#i dont remember what i use anymore

[xxplastic-cubexx]

waiting for marvel to take you up as their comic artist so that we can have amazing art with cherik official storyline

marvel hire me to draw professor x and magneto making out sloppy style for forty issues straight you will get a BAJILLION dollars i promise

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

the planes of existence

[astral-schools]

proper ref now that orion finally has a permanent fit :] some fun facts below the cut

he's ambidexterous!

while Millie is the pet he brings to fights and such, he also has a whole collection of pet octopuses who stay at home

no seriously there's zero relation to grandmother raven, his wings were a gift from artemis. he needs to spend time around stars to be able to fly-- if he spends too long indoors/underground or in a world with permanent cloud cover they're basically useless

his freckles glow :]

sometimes he does artemis's job when she's busy with beastmoon, and uses his brush to paint the night sky

in terms of biological age, he's the oldest of my wizards! technically not immortal but he does age MUCH slower than the average human.

he keeps his hood/mask down most of the time, only putting it up when he's going to be flying for a long time. it gets cold up there!

[introspectivememories]

do you ever think about how marco is one of the last people who knows how close shanks and buggy once were? do you think he ever looks at shanks and instinctively searches for buggy? i bet you marco looks at shanks surrounded by his crew and still thinks that shanks looks lonely. because back then, you could never find one without the other. if you insulted shanks, you insulted buggy and vice versa. they were attached at the hip. if you got one of them alone, you better savor it because in the next five minutes, the other one would come find them. like in my heart i know every time marco sees shanks these days all he thinks is where's the rest of you?

[solei-eclipse]

okay. hello guys. my bad for not responding to stuff or being as active recently, had a lot of work to be done and other stuff to focus on that took a lot of my time. I wanted to make more art, but I unfortunately had to put that energy into other things (which got to the point where I could not put them off any longer and had to stay working on it). I know I missed a lot of stuff and I'm sorry for it

[biillys]

uhhh yo i'm thinkin about. tommy and eddie not Getting each other but Dealing with each other becos of billy. but then somehow without even realising, they actually become pals too. hashtag billy's impact.

then ofc billy + eddie + tommy bestie-ism. becos i want it.

anyway. rewind becos we need to talk about billy + tommy and billy + eddie first before we slap tommy + eddie together

billy initially hating tommy when he first rolled into town, thinking he was kind of pathetic for how he was acting about harrington ditching him, and thinking he was just genuinely like. trying too fucking hard. trying to hard to be liked, to get attention, to get his fucking peers approval. billy already knew. high school didn't fucking matter. other kids approval and opinions didn't mean shit. everyone was fake as fuck. he just had to make it ‘til graduation, then he'd be fucking gone.

but then. he somehow ends up getting roped into joining tommy and his family for dinner one night, becos he's unable to say no to tommy's mom who asked him, and suddenly, he's seeing tommy in a whole new light.

he didn't know that tommy had a fucking baseball teams worth of siblings, and was the 3rd eldest. he watches as tommy cuts up his baby sisters dinner, pulling faces at his little brother next to her the entire time to make him laugh. listens as the entire table actually talks and interacts with each other, how his twin little sisters ask about when carol's coming over next, and how his mom cuts in and asks if carol's appointment went okay the other day and if she was feeling better. watches as him and his older brother clear the table without even being asked, their mom moving to start bath time for the kids under six. can't remember the last time he sat at a dinner table with an entire family and felt warm. like what dinner's look like they feel like in the movies.

after, when he's walking down the hallway to tommy's room, he sees all the pictures of him and harrington. they're all over the the wall, some not even having tommy in them, just steve and other members of the family cheesing at the camera from basically fucking diapers all the way up til last year. that's when he realises. tommy and steve weren't just school friends. steve was fucking family. and he left. over a fucking girl.

suddenly, billy gets it. he fucking Gets it. gets what it's like to have a family member walk out, with little to no explanation or reason, or for the worst fucking reason of all. to have everyone in the world expect you to just be fucking okay with it, like your entire world hasn't just changed, like you aren't eating dinner with one less plate setting now, like birthdays aren't suddenly forevermore gonna be one person short. he fucking gets it.

tommy looks embarrassed, though, when he catches billy eyeing the pictures, the red so obvious on his cheeks, and it feels like this is the first time billy's seen him without the act he puts on at school. billy just gives him a slight nod, then walks past the bathroom and flirts with his mom, feeling good about the way tommy groans behind him.

billy makes more of an effort after that, and tommy stops trying so hard.

maybe one night, after a slightly wild party at some cheerleader's house, him and tommy split to get some food from benny's, walking the whole way cos they're both not in any condition to drive, and tommy ends up spilling the details of what actually happened between him and steve. not just the shit that's been spreading around school, either. the real shit.

billy listens, still slightly drunk and definitely fucking high, and ends up vaguely mentioning his mom. he cuts himself off quickly though, cos even when he's wasted he knows not to expose himself like that. but tommy looks at him, and he nods, and he moves the conversation along.

they get close, after that.

they don't cling to each other at school, with tommy usually floating between anyone and everyone, carol leading the way, and billy only gracing the basketball table with his presence maybe once a week, the other days ditching to his car or hiding out under bleachers becos he’s sick and tired of people, but out of school, they're a bit more attached. 

tommy's mom loves billy, and apparently, so do his siblings. well–the younger ones do, at least. the teens and the two older two seem unfazed by him at best, and wary of him at worst. that's probably fair though, considering his reputation. 

it takes less than a month for billy to clock the fact that tommy doesn’t seem to “get” music. tommy says he considers it something you put on in the background while you do shit, just to have some noise, and billy pulls the car over immediately and gives him a wild look. he pulls out a mixed cd from the glovebox that has a decent chunk of his favourite songs, and when tommy says he's never heard a single one, billy loses his fucking mind for fifteen minutes straight before promising him that before the years out, tommy will understand music. 

tommy just agrees, having learnt early on that billy's gonna billy, and he's expressive and passionate about so fucking little, so seeing him get so worked up about something tommy considers so small is like. kind of fucking adorable. he sits there and listens as billy explains the difference between one band and the next and thinks–he's never actually heard billy sound so genuinely happy to be talking about something before, like his love for it is roots deep.

and then–there's eddie. 

he fucking hates billy on principal alone, at first. heard the talk and rumours about him from day one, his name even being whispered about by hellfire members, and instantly judged and stereotyped the fuck out of him. knows it's pretty pot, kettle–the whole hating each other becos stereotypes etc but like. no way this new california basketball guy isn't gonna tear eddie to shreds. there's no way.

so, he doesn't wait to see how billy treats him, just expects that he's gonna fuck with him the same way all the other assholes do, and writes him off as a waste of time, just like all the other jocks are.

gets the surprise of his life when billy not only acknowledges him publicly at a party, but also knows him by name and talks to him at school. usually, his crowd treats him like his social status is contagious, and keeps any interaction to a quick and private arrangement. except then he's walking down the corridor at school and his name is being yelled across the hall, and suddenly billy hargrove's standing in front of him, a kind of terrifying look on his face.

eddie rolls with it though, figures his buddies will catch him up to speed and explain the rules that keep things flowing around here, and billy'll never speak to him again.

that's not what happens, though. what happens is one of jason's dipshit besties throws an arm over billy's shoulder and laughs, calls eddie a freak like it's the funniest and most original insult to ever exist, and tells billy that they don't actually have to talk to him, that they can get anything they want from samson's older brother who's back from college.

billy shrugs the guy off, "you mean that shit that you were sharing around at patrick's last week? yeah, fuck that. at least munson's shit is good."

eddie watches the scene unfold with slight interest, but writes billy off again when he walks away with the crowd, having gotten the information he needed.

charges him double and a half when billy eventually tracks him down behind the school, and billy gives him a flat look but still hands over the money.

"that the standard price, or you just being a little bitch about it?"

"whatever you wanna tell yourself, short guy."

billy rolls his eyes, but takes the baggie eddie hands him and walks away, flipping him the bird over his shoulder as he goes.

eddie watches him leave and shakes his head. thinks, at least that'll be the last of it.

feels his eyes widen slightly the next week when billy rocks up again, money already in hand.

"price has actually went up this week, sorry man. must've forgot to send you the newsletter," eddie shrugs, walking straight past him and dumping his bag on the table.

"fuckin–seriously? you seriously pulling this shit?"

eddie gets his little tin lunch box out of his bag, not even sparing him a glance.

"supply and demand, gotta make a buck, you know how it is," eddie shrugs again and waits to hear billy's footsteps walk away. that doesn't happen. instead, he hears billy take a deep breath, mutter a fucksake under his breath, then hears his footsteps approach.

"well, how much is it this week, then?"

eddie looks at him over his shoulder, then turns around fully, a slow grin growing on his face. "how much you got?"

watches the flash of anger and frustration cross over billy's face before he seems to reign himself in.

"just–just give me my fucking shit, munson, i swear to god."

eddie just watches him and waits, letting him sweat a bit, before grinning at him, all teeth, then turns back around.

he grabs some things from his little stash then slaps three baggies in billy's hand.

billy clenches his fist around it, before taking another calming breath, then nods.

"how much?"

"same as last week."

billy gives him a look, and eddie snorts.

"supply and demand," he shrugs again, twirling his hair.

billy huffs, slapping the money down on the table.

eddie winks at him.

billy becomes a pretty regular customer after that, even though he looks at eddie like he thinks he’s batshit crazy most days. doesn't stop him from asking for his phone number though, complaining that sneaking notes in lockers is fucking corny. 

next thing eddie knows, billy’s rocking up at his trailer and banging on his door, inviting himself in. eddie would like to pretend to give more of a fuck, but honestly, billy isn't actually that bad. and uncle wayne fucking loves him for some reason.

billy clocks his guitar on his second visit, and sniffs out his fucking heart wide crush on chrissy cunningham on the fourth, and eddie never knows peace affer that. 

it’s a bright as fuck day when billy finally figures out a way to merge his two worlds and get both eddie and tommy into the same place at the same time, and it happens purely by his own intervention.

billy's driving tommy home when eddie’s van mysteriously breaks down, and he calls for a lift. billy eyes his glovebox, where he’s stashed a small but important part of eddies engine, and thinks hell fuckin’ yeah your van’s broke down.

he smirks into his phone as he listens to eddie stress, quickly checking on his passenger as he thinks about the way eddie’s face always screws up whenever he mentions him, and how tommy always looks downright uncomfortable every time he mentions spending time at munson’s trailer. 

but. here's the thing. he doesn't give a fuck. what he does give a fuck about is splitting his time between the two, like a fucking child of divorce, when he could simply just hang out with them both at once, them all chilling together. of course, that involes playing matchmaker. or just like. force them into getting stockholm syndrome about each other or some shit. but whatever. as long as something works. he’s not picky.

he flips his turn signal on and does a u-turn, shrugging when tommy asks where they’re going.

when he pulls up behind eddie’s van, tommy’s face does something complicated, and billy holds back a snort. he gives tommy one last sideway glance before climbing out and going to find eddie.

“what’s the damage?” he calls out, walking up to the front.

“fuck if i know, man. i look after her the best i can, but she’s old as shit and high maintenance, and i’m fucking broke,” eddie says from the front seat where he’s been waiting, looking at billy like maybe he’ll know the answer.

“just leave it. i’ll come back later and have a look. got a passenger though, so. we gotta go,” billy waves his hand dismissively before nodding his head towards his car.

“oh shit, little red’s here?” eddie asks, hopping out and walking alongside him.

billy snorts. “worse.”

eddie opens the back passenger door and ducks down to look before standing straight back up. 

“tell me you’re joking,” he says, sounding fucking pained.

billy laughs. “get in the fucking car, freak.”

it’s the most awkward and uncomfortable drive he’s had since he got his own car, and he spends most of the time trying to make fucking conversation with them both only for them to give him stilted and one word answers back.

“holy fuck,” billy breaks, pulling up in front of tommy’s house. he locks the car doors before anyone can split and turns in his seat. “what’s the big deal between you two? it can’t be that fucking bad. you’re both like–harmless. fucking bitchy, and definitely petty, and both fucking dramatic, but like. harmless. what’s the beef?”

tommy stays silent, making sure to look anywhere but them, while eddie leans forward to look between them. he looks from billy, to tommy, then back to billy.

“just–history,” eddie sighs, giving tommy a look.

billy stares blankly between them both. “history,” he deadpans back.

“well, we have went to school together for most of our lives, even been in most of the same classes in high school,” eddie reasons, sounding offended that billy’s not getting it.

“boo hoo, he stole your lunch money,” billy bitches back, giving eddie a bewildered look, “move past it. you’re like, 20, dude.”

eddie gives him an incredulous look right back, and billy shrugs, unlocking the car doors. tommy bolts.

“christ, man. you don’t get it,” eddie starts after he’s jumped in the front seat and they’ve started to drive away, “you haven't been at the bottom of the food chain.”

billy raises an eyebrow at him, ‘cause like fuck has he never been at the bottom of the food chain, and eddie fucking knows that. billy’s turned up at his trailer enough times now after a run in with his dad for eddie to have put the pieces together.

“that’s fucking different, don’t even try to compare,” eddie shoots back instantly, throwing his arms out.

“yeah, ‘cause one’s fucking high school bullshit, and one’s my fucking homelife. like, dude. come on, seriously? he bullied you? i fucking bully you.”

“yeah but you bully me because you want to fuck me, he bullied me for like–fucking everything. living in a trailer, hellfire club,” he starts listing, “my parents and all that bullshit–my fucking band–”

“yeah, and i tried to fuck your uncle last week,” billy cuts him off, sitting there and giving him a blank look. 

eddie looks scandalised before a smile starts to crack, a slight laugh coming out. “you are such a fucking asshole.”

billy laughs right back, making an illegal turn and flooring it, “fuck you, i’m your hottest fucking customer. now, let’s go fix your fucking van.”

“tommy ain’t that bad,” billy tries again as he puts eddies van back into working condition, pulling the piece he took out earlier from his jacket and putting it back in the engine, eddie none the wiser sitting in the driver's seat.

eddie raises his eyebrows at him when he pops up to look at him over the hood, “uh huh. sure. tommy hagen’s got a heart of gold.”

billy rolls his eyes then bends back over, fixing up the last few things before slamming the hood shut.

“seriously. he’s like, chill, once you get to know him. he pissed me off too when i first met him. then, i actually gave him the time of day, and now–” billy shrugs, wiping his hands and smearing some grease around, then walking around to eddie’s door.

“why the hell do you care so much–what? you want us to all share friendship bracelets? want us to jam together?” eddie questions, looking at billy through his rolled down window.

billy lets out a deep breath. “‘cause. we’re almost graduated, we’re basically fucking adults, and i don't want to spend my fucking summer having to divide my days going between you both because you guys can’t get over shit from middle school. we were all fuckin’ pricks when we were twelve. luckily, you two both grew out of it, but i sure as shit didn't. so, either learn to get along, or i’ll make you fucking get along.”

billy pulls out a pack of smokes, gets one out, gives eddie a salute, then lights up and walks away.

billy’s words bounce around in his head the following days, and when billy tells him to meet him at his car after school three days later and he rocks up to tommy and carol fucking perkins sitting in the back seat, eddie stops for a minute before standing tall, then throws himself into the front passenger seat.

billy smiles his most angelic smile at him, and when eddie turns around, tommy won’t meet his eye. carol smirks at him and pops her bubblegum. “‘sup, eddie.”

eddie didn't even know she knew his name. he lifts his hand in a weird little wave before turning back around and facing the road. “fuck you,” he mutters under his breath, sinking down in his seat.

billy laughs and drops his hand to rest on eddie’s knee, squeezing it. “we’re gonna have fun, baby,” he mumbles back.

after a few blocks, billy pulls up to benny’s diner and cuts the engine.

“you said ‘meet me at my car, it’s important’,” eddie deadpans, looking around the busy carpark in the peak of the after school rush, tommy and carol already getting out.

“yeah,” billy deadpans right back, eyes looking fucking gleeful, “after school milkshakes. most important part of the day.”

“you’re lactose intolerant,” eddie breathes out disbelievingly as they both reach for their car doors.

“i know,” billy grins, pushing his door open and stepping out, then turning around and leaning in, “now let’s go, hot stuff.”

and maybe one day i'll finish this. oops.

[swagstar]

OK INFECTED ILLNESS HEADCANONS

so i like to think that infected's illness both works like a normal virus (like on the immune system and all) but also a computer virus. (actually - side note. we dont know if its a virus , right? it could be a bacteria or a retro virus... whatever)

the way i think the illness works is when on a surface, like a virus, stays alive for a lil while before dying out. and since the.. whatever it does is a missing texture it deletes that object's texture until it dies out.

so i like to think that the virus on objects, that arent alive yknow, cant really infect it and thus cant get higher permissions to delete anything other than it's texture image. so it does that.

meanwhile on live things its another thing. when an organic whatever is infected with the virus, it receives higher permissions to delete more things other than textures, and also just mess shit up. like any illness.

the leetspeak is just a malicious thing to fuck with the person (like a virus changing the time on the computer, typing random things, etc.) memory issues just come from random files being corrupted, deleted, or encrypted. the person being oblivious could be just infected not wanting confrontation, or just the illness making them oblivious on purpouse to make a bigger mess.

and that circles around to the person sneezing or whatever, since the virus only has infected the person, the texture gets deleted on objects for a lil while.

i guess that this kind of implies its a trojan horse if it manages to get in and stuff? whatever idk how computers work very well.

bows.

[hypixeluhc]

Your feelings have been living for a millennium.

BONUS !!! he eated the buttered fly.

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[carcarrot]

do i really want to make individual drinks again

[triglycercule]

ok erm. halloween animation meme lowkey postponed until next year (because i know damn well i'll need a whole year to finish this with my motivation 💀) because i have another much more invigorating and fresh idea that i wanna draw for the mtt. inspired by these 3 fuckass monkeys

[voidimp]

i hate that the sims has stupid limited time in game events with exclusive reward items whyyyy cant i just play when i want. why cant you just release the items for free without having to meet certain requirements in the game!! or even as a pack to buy honestly!!! but this limited time shit fucking sucks!!!!!

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

replacement goldfish

bonus: here's the bg w/o hio & some of the special effects, in case anyone wants to look at the oliver portraits

and here's a version w/ (almost) all effects removed too for an even clearer look

[whispers-of-masser]

Poor Form

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, maybe angst (if you squint), slow-burn with tension; 2k+ word count ✧ Mentions of blood, (poorly written) fantasy violence ♫ "Ritual" - AWAY, Echos ✒ @dalishthunder come take responsibility for this

It was the grey hour when you woke, the quiet lull between full night and the oncoming dawn. From where you lay in the tent, the only sounds you could hear were the steady breaths of your companions, the breeze rustling by outside, and the lone call of a bird, faint and dim in the distance.

Slowly, you sat up, grimacing at your sore neck and shoulders – though you had long since grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, that didn't mean you, or your body, appreciated it. You'd have to look into getting some bed cots instead. Until then, though...

At least we stay warm through the night. The oiled leather tent kept out most of the wind, and the beasts you'd felled along the journey had long since become the bedding everyone slept on.

A sudden snore drew your attention to where Khash lay, bundled in her sleeping bag beside you, red eyes shut tight and jaw slightly parted, her sharp little teeth on display. Across from her was Xelzaz, sleeping quietly on his side with his back turned towards you; you could just make out the lump of his tail beneath the blankets. And next to him...

...was an empty bed roll, the fur still fluffed, apparently untouched through the night.

Frowning, you pushed back the blankets, habitually reaching for your sword as you rose – just in case, always just in case – and, taking care not to wake Khash, crawled quietly out of the tent.

The morning had teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped outside, the cold biting into your bare arms, gnawing through the fabric of your tunic and raising goosebumps across your skin. Your breath plumed white amidst the grey, and the dirt underfoot was cold and hard; not even the morning dew had loosened it. You found yourself wanting retreat back into the tent and burrow under your furs once more, pulling them all the way over your head and falling asleep beneath their warmth. Any other morning, you might have done just that. But...

The empty, untouched bedroll.

You squinted into the mist, eyes searching, searching... there. A figure, seated on a rock several metres away, smudged and blurred in the gloom, but glinting a familiar gold.

As you lowered your sword, a sigh slipped from your lips, drawn from some strange mix of frustration, concern, and relief.

"...How long have you been out here, Nebarra?"

"Morning to you too, guar-face," the elf drawled, and though he didn't rise, his helmeted head turned towards you. A thin layer of condensation covered the metal, droplets falling at his movement; his bangs, escaping through the visor, were damp and plastered to his helm. "And all night, to answer your question. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Obviously. But you volunteered for the first shift last night." Frowning, you looked him up and down, not bothering to mask your concerned displeasure. "Why didn't you wake me or Xelzaz? We could have relieved you. We were supposed to relieve you."

"Oh yes, a human and a lizard! I'm certain I'd feel very safe with you two on watch. Your species' eyesight is so much better than an Altmer's, after all."

Your frown deepened, brow furrowing as you stared him down. It was too early in the morning for his snark.

Wordlessly, you brought up your sword and levelled it at his throat. "I can see that gap in your armor just fine. I could kill you right now – and the same goes for whatever may have come up on us in the night."

Nebarra gave a disdainful snort, gloved hand clamping down on your blade and giving a sharp tug. Unprepared, reflexes still sluggish from sleep, you stumbled a whole two steps forward before managing to check yourself.

"Poor form," the elf sneered. "You won't be killing anything like that."

Your nostrils flared, a dozen retorts surging to your lips, but you held them all in.

He's right, and you both know it.

"I wasn't ready", "I'm still waking up", "I wasn't serious" – excuses that could get you, and maybe the others, killed. How long had Nebarra seen this in you? Why was he only mentioning it now? Why hadn't you realised it on your own, that despite your confidence, your skills, your strength – you were still very much mortal? And when had that confidence become something more dangerous – arrogance?

"...What?" Nebarra asked suddenly, drawing you from your reverie. "You have that expression again. The one where you're about to do something stupid."

"Spar with me."

"Terrible idea, absolu... wait. What?"

"Spar with me," you repeated, staring into the black of his visor. "I'm getting rusty, fighting nothing but bandits and mindless undead. This just proved it."

Nebarra was silent for a beat, his head tilting to the side. Something about the motion reminded you of a bird; the eagle-shaped helm only added to the effect. You waited patiently for his answer, wondering what exactly he had to consider –

Metal, arcing toward your sword arm.

You barely managed a dodge and a weak parry with the flat of your blade – you'd been holding it low, unready. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Clearly, Nebarra was done thinking – the two of you were sparring now.

Fair enough. Enemies wouldn't be so polite as to give you time to gear up, either. And now, for once, the odds weren't in your favour: a fully-armoured Altmer veteran with decades of experience, versus you, young, disoriented, and unarmored, only a single blade in hand.

It was thrilling.

You sidestepped another swing of Nebarra's blade – only to connect with it a moment later, coming out of the feint you had failed to read.

Sharp, stinging pain. Scarlet, dripping from your arm.

He was trying to hurt you. And you were giving him ample opportunity.

You needed to ground yourself, regain your rhythm – something you couldn't do without an opening, and Nebarra wasn't giving you any.

A glint of metal on the left – block, step back. Movement overhead, an oncoming blow – raise your sword, throw your weight behind it, disrupt his momentum.

At least, you tried. Fully armoured as he was, Nebarra had an extra thousand angaids of weight behind his swing, if not more. The sheer force of his blow knock your sword out of your hands, sending you staggering back. But the grass underfoot was slick with the morning's dew, and you were moving too fast, too unsteadily. Before you knew it, your back was colliding with the ground, and all you could see was grey sky overhead – and a golden sword coming down.

Careless.

But there was still a chance.

Contorting violently, you grabbed Nebarra's arm as the blade sailed by, nicking your face as it passed. You didn't let go of his arm just yet, though. Instead, you pulled, leveraging your weight against his, abdomen taut as you used him to haul yourself upright. Nebarra, clearly not expecting such a move, found himself betrayed by his own momentum, drawing him forward and down, aided by your weight. Gravity took care of the rest, and he crashed towards the earth, twisting even as he fell to avoid face-planting into the ground.

As he struggled to right himself, you rushed to retrieve your sword; Nebarra was already rising by the time you turned back to him.

"No you don't," you growled, charging the mer, sword raised.

His hand shot out, a ward rippling to life, though it buckled slightly under your sword's impact. Nebarra staggered, his half-risen stance precarious, unbalanced.

Now. Now. Now.

Once, twice, thrice more your sword glanced off the ward – and on the fourth blow, it shattered, leaving the Altmer open to your assault.

Metal clanged as you brought your sword down, colliding with his gauntlet as he struggled to block with it, not given enough time to raise his own sword in defense. You let the blade slide off, intending to follow up with its momentum, but Nebarra didn't give you a chance. The moment the sword glanced off his gauntlet, he lunged, catching you in the abdomen and bringing the both of you to the ground.

The tussle that followed was a blur.

His sword arcing down, yours blocking. Hilts catching, blades flying, yanked out of your grasp and his.

Panted breaths, heaving chests, grappling and rolling across the grass.

A glint caught your eye – your sword and Nebarra's, just within reach.

He saw it too, the both of you reaching out in unison for your weapons, desperate to be faster than the other.

Leather-bound metal brushed against your palm – the hilt. Your hand closed around it, drawing it in close. Brought it swiftly upwards, blade against Nebarra's neck.

At its touch, he froze – and so did you. Because resting against your own neck, biting into the tender flesh, was the edge of Nebarra's blade.

Stalemate.

Ears ringing, heart racing, you shift your gaze from the sword to the one holding it.

Hunched over and straddling you, a leg to either side of your waist, there was hardly any distance between your bodies. The beak of his helm was close enough to brush your nose; your breath fogged on the metal. His gasping breaths may has well have been your own – you could feel them, swift and hot, slipping through the gold feathers that covered his face, carrying the faint scent of wine.

Of course, he'd been drinking. It had probably kept him warm through the night – and he'd still managed to keep you off-balanced for most of the fight.

You were in worse shape than you'd thought.

That, or... maybe Nebarra was better than he'd ever let on.

"...Tonight," you breathed, staring up at him. "Let's... spar again tonight."

Nebarra grunted; you could hear the sound echo faintly in his helmet. "Fine. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

A smile tugged at your mouth – you could feel your lips crack and stretch at the motion, dried out in the cold; you gave them a brief lick before answering. "What, and this was?"

Another affirmative grunt. "I'll be sober by tonight. Unfortunately."

You snorted, then fell silent once more. With your eyes, you found yourself tracing the curves of his helm, pausing at the sight of his bangs peeking through, dark and tangled threads of gold. Something about them was like an itch you couldn't scratch, and you had the sudden urge to brush them aside, or at least tuck them back into his helm.

As your gaze drifted upward, toward the visor, a glint in its shadows caught your eye. Again, you paused, staring intently into the dark.

A reflective sheen, a gleam of crimson –

"Are you done breathing on one another, yet?"

Xelzaz's voice shattered your focus, and both you and Nebarra snapped your heads toward the sound.

The Argonian stood just outside the tent, arms crossed, head bare of its usual hood, scales shimmering in the pale light. Beside him was Khash, a shadowy smudge in the mist; her wide red eyes seemed to float amidst the grey.

"Good morning," you said stupidly, even as Nebarra scrambled to get off you.

"Why were you fighting?" Khash asked. "Did something happen?"

"For your – obviously necessary – information," Nebarra sniffed, dusting off his armour, "we were sparring. And you had better get used to it. Our dear Dragonborn and I will continue to do so, apparently, starting today."

As you sat up, you distinctly heard Xelzaz mutter, "By the Hist." When he turned his head to you once more, there was something incredibly deadpan about his gaze, an unspoken, "Really?" in his eyes.

"What?" you mouthed back, blinking at him in confusion. He only shook his head, and have no answer.

"Right... Well, let's get the fire going again, and I'll see about getting us all breakfast."

At that, Khash's gaze snapped towards him. "Ohh, Xelzaz, can I have some Hackle-lo with it?"

"Khash, you've eaten almost my whole stock."

"Oh..."

"...I'll see if I can't spare a few more."

"Yay! Heh."

"Horker stew for you, Nebarra?"

"I'm too tired to say no... but I'll watch you every moment of its making."

"Yes, yes, as usual. And what of you, friend?" Xelzaz turned towards you, and for a moment, you couldn't answer him – you'd been too distracted watching the scene unfold, a smile on your face.

"Ah... it doesn't matter to me, I suppose. Surprise me."

And so, thirty minutes later, as the sun climbed through the sky and burned away the mist, breakfast was served.

But for some strange reason, all throughout the meal, you found your gaze drawn... repeatedly...

...to Nebarra.

[unluckystreak]

I JUST WATCHED THE NEW HAIKYUU MOVIE AND WOW. WOW WOWWWWWWWWWWWWW IT BLEW ME AWAY

[vulpesintuos]

in hindsight it *is* hilarious that my writing has went from "I have never stopped thinking about (and wishing I could replicate) the sheer hype of the RULES OF NATURE scene in metal gear rising revengeance" to "I'm putting an image in your head that this man has his hands deep in the other's ribcage and the beating of the heart you feel wet on your skin is a metaphor for emotional closeness. this is what kissing is like"