not a thing... - B
- You: Pretty sure it is man -S
- Stranger: Pretty sure it's not, Sam. You just do't get boners around your friends, because they're your friends. - B
- You: But.. I dont mean in a wierd way dude. Like theyre totally just your best bro and they make you really happy and then you accidently get a boner -S
- Stranger: Nooo. Not a thing, Sam. - B
- You: Its not? -S
- Stranger: Nope. It isn't. - B
- You: Oh. -S
You: Q didn’t love James. No, not at all. He just liked the man’s cock and his lips and the snark that the man dared to return to him over the comms. He enjoyed seeing James interact with his kitten, Cleo, even though the man swore that he hated cats. And when it was cold and rainy outside, Q secretly loved curling up in one of the jumpers James accidentally left behind after one particularly memorable tryst. He reveled in making the man smile and laugh, and adored the way the corners of James’ eyes crinkled when he did either. But he didn’t love James. That was preposterous.
Stranger: Love wasn’t something he felt. He’d shut himself off from it, refused to accept it’s existence in his life, and had never wanted to hear from it again. Love was a four letter word that was empty and cold and broken, nothing more than an abstract definition for something ridiculous. Hate, shot, fire, work, done. Words he liked, words he used, words he could get behind. And then there was that one letter, wasn’t there? ‘Q’. So alone, so unique, following rules and rebelling at the same time. James refused to believe he had fallen for the bundle of grandfather-yarn cardigans and the smell of warm tea, the crumbs of shortbread on old jumpers and the mewling of a kitten in the depths of the night. He’d broken his own rules by staying at his flat, by having him at his, by interacting with him in a more comfortable manner, but what could he do? The young man was gorgeous, a marvel of physical formations, and he had curls that Botticelli would have murdered millions for. His eyes were bright and expressive, his composure a cool mask until James cleverly, tenderly stripped it away. He was not his lover. Love didn’t come into it.
But if it didn’t, why did he find himself there, outside of his flat, just out of a mission? There were words on his tongue - I missed you; I’m sorry; I hurt and you’re a safe place; I’m home - but he didn’t know what to say. He knocked on his door, hand shaking, unsure. Maybe, just maybe, it was love after all?
You: Q had been home for about three hours, half-asleep. He’d pulled three and a half shifts and MI6 nonstop, between monitoring 009 in Nicaragua, 003 is Budapest and, of course, 007 in Moscow. All the extractions had been completed, of course- Q wouldn’t let himself out of the office until he knew that his agents were safe. So Q had made himself a hot cuppa, changed into James’ jumper, curled up with Cleo and was half-way to nodding odd when he heard the knock on the door. He automatically knew who it was, and he got off of the cat, shifting the kitten aside and standing, moving somewhat clumsily over to the door. He opened it, taking James’ hand in his own, and gently tugged him inside, closing and locking the door behind them and wordlessly leading James down the hall to his (well, in his mind, /their) bedroom. He undid James’ shirt and trousers, helping the man push them off, kicking his shoes aside as well. he gave the double oh a thorough once over to confirm that the remainder of his injuries consisted of bruising before he fell back onto the bed, tugging James down wih him.
You: *off of the couch (whoops)
Stranger: It had become a habit, an unspoken ritual of theirs, for Q to give him a full body sweep in order to check that his injuries weren’t too threatening to his health. James was, luckily, just mottled with the ink of a thousand bruises, causing his body to ache and protest movement, but there was no serious injury this time. He helped as best he could with the removal of his clothes, shrugging them off and kicking them aside, before joining Q on what had come to be known as their bed, even if neither of them had ever said as much aloud. James’ flat was nowhere near as homely as Q’s, and they had taken to meeting and arriving at the younger man’s flat, purely because of that; James’ felt far too cold for such warmth between them. He lay slowly on his side, one arm wrapping around the other man’s thin waist, tugging him until James lay on his back and he had Q on his chest, a comfortable weight that dulled the ache and pains of the bruising with soft, familiar warmth and shape. Instead of speaking, James craned up slightly ghosting a kiss across his lips in greeting. He was exhausted, in agony, and he carded a hand through Q’s hair before kissing his forehead. James distantly recognised that Q was wearing one of his jumpers and gave a small chuckle, his voice hoarse, “I should see you in my clothes more often. You look beautiful, swamped in that jumper.”
You: Q allowed James to move him about as he wolled it, smiling and settling atop James’ chest. He’d give him a massage later for sure,but he wouldn’t force the double oh onto his stomach yet. He slid his hands up and over James’ shoulders gently, pressing a kiss to James’ lips before nuzzling into his neck, smiling and sliding one of his hands back down, stroking over his clavicle gently. Beautiful certainly wasn’t a word James had ever used to describe him before, and he felt his ears tint red at the compliment. “I’m not that swamped,” Q mumbled, though he couldn’t quite deny it- its material fell to his thighs easily.
Stranger: “You are,” James countered, a smile working onto his lips as he slid his hands up from Q’s knees, over his thighs, “And it’s stunning.” He didn’t say that it was only stunning and beautiful because it was Q, /his/ Q, wrapped up in something that was his, and therefore theirs, and that he looked as if it was the most natural thing in the world to belong in James’ clothes, in James’ arms, with him. His hands continued over the covered curve of his backside, sliding up into his jumper, fingers playing over the soft, pale skin of his back. He felt the familiar dimples at the base of his spine and the bumps along it, felt the familiar rises of a few pronounced freckles and up, to press his palms against the blades of his shoulders, almost sharp enough to be compared to his cheekbones. James’ hands remained playing across Q’s body, becoming reacquainted after he had been gone for almost a month. “I missed you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them; it was far too late for games, he reasoned. If Q didn’t want to hear it, then he would amicably leave and nothing would change between them, professionally at least.
You: Q shivered as James’ fingers slid up his body at a punshingly slow pace. The roughness of James’ hands contrasted with his gentle touch. He closed his eye, burying his face further into James’ neck and letting out a quiet whine. He had missed it, James’ warmth, James’ touch, just…James. “I missed you, too,” He murmured into James’ skin. “Very, very much.” Giving James directions over the comm wasn’t exactly his idea of letting James know how much he cared about him. Q’s finger continued to trace over James’ collarbone, tracing over the hollow of his throat and to the other cheekbone before going back in the other direction. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of James’ aftershave and the feeling of his stubble against his forehead.
Stranger: It had been an imperceptible amount of time since James had been missed. He had never had the luxury of having someone so consistent enough to miss him being around, to miss his habits and quirks and broken edges. Not even Vesper had done that, he knew that for a fact, and certainly not M. James let out a small, shaky sigh, and held Q close, his lips trailing across the pale skin of his throat, down to where the soft curve of his shoulder was visible thanks to the slip of his jumper. “I’ll try not to be away from you for so long, next time.” James spoke quietly, his lips pressing small, caring kisses to Q’s skin, “I don’t like being away from you.” He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep with this man in his arms. He wanted to sleep beside him, curl up behind him, and wake with his sleepy smile to break through the sunlight. “Take a bath with me?” James asked, just as quietly as he kissed the dip where throat met shoulder in a ditch of perfect flesh, “I could use it, and it might help you get to sleep a little easier when we come back to bed.”
You: Q’s eyes squeezed shut at the gentle kisses, his head tipping further to the side to allow James more access. “I know it’s not your choice to stay away for so long,” Q he murmured, smiling just a bit. He sat up carefully, slowly, straddling James’ hips, and took hold of James’ hands, pulling him into a sitting position. “A bath sounds lovely,” He murmured before leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to James’ lips and cupping his face. “I missed you very much,” He repeated quietly before he slid off of James’ lap, still holding to one of his hands and heading for the large ensuite bathroom with James. He moved over to the faucet, sitting on the edge of the tub and turning on the hot water.
Stranger: James allowed himself to be pulled up, his arms winding about Q’s waist again once he had. He was getting in far too deep, but it was too late to change it now, wasn’t it? He’d already fallen arse over teakettle - and how appropriate was that for his beautiful, tea-addicted Quartermaster? - for the young man and there was no going back, not now. The repetition of how much he had been missed made his eyes sting a little, going warm and glassy before he kissed Q’s knuckles, getting up from the bed and following him. As the water ran, James wrapped his arms around Q from behind, pressing warm, loving kisses to his skin, as if he was going to worship every last inch of him. When he didn’t ache so much, he would, he would make sure to do just that. “I believe I missed you more.” James spoke against his skin, as if Q would absorb his words and believe them completely. “All those miles away, in the cold. It’s getting harder to face the snow while knowing I can’t go back to my hotel room and be with you.” James was dancing around it, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright. Those three words accompanied by an impersonal letter would mean too much, too much risk. He didn’t even know his bloody name! “At least you had our Cleo.” It took him a few minutes to realise what he’d said. /Our/ Cleo. As if the cat had become… an adopted child, or something of the same standing. Oh Christ…
You: Q smiled, leaning heavily against James and closing his eyes, relaxing in James’ hold. He lightly rested his hands atop James’, reveling in the seemingly reverent kisses. He chuckled quietly to himself. Christ, they sounded like bloody teenage with the classic, ‘I missed you no I missed you more’ arugement. Next thing you know, they’d be arguing over who would hang up first over the bloody comms. He reached back, stroking James’ jaw gently and letting his head fall back onto James’ shoulder. “I know,” Q murmured. “I wish you hadn’t been in Moscow,” He added. “It’s hell beating 005 away without those hickies on my neck. And /don’t/,” He added, looking up at James over his shoulder. “Freak out, sweetheart, I gave him a long talk and a sock in the stomach.” He leaned up, pressing his lips to James’ jaw. “Yes,” He added after a moment, a bit shocked. “I did have our Cleo.” He straightened helping James wiggle out of his pants as well before he got into the tub with James. He settled back against James’ chest, intertwining their fingers and closing his eyes. He was quiet for a few moments before looking back at James. “Benedict,” He said quietly, looking up at James. “My um…My name. It’s Benedict.”
Stranger: 005 was the bane of his existence, really. The man was a lecher of the highest order and James would see to it that he didn’t go near Q again, not after such an emotional revelation. He wouldn’t ‘freak out’, as Q had put it, but James could be intimidating without beating him to high heaven and back. And the added persuasion of being called ‘sweetheart’ - something that seemed too soft for the infamous 007 of all people - simply made him unable to disobey the young man he held so tightly. “I’m proud of you.” James chuckled quietly, his lips quirking into a grin against Q’s neck before he allowed him to wriggle free in order to undress them both. Getting into the bath was pure heaven and he hummed deep in his throat, satisfaction rolling off of the battered agent in waves. It had been a gruelling mission, taxing in all areas, and he was glad that it was over and done with at long last. James’ arms wrapped about Q and he kissed his bare shoulder, smiling slightly. His smile widened as the name was uttered and suddenly all others didn’t seem as if they could ever fit the man he held. James brought one of his hands to his lips and kissed the wet knuckles before turning Q’s head and kissing him languidly in response. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Benedict, my darling.” James spoke honestly, kissing him again, beyond pleased that he had been trusted with such a thing. “It’s good to finally put a name to such a beautiful face.”
You: Q kissed James back without a thought, pressing back against him. He felt himself relax, any and all of the tension slipping from his form. He gently slid his hands up and down over James’ thighs, closing his eyes and gently massaging James’ thighs. He didn’t know why he hadn’t told James his name before, but curling up with James in the bath kind of just…It felt like the right time. Not to mention that the day before had technically been their first annoversary. Q didn’t know if James knew or not, assumed he didn’t. Q had actually worked up his courage and gotten a small tattoo of a gun and ‘007’ on his lower back. James hadn’t noticed it yet, but Q was more than fine with that. It was something extremely intimate, branding himself with James’ calling card, but he loved James more than he could say.
Stranger: “Of all the people in the world, you’ve chosen some old man.” James spoke after a long period of silence, his hands sliding back around Q’s stomach slowly. He loved him more than anything he had ever claimed to have loved before. He had changed the way he worked in the field, no longer taking women or men to bed to gain information - and yes, it was now more dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Q - and he would do it all over again, if it meant making Q happy. But now his mouth was moving and his tongue delivering words, and he knew it was far too late. “We’ve been sleeping together for a year. It seems like longer. Or shorter, it’s hard to define. You’re unlike anyone else, Benedict.” James smiled against his skin, giving his slight form a small squeeze, “You’re the only person I know, living or dead, that could take such a battered old man’s blackened heart and making it warm and capable of love again. I just want you to know that you’re loved and that I hardly expect you to feel the same in return. I can’t… It’s not possible for me to keep it in, anymore. I tried. I denied it, but it was there and it wasn’t going away.”
You: Q felt like all of the air was knocked out of him. His hands stilled, his eyes widened, he didn’t look back at James. He was loved. /James/ loved him. He knew that it had been a year. He trusted Q. Q turned his head, feeling his eyes sting with tears that he tried desperately to push back as he leaned up, pressing his and James’ lips together wetly. His hands blindly found James’, intertwning their fingers before he sank back into James’ hold. “I love you, too,” He mumbled against his lips. “Very, very much…Old dog,” He added with a bit of a sniffle and a smile, nudging his nose against James’.
Stranger: James didn’t know what to think. His heart felt like it was going to burst, his entire being frozen in place until Q kissed him again. His body melted, love pouring from him as he grappled to pull the younger man closer, one hand sliding into his damp curls. “God, I didn’t want to love you,” James chuckled quietly, holding him tight and smiling against his skin as he littered his face with soft kisses, properly smiling for the first time since he had left for Moscow, “I didn’t want to love, ever. But you… Oh you, you young sod.” He laughed again, thoroughly happy, resting their foreheads together with a soft smile, “You changed that, didn’t you? You beautiful, amazing, genius of a man, with your bloody tea and cardigans and this place that is just… home-” James paused when he heard a small mewl, glancing over to where Cleo sat on the bathmat a few feet from them, “And you, madam, you too.” He kissed Q again, smiling softly, “I love you, Ben.”
You: Q grinned against James’ lips, pressing up into his hand. “That’s mututal, dear,” He murmured. He had rallied against love, against feeling anything for James other than lust, but it was impossible for him to stick to it. James’ constant and continuous affections didn’t exactly make it easy for him, nor did Eve’s constant insistence that he needed to acknowledge his feelings. When Q /had/ acknowledged them, he’d, thankfully, been alone, and had started to cry. Q let his head fall back, smiling to see the kitten blinking up at them curiously. He chuckled, smiling at her before looking back up at /his/ double oh. “I love you, too, James,” He murmured. He took a deep breath. “We should get out soon. We’re going to get all pruney,” He added before reaching out, pulling on the jumper and carefully wiggling into it to keep James from seeing the tattoo. He didn’t want James to see it, not just yet. Q reached out, helping James out of the tub and chuckling as the kitten trotted away, obviously upset with their being wet. “I have a couple of presents for you.
But…But that’s not fair. That’s not okay. I never cry during the sad role plays like this but…Oh holy fuck, this hurt. Cut because it hurts from the very fucking start.
You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like mormor.
Stranger: I’ve got a gun against my temple and ten minutes to say goodbye. Hey. SM
People on Omegle are fucking obsessed with yaoi
One can’t go around RPing as a female anymore because you either get disconnected the moment you introduce yourself, or get disconnected then they find out you were actually being a nyotalia.
What is the goddamn problem?!
Or what, you’re going to tell me that most of you are gay guys looking for other gay guys? NOPE.
MOSTLY are 13 year olds with a sexwish looking desperately for someone to actually do smut.
Also, mostly STRAIGHT.
What’s the problem with female characters?
Apparently it’s easier for everyone to grow an imaginary penis and go around impaling all that floats your ships.
Thank God I still have seen a couple of females on Omegle. IF YOU RP AS A FEMALE ON OMEGLE, COME AT ME U: <3