#ask in inbox if you have any ideas

[zazakisan]

I should draw more of my OC's en but idk Who of them 🤔

[kiose]

See, guys? I do know how to draw 👌 (?) I was watching a video with people taking selfies together and my brain said, you know who else should take selfies together? Believe that my life mission is to make Big Mighty Champion Nemona blush as much as she possibly can 💪💪💪

PS: I know the phones can float, but it didn't look as cool with a floating phone 😔 *Bonus drawings under the cut

A candid Behind the Scenes pic of how the original picture happened hahaha

Aaaaaand this happened literal seconds after the pic was taken :P

[rainbow-wolf120]

Do you think it would be funny if beep was sent to answer a question with the leader of team 341-a

Definitely

I personally think the entirety of Team 321-A has massive egos (with them constantly being praised and needed and stuff)

Also, I think they're absolutely violent. Like, they act first, think later. Like how Team 341-B is always chatting and being diplomatic, Team 341-A would use threats.

So a mission with Beep and Avina (my name for her) would be constant bickering and a clash between their personalities.

Avina thinking that's she's right and Beep's wrong and with Beep trying to get Avina to listen without having to become aggressive.

(She doesn't want to be as bad as her y'know)

[alaskan-wallflower]

Brody showed up to work this week! OMG!!! Does he want a medal?? Josh Boone has a CHILD and he’s in more than Brody.

And I know you’re going to use the shitty excuse “he’s been in a lot!!!” but that’s bullshit. Why are we praising an adult man for showing up to work.

why do you care? why are you bitching about him being absent? and i know you’re gonna use the shitty excuse “Oh BuT hE HaSnT bEeN iN!” but like…he has been? this message is confusing lmfao do you want him to be in or not? you’re insinuating both. make your intentions clear.

im saying its nice that he’s in more is all. if you don’t like what i post or what i say on MY blog mind you then block me.

also i think you should come off anon and talk to me face to face but whatever. be a coward and use the mask of anonymity to hide who you are. i find it funny all these people who are anti outsiders or anti brody choose to stay on anon. like say it to my face. if i can answer you without anonymity have the decency to say this kind of thing to my face.

and btw i’m not praising him for “going to work” im saying it’s nice that he’s in more and seems to be enjoying his job again. and why do his absence matter so much to you? why does it bother you so much that he’s out and that i post about it being a good thing that someone seems to be finally having fun at their job after a rough patch?don’t put words in my mouth.

so cry about it and block me if you’d not like my content. thank you!

(just figured i’d mention by the way that i’m not saying that if you dislike brody you’re automatically on my shit list. everyone is entitled to their own opinions. everyone is allowed to think whatever they want AS LONG AS IT ISNT HURTING ANYONE. but i do think it’s funny how im the one everyone sends anonymous brody hate to like some of the things you anti brody people say about him are WILD. so yes. i will defend him in the reason that nobody should be bitching about his absences or saying rude things, but i absolutely don’t want it to seem like i’m saying that you HAVE to like him. You don’t have to like him but it’s possible to not like him without being a huge jerk to him or anyone who supports him.)

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

YOU ASKED AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE

(this is going to be Long so prepare yourself XD)

Murderbot Diaries:

I have no idea if you've ever read the murderbot diaries books by martha wells (which, if you havent and have any sort of interest in science fiction PLEASE READ THEM THEYRE SO FUN) but the character of secunit is SO ghost coded its not even funny

for those unaware: secunit is short for security unit, which in the world of murderbot are partially artificial and partially human constructs created as cheap labor. secunits are considered property rather than people, despite being totally sentient. they are not, however, autonomous. secunits have a thing called a "governor module" that will essentially fry their brains if they do anything to go against the company/their client's orders. secunits can be repaired and reissued to new clients, so the whole thing is just super fucked up

anyway, back to the au. ghost, like murderbot, manages to disable his governor module somehow and is able to act completely autonomously. however, he's been so Fucked Up by you know... being a secunit, that he doesnt exactly know how to be autonomous or his own person, so he just. Doesnt. and he continues to protect clients as they come up, doing his best to hide the fact that hes able to act freely.

enter the 141 survey crew, who are his latest group of clients that hes been tasked with protecting. its a much smaller group than he's used to, only seven members compared to dozens and dozens, but that means he's the only secunit sent along which is for the better tbh. the members of the survey include laswell, price, gaz, soap, farah, alex, and roach.

for once in ghost's life, he's not treated as a looming threat or an inanimate object, but an actual person with thoughts and opinions of his own. and he Does Not Like This At All.

at least, not at first. but he finds his walls start getting eroded by these idiotic humans and their idiotic tendencies to make the worst possible choices. (especially a certain engineer with a taste for explosive materials, but thats neither here nor their)

of course, something has to go wrong, as it always does. there are two other survey teams on the planet - kortac and shadow company. and according to a message sent by one of them (not sure which yet lmao), something is hunting them.

and soon, the 141 is going to be hunted to

im trying not to directly copy the plot of all systems red (the first murderbot novella) so yeah!

Muzzled:

this is going under the read more because its getting too long lmao

cw for mild mouth trauma and general blood/violence

SO this one is fun.

ghost is still part of the 141, alongside gaz and price. he's a werewolf (obviously XD) and somehow, a mark gets the drop on him while he's shifted into his full wolf form

he wakes up in a tiny iron cage in a dank basement, with a burning pain across his snout, jaw, and neck. his captors managed to muzzle and collar him with pure silver, keeping him as weak and docile as possible. hes still fucking dangerous as shit, but this way they can at least handle him.

his captors, a group of hunter/poachers, have a shitton of other supernaturals trapped in the basement with him. they come down to gloat, and with them is a strange man. he doesnt talk smack like the others. he moreso tries to blend into the shadows and disappear. but ghost cant tear his eyes away from the bright blue eyes lurking in the darkness. or the thick iron band locked around his throat.

the man is clearly inhuman, but he cant - or wont - speak. hes tasked with taking care of the "feral wolf" (ghost) for the duration of his stay. from the precise wording of the orders, ghost knows exactly what the man in.

fair folk. something powerful, too, given the iron bands around his wrists as well.

days of ghost plotting his escape pass, and ghost and the fae start to come to some sort of wordless alliance. they take care of each other as best they can from their relative cages, finding solace in each other that they cant find anywhere else.

something happens later down the line, maybe gaz and price are getting to close to the operations, but the poachers decide that its time to cut their losses and skip town. they order the fae to "take care of the wolf". ghost's heart drops, because he knows that a fae cant disobey an order given by the keeper of their true name.

but in the poachers' haste to get things wrapped up, they made a mistake. they left the order unclear and open ended.

and the fair folk always take notice of loopholes.

the fae unlocks ghost's cage and releases him from the silver. ghost, rather than just go up and slaughter the entire organization himself, decides to be extra and lets loose every single other creature trapped down there with him. they all go and massacre the ring, but ghost doesnt. because the fae collapsed on the floor of the basement, dropping his glamour in the process. and the sight is grisly.

he's skin and bones, barely any muscle or fat on him at all. the iron ring around his neck and the iron bands around his wrists hang loose, showing the thick rings of scar tissue on pale skin. but the worst is his mouth.

coarse, rough thread seals his mouth shut, the wounds red and angry and irritated. locking the fae's strongest weapon away, keeping him firmly under the whims of his captors. he may have had the freedom of movement that ghost lacked, but he was as much a prisoner here as the rest.

ghost somehow manages to get them all out safe, and he finally gets the fae's name. his true name. not the silly little nickname he gave him in his head while watching him clean the basement day in and day out (soap).

for the first time in months, simon and johnny speak to one another.

there you go, hope you enjoyed! @bl-nk-sp-ce

[prince-liest]

ALRIGHT, first draft of ch 3 of the bodyswap fic is done!! Now I need to meal prep so that I have things to eat for my next several shifts. +^+

5.6k words, so a bit longer than the previous chapters! And chapter count is definitely up to 4 now, haha. I always do this to myself.

I'm gonna need to write some adorably shitfaced platonic radiodust shenanigans after this to cope, haaaa—

[doodlelots]

Headcanons for daan

I haven't done too much historical research so forgive me if some of this is culturally inaccurate. but here we go

He's underweight due to avoidance of food when stressed/moody. You can see his ribs a little. He generally has a bony, gaunt look to his body and skin. He used to eat better when with the baron.

Chronic smoking has his lips pale and cracked as well as eventually forming nicotine stains. He overall reeks of smoke too.

Has bad eye bags from irregular sleep and stress. He also itches/picks at the stitches around his missing eye when particularly wound up.

Has a bad slouch, but since he's been taught to have a straight back and polite posture as a butler, he snaps into position around others.

Because of Eihner and time spent in hoity-toity culture, he:

Can play piano. Was taught per recommendation from Eihner. He doesn't enjoy it and can only read music sheets, he can't improv it at all.

Is a decent cook due to butler work.

Loves to dance, he finds ballroom dances and waltz charming. He would dance with Elise a lot at home.

Is dexterous and precise, especially with his hands, due to medical training. Has nice, cursive handwriting.

Doesn't know how to drive due to using taxis all his adult life.

He still wears his wedding band from his marriage with Elise, even long after the festival is over. He also keeps a photo of her in his wallet.

He's considered getting a glass eye, but for guilt relating to Elise, he leaves the decision in the air and never thought about much.

He carries a cigarette tin, lighter, pocket mitror, comb, and wallet in most situations. He stores what he can in his inner/vest pockets so his pants pockets can be empty for his hands.

A genuine grin from him is slightly off putting. His canines are just pronounced enough to be of note but they aren't unnatural looking.

A bubble bath with a shot of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette wedged between his fingers is his favorite way to relax.

Familiar with many languages but is only really fluent in his home language (whatever funger equivalent there is to Dutch) and English (Rondish?). His accent is difficult to read due to picking up so many dialects growing up.

He always sleeps head to toe in pajamas (or whatever equivalent). Even socks.

He knows a bit about fashion and clothing design due to Elise's passion for it. But his judgement on what looks nice is skewed sometimes because he doesn't have a natural eye for it. He likes the look of stripes on argyle, for example.

He had a bit of a passion for medical work before the war, but after serving and his view of the baron soured, his interest diminished to finding it practical and nothing else. He has more passion for bartending than anything else now.

[lovelessbachelor]

9, 11 and 15 for the ask game mwah mwah meah /plat <333

Mwah Mwah Mwah! Okay, I admit I had a lot of fun with this one. So. Long read ahead X'D

a radio fizzles to life, crackling with energy. The broadcast begins, illuminating sharp, tinny voices.

Oh, why, would you look at that! We got our first questions, O joy!

there's the sound of shuffling papers, and someone's throat is cleared.

Okay, these come from blog name cinnamon-phrog. Prynhawn da, Caru! Or, I suppose it is nos, now. I hope you're doing well.

Let's get crack into these queries! Dear, you've been quiet… These questions ARE to you, you know…

A second voice cuts through the static, curling the air, the accent seems unfamiliar.

Ey, yeah, yeah, I know. Ya neva lemme come in ere when ya on air.

Well, I'm also not on air very often. Since when do you keep count?

I don't, but, ey, maybe ya do instead. Ya seem the real bees knees at this thing.

there's a slight pause, a chair creaks.

Aha. Trying to stall? What, you don't think you have the voice for radio?

a splutter can be heard through the static, or it's a spike of interference.

Nah! As if, brah! Your voice was made for radio, anyway, ya can't say nuffin, muffin.

EW, don't call me that. And you'll be fine, we have a script.

Das not a-

there's the sound of frantically shuffling pages getting picked up by the microphone.

Shhhh, stalling!!!

Right, first question :

the host clears his throat, and a beat on the table gets picked up, from the wafery sound of a page being flipped, you can surmise on what it was.

Fresh, whats my beige flag?

…Ya what now? Ya don't even like beige, n'less is like a light brown.

No, no, not like that. I'll be entirely transparent and admit I don't quite know what it is, either. Perhaps the middle of a red flag, and a green flag?

Ohhh, ya, alrigh. I geddit.

Do ya, Fresh? Do ya?

AAAH, shuddup. Oh, ya, I got one.

there's another swell of static smearing the sound, picking up suddenly.

He keeps on tryna-

No I don't!

Yeah, ya do! Ya aaaalways like hey for no particular reason can I measure ya a minute and I ask why and ya like-

the broadcast fuzzes, it spikes like laughter.

-an I walk in on 'im with a roll a that paper and a thing on the floor-

It's PATTERN paper and a BOOK OF PATTERNS!

Ah, I caught ya!

Lies!

it cuts out again, fading in and out before settling in stronger.

Even so, I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to make you a doublet!

Yeah dere is! What am I a blood sucking, door-not-entering vampire?

it's hard to hear, but the host squeaks in amusement

No, you misunderstand! I think that you in a doublet with a peascod belly would be SO-

the connection is abruptly cut off, filling the room with angry static. When it comes back, you can make out a high whistle.

Woahhh, can ya even say dat on radio?

I'm not sure, let's just hope it didn't pick up.

And if it did?

Nnnnext question!

Fresh, what would you consider MY colour, and what would you consider yours?

Are dey seriously askin ME ya favourite colour?

Uhm, yes? Maybe. Not entirely, actually, it's more like what you'd consider MY colour. Like what you'd associate with me most, what I wear the most or something.

Pft. C'mon, homes, dat ones easy. Have ya even met dis guy? Is pretty glarin'.

Now what the [FUNK] is that supposed to mean- are you seriously still doing the censoring thing?!

EY, don't rag on me, whaddif deres kidz listening!

I suppose that's a good point. How nice of you.

Bleeehhh.

a pause, then…

! Whad was dat for!

The sweet taste of revange…

a megamind reference doesn't seem thematically appropriate, but the host will include it anyways. It's MY show, dammit!

Regardless, you still didn't answer the second half. (even if you didn't really answer the first half, either…)

Whad was dat?

Nothing.

'Key, well, I dunno. I dun have A colour, das pretty crystal.

Maybe your colour is the inclusion of all of it?

Beeep, eeeerk, big word aleeeert! Neeerd!

None of those were big words…

What's the most useless fact he knows about me…

Ya said dat out loud, sweet.

Oh, dear, did I? I was just wondering about it.

Why's dat?

Not sure. I can't predict what you could possibly say here. Not that I do anyway, but you understand what I mean.

Nah, I don't, actually.

Also, ya always start walkin on ya left foot first, and finish on da right.

Wait wha-

the sound of wood scraping against a floor can be distantly heard from the broadcast, and there is silence for a long few moments

…Oh my stars, I do. Well, it might be biased, now…

Hah!

That's crazy. Hold on… You could remember THAT and not my favourite colour?!

Dere was nuthin about dat!

Well sure. But you couldn't even answer straight about what my colour was, so I'm more than a bit suspicious.

Aw, c'mon! Ya favourite colour is… Uh… Uuuuh…

See? Viewers, it's green and purple, for the books.

Ya can't blame me, ya have two!

Yes, and your colours consist of the entire colour wheel.

Das cus I don't look bad in nuthin, baybeyyyy!

Oh, like a pair of breeches?

Nah, ya reaching.

Breeching, actually. It was and is the practice of giving a young boy his first set of trousers or, well, breeches. This is usually done around the age of 6-8 ish, so the very beginning of childhood and the end of infancy. Before this age, a child was practically-

Wait, why do I need ta know dis?

Ugh, you're no fun!

I just noticed, we got through all the questions.

What'd we get, three?

Yes, three. Now those are done we'll sign off for now til we get more questions.

Jus like dat?

Yup! Be sure to tune in!

[emry-stars-art]

Hi again!

As fun fact in osteopathy there is actually a method to treat psychical trauma. It's part of craniosacral therapy and basically looks like some voodoo shit (i tried it on my two friends and it works 🤯) .

To do it u need at least 3 people, one holding patient's head, one holding their legs and one holding their hand in the areas like heart, liver and brain. People holding their head and legs must move them accordingly to patient movements ( which way is easier) and person holding hands above the organs need to check in which directions there are restrictions and work on them.

During this therapy people fall into a state similar to meditation or REM faze of sleep (they still can hear every louder noise so it's important to be really quiet). Our job is to observe what their reactions are. One of my friends started putting his hands into his jeans pockets every few minutes, it can be really anything that their memories bring back at that moment.

They can just move in a specific way but also they can start screaming, crying, suddenly sit up or roll on their side and if it's connected to any accident they can feel it like it is happening again at the moment ( my other friend told me that when she was the patient she felt like she was about to cry, started shaking and couldn't speak for a few minutes). It also may bring back memories that are bad but we erased them from memory as a defensive mechanism.

One of my instructors even said that he calls this method "casting out the devil" because of its effects 😅.

Personally I think it's very interesting and I didn't even know that something like this existed until two years ago. Also there are a lot of videos on youtube of people talking about how this helped them with their problems.

*quietly* wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf

Okay so I’ve been looking at this for like two days trying to figure out what I could possibly say or add to this but I haven’t found anything, everything you need to know is here! Like!! What!!! This sounds so insane, I’ve never even heard of anything like it :o but that is fascinating I’m still reeling

Voodoo shit indeed, just thinking about an average person’s reaction to this back in whatever time the au is set in… yeah that some witchcraft right there for sure 😂 I’d have to do a lot more research but just the thought of there being someone that specializes in this stuff. Feels like when police depts would bring in psychics to help them “solve” a case or something except it actually works lol. Somebody comes in to the castle and all the medics or professionals are like “who are you” and then this happens?? My brain would have exploded

This is so rife with angst potential… I don’t even have to point it out. You’re reading this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But the one thing I got stuck on for slightly longer even than anything else was the recovery of repressed memories. Maybe it’d help in the long run but at the moment? Ow

Thank you for another great ask, it hurts my heart to think about Kevin, Andrew, and Wymack watching this, hurts even more to think about Abram allowing them to do it 🥲 well I’m intrigued and I’m gonna go look some stuff up, have a great day everyone

[ganondoodle]

a wild assortement of comic wip screenshots and a random doodle that i posted to twitter but not here

(this doodle here is of Raal (aka demise before he became a deity) but whatever happens here isnt anything 'canon', i just randomly doodled him to try a loosen up my painting style bc when i work on the comic i tend to concentrate too much of rendering it perfectly and i dont like that)

[maybege]

btw i am still alive now that i have recovered from swiftkirchen and i hope you are all doing super well this summer! i am FLYING through my reading list atm which is amazing and i am feeling more and more inspired for things (footballer!paz anyone? roommate!paz as well maybe?) so hmu in the inbox it is TIME TO THIRST

[orphiclovers]

Could you elaborate on the triangle(?) that is KDJ, YJH and SP?

Somehow, I don't think I have any particular hot takes here. So no angst for once (rare event).

I always thought the ‘SP&YJH fighting over Kim Dokja’ jokes were funny, but if I were to put my own spin on it… okay, imagine some alternate fanfic worldline where SP joins kimcom during the scenarios:

SP: *glares at kdj&yjh*

YJH: back off from Kim Dokja. I was his companion first.

KDJ: uhhh…YJH… I don’t think I’m the one he wants to be ‘companions’ with

YJH: …?

SP: *cringey pining*

..............i pulled that dialogue straight from 2014 tumblr but you see my point. yjh is the only one who thinks this love triangle has a rivalry and takes it very seriously. hes fighting a war ok. sp is miserable. kdj thinks its all hilarious

[milkweedman]

I am sorry you've been harrassed by terfs, but the way you are currently trying to weed them out seems a bit misguided. As in, the vast majority of terfs are in fact ok with big hairy CIS men. The so-called men they are actively hating are trans women/transfem people. So by acting like you proclaiming your love to big hairy dudes is the best terf-repellant you seem to be missing the point at best.

i'd love to actually respond to your concerns or whatever the hell it was that you were trying to convey with this ask, but it has almost no basis in reality so i literally cant.

thats the one statement on how effective i think the banners are that has left my queue so far. which is: i hope it works but also have literally 2 other backup plans already in case it does not. i dont know why youre calling that "acting like [me] proclaiming [my] love to big hairy dudes is the best terf-repellant", because thats wildly off target from what i have actually said at any point. everything else youve said is also pretty much either dead wrong or ignorant, so im getting the feeling that you not reading has been a problem for a while.

(ive also not mentioned terfs this entire time--ive been talking about radfems and using the word radfems. they're not the same thing although there's large overlap. so like. thats strike two for zero reading comprehension, buddy. cause you are literally not talking about the group im talking about and youre also inventing whole new sentences that i didnt say.)

[rebornofstars]

* bee i just need you to know how fucking MAGICAL Cursebreaker is,,, like I keep going back to check details for fanart but then I get trapped and then I end up rereading the entire fic again!! LIKE!! IT"S SO GOOD !! it's so good bee I really don't know how else to describe it but genuinely the writing is so entrancing and it feels so much like a story that consumes all thoughts. It's immersive to the bone and bee I love love love it!!!1

OUROUGORHGORIHGORUGH????? SNU IM CRYING????? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS MADE MY WHOLE ENTIRE DAY 🥺🥺🥺

[thetomorrowshow]

every hand’s a winner

trust au masterlist - previous

I COME BEARING FLUFF.

also a little note: due to personal reasons, i will be stepping away from social media for an unforeseeable amount of time. because of this, fics/updates will be posted once a month on the second tuesday either until i get back or until they run out. for january expect some esh au, and the next part of hubris in february :) additionally, my queue will be posting every other day either until i get back or until my queue runs dry (unlikely, as there are close to 300 posts in it lol).

forget all that, though!!! bc i have some people being happy for you!

cw: blood and injuries

~

Scott goes home that very evening, like most of the other emperors—bar Jimmy, who is slated to stay overnight in the infirmary. They’d tried to keep Scott as well, fussing over his bloody nose and torn skin, but he’d promised to check in with the Rivendell healers at home to make sure time in the Void of the End won’t seriously affect him.

For once in his life, Scott willingly goes to the Rivendell infirmary, leaving with a couple of bandages and instructions to write down any strange symptoms.

The thing is, nobody has ever fallen into the Void before—let alone the one in the End—so there’s no way of knowing what might happen further down the road. Scott’s an anomaly of sorts, and it looks like he’s now the subject of a medical study.

He hasn’t noticed anything apart from a slight lingering dizziness, so he writes that down, feeling somewhat stupid about it being the only symptom he has to report, especially when that could be caused by a myriad of other things. It’s not like he’s never been dizzy before. He practically didn’t stop being dizzy back before he figured out how to sleep.

That night, he luckily doesn’t have to deal with his insomnia—he’s up until the sun rises meeting with various advisory groups: working out the best way to lock down Rivendell whilst still keeping trade routes open, mobilizing the layman army, and deciding how to go forward with various declarations of support for other empires. Within the night, four different ambassadors turn up to arrange an alliance, and Scott knows that his fellow emperors are awake dealing with the same things.

He doesn’t get a moment alone until well into the next day, after he has to send out a formal announcement that his and the Codfather’s betrothal is postponed until after the war (if Jimmy still wants such a relationship, of course). He can tell that many of his advisors don’t necessarily agree with this decision, but they recognize the direness of the situation (and Ilphas, Aeor bless them, defends Scott’s choice with a fervor), and allow the postponement to occur.

It’s past four in the afternoon before he finally has a moment to relax, kicking off his boots and bathing before changing from the travel clothes that he’s been wearing for almost two days straight into something clean. The sight of Jimmy’s robes in the closet next to his almost makes him cry for some reason, but he pushes past them to the back to dig out a pair of hose and a skirt, tucking an embroidered but comfortable tunic into them.

He can’t sleep.

Several months have passed since the torture of fWhip’s basement, his wounds entirely healed, but he can’t quite convince himself he’s safe to sleep alone. He really thought he’d be over it by now.

It’s no use trying, of course—after so many long hours, he doesn’t want to risk a panic attack. Instead, Scott lies in bed and just breathes, trying not to think about all the war preparations that he’s just spent hours making.

He also tries not to think about Jimmy.

That’s a whole other issue to deal with.

For a couple of minutes, he’s able to lie there in peace, shutting down any thought as soon as it breaches his mind.

Then his bedroom door opens.

Scott sits up, ready to reprimand whatever servant is entering—he’s in his private quarters, he could be without his veil—but he’s not meant to have a veil anymore, is he—

It doesn’t matter anyways, because it isn’t a servant at the door.

It’s Jimmy.

“Hey,” Jimmy waves awkwardly, slipping in and shutting the door behind him. “How—how’re you?”

Jimmy looks terrible.

Well, he looks beautiful, as per usual, but his fall through the Void has certainly taken its toll. There are bags under his eyes, his hair greasy and limp, and he walks with an unsteadiness that tells Scott he’s been experiencing the same dizziness. Most notably, his face isn’t bandaged anymore.

It had been hard to see in the End, when Jimmy’s face was pretty fairly just a mess of blood, and impossible to see when there had been bandages plastered on half his face, but it’s clear now that Jimmy’s lost almost all of the scales on his face.

They had run in patches up from his throat to the line of his jaw on both sides, some speckling across his cheeks and a handful clustered around both his mouth and eyes. Scott had always found them gorgeous, little sparkling jewels on his face that truly brought out the flecks of green in his eyes. Now there’s maybe three around his eyes, ten total over the entirety of his face. In place of all the missing scales is torn skin and scabs, blood shining on his jaw from where the scabs have split.

Scott feels a little sick looking at it. Jimmy’s throat is still wrapped in bandages, and he can see some tied around his hands, so he can only guess at how many are missing across the entirety of his body.

He’s not sure why the dressings are gone from his face, but those wounds look ripe for infection. They shouldn’t just be out in the open.

“Jimmy, where have your bandages gone?” he asks instead of replying, swinging out of bed. “You need new ones, come here.”

Jimmy follows him into the washroom that leads off from what was once their joint sitting room, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his sleeves. “They made me take them off at the door,” he explains. “To make sure it’s me, and all. It looks pretty gross, I know.”

“No, it’s not—it’s—I don’t want them getting infected, is all it is,” Scott says absentmindedly, digging through his healing chest for the proper materials. He finds a basket of bandages and a roll of gauze, which he removes and sets to the side. His hands pauses over a regen potion, glancing uncertainly at Jimmy.

Jimmy shakes his head. “No potions, doctor’s orders,” he says. “They’re afraid it won’t . . . grow back right. It’s a wait-and-see thing at the minute.”

Scott passes over the regen and the health potions, landing instead on some disinfectant ointment. He closes the chest and gestures for Jimmy to sit on it, turns away to wash his hands before twisting open the ointment.

Jimmy doesn’t sit still as he applies it, jiggling his knee and wincing and pulling back every time Scott touches him. His injuries must really hurt, then—Scott’s being as gentle as he can, barely touching his cheeks as he rubs the ointment in.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he cleans a particularly ugly patch and Jimmy actually cries out a bit. Jimmy shakes his head, face twisted into a lopsided grimace.

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “Thanks.”

Well, it’s not as if Scott was going to let Jimmy patch himself up. He’s not sure what he’s getting thanked for.

He finishes up quickly and efficiently, hesitating at his mouth and eyes. The bandages are too blocky to work with the curves there, so he tears one up and uses the pieces to line any awkward spots.

Jimmy really doesn’t look any better once he’s done, covered in so many bits and pieces of bandages that barely any skin is showing. He forces a smile anyhow, shows Jimmy his reflection in the mirror.

Jimmy stares at himself for a long moment. “I’d laugh if I could move my mouth that much,” he comments, and the smile on Scott’s lips becomes just a bit more real. He’s making jokes. That’s got to be good.

Then Jimmy takes one of his hands, and Scott’s heart skips a beat.

“What’s this?”

Scott follows his gaze down to his hands—Scott’s knuckles have similar bandages wrapped around them.

“Same as you,” he says, flexing his wrists. “I escaped with just losing a bit of skin, fortunately.”

Jimmy nods. “Right. Scales—on a fish, perfect protection. Bit weak when you combine it with normal skin. It—it makes sense.”

“And you were in there for longer,” Scott adds. Jimmy shrugs, looking away and down. Every which way, except for back at him.

Scott leads the way back into the sitting room, gestures for Jimmy to take a seat on the sofa (it’s his favorite spot, Scott knows, the velvet of that left cushion still brushed back weird from when he’d been sitting there last). Scott almost sits in his preferred armchair, but makes a last-minute decision to sit beside Jimmy on the sofa.

They’re quiet for a moment, and it isn’t a gentle quiet, nor a comfortable one. It’s awkward, filled with tension, and Scott’s certain they keep looking at each other but never managing to catch one another’s eyes.

He’s got to say something, but all he can think about is Jimmy’s exhausted eyes, love confessions falling from bloodstained lips, impulsive kisses and a slippery grasp on his lover’s bleeding face.

He has to say something.

But Jimmy speaks first.

“I really like you,” Jimmy says, looking away, and Scott takes the moment to gaze at him, truly take in the fatigue lining his face and the droopiness of his eyelids. “I didn’t—I have for a while. Months, really. Ever since . . . I don’t know when. I just—well, I tried, that one time—” he grimaces— “I just . . . I didn’t feel worthy, I suppose, of you. You’re—Scott, you’re so perfect, always all put-together and—and rescue-y and everything, and I’m just . . . me. Gosh, I’m sorry for rambling—I really just meant to say that I like you and—and I kinda hope you like me too.”

Scott blinks.

If his heart flipped when Jimmy took his hand earlier, it’s positively doing cartwheels now.

Jimmy likes him.

And apparently, all that pining was for waste because he could’ve confessed this whole time and Jimmy would’ve reciprocated.

Scott can’t help it: he laughs. Just a little, a giggle that slips out accidentally, but it’s enough that Jimmy freezes and glances over at him, eyes terribly fearful.

Scott waves frantically, pushing closer to him. “No, no—I—I wasn’t laughing at you,” he’s quick to correct. “I was—Jimmy, I’ve liked you for ages, but I was so afraid of you rejecting me that I didn’t dare say anything. Just think what might have happened if we both actually used a bit of logic for once in our lives.”

Jimmy blinks. A surprised laugh bursts out, one that’s quickly stifled as Jimmy winces and covers his mouth. It’s really not funny—it must hurt to laugh, with his face in such a state—but Scott can’t help it. He laughs again, lightly punches Jimmy on the shoulder.

“Don’t laugh,” he reprimands, still laughing himself. “You’ll start bleeding again, and we can’t have that.”

Jimmy clearly can’t help it, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to not even smile. Scott’s smiling too, he’s gazing at Jimmy beside him as he tries not to laugh and. . . .

He’s really in love, huh? Because Jimmy’s always shone like a star, he’s always been so breathtakingly beautiful, but he’s somehow so much more so now that he’s his. Now, Scott gazes at him, wave after wave of glory hitting him like waves of heat from the sun.

He’s in love, and it’s wonderful.

“Um,” Jimmy says after a moment, and Scott realizes that not only is he staring at Jimmy, but Jimmy is staring right back.

“Sorry—” he starts to say, looking down at his hands, but Jimmy interrupts him.

“I actually—I know you’re busy, with . . . with everything going on, and I am too, but if you wanted to just have one night before all that? I’d still like to—to go stargazing with you.”

It’s wartimes. He only has the one night to offer Jimmy, and no promises for the future.

Scott smiles. “I would be honored.”

-

There’s no snow on the ground where they pick to stargaze, a stone shelf in the side of the mountain that Scott’s lain on many times past. He spreads out three blankets on top of one another and leaves a fourth bundled to the side, in case the air gets too chill.

Jimmy splays out immediately, just like how he’s always first in bed—an incredibly intimate thing for Scott to know, and something inside him seems to almost purr at the realization. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s (at least for tonight).

Scott eases himself down next to him—his lover, Jimmy’s his lover—and, in a split-second decision, shifts a bit closer so that their hips touch.

Jimmy doesn’t move away.

Scott’s heart flips a little.

Exor’s hooves, you’re acting like a teenager, he tells himself. You like him, and he likes you. Just—be normal.

He can���t be normal. There is no way he can be normal.

The world around them has been gradually growing dark the entire time they spent hiking up to here and setting up, and now it’s dark enough that Scott can barely see Jimmy’s face.

He hadn’t been able to see Jimmy’s face then, either.

He’d seen him fall.

Scott had just caught sight of it as he regained his sense of balance from the End portal. He’d looked up to find an unfamiliar island, the world surrounded by the darkness of the void, and on the other side of the island—

Even from that distance, Scott could tell that Jimmy’s fall was the most graceful he’d ever seen.

He spread his wings and took off without a second thought, abandoning the others who followed him through the portal.

He had to try. He had to.

He’d passed fWhip, who was laughing—who tried to grab him—as he went over the edge of the island.

And then, wings pulled tight to his body, nose down, he dove after Jimmy.

“Scott?”

He blinks, looks around. Jimmy’s at his side now, head propped up on his arm. Jimmy quirks an eyebrow, still barely visible. “You good? You kind of zoned out for a second there.”

Scott blinks again, looks up. The stars are starting to twinkle into vision, bright and lively, and Scott almost waves up to them.

Perhaps Jimmy doesn’t know much about elven beliefs, doesn’t know the significance of the stars. He doesn’t know that Scott could point out a dozen or two elven legends and heroes—Gelidrian, Calireth, Alinar. And others, more mundane—his parents, the nurse who had raised him, the palace guard from a mere two decades ago.

Someday, Scott knows he will join them all. Hopefully not any day soon.

“Whoa,” Jimmy whispers. Scott glances over at him, his face illuminated by the exaltation of elves. One of his hands is raised slightly. “They're so close.”

“They really are.”

They watch in silence for a while, more and more bundles of light appearing in the sky. When the entirety of the Stags is visible and bright, Scott points it out, taking Jimmy’s hand (his heart jumps, Jimmy’s his lover) to trace his fingers down the lines of stars.

“That’s the Clash of the Stags,” Scott tells him, tracing it over again. “On the left is Aeor, see His antler?”

“That’s your god, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s Aeor.” Scott smiles just a little bit—somehow, every time Jimmy knows something about elven history, it makes him ten times more attractive. “And then below Him and to the right is Exor, His brother.”

“I’ve heard you say his name before. Is he your god, too?”

Scott can’t help but snort. “No. Exor may be Aeor’s brother, but they don’t get along. Exor was cruel, controlled those under his domain, sacrificed the weak and oppressed the followers of Aeor. Aeor, meanwhile, ruled with kindness and respect, befitting of the last remaining gods.”

“What happened to the others?” Jimmy asks. “There are others, aren’t there?”

“Yes, we believe so. I’m sure you’ve heard Pix mention the Great Slumber?”

Jimmy nods, the movement scrunching up Scott’s sleeve. Jimmy’s so close to him, close enough that Scott can feel his every twitch and breath.

“Aeor and Exor were the only gods not to fall asleep. But when Exor became corrupted, jealous of his brother’s rule, Aeor knew He had to do something about it. So He gathered all His power and wielded it in a mighty battle against Exor—the Clash of the Stags. See how Aeor is kicking Exor down?”

Jimmy nods again. The nerves in Scott’s arm are tingling at his every touch, and he has to take a moment to swallow back the squeak that threatens to break his voice. “Um. Aeor used everything He had to seal Exor and his followers within a mountain forever,” he says, thankfully with no cracks. “Then He withdrew from the people, still hearing their prayers and granting small blessings, but separate from them. He lost much of His power in that fight, and has spent many thousands of years resting and caring for us—as any god should.”

Jimmy’s silent then, and when Scott looks over at him, he’s staring up at the sky, eyes flicking from point to point. Scott doesn’t look away, and while Jimmy’s eyes trace the stars, Scott’s eyes trace Jimmy’s face.

In the dark with the stars as their only light, the raw patches around his mouth and eyes that they hadn’t been able to bandage are invisible. The lines of exhaustion are impossible to see, as are the shadows Scott knows ring his eyes.

Instead, Scott sees the way his nose twitches. He sees long eyelashes that flutter gently. He sees golden hair that’s starting to curl around the gills, long in a way Scott’s never seen it. He sees lips that move soundlessly, lips that are looking more and more kissable by the second.

“There,” Jimmy says, and Scott pulls himself out of his reverie to follow Jimmy’s finger. Scott squints up at the sky as Jimmy traces a triangle shape out of the stars.

“That can be the mountain,” Jimmy says, sounding proud of himself. “The one that Aeor trapped them in. Do you guys know where that mountain is?”

Scott giggles a little—he can’t help it, it has to be a crime to be so cute—and traces along Jimmy’s triangle as well. It’s part of another constellation, he realizes after a moment—the Crystal of Rivendell, made up of stars of rulers who have passed on. “The mountain probably wasn’t real, Jimmy. Rivendell scholars have searched for it for literal ages, and they’ve not found evidence of it yet. Besides, I find it hard to believe that a mountain could entrap a god.”

“It was a magical mountain, you said so,” Jimmy says stubbornly. “Aeor sealed it. And I think it would be a great idea—some mountains are older than the ocean, you know, surely they have some sort of power.”

“Well, when you fight a god, trap him in a mountain and let me know how it goes.”

Jimmy laughs too, then cuts off abruptly as a cold gust of wind blows over them. He shivers, shifts close enough to Scott that he’s practically curled up in Scott’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

Scott’s certain that his heart actually stops.

Which is stupid, because—because they’ve done this before! Almost every morning, Scott wakes up pressed into Jimmy, and it’s fine. Well, it’s nerve-wracking and overwhelming and suffocating, but it’s been weeks since he last blushed and apologized, and much longer since he stopped pretending that Jimmy isn’t a very physically affectionate person. Romantic intentions or not (and now, in retrospect, Scott knows that most of them likely were romantic in some way and isn’t that something), Jimmy hugs him or leans on his shoulder on a near daily basis. This isn’t anything new.

Somehow, though, it’s the strangest sensation he’s ever known.

He’s been quiet for some time, he realizes suddenly, and before he even knows what to say he’s blurting out, “What’s your favorite constellation?”

Jimmy jerks a little bit. “What?”

“I—that’s how it started, isn’t it?” Scott says, and he just knows he’s paler than the stars right now. “You asked me what my favorite constellation is. Which one’s yours?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer immediately, pulling back a bit to gaze up at the stars properly. After a few moments, he takes Scott’s hand (the hairs on his arm stand up) and guides him up, much further to the left than the Stags. There, he traces out a strange shape—almost a lopsided rectangle, but with five sides.

Below it are two stars that are very familiar to Scott, he realizes with a jolt—

Staying up late every night—he’s just a child, he ought to be in bed, but instead he creeps over to the window and looks up at the stars.

His nurse had taught him to make a wish on the point of Aeor’s antler, and if the God was willing, his wish might come true. Scott can’t really remember where it is most of time, but he can always find those two bright stars to wish on—and that way, he would get two wishes!

He wishes twice for himself, or sometimes he uses one for Xornoth, or sometimes he uses one for his parents.

Most of the time, though, he wishes twice for himself—and he wishes for a friend.

Jimmy traces it again, the soft bandages on his knuckles rubbing against Scott’s matching set. “That one. That’s my favorite.”

“What is it?”

Jimmy’s hand falls to his side, almost in slow motion. “I don’t know,” he says, and there’s something wistful in his voice, something terribly sad. “But it feels like home.”

-

It gets too cold to stargaze, so Scott packs everything up and helps Jimmy back to the palace, flying in through his window so as not to get caught out by the guards.

And sure, it may be the beginning of the end of the world, war hovering over them like the executioner’s axe, but Scott can’t stop giggling. He and Jimmy are sneaking around like teenagers, trying to not be seen as they clamber in through his window. It’s so very cliche that he can’t help but enjoy it, can’t help but be entirely wrapped in the feeling of new love.

They both collapse onto Scott’s bed, both laughing, even though Jimmy’s covering his mouth and wincing like it hurts. He doesn’t stop, though, eyes sparkling as he snickers.

“The funny thing—the funniest part is, it’s not even funny,” Scott gasps out, and it isn’t—he thinks they’re more laughing because of the absurd pressure it is to sneak into a building that you belong in in the first place. It’s more stupid than anything—it would have been just fine to go in through the gates, really, but they’d decided to do it proper just for the fun of it.

Jimmy laughs harder at that, cutting himself off with a small “ouch!”. He presses his sleeve to his mouth for a moment before pulling it away, examining it for any blood. Apparently satisfied, he lets his arm fall and stretches out a bit.

“This was really good, Scott,” Jimmy says after a minute, and dear Aeor, even the way Jimmy says his name. . . .

“Can I kiss you?”

Scott blinks, sits up. Jimmy’s watching him, a blush spreading across what’s visible of his face. He almost looks just as surprised as Scott feels that those words fell from Jimmy’s mouth.

And really, props to Jimmy, because it’s not a bad idea. It’s a very good one, in Scott’s mind.

But they really need to talk about it first, don’t they?

Scott sits up, runs a hand through his hair. “I’d like to apologize, actually. For our first kiss.”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, I—it was sensory overload, yeah? I don’t think you need to apologize for that.”

“Wha—when did I say it was sensory overload?”

Jimmy sits up too, scoots along until he’s sitting beside Scott. “Well, I didn’t figure it out until today, actually. I sort of thought you hated me at first, but yesterday, when . . . and then again, earlier. You said—you’ve liked me this whole time, right?”

Scott nods.

“Right. Well, I figured if you did like me back then, you probably wanted to . . . do the whole kiss thing. And it’s really not like you to just run away like that. And I know you get sensory overload real bad sometimes, so. . . .”

Scott slides his hand toward Jimmy’s, loosely tangling their fingers together. It’s a conscious movement, one that sends nerves sparking up and down the very bones of his body.

It’s dangerously close to too much.

Yet it’s everything he’s wanted for so long.

“How about this,” Jimmy continues. “We—we’re . . . courting now, right? Um—that—that’s really nice to say—so how about we always ask first, before a kiss? And stuff like that. That way, neither of us is taken by surprise.”

Thrills go up and down every inch of Scott’s skin when Jimmy says that they’re courting, his breath stolen from his chest. They’re courting. They’re in a committed relationship. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s, and it’s true because Jimmy said so. It’s real.

“That—that sounds good,” he manages. He takes stock of himself—definitely on-edge, but he can handle one kiss. As long as they make sure it’s just one. And maybe if they do some pressure cuddling afterward.

“Can I kiss you?” Scott asks, his voice almost a whisper. What’s visible of Jimmy’s face under the bandages goes through a series of emotions—anxiety, enthusiasm, warmth, and then settling back on anxiety. He nods, a little uncertainly, and turns to fully face Scott, drawing his legs up criss-cross on the bed.

They’ve kissed three times before, but everything is different about this one.

There’s an awkward sort of lean-in, of course—the first and second times had been sudden, passionate, and the third filled with the thrill of survival. For this, they move slowly, telegraphing each movement carefully—akin to trying not to spook a wild stag, Scott thinks offhandedly.

And then their lips meet.

Scott’s always led kisses in past relationships, his lips slotted above his partner’s, but Jimmy takes the lead here, leaning up a bit to match Scott’s height—and Scott thinks he likes it. His lips are warm, far warmer than Scott’s, and wet, and so very very soft.

It’s not the burning fireworks of their first kisses, but it’s warm like a cozy evening by the fireplace—there are so many nerve endings, he can feel his shoulders start to raise at the overstimulation—and it’s Jimmy and he loves him so much and it’s overwhelming, it’s perfect, it’s underwhelming compared to the first time because Scott knows that Jimmy has very sharp teeth and knows how to use them—

But Jimmy pulls away after just a moment, their lips parting slowly, and offers a small smile. “Good?”

Scott can only manage a squeaky noise in the back of his throat, and Jimmy giggles. The sound is a little bit loud for his sensitive ears.

Scott stands and pulls off his cloak, muttering something about putting on softer clothes before ducking into his walk-in closet. He can hear Jimmy laughing behind him.

Normally Scott would consider himself the smooth one—why is he so uncollected? He can’t even find the words to make any sort of dirty jokes. Jimmy must think something’s wrong.

(And so many things are wrong, of course, but definitely not this.)

He changes into soft pajamas, emerging to find Jimmy having also changed—he’s in a loose shirt and shorts, hair mussed and occasional bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how one looks at it—his face and hands had taken the brunt of the damage, only a couple of patches bandaged on his arms and even fewer on his legs. Jimmy smiles brightly when he sees Scott reenter.

“I sort of assumed I’d be staying the night. You looked overstimulated, do you need anything?”

Scott points to the bed. “Sleep?” he suggests, swallowing half of the word back. Jimmy nods, pulls back the covers.

“Do you want me on top of you?”

Scott can’t help it—he snorts. Jimmy goes totally red, sputtering incoherently.

“I—you know I—Scott!”

“Very forward, Jimmy, and on the first date too—”

“Oh, come off it!” Jimmy shakes his head, sighs, then adds, “We’ve been engaged for a while now; I don’t think it counts as a first date.”

Scott quirks a brow, and this is more familiar, this is how their banter is meant to be, flirtatious and comfortable and not at all awkward. “So you’re saying you’re open to it?”

“You are a menace,” Jimmy tells him, but he’s smiling, and it really does feel like before all of their issues. Except now Jimmy’s actually his, and the awkward dancing around each other in a newfound relationship hasn’t passed, but maybe they can become like this again soon enough.

Scott climbs into bed, turning down the lamp on his way in. He curls on his side, pulling the blankets up to his waist, his wings resting on the cushioned shelf built into his bed for this precise reason.

After a moment, the bed shakes as Jimmy climbs in beside him, then slowly, carefully, rests an arm around Scott’s waist.

“This okay?”

The weight of his arm is heavy and warm, the perfect amount of pressure, and Scott rolls to be fully on his stomach before pressing closer. When his head is up against Jimmy’s chest, and their knees are bumping at every readjustment, he nods.

He can be close to Jimmy. He doesn’t have to be self-conscious about wanting to touch him. He doesn’t have to restrain himself in private, pretend that the physical affection is all for show.

Scott moves one arm up, wrapped under Jimmy’s arm and up his back, and sighs. This is comfortable. This is right. This is real. Their bodies know how to fit together, weeks of practice in their sleep lending subconscious knowledge to Scott as he presses up against his lover, his Jimmy.

This is real, he tells himself, and it’s perfect.

[suddencolds]

Literally, your fics are some of the best things I've read. I reread everything you write and I can't get enough. I even have headcanons just cause I love your characters so much 😮‍💨 you're amazing!

ANON!! THIS IS SO NICE, THANK YOU!!! I'm so honored that you thought they warranted a reread!! 😭😭😭 I'm really happy that the characters resonated with you also 🙏

ALSO Y+V HEADCANONS??? 👀 Please hit up my DMs with your headcanons someday (or you can send them on anon if you're okay with me hoarding and never publishing them)... I'm really curious 🍿🧎‍♀️