#star on their chest faintly visible through their clothes

[aroace-poly-show]

human loop designnnn :3 design choices ramble in tags

[auxiliarydetective]

Philomel - Amor vincit omnia

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The rain was starting to get stronger now. Still, Crawley stood safely under Aziraphale’s wing, the raindrops slipping right off. Unlike Crawley’s wings. What little water got on them would immediately soak them, eventually rendering them useless. At least his scales were waterproof. But right now, he would rather not be a snake. In fact, oddly enough, he felt pretty nice where he was at. He had started to hate most angels and Heaven as a whole, but there was something about Aziraphale. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been there when Crawley – well, he hadn’t been Crawley back then – had created his beloved stars and nebulae and… Or maybe it was just Aziraphale himself. It was the angel’s insecurities specifically that intrigued the demon because Aziraphale wasn’t pompous and arrogant like most angels ironically were. He was almost human. Speaking of humans… Adam and Eve, along with the angel’s flaming sword, had now disappeared behind the horizon. Out in the rain, with vicious animals stalking throughout the area, with no clothes and nothing but a flaming sword to keep them warm. Crawley looked over his shoulder into the Garden of Eden. He wondered why Adam and Eve had never even tried going back. There were trees here where they would be safe from the rain, or they could just hide under one of the gates or the hole in the wall they had exited through.

Suddenly, he spotted something down in the garden. One of the lakes, the one closest to him and Aziraphale, was in motion, not just from the raindrops falling onto its surface, but from something else entirely. Then again, maybe it did have something to do with the rain because it clearly hadn’t been going on before. Crawley nudged Aziraphale in the side, the angel squeaking at the demon’s touch. Still, he followed his gaze. But in turning around, his protective wing was moved away from over Crawley, thick droplets gathering in his hair and feathers. Normally, he would have complained, but he was too captivated by what was happening before him. Circular waves were being pushed out from the middle of the lake, gently rolling onto the shore. Little by little, the origin of this motion started glowing. The light got stronger, prompting Crawley to maybe, potentially, want to run away. What if this was some heavenly intervention? But he found himself glued to the ground, mesmerized by the sight.

The glow kept growing stronger until, finally, a figure broke through the surface. The water cast into the air around their form sparkled in the few rays of light still shining through the clouds like dozens of tiny stars. That alone would have been beautiful, but the figure emerging from the lake outshadowed this display of nature’s wonders with ease. Slowly, they walked out of the lake, revealing their form in full as their eyes wandered around the garden. She looked like Eve. Though only faintly. In fact, they looked very different, with the new creation’s skin being as pale as that of Crawley and Aziraphale and her hair a peachy color. Still, some traits of Eve were visible in her - hints of her facial features, a certain wave in her hair. However, the clearest resemblance was the creation’s body, but, as with all the features she seemed to share with Eve, they were far more elevated, perfected, ethereal, otherworldly. Her sculpted legs, her rounded hips, her flat yet soft stomach, her flawless chest, her graceful face with its pinkish lips and rosy cheeks and… her eyes. By God and Satan, her eyes. They were mesmerizing. From all directions of the garden, little birds flew towards her, some carrying a light pink fabric, some carrying flowers that they placed in her hair with its waves flowing down to just past her hip. When they covered her up, Crawley, for the first time, remembered to blink and breathe.

“She’s gorgeous,” Aziraphale gasped next to him. “How can Hell make something so gorgeous?”

“Hell?” Crowley echoed. “Why’d you think my side made her?”

“Well, she came out of the ground.”

“Nonsense, angel, she came out of the water. Didn’t you see the light, the animals, and the pink? Hell doesn’t do that.”

The creation, now clothed in a flowing dress and crowned with flowers, smiled at the angel and the demon, once again knocking all sense out of them for a moment. Then, she spread her wings and flew up to them. Her feathers were almost white. But just almost, with a slight pink hue to them. Aziraphale and Crawley stepped apart and she landed between them, shielding them both with her wings.

“Careful, you’ll get wet.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Aziraphale stammered. Crawley eyed him confusedly as he tried to gather his words. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’ll say,” the creation replied. From up close, her eyes looked the color of cherry blossoms. “I had expected Adam and Eve, but you clearly aren’t human. Who might you be?”

“Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate,” Aziraphale quickly introduced himself, taking the hand offered to him. “And this is-“

“Crawley,” Crawley cut in, mirroring Aziraphale’s gesture. The creation’s skin was soft and warm. “And you are?”

“Philomel, Embodiment of Love.”

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Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

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With a terrified shriek, Philomel was pushed over the edge. She fell faster and faster, the light of Heaven disappearing behind her. As she shot downwards, her body heated up. But not in the way it did when she used her powers or was in love or around people exuding love. This was painful, excruciating even – and not just on the outside. Inside her chest, she felt her heart shatter into a billion pieces. She flapped her wings helplessly, trying to gain some lift or at least slow down, but it was no use. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her feathers catch fire. Explosions sounded around her, echoing in her eardrums. Scalding hot tears burned in her eyes and she covered her face, not daring to look as she shot downwards. She didn’t want to go to Hell, she hated Hell, the only good thing to ever come out of Hell was Crowley and he didn’t count because he had been an angel once. There was no telling what Hell would do to her once she arrived, especially once they realized she would refuse to do their bidding. Her purpose, her whole entire purpose and desire, was to spread love, and she would never do anything else, no matter what happened. That was what the Almighty had tasked her with doing. Thus, this couldn’t be happening, right? She had done nothing wrong. This all had to be one big mistake! This couldn’t-

Suddenly, her fall slowed down and came to a stop. But she hadn’t hit the ground. Everything was spinning and she wasn’t even sure she could tell up from down anymore. She felt two pairs of hands on her body, gently stabilizing her. Blinking the tears away, she opened her eyes. When her blurry vision cleared, she saw Crowley beneath her, holding her hips.

“There we are,” he said with a hint of a smile, pupils widened behind his sunglasses. “How’s the dizziness, slowly gettin’ better?”

“Don’t worry, dear, you’re safe for now,” Aziraphale’s voice came from above, his hands on her waist.

All the while, the explosions continued, and Philomel was sure there was a large fire not too far from them.

“I- Wha-“ Philomel stammered. “I don’t- Where am I?”

“A couple yards above the ground, not too far off from London.”

“London? Earth London?”

“Yes.”

Crowley and Aziraphale slowly maneuvered her further downwards until her feet touched the ground. Immediately, her knees buckled beneath her and she held on to Crowley for support. Her body felt like overcooked noodles and her wings were sore and heavy. Carefully, Aziraphale hovered over her, extinguishing the flames all across her feathers, mending her clothes and cleaning the soot off her skin and hair.

“Then I didn’t go to Hell,” she concluded.

“No,” Crowley assured her. “Trust me, you would’ve felt that, crashing through the ground.”

“Then I’m not a demon.”

“Well, uh-“ Aziraphale mumbled, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I need to go back up there!” Philomel called out, her voice cracking.

“No, Mel,” Crowley cut in. “There’s no-“

“No, you don’t understand. They don’t understand. This is all one big misunderstanding! If they’ll just let me talk to the Almighty then-“ She beat her wings, only to wince in pain.

“There is no going back up, Mel,” Crowley told her, slowly and clearly, pity swinging in his voice. “I’m sorry, but this is the way falling works. Once you go down, there’s no going back up.”

Philomel looked over her shoulder at Aziraphale, who looked heartbroken but also comforting.

“You still have a place on Earth,” he told her. “And with me, if you’d like.”

“You would… But… But what if Heaven finds out you’ve been sheltering me and- and they make you fall too? I can’t risk that Aziraphale, I really can’t.”

“Well, you’re in no shape to go anywhere on your own,” Aziraphale protested. “The word of God says, ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’, and right now, you are standing next to me. So, by helping you, I’m doing the right thing.”

“Heaven and Hell both don’t have to find out if we could just get out of here,” Crowley hissed. “C’mon, hide those wings and we’ll go for a drive. The Bentley’s just down this hill. I’ll give you a rundown of what’s happening to you once we’re on the road.”

With some effort, Philomel managed to hide her wings and slung her arms over Crowley and Aziraphale’s shoulders, letting them shore her as they walked.

“Crowley,” she gasped hoarsely, looking up into the demon’s serpentine eyes.

“Hm?”

“I’m scared.

“I know, I can tell. Which is why I’m not leavin’ you ‘till you feel better.”

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Tagging: @starlit-epiphany @endless-oc-creations @come-along-pond

[gmanwhore]

…. What Zircon saw beyond the door sent surging electricity through every nerve in xir body.

A thin figure was seated in a comfortable armchair near the opposite wall, with an unlit cigarette in his left hand. He wore a sky blue suit, his hair reached his shoulders and was a vibrant, fiery orange-red. His face, brushed with brightly coloured makeup, was strangely symmetrical and bore a thoughtful expression as he stared somewhere into the distance; he looked more like a doll than a living being, except for his eyes, which were a greenish gray, and contained a hopeful spark, with one pupil visibly bigger than the other. Zircon’s eyes darted to golden circle glittering brightly in his forehead: xe had seen this being before.

Xe had looked at him in awe in faded photographs, watched holographic images of him sing the songs that inspired xir career through speakers, emulated him in the mirror with an imaginary guitar in xir hands for decades, worried that xe might be copying his style a bit too closely…

But it simply couldn’t be. Ziggy Stardust was dead. His body was discovered in xir own universe over a century ago, with no signs of damage but undeniably deceased, his ashes were scattered across the Milky Way galaxy, it was all public information, and the world of music mourned. Zircon had mourned with it, crying xirself to sleep at the thought that the greatest musician in the universe, quite possibly in the Multiverse, would never release another album again, xe’d never see xir idol live, that of all the beings in the universe, it had to be him.

And yet…

“You’ll be Zircon Moongazer, right? Kuria’s told me to expect you.”

Xe would know that voice, with the accent almost reminiscent of the one he often heard on Earth, anywhere. Zircon resisted the urge to pinch xirself; it couldn’t not be a dream, but xir own thumping hearts and the whirlwind of thoughts in xir mind could only be reality.

“Don’t be shy, you can come closer if you want.”

Zircon took a few nervous steps forward. Xe was only a meter or so away from him now. Ziggy got to his feet with a strange grace to his movement, dropping the still unlit cigarette into a nearby empty ashtray, and extended a faintly glittering hand for Zircon to shake. Even in his platform boots, he was considerably shorter than Zircon, who raised xir arm… and stopped, the excitement in xir fingers almost panic, almost painful.

“Go on!” Ziggy encouraged, with a nod.

Zircon reached out and grabbed the hand. Smooth. Smaller than xirs. Covered in a strange, soft powdery texture. Cold, but clearly not dead. Real. Undeniably alive.

The excited child in xir mind who had held that first record in xir hands with joyful tears in xir eyes broke loose, and xe shook his hand with all of the energy xe felt when xe had entered the room. Xe didn’t even notice the increasing speed in vigor with which xe moved xir hand up and down over the soaring feeling in xir chest. Ziggy Stardust was alive! Alive, and standing right in front of xir! Xe was shaking Ziggy Stardust’s hand! Xe was-

CRACK.

A little explosion of glittering space dust, like a tiny nebula, clouded Zircon’s vision for a couple of seconds.

Then, xir heart stopped.

Xe was still holding Ziggy’s hand, which had broken clean off at the elbow joint as Ziggy’s sky blue sleeve hung, loose and empty, from the elbow down. At the break, the arm seemed to be tightly packed full of that same multicolored glitter that was now settling everywhere including the floor, the armchair and the fronts of both Zircon’s and Ziggy’s clothes.

“Oh my stars! Holy crap! Mr Stardust I’m so sorry!”

Xe heard xir own voice break at squeaky, panicked peaks as xe yelled xir horrified apologies, but Ziggy only responded with a wide smile, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth.

“No worries! Does that all the time.”

He took the left arm from Zircon’s hand with his right, nonchalantly inserting it back into his sleeve and twisting it slightly in place.

“Believe me, it’s gotten me in some way worse situations. I’ve learned to reinforce the fingers so I don’t accidentally slice them off playing guitar in the middle of a gig, but the elbow joints have always been a right piece of work. This body’s due for a replacement soon anyway.”

He tested the movement in his fingers, rolling them in sync in a single smooth motion as though strumming invisible guitar strings, despite the fact that, from what Zircon had just seen, there was not a bone nor a muscle in that hand.

“H…how?”

He chuckled.

“I get that question a lot. Kuria and the Starman Eternal say you’re a trustworthy fellow, so I guess I can spill the whole truth. I happen to be something called an Okkina. My kind don’t have physical bodies at birth, so we drift in space and gather the dust of fallen stars to build a form for ourselves. Aside from being proof of my remarkable lack of naming creativity, this body isn’t really ‘me’, but it does contain ‘me’, if that makes any sort of sense.”

Zircon nodded.

“If one body’s destroyed, or I just feel like moving on from it, I can just hop out and make myself a new one. Regeneration takes a little while, but… I suppose that clears up the whole ‘legally dead in your universe’ thing, eh? Now, does this mean I can hypothetically live forever? Well, not under normal circumstances, consciousness tends to drift apart around the sixth millennium, but I happened to have an encounter with one ‘Keeper of Strings’ during my travels, and, well… let’s just say the Starman Eternal allowed it, and you needn’t ever worry about losing me again!”

Zircon remained silent for a moment, taking it all in.

“Mr Stardust, that’s… incredible… I…”

“Oh, cut the ‘Mr Stardust’ formalities, just ‘Ziggy’s fine! I didn’t come here to recount my life story, given the fact that you likely know most of it already and can fill in the gaps with what I’ve told you just now. I came here because I love your music, and I’d like to propose… let’s call it a collaboration!”

This time, Zircon actually did pinch xirself in the side, prompting another chuckle from Ziggy.

“Of course, Mr Star- I mean, Ziggy! I’d love to hear all of your suggestions!!”

(I’ll finish this later, I still have ideas)

PJOHIOUGYVFKDTFGUIOG FBYTFTSD THIS IS WONDERFULLLL

[always-sleeping-in-his-grave]

⏳

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

"Believe it or not," Dallas confesses. "I tried to keep Kent and I out of the killin' business for as long as possible."

Letting out a deep exhale through his nose as he continues, "being two orphaned children with nothin' but the clothes on our backs, jobs didn't come by so easy for us. I offered my services to countless businesses, only to get rejected every time. I was only a child after all and what experienced company would want to hire some random Imp with no experience in the workin' force. And a hybrid one at that." The barley-controlled ire could be heard faintly on his tongue, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

Recalling these events from their lives always brought out a familiar pain in his soul. A shattering one. "Nearly broke my heart every time I had to come back to Kent with my tail between my legs, breakin' the bad news with an ache in my chest."

He tried to keep his composure, "We didn't have a place to stay at the time, so we'd just camp out under bridges or inside abandoned houses. Usin' campfires to keep us warm durin' the cold nights. Whatever food I had managed to steal for the day, I always made sure to give Kent the first and biggest ration. I knew it was never enough. They were a far cry from ma's chicken pot pie or pork posole, but we had to take what we were given." A faint tug at the corner of his lips was now visible as he was brought back to fonder memories of home.

Only for his face to fall blank again. "I never thought that I would ever get so desperate to steal. I only started once it became increasingly clear that we couldn't survive on the land anymore. And I needed to do whatever I could for Kent."

Dallas paused briefly, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. He prefers not to smoke, but he needed something to soothe the anxiety while he continued to talk. Lighting it up with a bit of tremor in his hands. Savoring the nicotine like fine wine.

"Occasionally," he said through mouthful of smoke. "There would be those rare moments were life would seem a little easier and we could just forget about everything for a few fleetin' minutes. Like during the clear nights where we'd lay out underneath the stars and try to find the constellations or play in mud puddles after a heavy storm," through the thick cloud of smoke, you can barely make out the gleaming look in his eyes. "But, reality likes to rear its ugly head in whenever I start to notice Kent's lack of body weight, or how his favorite boots were starting to fall apart. Even if I could hold him close to protect him from the unforgivin' elements, he would still shiver in my grasp no matter how tightly I held."

He continued to take more puffs in, as the hand left unoccupied unintentionally began to dig into his leg. Guilt heavy on his mind.

"It had gotten so bad for us that I almost gave up entirely, thought we would be better off stuffed inside some dingy orphanage. At least there we would have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies," His posture became less tensed. "But I've heard the stories about the rampant abuse and neglect that goes on behind closed doors. Just thinking about what they do to those poor little bastards made me quickly change my mind."

Dallas started to recline against the seat, letting the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders to finally release after so much time and tension. It almost felt cathartic to let it all out, now that the worst was behind them.

"Then one day," he said more easily, hoping to start on a more positive note. "Luck had finally shined down on us in the form of an ad in the newspaper about a courier job that was hirin' urgently with good pay. Just enough for us to stop stealin', start savin' for a house, and purchase a new pair of boots for Kent."

"I tried to look as presentable as I could with what little we had at the time. I washed out the faded stains from my less soiled clothes in a creek nearby, scrubbed my face from all the grit and grim that had been buildin' up, and combed out the tangles in my hair to at least appear somewhat like a member of society."

He chuckled suddenly as he suddenly remembered.

"And I must have made quite the impression. Because I think the last thing this fella was expectin' to see enter his cigarette smelling, wallpaper peeling office, was some scruffy looking kid from the streets askin' for a job. Though, he did get a good laugh out of it."

His chuckle was now a full-blown laugh, nearly coughing on the smoke as he did so.

"He asked if I was fuckin' with him. To which I replied, 'Do I look like I'm fuckin' with ya?' That only seemed to make him laugh harder."

The smirk on Dallas' face grew too genuine as he recalled his time with the Imp.

"He introduced himself with a yellow stained grin as Graves and hired me on the spot. While intimidatin' at first glance, him being one of the few Imps to start a business here in Hell actually made me more relaxed around him. Even if his business was shady at best. But that's why he left the tougher jobs to the more experienced employes."

"I followed every task he'd given me as flawlessly as I could. This was the only source of income after all, I couldn't mess this up. But with how much Graves was impressed with a brat like me, he put in a good word for me to his buddies incase things went south."

His eyes dimmed down and his mouth set in a hard line. "Unfortunately, the old son-of-a-bitch was murdered in his office while the others and I were busy with some job. Apparently, he had been scammin' the wrong crowd and one of them had finally had enough of it..."

He's seen his fair share of dead bodies, but the way they found his mangled corpse left a sour taste in Dallas' mouth.

"Was a shame, I think he was actually starting to like me too..." Leaving off on a somber note.

[caramellahoney]

"PART III: miracle."

pairings: Husband-Dad! Camilo x Fem! Reader

genre: Hurt/Comfort! Fluff!

warning/s: injuries, slight mentions of war

!! Everyone is aged up by 12 years ; Camilo is 27 , your kids are 4 , Antonio is 17 and so on.

🌻🌻🌻

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4 | FINALE

Y/N stood, her legs shaking as she tried to heave herself up, nearly falling from her lightheadedness if it weren't for the strong pair of arms hoisting her up. Camilo took his wife into his arms, easily supporting her weight as he walked towards the tent Antonio set up. Her condition worsened since last afternoon and her body was fighting for rest. She took low ragged breaths and turned her gaze upwards, observing the stars that filled the dark sky. She watched carefully as clouds scattered and floated around, feeling a wave of calmness suddenly fill her.

"Death doesn't seem so bad.." Y/N joked. A pained smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushed, and the corner of her eyes crinkled as she laughed lightly at her own joke. Camilo heard her and his eyes grew wide in horror, immediately whipping his head to glance at her form. Her 'joke' did nothing but terrify him and he frowned deeply, unconsciously holding her tighter.

"Don't-" He paused. "You can't leave us yet." Camilo spoke, his tone soft as his voice cracked ever so slightly. She lifted her head, seeing Camilo's eyebrows creased- an unreadable expression on his face. Her heart broke, eyes turning soft as she brought her hand up, pushing loose curls away from his face.

"I won't. I promise." Camilo leaned into her touch, lips quirking into a light smile. He ducked down as he entered the tent, quickly walking over to the bed in the corner. Julietta stood by the bed, a distressed look on her face as her sobrino rushed over.

"Be gentle, her wounds are still tender." Julietta warned him, her hands adjusting the sheets on the ground. Camilo gently set his wife down on the makeshift bed, his feet stumbling slightly. Once her back hit the sheets, Y/N let out a deep sigh of relief. She let her muscles relax, sinking back onto the layered piles of cloth.

"There you go, I heard they've already managed to set up a fire. I do think we still have some raw fish left over. I'll go cook something up for you." Julietta smiled softly, patting her hands down on her skirt. She walked towards Camilo, placing a gentle hand on her nephew's arm.

"Try not to worry so much, sobrino. She'll be just alright." Camilo hesitantly nodded, tapping his fingers against his thigh. She patted his arm and walked out of the tent, leaving the couple alone. Elias and Fernando were with Pepa and Felix as they wanted to give the two a quick break to compose themselves. Y/N smiled and opened her arms up, urging Camilo to come closer. Her husband smiled and kneeled down beside her bed, wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, careful not to touch her wound.

"That was terrifying to see, you know." Camilo mumbled, his hand reaching for hers; smiling faintly when their rings clicked together. Y/N didn't miss how his hand lightly shook in her grasp. She shifted slightly, turning her body towards Camilo so she could run a hand through his curls. A comforting silence washed over the room as the couple silently held each other in their arms.

┈ ✁✃✁ ┈

Julietta walked into the tent, holding a plate of fish and a glass of water in her hands. Camilo separated from his wife and took the plate from his Tia's hands. He broke apart a piece of the fish and pressed it against her lips, watching as she eagerly opened her mouth, taking the meat in her mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing.

Camilo observed her as she reached for the glass of water, nervously glancing at her wound. A few minutes passed and her scabs and scarring slowly faded away. He softly pressed his palm flat against the surface of her abdomen. He caressed her now smooth skin and visibly relaxed, the tension in his chest easing. Y/N smiled and turned to Julietta, quietly thanking the woman.

"Thank you, Tia." Camilo turned to Julietta and pulled her into a hug. Julietta laughed and patted his back, parting away from her nephew.

"Oh it's alright, I'm just glad you're safe. Make sure to get some rest for now." The couple bid her goodbye as she quickly rushed out the room, possibly to tend to other injured villagers. Camilo turned and met his wife's gaze again, she gestured for him to come over and he grinned. The shapeshifter immediately buried himself in her arms, sighing softly when her hands traveled up into his hair, carding through his curls. He held her against him and let himself lay back, coming to rest on the thin blanket, the uncomfortable position strained his back, but he didn’t dare move.

Here, in the tent, lit only partially by their wedding candle, it was hard for Camilo to recall the dark misery of hours before. He smiled softly, eyes fluttering shut as he heaved out a deep sigh, perhaps he could pretend tonight was just like any other.

┈ ✁✃✁ ┈

Dolores quickly weaved through the crowd, eyes darting around for a familiar dark haired girl. People were hustling and rushing around her, far too busy setting up temporary shelters and building fires. The sky above her grew darker, wind blowing stronger now as the leaves on the trees rustled loudly. A cold breeze passed by her and she shivered, clutching her shawl closer against her body. Dolores cupped a hand behind her ear, listening carefully for a familiar voice. There!

"Mirabel!" Dolores quickly rushed over, reaching for her shoulder. Mirabel jumped and turned to smile at Dolores though her enthusiasm quickly dropped when she saw the distressed look on her primas face. Mirabel swiftly grabbed Dolores's arm and guided her to a vacant lot, raising her brows as she silently questioned the woman.

"It's about the soldiers. I heard them mumbling and muttering about something." Mirabel froze, fear swimming around in her pupils.

Mirabel bit the inside of her cheek. "What? What did you hear?" She gripped Dolores's shoulders tightly, urging her to continue. Dolores hesitated for a moment, feeling ill as the horrifying sounds she heard replayed in her mind. The anguished screaming, the deafening sounds of crackling fire-she shut her eyes painfully, taking a deep breath to compose herself.

"I've heard whispers about a conflict, conquistadors maybe?" I think they're ransacking our village, I've heard them crashing through houses." Dolores muttered, watching as Mirabel ran a hand through her hair.

"¿Qué? Conquistadors? What- we haven't heard of those soldiers for years. Why are they suddenly- how did they even-" Dolores watched with worried eyes as Mirabel nervously rubbed her hands together, pacing around the place. She slowly walked towards the girl, engulfing her in a big hug. Mirabel let out a shaky sigh and relaxed against her prima, silently thanking Dolores for the comfort.

Mirabel's head whirled as her brain painfully throbbed. A mix of fury and genuine fear flooded her mind while her eyes were blown wide. She took in deep heavy breathes, trying to not let her fear show even though there was no one judging her for doing so. Her body felt exhausted but she didn't know if she wanted sleep. Tired but not enough to allow herself to rest, not when there were people who needed her. A few moments passed before she broke away from Dolores's embrace, quickly rushing to her feet.

"Dolores. Do you know where tio Bruno is?" Dolores squeaked and tilted her head as she tried to listen for him. A few seconds passed before she quickly nodded her head and pointed behind her. Before she could utter a word, Mirabel quickly rushed off, a determined look plastered on her face. Dolores watched her with a curious gaze, sighing to herself.

"There she goes..."

PART 4

taglist (send an ask to be added, I might not see your comments ;-;):

A/N: Sorry if this is shite, I had a heavy fever and the flue when I wrote this

@dai-tsukki-desu @camilolovesroxiie @whocaresifwearecrazy @alexaizawa @mayuhiideyo135 @rosiefaeriee @mouchie @insomniacwreck @porcelainpeachess @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @xdyledz @cralaaa @thelovehashira143 @herladyfangirl @chayauwu @deffenferofjustice @thesloppiestbitch @childejuicynigfatthickcum @generousdoodleforillustration @moriarty666luna @camilos-mivida @tomiesbitch @azrielxx @afire24 @afluffyboi @troubledwithlife

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Hello doll, it's Minty! 💚 I saw your requests are open and I simply had to dance into your inbox! I would adore a Bad Batch Western AU fix with Crosshair and the sentence prompt "If that wound doesn't kill you, then I will". I love you friend! 💚💛💚💛💚

Crosshair – Dust and Blood (TBB Western AU)

Summary: Every story need a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the beginning, and it starts with a man who calls himself Crosshair.

From the sentence prompts:

22. “If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

Word Count: ≈1535 words

CW/ TW: Angst? Idk if you could say it’s angsty - it’s not happy that’s for sure but angsty? Idk anyway; western stuff, wounds/ injuries, (death) threats, pain, scars, blood

Tags: @mintywriteswritings @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s (thank you again for the help!) @dusk-dawn-and-stars @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad @equalityforcats

@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023

Notes: This is so exciting for me you can’t even imagine; thank you Minty for the request! I’m really happy to dive a bit more into the stories of the boys, and Crosshair’s arc is one I’m really happy to explore ^^

Also feel free to check Little One – Highly Suspect (you’ll find out a lot of their songs help me dive into that AU)

Dust.

This is how everything started, and how everything would end. He knew it the moment he jumped down his horse, a grimace of pain twisting his face as the dry coat of blood on his ribs ripped open once again. He tried to take a deep breath but stopped halfway, the pumping in his head becoming too strong to focus on anything else. He almost tripped on his feet, grabbing the beige mane of his companion to keep himself up; which made the horse neigh.

“Sorry, pal.” He barely muttered, unable to do more than loosen up his grip a bit.

Above him, an old sign falling into pieces, and a barely readable inscription on it; bleached by the constant exposure to the sun and the occasional rains.

Marauder Valley.

He walked through the entrance of the abandoned village – if one could call it a village – and wandered next to his horse, looking for shelter and a new shirt. His was tainted with red; dark and dried, smelling like iron and sweat. His wound wasn't bleeding too much anymore, but he could still feel a thin dash dripping against his skin when he was turning around or raising his arm.

It took him a few minutes to find the abandoned saloon, and the sight made him hum in a mixture of disgust and relief. A thick coat of dust was laying on the floor, and most of the bottles and tables were left to be; frozen in the middle of their usual occupations. A deck of cards was spread on one of them, and he came closer to take a better look.

Poker. And it was a good hand. Whoever played it knew what they were doing.

The wooden floor was lightly creaking under his feet as he walked around; and hadn’t it be for the few footsteps he was leaving behind, no one could have guessed he came here. He took a small hallway, leading to a few unsanitary rooms – barely big enough for a bed and a chair for most of them – and looked under the beds for a medical wallet or something he could use to patch himself up. His head was spinning a bit, but the clicking of a gun’s chamber and the cold metal tickling the back of his neck felt more important in the moment.

“If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

He slowly turned around, hands barely raised to show he intended no harm, and came face to face with a lady; probably in her mid-forties, small and chubby, and visibly determined to fulfil her promise.

“I need a doctor.”

“You won’t find any ‘round here.”

“Then a drink will do.” he shrugged, unimpressed.

“We’re going out and get you a drink then.”

She moved the cannon of her gun toward the main room, letting him open the way. He went in with the hope of getting some rest and medicine, and got back outside empty-handed and under the threat of an armed lady; bathed by the burning sunrays of a hot afternoon, in the middle of nowhere.

Nothing had changed during his little visit in the saloon but his state. He tripped on his feet, unable to focus on the stairs and the figure next to him, and fell on his knees next to his horse. The pain was getting worse; stinging and burning, the sensation of warm blood dripping from his open wound and straining his shirt even more; and the headache, the heat, the shivers-

“Alright, sit down.”

He dropped his weight on his behind, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Stay here. And don’t faint!” the woman warned as she walked away from him, disappearing behind the horse. His head felt too heavy, his veins pumping too hard to let him think straight. He let himself lay back against the dusty wooden floor, closing his eyes under the bright light burning above him.

He woke up when cold water splashed his face, making him jolt and grimace in pain.

“ Told you not to faint.”

“I didn’t.” he groaned, trying to sit again, the coat of blood ripping itself a bit as he did.

“Feel like y’can walk?” she looked down at him with a sort of irritated worry. He nodded, grabbing the guardrail to get up, slowly. “Good. Follow me.”

He stumbled a bit, trying to catch up with the woman. He thought he could handle it; he had gone through a lot to get here, and it couldn’t be worse than what he had left behind.

Or maybe it could be.

The loud thud of a body falling on the ground caught the woman’s attention, and as she turned around, a sigh escaped from between her lips.

“Great… Now I have to get the big guy.”

.

Waking up was painful, sudden. His ribs were on fire, his eye stinging – though the light was filtering through old curtains – and the remaining of his headache was still blurring his vision. He didn’t noticed the comfort of the mattress right away, neither the voices filling the room he was in.

“Ha, coming back to us. Told ya ‘t would work.” A deep voice commented in a smile.

“And that?” the woman’s voice asked, and he guessed she was pointing at his wounded ribs. He brushed the tips of his fingers against his own torso, realizing he was bare skin and wrapped in a bandage.

“Can’t do miracles. ‘Have to rest for a few days, go easy with manual tasks for a while.”

He let out a groan when he heard the recommendation, and tried to move his arms to push himself up and sit in the bed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice advised in a laugh, “Unless ya want to open that wound ‘gain.”

He blinked a few times, and managed to see who was talking to him; a man, tall and visibly strong, dressed with dirty clothes and a squared shirt – probably a farmer. A scar was covering the side of his bald head and reached his left eye. The man was neither scary nor impressive, and seemed friendly enough.

He abandoned the idea of sitting, letting go of the light pressure he had put on his elbows and falling down against the mattress. His head gently buried itself in the pillow, and he let out a long, tired sigh.

“Who’re you?” he muttered in his breath, turning his head their way to look at them.

“’Name’s Cid,” the woman told him, “and he’s the big guy.”

“You know that’s not my name.” the man chuckled, and his voice filled the room with warmth and amusement as he looked at Cid.

“Don’t know your name, and couldn’t care less about it.” she shrugged.

“And you are?” the big guy asked, shifting his attention back to him.

He had expected the question, and he knew the simple answer would be to give his name. But he couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore, and his spite told him to go for that one instead. After all, it was “made for him”.

“Crosshair.”

 “Well then, welcome to Marauder Valley Crosshair.” The man smiled at him.

He didn’t feel like returning the gesture, but nodded nonetheless, out of respect and gratitude for their help. He scanned the room, bringing a hand to his face; a light grimace twisting his mouth as he felt the skin stretching on the side of his body.

His fingers ran against his scar around his eye, trying to sooth the stinging pain. It was still recent, bright red, not quite blending in with his warm skintone.

“Well, ‘gotta leave now,” the big guy smiled, grabbing his hat in hand as he walked toward the door, “but if you need anything, I won’t be far.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cid pushed him out of the room, following his steps, “we know. You,” she pointed to Crosshair, “don’t play stupid, stay in bed.”

And on these words, she dragged the door behind her, slamming it before her heeled steps hit the apparent stairs outside the room. Crosshair stared at the door for a moment, contemplating once again getting up, but he was tired, and the bed was comfortable; and these people didn’t seem to want him any harm.

He didn’t seem to want any harm either, right, “Crosshair”?

He groaned faintly at the thought, and his hand dropped from his face to his chest, barely grabbing the thin blanket above him. He was far from him; from them, and now he just needed to sleep the pain away.

Sleep the pain away. Sleep.

Don’t let them get to you. Because they will get to you.

He will find you, you know he will.

They did this to you. They will do worse.

You know that, don’t you, Crosshair?

He let out a frustrated sigh at the thoughts, and slowly turned his head to look at the window. The sun was shining bright behind the curtains, and he could see the dust floating in the rays of light filtering through. It was peaceful.

For now he was safe, far away in a lost, abandoned town, in the middle of nowhere.

For now.

[blossom-hwa]

Lina~ can I request Bomin + Secret Garden?

hi anon! thank you so much for the request :) I took secret garden to mean the title - I apologize if I assumed incorrectly, but I still hope you enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

So this is kind of one ending I'm toying around with for Bomin's story in the To Spin a Yarn universe (weaver!au)? It's not set in stone so don't come at me, but it was fun to explore :) You can read what I've posted from the universe here!

~

Title: Secret Garden

Pairing: Bomin x fem!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Triggers: mentions of war

~

"You got my note."

Bomin nods awkwardly, settling on the bench a short distance away. The garden is dark in the night, only the moon and the stars shining faintly on the flowers. "Yes."

You swallow visibly, even in the dark. "Did you think about what I said?"

Did he think about it? Bomin almost laughs. Your words have been practically the only thing he's thought about for the past day, ever since you said them. But that's not what you mean. "I did," he says honestly.

Your fingers, the fingers he watched so effortlessly weave stories into tapestries and clothing, fidget in your lap. "What did you think?"

Bomin stares at the little expanse of stone between the two of you. "I think..." he begins slowly, "I think I understand. Mostly. "

Relief crashes full and heavy on your face, washing away cracks of worry and fear that Bomin didn't even notice before. "Oh," you reply, voice tight with emotion. "Oh, that's... good." You swallow. "Would you mind if I explained myself more?"

The hesitation in your voice makes Bomin want to cry. He wishes things hadn't gone like this, wishes you could speak as comfortably as you two had learned to before the revolution, but now that you have to face the consequences of taking power and changing an entire country... "Please," he says, almost choking over how formal his voice sounds. "Go ahead."

Your fingers fidget some more. "When I said I didn't want to be queen," you begin, "I didn't mean that - that everything I said before was a lie." Your eyes find his, and Bomin sees the desperation in his mirrored in yours. "I didn't want to be queen. I still don't. I'm not fit to rule a country, especially not one that's just undergone a regime change. But that doesn't mean I don't still love you."

It's Bomin's turn for relief to spread through his chest, overwhelming relief that almost sends him to his knees with how strong the wave feels. "Oh," is all he can manage through the tightness in his chest.

"I realized after you left that I didn't word myself well at all." You smile a little sheepishly, fingers curling into your lap. "I don't want to be queen, Bomin, but when I said that, I didn't mean that everything between us was fake. I didn't mean that I didn't want to marry you." You swallow. "I do. But if it means I have to be queen..."

"I understand." The words come easily from his lips, buoyed by the relief of finally not having to tear apart and piece together every little accent and inflection behind what you spoke yesterday. After all, isn't what you feel a little like how he feels about taking a throne stained with so much blood, blood that you were related to? "You know there are ways we can still be together, though, without you having to be queen?"

"I know." Your smile grows smaller as your eyes dip down to the grass under the bench. "But... I don't know. I'm still a little uncomfortable in the palace. And to be honest, I don't really know myself." You look at him again, and Bomin sees how lost you feel in your eyes. "I've spent my whole life in hiding. Now that I can finally live in the open, I think I want to take some time and just try to live. For real. Not in the palace, where eyes will always be watching me."

Bomin can feel his heart cracking, bit by bit, falling to pieces on the grass. He never expected the war to solve all problems immediately - that never happens, even in the best of cases - but hearing you speak, it all just sounds even more real, even more heartbreaking. "I understand." He tries to smile. "I won't ask you to stay, you know. You're free to do what you want."

Your voice is small. "Even... even if you still love me?"

"Y/N." His hands reach out and take yours, closing over them slowly so as to give you all the time you need to pull away. You don't. "It's not selfish to want to find yourself," he says. "Whatever we have between us, it can wait until you know what you want with yourself. That's most important. I'm not going to keep you anywhere against your will just because I want to be near you." He squeezes your hands. "That's not love. What I want most is for you to be happy. When you're happy, I'll be happy, too."

You look down at your joined hands for a very long time. When you finally raise your head again, your lips tremble, but they've curved into the slightest smile. "You truly aren't your parents," you murmur, almost as though you didn't mean for him to hear. Your eyes sparkle. "Thank you, Bomin."

"You're welcome." Smiling comes more easily now. "Do you know what you plan to do?"

"I don't know, really." You shrug a little. "Jangjun and I want to travel a little. See if we can find more weavers and convince them to come out of hiding. I want to build up our art again, maybe get them to weave their experiences. So nothing like this ever has to happen again."

Bomin's heart bursts with pride at your words, the smile on his face growing wider. "I think that's a good plan," he says. "If you ever need help, you know you can ask me or Joochan."

"Right." You smile. "There's one part of that plan, though, that I know for sure."

He raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"

You tangle your fingers together and squeeze once, softly. The warmth of your hands seems to travel into his as you stare into his eyes. "I'll come back, Bomin," you say softly. "I'm not leaving forever. Whatever we decide to do in the future... I'll still come back. To see you again, in this garden." Your smile trembles, but the sparkle of your eyes, Bomin thinks, is even more beautiful than the stars. "If you'll have me."

"Are you kidding?" Bomin laughs. Your eyes crinkle like stars blinking in the night. "Of course I'll have you." He squeezes your fingers. "Always."

It doesn't feel forced when your lips meet under the moon, pressing to each other once, gently, softly. Barely a finger's length separates you when you pull away, eyes sparkling into his. "I love you, Bomin," you whisper. "Remember that."

"I love you too, Y/N." He kisses you once more. "For all time, always."

[bittydragon]

The Borrower of L’Manburg (Pt.2)

Notes: Hey y’all! My friend has got the second part of their story finished, it’s getting good!

Over the last month since your capture, you had gotten used to Schlatt's yelling and chaos on a usual basis. You sure didn't like it, but it's not like you could just ask him to shut up or quiet down. He didn't respect you whatsoever, he hardly even acknowledges your existence anymore- not that you were complaining. Your friendship with Quackity had grown in that time too. You've grown to trust him to carry you with him and take you some places around DreamSMP, though only when he has his suit on so that you can hide in his chest pocket. Neither of you wanted anybody else knowing about you, and you especially didn't want Dream to know about your interactions with humans. You've still kept your mouth shut, refusing to talk about your past to anybody.

In the last week or so, Schlatt and Quackity had been talking a lot about a festival that they were throwing, to 'celebrate democracy' or whatever. You hadn't paid much attention to it since Quackity told you that you probably shouldn't come, and it wasn't like Schlatt would allow him to bring you anyway. So, when the day came, you just tried to sleep through it. Unfortunately, fate has decided against you.

You wake up to the loudest boom you've probably ever heard, followed by lots of people screaming. You can faintly make out Schlatt's maniacal laughter, and a vaguely familiar voice that you can't quite place screaming, "Techno!" That name woke you right up, all the way. You hear the front door open and slam downstairs, and Quackity stumbles up the stairs in a rush.

"Holy shit. Holy shit." He's breathing hard, like he just ran a mile. His eyes are wide and he frantically motions with both his hands. "I saw it. T-Techno. He just-!" He's cut off by the door opening and closing again downstairs. He gasps, almost… scared?

"Oh Quackity! Guess who I got?!" Schlatt takes his time making his way up the stairs, but when he arrives, you gasp in shock. Between his fingers is another person- and he's your size. Schlatt has the back of their shrunken suit between his thumb and index finger, dangling him a block and a half in the air. He seems young, and he has scruffy brown hair. You can see a little bit of blood on his lip.

"That's… That's Tubbo! Be careful with him, he'll get hurt!"

"What do we care? He's a traitor, Quackity!"

"He's still just a kid, man!"

"What's your obsession with keeping these little things safe? Speaking of that…" Schlatt lays his eyes on you, his wicked grin sending a shiver down your spine. "Is this what happened to you?" He jostles Tubbo towards you, almost showing him off. "Did the piggy man get you? Oh no! Poor little 'villager' girl, scared of Technoblade." He pouts his lip and snickers. Your face heats up. What the fuck happened at the festival?

"Knock it off! Just give him to me, I'll take care of them both."

"Nah. I don't trust you with him. He's too important. I'm gonna put him in another box- another Tubbox! Do you like boxes yet, Tubbo?"

The kid looks at you with tears in his eyes, looking scared out of his mind. "H-Help…" he croaks. Before you or Quackity can do anything, Schlatt turns and walks away, not to be seen for the rest of the day.

~

When you wake up the next day, you hear the distant yelling of Schlatt, just like normal. But today didn't feel normal, especially with what happened yesterday. You don't hear Quackity's laughter and joking along with Schlatt like normal. After a little while of not caring to listen to their conversation, you hear striking against the Whitehouse. You tune in, but you can only hear fragments every now and then.

"Stop, dude! Stop! I built this!"

"I'm surrounded by pussies and soyboys! Help me destroy this or get the fuck off my property."

You hear an arrow slide back on a bow, and Schlatt scoff. "You won't do it. You're too much of a bitch." It takes a few moments before the arrow is released, and you cringe at the sound of Schlatt dying. He'll be returning from spawn any minute, and he'll be pissed.

Quackity runs up the stairs a few moments later, scooping you up immediately. "We gotta go, (Y/n)." You yelp in surprise and hug onto his thumb.

"What about Tubbo?" You've been worrying about him since yesterday. 

"I already got him, don't worry!" Quackity holds you close, hiding you against his chest as he moves. He speedwalks out of the partially destroyed house, making his way down the hill behind it and into the forest. When you look up at his face, he looks very upset.

"What's wrong? What happened back there?"

"Schlatt is… such a dick. He- I'm not," he sighs and slips you into his right chest pocket as he walks. "I'm not Vice President anymore. Schlatt was tearing down the Whitehouse and I tried to stop him. He just used me to get into power." You stay silent and slump down into his pocket, letting him talk. Quackity paces among the trees for a moment before turning back around and heading towards Manburg. "Should I even go back? Should I even fucking go back, man? Because… I don't even know anymore. I shot him."

Suddenly he freezes, and you can feel his body tense up. "Oh, fuck!" He takes off sprinting away from Manburg again, trying to keep his suit jacket steady, and you can hear the hooves of a horse running closer. You press your hands against the sides of the pockets to stop yourself from flying all over the place. "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! Ohoho shit!" He starts hiding behind trees. The horse slows down to a stop, and Quackity peaks out from behind the tree. "Take it off. All of it." You hear the clanking of armour being dropped on the ground.

"Why… Why did you just run off- Why are you in the woods, Big Q?" It's the same familiar voice as yesterday.

"Tommy…!" You hear a muffled voice whisper from the other side of Quackity's jacket, the left side chest pocket. That must be where Tubbo is.

"Uh… I… live here." They both pause and laugh lightly. "Listen, Tommy, we gotta talk." Quackity steps out all the way from behind the tree. You're not sure if you want to risk peaking out yet, but you figure you might as well just to see. You just barely peak your head up, only your eyes are visible over the pocket fabric.

"It's been a while, Mr. Vice President." The familiar voice, Tommy, looks about as young as Tubbo. He has blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"No, no, not Vice President anymore." He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles somberly. "Schlatt's an asshole. He's taking down the Whitehouse and going fucking power crazy."

"What are you saying, Big Q?"

"I wanna overthrow Schlatt. Maybe we can... work together or something…" Quackity mumbles.

"I mean, how do I know this isn't a setup?" Tommy glares.

You hear rustling as Quackity digs out a cloth from his left pocket, in which is holding Tubbo. "I-I brought Tubbo."

Tommy tilts his head, then looks around the forest. "Where is he then?" Quackity offers him the cloth.

"Tommy! I'm right here!"

Tommy's eyes widen and his jaw drops when he sees Tubbo. "W-What…?" He clenches his jaw and glares at Quackity, pulling out his netherite sword. "What the hell! What did you do to him?!" Tommy screeches, causing you and Tubbo both to cover your ears simultaneously. This kid is loud.

"I didn't do anything! I swear!"

Tommy sheaths his sword, and takes Tubbo in the cloth. "Tubbo, Jesus Christ man! Are you okay?" You see Tubbo look back and catch your eyes, then look back at Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Quackity kept me safe." Tubbo stutters. Tommy gives Quackity a nod in thanks.

"So… can we join Pogtopia?"

"'We?' Who else?"

Quackity looks down at you, and you hesitantly give him a nod of approval, closing your eyes as his hand comes straight at you. He pulls you out with cupped hands to show Tommy. "This is (Y/n). Schlatt captured her about a month ago."

You slink backwards as Tommy flips his shit, but keeps careful with Tubbo. "What the fuck! How is this happening to people?! Oh my god, it's a woman! Who is she?! I've never even seen her before!"

"She's told us that she was a villager."

"That looks nothing like a villager! Villagers are ugly!" Tommy laughs, making you giggle. 'I mean, that's fair.'

"That's not nice!" Tubbo scolds, then looks at you and smiles. "Hi!" You wave back at him with a smile.

"So, can we join you?"

"Okay, okay, fine. Follow me, Big Q."

Quackity stores you back in his pocket as Tommy puts his armor back on, and Tommy just keeps Tubbo in his hands as he and Quackity walk and talk. They laugh and joke like they're old friends. You have your head peaking out the whole way there, surveying the land. You've never seen this many trees pass by you so fast. By the time you arrive, the moon has risen and all the stars are out. Tommy breaks two blocks, revealing a little hidey hole in the wall with barely enough room for three humans.

"What? This is Pogtopia? This is-"

"No, shut up! Down this stairway." Tommy leads Quackity down a two by two spiral staircase, right down into a giant ravine. Quackity gasps.

"Holy shit, Tommy! Is this Pogtopia?" He looks around in wonder, as do you. The ravine is decorated with lamps and extinguished campfires, and it actually feels somewhat homely. 

"Yeah! Here, let me make a little space for Tubbo and then I'll show you around while we talk."

"Can we make a small room for Tubbo and (Y/n)? We can give them time to talk, too." You nod in agreement with Quackity, Tubbo probably needs some explanation.

"Yeah, yeah!" Tommy hands Quackity a diamond pickaxe, and they mine out a space about the same size as the room up the staircase, and Tommy places down two beds. He gently places Tubbo down in the middle of them, and Quackity reaches his hand in the pocket and plucks you out, thumb and index finger holding your sides.

"Here, you can probably explain everything to Tubbo, right (Y/n)?" He sets you down next to him on the beds.

You nod. "I-I'll do my best!" Tommy and Quackity walk out, and you wait until you hear their footsteps fade. You turn to Tubbo and sit down crisscrossed. "Are you okay? This must be difficult and weird."

"Y-Yeah… I'm doing alright. Just… processing everything." He fiddles with the cloth that he still has from Quackity.

"It was Technoblade, right?"

Tubbo nods. "I was just so confused. Wilbur told me he was on our side! And… Why didn't he just kill me? I would've respawned!" He sighs, frustrated.

"Wait, what? Technoblade is on your side? Is he here?!" You look around frantically.

"Well, I don't think so, not right now." He tilts his head in confusion of your panicked state. "Why? What's wrong with Technoblade?"

"He did this to me, too! He also… he killed my p-" You freeze at the sound of a new pair of footsteps, coming from somewhere close outside the ravine. They pass right by, all you can see is a raggedy trench coat flash by before heading up the stairs. You wait until you can no longer hear anything anymore. "N-Nevermind that."

Tubbo gives you a worried look. "Okay, I won't press you on it, I guess. But we are in this together, you know? We're in the same boat!" He smiles at you, reassuringly, and you nod with the same smile. You decide to change the subject.

"Your accent," you realize, "you're from L'manburg, aren't you? Tommy as well?"

"Yes! How do you know about that?" His eyes sparkle in excitement.

"I used to live there!" You smile at all the memories you have from your time living there, while messing with the blanket below you. "It was far after I got shrunk. I moved in after the war, I thought it would be safe for a while. Not long enough, apparently."

"That's awesome! I didn't even know you were there! You must be really good at hiding!"

"Not so much at running, though, since I got caught!" You laugh. The two of you joke and share stories until you hear three pairs of footsteps from above, coming down the stairs. You recognize one as Quackity, and figure that one of the other two must be Tommy. Speak of the devil, you hear the kid's voice.

"Okay, Wilbur, you can't freak out at this okay? Just… be calm!" Wilbur? You swear you've heard that name before. Oh, wait, shit. From Schlatt. You had almost forgotten through all the chaos today.

"That's a lot coming from you, Tommy!" Another man with a L'manburg accent quips as the three draw closer to the bottom of the stairs. You move closer to Tubbo just for the sake of feeling some sense of security. Tubbo, on the other hand, gasps in excitement.

"Wilbur!" He whispers to you.

Quackity walks in the room first, checking on you and Tubbo before motioning for Tommy and Wilbur to come in. You notice the raggedy trench coat Wilbur is wearing before watching his eyes widen and his jaw drop.

"Wh- Tubbo?! Is that Tubbo?!" Wilbur grabs Tommy's arm, but keeps his eyes on you two. "What the fuck happened? What is this?"

"Yes, that's Tubbo! He's been… uh… smallified!" Tommy makes up a word, making Quackity laugh, but Quackity stops when Wilbur shoots him an icey glare. Wilbur carefully makes his way over to the bedside, causing you to hide behind the cloth from Quackity. He pays no attention to you, however.

"Tubbo, what the fuck did Schlatt do to you?" You can see a flame in his eyes that seems to be intensifying by what he sees in front of him now.

"No, no, he didn't do this to me." Wilbur raises an eyebrow, sparing you a quick glance that you would've missed if you had blinked. "He really didn't! He just… took advantage of the situation." Tubbo looks down nervously.

"Well, what the hell happened then?"

"Well, it all started when you lost the election, and-"

"Tubbo, who did this to you, god damnit?"

"Technoblade!" He squeaks out.

"What the fuck? That bastard!" Tommy fumes. "Big Q, you didn't tell me that!"

"Well-!"

"Shut up, everyone," Wilbur commands as he stands up, "We'll talk to Techno about this when we see him. I haven't seen him in a while and I have no idea when we'll see him again, that's just how he is. So for now, that's a problem for future us." He looks at the other humans, and points at Quackity. "Quackity, you need to get to work on plan A. You know what'll happen if it fails, so make it work." He pushes past the two, and his trench coat flaps behind him as he walks out of the room.

Tommy and Quackity wait until they hear him get all the way up the stairs, then look at each other.

"He's lost it!"

"Oh yeah, he's gone completely nuts."

[madasthesea]

“What is a Build-a-Bear?” Nebula's rasping voice framed the words like they were a foreign language, careful and slow.

Tony blinked at her. He was still in the Medbay, slowly recovering from starvation, oxygen deprivation, and the last of his stab wound. The time between getting off the ship and waking up here was blurry. Nebula, who had suffered from hunger much less than Tony, had come to visit him while Captain Danvers and the raccoon prepared their ship to go find Thanos.

“What?” he croaked.

“You called Rocket a Build-a-Bear.”

He didn't remember doing that, but it sounded like him.

“Oh. It's a stuffed animal,” Tony explained listlessly, picking at his blanket. “It's for kids.”

 Peter's room was a mishmash of Lego figurines, science apparatus, and second-hand furniture. Tony glanced around, taking it in. The last time he'd been here recruiting the kid, the space had been much more bare. He smirked as he saw the Star Wars spaceships, but it turned into a wicked grin when he caught sight of a red and gold stuffed animal.

“Kid, what is that?”

Peter looked around from where he'd been rummaging in his desk for his spare webshooter. He saw where Tony was looking and his cheeks immediately flushed.

“Um. A… birthday present.”

Tony reached out and picked it up. The little bear had gold Iron Man masks all over his crimson fur and was wearing a shirt and pants that looked like the Iron Man armor, complete with a tiny glowing arc reactor and a cloth mask.

“It looks new,” he remarked casually.

“It isn't!” Peter hurriedly assured him, rushing over and trying to snag it from Tony's hands. Tony pulled it closer to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Peter.

“Don't get grabby, Parker,” he chided. “Now, come here, we're taking a selfie.”

“You give these slain creatures to your children?” Nebula asked. Her voice and face were as emotionless as ever, but there was something like disgust in the tilt of her head.

Tony, jerked out of his thoughts, took a second to catch up.

“What? No! Geez, no. They're not real animals, they're made of cloth.”

“Cloth,” Nebula repeated, sounding dubious.

“Yeah.” He hesitated for a second. “Come here, I'll show you.”

He reached over to the bedside table, where he'd slammed his phone down half a second after Rhodey gave it to him. He'd taken a single glance at the lock screen photo—one of Peter with engine grease all over his face, the car he and Tony had restored together barely visible in the background—and promptly hyperventilated until he passed out. He hadn't touched the phone since, and his hands shook as he reached for it now.

He swallowed hard, unlocking his phone and carefully not looking at his background picture—this one of him, Peter, and Pepper all asleep on the couch. He opened his camera gallery and quickly scrolled through the file of photos of Peter, trying not to see any of them, any of the hundreds of memories that would forever more be nothing but agonizing reminders of his own failure.

He overshot the one he was looking for and had to go back, but finally he pulled up a picture of Peter's Iron Man Build-a-Bear, his own hand holding it up to the camera.

Nebula crowded around the head of the bed, peering down at the screen. She looked at it critically for a second, glancing between it and Tony.

“What is it's function?” She finally asked.

“Kids cuddle with them,” Tony replied. She looked confused. “You know, hug them?”

Nebula shook her head.

“Oh geez. Um. Like, like this.” Finger hesitating for a second, Tony swiped to the next picture. His breath stuttered in his lungs.

Beaming up at him from the screen was the ghost of Peter Parker, bright and young and perfect. The teddy bear was tucked under his chin and his cheeks still faintly pink with embarrassment. Tony had had to make a really stupid “dad joke" to even get Peter to smile. In the picture they'd taken together, Peter was mid eye-roll.

Tony's thumb hovered over the image as if about to caress the boy's face. He could feel Nebula looking at him, knew she recognized Peter as the kid that had died in Tony's arms. And even if she hadn’t, she still would have known—she was the one that had heard him screaming Peter’s name in his sleep, whispering apologies to the Peter he hallucinated once the infection took hold.

“Why do they… cuddle them?” Nebula made a face at the word and Tony snorted, still staring at his screen.

“Us humans do that. We, um, need physical contact.”

  Tony woke up to the hazy awareness that came with heavy medication. He remembered the entire fight, this time, and groaned quietly. His injuries would take forever to heal, his busted knee would probably ache for the rest of his life. Getting old sucked. But taking the brunt of the damage was worth it as long Peter got to grow old, too.

Speaking of Peter, Tony felt a suspiciously Peter-shaped weight against his side. He peeled an eye open and, sure enough, Peter was tucked up against him, his arm over Tony's stomach.

“Kid,” Tony groaned. Peter looked up at him, a nasty bruise on his temple.

“Mr. Stark.”

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, fighting the pull of medication trying to make him fall asleep again.

“Human contact helps dull pain,” Peter told him. He pressed himself a little closer. “Is it working?”

“Better than morphine,” Tony said drily. Peter made an aggravated noise at his sarcasm.

“I'm trying to help,” Peter whispered.

Tony sighed, shifting a little so that Peter's head was nestled more comfortably against his shoulder.

“You know you don't have to feel guilty, buddy. You really don't.”

“And you know that I do anyway, so just let me…” Peter trailed off.

“Let you cuddle me?”

Peter nodded shyly.

“It's the only thing I can do for you right now.”

Tony closed his eyes. This kid.

“Eases pain, you say?”

“And helps you sleep,” Peter added, his own words getting thicker as he started to doze against Tony’s chest.

Tony ducked his head and lightly kissed Peter's bruised temple.

“Well, heaven knows I could use some of that.”

 Tony jerked himself out of his own thoughts this time. The picture of Peter was blurry now, and Tony blinked hurriedly to dispel the tears.

“Do you… don’t alien kids have something like that?” he asked.

Nebula's dark eyes stared at him for a long moment.

“I don't know.”

Right. Suckiest dad in the universe.

“Tell you what, when I'm up and moving again, and you're back from your space adventure, we'll go get you one.”

Nebula worked her jaw for a moment, like she was going to argue, but her eyes betrayed curiosity and a little bit of excitement in her gaze.

“Fine.”

  Marching up to a Build-a-Bear after the end of the world with an ex-homicidal blue alien was pretty high up on Tony's list of ‘weirdest things I’ve ever done,’ but he glared at the shop attendant that cowered behind the counter as if it was totally normal.

He'd been a little surprised the place was still open, actually. Plenty of stores had had to close their doors after the Snap, too short staffed or without managers and owners.

This was the same store he'd come to with Peter. It still smelled the same. The memory punched the air out of his lungs.

  “Keep your eyes closed, Pete.”

Peter scowled. “Mr. Stark, people are giving us weird looks. I can feel it.”

“Chill out. Just a couple more seconds.” With both hands on Peter's shoulders, Tony steered them through the brightly lit store, around little kids and stands with tiny clothes hanging on little cardboard hangers. When they reached the right spot, Tony reached out tipped Peter's chin down so that he'd see the surprise right when he opened his eyes. The kid didn’t even flinch at the unexpected touch and Tony’s lungs constricted at the trust Peter put in him.

“Alright, kiddo. Go ahead.”

Peter opened his eyes.

“No way…”

There, at the end of the line of Avengers themed teddy bears, was a red plush with spider web patterns all over it. It was wearing a replica of the Spider-Man suit and had a mask shoved up on it's head, smushing the ears.

“Congrats, kid, you've joined the ‘recognizable enough to make a profit’ league,” Tony laughed, both hands still on Peter's shoulders.

“Oh my gosh!” Peter picked up the stuffed animal, running his fingers over it. He tugged the mask over the bear’s face.

“Looks just like you, Pete,” Tony joked, grinning widely. Peter gave his arm a soft whack.

“This is amazing. I have to take a picture and show Ned. He’ll freak,” Peter rambled, fishing for his phone in his pocket.

“Or you could just show him in person.”

“It’s a bit far to come—” Peter started, looking around at the store with a furrow between his eyebrows.

“I’m obviously going to buy you one, kid,” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes. “To add to your collection.”

Peter blushed. “Mr. Stark.”

“After all, you can’t have Iron Man without his loyal sidekick Spider-Man, can you?”

Peter pursed his lips, but there was something soft and awed in his face, like being Iron Man’s sidekick was a dream come true. “Not your sidekick, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony assured him, ruffling his hair. “Now, come on, show me how this works.”

Twenty minutes later, they were leaving with a new teddy bear, the little pseudo-birth certificate that came with reading ‘Underroos.’

“Your face is leaking.” Nebula’s voice startled him so badly he flinched. His hands flew up to his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks.

“Right. Sorry.” Nebula didn’t say anything. It was one of the best things about her.

“What do I do?” she asked, a little quieter as if embarrassed to not know.

“Just pick one you like,” Tony said shrugging, walking around the store and peering at each bin full of animals waiting to be stuffed. Nebula trailed along behind him, examining them as if wary they would come alive and bite her.

When they came to the Avengers ones, Tony paused. The Spider-Man bear was still there, the crate almost empty. The only ones that seemed more popular were Iron Man and Captain America. Tony smiled a bit. Peter would flip if he knew he’d beaten out Thor.

“That’s your son,” Nebula remarked, a touch surprised.

Tony swallowed, looking at the little plushie. He decided not to correct her. “Yeah. He, uh, he’s pretty popular, here on Earth.”

Nebula stooped and picked out a Spider-Man bear. “I like this one,” she proclaimed, with a confidence that surprised Tony. She’d never expressed real preference or dislike for anything before.

Tony cleared his throat. “You... you don’t have to get that one, just cause it’s—You don’t have to get that one for me.”

“I like this one,” she said again.

“Alright, Bluebell.” She glanced up at him at the nickname. “Let’s go get you your very first stuffed animal.”

After the bear had been stuffed, the little heart placed inside—Nebula had been very confused at that part—and closed up, the worker left them to pick out clothes and whatever else they wanted. Nebula looked at the bear in her hands for a long moment, and then raised it and tucked it under her chin, mimicking what she had seen Peter doing in the picture Tony had showed her. Tony watched, one eyebrow raised, as she stood like that for a long moment, eyes closed.

When she opened her eyes, she looked at Tony.

“I see,” she said simply. Tony smiled.

  Two weeks later, as she and Rocket boarded their ship to leave Earth, Nebula had her little Spider-Man bear—decked out in an Iron Man outfit, at her insistence—under her arm.

[crystalirises]

Everything for Nothing

Hi FwT :)

I missed you :)

But anyway... have this fic... 

Archive link (the fic is also on this post):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/71511123#workskin

TW: Major Character Death

Dream gazed at the ruins of New L’Manburg, water trickling past the rocks and pebbles that decorated the crater of a nation that will never win. He could hear their screams in the distance, the fruitless arguments for a war that’s already won. Dream didn’t understand why they tried so hard to fight for nothing, really. With his mask concealing the smirk on his face, he skipped and danced through the remains, waving to the survivors that glared or screamed at him as if he were a demon borne from The Nether. He relished in that, soon they’d understand why he’d done this. For now, he had to play the role of the tyrannical god, the man who takes and takes until that’s left is the memory of broken dreams and discs. He came to a stop, perching on top of a rock that gave him a clear glimpse of the area. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel some semblance of giddiness, of amusement at the thought of everything they loved… gone. Just. Like. That.

He chuckled beneath his breath, turning to see a familiar yellow sweater amongst the grey and black of the rocks. Ghostbur. The most pitiful of them all, really. To be dead yet remain to suffer.

Dream slid down, pebbles skittering past his feet as he landed a few feet beside the ghost. Perhaps the landscape of destruction would bring the real Wilbur back, not this husk of sorrow.

The ghost flitted about, hand wringing in front of him as a trail of phantom blood poured from the fatal wound in his chest. His eyes were the size of pinpricks, his form flickering in and out of view as though he were returning to the afterlife and merely holding onto the physical realm. Dream watched it all with a morbid curiosity, a faint smile on his face as the ghost finally settled to a jarring stop, peering down at a crater in the ground. Dream glanced at the reddening sky, the sun disappearing in the distance as a hint of night began to take over. There was nothing left here. Not for him, and certainly not for the L’Manburgians. He shook his head, turning to leave.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the silence, too guttural to be human and too close to be anyone else but一 Dream turned on his heels, coming to a stop beside Ghostbur who had fallen into hysterics. Trails of blue seeped from the ghost’s fingertips, staining the bottom of the crater with their hue as Ghostbur tried to keep his fractured mind together. Dream would have laughed… if he hadn’t noticed the blood - actual blood puddling beneath a familiar body. He felt his heart stutter to a stop, the wind knocked from his lungs as the world turned to static. The shrieking fell away, everything fell away as Dream’s gaze turned to fix itself on dirt-stained ginger hair. His hands began to shake, his own horror rising in his throat as he jumped into the crater, begging the gods that he would be wrong in his assumption. There’s no way… There’s no fucking way. He felt sick, slipping against the freshly stained blood on the ground. Please, no一

Fundy’s skin was cold to the touch, his eyes staring forlornly into the sky… dead to the world. Wounds littered every part of him, one of his legs covered in bruises and disgustingly bent out of shape. His clothes were torn and singed, the hat he used to proudly wear gone as if he had lost it at some point . Dream held onto the fox hybrid’s shoulders, horrified by the soft and contented smile on his beloved’s face. It terrified him more than Fundy’s current state. He died… happy?

“S-star?” He pressed a hand against that too still cheek, spots of dried tears still visible against Fundy’s deadly pale skin. Dream felt a shaky breath escape his throat, a choked sound as he scrambled to tear away his porcelain mask. He could faintly hear the soft crunch of footsteps from above, his cries harmonizing with the ongoing wail of a heartbroken father. “Fundy一 You can’t be… I’M RIGHT HERE! LOOK AT ME! YOU CAN’T DIE LIKE THIS! Fundy… star...”

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Fundy had two lives, where did he一 Dream gripped his husband’s (gods, did he have the right to call him that?) body closer, sobs wracking through him as rage filled his mind. Fundy had two lives. He did, Dream had checked everyday... except for these past few days where he had been occupied in preparing for New L’Manburg’s destruction.

Dream felt the chill of rain against his back, the falling of night basking the land in darkness. He could wait. For now, he grieves. Dream buried his face into Fundy’s chest, the heart he’d once so cared for dearly, silenced. Its melody never to play again. He hated that damned smile on his star’s face, that acceptance of death as if he didn’t care for those he’d leave behind. Dream pressed a kiss against the fox hybrid’s cold lips, what once was sweet now tasted of poison and regret. “Don’t leave me. I never even got to say goodbye. Never told you how much I loved一”

Their marriage had been strained, they both knew that ever since Dream had told the world that he cared for nothing but some child’s discs. Dream pressed a kiss against Fundy’s matted ginger curls, their shine gone as if Death chose to take everything that Dream adored. Their relationship wouldn’t die with Fundy, it died a long time ago when Dream chose power over love.

“I remember our wedding. You looked so lovely that I forgot my own wedding vows.” Dream stared into those dull gold-speckled brown eyes, “You were so nervous, twitchy and scared…”

Fundy had held his breath then when all Dream could muster was a short vow of his love, not knowing that Dream had lost himself in the memories they shared. It hadn’t been fair to cut it short, hadn’t been right to sound so hesitant when Dream had spent the previous night tossing and turning in anticipation of their marriage. “I should have told you how much I loved you.”

Dream wiped away the tears that dripped from his cheeks. What right did he have to mourn a man who’d long since despised him? “I should have loved you more than what I gave you.”

He clasped a hand over Fundy’s, a glimpse of yellow at the edge of his periphery as the wailing sobs of a ghost rang in his ear. “I spent hours on my vows, and I never got to tell them. It seems ironic to say now, but I owe it to you... Fundy, I thought I was incapable of a love so pure. I knew love, but not the one you gave to me oh so freely. You showed a heartless man how to love.”

He could eyes glaring at him from the darkness, their battered and exhausted audience no doubt ready to strike the moment he’d so much as move. Dream won’t let them stop him, it was not his final time to lose yet… not when a life he held dear has been lost. “I tried to dissuade you at the start, to turn you down before you’d realize just how unlovable I really was. You insisted with date after date, refusing to give up even after everything I did. At the previous war, the 16th war, I thought you’d finally leave. But you didn’t. If I were to be real, and I want to be real, I fell for you after the fifth date. No, I loved you before then. It scared me, everyday with you. Some days when we’d fall asleep in each others’ arms, I feared the day, feared you’d leave come morning.”

The sleepless nights where he’d lay awake in fear that Fundy would leave him alone and wanting in the morning… he never did. “You never left… You never would, and I’m sorry I can’t say the same. I worried a lot about you leaving me that I never thought that I’d be the one leaving you.”

Dream took a shaky breath, lifting Fundy’s hand to his lips, the wedding ring shining brightly against Fundy’s cold dead fingers. “For whatever it’s worth… I am honored to have met you. To have been loved by you.”

With his free hand, Dream slowly closed Fundy’s eyes. If he pretended, it almost felt as if Fundy was sleeping. Gods only knew how many hours Dream memorized his beloved’s sleeping face, and he knew it was never this peaceful. For only in death could Fundy ever really feel peace.

“I’m happy to be… to have been your husband, though I was never the greatest. If I could, I would do anything to wake up beside you again… for just one last morning.” He held back a choked sob, letting his tears fall for everyone to see. “I love you. I loved you so… but I guess…”

Dream smiled, broken and lost, “It was never meant to be.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fundywastaken continues to break my heart. It is only right that I retaliate. But ye... hope you guys like this and... bye! :DDD

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Poisoning, Poison, Heist gone wrong, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Rita defiantly has ADHD, Nonbinary Juno Steel, crime against crime itself, No Beta, we die like the friends of Sasha Wire, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, The Penumbra Podcast, TPP, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe Summary:

After Nureyev get's poisoned on a mission, he's determined to see it to it's completion. He and Juno make quite the team after all.

Chapter 2

Babe-" his brow knitted together as someone shook him gently. "Babe, time to wake up." The touch was so tender- and yet it set his head off hammering.  

Nureyev groaned, hiding his face in the nook of Juno’s neck. A few more minutes in bed wouldn’t hurt.

“Come on Ransom, we’re home.” There was a hand running through his hair he leaned into the touch.  Juno’s words caught up with his mind, we’re home. More importantly, they weren’t alone.

Nureyev’s eyes flew open and locked onto Jet, his expression unreadable. This was not their bedroom aboard the Carte Blanche, this was the hanger, the Ruby; and once again, he was making a scene in front of Jet. Confound it all.  

He unfurled best he could, breath catching with the unexpected wave of nausea. His hand pressed to his corset front so that he nearly fell back into Juno.  

“Babe?” Through the thick molasses of thought, Nureyev dragged his attention back to the Detective.  

“Hmm?” His voice came small and weak, even to his own ears. Still he was determined to project some semblance of normalcy. He forced leadend limbs to extricate himself from the Ruby, Juno right behind.  

“The Big Guy has something to say.” The Detective jerked his head towards Jet, his pearl earrings dancing in the light.  

“Indeed-” he turned to Nureyev, an extra crease forming in his brow “First, are you alright Ransom? You do not look well.” the Ruby whistled as if in agreement.

Nureyev hummed “Nothing a little rest won’t help-” he rubbed absently at his throat, sure that bruises had made themselves visible. “What- were you going to say?”

“Buddy set the family meeting to take place in one hour's time.” Jet explained. “As we could not hear you during the mission, there are details we require about Mx. Balsa and-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Big Guy, we know how the Family Meetings go by now.” Juno cut in hand on hip.

“I find it beneficial to go over procedures to ensure quality performance.”

“Okay, yeah. Guess that makes sense, but-”

There was an explosion that shook the entirety of the carte blanche, nearly toppling Nureyev. Half formed thoughts of security and debt collectors flashed through his mind.    

Were they there?  We're they coming for him?

Before they could so much as ask a question, Rita started to wail and Vespa cursed loudly from the direction of the kitchen. Jet excused himself and went to investigate leaving the pair alone with the Ruby.

“The hell was that?” Juno was tense, every muscle in his being straining towards the commotion.  His goddess was ever the curious one.  The scene was enough to make Nureyev smile.

“Oh go on Juno- she may require- your services.”

Juno’s head whipped back to face him, the pearl earrings flashing in the warm light. “But what about you?”

“Me? Why I’ll be fine- Detective.”

His eye was large, soft and unsure. He so wanted to check on his friend and yet, was plainly reluctant to leave Nureyev’s side

“But-”

“We can play doctor later. For now- go-”

That seemed to do the trick. He flushed prettily at that, “Well, if you’re sure-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” he turned and Nureyev could hear him muttering under his breath “Damnit Rita- If this is another one of your snacks I swear-” before disappearing from sight.  

Fine, as it turned out, may have been an overstatement.

As soon as Juno left, he realized just how unwell he felt. He'd half a mind to call the Detective back, or call Vespa-  

Vespa-

His head throbbed at the thought of having to see her in such a state. No, a good lie down should surface.

Nureyev wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it back to his room. He felt heavier and heavier with each foot fall, each movement becoming more of a labor. Pain flared at his core, tripping him up. He fell hard into the wall smacking his temple hard enough to see stars.  

Get a grip on yourself, he chastised, frustration flashing bright and hot within. He hissed as his stomach lurched, acrid saliva rushing to pool in his mouth. Reflexively, he pressed a hand flat to his stomach, trying to breathe through it. Now he was just being foolish. All that he could do was will himself to not be sick.  

Then where would you be- he shook himself glancing up. Still the corridor stretched out long and treacherous. Unyielding in it it's length and tedium.  

There was nothing for it but to tredge on.

The closer he got to his room the greater the pain in his abdomen. He leaned on his door and put in the security code with shaking hands. Sweat trickling down his face, his back, plastering the finery to skin.  

A fresh stab of pain slammed into Nureyev just as the door swooshed open. He toppled in, the world blurring in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color. It was as though he was in a Martian teleporter again, careening through space and matter, no discernable surroundings, just the fall. He flailed. An eternity later his knees hit hard into the sea of debris masking the floor.  

What just happened? He was left to wonder, face pressed into a pile of clothes. Gasping, he attempted to pull himself upright but he couldn’t manage. It didn't make sense! Arms strong enough to scale a building should not feel so weak, so very hard to support- as though bone had been replaced with cast iron.  

Nureyev shifted, trying again to sit, maybe get to his bed, his comms- pain ripped through him. This time he couldn't hold back the strangled yell as he convulsed around his middle.  

Somewhere, in the back of his mind he realized he could die like this, and there would be nothing he could do.

He sent a silent apology to Juno.

"The Thief still isn't here-" growled Vespa.

"Yeah, I know." Said Juno. It wasn't like Nureyev to be late, especially to something scheduled by the Buddy Aurinko.  

"So what could be taking him so damn long Steel."

"Well I'd say it's the sabotage plan Vespa, I hear those are pretty lengthy."

"Oh very funny!"

"Look, I know about as much as you do okay?" Juno shot back, irritation getting the better of him. Okay, so the man didn't give them a name, why the hell did they have to continue to gang up on him? "Last thing he told me before Rita's microwave mishap-"

"It said microwavable on the tin Boss!"

"Yes but you have to take it out before you- god, Okay, look, not the point! Ransom said he wasn't feeling well and wanted a nap before the meeting."

"You are thinking he fell asleep like he did in the Ruby." Jet added thoughtfully while Rita wove elaborate braids into his hair and trimmed away the singed ends.

"Mista Ransom ain't feeling well? You should give him a kiss and make him feel better Mista Steel. Oh! Like in Jovian Princess! Lights Out, where the beautiful princess is awakened from her slumber of a thousand years by the other princess from a warring kingdom! And-"

"Rita dear, you bring up a fine point." Buddy interjected smoothly, "Pete's not here and the only one who can tell us why is Pete. And seeing as he made up a significant part of the heist-"

Juno knew where this was going and was already half out of his seat "I'll get him."

"Thank you darling." Buddy smiled.  

The door to Nureyev's room was, predictably, closed. Juno knocked "Babe? You in there?"

No reply.

Frowning he tried again "Babe?"

Nothing.

"I'm coming in."

The doors swooshed open to reveal the environmental hazard that was his boyfriend's room. The bed was empty, if you didn't count crumpled paper, and mounds of equipment and clothes. Hell, the man could use a few cleaning tips-

He spotted a molded plate of- something-

Or an encyclopedia...

He cast his eye about, trying to make sence of the "I-Spy" chaos of the room, before giving up to look elsewhere when he spotted a leg in the mess.

"Nureyev!" Juno couldn't help but call out fear spiking in his chest. The man was lying on his side, curled up around his middle, racked in tremors. Tangled in the mess around him enough to be camouflaged.  "Nureyev! Hey, hey hey babe-'' he dove to his side, carefully rolling him up into his arms. He whimpered faintly, protesting the movement. "I'm here, what's wrong?"

Tenderly, Juno smoothed back the hair sticking to his clammy brow. Hell, why was he so cold?

"Ju-no-" normally, Juno loved the way Nureyev said his name. As though it were a damned love language all its own.  But now it was a small broken thing as though he'd put all his strength into it. As though he were surprised Juno was there at all. He was looking at him with those eyes again, but the brightness was…. strange- glassy. It was taking him too long to focus. "Ju-no-" his chest stuttered "I- ugh-" he collapsed further in on himself, face contorting in pain. All this took seconds, but might as well have been an eternity.  

"Nureyev! Come on babe, don't do that!" Juno's mind spun wildly. He wasn’t dealing with some mask now, not Rex Glass, or Duke Rose, not even Peter Ransom. No, this was Peter Nureyev striped bare- and he was in serious pain. The man keened in a way that was so very wrong for him. The sound was barely above a whisper yet cut Juno to his core.  

“H-hurts-”

“I-I know babe, just- just give me a sec- Just-”

That's when he saw it, the odd discoloration of Nureyev's lips. He'd missed at first because of the faint pigment that clung to his features. His words of a few hours ago came floating back 'just a tad under the weather... something I drank…'

He had told him.  

Hours ago.  

He had told him hours ago and Juno had done nothing.  

Steel you goddamned idiot! He scrambled for his comms, murmuring assurance to his thief as he went, trying to ease him back open. He couldn't squash the rising panic now.

"Steel, what the hell-"

"We need help! Vespa- please!" Nureyev stilled again, his chest working overtime, producing short, shallow bursts of air. Arm wrapped over the corsets front.  

Goddamned it! His corset!

Juno swore loudly into the comms, tossing them down on speaker, "I went looking for him, and, Christ-" his hand slipped on a fastening, slicing deep into his palm. Why were these clasps so hard do undoo? "H-h-he's sick Vespa, really sick. Dammit I- I think he was poisoned-"

“Poisoned?” Even through the fear fogging his brain he could hear the scrape of chairs and pounding feet. “What do you mean by that Steel?”

“Poisoned! You know, when something gets into your body that isn’t supposed-” Nureyev’s hand closed around his wrist, shocking him out of the pointless rant. As if trying to stop Juno from undoing more of the fastenings. “It’s gotta come off babe-”

“Nn-no-” he choked out.

"You need to breathe Ransom-" he said, easily breaking his grip. That too was wrong but there wasn't time for that. Nureyev curled with each fastener undone, gasping and trembling. It was hard for Juno to not feel like the worst girlfriend in the Galaxy.  

"Course I know what poisoning is!" Vespa snapped "what I don't know is how the hell did he manage to get himself poisoned."

At some point Nureyev had turned into Juno, a hand tangling in his shirt, the other clamped around his stomach as tightly as he could manage. The movements were odd clumsy things that lacked his usual precision, his grace.

He was quite then, an eerie silence that spoke of years of hidden spaces and dangerous places. Normally he'd be trying to be as useful to Vespa as possible, filling her in on the necessary details. But not now.  

Juno hated that more than anything else.

"The mission. There was some sort of stupid test- a-a-and he told me not to drink it! Damnit it! He told me! I-I never even thought that he might of-"

“Cool it Steel.” Vespa cut in, not unkindly. “I’m getting the Med Bay setup. You gonna bring him to us, or should I send the gurney?”

Nureyev was long, lean and wiry. Not the easiest person to move around but Juno managed it before. Admittedly, those were more entertaining moments, but the presidents still stands.

“I’ll bring him.”

“Great. Move the thief, and I’ll be ready for you.” at any other time that may have sounded like a threat, but now it sounded like the most reassuring thing he’s ever heard.  

All he had to do was move Nureyev, he could do that.  

Juno glanced down at the man holding onto him like a lifeline, his face tucked into the popped collar of his coat. He hadn’t even taken it off. God-

Carefully, Juno shifted him, Nureyev hissed, pressing closer.  

What was he supposed to do with that? Juno took a deep steading breath of his own, running his fingers through Nureyev’s damp locks in what he hoped to be a comforting manor.  

“Okay babe, we’re going to have to move you” perhaps telling him would make it easier. He tried again, sweeping his arm behind his shoulders and lifting. Only for his foot to catch on the coat trane, he tripped shaking the nameless thief something fierce-

Nureyev cried out at the jostling- folding so that his gangly form nearly slipped through Juno's grasp. They just made it to the bed before his hold broke. The Thief spilled onto the unmade covers, holding his stomach, eyes squeezed shut. Breathing, just, breathing.  

Juno knew that look. And Dammit he was the one that put that look there. After he swore to himself that he’d never hurt him again.  

Nope, no, ugh-ah, no way in hell could he do this- He’d have to call for a stretcher after all.

“You comin some time this century, Steel?”

How long had they been there? “I- it’s hurting him.”

“Jesus Steel! Better pain than death!”

"But-" his brain caught up to his mouth, "yeah-" what the hell was wrong with him? He'd try again but first the coat had to go.

The Detective essed an arm over his shoulders before gathering the rest of the thief. Long limbs sitting strangely in the Lady's hold. There was a lot to manage, but manage, Juno did. It got easier after the hell scape of Nureyev's room.  

Nureyev's head lolled against Juno's neck, as though he couldn't support its weight.

"Hang on babe." Juno wheezed "just- for me, please-"

His lungs were tight and his legs burned, his burden heavier with each step, but it hardly mattered, they were nearly there now-

"Vespa!" He shouted, he'd forgotten the comms, "I got him!"

"Bout damn time! A Rengian sea slug could of moved faster!" She said, all the same indicating the operating table.

Juno had to raise up on tip toe to clear Nureyev onto the bedding. The man fell away with a piteous groan, fingers digging into the ruined shirt front.

"I know Babe, I know- We are having you looked at though."

That didn't seem to calm him down, if anything he became more distressed. Tried to raise himself up, move his legs, only to collapse back.

"Babe- babe come on-"” at a loss, Juno cupped Nureyev’s face in one hand, while the other was planted firmly on the man’s chest, mirroring the frantic dance of his own crappy lungs. “Ransom- babe, you’re- okay now”

“Jun-no- I don' feel- well-” it looked like it was hard for him to say, and not just because the words came out heavily accented and slurred.

“I know babe, Vespa is on it.”

"Vess-pa?" He glanced over, eyes widening at the acid green.

"Yeah Ransom, it's me."

Was it his imagination? Or did Nureyev seem to recoil? Shrinking in on himself as though trying to protect vitals.  

"Ransom, hey hey hey-" he tried to refocus him.  

"Hold 'im steady, I need a blood sample."

"Rr-right." He said, pressing Nureyev back into the covers. The man offered no resistance and Juno was left anxiously thumbing his cheek while the deed was done.

Vespa pushed him out of the way after that, cursing at her inspection of the thief and kept barking questions Juno's direction like:

"When did he get poisoned?” and “How much did he take?” and “What symptoms did the thief present?”

There were only a few questions Juno was equipped to answer. The mounting unknowns were only adding to his pile of worry. God, if Nureyev dies because he wasn’t paying attention- dies because he hadn't watched him more? Or at the very least got him checked out after puking his guts out in an ally.  

The man had been poisoned right in front of him and Juno hadn’t noticed.  

The man had been poisoned right in front of him and hadn’t thought to tell Juno-

Juno couldn't help but wonder why?  

Vespa cut away Nureyev's shirt, exposing the narrow muscled frame and the delicate criss cross of scars.  The ones he didn't bother remove.

Weren't they partners?  

She attached wireless monitors over his heart, his pulse points. Getting Juno to help clear away the rags.

Did he still not trust him?  

There was more swearing as their resident doc looked at the blood readings, already plugging something into the system. Christ, he was useless with computers, but even he knew that heartbeat was weak.

He couldn't help feel as though he were useless to Nureyev too-

Then he noticed it- Nureyev's chest had stopped moving.  

"Vespa!" He called out fear clawing at his insides. To her credit, she saw it right away.

"Goddamn it thief! I'm not done with you yet!" Rather than trying to get his lungs working again, she tore into her supplies with the care and ferocity of a sewer rabbit navigating it's tunnels. Everything remained impeccably organized, if a little man handled. The monitor started to sound urgently.

"There-" she said in triumph, holding out a large vial.

He couldn't understand what the big deal was-. Too preoccupied with the still form Infront of him.  "Vespa, he's not-"

"It's liquid oxygen moron," she said, filling a syringe "this way we have time to intubate."

"Intubate?" That was- serious- hell, Juno had it done before and the weeks of respiratory therapy were enough of a deterrent to avoid a third encounter-

Well, as much as someone in his line of work could-

The needle was worked into Nureyev's arm, and the contents released. The monitor began to calm down, but Vespa didn't slow.  

"You need to leave Steel." She growled. "Now."

He looked at her incredulous, how the hell did she think that he could leave at a time like this? He was about to say as much too when she elaborated

"You don't want to see this."

"But"

"I Said Out! I can't babysit you both!"

It might as well have been a knife to the gut. Juno took one glance more at Nureyev, frozen on the table, and walked out.

(Thank you for reading <3  Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated)

[cherryjuicegf]

Geraskier prompt 💜🥰

(5+1) 5 times Geralt showed Jaskier he loves him +1 time he actually said it out loud (geraskier-trashh)

thank you so much for the prompt, i hope you enjoy! 💕

i.

If Jaskier was in the mood of reciting poetry right now, he would definitely say something about how the soles of his boots had become one with the ground to the point he sometimes wondered if he actually wore shoes. They had been walking all day, barely stopping for ten minutes before they set off again. He dared not speak, he knew they had to reach the next town without any delay, they were really out of supplies now and Geralt wouldn't put up with another night under the stars just because he couldn't move his feet. Well, it was not just because. But he knew better than to whine for the hundredth time that day, realizing he was wasting his saliva.

That did not stop him from grunting though. And if he had to be honest, he didn't grunt to get on Geralt's nerves, although he knew he had succeeded at that with flying colours. But he was tired. Really tired.

At least Geralt was walking beside him. At least. Otherwise he would collapse just by looking at him resting on Roach's back while he was dragging his feet on the ground.

The sun had almost set.

"Are we there yet?" That was the question he concluded to after another choir of grunts and sighs accompanied by a lively performance of stumbling every five minutes. When Geralt didn't answer he took the chance to sigh once more, for the drama of it all.

And then Geralt stopped. Turned at him, and Jaskier knew perfectly well that look of utter indignation. And waited to be sweared at, smiling to himself. Only that Geralt's expression wasn't that of a man ready to swear.

"Get on Roach."

Jaskier was persuaded he heard wrong and didn't bother to move an inch. But then Geralt pushed him forward with a sigh that was almost fond. "Go on."

"Um... Are you–"

"Last chance."

He'd be a fool to miss it. So he climbed Roach as the mare snorted and wiggled her tail and he stroked her neck with an endearment. They went on. He glanced at Geralt. Didn't wait to receive a glance in return though. He just smiled.

Geralt didn't look back. "Don't get asleep up there," he said, even though he didn't mean it, and when he heard a whispered *thank you* that was almost lost with the wind, he hummed.

ii.

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Why, thank you." Jaskier pouted and hissed silently as Geralt cleaned the blood off his bruised cheek with a wet cloth. He knew he had no right to complain now, particularly when Geralt was rather gentle with his movements, albeit the annoyance in his eyes. Yet he would burst if he didn't say anything. "You're not less of an idiot yourself." Geralt opened his eyes wide and stareed at him, making it really hard for him to hold back his laughter. "Excuse me, dear witcher," he snorted, "were you not the one who said you didn't care about what sort of trouble I got myself in from now on? You were, yes, yes, you were. So you had no business dragging me from the fight, as you have no business tending to my cheek right now. Right?"

"Shut up, Jaskier." Geralt pressed the cloth on the bard's cheek ever so slightly, just to receive another his and Jaskier getting his tongue out at him. He hid a smile. "You'd be beaten up in an alley had I not been there."

"Aww, you sweet soul," Jaskier chuckled and had no intention of regretting it although the witcher glared at him. He squinted in thought for a moment, then grinned. "Ohh, I see."

Geralt grimaced. "You see, huh?"

"Yes, I see. You don't want me to get beaten up, is that right? You don't like it, no matter how you tease about it. I know now. You wouldn't let anyone hurt me, Geralt. You love me too much to do that. You would never."

Geralt halted for a second, his hand hovering above Jaskier's cheek. Thought of raising his look but he glanced to the side instead, swallowed. Then went on cleaning the last of the blood.

No sound was heard for a couple of minutes. Paradoxically. He finished applying a salve on the bard's cheek and stood up without turning to look at him.

The air felt a bit heavy.

"Geralt." Jaskier didn't wait for the witcher to answer and the hum he received almost made him choke on his words. "You wouldn't, would you?"

He saw Geralt freezing for a moment, then his breath hitched. He turned around and Jaskier would lie if he said he had seen his eyes soft like that before. Geralt shook his head lightly. "No, I wouldn't."

I love you too much for that.

He stayed silent. The grin he saw on Jaskier's face was enough.

iii.

Geralt returned to the camp to see Jaskier's head hidden in the saddlebags, cursing in a language he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard before. The bard revealed himself with an exasperated grunt.

"I can't find my pen," he said even though Geralt didn't ask and kept on searching inside the bag. "It has to be here, I put it here! It can't just be lost! What, did it pop out legs? No, it fucking didn't, of course it didn't, so where the fuck – oh, what's this?"

Geralt had barely managed to make out what Jaskier was holding in the firelight and his heart flutttered when he understood. "Not that!" He saw Jaskier hesitating, his eyes darkening before he nodded and went to put the little box he was holding back in the bag. Geralt snorted. "No, keep it, it's–" He paused, thought about it for the millionth time since he'd bought it and tried to speak. Not that he would succeed anyway. "I bought it... I-I thought you'd like it."

Jaskier frowned in confusion for a couple of seconds before he understood and his face lit up like the sun. "Oh, for... me?" Geralt nodded. He could watch him smiling like that forever. Jaskier opened the box and gasped. "Oh, Geralt."

He took the ring in his hands, stroked his thumb over it. It was silver, carved with flowers on the top. His cheeks were burning. Probably his eyes too. "Geralt, it's beautiful." He looked up at the witcher and saw him smiling faintly, and his heart singed with love. "Thank you so much, dear." He slipped the ring on his finger, stared at it. Felt Geralt approaching.

"It suits you."

He looked up, met his eyes. Their stares were locked for a second. Then Geralt snorted and glanced at the ground, taking some steps back. Jaskier didn't speak. Only closed his eyes.

iv.

The sound of whimpers made Geralt open his eyes and huffing as he realized it was still night. He stayed still for some moments, heard the whimpers coming from behind his back and turned around. Sleep abandoned him entirely as he saw Jaskier's shoulders shaking, his face hidden inside his hands. He was taking deep breaths that didn't manage to stable the whining escaping his lips. Geralt sat on the bedroll and gently placed his hand on the bard's shoulder. "Jaskier."

Jaskier jerked in surprise and his head whipped to the side just to find Geralt looking at him with a deep frown. Suddenly, he felt worse than before. "Fuck, I woke you, I'm sorry," he panted and ran his hands through his hair, heaving a long sigh and closing his eyes.

Geralt hummed and came closer. "It's fine. What's going on?" Jaskier glanced at him behind his lashes and he discerned unshed tears hanging on their edges. A sudden desire to kiss them dry overwhelmed him and he swallowed hard.

"Nothing, just a nightmare." Jaskier wiped his eyes on his own and cleared his throat. "I'll go to sleep again and it'll vanish." A fake smile curved his lips. Geralt felt his heart aching. The way Jaskier's hands trembled on his knees made it hard to resist the urge to hold them.

Still, as Jaskier laid down without speaking and he saw his shoulders still shaking under the blanket, he knew he'd be damned if he went back to sleep. So he dragged his bedroll closer and wrapped his hand around the bard, holding him tight on his chest until the trembling stopped and Jaskier breathed a sleepy hum and Geralt felt warmth flooding his body. And even if after some time he leaned to press a kiss on Jaskier's head, no one would ever know. And he hoped Jaskier was too exhausted to feel it.

And Jaskier smiled.

v.

"I'm going to win and you can bet to that! Those people are amateurs, can't even compose a proper rhyme. It's too easy."

Geralt shook his head. "Better keep your mouth shut in front of them if that's the only thing you're gonna say for the next days."

Jaskier huffed and strummed his lute, raised his head proudly. "Please, what are they gonna do? Sing me to death? There are barely two or three worthy opponents."

The walls of Novigrad showed up before them. Geralt peered at them before turning to the bard, just to see him wearing the same expression of slight hesitation he didn't dare to make visible. Jaskier lowered his eyes, then looked at him, bitting his lip. "Are you sure you don't want to come? I can," he tilted his head with a smile, "I can buy as as much ale as you want with the money of the prize, we'll... have a celebration."

Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted, staring into begging blue eyes. But he shook his head. "There's a noonwraith in the next town. I can't stay." The darkening of Jaskier's face made his heart ache. "We can celebrate after I'm done," he rushed to say and really hoped he didn't sound too desperate. Jaskier's wide grin erased his fear.

"You're right!" He shifted the lute in his hands and took some steps, waving his hand at the witcher. "I'll see you then, Geralt." Then turned to leave.

Geralt clenched his fists, sniffed. He raised his look. "Jaskier." The bard looked back, eyebrows raised and eyes gleaming. Geralt gazed at him. Oh, how he loved. How he loved him. "Take care."

Jaskier smirked, stared at him for some moments and nodded. Then turned around again.

vi.

Geralt thought it was a good time.

He had put way much thought into it to reach to a conclusion. Thought that had kept him going for quite long, thought that gave him the illusion of impermanence. He was refuted though by his own self, every time his look flied to the man standing beside him to always find him there, with a speech ready on his lips and a sparkling light flowing from his eyes. Annoying, he would once say. Still said. But not just.

It was simple. Ever so simple, so that he wondered what held him back previously. This time he didn't think about it. Maybe that's what made the difference. He didn't think. Only spoke what he saw.

"Jaskier." The bard was sitting beside him on the log, strumming soft melodies and working out rhymes. He raised his head and met Geralt's look. Geralt tilted his head, observed him. The way his eyebrows raised in question, the way his lips curved into a curious smile.

Jaskier waited, not long though, as the shade he discerned in Geralt's eyes wasn't one of a starting conversation. It was calm and gentle, almost loving. He shook his head. "What?"

Geralt frowned, then bit his lip, as if making a last moment's decision. And when he made it, he spoke. "I love you."

He realised that no matter how many years he knew Jaskier, the expressions that passed from his face at once were too difficult to decipher. Yet Jaskier didn't seem surprised. Only he seemed happy, happier than before as he chuckled softly and placed the lute beside him without turning away. "I love you too, Geralt."

Oh, no. That was wrong. He can't have understood...

Geralt huffed shaking his head. "No, it's not... I mean–"

"Geralt." Jaskier came closer and took the witcher's face inside his hands. "I love you too."

Oh.

It was simple. Ever so simple.

So Geralt simply leaned and pressed their lips together just enough to feel Jaskier's breath warming his face. A simple touch. And then Jaskier went deeper into the kiss and Geralt couldn't believe how familiar loving Jaskier felt, as if every time he'd silently said I love you, he proceeded to be as loud about it as he could.

So it was simple. He had loved Jaskier before. He would love him now too. Not silently, though.

Now he would love him out loud.

~

send me a prompt and i'll write you a fic ✨

[keravnous]

I’ve noticed that Edwards likes telescopes. There’s one on the rooftop above his office at Sgail and one can be seen in his meeting room where he logs in to talk to the Partners. It might just be put there by IOI to hammer home the idea that Providence is all-seeing but I have two different ideas: one SFW and one NSFW. I’ll put the NSFW in a separate ask cause idk if you'll be into it and this is already a long post lol.

The SFW idea is that he enjoys stargazing. I think it kind of suits him given how purposeful he is. Always looking up, always striving for more. When the poor, overworked guy needs to recharge during the Ark Society event, he heads up to the tower roof to relax and have some alone time. He treats himself to a little slice of cheesecake and wine (you can see it on the table in the game) while peering up at his favorite constellations. Marveling at how clear they are without all the light pollution you’d get in the city.

Or maybe he brings a Herald that he admires to the event. They eat, drink, and swap eavesdropped information over faint music from the courtyard. The effigy glows a warm, flickering orange in the distance. The waves surround the tower with the pleasant scent of sea water.

He shyly motions to the telescope and the Herald accepts when he invites them to have a look through it. Edward’s eyes light up as he points out different stars. Ever so gently, he places his hand on their back, ready to quickly retrieve it should they recoil. But they don’t, much to his relief. While they peek through the scope, he leans in and regales them with the stories behind the constellations' names. Orion and the scorpion, Perseus and Andromeda… His voice is so soft in their ear and his body so warm against them in the cool night. It’s a completely different side to him. One the Herald grows very fond of.

this 🥺

I am not too sure if I can fulfill the nsfw request, but I tried to give this one here a little nsfw undertone

the mentioned song: youtube / spotify

_

This wasn't your first time attending the annual Ark Society gathering at the Isle of Sgail but it sure was your first time making your way, let alone entering, the Constant's tower.

Miss Vidal had handed you a dossier earlier that night and requested that you'd bring it to the Constant yourself, being one of her most trusted associates. You heard your heartbeat hammer in your skull, it made your whole body vibrate with both, excitement and anxiety, as you gave a sharp knock to the massive wooden doors. The guards had immediately recognized your Providence pin and had let you past with no further questions, given the file savely tucked away under your arm.

Slowly, and your nearly expected the hinges to shriek, the door opened and you came face to face with an old man, white hair and - that, that was clearly not Mister Edwards. You were glad that the mask covered at least half of your face, your brows furrowing in both confusion and slight amusement.

"Yes, Miss/Mister?", he sharply clicked his heels and looked at you, an unreadable gaze locking with your eyes. A cold shiver ran down your spine. He seemed like a butler, and maybe he really was, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to pierce right through your carefully built facade, that screamed killer to you.

"Good evening, Sir", you smiled your most charismatic smile, "My name is y/n, Miss Vidal has sent me."

"Ah yes of course, we have been informed. Please, do come in", he took a step backwards and opened the door completely. The air inside was warm and your anxiety was immediately calmed by the dark and cozy interior as you entered the tower. So, this was it, huh? This was his place, the place of the most powerful man on earth. You had expected something a little more ... modern, maybe? More Bond villain-ish, sharp edges and light colours but this looked at lot more like the set of a period drama.

"Mister Edwards is already expecting you. This way, please", the butler lead you towards the staircase and stretched out his arm invitingly. You took a deep breath and muttered a quiet Thank you, Sir underneath your breath, slowly ascending the stairs. You heard music and someone humming along with the tune. The soft barritone sent a shiver down your spine, much more pleasant than the one minutes earlier, right down your stomach, leaving a warm and fuzzing feeling. His voice was beautiful. You rarely heard him speak and it was hard to make out the warmth of his voice in his whispering tone but now it was clearer and louded and it wrapped around your head, your whole body, like a warm blanket. You took you first steps across the perfectly polished floor and peaked around the corner.

He was lanky and tall, even more visible now with his jacket off, the crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. You had never seen him that casually and he also seemed rather relaxed as well, seemingly focussed on a telescope that stood near one of the massive, opened windows of his office.

You stood there, unsure wether to interrupt him or not, he was the Constant after all. With all the rumours that surrounded him and powered the slight dusk of myths and speculations that wafted around him you had totally forgotten that he was human after all.

It was a rather endearing sight, really. It made your stomach twist a little, spread warmth through your abdomen as he kept on making adjustments to the telescope and quietly humming along with the tune.

You did not have any track of the time that passed, while you stood there still and unmoving, the file still under your arm, watching him watching the clear night sky, before his warm voice suddendly left the lyrics, was replaced by an equally warm chuckle.

"I find the stars to be much more interesting to watch than the gazer himself, if I may be that direct."

Your heart dropped. Fuck, you fucked up. You prepared yourself for him to throw a fit, threaten you or just having you shot by his creepy-not so innocent-looking butler right on the spot.

"I- uh, Sir, I am very sorry - I just, it's- I'm-", well, wasn't that just very professional of you.

Arthur turned around to you, his expression surprisingly open and friendly, his lips curled up in a slight smile.

"The file I assume, yes?"

"Yes, right here", you took a few steps forward and he met you halfway, wrapping his delicate fingers around the slim folder.

"Thank you very much", he held your gaze for a few seconds longer and then nodded towards the little coffee table, "A glas of wine, maybe?"

You felt your brain errupting in a high frequency static noise.

"What?"

He chuckled again, a deep and low sound, a little amused and a little snobby that did things to your groin.

"Wine. A red one", he turned around to the table and eyed the bottle, "Argentinian, I believe, one of Yates'."

You swallowed. This was certainly not happening. He turned around to you once more. "So?"

Fuck it. "Yes, please."

The following hour then passed by like a cold breeze on a warm summer day and you found yourself really enjoying his company, his witty and dry humour, the way he listened to you and gave well reflected and soft spoken replies.

"Am I still right about my very early assumption that you have never watched the stars before?", he tilted his head a little.

"No, not really. Not like this", you gestured towards the telescope.

"Would you like to try?", he recognized your hesitation and got up, offering you his hand, "I am convinced you will very much enjoy it."

Carefully, like a deer in the headlights, you took his hand and got up, while he led you towards the opened window as Arthur took a scrutinizing look through the telescope and gestured you closer. You leaned down a little and looked through the objective and your breath hitched.

The stars were so close and so bright and it was nothing like taking a lamely look towards the sky on a night out in the busy streets of London. It was fascinating. A surprised laugh left your lips and you heard him chuckle again behind you. He was much closer than you expected him to be.

"Surprised, hm?", he hummed.

"Well, yes. It's - They're beautiful."

"It must be Cassiopeia you're looking at, that constellation is the most present during these months."

He guided you across the night sky, leaning over your shoulder and adjusting the telescope or leaning in close to explain the constellations and their names to you. It left your head spinning and heart thrumming in your chest and you felt like you could've dropped dead the second that he put his hand on the small of your back, right underneath the dark blue robe you were wearing over your formal wear.

You felt the warmth of his fingers radiating through the thin layer of clothing and a sigh escaped your lips. Your cheeks immediately heated up with crimson red but he continued to rub soft, soothing circles over your back. "This one right here is Orion, sometimes believed to affect certain sign's love life."

"Is that so?", you had huffed out while feeling him pressing against you, his warm breath that smells faintly of expensive red wine and cigarettes grazed your cheek.

"Well, I like to believe that society evolved from that. You know, that we start to rely on more reliable sources."

"Such as?"

"Increase in body temperature", his hand sneaked forward, placed itself on your stomach and pressed your body flush against his, "Fast heartbeat -"

He came closer, you could feel the tip of his nose against the nape of your neck. You shouldn't. He was technically not only your boss, but also so much more, so much more important to the world's fate than you were. But he felt good against you and his quiet barritone sent shivers down your spine.

"Loss of words."

"Is that so?", you heard yourself whisper, a sharp, needy and rather unknow edge to your own voice.

You felt his lips grazing over your neck and how they softly turned into a slight smile.

"Sometimes, yes", you felt how he slowly detached his body from yours and you suddendly felt how cold the room had gotten, given the opened window and rather cold autumn night, "Another glas of wine, maybe?"

Who were you to even think of declining such an offer?

[leapyearkisses]

Orbs Are Bad News Part 1/2 - (m/m) Gerrit/Llewellyn

I ran out of Eliseo/Padgett stories, so I’ll post the rest of what I’ve got. Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and/or left nice comments. This community is truly so kind!

Anyway, I love these characters, so much. :)

MESS, sorta NSFW probably, sneezing on person (who likes it) - Elven sorcerer Llewellyn gets his hands stuck to a magic orb while he has a cold and has to be taken care of by his FWB(?) half-elf fighter Gerrit Truestride who gets off on that sort of thing. 

I fricking forgot Gerrit’s last name. This might be it??

---

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside. The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table."

"Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones."  "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!" "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.  Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied." "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!" "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.  "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine." Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the- Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively.  Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch! Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go."  He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.  He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest.  "Ready to go?"  Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"  Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess." Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion.  "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!" Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccuped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?" Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!"  Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Lleyellyn, eventually. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

[mystical-salamander]

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

Getting stranded on a desert planet isn’t ideal when your partner has fur.

... 

It was kriffing hot.

The thought repeated itself in Kallus' head for the millionth time. The former agent growled to himself as he stared into the endless golden landscape.

He sighed and looked over at the unconscious Lasat next to him. The rapid and shallow breathing Zeb produced made Kallus' insides twist horribly. The former agent leaned over to grab his jacket and fanned at the Lasat's sweltering body.

Still no change, Kallus frowned. It's still so kriffing hot. He groaned as he removed his shirt and thought back to the day's events.

…

Crashing onto the desert planet was part of an unfortunate and unforeseen plan that neither Zeb or he had. It just so happened that the escape pod they took had lost control after a TIE-fighter got a lucky shot in. The pod had spun into the range of the nearby planet and was forcibly dragged into its gravity.

Thankfully neither of them had gotten heavily injured in the crash, escaping with only minor scrapes and bruises. The pod was unsalvageable, however, exploding seconds after the pair managed to get out of the craft.

After gathering their bearings, the first thing they immediately noticed was how uninhabitable the place was. Sand covered the land as far as their eyes could see and no other lifeforms were visible.

The next thing they noticed was the high temperature. They both groaned as they began to remove the unneeded layers of clothing to fend off the heat. 

Kallus removed his jacket, tying it around his waist to keep his hands free to adjust the frequency on their transponder. "Must we always get stranded together somewhere?"

Zeb zipped opened his jumpsuit and rolled it down to his waist. The Lasat grinned, "Kal, if this keeps up," a sparkle in his eyes illuminated his excitement despite their predicament, "maybe we'll get a beach planet next time!"

The ex-agent rolled his eyes, "I don't want to get stuck anywhere, Zeb." 

He covered his face with one hand as he tried to stop a smile, "But… I wouldn't mind a beach planet."

Zeb hugged Kallus, "Aw, ya love me." 

The ex-agent almost let out an undignified yelp as he felt warm and damp fur press against him. "Zeb! Let go of me!"

Lasats ran warmer than humans– that was a fact that Kallus quickly learned during his experience on Bahryn. Zeb's fur had kept the Lasat relatively warm on the ice moon. And while Yavin IV was a sweltering jungle planet, there was at least water and the air conditioning to ease off the heat.

Unfortunately this small planet had neither of those and Kallus wasn't planning on testing Zeb's limits.

Once the Lasat reluctantly released the former agent, they searched around for any cover from the sun. Kallus pointed off into the distance, "Those large rocks should provide shade." They were too far in the ex-agent's opinion, but it was the only choice they had.

Zeb squinted and faintly nodded, "Y-yeah. Okay." He gave a wavering smile, "Let's go."

They trekked through the sand, stumbling through giant sand dunes under the merciless sun. Kallus worriedly glanced over to his partner periodically as he worked on the transponder. 

Sweat glistened from Zeb's body and harsh heavy pants filled the ex-agent's ears. He paused his work and untied the jacket from his waist, offering it to his partner. Zeb automatically took the material in his hands. He stared at the jacket for a few seconds before he gave Kallus a confused look.

The former agent stifled a laugh, "Hold it over your head, so you're covering yourself from the sun."

"Oh." 

An ear twitched, "What about you?"

"I'll be fine, Zeb. We shouldn't be long before we make it to the large rocks," Kallus then shifted, somehow turning redder despite his already flushed skin. He avoided Zeb's gaze, "And I'm worried about you since you're one with a body full of fur."

Said fur ruffled as Kallus' concern made Zeb's heart fluttered. He tried to hide it with a good-natured grumble as he lifted the jacket over his head, "If you say so, ya sap."

They fell in comfortable silence; as comfortable they could get with the horrid heat.

The sun was at its highest peak when Kallus heard a soft thump behind him. The former agent whipped around, and nearly threw their only connection to the Ghost into the endless desert.

"Zeb!" 

Kallus quickly ran up and removed the jacket that obscured part of the Lasat's face. He shook his partner and felt the searing heat coming off the Lasat in waves.

"Zeb!"

The Lasat didn't respond. 

No! Nonono. They were so close!

"Zeb! Zeb! Wake up!"

Kallus tucked the transponder into his jacket pocket and once again tied the material around his waist. He grabbed a hold on Zeb and began to drag the Lasat the rest of the way.

The blazing heat that emanated from Zeb almost made the ex-agent release the Lasat a few times, but he grit his teeth and continued to push on. Sweat dripped steadily off Kallus' face, the liquid making his clothes uncomfortably stick to his body. 

His vision swam from the scorching heat that bore down on the barren land. He gasped for air, the warmth of it nearly made Kallus vomit.

Suddenly he felt the air moderately cool, Kallus glanced around and let out a relieved sigh. He made it to the rocks– the shade. Without a moment to lose, he pulled Zeb fully into the fresh shadows laying him down carefully, "Zeb! Dear!" 

Kallus cupped the Lasat's face, "We made it! Wake up." 

His heart began to sink the longer he went without a response. Kallus frantically searched for Zeb's pulse, he let out a shaky exhale when he felt the faint heartbeat thumping against his fingers.

Kallus hastily untied his jacket, threw the transponder off to the side, and messily folded the clothing to fan the Lasat to try to cool him down. "Please! Zeb, wake up!" 

He shouldn't be wasting his energy on crying, but Kallus couldn't stop his tears from running down his face. He buried his face into Zeb's soft fur, hissing as the heat the unconscious body exuded was unbearable to the human, How bad was it for Zeb?

After what felt like hours, Kallus forced himself to release his grasp on Zeb. He looked down in the sand to see the transponder laying forgotten. The ex-agent sighed and dragged himself to the machine to correct its frequency. 

It was kriffing hot.

… 

The sun was setting when the human was woken up by the sound of a ship. Kallus shot up, ran out of the shade, and saw the welcoming sight of the Ghost.  Kallus let out a hysterical laugh as he waved his arms to alert the Spectres of their location.

He clumsily ran up to Hera and Kanan, the Jedi caught him before his knees collapsed from under him. His sunburnt skin screamed with the touch, but Kallus ignored the pain.

The ex-agent's fingers gripped onto the blind Jedi's arm, "Zeb– He needs help!"

The fear in the Spectres' eyes made Kallus shiver, Kanan passed the former agent over to Hera before he ran towards the rocks where Zeb lay.

Hera led Kallus to the Ghost, "N-no. I need to help Kanan– help Zeb!"

The Twi'lek kept her tight hold on the thrashing human, "Kallus you're not doing any better yourself. You're not going to be much help." 

He knew that but… but… 

Hera cut through his unfinished thoughts, "Don't worry, you've done the best you can. We'll do the rest of the hard work, you just focus on getting better."

When they entered the ship, Hera's commanding voice echoed throughout the durasteel walls. 

"Rex! We need you outside!"

Hera led Kallus to the medbay, "Ezra! Sabine! I'm going to need ice packs– or anything that'll cool down a body!"

She sat down Kallus on the cot before turning to the orange droid who had followed the Twi'lek once she had entered the Ghost. "Chop, keep an eye on Kallus. Don't let him leave medical. I'm going to help Kanan and Rex with Zeb."

Chopper saluted, before turning to the ex-agent and producing his electro-shock prod. He tried to goad Kallus into leaving the room, promising not to shock the human if he got up from the bed.

Kallus might have been exhausted, but he wasn't stupid, after all it only took two shocks before he realized that the droid was messing with him.

"Traitor."

 …

 After hours of laying in the Ghost covered head-to-toe in ice packs and wet towels, Kallus could finally say with finality that he was currently freezing.

He still wasn't allowed to leave the room– or get up for that matter– not until Hera gave the okay. Which was why Chopper was put in charge of guarding the medbay; his threatening whirring and chatter kept Kallus from getting out of the cot.

He sighed, his eyes growing heavy for a second before a groan from beside him made Kallus shoot up. The materials on him crashing onto the floor as he got onto his feet.

Angry beeping filled the room as Chopper chastised Kallus for getting up. The ex-agent ignored the racket, "Chopper! Go get Hera! Zeb's waking up!'

The grumpy droid beeped in confirmation before speeding away. Kallus turned to the Lasat in the cot next to him, watching as Zeb's emerald green eyes slowly fluttered open. The sight made Kallus cup his love's face and begin to pepper small kisses all over. 

A purr rumbled throughout Zeb's chest, "Kal?"

"Thank the Stars you're okay! My Zeb, I was so worried."

Zeb cupped the human's face with one hand and wiped away any stray tears. He gave his love a weak smile, "I'm fine, Kal. Sorry for scaring ya."

"No, no. It's not your fault," the ex-agent lay his hand on Zeb's, caressing the soft fur there. He moved the hand to his lips, giving the palm a tender kiss.

"You know," Zeb dryly swallowed at the sight, his ears twitched as he tried to compose himself. "I'm still holding out hope for that beach planet, Kal."

Kallus gave a breathless laugh, "Maybe once you've recovered, we'll go on our own terms."

The Lasat's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Anything for you, my dear." Kallus pressed one last kiss to Zeb's hand before the eleated voices of the Spectres rushing over the medbay reached his ears. Kallus tightened his hold on Zeb's hand; the Lasat returned the gesture, a smile gracing his features, "I can't wait."

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Character sheets and illustrations for @kieraelieson‘s @ts-storytime Big Bang story, Searching For Home! I’m very, very glad that I jumped in to pinchhit for her, because doing all this art has been an absolute blast. 

Click on those bad boys for full size and details.

[image description: Below cut, due to length.

The first three images are digital art  showing 'profiles' of the various characters - with one full-body illustration to the far left with their names next to them, and various smaller illustrations of them to the right.

First image:

1: 'Dee' - a medium-height man with shoulder-height wavy brown hair. His skin is light brown, and his ears are pointed. The right side of his face are covered in a dotted pattern, and he winks mysteriously at out at the viewer. He is wearing a long black cloak with bright golden highlights, and his arms are lightly crossed beneath it. Underneath it, he has a plain brown suit and long pants. He is barefoot.  Next, a shot of Dee from behind displays that his cloak has a long gap in the back. He is glancing over one shoulder at the viewer. Handwritten text next to this reads 'back of cloak is also open to make room for wings' An illustration of Dee facing away from the viewer, now with a set of large golden-yellow wings on full display. They're similar in shape to butterfly wings, with two distinct sections to both sides and ragged edges, like a goldfish's tail. Light orange patterns run through them like veins. They appear to glow, faintly. Above this is a small doodle of Dee flying with these wings, arms outstretched to either side. He is glowing brightly, and a dotted line trails out from behind him, marking where he's flown frown.

2: 'Virgil' - a short child with pale skin and messy dark hair. His arms are crossed protectively over his front, and he looks out with his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open. His shirt is grey and has many patches and tears on it, and his pants are a dark purple and in a similar state. His brown shoes are untied. Next to this, Virgil sits cross-legged on the ground, expression delighted as he pets and plays with a very large black fluffy spider with red eyes. A small purple heart hovers over his head. Virgil faces away, displaying a set of large wings that are attached to his back. His wings are similar to a monarch butterfly's, but purple and violet in coloring. The edges have bright white and purple spots on them, and the middle of both has intricate dotted patterns with teardrop-shaped black and white 'eye' markings on them. They are glowing faintly white. Above this, a sketchier drawing of Virgil attempting to fly with these wings. He has an expression of panic on his face, and is flailing his arms wildly. A handwritten note pointing to this illustration reads 'Too skinny, clothes are a bit too baggy + beat up.'

Second image:

1: 'Logan' - a tall thin man in a long black trenchcoat with silver buttons. Underneath, a dark blue shirt with ruffles and a pair of full-length brown pants with a silver belt. He has light skin and brown hair parted neatly over his left ear. He's wearing square spectacles and raising one hand in greeting, with the other tucked behind his back. Next to this, Logan is giving a Patton  (see next character description)  a ride on his shoulders. He's holding firmly onto Patton's  legs, and smiling up at him. Patton's  eyes are closed in contentment and his arms are folded on top of Logan's head. There is a swirl of dark blue in the background of this. A handwritten note next to this indicates that 'this is the right way to carry a child.' Logan, no longer his his long coat, has fallen asleep next to a pile of books. He rests his head in the crook of one arm, with a cartoonish 'Z' in a bubble above his head. Logan, in motion as he sprints towards some unknown destination. His eyes are wide and his coat swirls dramatically around him. A circle of dark color encircles his head. Two small sketches of Logan carrying Patton. In the first, he has Patton tucked inelegantly under one arm, like you might carry a football. Both of them seem unconcerned, and Patton is smiling. In the second, Logan lifts Patton  up, holding him under the armpits with a blank expression. Patton flails his hands happily, grinning. The handwritten text next to this notes that 'These are probably not good ways to carry a child'.

2: 'Patton': a short chubby child with a bright grin and square glasses. His skin is a darker brown than Dee's, but still fairly light. His hair is curly and dark-gold, and he's wearing a light grey coat with lighter grey fluffy bits at the neck, sleeves, and bottoms. His jeans are cyan and fall just below his knees. He wears brown boots and a light-blue shirt underneath the coat. Patton in profile from the chest up, facing right. He isn't wearing his coat, and he's still grinning. A note pointing to his glasses reads 'Doesn't actually need glasses! They're frames. He wears them so he can look like Logan' Patton, waist-deep in water, with his coat pulled up around his head. His eyes aren't visible but he's still smiling. His hands are extended outwards, like he's venturing further into the water. He's surrounded by specks of light. Two doodles of a baby seal, whose fluffy fur and coloring greatly resembles Patton's coat. There are spots of gold the same shade as Patton's hair on its back.. The first shows the seal lying on its side and looking left, flippers pulled close to its chest and water droplets exploding out around it. A label declares it '(FLUFFY)'. In the next, the seal pup is splashing downwards into water, bubbles spiraling out around it.

Third image: 1: 'Remy' - a medium-height man with brown skin, wearing sunglasses (from behind which yellow eyes are faintly visible) and a necklace with a yellow pendant. Short orange horns extend from his dark brown hair. He's grinning crookedly and flashing a peace sign at the viewer. He wears an unbuttoned black jacket with a ragged hem and a dark shirt visible underneath it, and black sweatpants with dark brown boots. He balances his weight on one foot, tipping the other back. A handwritten note pointing to him reads 'hides horns under hair, hides yellow eyes behind dark glasses'. An illustration of Remy's dragon form - a tall black dragon with the same coloring as Remy's jacket, and massive dark wings that are extended above him. His tail is long and ends with a puff of wavy brown  fluff. A note pointing to it reads 'swishy soft tail'. He has the same orange horns as humanoid-Remy does, except longer and curved backwards, and glowing yellow eyes. His neck is curved and bent downwards as he looks at a pink sketch of a fat man with wings, who is there to provide size reference. The man barely comes up to the base of his neck. An illustration of Remy in flight with Emile riding him (see next description for details). Remy's massive wings extended out to catch the wind, and his limbs and tail  are bent as though he's turning in midair. He glances up at Emile, on his back. Emile is grinning, his own wings open to catch the wind, and is holding tightly to Remy's neck.

2: 'Emile' - a fat medium-height man with light brown skin and light brown hair streaked through his pink. He has square-ish spectacles and a half-smile on his face. He wears a light pink-grey sweater patterned with salmon stripes, and a pair of light blue jeans. His shoes are brown. He also has a pair of large wings extending from his back. They're dark brown at the top but the color transitions from there into a lighter brown, into even lighter brown, and from there into cream. Emile faces away from the camera, his wings fully extended behind him. From here, we can see that they resemble a falcon's wings, and that the dark brown is more prevalent on the back of them. A note pointing to this explains that they're 'Slightly too small to properly fly with - better for gliding'. An illustration of Emile in flight. His wings are extended to catch the air and are not rendered in very much detail. His arms are raise and one foot is extended, as if he's coming in to land. Behind him is a blue sky and faint wispy clouds.

The fourth image shows all of the full-body portraits from the previous images positioned next to each other to show their heights in relation to each other. In order from tallest to shortest, this is Logan, Remy, Emile, Dee, Virgil, and Patton. Behind them is a light pink-to-blue gradient, with lines extending from the top of their heads to emphasize their heights. They are standing on a nondescript grey rectangle.

The last three images are watercolor A4 portraits featuring the character designs from the previous images.

Fifth image: Virgil and Dee, both with their wings out, are in the middle of a lush green forest, surrounded by oversized flowers and blades of glass. The gnarled brown wood of various trees frames the scene. Dee is standing barefoot in the grass, facing sideways with his glowing golden wings extended behind him. He's smiling up at Virgil, with an encouraging hand extended upwards and the other holding onto Virgil's own hands. Virgil is giggling and hovering in midair, wings fluttering and legs slightly askew as he tries to work out how to fly. They're illuminated by a beam of sunlight from above. A spider appoximately the size of a small perches on the wood in the left foreground, watching them.

Sixth image: Logan walks through a rushing deep blue river that comes up to mid-calf height. His long coat swishes around him and he is glancing back with a worried expression on his face at Patton, who he's carrying on his back. Patton's arms are wrapped around Logan's chest and his legs are behind supported by Logan's hands. He's wearing his grey coat and flasses and appears to be asleep. Puffs of white mist swirl near Logan's head. Behind them both, a black-and-blue night sky is patterend with many, many white stars, some of which are connected in constellation patterns. The moon is bright white in the sky, a half-crescent that illuminates both Logan and Patton from behind.

Seventh image: Remy, in his humanoid form, kneels  behind Emile on a bright yellow beach. Remy peers over his sunglasses, looking concerned, as he touches Emile's wings gently - they're tattered and ragged with blood covering them in messy splotches. Emile is sitting with his hands pressed into the sand, glancing back at Remy with a sheepish smile. In front of them, the ocean is visible with bright blue waves foaming white. Behind them, there are many rocks in red, pink, orange and yellow gradients. The sky above is blue with fluffy white clouds, and the sun shines down brightly on the scene.]