#I GET SO EXCITED EVERYTIME I SEE HIM EEE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

markosmate · 4 years

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I don’t know if your taking requests. But one with the boys who there mate is parkour and doing crazy stuff.

i am!! and ahh ok! this is wicked cute,, i’m going to do a poly headcanon so i hope that’s ok? if not, let me know and i’ll write it the way you want <3 hope you like it! - 🧚🏻

poly!lost boys x parkour!reader

• Parkour???? You mean???? Marko's favorite thing on earth??? That’s a lie - it’s not his favorite, but he definitely wishes he could feel the thrill of jumping from building to building without being able to save himself by flying if he were to fall (He’s a big adrenaline junkie, they all are)

• So when the boys find out that you,,, their mate,,, is obsessed with doing parkour, they’re equal parts excited and worried

• Marko is immediately all over it

• "Babe, babe let’s go on a date tonight we can find a nice roof to look at the stars ;)"

• Contrary to popular belief, Paul is not all over it

• He likes to say that he’s just worried for your safety - "What if we’re not there and you fall or something sweets?"

• And while he is partly worried for your safety - he just likes to deter you from ever asking him to go with you

• Now, before Paul turned, he had an extreme fear of heights - it wasn’t the usual feeling nauseous or sick, he would genuinely have a panic attack if he was even ten to fifteen feet off the ground

• Obviously over the years he’s worked on it and can now fly without the thought even beginning to cross his mind, but the thought of parkour?? For whatever reason the first time he tried to go with you the fear came crashing back in

• He prefers dates on the ground, but he will take you flying or cheer you on from below - jumping from building to building isn’t his thing tho

• Dwayne??? You’re lying to yourself if you think he hasn't done that one thing where you hang off the edge by your fingertips literally every time he’s gone with you

• Paul freaks out everytime he sees him do it

• Dwayne thinks your skill is frickin awesome, like his babe having that much strength, balance, and trust in themselves to make sure nothing goes wrong??? Totally hot in his book

• Him and Marko are total adrenaline junkies when it comes to stuff like that, you three have gone on dates that just consist of running and leaping across roof tops until y'all find a good place to chill and hangout

• David,,,,, oh eee - good luck

• You? Are the most badass person he’s ever known - besides himself and the boys - for doing that for fun

• He’s not afraid to tell you either

�� "The view of your ass is great from down here"

• You usually roll your eyes and playfully throw a pebble at him or something but one time it actually hit him smack dab in the forehead

• You were scared he would be mad at first but he ended up flying up to the rooftop to try out what the rave about your hobby was

• He: loved it

• It’s definitely not one of his absolute favorite things to do (He'd much rather spend his time terrorizing the boardwalk) but he won’t deny that it’s definitely a good rush for when he’s feeling risky

• One time the five of you decided to all go together one night because why not??? Group dates are a yes

• You were all just kinda fooling around when Paul accidentally looked down, lost his balance, and fell off the building

• He let out a really loud yelp and honestly probably would have just hit the ground if it weren’t for Marko

• "You can fly dipshit!"

• He realized that halfway down and just kinda ~floated~ gently down to the ground

• He’s teased a lot about that moment

• Overtime you do convince Paul to go with you more often and he eventually becomes just as comfortable with it as flying

• Now he begs you and Marko to go with him all the time, and just like the other boys - now loves the rush of it

• Speaking of the curly blond, Marko is obsessed with just standing on the edge of the building and letting himself fall backwards just to scare the shit out of you

• You know he can fly, but it still freaks you out and makes you lightly scold him when he floats back up (He just giggles at you)

• Sometimes during dates with Dwayne, he'll bring his skateboard and ride it along the edge of a building just to see how close he can get without falling off

• You've definitely tried to copy him multiple times and he highkey freaks out each time

• After the third time, he just stops bringing the skateboard with him

• David, Mr. Not Soft At All, secretly loves when you set up a picnic on the top of a shop on the boardwalk just for the two of you to enjoy after climbing up there

• Overall, the boys totally think you’re badass and love watching you literally pull yourself up the ledges of roofs and jumping from one shop to another

• Although they worry for your safety sometimes, they’re glad to have someone that can keep up with their quickly paced life style and who isn’t afraid to get their heart beating a little quicker

• Plus it turns them on to watch you like holy shit you’re theirs??? Damn they hit a jackpot

• They will scold you if they find out you do it a lot when they’re not around

• How are they supposed to save you if you mess up or fall???

• You assure them that you’re skilled and mistakes rarely happen but they just want to be safe

• Help them relax a lil bit and just agree to be careful ok :(

• David definitely uses your skill as a reason to talk you into turning

• "We won’t have to worry about you if you can just fly away when you fall kitten"

• You’ll definitely hang off the bridge with them dozens of times, and even more often once you turn - they love doing stuff like that with their babe

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thomasstalsworth · 6 years

Text

A Birthday Evening Surprise

“Naw -- naw, naw … like, blue. You know, not like th’blue y’got right there -- blue-blue. Blue.”

It was difficult to see the gnomish tailor beneath the many, many -- many -- swatches of color he was holding. Indeed, the passing observer could be forgiven for wondering just how many hands the gnome had. Four .. seven? There were swatches of cloth of all color, texture, and pattern. They were all varying states of ‘blue’, or at least some variation of ‘aquatic’. None, however, appeared to satisfy the suntanned man on the other end of the counter.

“Naw … see -- it’s gotta be blue. Like, blue.”

“... I could not more clearly be holding ‘blue’, sir.”

With the faintest hint of irritation fighting through the slake of customer service, the gnome shook his arms. The motion made it look like he had wings made of tailoring-swatches, attempting to achieve lift-off in a hundred shades of ‘blue’.

“Y-yeah, naw I see that. But I mean really blue, you know?”

Above the curl of his pink moustache, the gnome’s left eye twitched. It was not an overt expression. Perhaps the vague concept of the man someday purchasing something was enough to stifle the otherwise overwhelming inner irritation inside the tailor. Again, he waggled the many, many swatches of colorful, textured cloth.

“... I am capable of dying any sensibility of ‘blue’ you desire. However you must tell me what exact coloration you have a desire for, sir. Aquamarine -- ?” The gnome waggled his left forefinger, indicating a swatch of the color at question. “-- Ultramarine?” Again, he thrust a digit to and fro to make marker of the one -- of many -- swatches.

“Periwinkle?”

“Midnight?”

“Navy?”

“Sapphire?”

“Teal?”

“Fluorescent?”

“Suramarian?”

“Baby?”

“Powder?”

“Icy?”

“Arctic?”

“Lordaeronian?”

“Alteraci?”

“.. Light Alteraci?”

“Neon?”

And on, and on -- and on it went.

Time became a bare, vacant concept in the mind of the poor tailor. His sense of self began to dissolve as the expansive of chronological nothingness continued unabated. All that remained to ground him to the gentle sensation of reality was the burning of his arms as the swatches remained held in his hands. That and the ‘blue’ -- the ever present, unyielding and uncompromising ‘blue’ which took hold of his mind. There was nothing but blue. It invaded his thoughts, his senses -- everything color-shifted, and even the inane babble of the man was reduced to various shades and tints of the aquatic color.

Then, right about when the tailor’s ego was experiencing its final death knell -- salvation came.

“... Wait, what abou’ that one?”

The inescapable spiral of mental desolation suddenly had a rope ladder. With far more speed than was necessary, the gnome desperately attempted to look for the swatch which the man referred to. He may have snapped his own neck were it not for the bundle of swatches which he was having to hold up with his chin.

“-- Which? Which one!?”

“That one, right there.” The man extended a fat finger to tap a simple, well-dyed swatch.

“... Navy?”

“Yeah! That one’ll do. Navy. Appropriate, figure’n. Good, rich color. Can we have it made wi’ that color n’ cloth?”

The anger -- and disbelief -- which simmered beneath the gnome was immense. Were it a meal, it could have fed a hundred -- no, a thousand of Gnomeregan’s hungriest. Yet the promise of a sale kept the white-hot rage caged with the peppy veneer of customer service.

“... Of course. Of course we can. I can have it ready by this afternoon.” Anything to get you out of here and away -- far away.

“Tha’ sounds great! Here … “ The man produced the appropriate purse of coin, paying for the services. Albeit perhaps not for the exact time expended. All the same, he exited with a polite smile of broad teeth, and a wave of his fat-fingered hand.

“Great Maker … “ The gnome groaned in protest, eyes rolling as he dropped all the swatches, bundles, and fabrics into a heap on the counter.

---

Thomas had never been a huge fan of Boralus.

Sure, it was the market-hub and port capital of Kul’Tiras. There were stalls, markets, storehouses and shop fronts for everything under the stars. Rare was the oddity unfound amidst the merchants, tradesman, and seaside hawkers. There was a kind of beauty, indeed, to the Tradewinds in full afternoon swing. Shoulder-to-shoulder, screaming sellers all out-bidding each other on the most peculiar objects. How much was the fair, going price for lizard gizzard? South Sea Barnacle juice? Imported Vrykul ‘whiskey’ from the Howling Fjord? How much a pint -- a gallon?

The roar of the mercantile crowds gave a boon to Thomas’ already blooming smile.

Still, he was a Crestfall born man, and proud of it. Despite the short length of his life on that particular island, he had always found a deep kinship to it. A rememberance which followed him all through his days. Perhaps it was the idyllic recollection of youth -- but everytime he had gone back to visit, for various and sometimes unscrupulous reasons, he had found every hill to be the mountain he remembered; each stream a roaring river. Good thoughts.

The trek from the gnome’s tailoring shop was a short one. He was almost home as it was -- Boralus was suddenly rather a close destination, relatively speaking, to where he laid his head.

Stormholme.

A duchy, as it were -- and he its Duke.

That thought still made his southernly orifices clench up. It gave him the same sensation to consider as a windy day in the crow’s nest. That odd combination of excitement, fear, and abject confusion.

Through the crowds of the Tradewinds, Thomas made his way. He heft his posterior up the seastone stairs which brought man, beast, and cargo from the outer wall dockyards to the interior of the city. Passing memory gave him idle consideration of a time wherein the idea of foreigners rubbing knuckles with the inner city guard was unheard of. With a pouching of his lower lip, he tried to remember seeing a single foreigner in his youth …

An elf? Maybe? -- Oh, no, yes, there was one.

One of the auburn caterpillars which made their home on his face wiggled. It curled, turning on itself to arch in silent contemplation. He did remember an elf. She was a … ‘Quel’dorei’? What did the elves call High Elves? High was right -- she was tall. Legs which went on from sunrise to sunset, and a rear end like a ripe --

“HEY!”

Thomas took the sudden force to his shoulder in stride, instinctually aligning himself to stand proper. Sea legs did good on land as well, it turned out. The man whom he had accidentally rammed into whirled about like he was ready to whallop Thomas -- but halt at recognition.

“You barnacle-cock son of a -- … Tom? TOM! Well shit in m’pants and call me a baby! Ain’t that the Big Iron, as I live an’ steal breath? Fuck on and piss, come here!”

A sandy-haired man of wide shoulders and thick man-carpet, the perpetrator of recognition rolled forward to grasp at Thomas, hugging him. It took a moment, enough for Tom to slowly put his arms around the man before --

“OH! Piss’n ma’ boots, how’n the fel are ya’? Been more’n a minute since I caught sight of the ruddy salt-stained hog call’t ‘Owen McManus’!”

Owen released him, smiling with a shit-grin to match Thomas’ best.

“Been more’n, aye. You still runnin’ your slag-heap cock up an’ down the Eee Kay?”

“Naw, naw -- long story, ain’t done none a’ that in some time. Been a maelstrom a’ life fer’ me lately, ma’ boy.”

“That a damn fact? Well shit -- you gon’ have to split a keg with me an’ regale. I’ve been runnin’ rope with these absolute bastards up’n from Freeman’s Bones. A real salty stack a’ bitches, I promise. Proper drinkers, may even make you see double -- ha!”

The ache of old memories -- and a life now gone -- began to creep up Thomas’ spine. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Like the nibbling of liquor when you thought you’d been drinking ‘virgin’ cocktails at a party too high-heel for you.

“Shit, piss n’ damnation … I ain’t been down to Freeman’s in a long time. They ever fix th’fucking stilts on that pub? Or is it a half a ball-bag from th’salty brine by now?”

“Oh, fuck’n no! You know Halloway is too cheap fer’ that. She’s gonna let the patrons wade in at the knee before she actually pays a carpenter.”

The smile which ate up both men’s faces was as genuine as could be. Old friends splitting old words. It felt good.

“-- Well shit, McManus. Light’s honest truth be tol’, I gotta be on a gryphon by …“

Thomas checked his bare wrist, as if there were something to tell him his time.

“... an hour ago. Believe it or not -- an’ I know this’ll keep yer’ curiosity enticed until I can fuck a keg open with ya’ -- I’m damn’t married now. A real proper lady, as it were. Chil’ren too, two girls.”

There was the sudden hooting, horning, and general catterwalling of laughter. A thick, hearty laughter which only found itself a home in the throats of the working class. Eventually though, Owen quit chuckling and simply stared.

“-- Yer’ serious?”

“Aye, am.”

“Well .. fuck. How’n the fel-fuck am I abou’ to get a gal spread-eagle now? You got a wife, where’n the fuck’s m’first mate gonna be when we hit th’pub?”

A fat finger rose from Thomas’ fist, waggling at the sandy-haired man.

“First of all -- y’were always my first mate. We both know I’m prettier, an’ end a’ day -- ladies prefer t’saw a hardwood log. Second a’all -- gonna have t’rain check the pub. I’m serious, gotta be on m’way. Got a wife’s birthday t’surprise.”

Owen threw his hands up -- nearly clocking a passing merchantman in the jaw -- and sighed.

“Fine! Fine … but you come’n by Hops Line n’ Sinker by end a’ week, ask fer’ me -- or I’ll be weepin’ like a maid in her milk-shirt. Good t’see ya, Tom.”

“Good t’see you too, McManus.”

And with that, they parted ways. In good timing too, as the winged beast which was to ferry Thomas was indeed, soon to depart. Not an hour hence, that was a lie. But there were few ways to escape the hookings of a McManus ‘evening out’. So after another walk around the Tradewinds, soaking in the sights -- and some of the liquor -- Thomas returned to retrieve the item of his earlier purchase.

Happily, the gnome handed it over, all done up in a silvered gift box. Wrapped together with a neat, blue bow, the package was easily passed long to Thomas. With a tippance of another golden coin for the fine -- and speedy -- work, he left. Much to the happiness of the proprietor.

It was only hours -- albeit some in succession -- before Thomas was home. He did his usual post-gryphon-ride ritual of almost vomiting, clenching his cheeks, and checking to make sure he had not, in fact, soiled himself at some point during the journey.

He did not -- this time.

With all of his sanitary interior squared away, he crept into the manorhouse of the estate. Not the easiest feat, seeing as he was sort-of known there. Being the Duke was a bit of a burden in the stealth department, certainly. But -- he was used to avoiding detection. It was not as easy as it used to be. Back in the old days, he could simply wrap his hair up in a bun, tie it with a bandana, and stand with one hip cocked out -- the Stormwind Guard often mistook him for a poor-off lady-of-the-night. Atleast, when the lanterns were dim.

Thomas crept into he and Anna’s shared room. He looked around, eyeing the dark chambers. She was not in for bed -- not yet. With a flick of his gaze, and the gift box under one arm, he checked the time on their clock. Massive, ornate thing that it was -- five to tenth bell. Perfect!

Coming forward toward the bed, he carefully lit a pair of candles on the nightstand. A flick of a match did the job -- a fire he kept far from the gift box under his arm. Then --

With a shimmy, Thomas began the swift process of undressing.

First his boots came off, unlaced awkwardly with one arm and toed aside. He kicked the stout leathers beneath a desk, hidden for now. Similarly he tossed his coat, hurling it through the opening to their off-suite bathing chambers. Hopefully it did not land in the tub. After that, the rest of his clothes were summarily dumped within an open drawer and stuffed shut for later recollection. Now that was not important. Now? It was game-time. If his recollection of his wife’s schedule was correct, she should be coming in for bed any minute.

With himself now fully nude -- at least aside from the auburn carpet which gave him a wool tank-top and shorts -- he climbed aboard their four-poster. He fussed a few minutes, arranging and rearranging the bedding to best support his grand posture. One leg cocked up, knee raised up, other leg splayed outward, holding himself up in a pose to show off his chest. One hand was balled to a fist, aligned at his jaw -- jaw pressed out in handsome fashion, of course -- while the other clutched …

An anchor.

Well, a pillow, really. It had been within the nearly arranged gift-box. A masterful work of tailoring. The ‘pillow’ was gargantuan, more of a faux-body than anything. It was large enough to be quite the cuddle-buddy within a cloak of blankets, were need to arise. Slightly fuzzy, effortlessly soft, and wreathed in the most noble of Navy-blue dye. At the very bottom corner, on the rightmost arch of the anchor, was enscribed a tiny, golden ‘f a h’.

He held it over his groin.

And now … now all he had to do was wait.

@elaianna

#The Stalsworths #Fah!#The Lady and the Sailor

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