#antonia perryman / brisbane bagley : we found love in a hopeless place [tacticalvalor]

[vendettavalor]

@tacticalvalor said: [ bloody ] sender arrives at receiver's doorstep bleeding and injured -> toni and brisbane

⚔️ "You're The Only Person I Can Turn To" Prompts // CLOSED ⚔️

"Rainbow's Bridge, love! What've ya done to ya self?" The curse is breathlessly whispered as Bris takes hold of Toni's arm and practically drags her in to sit down. Despite the quick pace with which he darts about gathering his needed materials, he seems remarkably calm. As though a severe patch-job like this is normal for him. And it is.

If his stories are to be believed, Brisbane has seen people at his door just barely warmed over from Death himself. Her injuries are severe, but not nearly the worst he has seen in his long lifetime of fighting.

From the kitchen, he pulls a large suitcase filled with various medical supplies. So much as a twitch or shuddering breath out of line draws a quiet scolding from him as he moves to clean her up. The blood is swept from her face with such softness and care, a ginger smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he swipes the drying gore away to reveal her facial scars and her heavy eyes. She is a mess, her hair knotted and matted, her eyes tired and bloodshot, and a layer of grime and sweat coating her features. Yet even still -

"There's my beautiful gal, eh? Much betta." He coos, before moving on to the actual injury. It's a deep gash in her shoulder. Judging by the cauterization of the wound and the prominent smell of burning flesh, it was likely inflicted by something Sith. Bris clicks his tongue, half tempted to take off with his charged whip into the night and hunt down whoever did this so he can choke them with his bare hands. Somehow, though, he resists and settles for smearing a cool, numbing bacta gel on the wound before bandaging it.

"I'll have to give ya stitches, but you're in no condition for me to do that now. Rest, love. And I'll take care of everythin'."

[vendettavalor]

@tacticalvalor said: say, you know, you were great back there. -> toni and brisbane

⚔️ Roman Holiday Prompts // CLOSED ⚔️

"Ya think so? That's high praise comin' from you, love."

The smile he gave Antonia was toothy and lopsided. Lighthearted, kind, and nonchalant, just like he was. Incredible, given the fight they'd just managed to narrowly claw their way out of. Even more so considering that this was by no means a first or a last for him.

Much like her, Brisbane was a soldier. He'd spent most of his life at war, though not entirely enlisted in any service. Life under the Empire was a battle - a never-ending struggle that required utmost vigilance and a seemingly endless supply of endurance to fuel one's survival. How he'd managed to keep going despite losing everything was a mystery. The man had guts. But more than that, he had heart.

"Come on then. They scratched ya up somethin' nasty. I wanna take care of that before it has a chance to get infected." Same old Bris. Always so caring, so concerned about everyone else before himself. He offered her his arm and his shoulder to hold onto and lean on while they slowly made their way back. The way he cared for her was something to admire. His devotion after such ferocity was something to admire - and fear.

And anyone who thought of hurting Toni while he was around had best be afraid of Brisbane Bagley.

[vendettavalor]

@tacticalvalor said: [HAIR]: in the process of pushing the receiver's hair back from their face, the sender lets their hand rest against the receiver's cheek a moment longer. -> bris and toni

⚔️ Reasons to Cup a Face Prompts // CLOSED ⚔️

He's no stranger to the gesture. He doesn't even draw his gaze away from the sight of the scope he's looking down, but she can still catch the way his lashes flutter. Her calloused fingers brush the long dark strands back from where they've fallen against his brow, following the gentle curve of them down and tucking them back behind one large ear. As she brings her hand back down, it skims along the apple of his cheek and comes to rest against the soft, warm skin there. The backs of her fingers linger along tanned flesh textured with scars and the stubbly edges of his well-maintained beard.

Finally, his eyes move to look at her. Split colors drink her in and threaten to melt her between warm, honey gold and cool, ocean blue. Her breath momentarily hitches as she feels him leans into her touch. His eyes momentarily flutter shut as he nuzzles into her palm, soothed by skin that is just as calloused and just as scarred as his own. Then he turns and presses his coarse lips to her palm in a delicate kiss and she can't help but smile. It is a fleeting moment of intimacy, so rare and so impermanent in a situation such as this. The cruel reality of war is that it offers so little time for the beauty of the mundane such as this. Yet even still, they will drink in this moment while they can. Savor the flutter it brings to their hearts.

Before he must turn away from her again and look back down the scope. Before the dawn's early light breaks on the horizon and the speakers around them are alive with bugles. Before the smell of blood and dust stings their nostrils as they are sent rushing into battle once more as the dogs of war. Before they will have to forsake the tenderness they hold so close to themselves in order to be good weapons of war, cruel and unfeeling and practical and effective.

But for now, they can just be people together.