#“I’ll call out your name

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 02

“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

You don't need to read the whole story. Everyday can stand for its own. And that poor soul has to suffer through every single one of them, I promise!

Hummingbird 02

(Story starts here)

There was the hart partition wall, than the cool tilts and now it felt... soft. Everything around was more soft, than it had been. Cotton touching his cheek. It was warm like him, too warm. Fingertips brushed over tightly nitted texture.

That were the first things that came to his hazy mind. A quiet humming somewhere above, but it sounded like being muffed by something, or far away.

His shoulder sank into that soft surface. He was laying on his side. His body was rocked gently, a static sound lolling him in. Something was moving. But it was so hot in here.

The humming was cheerish, sounded friendly, but far away.

Sam tried an attempt to open his eyes. They were so heavy. It was dim, little artificial lights, big sources of light passing above., everything blurry. Than the pain came, a pulsing in his head rushed in. At the same time a shiver overtook him. He felt freezingly cold all of a sudden. With a moan he tried to move away from the moving sources of light and the pain, closing his eyes again. Suddenly he felt sick to his guts. Or he just registered, because his body finally arrived in reality? It felt like he was coming down from the flu. His stomach was empty, this kind of sick-empty without appetit. His clothes stuck to his body, he felt soaked. But he must have cooled down again and now was shivering slightly under the blanket, he just realised its existence.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be made out of lead. Rearranging his position was near to impossible. Another moan escaped him by the attempt. His head was hot and definitively going to explode soon. Everything was so blurry. He thought he was laying on a rocking boat.

The humming had shifted, was a bit louder now. A big, warm thing... a hand brushed over his forehead. It was grounding, it felt good, it was comforting in his state. Sam tried to open his eyes again. With every blink he registered more of his surroundings, but details still vanished in his blurry vision. He was looking through a fog. His body was rocked by another cold wave.

Apparently, he was in a moving car, not a boat. The little artificial lights, he had seen, were indirect lighting of a consol and the big one's were streetlights passing over. So he thought. It was more like a dream, or watching a movie with half closed eyes.

It was dark outside. Sam was on the backseat, his head on the passenger side, his feet behind the driver. Slowly his head put the pieces together.

'He had passed out in the club. Maybe, he was in a taxi on his way home?' His mind reasoned. "Home?" He whispered more to himself, then out loud. But his mind was too confused. He wasn't even sure if it was a question for directions or a wish. Sam felt miserable and really sick. Another shiver shock him, but his hands were clammy and digging into the blanket for some stability. A whisper from the front seat. He couldn't really make out the words or the meaning, but it sounded something like. "All.. these... years, I c..ll out... name, but y... won't c...ll back, till t..day." But that was making no sence. Maybe the radio was playing and he mistook it. His head was just too clouded anyway.

The hand on his clammy head was still slightly ruffeling his hair, it was heavingly cool on his hot forehead. Sam felt so miserable, he inwardly was longing for a hug. But he had no family anymore or a girlfriend right now, so his own arms wrapped themselves around his shivering torso against their own leaded heaviness. "Home?" His hazy mind formed and pushed over his tembling lips.

'Wait!... A Taxi?... But why would a randam driver touch him for comfort?'

Suddenly Sam's eyes widened in panic. The thought making its way to his muffed brain. His only natural reaction was to go completely stiff under that hand. He couldn't see for the hand was blocking his view of the driver. 'This wasn't a taxi. The interior was too fancy, the fabric too expensive. Taxiseats had another surface, easy to clean. Who's car was this?'

The hand on his head had stopped moving, as had the car. Around the passanger seat, through the windshild Sam could see a foggy red light. His heartbeat was hammering inside his chest, the slight shivering had suddenly turned into his whole body shaking from adrenaline. His breathing sped up too. He couldn't control his body going into full panic mode.

It was now or never. With his feet he pushed the blanket away to the other side of the backseat and his arms went up defensively. But his muscles were stiff, his arms and legs unnaturally heavy, his movements much too slow. He hadn't had really pushed the foreign hand away, as it only had stopped moving midair a few inches away from him. Sam's left grabbed for the doorhandle above his head, but his system was still flushed with whatever was in that drink and he was exhausted from puking his guts out.

The hand, that had been soothing, comforting, grounding him mere moments ago, was the exact opposite now. It came for him, but instead of pulling his hand from the door handle, it went straight for his left upper arm and wrapped around it like a vise. It pushed down on his already existing big painful bruise from his fall and encounter with the rumble on his work shift last night.* Instandly Sam's hold on the doorhandle losened and his complete arm went limb, when white hot pain exploded. His scream was muffeled, while he jerked his head towards his left shoulder fighting to controll that pain. Desperate puffs didn't really help to get through this cruel moment. He needed a second to brace himself, than flightmode took the upper hand again. He trashed and kicked, trying to pull away. The grip around his arm tightend, but Sam knew, this was probably his only chance. In his violent struggle, he bumped his own head against the rear passanger door.

The pounding in his skull had been overtoned by his panic reaction, but now it was back. He was dazed all of a sudden. His free arm went to his tuft reflexively. Over the concert inside his head he hadn't registered, that the hand around his already bruised arm was gone.

A sting in his left tight and the last remains of fight left him. His pounding head went into a stupor in seconds and he felt his heavy muscles getting even heavier. It was scary, but soothing at the same time. He couldn't react anymore, he couldn't fight, he couldn't move at all anymore. And he just didn't want to. His hand slipped from his head and fell down flabby. He didn't feel it hitting the floor of the vehicle. It wasn't a part of him anymore. His hammering heartbeat seemed to have been cut into half by whatever was injected in his leg.

His surroundings got blurry again. A last aspirated "Home?!" escaped his lips. Sam wasn't able to move his neck, so the only thing he really could see was a diffuse figure behind the wheel out of the corner of his eye, the head was looking at him, maybe some movement in his face. Sam really couldn't tell.

"Home? They don't care about you. Actually, there's nobody who cares about you out there. But don't worry my little hummingbird. I do."

The fuzzy traffic light changed from red to yellow. The man was humming and scarly it sounded soothing again.

The yellow blop turned green and than everything turned black.

TBC

Hummingbird previous / masterlist

*explained later (05)

[sometimesraven]

While We Wait

Whumptober No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

Fandom: The Sandman POV Character: Reader (non-gendered original dream character) Whumpee: Reader and Delirium

You were once his brightest dream. Now you cling to the shreds of hope while the rest have abandoned his crumbling realm.

Fortunately, you have company tonight.

AO3 Link

"They don't care about you."

You were his, once. You kept the dreams of countless mortals within you. And you are empty. Your Lord did not return. Dream of the Endless is missing, and you are empty, and you want to give up. You want to follow the other dreams, but no realm will have you the way the Dreaming does. Perhaps it is time for this dream to end for good.

"You know about that, right? They sleep and dance and fuck and the colours are bright so you kind of just slide around like a bad jelly and they don't even want to poke you because that's gross, you know? The jelly isn't even good."

His sister has taken to visiting you. She seems lost, though- perhaps that is her default state. You aren't sure. Dream never introduced you to his family.

"I think I'm jelly too."

Her hair is dull, today, though dotted with silvers and golds to match your once-perfect home in the stars of his realm. She is wrapped in an oversized, tattered blanket that smells of stale wine and cheap perfume, but when she offers to share it with you, dangling upside down from nothing in particular, you cannot help but drift into its warmth, hanging with her in the topsy-turvy ruins of the Dreaming.

"Dream is mean sometimes, but I don't think we're jelly to him."

Tears are shimmering on your cheeks. A few drip from your chin as if you are the right way up, and she licks one from your cheek.

"He's not supposed to be a fish, you know? But he is. So he'll find his way, and then we'll be cake again."

Delirium speaks in the tongues of the dreaming mortals you know well. She speaks in stardust and silver blood, and her voice carries the beat of your crystalline heart across the plains of darkness.

"Nibling?"

You like it when she calls you that. A reminder that you are, after all, a child of the Dreaming, and the Endless will always be connected.

"Don't turn into stardust, okay? You're too shiny to be the sky."

You smile, and say nothing. Perhaps the dream can continue, for another endless night.

[kalira]

Moonlit Eyes

Written for @whumptober Day 2! (theme: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” prompt 2: Delirium prompt 3: “They don't care about you.”)

T; 900 words Tomoki, Adam/Mizuki, (one-sided Tomoki->Mizuki)

Tomoki listens to Mizuki's song, her laugh, meets her eyes and knows . . . however close she may be, she's far, far out of his reach - her heart and her eyes turned towards another world.

[fizzytoo]

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer, Delirium (“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”)

This one has similar vibes to day 1, but it was originally for a different later-on day so that’s why (if you know the prompts, you can probably guess which!). Also there’s no actual thermometers here, but I definitely used the prompt as inspiration lol. Sorry Sky.

Warnings for: being out in the heat too long, an implied head injury, and a character thinks briefly about how it wouldn’t be so bad to die.

Read it on ao3

————————————————————

Sky couldn’t remember why he was here.

Blinding sun shone in his eyes, even when he shaded his face with his hands, that made the pounding in his skull twice as worse. The glare made it impossible to see across the desert he was walking through, and his eyes hurt from squinting. Sand blew past his face, tripped his steps, and the heat rose off of it in waves, making it hard to focus on why...

...why what, exactly?

Sky shook his head, unable to remember, and kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all.

He’d been walking for ages, and the temperature had risen sharply as he’d gone, making sweat pour down his face and drip down his back. His sailcloth had long been put away in his pouch, and as tempted as he was to remove more layers, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to attack, or exposed to the blinding sun any more than necessary.

Not that it mattered much. There was no shelter anywhere.

Only sand. Endless sand.

Sky squeezed his eyes shut a moment, the uncomfortable sting from their dryness worth the temporary respite from the sun. He only had a few sips of water left, and as much as he wanted to gulp them down, he needed to conserve them so he could make it back to... to somewhere.

...to someone?

Sky swallowed, the motion barely relieving the dryness of his throat.

He was alone, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it? He did faintly recall being in a desert like this before, but... but maybe he’d always been wandering out here by himself.

Alone in the desert, with no water and a headache that only got worse.

He kept walking.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky above him, no respite from the sun that beat down on his head. A scorching wind sometimes brushed past his bangs, kicking up the sand, but bringing no relief whatsoever.

Sky’s legs dragged more and more the longer he walked, his clothes soaked in sweat. He gulped down the last few drops of water he had, but it didn’t do a thing to quench his thirst. His head pounded, his headache worsened from the bright sun and pulsing behind his eyes, but Sky couldn’t even close them. Whenever he did, he always tripped soon after, and pulling himself back up got harder each time it happened.

A sound suddenly caught his attention, one that wasn’t just harsh wind or shifting sands. Sky dazedly looked up (when had he lowered his head?), and his eyes widened at the sight.

There were trees a short distance away, trees and tents set up around a large rock that reached up towards the sky. They all provided a glorious amount of shade from the sun, and in the middle of it all was a large pool of water.

Sky stared, then felt his aching face stretch in a smile.

Shelter. Shade.

Water.

He let out a raspy laugh, and began to run towards it, stumbling in the sand as he went. Finally, civilization, and a respite from the awful heat. Somewhere to rest, to figure out why he was wandering through the desert, why he felt like he shouldn’t be alone.

Sky was so fueled by the sight of something other then sand that in his excitement, he suddenly tripped on the large dune he’d been running down. His legs were too exhausted to recover, and he fell forward, arms pinwheeling.

Sky’s yelp was quickly cut off as his face hit the sand, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, limbs flying and sand getting on every bit of him that didn’t already have it.

He finally rolled to a stop with a groan, his exhausted body even more tired from the fall. He felt bruised and dizzy, and the same spot in the back of his head that kept pounding was blazing with pain now, but the reminder of water got him to fight through it, and Sky took in a steadying breath. Once his head finally stopped spinning, he carefully raised it, trying to focus on the oasis again and reorient himself.

Nothing but empty sand met him.

Sky stared, eyes widening as he lurched to his feet and looked around with increasing desperation. He could no longer hear the splashing of the water, see the leaves of tall palms rustling with a cooling breeze, just... sand.

Nothing but sand.

There had never been any oasis. It was just his mind, desperate for something to cool itself off with, tricking him.

Sky closed his eyes, a wave of despair crashing over him. It was so intense he nearly fell over, and he felt a frustrated cry build in his throat. He’d been so close, to shelter, to water, to people... but no, there’d been nothing to be close to at all. Just his dehydrated mind playing tricks.

He shook his head, and swallowed back the sting in his eyes as he reopened them. A dull feeling settled over him as he stared at the empty sands, and he sighed, the sound raspy and weak.

Nothing to do but keep going.

He began to walk again, and he couldn’t bring himself to scan the horizon for help any more. Maybe there just wasn’t any shelter anywhere.

Maybe the desert had no end.

Waves of heat rose off the sand, making the horizon impossible to make out no matter how much Sky squinted at it. The sun was right around its peak, scorching its rays onto his head, and Sky took his sailcloth back out with shaking hands and rested it over his head to protect his face. It barely helped, and he knew his skin was already peeling from burns, but he kept it there anyway. The faint sweet smell coming off of it was comforting at least.

He wondered why it smelled so nice. He couldn’t remember.

The sun seemed to stall above his head, getting no lower. Sky’s stomach began to roll unpleasantly, his dry throat crying out for water. He wasn’t sure why he kept walking honestly, when it would have been so much easier to just stop, but something kept his feet moving, even despite the pounding in his head.

A laugh floated by on the wind, and Sky blinked, a flash of pale hair in the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw a man approach him, covered in armor, but when he looked again he was gone.

The light grew more orange, his shadow squirming like snakes over the dunes. Harsh wind stung at his face like bitter words, and a wolf laughed at him when he stumbled, barks ringing in his ears. Something with fiery hair challenged him to a fight, but when Sky drew his sword to face it, there was nothing but a distant laugh in his ears.

He kept his sword out after that, using it as more of a walking stick than anything. Apologies spilled from his lips, for scuffing her steel and getting sand stuck in her hilt, but he didn’t know why. She was just a sword, wasn’t it?

Something circled lazily above his head, and Sky squinted at it, pausing as he tried to figure out why the shape seemed so familiar. Something outstretched to either side, a tail in the back...

Red flashed in his vision, and an intense hope caught in his chest as a memory surfaced.

“Crimson?” Sky breathed, watching the bird swoop around, wings stretched towards him as if it was coming in for an embrace.

Then it abruptly changed course and began to fly away.

“No— nnno no Crimson no, come back—!”

Sky bolted after his loftwing, but barely took a step before tripping in the sand, sending him sprawling. He desperately looked up, but his bird was long gone, lost in the blue sky.

It had left him. Everyone had left him. The scarf, the leaves, the golden hair, even his sword— Sky sobbed and tried to get up, but he’d finally reached his limit, the loss of his bird one loss too many.

He collapsed, muscles worn, heart aching, and his vision went dark.

(...)

A faint whisper tickled his ears.

Sky breathed out a soft moan, too hazy to try and listen. It was a gentle voice, one that made his chest hurt for some reason, but everything was disjointed, dark color smearing around the inside of his eyelids.

The voice repeated itself, but he couldn’t focus through the darkened void, too weak, too faint. But the voice continued, kept trying, and eventually Sky could hear it enough to just barely make out what it was saying.

“...Link...”

It was if his name was spoken through a heavy fog.

Sky still didn’t move, feeling utterly drained. It was like a weight had been dropped on top of him. Even when he thought he heard something move nearby, he remained still, listening silently as it approached. The sounds were strangely distant, but he listened to them anyway, unable to do much else.

The footsteps stopped, and Sky could feel that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s a monster finally come to finish me off, he thought distantly. The idea was almost a welcome one, and he exhaled, sure that he’d feel a blade cutting into his heart any moment now. Then maybe he could truly rest, and join everyone who had left him.

“Sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

The familiar nickname abruptly cleared some of the fog that had descended in Sky’s head, and he forced his eyes open through the grit encrusting them.

Warm yellow met him, not like the painful glare of the desert sun, but a kinder, cheerful shade. Like gentle spring sunshine, with a silver glint from the moonlight. Sky blinked, and felt a huge surge of emotion as he looked up into crystal-clear eyes, their middle a blue even brighter than the sky.

“...Zelda?” he croaked, and she nodded from where she stood next to him.

“Sleepyhead, you need to get up,” she said in a teasing voice, and Link closed his eyes again, already exhausted from opening them the first time.

“...I can’t... Zelda, I...” he whispered, and he felt a light touch on his cheek, fingers gently caressing him.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He obeyed, and Zelda smiled at him again, her form strangely hazy in his vision.

“You’re close to help, Link. It’s not much further, you can make it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” he repeated in a whisper, wishing he could do as she said, but unable to gather the strength.

The sun had wrung out any energy he had, sapped by sweat and heat and the endless pound in his head. Sky belatedly realized it was much colder now, but the temperature switch was of no relief to his worn and wearied body. The air was now freezing instead of burning, and he barely had the energy to shiver, the cold leeching any remaining strength he had.

He was deathly thirsty, his stomach still hurt, and he still couldn’t remember why he was in the desert in the first place, or what he’d been doing beforehand.

Link closed his eyes again, a sudden wave of despair crashing over him through the confusion and haze.

“I can’t,” Link trembled out again, and tears would have sprung to his eyes if he’d had any water left in his body. “Z-Zel, I can’t.”

“You can,” Zelda replied in a voice equally firm and soft. Link couldn’t stand to look at her.

He kept his eyes closed, and then something moved at his side where his pouch was. He stayed still as it moved, then felt something soft fall over his shoulders, a familiar perfume drifting into his nose.

“You can, Link,” Zelda repeated, her voice encouraging. “I’ll be with you for every step. Don’t fall here. It’s time to get up.”

Link exhaled, and looked into Zelda’s eyes, watching the way the moonlight made them shine.

“Is that a command from my goddess?” he whispered in a barely-there voice.

“No. It’s a request from your friend,” Zelda said as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “Now come on, Link. It’s time to keep going.”

Something alit inside Link’s chest at her words, something weak, and faint. But it was warm, and Link clung to it like a drowning man, curling around and snatching at it, and suddenly felt as if he had some of his strength back. Not a lot, barely any, and he doubted he could even raise his sword... but he could move.

He wasn’t going to die alone in the desert. He wouldn’t fall here.

He would keep going.

Link clutched at his sailcloth with trembling fingers, and turned himself off his side and onto his hands. Then he moved to his knees, and ever so slowly, body shaking with the effort, got to his feet.

He stood for a moment, trembling in the moonlight, afraid to move for fear that he’d fall over. But Zelda’s words rang in his head, and he breathed in, tightening his grip on the sailcloth. Then he took a single swaying step, and then another, and another, legs trembling like those of a newborn loftwing. Walking through the sand seemed more impossible than earlier, and once he began shivering, it was even worse.

But every time he faltered, every time he nearly collapsed, wanted desperately to stop and just rest... he saw a shine of yellow hair ahead of him, a glint of blue eyes... and he kept going.

All through the night he plodded along, boots slipping in the sand, clutching Zelda’s words to him as tightly as he clutched the sailcloth.

Something at his back gave out an occasional weak pulse, and Link matched his steps to the faint rhythm. The horizon began to lighten, orange streaks shooting through the sky, and somewhere in that time, Link stopped shivering, the temperature rising again as he trekked endlessly across the sands.

Step, after step, after step.

He kept walking.

The sun broke over the horizon, making his eyes sting from its brightness. His footsteps weaved uncertainly as it cast orangey rays across the sands, voices warbling to him on the wind, cheering him, jeering at him, words both indecipherable and clear as ice.

A red haired man yelled at him after spending all day with Zelda, and a tall woman fiercely berated him, making his ears sting. The armor looked at his sword with dislike and anger while a bunny twitched his whiskers, the very grass and trees laughed, dusk fell and cried out as he struggled against the darkness, his parents looked at him with pride and grief and Mia wove around his legs as she begged to be picked up—

Link belatedly realized he’d fallen to the ground, still-cool sand pressing against his cheek.

Zelda’s voice had gone quiet, no more yellow hair to follow, no voice urging him up. Link breathed out, his strength gone. The faint flicker he’d regained was utterly spent. His body had been pushed to its limit, and he’d gone as far as he could. He’d given it his all.

He couldn’t keep going.

The darkness started to creep up on him again, but it felt colder this time, deep, reaching out to drag him down with its claws. Link shivered and wanted to brush it off, but he couldn’t even raise his arm.

I’m sorry Zel.

The claws hooked into him, began to cover his vision, sending darkness over his sight, but as they did, Link thought he saw a flicker of color out in the sand.

A yell rang faintly in his ears as he closed his eyes, footsteps pounding the sand. More yells joined the first as Link relaxed, and the sand brushed his other cheek, though it felt remarkably smooth and gentle as darkness swept over him like a wave.

For some reason, he felt perfectly safe.

[sheppardsmckay]

Whumptober2023

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

[lucicada]

I need to point out the fact that the shipping side of this fandom has committed hate crimes (against me)

So like- we had solidaribeans, we had magical mountain, we had boat boys. We all know this, Joel gets bitches real BUT

Were the Fuck is my Gribeans content huh?? /lh

Like???? Something something Joel and Grian being the only ones they could trust in the end of LL, running away from the rest of the server together, dying inches from each other..

Joel killing Grian twice and Grian still following him, their plans or revenge. Getting revenge on people who did nothing to them because the other wanted blood.. something something

On 100Hrs Joel being there when he died, when he was revived, when Scar died. Something something them both needing constants in their lives and using each other to fill it

NOT TO MENTION THE ‘LETS MAKE OUT SCENE’ COME ON GUYS

This is frankly disappointing and my day is ruined /lh

[oxideblack]

[candycryptids]

Hiya! I hope you're doing well today! I love your characters and how you've structered their bios! Since Chuusday is listed first, is she technically your official WOL or is it someone else? Do you canonically have a WOL in the first place?

Also, I find it SO sweet that you and one of your partners both play FFXIV and have characters paired together ;w; Did you meet ingame or long before either of you started playing? Either way I wish you both the best!!! <3 - gardenofballads 🌻

Awaaaah! Im doing pretty ok!!! Taking time to answer this as a wind down from Emerald Weapon Ex Brain Soupage. And I’m so glad! ;W; I think I butchered one of those “Get To Know An OC” thingies- uhh… oh [this one] actually! I chopped a lot out and I think added a couple different thingums instead because there was so much to that that it felt overwhelming to try to look at let alone fill out LOL but it was a really good jumping off point uvu;

And!!! Hilariously Chuu was my First XIV Character, so she’s dear to my heart for being the first one- but she very quickly made it known being the WOL even as an AU was something of a Joke (Her character showed great reluctance and even frustration at having to do So Much World Saving, maybe a side-effect of me rushing through MSQ to catch up with my other spouse [Who plays Talia, though they’ve got less time for XIV these days ;0;] and the rest of my friends who were all EndGame already at the time in Shadowbringers fhdjfjsjfs.) So I made…… many alts. Throwing spaghetti at the wall but I have SEVERE side-character/NPC brain and kept making “supporting cast” types =w=; it actually took me like. 3? Alts before making an ACTUAL WoL with my husband (Ishi’li and Kizuna) (as of Right Meow, they’re in post ARR, but we’ve been working on Keathan and Tuesday together because Keathan was… Keathan’s first character in xiv XD so we’ve been jaunting through the story together and experiencing every inch of it so we can pick and choose what The Boys™ get up to when we wanna focus on them x3)

🥰 I knew both speece during at least high school- but I actually knew Keathan as early as Elementary school hehe 😌 tho the speece didn’t proper marry until… i’unno, 2017? (For frustrating legal reasons, I’m not legally married, but. As it goes. Someday we’ll have money to visit the one state that has legal poly marriages. Also I struggle to remember our wedding year 🫢)

Since managing to make a Co-WoL with my husband I’ve managed to make one other Alt meant to be a Solo-WoL (Mochiie) but I have to really wrinkle my brain to sink time into playing him, since I’m trying to take screenshots throughout the story at what I find to be inspiring beats xD And even still he has an alt-universe where he’s just a side-character for the ‘Main Timeline’ (where there’s a bunch of spaghetti and like 8+ confirmed WoL’s and the Msq entourage looks HILARIOUS in canon, someday I’ll get all the data together and take pictures, but I think it’ll cook what’s left of my brain x’3) [it’s less concrete than anything I’ve posted about before or I’d try to explain it ;v;’ it’s just interesting mostly to see how the story gets stretched to fit around a larger community of heroes than a solo guy shouldering the whole burden lmfao.]

🌸🌸🌸…. I also hope you’re having a lovely week @gardenofballads !!!! I am tossing flower petals into the air around you !!! Thank you for the ask and well wishes n kind words 🥺💖 🌸🌸🌸

[sephyathredon-writing]

Whumptober #2: Identical

Summary: Ambrosius finds himself in a Kingdom unlike his own with a Ballister that goes by Boldheart, not Blackheart. When a fever begins to set in, will he be able to trust this man that's so different from the one he knows, yet shares the same name? Also Nimona is there and she scares him. An Entry for Whumptober under the prompts "Delirium" and "“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

I plan to update this with a chapter 2 featuring Movie Ambrosius and Ballister Blackheart!

----

When Ambrosius wakes up, he’s in an alleyway and he doesn’t recognize his surroundings at all. Groggily he fumbled around until he found his crutch and used it to stand, glancing to either side of the alleyway.

He couldn’t remember what happened before he passed out. Surely he hadn’t gotten into a tavern brawl. The last one he could remember was his fight with Lord Blackheart and that happened a long time ago and certainly didn’t end with him in some awful alleyway.

Oh well, nothing left to do but try and find his way home.

He was only further confused when he stepped out of the alleyway and found that he was in a completely different looking place all together.

Everything looked to be in a similar style, but that style was mixed with technology that was unfamiliar to him. Some things he recognized though, like television screens placed on the sides of buildings, clearly they were designed to play ads, it was just that his Kingdom didn’t use it like that.

He also noticed cars and bikes hovering around them, certainly unusual.

One of the things that caught his eye was a billboard on one of the buildings. It featured a young man with light blonde hair and brown eyes displaying some kind of product.

Ambrosius scoffed, but then he looked closer at the text that was on it.

‘Ambrosius Goldenloin approved’

His disgust quickly became outrage

“What? But that’s my name!” he shouted, “But… that’s not me…”

Several people looked in his direction. There was a lot of muttering. Most of it being about how he couldn’t possibly be Ambrosius. Everyone was pointing out the differences and mentioning how he was disabled and had those ugly scars going across his face.

It was too much.

Ambrosius hobbled away from their attention as fast as he could.

After some walking, he found himself in a plaza. Construction barriers dotted the place and remnants of a statue were on the ground. From what he could see of the headpiece, it seemed to be either a woman or a man with long hair. It reminded him of the statue that was put up for him in his Kingdom.

It couldn’t be him, right? That billboard gave him a glimpse of someone else named ‘Ambrosius Goldenloin’. Not exactly a popular name.

The more he thought about it, the less he understood.

Suddenly, he wished Ballister were here by his side. Navigating an unfamiliar place would be a lot less daunting with him by his side.

Ambrosius suddenly felt dizzy, swaying in place, trying to make sense of it all. He felt like he was going to fall over and so he reached out a hand for something only to grab a piece of the construction tape and fall over, his crutch dropping to the ground alongside him.

He winced when he made contact with the ground, but it was just a fall, he could get back up again. As he reached for his crutch, however, someone appeared right in front of him, making him jump.

A pink haired girl with piercings, freckles, and wide pink eyes greeted him. She looked concerned.

“Are you alright?” she asked

Ambrosius suddenly had a hard time breathing, his heart was racing, his hands were shaking. He remembered claws tearing through the skin on his face and teeth biting into the weak points of his armor, the crack of a few bones as he was flung against a wall. He could still hear his own voice as he cried out, still hear Ballister’s as he begged her.

‘LET HIM GO!’

‘Just- just let him go. Please.’

“Aaah!” Ambrosius screamed in sheer terror, eyes wide, scrambling back and holding out his crutch as his only way to defend himself.

Logically, he knew this girl wasn’t the same Nimona that made him disabled, but all logic seemed to have gone out the window as soon as he laid eyes on her. The lingering trauma from that night was getting the better of him.

Still, Ambrosius could see that Nimona looked sad that he was scared of her, heartbroken more like.

“No, you don’t need to be scared. I’m not a monster, I promise. I’m just me. See!” She turned into a cat, clearly one of the least intimidating forms she had, “I won’t hurt you.”

The only thing that went through Ambrosius’ mind was that this person that looked like Nimona was indeed a shapeshifter, and that meant that she could hurt him again. Ambrosius flinched and scooted back even more.

“Stay away! Please don’t hurt me again!” he shouted.

“Again? What…” but Nimona trailed off, eyes on the jagged scars on Ambrosius’ face, “But, I didn’t do that…”

“Finally caught up to you. What’d you-” An unknown voice trailed off as the newcomer to the scene took in Ambrosius’ appearance, “Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Boss, those scars across his face, he’s saying I gave him those, I think.” Nimona shifted back into her human form.

Ambrosius tore his eyes away from Nimona to get a good look at this other person. A man with black hair, as well as a mustache and goatee. There was a scar going down his right eye that reminded him of Ballister.

“No, that can’t be right. There must be some misunderstanding. You’d best give him some space anyway.”

Nimona nodded and moved back behind the man, watching curiously and still with a sad expression on her face.

The man stepped forward, offering him a hand, which Ambrosius took, using his crutch to help him up.

“There we go. I believe introductions are in order. My name is Ballister and this is my daughter, Nimona.”

Ambrosius could see Nimona blush at being called ‘daughter’, clearly the title was still new. That wasn’t important, what was important, was that this man had Ballister’s name.

“Uh, no. You’re not Ballister,” Ambrosius stated.

Ballister’s eyes widened, clearly surprised that he responded like that. “Pretty sure I am. Have been, since the day I was born. Who are you anyway?”

“Who am I? None other than Ambrosius Goldenloin,” he responded as if he expected Ballister to know already. Ballister’s eyes widened in surprise.

“No you’re not. Not the Ambrosius that I know at least.”

“Yes, I saw him on a billboard on the way here,” Ambrosius retorted. “Somehow there are two of me now and two of you, and I don’t understand any of it.”

Ballister and Nimona exchanged glances before looking back at Ambrosius.

“If there are two of you,” Nimona pointed to Ambrosius, “and two of Ballister… that must mean there are two of me as well. The other me must have been the one that gave you those scars.”

“Wait wait wait. Hold up,” Ballister made a stop motion with his mechanical hand, which Ambrosius noted was another thing he had in common with his Ballister. “The only time there are two of me is when Nimona shifts into me.”

The reminder of that moment made Nimona visibly relax a little, a small smile on her face.

“Well, I know another Ballister. His full name is Ballister Blackheart,” Ambrosius responded.

“Blackheart? That was the name I was given when the Kingdom marked me a villain. My real last name is Boldheart.”

Well, that was at least one solid difference between the two, different last names. Though the fact that they were both branded villains at one point was another uncanny similarity.

“That’s… strange,” Ambrosius remarked.

“Look, lets just go back to my place, and we can talk everything out, okay? I don’t know what is happening, but I have been looking for my Ambrosius all day and I have a feeling his disappearance has something to do with why you’re here right now.”

Judging by the way Ballister had called the other Ambrosius his, it seemed like they loved each other as well.

Ambrosius nodded, “You’re the only one who might have any answers around here.” He nervously glanced at Nimona.

“She’ll give you space, right Nimona?”

She sighed but nodded.

“Alright then.” Ambrosius nodded his head at Ballister to lead the way.

“Uh, do you need help getting there?” Ballister asked.

Ambrosius shook his head, “I can walk. Just need this.” He gestured with his head at the crutch under his arm.

“You sure? I could turn into a horse or something. I could carry you,” Nimona interjected.

“No!” He reaction was louder than he expected and he hated the look on Nimona’s face when he said that. Whoever the Nimona he knew had been, she had been important to his Ballister. He was just still bitter over what had happened that night. “I can walk.”

As Ballister walked by Nimona, he patted her arm lightly and gave her a small smile, which seemed to cheer her up.

The walk was long and, surprisingly, led into the woods. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised given that Blackheart’s castle was in the middle of nowhere as well. Through the trees, he could see that the whole town was surrounded by walls, high ones, like they were trying to keep something out.

Then again, his Kingdom was surrounded by walls as well.

“Of course you both have a castle,” Ambrosius muttered when he finally saw Boldheart’s hideout.

He laughed at that, “I wouldn’t exactly call this a castle. Used to be a very castle themed junk shop back when it was open. Who knows what happened to cause it to close down, but this is where Nimona and I spent our time when I was being hunted by the Institute and branded a villain and a monster.” Ballister held the door open for both of them. Nimona went first, placing herself on the other side of the living room.

“Wait? The Institute?” Ambrosius asked as he passed Ballister, entering the hideaway, “You mean the Institute of Law Enforcement and Heroics?”

“No, I don’t think our Institute ever went by a name. It’s just the only Institute in the Kingdom. It was responsible for ensuring our safety and overseeing the training of future knights to protect our kingdom, just as we thought Gloreth wanted.”

“Gloreth? Who is Gloreth?” Ambrosius asked, making his way to the couch in the middle of the room to sit down. Now that he got a good look at the place, it did seem very castle-like. The main room was big, but there were doors and stuff that hinted at other rooms. The place looked very put together.

Big windows lined one wall that went out to a garden to the side of the place. On the opposite wall, big nooks that mirrored the way the windows were inset held several things. A computer setup on one side, some sort of collage wall in the middle where Ambrosius could make out pictures of Ballister, Nimona, and the other him.

Still felt odd to think about, this ‘other him.’

The furthest nook had a setup for robotics. His Ballister was a scientist and very into robotics and technology. If Boldheart, this Ballister, held the same interests, then Ambrosius assumed that this was where he often made upgrades to his arm.

Speaking of his arm, Ambrosius wondered how it was taken this time. Was it still the same mistake he made out of jealousy?

Other than that, the place had a kitchen setup as well as a couch and table that had a board game and television on it. Ambrosius squinted at the board game setup, recognizing it as that silly game that Blackheart liked. ‘World Domination’ it was called and it was one thing that looked uncannily like what Blackheart owned.

Boldheart was in the kitchen area. He was purposefully avoiding answering the question for now, Ambrosius supposed.

Moments later, he placed a cup and a small saucer with a couple of snacks down in front of Ambrosius. Then he sat down on the couch carrying a cup of his own.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with my Ambrosius’ favorite blend of tea and a couple of the snacks that he likes.”

“Thank you,” Ambrosius replied and helped himself. The tea was too sweet and the snacks weren’t exactly his first choice, but it helped him to remember that he was different from the Ambrosius that this Ballister knew. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Ballister and Nimona exchanged glances from across the room, then Ballister looked back at Ambrosius.

“The the fact that you don’t know who Gloreth is confuses me a little bit. Gloreth is a knight that existed a thousand years ago. The tale, which we’ve recently learned is false, goes that she slayed a monster a long time ago and to ensure that everyone remained safe, entrusted some of her people with the duties of being a knight, of protecting our kingdom. The reason why Ambrosius Goldenloin is such a well known person around here is that he’s Gloreth’s direct descendant.

“Before the incident that happened recently, the kingdom believed that Gloreth’s bloodline was something special. We worshiped her, we revered her and her descendants, and that was a lot of pressure on my Ambrosius, all the time.”

Ambrosius couldn’t believe it, it was like everything he had ever dreamed of when he was living at the orphanage.

“You mean the other me is practically descended from royalty?”

“Yes, but it’s not as glamorous as it sounds, just trust me on that. I was really the only one that ever knew him for who he really was,” Ballister responded

“Ah, well I was just an orphan, nothing nearly as special about me. My Ballister and I grew up in the same orphanage,” Ambrosius replied with a small sigh. “I fought my way up to being the Institute’s hero.”

Ballister smiled, “You know, that sounds remarkably like me. I was just a commoner, who dared to dream he could be something bigger, and I acted on those dreams, and it got me the opportunity to be a knight. For a commoner to be offered a position in the ranks of the Knights was unheard of before I was given the opportunity. Guess the queen saw something in me.”

“That’s… not how it happened for me,” Ambrosius responded coughing into the crook of his arm right after.

“Yes, the more I talk to you, the more I’m starting to think that our worlds are wildly different, and the only big similarities are the names.”

“There are others,” Ambrosius responded. “My Ballister has your eye scar and an arm prosthetic, but it doesn’t exactly look the same. I… accidentally blew his arm off with an explosive lance during a joust in a fit of jealousy. Biggest mistake of my life.” It still wasn’t easy to talk about. He didn’t make eye contact with Ballister when he spoke.

“Ah…” Ballister responded, “My Ambrosius chopped my arm off out of pure instinct. I had the offending weapon this time, it was in a replica of my sword and it had activated in time to kill the queen. The Director of the Institute tried to frame me for killing the Queen. He was just trying to disarm me. It was what the Institute had taught us.”

Ambrosius raised an eyebrow, “Your Institute taught you to disarm by hacking off limbs? That’s messed up. Then again, ours wasn’t much better. It doesn’t surprise me that your Director would try something like that.” His sentence was followed by more coughing, but before Ballister could comment, he continued, “I’m guessing you were branded a villain after that, like Blackheart.” Ballister nodded. “How much time passed after the arm-losing incident?”

“A few months,” Ballister replied.

Ambrosius’ jaw dropped, “Only a few months? It took us fifteen years to finally make up. Guess it was the presence of the other Nimona that really started that process. Still, I can’t say I’m not jealous. The two of you clearly still love each other, and while my Ballister and I still do too, we spent all those fifteen years as bitter rivals.” He scoffed, taking a sip of his drink.

“That sounds like a hard thing to go through. We might have ended up like that if that much time had passed, who really knows…”

There was a lull in the conversation which Nimona used to her advantage. She stepped forward, but kept her body language relaxed and non threatening so as not to scare Ambrosius again.

“What was the Nimona that you know like?” she asked.

“Ah.” Ambrosius avoided eye contact with her before coughing several times, again into the crook of his arm.

“Are you okay?” Ballister asked.

Ambrosius nodded, “Must be coming down with something…” He looked down at his lap as he spoke the next sentence, “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you about her. You would not like to hear about her.”

“So, tell me anyway. It’s not like she’s really me, if what we’ve learned about the other Ballister is any indication,” she replied. “Did she give you those scars?”

Ambrosius’ hands gripped the fabric of his pants as he stared down. He answered Nimona with a nod of his head. Slowly, a hand went up and under his shirt, pulling it up to reveal several large wounds that went across his chest. Teeth marks.

“These too.”

Nimona’s eyes widened as she took in the sight. Ballister looked just as disturbed.

“To think that Nimona… in any universe… is capable of that…” Ballister just turned away as Ambrosius put his shirt back over the ugly scars.

“She is responsible for the broken leg as well, she’s why I walk around with a crutch.”

Nimona took several steps back.

“I… I think I need some air.” As Nimona turned to walk away, Ambrosius spoke again.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t see her in you. Clearly, your Ambrosius is fine and your Ballister loves you. Heck, even after everything that happened on the night she gave me those scars, my Ballister continued to care about her, to care about both of us.”

Nimona stopped, listening to Ambrosius talk, but didn’t answer, just shifted into a bird and flew away.

“I need to go check on her.” Ballister stood up from the couch, “You’ve given us plenty of insight into where you came from, but I think that last part may have been too much, even though she asked for it.”

Ambrosius nodded and stood as well, “I think I could go for some fresh air too. I’ll look around your kingdom a bit and come back later in the day. I need time to process everything you’ve told me.”

Ballister nodded, “Meet you back here then.”

Ambrosius nodded back and they both went their separate ways

----

Ambrosius’ walk in the Kingdom ended up being cut short. He made it back to the statue, now of who he assumed to be Gloreth, before he found himself getting very dizzy. He’d been coughing the whole walk and those coughs have been getting more and more common.

Ever the stubborn one, Ambrosius chose a different street leading away from the plaza and started to walk up it. He could feel himself getting weaker with every step.

Eventually, he collapsed. The action was so violent that his crutch fell out of his reach. He couldn’t even try to reach for it because as soon as he collapsed, he was seized by a coughing fit.

Someone who had been nearby at the time reached out a helping hand to Ambrosius. He took it and the man helped him sit up. Now that he could get a good look at the other, this man didn’t seem to have a counterpart in his world that he knew of. He had light brown hair with the tips dyed white and an undercut. Tan skin and brown eyes were also two notable features of his.

“You okay?” he asked.

Ambrosius couldn’t answer as another fit of coughing started. There was only one word he could get out.

“Ballister…”

He could feel his body temperature rise.

“Ah, well you’re lucky I know him, a little. He kidnapped me once.” There was no response from Ambrosius, just more coughing, “Right..”

The man pulled out his phone and dialed up Ballister.

“Hi, yes, It’s me Diego. I’m with a friend of yours who collapsed by…” He proceeded to give Ballister the location of where they were, but Ambrosius barely paid attention. He felt himself falling unconscious. He watched as Diego spotted him falling out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey!”

Everything went black.

----

Ambrosius woke up on a familiar couch. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was back in Ballister Boldheart’s hideaway. The second thing that he noticed was that he was burning up. The scars on his chest were hurting again, making it hard to breathe. His head was pounding. He was sweating so much that his long blonde hair was sticking to his head, but felt like he was freezing. It took him a little bit to realize that subtle wheezing noise in the background was coming from him, every time he breathed.

That wasn’t good.

He didn’t understand how a few coughs could escalate so quickly into a full blown fever, but he couldn’t really think about that right now, couldn’t really focus on anything but the fever and the numbing coldness of the cold compress on his head.

A figure came into view. For a moment he saw it as the man he loved. He reached a hand out, a smile on his face.

“Ballister…”

The hand that wrapped around his hand had a darker skin tone than his Ballister’s, completely shattering the illusion.

“I’m here.” That voice that was so unlike his Ballister’s spoke.

“No…” Ambrosius whined, “I want my Ballister…”

“I’m sorry, I can’t be your Ballister and I can’t find your Ballister, so I’m the best you’ve got for now.”

Panic set in, Ambrosius sat up and stared at Boldheart, eyes wide.

“No. If this fever kills me, I’ll never see him again.”

Ambrosius swayed in place. He shouldn’t have done that, he felt weak.

Ballister placed a hand on his chest, gently lowering him back down to lay on the couch.

“Shhh, save your strength. This fever won’t kill you.”

Ambrosius was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“What if I can’t return to where I came from? If I never see him again?” Normally, Ambrosius wouldn’t admit such fears aloud, but he supposed he could blame it on the panic and the fact that it was just so easy to relate the Ballisters to each other, what with how they looked so alike.

Ballister too seemed surprised that this Ambrosius was being so vulnerable.

“I promise, once this fever passes, I’ll do what I can to get you back to where you came from.”

Ambrosius smiled, staring up at the ceiling, rather than at Ballister.

“That’s something the two of you have in common. So willing to help people you barely even know.”

“But I do know you, you’re Ambrosius,” he responded. “You might look, sound, and act different… but deep down I can feel how similar the two of you are at your core. I may not know a lot about the other me, but I know he must be missing you terribly right now.”

Ambrosius just hummed, an indicator that he heard the other. His gaze was out of focus.

“Besides,” Ballister continued, “If you’re here, that must mean my Ambrosius is with your Ballister. He must be just as confused as you’ve been.

“There… there is that scientist, a friend of Ballister’s,” Ambrosius responded, his voice quiet, “If anyone can figure out how to get us back to our proper places, it’s her and Ballister…”

Boldheart nodded, “For now, just get some rest.”

The next few hours passed quietly. Ballister tended to Ambrosius constantly and especially made sure he had enough to drink. It touched his heart to see that this Ballister was so kind and caring. Eventually everyone called it a night.

Ambrosius did manage to get some sleep, despite the fever. A nightmare came to him. It was always the same one. The teeth, the claws, the flames, the sound of his leg breaking, the sound of Ballister begging for his life. Only this time, the monstrous black dragon that Ambrosius had once known as Nimona, had decided to finish the job.

Ambrosius awoke with a scream. Almost instantly, he heard a door burst open and Ballister was by his side.

“Ambrosius, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond, laying back down, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. Out of instinct, he grabbed onto Ballister. The look in his eye showed that he wasn’t quite there.

“Ballister…” he sobbed, his voice trembling, “Ballister… I need you here!”

“Shhh, Shhh It’s alright, I’m here. I’ll stay up with you until your fever breaks if you want.”

Ambrosius shook his head, “No… not you… please, I need my Ballister.”

“I know, I know… I’m sorry, I’m what you have right now.”

“No… no please… he must be here… he must be here…” Ambrosius’ eyes searched wildly around the dark room for him. It was clear from his expression and how flushed his face was that the fever was taking its toll on him. Delirium was setting in.

He felt Ballister’s hand on his shoulder and those wild eyes finally focused on the other’s face. He smiled, but his eyes were still hazy and unfocused.

“Ballister… I missed you… This fever is burning me from the inside out. I can feel it destroying me. If these are the last words I am to say… I want to let you know that I love you. I have always loved you, even when we were enemies.”

Ballister knew it wasn’t him that the feverish man was addressing, but he decided to play along, if only to give him peace of mind.

“I missed you too. The Ambrosius I know wouldn’t lose to a fever like this, he’d keep fighting. I love you too. Don’t die on me.”

And just like that, the illusion was shattered once again for Ambrosius, but this time he smirked.

“Nice try…” His voice was quiet as he closed his eyes, “But I can tell it’s you… Boldheart…”

His body went slack against the couch.

---

Ambrosius awoke on a wholly different but familiar couch. None of the fever symptoms lingered. Most importantly he could see a figure leaning over and looking down at him, a concerned look on his face.

It was Ballister. His Ballister.

He’d never been so glad to see the bastard in his life.

“Ambrosius…” His voice was shaky and his complexion was pale as if he’d just seen death itself.

He sat up on the couch and looked Ballister up and down. It was Blackheart, he was sure of that.

“I just had the strangest dream…” Ambrosius spoke as he rubbed his eyes.

“It was not a dream,” Ballister stated, “We had a… rather unusual house guest while you were gone.”

He looked back up at Ballister, “I don’t suppose he shared my name, did he?”

Ballister nodded, “Claimed that there was another Ballister where he came from… and that a different Nimona was living with them…”

Ambrosius pursed his lips, trying to decide whether or not to tell him, or how much to tell him.

“There is, I… saw them actually. It seems that when the other me ended up in this Kingdom, I ended up in theirs.”

Ballister nodded, “I had gathered as much. Meredith came over for a bit, she deduced that it was an alternate dimension thing. Still… to think that there’s another version of you out there that acts differently and speaks differently. I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

Ambrosius stood up and tugged on Ballister’s arm.

“Thoughts can wait till morning. What matters is we’re all in our right places now.”

Ballister nodded and got up, letting Ambrosius lead him to the bedroom.

When they both got comfortable in bed together, just about to fall asleep, Ballister spoke up.

“The… other Ambrosius. He said that he… that he, Nimona and the other Ballister were all family together. I’m not going to lie, I was jealous when he told me that. Do you think one day we could end up like that?”

Ambrosius sort of saw a question like this coming. After all, no matter how much time passed, he was still hung up about Nimona and how their last meeting had gone.

“I dunno… anything’s possible in the future… for now, just get some sleep.”

Ambrosius still had the lingering trauma of his last encounter with Nimona to deal with, but maybe one day, if Nimona ever decided to come back, they could have something like what their alternate versions had.

As Ambrosius closed his eyes, images of the other Ballister and Nimona flashed through his head. It had been a weird journey and he wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he was glad he got to know these other versions of Ballister and Nimona.

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

The season 1 ending came up on my shuffle and I just about fell to my knees I forgot how much I love that song

[trevisos]

a little magpie photo dump bc she’s the love of my life i think

[shaykai]

Gonna slap the people who named bugs

[reflections-of-mobius]

Because I can,...thoughts on who would dress as what for Halloween.

Vampire, whether pastel or not, who even knows. Probably similar to this outfit, save she'd also get contacts, some fake blood splatters near her mouth, and just have fun hissing at people. For those who can't see the outfit- think 'victorian vampire' with a dash of detective.

Semi-sexy pirate costume, probably a mix of a man's and a woman's outfit, since they'd want the feminine proportions but the masculine attire itself. Probably had to commission it, thank stars for making funds as a construction worker and protector of the city.

Fire captain. Mate doesn't really trust that any outfit they wore would look 'nice'. Would let the cats they look after at the cafe tear holes in it throughout their shift, no doubt. Mate doesn't mind or care.

Middle right. She'd claim it was a 'healer', no doubt. Honestly, Fin just strikes me as the type to wear witch-hunter outfits despite being a self-proclaimed witch.

Enderman from Minecraft. Absolutely just uses the whole 'stare at and they go wild' to disappear the moment he's spotted. Claims it's just 'really good visual affects'.

Hilariously, wine god costume. Even though the mate definitely has a low alcohol tolerance. However, it would semi-match with Bless, so they'd be happy.

Forced to wear a costume by some of his 'coworkers' (fellow agents). They somehow managed to convince him to wear a sexy cop costume, though Rust doesn't really get the intent behind it.. Xey're mostly in this to get its fellow agents to shut it.

A couples' costume with Tempest. He'd be the frozen king to Tempest's burning queen.

Sexy valhalla prince. Of course, he'd save that for later in the night....at the start, the top is replaced with a chain-link chestplate, though he does keep the cape (and gains a sword + scabbard- no not that sword, mind outta the gutter).

Wants to wear a costume, but he's afraid of being spotted by anyone. Wouldn't dare to wear one at the temple or anywhere near it while in disguise, either.

A couples' costume with Azure. She'd be the blazing queen to Azure's freezing king.

Good luck, she can change her form at will, so if she wants any costume change throughout the night, she'll get it instantly. Defaults, however, to a lizard witch.

[evillittlebirdie]

Warmth: Gale/Tav Sickfic

In the Underdark, Gale faced Minotaurs, mad dwarves, and electrical turrets. Yet it was a misidentified mushroom that beget his current downfall.

It was his own fault for wanting a snack. He was a glutton for not waiting until the group returned to camp. And his own arrogance prevented him from double checking his notes on foliage. So Gale didn’t complain. He couldn’t let Tav know. He closed his tent and tried to sleep it off.

The queasy feeling came first followed by the headache. Then Gale was grabbing the closest pot to throw up in. The vile odor of stomach acid and poisonous mushroom made him wretch again. Through it all, Gale tried to be as quiet as possible. It was a foolhardy effort. It was nearly impossible to quiet the spasms in his stomach.

The fatigue soon followed. Gale knew logistically that he needed water to stay hydrated or risk further complications. He used the remainder of his strength to collect his canteen from his backpack. He sipped sparingly. Then promptly threw up again. This time his long hair was in the crossfire,

It was going to be a long night. Gale’s stomach would twist into knots before releasing. The sensation would force Gale to vomit. He would then lie, warm and weak, on his bedroll.

By the fourth cycle, Gale started to see stars whenever he rolled over. His magic needed rest. His healing powers were vastly limited. His own pride caused that calamity. Flaunting like a peacock, he used the extent of his magic against the duegars that day. Tav, who was not magically inclined, was mesmerized and thoroughly impressed. And Gale beamed and preened under the praise. He liked it when Tav’s attention was on him.

But Gale would rather roll into a hole than have Tav’s gaze on him. Tav, who had their pick of their companions, would quickly move Gale to the bottom of the list. Tav indulged Gale’s conversations. And their experience with the Weave was carnal curiosity, not true desire. Tav didn’t want him, not all of him. Especially now that they knew Gale was cursed with death.

How was one supposed to have a cheerful tryst with such gloom?

After the sixth cycle, which mainly consisted of dry heaving into a thimble of bile dropped down his lips, Gale heard his tent flap open. Alarmed, Gale turned to see Tav looking at him with concern. Gale struggled to speak, to find a way to apologize for his weakness. But only a hoarse cough left his throat.

Tav hummed out a concern whimper. (Gale wondered if he was losing his mind. That couldn’t have been what Tav had done.) Then, they left, closing the flap behind him.

Gale cursed himself. Tears appeared at the edges of his eyes. It didn’t matter what he did now. Tav would only remember the sweaty, disheveled mess next to a pot full of vomit. Lovely.

Wallowing in self pity, Gale almost jumped when Tav opened the tent again. This time with their arms full of unidentifiable items. Moving quietly and fluidly, Tav set the items on the end table near his bedroll. Before Gale could even protest, they set a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. Shocked, Gale watched as Tav picked up the pot of Gale’s sickness and left the tent. Tav returned quickly and set a clean bowl next to Gale’s head. Tav moved back and forth between Gale and the end table.

This had to be a fever dream. Tav couldn’t really be doing this. Tav needed to rest and lead. Gale should be left to suffer, to learn a lesson.

Tav sat down next to Gale on the bedroll and guided Gale’s head into their lap. Gale knew then that this had to be his own delusion. Weakly, he figured that if this was a delusion, he could not feel guilty about enjoying it.

Tav brought a bottle to Gale’s lips. It smelled like ginger. The liquid flowed smoothly down Gale’s gullet. Tav used a second cool cloth to wipe the traces of sweat, tears, and bile from Gale’s face and hair. As gentle as a mother’s touch, Tav used their own fingers to comb through Gale’s hair. The tangles straightened under Tav’s attention.

A lovely dream.

Wasn’t it?

[nach0]

Whumptober Day 2 - I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back

In which Echo lets go.