This is a blog for posting things related to fanwork I’ve made/am making, as well as reblogging things other people have made/said from relevant fandoms.
I am over eighteen, but this blog and all of my work is 100% safe for work— as I am just personally uncomfortable with raunchy stuff in general life-wise.
If you are a fluff author I am endlessly grateful to you.
Currently (and for the far foreseeable future) I am very fixated on Hector from Date Everything. Below is the very short list of characters I can foresee myself writing for.
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Hector Valentino Airnesto Condicionado from Date Everything
Muriel of the Kokhuri from The Arcana
Ford from Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns
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I won’t do requests per se, but if you have an idea or suggestion you’re welcome to tell me about it and if I make something related to it I will absolutely credit you. You’re also welcome to nerd out, as my ask box title says. Just keep everything safe for work please.
Sooooo I really liked @/oddballwriter’s post about Hector wearing silly little glasses and I just couldn’t resist (it also gives me an excuse to try and draw my boy in my style. We still have a long way to go but I like some of these doodles - which is a positive imo!)
I’m totally for the Hector turtleneck supremacy who’s with me
You and Hector decided to take a relaxing lake-side voyage for summer, relinquishing the drab cycle of corporate life.
The cabin smelled like dust and old wood, but you barely noticed due to the first thing you saw when you jostled the door open:
twelve beds.
Separated in two rows of six, stretching out like some twisted summer camp horror movie.
Hector, of course, reacted like the universe had a personal vendetta against him.
“…This is-” you start.
“A trap,” Hector interrupts gravely, frame lolling as he storms inside. “They seek to mock us. To mock me. They knew we would only ever need one bed, and yet- look at it.” He throws a hand out dramatically at the endless row of mattresses. “A cruel joke from fate itself!”
You blink. “…Or it’s just the wrong room?”
Hector isn’t listening. He’s pacing between the beds like a general surveying a battlefield. “If we choose one… we betray the others. If we choose two…” His voice drops, low and sulking. “…we betray ourselves.”
You drop your bag and sit on the nearest mattress. “Hector, they’re literally just beds.”
He was always one for the dramatics.
He gasps like you’ve spoken blasphemy. “Just beds? Just? My love, you wound me! These are symbols of… of restraint! Of temptation! They whisper, ‘separate yourselves, cling to modesty, deny the truth of your bond.’” He clutches his chest, swaying as though overcome with emotion.
You flop back onto the mattress, laughing. “Okay, Mr. Overdramatic. Then what do you suggest we do in this unfortunate predicament?”
Without hesitation, Hector strides over, grabs the blanket, and yanks it with a flourish. “We shall fuse them!”
“…Fuse?”
“Yes.” His curls are already falling into his eyes, wild with fervor. “Push them together, one by one, until all twelve are joined as a glorious altar of devotion. Only then will this cursed room know peace!”
You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he struggles to shove two twin beds together, muttering battle cries under his breath.
“… Need… need some help, darling?” You mutter through a half chuckle.
Your jest goes unnoticed, but by the time he’s finished, the room is an absolute mess. Sheets tangled, bedframes crooked, the world’s lumpiest megabed dominating the cabin. Hector collapses onto it, breathless but victorious.
“Now,” he declares, arms open wide. “We have defeated the tyranny of too many beds. Join me, dearest, upon the One True Mattress!”
You climb onto the disaster of blankets and springs, shaking your head. Your body meets Hector’s at the center, warm and lightly coated in sweat. “This is ridiculous.”
“Yes,” he murmurs, curling into you immediately. “Ridiculously perfect.”
Hector is draped over you like a velvet blanket, curls tickling your cheek, his voice barely audible as he whispers, “See? The cosmos bend to our will. Even the beds-”
*CRRREEEAAAK*
Both of you freeze.
Then, before you both can react further-
*THUD*
The middle section of the twelve-bed monstrosity collapses like a sinkhole, swallowing you both. One side tilts upward, the other dips down, and suddenly you and Hector are sliding helplessly into the abyss of squeaky mattress springs and sheets.
You burst out laughing. Hector, however, looks betrayed.
“No-no! Treachery!” He flails dramatically, limbs tangled in sheets, one leg sticking straight up like a flag of surrender. “My creation has turned against us! It was never loyal-it was a traitor from the start!”
“Hector-” you wheeze, clutching your stomach. “It’s just gravity-”
“Do not defend it!” he cries, pointing an accusatory finger at the broken bed pile. “This… this Judas of furniture shall not stand in the way of my devotion!”
He tries to climb out, but the more he thrashes, the deeper he sinks into the chaos of lumpy mattresses. Eventually, he flops against you with a long, tragic sigh.
“…Fine,” he mutters, utterly defeated. “So be it. The beds win tonight. But you,” he tilts his head, eyes glinting in the moonlight, “you’re still mine. And I refuse to let even a mattress conspiracy separate us.”
You kiss his forehead, still giggling. “Guess we’re stuck here until morning.”
“Stuck,” Hector repeats solemnly, wrapping himself tighter around you without a semblance for release. “Yes. Gloriously, irrevocably stuck.” He spews while lacing your body with tender kisses.
The next morning, the two of you awake to banging at the old, wooden door.
You groan, trying to peel yourself out of the twisted nest of bedsheets and uneven mattress springs. Hector only tightens his hold, murmuring sleepily, “No interruptions. They can wait. The world can wait.”
The banging comes again, louder. This time, a voice follows:
“Uh- sorry to bother you folks, but- uh, think there was a mix-up with your room!”
You freeze mid-stretch. Hector snaps awake instantly, like a cat hearing the rattle of food. His eyes go wide. “A… mix-up?”
You sit up, hair mussed, clothes wrinkled from the mattress catastrophe.
Making your way to the door, you spout while opening it, “What do you mean?”
“Yeah, uh…” the landlord’s voice wavers, like he’s trying to be casual about it. He’s an older man holding a large, beaten basket at his side. “Turns out your reservation was s’posed to be the honeymoon suite. Real nice joint. Fireplace, canopy bed, champagne on the dresser. Somebody switched the numbers ‘round, so you two ended up in, uh…” There’s an awkward pause. “…the scout troop bunkhouse.”
You glance back at the ruin of twelve crooked, half-destroyed beds shoved together in a Frankenstein huddle. Hector follows your gaze and goes pale.
“This… was not fate?” he whispers. His voice trembles, curls falling into his eyes. “Not destiny? Not some divine trial of love and loyalty, meant to test us?”
The landlord clears his throat. “Nope. Just… uh… clerical error on our end. Sorry ‘bout that!”
Silence.
Hector collapses back onto the heap with a wail, arm flung over his face like he’s on stage. “My opus! My magnum bedum! Reduced to mere accident!”
You bite back laughter, lazily leaning against the door. The landlord’s still standing there, awkwardly fetching two champagne flutes from the rickety basket.
“We’ll, uh, get you folks set up in the proper room right away,” he says. “Sorry ‘bout all… this.” He gestures vaguely at the sight of Hector rolling around in the bed carnage, muttering about betrayal.
You smile politely. “No worries. He’ll… recover. Oh!- and we’ll help clean up the mess.”
Behind you, Hector rises from the wreckage like a gothic phantom, sheet draped over his shoulders like a cape. His eyes glint with melodramatic intensity.
You just shake your head, tugging him up before he can launch into another speech. “Come on, drama king. Let’s clean up so we can see the honeymoon suite.”
Hector hesitates, then presses a hand to the nearest crooked mattress like he’s saying farewell to a fallen comrade. “Very well,” he sighs, sweeping the sheet-cape around himself. “But know this- though destiny was mistaken, though bureaucracy conspired against us- I shall never forget the night we conquered too many beds.”
You laugh, slipping your hand into his.
After the cleanup, together, you leave behind the remnants of the Twelve-Bed Betrayal, stepping toward a future with only one bed- and one very melodramatic lover to share it with.
♡ ♡ ♡
Short one for today :3 I saw the “too many beds” trope on a list and listened to that song recently, so had to get this one out for our obsessed hvac.
My friend and I were talking about how Hector would love wearing long skirts because they’re so breezy. Then, of course, it occurred to me that he must get Marilyn Monroe’d. It’s vents, man. Gotta happen.
Lineart done in Microsoft Paint with an xp-pen tablet and stylus, colors/shading done in Tayasui Memopad (free version) on my phone with my index finger.
