#oc: cliff

[shion-yu]

Sicktember 2024 Masterpost

Completed! :D

Day 1: "I'm not hungover, I'm just sick." (Cliff, Phoenix)

Day 2: Overindulgence (Alex, Ryo)

Day 3: Campus Crud (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 4: “Great, I got a cold for my birthday.” (Alex, Shu)

Day 5: Rogue Organ (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 6: Dizziness/Vertigo (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 7: Borrowed Hoodie (Alex, Ryo)

Day 8: Hospital Bed (alt) (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 9: Overdramatic Patient (Alex, Ryo)

Day 10: The Sniffles (Alex, Ryo, Cliff, Elliot)

Day 11: Medieval Treatment (Rey, Felix)

Day 12: “You’re not fine, you’re throwing up.” (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 13: Mononucleosis (Shu, Mathias)

Day 14: Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 15: “Who decided soup is sick people food?” (Al, Theo)

Day 16: Toxin/Poison (Rey, Felix)

Day 17: Brain Fog (Cliff, Shu)

Day 18: My body is one big ache (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 19: “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” (alt) (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 20: Medication Bribery (Al, Theo)

Day 21: Anaphylactic Response (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 22: "You didn't use my cup, did you?" (Elliot, Alex)

Day 23: Under a Spell (Julian, Shu, RATED M)

Day 24: Tales from the Waiting Room (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 25: Summer Flu (Shu, Alex)

Day 26: Cardiac Arrest (Shu, Alex)

Day 27: This is non negotiable (Alex, Ryo)

Day 28: Pulling a Ferris Bueller (Rey, Felix)

Day 29: Sick on a Road Trip (Al, Theo)

Day 30: Contagion

[wilbyowo]

I’m not an author by any means, and i haven’t written anything in months so this may read badly or not make much sense but i tried to finish off a fic based on Fenrir and Cliff’s first meeting. I discussed them and built them up with a friend, cliff is a farmer from before the world died, he sounds similar to Big macintosh from Mlp. Fenrir is supposed to have quite a deep voice, a lot of Bass, he also has something similar to a Norwegian accent. Enjoy!

Sheep in wolves clothing

It started with a dull noise in the distance. Cliff was gathering whatever he could get, climbing into this building had caused him to cut his hand, and now he needed to find some kind of bandage in all of this mess. He’d looted all the cupboards, and tried to enter a few rooms but the damp air had made it both uncomfortable to try and stand in there, and dangerous as he was sure he’d seen black mould growing on one of the walls.

The noise was growing louder. Was it an earthquake? Or was one of the nearby office buildings about to give way and collapse? It wouldn’t be the first time, at least this time he wasn’t in it when the supports decided to keel. Cliff moved over to the window to peer out, golden light flooding his eyes as he attempted to see what was going on. It was a beautiful day. Years ago he would have been out in a field sitting within the familiar seat of his old Tractor, or making sure his old Sheepdog got her daily exercise quota met. He could almost smell the field, his old work clothes and the meals he used to cook as he felt the warm rays dance on his skin. His eyes closed as he allowed himself to bask in the memories.

The thumping stopped. Had the building collapsed already? Where was the noise?

Cliff opened his eyes, and the sun was gone. Something was coming towards the window, and he only had a moment to jump backwards as a massive object crashed though the remains of it’s wooden frame, flinging splinters left and right, before hooking and pulling the wall off. Cracking concrete and framework scraped his eardrums as he shielded his face, landing on his ass with a dull thump.

There was a faint crash below and then silence, the world seemed to still and the sun did not return.

“Oh no.” A voice rumbled above, the feeling of bass vibrating in Cliff’s chest as he moved his arm and stared at whatever- whoever- was speaking to him.

His heart stopped and everything went silent. Two sets of eyes glowed with an emotion he couldn’t place, focused on him like emerald lasers, all belonging to the same monster, its teeth peeking out from between lips that were easily wider than he was tall. A mess of thick brown hair that greyed at the roots framed its too-human face as it loomed, blocking out the light and filing Cliff’s vision.

A giant, and the biggest one he’d ever seen. He remembers when they first awoke, and how any survivors avoided the monsters, usually in vain as the beast’s sense of smell seemed to catch everyone off guard. And soon Cliff would likely join them.

It felt like a standoff between a mouse and a cat, both staring each other down and waiting for any movement to spring a chase into action. Cliff wasn’t gonna make the mistake of breaking eye contact, and he was fully prepared to sprint if he had to.

“Fuck…” The air vibrated with the sound once again as the monster’s scarred lips moved.

“You’re human. I don’t see much of you anymore.”

Cliff was stumped. It was trying to talk to him, like it wasn’t planning on killing him like many had done before him. Judging by the scars, this behemoth was not a stranger to a fight, so why was he trying to talk like it was mentioning the weather?

“You’re injured?” It questioned, tilting it’s head like a confused dog, the mane of brown hair tangling over parts of it’s head

Cliff had no idea how to respond. Truthfully, he wasn’t injured, but he didn’t know if the Giant was trying to trick him, or if it was genuine. He opted to stay silent.

Brows furrowed and the beast chewed its bottom lip.

A hand came up and toward him, Digits thicker than the trees gripping onto his leg and pulling him forwards before he could even react. The rest of its massive, Calloused palm soon wrapped around him, constricting his arms like a snake, and he was plunged into darkness, feeling the vibrations of footsteps that covered ground faster than he ever could. He just pictured home, sunny fields surrounded by woodland, and prayed to any god that would hear his plea.

[sunnixsunshine]

I cant stop drawing them helppppppppp 😩

[rhincoart]

(bdg voice) siblings siblings siblings siblings

finally got this lineup of my silly sibling ocs done after two months (+ higher quality individual versions below). their names, ages and heights are written how they would write it themselves

[kendsleyauthor]

💙Cherish + Soothe + Glimpse💙

Promptober 2023

Shot in the Dark - Dark Future AU (Cliff, Sylvia, Zia, Oliver)

~1400 words

Life got in the way, and I had to put off Promptober for a bit! But I'm determined to finish the rest of my planned ideas with the prompts. 💕 Enjoy this lovely angst fest 🥰

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Sylvia was still new to hunting. Although Cliff hid his worry behind quips and teasing, it tore him up inside each time she experienced a new horror. Not only was she improving as a hunter, but she was also improving at hiding how distraught she was.

Or maybe she was becoming as numb to it as he and Jon were. Somehow, that was worse.

Even still, she hadn’t learned every trick of the trade. 

Some monsters, like ghouls, were as stupid as they were hungry. Since they preferred living meat, they would shuffle right past a corpse—even a freshly killed one. Play dead well enough, and a ghoul would ignore you in favor of chasing someone who was still moving.

There was no time for Cliff to give her a heads-up. Hey Sylv, don’t worry, I’m not actually dead. Just pretending.

He and Jon had gone for the divide-and-conquer method in the abandoned factory, which was overrun with ghouls. The only ones left were the strongest—and a surprise attack was the best way to take them out. Jon was approaching fast through one of the branching halls that led to the main floor of the factory.

Cliff didn’t hesitate. Nasty as he was, he dropped beside a few of the other corpses and held still. He shut his eyes, listening closely for the right moment to spring up.

Jon hurried past him, aware of the impromptu plan. 

Sylvia screamed. To her, it was real.

The moment the last three ghouls moved past him, Cliff had no trouble springing up and shooting them all in the back of the head in quick succession. From there, it was all too easy for Jon to finish the job.

“Fucking stars, Cliff!” Sylvia’s voice was thick with tears as she flew to him. “I thought you were dead!”

For a second, she looked like she might send him a blast of ice in her rage. But her anger flickered out, and she flew into his chest. She gripped fistfuls of his shirt, burying herself against him as though to check if his heart was still beating.

He chuckled softly, cupping a hand beneath her. “Get a hold of yourself, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

She sniffled, but when she looked up, her expression was oddly blank. “Help me,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Fire reflected in her green eyes. Searing flames burst in every direction—an explosion that took his breath away.

Cliff held her close, looking around in alarm. The factory was gone. There was only fire. When she looked back down at his hands, Sylvia was limp. 

“Sylv?” he breathed. “Sylv!”

She stared up at him with glassy eyes. Empty.

Dead.

~~~~~

A sharp sting attacked the back of his neck.

Cliff jolted and sat up, eyes flying open to entirely new surroundings. His room at the safe house—mostly dark, save for faint glowing lights nearby. He caught his breath. A nightmare, he told himself. Just another nightmare.

“Did you have to be so harsh?” Zia demanded from the nightstand. She was the source of one of the glows, and her annoyance was directed at the other light.

A slight weight settled on Cliff’s shoulder, accompanied by Oliver’s voice. “You realize there’s no way to gently shock someone awake, right?”

Steadying himself, Cliff gruffly shooed Oliver off and rubbed the back of his neck. The sting faded, but his heart still pounded wildly as his racing mind caught up with the reality that he wasn’t in any danger.

As Oliver fluttered up closer, his teasing smirk dropped, eyes widening like he couldn’t figure out what to say.

Faintly embarrassed, Cliff realized his face was wet with tears. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “How bad was I?”

“You were talking in your sleep,” Zia said delicately. “When it started getting worse, we called your name, but you were sound asleep.” She fluttered up from the nightstand and approached him, laying a tiny hand on his forehead. “Are you alright?”

Judging by her tone, she already knew the answer.

“M’fine,” he muttered. He pulled away from them both and started to get up. “I’m going on a walk.”

“No!” Zia and Oliver said as one.

“You’re exhausted,” Zia said. “You need sleep.”

Cliff rolled his eyes, avoiding their concerned gazes. “What I need is to walk it off and get my mind away from it.”

But the moment he stood, Cliff wavered. His head spun with exhaustion. The past three days had been nonstop with minimal time for sleep in between his drives to and from the safe house. He had little to show for it, too—only a handful of fairies rescued. Of course the first time in days he tried to get a full night’s sleep, he was plagued with nightmares.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Oliver said. “And besides, if you head out, I’ll follow, just out of reach, and talk nonstop. You know I will.” He would. 

Cliff hesitated. Zia and Oliver took the opportunity to share a look and nod in agreement. They flew up to Cliff, each of them choosing a shoulder to push against and urge him back to bed. He could barely feel them, but he complied anyway. Laying back down with a sigh, he glared at the ceiling and tried to rid his mind of fiery images.

He felt a slight weight occupy the pillow beside his head. Zia’s soft voice was close to his ear. “Do you want me to do the calming spell?”

She had suggested it many times, but he rarely accepted the offer. It was a mixture of glamour and healing—the kind of spell that any fairy catcher and scientist would kill for. She decided he was worthy of that magic at every slight inconvenience. 

Sylvia’s corpse flashed through his mind. Then Jon’s.

Swallowing hard, he nodded. Not even a beat of silence passed before she started chanting in Fae.

Not too long ago, he was unfortunate enough to get sucked into one of the many news broadcasts that explained the understood science behind fairy’s healing abilities—about every affinity, really. Healers sped up the blood-clotting process and turned off pain receptors. Glamour had the same mind-altering hallucinogenic effects as hard drugs. Lightning magic was the result of a drastic reconfiguration of the electrons in the air.

Strangely, Oliver kept his distance, choosing a perch on the bed’s headboard post. He stared at Cliff with a strange, knowing look as though he’d worked out what Cliff may have been dreaming about. 

After all, Oliver could say he had similar dreams regularly—sometimes when he wasn’t even asleep.

While Zia worked her magic, Cliff raised his eyebrows at Oliver. “What’s got you shy all the sudden?”

Oliver cracked a smile. “I’m not much use for this part.”

“Who says you’ve got to be useful?”

“Who says you do?” Oliver challenged, gesturing grandly at Cliff’s dog-tired form.

There was little Cliff could do to argue against that, so he offered a soft, meltworthy smile and tapped his chest in invitation. “Fine. You wanna be useful? C’mere.”

Oliver gave him a flat look, but his forced indifference lasted for all of three seconds. His wings buzzed, and he landed softly on Cliff’s chest. Cliff’s muscles relaxed as Zia’s magic began to take effect. He felt Oliver crawl under his hand. He closed his fingers slightly, embracing him in a loose fist. He swore he could feel Oliver grip a handful of his shirt, though the gesture was so slight.

“How do you feel?” Zia asked. “Is it too much?”

Cliff turned his head and caught a glimpse of her again. Her gaze searched his face in the dark, eyelids heavy.

“It’s perfect,” he murmured. She knew him well enough by then—the pain was dulled, but not completely erased. It was just enough to lull him back to sleep without feeling that he was taking the easy way out or abusing her abilities. Not that she would ever call it that.

He brought his other hand to her and scooted her closer to his face before letting his grip relax over her. She nestled against him, a tiny exhalation of her breath brushing against his cheek. He had a feeling she’d allowed the net of the spell to wash over her and Oliver too.

With both of them clinging to him, Cliff fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[hypodermicfroggy]

Iconoclast

A good tragedy begins, like so many With the shadow of an eagle Cast over an old sailor's home.

His faith had been lost ages ago Beaten out of him By father and fatherland both

Despite the scars of wars fought With enemies both home and abroad He tries to find peace anyway

For what can all of the finery And all the riches of Olympus compare To the simple joys of love and family?

And his wife is not of this land or its gods She is bronze-skinned, her features proud She is not one to be made to bow

To be so brazen, so content without the gods Of course there would be a punishment Because to err is human, but jealousy is divine

The daughter that grows within his wife is not his But neither of them know That she was conceived by a reflection

At least, not until the day When he would be brought back to memories Of bloody and burning battlefields

The bird that soars over his home now It casts no shadow, for it is a beast Of jewel-like feathers and brilliant flame

It screams, echoing them as they burn The hundreds of unblinking eyes in its tail A hateful accusation amidst the mocking sound

And the sailor is left with nothing But the ashes of his life and love Carried away on the rivers of Phlegethon

Any other man would have simply been broken Fallen to his knees and wept then and there Begged the gods for forgiveness

But the sailor, though he weeps He does not prostrate and debase himself She did not bow, and neither would he.

As many tragedies as there are People love the stories of heroes just as much Men who fight back against monsters and tyrants

And the sailor knew, since his own youth There has been a whole host of tyrannical monsters Ruling over this place for many years

He speaks not to oracles of what to do He does not raise an army He does not beseech gods of other lands

Instead he walks alone Fixated on his skyward destination Cloud-hidden Olympus, home of the gods

And in that home, drunk on their ambrosia and power They laugh with such confidence Amused by this one mortal's determination

Obstacles are put in his path Some natural, a great deal not Things to liven up the entertainment

Only one of their number does not laugh She is the eldest, the wisest, and closest to man And knows what they've brought on themselves

Is it her protection that lets him make his journey? Or is it his fury that pushes him on The way a storm, fittingly, pushes ship to shore?

The answer is unknown But beasts and barricades do not deter him Pain and punishment do not scare him away

Until at long last, the sailor is there Standing where no mortal has before In the hall of the gods

They could have cast him out easily But instead he is kept among them A fool to dance until they tire of him

And it is on that sacred mount That he meets the others Who have also been 'blessed' by the gods

The heroic Heracles Who never asked to be his father's son And lost his own family for it anyway

The youthful Ganymede Kept eternally beautiful by his immortality With eyes that betray his millenia of service

The wandering Callisto A maddened beast pacing the skies Forsaken by the ones she thought loved her

The sweet Europa, and outcast Io Neither can bear the feasts of sacred beef But for very different reasons

And so many others, children and consorts Playthings of the powerful Kept in beds and prisons both

There are those who claim That man was crafted In the image of their gods

This is meant to imply, of course That there is a trace of divinity Within all of us

But the sailor sees the true nature of the gods - When he is subject to their tumult, Their moods, and whims, and vices

He knows now, it is not a compliment He knows instead it is a damnation Of his kind and themselves

To be cast in their image Simply means being just as corrupt and contemptible As the most wretched of mankind is

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

When he walks off the mountain His hands are drenched in ichor And he is no longer alone

Behind him walk ten, a hundred, a thousand All those who the gods claimed as theirs Once again free to live without fear

And he whispers as he bares his gold-stained teeth Feathers caught between them Like a feral wildcat glutted from one of its hunts

'Long live the king of the gods For the king of the gods is dead.'

[illastrologist]

“I am quiet, I bury no one, blood is drying beneath my nails. I do not know which me it belongs to.”

— Scene from a Ravenloft campaign.

[demaparbat-hp]

*pats Zuko's head* This bad boy can fit so many near-death experiences.

.

Read For the Spirits Chapter VIII here!

[malacandrax]

Priest/Rent boy OC's! After struggling to pay rent in the city, Cliff is forced to move back in with his parents. His hometown has a new priest, Father Eugene, and Cliff's mother is insistent that Cliff attend church to correct his delinquent behaviour. Father Eugene promises to pay special attention to the misguided young man, but Cliff’s immoral deeds go far beyond his mothers imagination.

>:3. I realised I finally have OC's I can share, sometimes I don't really draw sfw stuff with my OC's, since they're designed for my patreon, but for these two I am enjoying exploring the Tension.

[shion-yu]

Day 1: "I'm not hungover, I'm just sick."

@sicktember 2024 here we go! 1,254 words. CW emeto, friends with benefits, depression. I'm so excited to share these stories with you guys. They'll feature a mix of my OCs, long and short. This one features Phoenix, Cliff's law school roommate/shitty friend with benefits. A particularly angsty start to the month, but I promise Day 2 is way happier.

Spring break was a time for many of the students at NYU Law to get belligerently drunk. This was certainly true for Phoenix, Cliff's roommate. It was early Monday when Phoenix came home for the first time since Friday night stinking of stale clothes, alcohol and smoke. Cliff could smell him as soon as he barged into their shared bathroom without knocking, the odor sending him back over the toilet to gag where he'd already been vomiting for most of the night. Phoenix nearly stepped on him and Cliff stuck an arm out to stop him from doing so.

"Woah!" Phoenix exclaimed in surprise, clearly not expecting to find Cliff on the bathroom floor. "The hell are you doing down there, Cliffy?"

Cliff lifted his head from the toilet bowl to look at him in annoyance. His eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks streaked with dried tears. "What's it look like?" He rasped, wincing as speaking felt like sandpaper against his throat after a night of vomiting. "And I told you to stop calling me that."

Naturally, Phoenix ignored the request. He always would, and Cliff knew it. Even if he explained to Phoenix the reason he didn't want to be called that - because it was the name he had first called him - Phoenix wouldn't have cared. "I didn't think you wanted to go out this weekend,” Phoenix said. His voice sounded too cheerful for 3 AM on a Monday.

"I didn't go out," Cliff said, weakly hoisting himself to his feet. His legs shook with the effort and he grabbed onto the sink to keep from falling.

"Still hungover from Saturday, then? You should've come with me to Rita's," Phoenix said, grinning. "It was a great night."

Cliff scowled and pushed past Phoenix at the door. He would rather gag into the trashcan in his bedroom then put up with this. "I'm not hungover, I'm just sick," Cliff growled before losing his balance. He would have cracked his head on the doorframe if Phoenix hadn't caught him, a strong and muscular arm around Cliff’s too-thin waist.

"Woah, steady now," Phoenix said, his voice finally growing a touch concerned. "You're sick again? Shit, you're hot as fuck Cliffy. And I don't mean in a sexy way."

"Thanks, I knew what you meant," Cliff snapped, stumbling backwards to lean on the wall instead of continuing to rely on Phoenix’s support. "Leave me alone. I'll sleep it off." 

Phoenix crossed his arms indignantly. "What, you don't want me to take care of you? Fine. Not like I wanted to."

Cliff groaned. "That's not what I - ugh," Cliff stumbled again, breathing heavily. He was so goddamn dizzy. He was probably dehydrated; he hadn't been able to keep anything down since Saturday night. 

He felt Phoenix's cold hands grasp his face on either side. "Alright, don't fall over. Let's get you to bed. You're lucky I'm so nice," Phoenix said. 

Nice. Right. Nice was the last thing Cliff would use to describe his roommate. Nevertheless, he was at the mercy of Phoenix and let the taller man lead him to bed. "Phoenix, wait-" Cliff muttered as Phoenix moved all too quickly, but he was ignored and tossed onto the mattress anyways. The sharp movement made Cliff’s vertigo peak. The only reason he didn't vomit on his duvet was the complete lack of anything left in his stomach.

"Alright, what else do you need?" Phoenix asked. "Want your oxy? I could use one too, my head's killing me."

"No," Cliff said, knowing Phoenix was going to help himself to the narcotics anyways. It seemed to be Phoenix's favorite way to sleep off a weekend long bender, and while Phoenix had plenty of funds for recreational drugs there was a marked lack of risk when he simply took Cliff's. Cliff had an inkling that it was one of the only reasons Phoenix kept him around. That and perhaps because Cliff never tried to give Phoenix any reason to do better. He wasn’t Phoenix’s boyfriend, or even his friend. He was just a roommate, who sometimes was convenient for Phoenix to let off some steam with when Cliff let him. When Phoenix had his way with him, Cliff would pretend it was someone else. That fantasy was always short lived, because Phoenix was never gentle, unlike the person Cliff really ached to be with. 

Phoenix went to the kitchen and came back with a cold bottle of water. "Trade," he said, nabbing one of Cliff's pills with a little grin that made Cliff hate him. "Sleep tight, Cliffy," Phoenix said, then left Cliff's room.

Cliff slowly changed into clean pajamas, the ones he'd been wearing dirty from hours of sweating and vomiting through a night on the bathroom floor. Even changing clothes wasn't an easy task anymore, not since his diagnosis with sarcoidosis last year. He felt so sick - practically every day now. He dragged himself through classes at law school, barely keeping up his attendance enough to pass. His grades were terrible, nothing like his near-perfect LSAT score would have predicted. Every day he felt like a disappointment to himself, to his parents, and to...

He couldn't think about it anymore lest he start crying. And once he started, it would be too hard to stop: that he knew from experience. His empty stomach cramped painfully and Cliff groaned, curling in on himself. Ever since his stomach ulcer - and the breakup - he hadn't really been okay. Whether that had more to do with the stomach ulcer itself or the situation surrounding it, Cliff wasn't sure. He'd been diagnosed with sarcoidosis a few months after it all went down, but in a way very little had changed even with medications. He was still sick, nauseous and miserable all the time - he just had a name for it now. A name and a million pills he had to take daily to apparently keep him alive. He thought about simply getting rid of all of them more often than he would ever admit. 

Cliff pressed his burning face into the pillow, making long noises of discomfort with each exhale as he tried to get himself together. Minutes and hours blurred together as he lay there until he had no idea what time it was, or if it was 8AM yet and he was supposed to be in class.

Phoenix came into his bedroom at one point and gave Cliff some water that made Cliff cough and splutter. As much as Cliff hated Phoenix at times, he always showed back up in the end. Mostly when he wanted something in return, but sometimes, at moments like this, Cliff could pretend Phoenix actually cared. When Phoenix wrapped himself around Cliff, spooning him and telling Cliff he’d feel better later, Cliff would wonder if maybe there was something there after all.

“Don’t go,” Cliff heard himself whimper when Phoenix moved to leave him. The tears that sprang to his eyes were the most pathetic thing of all. “Stay.”

“I’ll check on you later,” was the response he got. Cliff knew the random burst of affection was over then, and Phoenix was gone. Cliff rolled over and cried. He missed Elliot. He missed how Elliot cared about Cliff so much that Cliff hadn’t been able to handle it. Even when Cliff was sick, or angry, or weak. He missed the words that used to make him freeze because he didn’t know how to return them. But it was too late to get that all back, now.

[wilbyowo]

His ass is NOT listening ‼️‼️

GORE WARNING UNDER CUT

Fenrir had a moment

[sunnixsunshine]

Whoops, more fankids 🤷‍♂️

[kunimilktea]

Doodle dump!

Brainrot so bad i made a fanchild 💀💀💀

Also dont ask me why i have tons of colored sketches in such a short amount of time im also freaking myself out 💀

[kendsleyauthor]

Cliff and Oliver sharing a bed!!

(And Zia if you want 😉💓)

((MORE LIKE Oliver and Zia sharing a bed and the bed is Cliff and they all care deeply and tenderly about each other 😜 Anyway, OT3--))

The Hunter, The Healer, and The Harlot

“I swear, Oliver, if you don’t hold still, I will put you to sleep for a long, long time.” Zia snatched his wrist and spoke through gritted teeth. Pursing her lips, she waved her other fingers over his forearm, gradually knitting the wound shut.

The cut had been unfortunate collateral damage during a dead-end mission. There were no more fairies to be rescued at the warehouse a couple of towns over, but there had been lingering armed guards and a close call. Oliver had slashed himself escaping through a shattered window.

He had haphazardly healed it himself, and Cliff wasted no time in getting him back to the Safehouse—and Zia. She pitched a fit when she saw the poor healing job. Cliff had ushered them to his room since it was closer to the entrance than the healing ward.

“Good to know I’m not your worst patient, Zee.” Cliff rested his head on the pillow, watching the pair of fairies on the nightstand. A soft smile quirked on his lips as they squabbled.

“You’re a close second,” she groused, throwing a narrowed-eyed look at Cliff. “And much harder to hold down.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, just look what I mean—” Oliver yanked his arm away, eliciting another agonized groan from Zia. “How come when I do it like this, there’s always a scar?” He murmured the healing incantation and waved a hand over the half-healed cut.

“Because you’re doing it wrong!” Zia wailed in distress and buried her face in her hands. She peeked between her fingers. “Cliff. Help. Please help before I strangle him.”

Oliver paused mid-spell to scoff. “Strangle? Sure You’re too sweet to—” The rest was cut off as Cliff sat up halfway and snatched him from the nightstand.

Any resulting protests died when Cliff pinned Oliver gently to his body, just below his chest. The squirms subsided almost immediately. He doubted Oliver would move even if he weren’t pinned on his back. 

“There,” Cliff said, flashing a smirk at Zia. “Shuts him up every time.”

“You do this to shut me up?” Oliver said, halfheartedly offended. He hummed. “Never mind. I won’t complain.”

“Seems effective.” Zia cracked a smile at the sight, flitting over. “Turn his arm over.” She nodded as Cliff flicked a finger and presented the back of Oliver’s forearm. “Perfect.”

She practically straddled Cliff’s index and middle fingers to reach the wound—inadvertently leaning over Oliver and sandwiching him between herself and Cliff. Oliver, for his part, contentedly turned his head to rub his cheek against Cliff’s shirt. Then he peeked up at Zia, and Cliff spotted the corner of a dizzy smile on his lips.

“I have something incredibly inappropriate to say,” Oliver announced. He sighed. “But I think I’ll just savor the moment.”

“And we thank you for that.” Zia seemed in much better spirits now that she didn’t have to strangle him. 

As she spoke the incantation, Cliff gingerly brushed her side with his thumb to keep her steady in her awkward position. She unabashedly leaned into his touch, and he swore he could feel her breathing slow to match the pace of his steady breaths beneath her. 

When she was finished, she flopped over beside Cliff’s hand and gave a heavy sigh.

Cliff chuckled and ran a fingertip across her forehead to swipe her hair out of her eyes. “I think being around Oliver makes you more dramatic,” he said.

Oliver, freed from Cliff’s hand, sat up and touched the healed wound. There was no trace of it other than a faint redness. “You’re incredible, Zee,” he sighed. “You should come with us next time.”

“So that you can comfortably throw yourself at every shard of glass in sight?” Zia laughed wryly. “No thanks.”

He waved her off. “Sharp objects can’t resist me, that’s not my fault. But really, really. The three of us would make such a great team. Think of it! The hunter, the healer, and…” Oliver put a hand on his chest and smiled prettily. “The harlot.”

Zia gave a beautiful whoop of laughter. “They’ll sing songs about us for generations to come.”

“See? It’s a good idea.” Oliver inspected the back of his forearm again and looked slightly less enthused. “You know… this actually would have been a great spot for a scar.”

Cliff delicately grabbed Oliver’s wrist and squinted. “You’re not wrong.”

“Stars.” Zia’s grin dropped into exasperated annoyance, but the aggravation didn’t quite reach the light in her eyes. “I’ve had enough. I’m heading back to the ward.” She stood on Cliff and stretched her arms and wings. “I prescribe you both with bed rest. Goodbye.”

“Oh, please. You know you’re in no mood to fly off.” Oliver stood and was by her side in an instant. “Why don’t you stay?”

Her face flushed. “I couldn’t.”

Cliff felt like a very dramatic play was being enacted on his torso. He cupped a hand beside the pair of them. “You could,” he said. “Plenty of room.” But he wasn’t holding his breath—Zia behaved as though the healing ward was her only source of oxygen.

She bit her lip and looked between them. “I don’t know…”

“Zia, dear.” Oliver took her hand. “You were in the ward before we left, you were in the ward when we arrived, and I’m sure you will be in the ward when Cliff and I meet some embarrassingly stupid death. You’re the best healer in the world, and all we’re asking for is a few moments for you to rest with us. Please.”

The melodramatic dumbass even kissed the back of her hand and clutched it to his chest, hitting her with the most pathetically puppy-eyed look in existence.

She gaped at him a second, and then gave a bemused laugh. “Fine.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cliff sat up a little, making the two fairies lose their footing and slide down a few inches—he dropped a hand to stop them. He pouted at Zia in particular. “I invite you to take a break all the damn time, and he gets a freakin’ yes just like that?”

She shrugged. “He’s very convincing.”

“You were pissed at him just a second ago!”

Oliver threw his arms around Zia’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “She got over it. Besides, look at me. Who can stay pissed at this face?”

Cliff rolled his eyes.

Zia grinned teasingly. “I can leave if you’re that offended.”

“No,” Cliff said immediately.

He cupped both hands around the fairies and laid back down. After a brief pause to contemplate where to set them, he brought his hands higher and tucked the fairies near his neck.

As he eased the pressure, he smiled faintly at the sensation of them adjusting around each other and settling against him. His eyes fluttered shut at the sound of their hushed laughter and bickering about whose limbs should go where.

When they finally stopped moving, Cliff brushed a thumb down to feel them. He recognized Zia’s pixie cut and the scars on Oliver’s wings.

Cliff let out a slow, contented sigh. He couldn’t keep them safe every second of the day—but here and now, he could shield them from the world behind his hands.

((A/N: Your Honor, I love them.))

[startheskelaton]

The Energon production and transportation team. I wanted to make the most confusing, dumb and stupid team known to man.

[dasnabs]

Clone high: metallica load era , 1996

Re design of an old fan art that I drew a long time ago 🤢