Pan Vs the deadfandom rarepair (Wallace wells x Scott Pilgrim)
Hello my People, I come to you in desperation. After literal ten years of not really feeling like writing + not even thinking about this fandom, I am not having some serious seratonin withdrawals due to need for both.
Not gonna lie, I'm open and eager not only for fanfic but for some plain fandom gushing for the pairing Scott/Wallace from scott pilgrim (specifically comicverse), like sharing ideas and headcanons and stuff. Please PM me to chat!
Please be over 21, and don't worry about contacting just to find out more or dropping if it isn't your thing! Just let me know and we'll be good.
Name: Pan
Age: early 30's
Timezone: -3 GMT
Contact: Panur#4742
Wallace came to slowly, dimly realizing he was somewhere particularly well-lit because it was super bright behind his closed lids, the kind of bright that made you think twice about opening your eyes because you knew you were going to be doing some serious squinting once you dared to.
“Whu-”
The first thing he became aware of was that his head hurt. Not in any particularly hungover-like way, either, for once the pain felt like it belonged outside his head in a throbbing kind-of-way, and there was something quite cold pressed against his brow. It wasn’t particularly pleasant.
He tried to bring a hand up to touch it but his right arm hurt too, in a similar, bruised kind of way. He tried using his other hand to reach it, and someone whose voice sounded very familiar said not to or something similar and pulled his hand back down. Wallace made an unhappy sound, but complied.
What the hell had he done today?
He didn’t feel hungover. His ass didn’t hurt so he was reasonably sure he hadn’t found some guy to enjoy that particular kind of entertainment either, he just felt weird.
…Had he smoked pot?
He couldn’t imagine it considering he* hated * smoking even normal cigarettes, let alone a blunt. Sure, like everyone else he’d tried it a couple times on his first year at Uni, but had ended up coughing too much, with the resulting buzz being far too mild and completely not worth feeling like everything he owned (particularly his hair) smelled like stale horse shit.
It wasn’t like him to break his own rules either (‘try everything at least twice, and if you still don’t like it, never do it again’) so he sincerely doubted it was, but had no idea what other explanation there could be for the way he felt - a bizarre mix of chilled and overly warm, with not-quite responsive, heavy limbs and the oddest sensation that his spine was made out of wool-
Wait. Waaait.
…Had he gotten roofied? How? he was so careful not to do drugs and never to leave drinks unattended when he was out, but he guessed that could happen to anyone, or at least that’s what the after-school specials on tv had taught him as a child…! But it was morning, right? It sounded like morning! How long had he been out? What day was it? Where was he??
Panic made him snap his eyes open (the light did indeed make him squint), and he closed them back with a groan, turning a bit to hide them from the glare of the light fixtures. Someone laughed in the same familiar voice, petted his hair (which would have been a nice thing if he had any idea what the hell was going on), and Wallace forced his eyes back open.
It was at that point he realized he was laying flat on a shittily upholstered long chair thing, with his head in someone’s jean-clad lap. Looking a little further up, he saw a very familiar Sonic&Knuckles shirt and an even more familiar parka, and even higher up he saw…
“…Scott?”
Scott nodded; teeth clamped on a capri-sun’s straw while giving him a particularly un-Scott like shit-eating grin. It should have been disturbing, but after imagining he was gonna wake up in a seedy hotel in a bathtub full of ice and sans a couple organs, it was the most wonderful sight he could have imagined, even without counting he had his head o his lap and Scott was the one holding the cold thing (a can?) against his brow.
“…Guy, you have no idea how happy I am to see you…!” He said, and even his voice sounded weirdly wobbly “Where…Wha happened?”
Not gonna lie, I'm open and eager not only for fanfic but for some plain fandom gushing for the pairing Scott/Wallace from scott pilgrim (specifically comicverse), like sharing ideas and headcanons and stuff. Please PM me to chat!
Please be over 21, and don't worry about contacting just to find out more or dropping if it isn't your thing! Just let me know and we'll be good.
Name: Pan
Age: early 30's
Timezone: -3 GMT
Contact: Panur#4742
Wallace came to slowly, dimly realizing he was somewhere particularly well-lit because it was super bright behind his closed lids, the kind of bright that made you think twice about opening your eyes because you knew you were going to be doing some serious squinting once you dared to.
“Whu-”
The first thing he became aware of was that his head hurt. Not in any particularly hungover-like way, either, for once the pain felt like it belonged outside his head in a throbbing kind-of-way, and there was something quite cold pressed against his brow. It wasn’t particularly pleasant.
He tried to bring a hand up to touch it but his right arm hurt too, in a similar, bruised kind of way. He tried using his other hand to reach it, and someone whose voice sounded very familiar said not to or something similar and pulled his hand back down. Wallace made an unhappy sound, but complied.
What the hell had he done today?
He didn’t feel hungover. His ass didn’t hurt so he was reasonably sure he hadn’t found some guy to enjoy that particular kind of entertainment either, he just felt weird.
…Had he smoked pot?
He couldn’t imagine it considering he* hated * smoking even normal cigarettes, let alone a blunt. Sure, like everyone else he’d tried it a couple times on his first year at Uni, but had ended up coughing too much, with the resulting buzz being far too mild and completely not worth feeling like everything he owned (particularly his hair) smelled like stale horse shit.
It wasn’t like him to break his own rules either (‘try everything at least twice, and if you still don’t like it, never do it again’) so he sincerely doubted it was, but had no idea what other explanation there could be for the way he felt - a bizarre mix of chilled and overly warm, with not-quite responsive, heavy limbs and the oddest sensation that his spine was made out of wool-
Wait. Waaait.
…Had he gotten roofied? How? he was so careful not to do drugs and never to leave drinks unattended when he was out, but he guessed that could happen to anyone, or at least that’s what the after-school specials on tv had taught him as a child…! But it was morning, right? It sounded like morning! How long had he been out? What day was it? Where was he??
Panic made him snap his eyes open (the light did indeed make him squint), and he closed them back with a groan, turning a bit to hide them from the glare of the light fixtures. Someone laughed in the same familiar voice, petted his hair (which would have been a nice thing if he had any idea what the hell was going on), and Wallace forced his eyes back open.
It was at that point he realized he was laying flat on a shittily upholstered long chair thing, with his head in someone’s jean-clad lap. Looking a little further up, he saw a very familiar Sonic&Knuckles shirt and an even more familiar parka, and even higher up he saw…
“…Scott?”
Scott nodded; teeth clamped on a capri-sun’s straw while giving him a particularly un-Scott like shit-eating grin. It should have been disturbing, but after imagining he was gonna wake up in a seedy hotel in a bathtub full of ice and sans a couple organs, it was the most wonderful sight he could have imagined, even without counting he had his head o his lap and Scott was the one holding the cold thing (a can?) against his brow.
“…Guy, you have no idea how happy I am to see you…!” He said, and even his voice sounded weirdly wobbly “Where…Wha happened?”