#empires fic

[myartdumpster]

The thing with living toys is that they need belief to keep them alive. They need at least one person to believe they’re real and not just a toy. Everyone knows this. Right?

Well, at least Jimmy does. And as the sheriff of a town of very real humans, yes sir, very real, it is of the utmost importance that he believes. So, he does.

Jimmy believes. Jimmy believes with all his heart. He loves Tumble Town, it’s his home. He would do anything for them. So, if all it takes is at least one person to believe they’re all real then so be it; he’ll believe to hell and back.

All it takes is one person to believe.

Jimmy tends to avoid mirrors, and water streams, and windows, and lakes, and— Jimmy doesn’t look at himself too much is the point. It’s a habit he developed soon after becoming sheriff. He tells others, and himself, it’s because a good sheriff can’t be too concerned with his appearance, he has to focus on his town, his people. He tells others it’s because a good sheriff is humble and not self-absorbed.  Deep down, Jimmy knows that’s not the truth; Jimmy knows why he avoids mirrors.

All it takes is one person to believe.

Issues aside, Jimmy’s proud of Tumble Town. He’s done a good job if he says so himself. Tumble Town is welcoming, warm. It may not be the biggest or the flashiest, or the richest, but it’s home. Its citizens are kind, understanding, and the best people a sheriff could ask for. Safe to say, he is pretty happy with the town he’s built, with the community he has created. The town is happy, they respect him, all the other rulers respect him. It’s great!

…well, all but one. That little god. Joel. Stratos. A splinter on Jimmy’s side. Constantly trying to launch him into the sky. Threatening to blow up The Liability. Building those stupid taunts around his area. Calling him a toy. He is not a toy ok! He is a very real person! Just like the rest of Tumble Town. Real people, led by a real person. He is not a toy. He is real! A real person! A real sheriff!

All it takes is one person to believe.

This time Joel had gone too far. Or maybe he didn’t, that’s what the town folk said, but Jimmy had just had enough. Calling him a toy is one thing. He could take all sorts of berating and taunting. Calling his citizens toys? Calling his town, a play set? that had crossed a line. The town folk, ever so kind, had told him it was ok, that it was only a matter of time until the town received the same treatment as it’s sheriff, that it wasn’t a big deal, but Jimmy wasn’t having it. Tumble Town was real, its citizens were real, the work they had all put in was real. It was real because Jimmy believed it was.

All it takes is one person to believe.

Overreaction or not, he didn’t care; either way he was making his way over to Stratos because he’d be dammed if he let Tumble Town suffer anymore.

“Joel!” Stratos was golden, too golden.

“Why hello there, sheriff, what brings you—"

“Oh please, enough pleasantries! I know it’s you making the stupid builds around Tumble Town!” Stratos was metallic, too metallic.

“What? Are you not happy to have more citizens around?”

“Joel, my citizens are not toys. I need you to stop. Right now.” Stratos was reflective, too reflective.

“Hey, toy citizens fit for a toy sheriff. Jim, listen if you’re still in denial I can recommend a good—” Stratos was too reflective for Jimmy’s liking.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it! Tumble Town is real, ok?” Stratos was too reflective, and that question was not aimed at Joel. “As real as they come,” Neither was that statement. “And I will not have you disrespecting my town or my citizens anymore. I tried to come here and talk things out, get you to stop in a civilized manner, but apparently you can’t be reasoned with. So, let me make this clear.” Fueled by nothing but anger and respect for his town, Jimmy walked forward, towards Joel. Hoping he looked at least somewhat intimidating; trying his hardest not to look at his reflection. “If you dare mess with Tumble Town again, I will not hesitate to take harsher action.” He flicked a flint and steel, as a warning. A final warning. “Good bye Joel.”

Jimmy turned to leave. Walking towards the edge, eyes on the ground to avoid the gold and polished quartz that coated the island.

“You’re a toy Jimmy, do what you want, you’re not a real threat.” Jimmy leapt off the side of Stratos, letting himself fall before opening his elytra. “So long, sheriff!”

Stratos has a waterfall. Stratos is too reflective, and Jimmy almost hit the ground.

All it takes is one person to believe.

Jimmy believes, no, Jimmy knows Stratos is the worst place on these lands. Just visiting makes him woozy. So bright, so golden, so reflective… its ruler doesn’t help it either. A god he says. If anyone is a poser here it’s him. Right? … right?

He’s spiraling again. It’s no big deal. He hates to admit it but Joel gets to him. It also doesn’t help that he caught a glimpse of his reflection and he clearly saw a— “no. No. No. No. Stop it, Jim! This is exactly what he wants! He’s messing with you. He’s a god for crying out loud! A pathetic one, but that doesn’t change the fact that he can probably do god magic... stuff... things. Right?” He looks at his deputy, attentively following his downwards spiral, despite the fact that none of this speech is aimed at him, “right? It was probably an illusion. He can probably do that. It was just an illusion… yeah.” Norman seems to agree, or, rather, he doesn’t seem to disagree. So, Jimmy settles. He settles for believing. He believes, wholeheartedly, that the string and loop that he saw coming out of his back is not there. He believes he is real. He has to believe he is real.

All it takes to keep the magic of Tumble Town alive is for one person to believe, and if that person, real person, has to be Jimmy, then hell be dammed; he’ll believe to Stratos and back.

[seth-kia]

Something is wrong with his hands.

Pix has been awake for some time since respawning. His head throbs; his lungs burn with the effort of taking a breath, like death is still fighting him--perhaps it is, because he feels terrible. He's drained and shaky, like he'd been wracked with fever and only now broken through the sickness.

He lay there catching his strength through trembling fingers until he felt well enough to try and stand.

That's when he gets it. Something is wrong with his hands.

Pix pushes them against the bed to sit up, and they go through the sheets like they're nothing.

He falls.

The breath he'd just regained is taken from him as his back slams into the mattress--or it should. Instead, he plunges into the wool like water, back sinking through the wooden frame. It's stifling against his skin, body which is stuck halfway into his bed, and he is panicking, and he cannot breathe.

It's somewhere in that panic that he realizes he does not need to.

The shock stops him in his floundering, going still within the should-be-solid blankets. He is frozen. He is not breathing, and it does not hurt.

Why does it not hurt?

Beneath all the terror, curiosity surfaces. It's warmer, and comforting. He's spent his whole life learning, understanding. Researching.

Knowing.

Something is wrong with his hands, and he needs to know what.

And for that, he needs to get up.

Pix braces his palms against the wood below, and it feels solid enough. Pushing, lightly at first, his body feels weightless, like he has no substance. With a gentle shove, he rises above the wool.

Now he's sitting on it. He's not sinking. His blankets are real in his grasp.

He takes a breath. A shuddering, slow, careful inhale, tasting the dust of the catacombs deep in his lungs, his muscles weak and sore, but he is breathing. He's breathing.

He huffs a shaky laugh, and it echoes. What a defiance, he thinks, to laugh even when he feels like death itself is holding him down.

There's a distant meow from deep within the catacombs.

He chuckles again, feeling stronger with the air in his lungs. "I hear you, Neptune," he calls, his voice surprisingly even.

The cat's yowl bounces through the winding halls. It's tense, and concerned, and out of place of their usual playful mews.

The research could wait, Pix decides. He didn't know how long he'd been dead for. Had he fed Neptune yet?

"I'm coming, hold on," he says, and hears a confirmatory meow in reaponse.

Bringing his legs off of the sheets, he presses his feet into the floor, testing the surface and deeming it solid. He doesn't fall through when he stands.

Still weak, he reaches for a wall to steady himself, and his hand sinks three inches into the stone before stopping.

"This is... very strange," he says to himself, thoughtful. He pulls his hand from the wall, and it feels like removing a block of slime from a piston--the stone clings to him, but finally he is released, nearly knocking himself off balance again before he's steady on his feet.

Mentally, he notes that down. Touching feels like water; escaping feels like molasses.

Neptune yowls again, from deep within the catacombs, and he sets off for the staircase to find the cat.

It almost feels a little like he's walking across sand. He sinks a little into the surface, and it clings when he takes another step, but other than that, it's all the same. He gets used to the rhythm as he explores his storage rooms, the winding corridors calming, grounding him in familiarity.

When he turns the corner, he finds the ghost cat is no longer a ghost.

Neptune is regal and proud and unabashedly solid, licking their paw smugly. Their tail flicks around in greeting.

"Buddy, look at you!" Pix says, unable to keep the glee from his voice. "A--a real boy, as one might say! You know, your fur is much more vibrant now that you aren't translucent."

The cat stops grooming, tilting their head almost in confusion. They stretch, and reach forward with a paw.

Instinctively, Pix holds out a hand to catch it.

Neptune's claws are real and solid, and they hurt.

"Hey!" He yanks his hand away, cradling it. "What was that for?"

Neptune trills, expression unnervingly similar to something of frustration. They paw at the air again.

"What?" he asks. "I'm not giving you my hand again, if you're going to use me as a scratching post."

The cat's gaze is unmoving. For a being completely incapable of speaking Common, they are unfairly convincing.

Their tail twitches.

"Fine," Pix sighs. He holds out his palm again.

Neptune gently places a paw on his fingers, pulling his hand fully flat, where Pix can see claw marks across the flesh.

"Yes, that's where you--"

He pauses.

There's no blood from the wounds.

The skin has clearly separated, and the marks are deep, but it's not bleeding. Instead of red, he sees a grayish void between bone and flesh, undefined and unmoving.

"--clawed me," he finishes slowly. "Neptune, I don't suppose you know why I'm missing my blood, do you?"

They meow, loudly, and lick the back of their paw.

"Helpful," Pix mutters.

Neptune looks at him.

He curls his fingers into a fist, the claw marks opening to reveal more of the absence of crimson. Had the cat not torn open his palm, he probably wouldn't have known about the whole 'missing blood' issue for a long while. "Point taken."

The curiosity nagged at him again. He had so many questions, so many things he didn't know the answer to.

Pix thought back to his death, curled beneath the shelves of Katherine's castle. It was cold, and painful, like concrete was flooding his veins, like someone had tangled a rope around his heart and lungs and pulled it taught, like someone had poured acid all over his skin, like he was disintegrating. He'd never died like that before. Not even to the hands of wither skeletons in the Nether, not to weakness, not to poison.

When he'd woken, he fell through his bed. His hands sunk into surfaces. He didn't need to breath, but he could. His wounds didn't bleed.

But he could touch his cat, who previously to this moment, was a ghost.

"Am I..."

He feels like, inside himself, something's been taken from him. Like something less physical than his blood is missing.

Neptune watches him, pausing their grooming.

"...It's not that you're alive, now, is it," he says. "That's not why you look real to me."

Saying it out loud hurts, as if he'd spoken the truth into reality. The realization floods him with emotions he can't name, and he takes a breath, the cool air grating against his dry throat.

Neptune purrs. They bunt their head into Pix's palm, who runs his fingers through the fur absent-mindedly, revelling in how solid it is through his nails, how real it feels against his bloodless skin.

Something is wrong with his hands, he thinks.

"I'm not really alive anymore, am I?"

Neptune blinks slowly.

Pixl feels the rumbling through the ribcage of his ghost cat. The trill echoes through the hallowed catacombs, below a long dead city, covered in thousands of years of dust.

He hums.

After everything, it's a little appropriate. Something living, breathing, pulsing in the heart of so much history--something truly alive--was bound to be stifled and choked by it all someday.

A laugh escapes him, and his ghost cat's tail curls around his arm, warm and solid and real.

"Perhaps another ghost here isn't so out of place, huh, Neptune?"

ao3 link here!

[arthropod-concoctions]

“Pix? What are you digging around in MY empire for?” Jimmy asked, hand hovering over his sword.

“Oh, hey Jimmy! Look, I can explain. My peers told me there was evidence of there being remains of an ancient civilisation, just below-”

“Jimmy?” Statue-Joel hadn't managed to successfully exit the hole in the ground, but he peeked over the edge the second he heard Jimmy's voice. Jimmy looked over, and caught his eye.

There was dead silence for a few seconds as the two stared at each other. Oh great, Pixl thought. Arguing with Joel is not going to make him less mad at me-

Then Jimmy burst out laughing.

“What- what's happened here? Why are you so small? Pix, did you do this?” Smiling, Jimmy walked towards the hole Joel was still stuck in, and broke some surrounding sandstone to help Joel get out. Sure enough, standing on level height, Jimmy was a good several inches taller than the statue.

“Who's a small toy now, huh? HUH?”

Strangely enough, Joel didn't seem at all inclined to mock Jimmy back; he just looked at him, as if he was seeing a ghost. “Where did you run off to, Jimmy?”

“Huh? I was just stopping by the Eversea to get some more gunpowder. Why do you care about that?” Jimmy asked, then shrugged. “Whatever. I don't care. The point is, little man, that...” Jimmy continued his tirade against statue-Joel, who still seemed too stunned to retort. This would be the perfect time for Pixl to bail out of this situation, he realised. He turned around, preparing to leave...

Only to walk directly into the real Joel.

“Did someone mention a little toy man? Are you talking about yourself again, Jimmy?” real-Joel asked, with a mean grin. Jimmy spun around immediately, then looked between real-Joel and statue-Joel.

“No... I thought- Pix, what did you do? Why are there two of them!?”

“Oh, did you make a statue of me? That's nice.” Real-Joel crouched down and tapped against statue-Joel's cheek. Strangely enough, the latter didn't react at all- he just turned to Jimmy. “Two of what?”

“Two of- of you, Joel. You're here, but so is the dumb giant-” Jimmy hesitated for a moment, disgust visible on his face- “the god over there.”

An expression flashed across statue-Joel's face for a moment. “God? What are you talking about? Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy. Gods aren't real.”

“EXCUSE ME?” Joel's voice boomed, accompanied by the sound of thunder in the distance. “That is VERY offensive, I'll have you know! You'll pay for that!”

Statue-Joel still didn't react. This just made real-Joel even angrier; he pulled back his foot and prepared to kick the statue. “No, wait!” Pixl shouted, but it was too late; Joel's foot hit the statue square in the stomach-

And bounced backwards, not moving him even an inch. Real-Joel yelped in pain and grabbed his foot; Jimmy bent over laughing, and statue-Joel just looked at Pixl in confusion.

“Forget this! I'm going to Stratos, where real gods live! Goodbye, toys!” Joel took off flying, leaving the three of them in various states of confusion.

“Oh my gosh. That was amazing. 'gods arent real'- I've gotta use that one sometime,” Jimmy said, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eye. “You're much better than the other Joel.”

“...What just happened? Are you two okay?”

“We're fine! I should be asking you, you're the one who just got kicked...” Jimmy trailed off. “Wait... could you actually not see him?” Statue-Joel just minimally shook his head in response. He seemed overwhelmed.

Jimmy stammered for a few seconds, then shook his head and said: “You know what? Don't even worry about it. I've decided, that guy is fake, you're the real Joel in my eyes.” He walked over to the statue and hit him on the shoulder affectionately-

and Joel suddenly wrapped his arms around him in a hug. He pushed his head into Jimmy's shoulder, and- started to cry? Jimmy hesitated, but after a second hugged him back, and patted Joel reassuringly on the back as his shoulders began to shake.

“Well... i'll leave you two to it. Goodbye!” Pix said, gathered up his supplies, and flew off. Well this was quite the afternoon... He'd have to go back and talk to the new Joel later. For now, he was just happy to get out of this mess unharmed.

(ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 4)

[the-demons-writings]

Hello! o/

Could I request a DreamSMP!Child!Reader being transported into Empires SMP and lands in Scott’s empire?

If not that’s completely fine ^-^

Have a lovely day! :)

Of course I can! Sorry it's a little rushed !

Just for you

Empires season 1 Scott x Dsmp child dragon reader

[Pt1]||Pt2

Running. That's all you could afford to do. Stopping meant wasting time and wasting time meant you'd get caught, and you can't get caught here. Not when all the adults are untrustworthy. You've made that mistake once, but never again.

Taking a quick glance behind you, you could see him . The Baron of the land Dream and he was gaining. With a small yelp leaving you you hurriedly tried to pick up pace to escape the once was bounty hunter. You couldn't go back with him, you absolutely refused. He was the one who messed up your wings. A sword right through the webbing of your wings , making it almost impossible for you to fly again.

Spotting a nether portal you hoped at least in the nether you'd be faster. You'd have the advantage compared to the bounty hunter behind you. A crossbow bolt whizzed past you as you ran your hope for the advantage you'd have in the nether only growing. You were only a foot away when you tripped rolling to a stop just outside the portal's boundaries. Dream stood In front of you the mask he wore seeming to contort into an inhumane smile. As he loaded a crossbow bolt you suddenly felt something clawed grab your hands and suddenly you were pulled through the portal harshly.

Now this certainly isn't the first time you've traveled by portal and usually you hold up just fine, but this time you felt sick. And as you were dragged out of the portal you rolled only to end up face first in snow. You sat up quickly, blinking hurriedly , there's no snow in the nether. Clearly toubaren where you thought.

Looking around it was gorgeous, a city built, into, around, and on a snow covered mountain. You were freezing. Your origin was from the nether, being in the over world was challenging enough without the cold , the cold makes it so much worse. Looking around you notice sheep. Certainly no one would mind if you just slaughtered a few and made yourself something cozy.

You moved to take a step but something caught your ear. Talking coming from above the portal entrance. You sucked in a breath aiming to keep yourself quiet as you reached for the enchanted iron sword on your hip. The moment footsteps crossed your path you pointed the sword at them.

At the end of your sword a blue haired bird hybrid (?). Honestly you weren't sure he had antlers and elven ears. You wouldn't know . Your sword was pointed up just below his chin aimed at the back . He looked bored as you did so .

Rolling his eyes he sighed. "Your stance is off if you're going to mug someone especially a king do it right

" he huffed, pulling out his own sword. Using his own sword he maneuvered your launching it from your grip and into the snow. As you stood baffled he looked you over, you couldn't be anymore than maybe ten. What were you doing here near the Portal?

Upon further inspection he noted your horns, wings, tail and the small patches of scales that littled your face. A dragons child? That certainly had to be a myth. The only person who'd even had the chance of hatching an egg was Gem and even then dragons can't seem to make it out of any kingdom except the Crystal Cliffs without being hunted into near extinction.

He stared and you stared back. When you finally deterred him as not a threat you brought your foot back and kicked him in the shins. No adult is trustworthy, certainly not one who puts a sword to you. He yelled, his sword suddenly disappearing as he dropped to assess his shins. "What the hell kid!" He shouts at you .

You huff turning to run before your picked up by the back of your shirt. Far too close to your wings for your liking "Let me go! I'll kill you, I'll do it! You bird brained bastard!" You shouted back struggling in the grasp.

Scott didn't like that, you're a dragon you're meant to be harder to pick up. He also hated the way your wings looked, tattered as if someone had run a blade through thin leather. "Calm down there's going to be a snow storm, I don't want you to freeze so you can stay in my castle." He states plane and simple. Thinking about it what's he gimg to tell Jimmy, better yet what is he going to tell his sibling Xornoth.

If anyone's better equipped to deal with a child from the Nether it's Xornoth. But he knows Xornoth is out late for the night. As he started to walk he picked up your sword only making you angrier. You hiss as your pulled along despite your struggles.

No adult is trustworthy.

Much to Scott's dismay he's able to carry you back with relative ease despite the struggling. Once he'd gotten you inside he set you down. Making the door was closed and locked behind him he didn't want snow getting in later.

The moment you were set down you distanced yourself heavily though the warmth of the room made you want to curl up. While warm it was still colder than temperatures you're used to honestly you could if given the chance, curl up and fall asleep on the floor.

Scott looked at you worriedly. He didn't like how frightened you looked , Much less how violent you seemed , he wanted to know what happened. Thinking about you seemed possibly as stubborn as his brother, maybe even as stubborn as Jimmy. Maybe he could offer you food? Slowly he walked towards the kitchen , the way you stared at him with murderous intent never seemed to leave.

"Hey, kid. You hungry? I've got soup, it's warm and you'll probably feel a little less sleepy "

You glared a growling building up in your throat. "Like hell I want food from a fuckin adult. You're probably out to poison me or I don't use me for some kind of gain!" You shout

"I'm not some adult, I'm Scott smajor, you can call me Scott if you like but the insults just won't do" Scott stares humming trying to figure out what you might eat, you've got to eat something preferably, something warm to keep your body temperature up. "Would you like to help me cook or just watch me cook so you can ensure that I haven't poisoned any of the food or anything of that manner?"

You look around then at the bird king himself. "If I don't know what it is you'll tell me what it is right ?" You asked, still opting to keep your distance the best you could. You were skeptical he hadn't done anything hostile towards you yet .

He nodded as he started pulling out a pan or two, due to your draconic nature he knew you'd prefer something with meat. His final decision was spaghetti. You both are in silence,you sat glaring at him the whole time.

After you finished you were tempted to ask for more though that would show how weak you were. Hesitantly you sighed looking over to him without malice for the first time. " Could I get some warmer clothes please" you huffed through strained teeth . The food warmed you up but it wasn't enough.

He nodded, walking over to you and offering you a hand , you don't take it but you filed him. "My sibling enjoyed wearing a plethora of clothes , if anything is to your liking please wear it, I'll be outside the room if you need anything. "

You looked at his as he left , he was just allowing you food, and clothes. What the hell is wrong with him? It made your heart all fuzzy. It was nice being actually taken care of .you found yourself a pain for warmer clothes folding your clothes and holding them to your chest.

As you exited the room Scott was there just he said he'd be. Scott raised a brow smiling at what you wore

"You look good in that, how about we find you a room?" He states and you nod hesitantly. His intentions are unknown to you and you don't know if they intend to get worse

He leads you to the spare room smiling " Could I know your name, little one? " He asks only to be met with another glare form you as you settle into the room. "Fair enough" he states closing the door and giving you time.

You sigh as the doors closed. You set your things on a dresser then flop onto the the bed, you've never laid in a cozier bed. You have the room to spread your wings and get comfortable . It's amazing. You get cozy and soon enough you're falling asleep. For the first time in a very long time, you're letting your guard down. As you start to fall asleep, Scott walks into the room. He's holding a plate of cookies. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that you're starting to fall asleep. In fact, he places the cookies on a nearby dresser and gently places a hand in your hair. "Rest easy kid"*

You huff a small churrimg noise escaping by our lisp as Scott ruffles your hair "Y/N." You correct Scott . He spares youba confused glance before it hits him that that's your name .. honestly if he were going to continue to be this nice this could be the only exception you make for an adult. Just for him .

[djpurple3]

Wordcount: 6.9k

Summary: Now that peace has finally, finally come to pass, Codfather Solidarity and Count fWhip have decided for forge an official alliance, treaty and all. Signing it during the Grimlandic Festival of Progress only makes sense.

And on the other hand, fWhip gets to show his partner around one of the Grimlands' biggest annual festivals, and they're practically vibrating with excitement. Everything from the community, to the food, to the races, to the fireworks - fWhip is anxious to share, and Jimmy is eager to discover.

It also makes for a pretty cute date.

==== ==== ====

Written as part of the @mcyt-valentines exchange on tumblr, and written for @welcome-back-to-hoimycraf!! I really hope you enjoy the fic <3 and happy... yesterdalentines day

Full fic under the cut!

==== ==== ====

fWhip wipes their palms dry on their pants, trying to ignore how nervous he is right now as he strides down the main street of Eastvale.

The preparations are ready. Everything’s in order. The streets of the Grimlands are flooded with colour and light – multichromatic arrays of redstone lanterns, bunting and streamers and balloons and banners, candles of every colour, plentiful and bountiful flower arrangements graciously provided by Lady Katherine of House Blossom, musicians organised and already playing.

And, for when the moon rises, a bombastic fireworks display is ready.

fWhip planned the display himself. It should be bigger and better than last year. It should be the best damn fireworks display in the Twelve Empires, maybe the whole world. After all, the Grimlandic Festival of Progress starts today.

When fWhip was a kid, they used to take part in the annual gizmo-cart competitions, and he won more than a few. Now he’s the Count, he’s not allowed to compete anymore. fWhip also assumes it’s because someone wanted to break their winning streak of eight years. A shame, really.

But either way, it’s probably one of fWhip’s favourite parts of the entire festival. He loves to watch the races. He loves seeing what gizmos people make, especially the kids.

That’s not the only reason they’re nervous, though. fWhip’s been to so many of these festivals now that they look forward to it – they don’t even find organising a three-day-long festival to be that harrowing anymore. No, the big reason he’s nervous is for what else is happening today.

Codfather Solidarity is coming to attend the festival, and, more importantly, to come sign the official paperwork with him to declare the Cod Empire and the Grimlands as official allies.

And!Jimmy’s coming to see the Festival of Progress. For the first time ever. fWhip is almost giddy with excitement, though his stomach is also twisting with nerves.

All of the Grimlands’ allies are invited. Gem’s already here, though she’s been to plenty of these before, too. Pearl unfortunately has a major harvest to oversee. Sausage said he couldn’t come on the first day, but would try to make it later in the week. Katherine was also busy, but had still agreed to send flowers.

And… and he can finally, officially, add Jimmy to that list.

fWhip finds himself smiling, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. Their hands are clammy, but they can’t help but be elated.

Jimmy said he’d be here for the festival. Teasingly agreed that the Festival of Progress was going to be the best time for them to sign anything. And then he had kissed fWhip and told them he was looking forward to it.

fWhip checks his wristwatch again. Jimmy said he’d be here by mid-morning, ready to sign the paperwork at noon.

He looks up, checking down the main road. Jimmy said he wouldn’t fly this time, but rather bring an entourage – seeing how historic an event this would be. And he had told fWhip that by bringing people with him, he’d be freer to stay longer. He’d also given fWhip a wink.

So, um, fWhip’s very much looking forward to this! For… multiple reasons.

“Count fWhip!” someone calls, and fWhip looks up, turns on his heels, searching for the voice, and heads over when he sees a small group of his people gathered around one of the strings of redstone lamps which has been taken down.

“What’s up?” fWhip asks, and he’s already pulling his trustiest screwdriver out of his toolbelt. They’re pleased they had the forethought to throw it on as they headed out the door.

“One of the lamps shorted out, and it made the entire string stop working,” a young woman tells them, as the older man standing beside her helplessly gestures with the lamp in question. “And none of us are sure how to fix it.”

“Alright,” fWhip says with a laugh, gently ushering people out of their way, and holding out their hands until the man gives him the lamp. “Get me something to perch on, and I’ll see what I can do.”

--- --- ---

fWhip misses Jimmy’s big entrance, absorbed as he is in fixing the wiring in the lamps. The fact they have one wing up, shielding the sun out of their eyes so fWhip can still see his work doesn’t help for his sightlines.

fWhip hears the clattering of hooves, though, the telltale sound of carriage wheels and horses on cobblestones – though he’s so engrossed in his work it takes a few moments for the sound to really filter in. As he blinks and raises his head, he hears a familiar laugh, and sees a familiar pair of feet step into his sightlines, below his wing-based sun umbrella.

And fWhip lowers his wing sheepishly to see Codfather Jimmy Solidarity standing there, resplendent in the Grimlandic summer sun, hands on his hips, and smiling fondly at fWhip.

“Even today?” Jimmy asks them playfully, nodding at the tools in his lap.

“I was asked to fix it!” fWhip says defensively, before he connects the last wire and closes the lantern back up, and grins as it finally lights up. “And fix it I have!”

The entire string of lights flickers back to life, and fWhip hands it off to someone else to hang back up, before he flushes and glances at Jimmy.

“Um,” he says, turning to face Jimmy properly, and he spreads his hands, gesturing wide. “Welcome. Welcome all of you to the Festival of Progress! It’s an honour to have you here for it. It, uh, starts soon.”

Jimmy smiles, big and broad and beautiful, though the Codfather Head hides how his eyes must sparkle. and finally lets his hands fall to his sides. “Thank you,” he says graciously, and Jimmy’s council-people nod and bow too, before Jimmy’s posture softens, and he steps in close, lowers his voice. “I missed you, fWhip.”

“I missed you too.” fWhip closes the distance, wrapping Jimmy up in a hug, and Jimmy hugs them back with a contented sigh. fWhip smiles as he feels Jimmy rest his chin on their head for a moment. “I’m really excited for you to be here, Jim. It should be a really good celebration this year.”

“Especially because of the history we’re making, huh?” Jimmy asks, and he takes fWhip’s hand, squeezes it softly, and it makes fWhip’s heart flutter.

“Yeah,” they say, smitten. Before they remember, and check their watch. “Oh gods, what’s the time!? Are we late?”

“Not yet,” Jimmy teases, but he glances at the sky, checking the position of the sun the old-fashioned way. “But we should probably start to head over now, so we can set up.”

--- --- ---

The walk back to fWhip’s manor feels… important. It feels ground-breaking. Historical, even. fWhip could almost vibrate out of his own skin as they mount the stairs, automatically keeping pace with each other.

It was decided the signing should take place outside, outside the Manor, where it can be observed by the Grimlandic people. fWhip casts his eyes upwards, briefly, as they take their place in preparation. They unfold and fold their wings, shooting a brief prayer to the gods that this will go all go well.

Jimmy stands across the table from him, his entourage behind him in a small semi-circle like fWhip’s is behind them, looking serene, hands folded behind his back. What can be seen of his expression behind that Head looks neutral, though fWhip knows Jimmy well enough to see how the Codfather is gently rocking on his heels, a little anxious himself.

Jimmy sees him looking, though, and offers a smile.

fWhip smiles back.

Between them is a big, heavy, dark-oak desk – a gift from a Mythlandic king to a Grimlandic Count of ages past, if fWhip remembers correctly. It usually lives in the royal study, and fWhip, and all his rulers before him, have signed many important documents on it. It just seems right that this one should be signed here too.

The treaty has been drafted several times, combed over with a fine-tooth comb by Grimlandic and Codlish scholars alike, until it was satisfactory, before painstakingly transcribed onto vellum and the ink left to dry for two days, just to be sure. It lays between them on the desk.

A bell toils in its tower nearby. fWhip has to restrain themself from wiping their hands on their trousers again as people start to gather. He has dressed up for the occasion – just a bit. He can’t tolerate it much, the fanciest stuff is all robes, and …it’s a little too close to a skirt for fWhip’s liking.

So instead, he’s in his nicest trousers, his cleanest boots, his crispest shirt, a pair of charcoal-grey silk gloves, and a lovely formal jacket embroidered with red, gold, and silver thread he inherited from a however-many-greats-grandfather. They’re even not wearing their goggles, replaced instead with a circlet of brass, set with rubies and amethysts that keeps their hair back instead – and amethyst earrings Gem gave him to match.

The most notable thing, perhaps, is the shawl they wear around their shoulders, knotted in the front and kept in place with a brass brooch. The shawl is of Codlish make – and even more importantly: embroidered. It’s Codlish tradition, to wear and document one’s life achievements and relationships in needlework. Jimmy made this one for them, once they got together.

fWhip loves it, but they’re afraid to wear it out too much. Certainly, he can’t wear it in his forge – he’d never forgive themself if they burnt or stained it. Today is the perfect opportunity, and he wears it with pride.

fWhip finds himself looking at Jimmy, drinking him in.

Jimmy is also dressed formally, and he looks simply gorgeous. His hair is braided, intricate and shining gold in the midday sun. He’s dressed in Codlish greens, browns and whites, long drapes and wrap- arounds that shimmer in the light, some of it iridescent netting, and a shawl of Jimmy’s own tied around his shoulders. fWhip notices a Mezalean clay-bead necklace around Jimmy’s neck, an Oceanic coral and pearl hairpiece in his hair, and Pixandrian blown glass earrings in his ears, and the sash around his waist is made of Overgrown silk. Jimmy once mentioned his shawl is woven from Mythlandic wool.

fWhip also notices, with a warm swell in his chest, a Grimlandic brass brooch of Jimmy’s own pinned over the knot of his shawl. It has an emerald carefully cut into the shape of a cod set in it. fWhip knows – they made it themself.

Jimmy wears his alliances proudly – all of them – but he wears fWhip’s over his heart. It makes fWhip’s eyes brighten with tears, just a little.

fWhip shakes their head, and hopes he isn’t flushing. He’s getting distracted. The smirk on Jimmy’s face tells them he’s not a subtle as they hoped.

The oldest member of fWhip’s council finally steps forward as the toiling of the bell dies away, and raises her hands. The murmuring falls silent. Across the entire courtyard, all that can be heard is the amethyst windchimes (gifted from the Crystal Cliffs) tinkling in the breeze.

“We are gathered here today,” she says, raising her voice, though fWhip gave her an amplifying charm before they started, and she can be heard easily across the crowd, “to celebrate not only the first day of the Festival of Progress, but a very special union of two peoples who we thought would never make peace.”

Jimmy and fWhip smile softly at each other. They can’t help it.

“But here we are!” the councilwoman continues. “Together, united, ready to take this great step forward during the most fitting of all our festivals. It is an honour to stand here with you all, under the leadership of Count fWhip and Codfather Solidarity, as they bring us together.”

And then she smiles. “In more ways than one,” she winks at the crowd, who hoot and cheer and clap even as fWhip goes red, and even Jimmy has to cover his mouth.

fWhip and Jimmy step in together, and fWhip hands Jimmy the quill first.

“After you,” they say softly.

“Why, thank you,” Jimmy replies, and he takes it carefully, and leans down, one arm around his middle to sweep back his layers to protect from stains as he dips the quill in the provided ink, and the Codfather signs the treaty.

As Jimmy hands fWhip the quill, his hand shakes – just a little. fWhip takes it, rolls it in his fingers gently as he takes his place at the desk too. He stares at the document before him. An age-old feud, coming to an end before his eyes. A new horizon. fWhip takes a steady breath, and signs it before he can hesitate any longer.

As fWhip sets the quill down and steps away, Jimmy takes a breath, and starts to sing. His voice is loud and clear, cutting through the air. He sings in Codlish, and the language flows, beautiful and open on his tongue. As he reaches the end of his verse, his council behind him join in.

fWhip knows enough Codlish to pick up on what they’re singing, though the words go by very fast and he misses half of them. It’s a style of song they sing at births and weddings, of the cycle of life and the joy of starting, of making something new.

fWhip stands there, entranced. Only when the song ends, and silence falls over the courtyard, do they realise that every other person present seems equally as enrapt as he is.

Then, someone gently clears their throat.

fWhip jolts, and realises that’s his cue, and he sharply turns on his heel to face the crowd, turning his own amplifier charm on with a tap, and throws out his arms.

“The deal is done!” he cries. “Let the Festival of Progress begin!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, before music starts up again, and the whole place comes alive.

--- --- ---

Jimmy takes fWhip’s hand as the crowd moves around them, and over the noise, fWhip hears the delighted peal of Jimmy’s laughter.

fWhip steps in close, puts a wing around Jimmy.

“Want to find somewhere quiet?” they ask, raising their voice.

“Okay!” Jimmy says. “Just for a moment!”

fWhip nods, and turns to the Manor’s front doors, leading Jimmy inside. He also invites Jimmy’s councillors in, telling them where they can put their bags, before they and Jimmy politely disappear into fWhip’s chambers.

Jimmy lifts the Codfather Head off carefully, and fWhip gets to watch with a dreamy smile as Jimmy’s face gets revealed. Logically, they know what Jimmy’s face looks like – but it’s wonderful to watch the reveal every time.

“Stop,” Jimmy looks away, red.

“Stop what?” fWhip asks.

“Looking at me like that!” Jimmy turns away to put the Head down carefully on fWhip’s dresser. Something in fWhip’s chest aches a little at that – at the show of trust. This all fell apart over that Head, and now Jimmy feels safe enough to leave it in fWhip’s bedroom, on his dresser. “Like I’m…”

“Like you’re what?” fWhip raises an eyebrow, his grin spreading. “Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Beautiful?”

Jimmy goes redder, and lets fWhip put their hands on his waist.

“Yeah,” he breathes, slinging his arms around fWhip’s shoulders. “All that.”

“You’re all that and more, ally,” fWhip says, meaning to sound more teasing, but the fondness breaks through, unstoppable.

“Ally,” Jimmy echoes, relief shining in his eyes. “Ally. I love you, fWhip.”

fWhip rises up on the balls of their feet, tilting his head as they lean in. “I love you too,” they whisper back.

Jimmy meets them halfway with a kiss.

It’s tender and soft, and fWhip yearns for more even as their lips part, and Jimmy hums into it. It’d be irresponsible to deepen the kiss now – but by the gods, does fWhip want to.

“Later,” Jimmy promises as they break apart for air, and fWhip kisses his throat for good measure. “Tonight.”

“Good,” fWhip says, wrapping their wings around him as they all but breathe Jimmy in. “God, I missed you.”

Jimmy peppers kisses over fWhip’s hair, in agreement, before his fingers trace the circlet nestled between fWhip’s horns.  

“This is pretty,” he compliments.

“Thanks.” fWhip shudders a little. “It was an heirloom. Only rediscovered it a few months ago. It had to be resized so it’d fit me.”

fWhip tips his head back up as he speaks so he can look at Jimmy. Jimmy’s already looking at fWhip like they’re something precious, and it makes the words fWhip was going to say fade on his tongue, before the two of them drift back together. They kiss again. And once more, for good measure, before there’s a knock at the door.

“My lords,” one of fWhip’s staff calls. “Lunch is ready for you in the parlour.”

They break the kiss so fWhip can call back, “Thank you, we’ll be there shortly.”

Footsteps patter away.

Jimmy and fWhip glance at each other, before the two of them break into giggles.

“I like how they know not to open the door, now,” Jimmy teases, before he kisses fWhip’s forehead, as fWhip shivers and tries to convince himself to let Jimmy go. “Now, come on, before they decide they have to send a reminder.”

--- --- ---

The food was delightful, but fWhip can hardly focus on it. He watches until Jimmy signals he’s done, before they rise from their seat and offers a hand to their partner. Jimmy takes it with a gracious smile.

“Ready to see the festival?” fWhip asks.

“More than ready,” Jimmy replies, rising to his feet. “Where do we start?”

“It’s almost time for the gizmo races, so, there!”

fWhip practically drags Jimmy out the room, out the atrium, down the stairs and down the main road, to the plaza with the fountain in the centre, and fWhip and him get ushered over to a raised platform.

Jimmy stares at the miniature racetracks set up around the fountain itself.

“What is this?!” he asks, as fWhip pulls him up on the riser with him.

“Gizmo racing!” fWhip repeats. “It’s a time-honoured tradition. I’ve been Festival Champion eight years in a row, it’s one of my favourite events.”

“Who broke your streak?” Jimmy asks, peering over at the racecourse, drinking it all in. The individual lanes, as well as the starting-slash-end line are drawn in chalk straight onto the cobblestones. An extra string of colourful bunting is strung over the finish line.

“Not being allowed to compete anymore!” fWhip says cheerfully. “They said I was too good.”

Jimmy snorts, and steps in a little closer to fWhip, so they can wrap a wing around him.

“You still haven’t told me what a gizmo is.”

“It’s like a little cart,” fWhip gestures the rough size with his hands. “Regulation says they can’t be bigger than a half-slab. At least three wheels. They have to be remote controllable, self-powered, and self-propelled. People spend months making a gizmo for the Festival Races. There are separate classes for adults and for kids.”

Jimmy turns his head and sees the line of children, all with a little device of some sort in their hands, putting their… gizmos down at the starting line. Someone double-checks all the little carts are lined up fairly.

“Does it get intense?” Jimmy asks.

“Oh yeah,” fWhip says. “People take it very seriously. It’s great. First to five laps wins.”

Hubbub falls quiet, now. People look to fWhip, who is almost vibrating with excitement.

“Racers!” he calls. “Are ya ready?”

Jimmy hides a smile behind his hand at the very enthusiastic chorus of kids’ replies.

“Start your gizmos!”

Jimmy listens to a cacophony of whirring and humming start up.

“Ready!” he calls, almost bouncing in time with the rhythm of his words, and the spectators join in on the countdown too, the whole crowd bobbing with this energy, “Steady! GO!”

Jimmy laughs with delight as the race begins. The kids are all lazer-focussed, and it’s amazing how fast the gizmo carts can go, whizzing around the racetrack. They are all different shapes and sizes; some having big, thick, tall wheels and little chassis; some being long and flat with many smaller wheels. Jimmy’s favourite is one that looks like a pig.

People hoot and holler and cheer. Jimmy has to cling to fWhip’s arm as his partner bounces so much that the riser shakes under their feet.

Jimmy can barely keep track of which lap is which, despite flags being waved and whistles being blown. The crowd gasps and groans as one gizmo flips, spins out and takes three more with it. Some of the kids start yelling at each other.

“Final lap!” someone with a flag announces.

People start clapping their hands, stomping their feet, rhythmic but getting faster and faster as the little carts all rip around the track one last time. Jimmy cheers himself as the pig gizmo weaves through the pack and pulls ahead, just for a moment, before a mean looking one almost double its size comes up behind it.

“Go pig!” Jimmy calls.

fWhip laughs, thrilled Jimmy’s joining in, and echoes, “Go pig!”

The pig zooms ahead, swerving out of the way of the second place gizmo. They are almost neck and neck, but the pig pulls ahead one last time, under the swooping of the checkered flag, over the finish line.

One little kid jumps up and down with an excited scream, face split into a huge grin, and the crowd applauds them.

“Bonus points for style,” fWhip says admiringly.

“…How much more intense does the adult one get?” Jimmy asks, leaning in to ask more quietly into fWhip’s ear. “I think it’s a bit much for me.”

fWhip snorts. “A bit more,” they admit. “Hey, we can go-”

“No, no,” Jimmy shoves them lightly. “You stay. I… I can go find us a snack. Are there snacks here?”

“Oh yeah,” fWhip says, and points out a line of colourful vendors’ carts on the far end of the courtyard. “You have to try a potato on a stick. I’d like a chicken one.”

“…Okay,” Jimmy says. “I’ll be back?”

“I’ll wait for you here,” fWhip turns to Jimmy now, and tilts their head up questioningly. Jimmy dips down for a quick kiss, and feels fWhip smile into it. It really is surreal, that they can do this in public, that Jimmy can be here amidst fWhip’s people and be safe, be wanted here.

“Sounds good.” Jimmy trails his fingertips down the membrane of fWhip’s wing as they pull apart, which makes fWhip shudder and go a little red and stare at Jimmy with wide eyes – Jimmy’s favourite expression to get out of fWhip.

Then, Jimmy steps off the riser and starts to weave his way through the crowd to go find food.

--- --- ---

Jimmy joins the queue for one of the food carts, and he watches people walk away with their food with wide eyes. It’s a – roasted or fried? – probably fried potato, that has been cut into a spiral – though it’s still one continuous piece and speared on a wooden stick. The outsides seem to be coated in various kinds of flavoured salt, that must be what fWhip meant by a chicken potato.

People stare at him a little, but Jimmy is met with polite nods or bows or smiles, and he smiles and nods back. Jimmy wait patiently, as the crowd watching the races keeps cheering and roaring behind him, and eventually, he’s at the front of the line.

“Oh!” says the vendor. “Codfather! What can I get you?”

“Um, two potatoes, please?” Jimmy asks. “One chicken, and… what do you recommend?”

“Well, honestly,” says the vendor as she starts to prepare the first one, and Jimmy watches the machine she has with great interest as it cuts the cooked potato cleanly, “my favourite is also the chicken. But… you a fan of salt and vinegar?”

“I am, actually.”

“Then I’d say that. It’s also popular, and if you don’t like it, you can steal his,” she winks, handing Jimmy the first one and prepping the other, and Jimmy flushes a little, though it’s hidden behind his Head. “Enjoy!”

Jimmy fumbles with a pouch on his belt as she holds out the second stick, but the vendor loudly clicks her tongue.

“Don’t be silly, sir,” she says. “Take them. It’s the Festival! The council’s covered the food costs.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Jimmy lets the lady press the second stick into his hand. “Thank you, then.”

“Enjoy!” she calls, as Jimmy steps away. “Next! What can I getcha?”

Jimmy transfers both potatoes to one hand and goes searching for something to drink, too. The sun is high in the sky – it’s midsummer, it’s a beautiful day – and it’s making Jimmy thirsty. The air here is a lot more arid than he’s used to.

Eventually, he’s attempting to weave his way back through the crowd to fWhip’s riser with his potatoes-on-sticks and two bottles of cordial. Fortunately, when people see him trying to slip through, they move for him, and Jimmy hurries back to fWhip, who grabs his arm and helps him back up.

“Thanks,” Jimmy says breathlessly. “Here’s yours.”

“Thank you,” fWhip says sweetly, taking the bottle and the stick.

“How’s it going?” Jimmy peers over at the race, which seems to be setting up for one last thing.

“It’s last years champion against this year’s new first place, for ultimate winner this year,” fWhip says, words muffled as they also tear into the potato swirl with their teeth. “This doesn’t count for the medal, that guy’s already won it, but it’s like, for glory, y’know?”

“Uh huh,” Jimmy says. He shrugs and starts eating his own potato swirl too, and his eyes light up as he eats. “This is good.”

“I know, right?” fWhip grins. “They’re so good.”

Jimmy watches the race with less interest than before, he won’t lie, but he takes the opportunity to look around the plaza instead. The place looks vibrant and colourful in a way Jimmy didn’t even know the Grimlands could be. It really is stunning.

A loud wave of cheering makes Jimmy look back, and he sees that the races are finally over. He’s not much for these things, if he’s honest, but the part that makes it worth it is seeing fWhip come alive, grinning and bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement.

“That was better than last year,” fWhip declares to Jimmy, as the crowd starts to dissipate, and Jimmy looks up once he hears music start playing again. “That was awesome. God, did you see the one constructed of copper and gold? It was beautiful.”

“I did,” Jimmy agrees, shifting on his feet. “And it was. …fWhip, love, can we find somewhere to sit down for a little?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, of course.”

--- --- ---

Jimmy people watches for the next little while, as they finish their snack and drink their cordials, and fWhip Jimmy-watches as the afternoon sun makes its way across the sky.

“How are you?” fWhip eventually asks. “I haven’t bored you, have I?”

Jimmy, taking an unfortunately-timed swig of his drink, chokes a little on it as he turns to fWhip quickly. “No!” he cries. “No, love, not at all. There’s so many things to look at, is all. And I’ve never been much for racing, I won’t lie. Even Lizzie’s swimming races aren’t my cuppa tea.”

“Fair enough,” fWhip nods, swinging their feet. “What is your cup of tea, then? There’s games and stuff, we can go find some.”

“That sounds nice,” Jimmy agrees, fanning himself with his hand. “Yeesh, it’s hot.”

“Is it?” fWhip squints at the sky.

“You Southerners have hotter summers overall, I think,” Jimmy says. “Or at least, being further from the sea makes it worse. Gods, you’re still wearing a jacket.”

fWhip can’t help but laugh, and leans their head on Jimmy’s shoulder as their partner cools off.

--- --- ---

They wander the streets now, fWhip letting Jimmy gawk at all the displays. Jimmy holds their hand the whole time, and it makes fWhip’s heart beat so fast.

Jimmy stops to admire a jewellery stand, around them people of all ages are playing games, and some kids have just pulled out a long jump rope. fWhip tries to follow Jimmy’s eye to see what his partner is looking for here.

fWhip did make Jimmy’s brooch themself, but that by no means makes fWhip a jeweller. His hands are stained with redstone, gunpower, dyes, and a few burn scars. He makes weapons, first and foremost. Making Jimmy’s brooch was… meditative. But if Jimmy likes Grimlandic jewellery, maybe fWhip should learn more about it.

Jimmy lets fWhip stand there, losing his interest even as fWhip starts inspecting a few pieces to see how they were made. They even into a discussion with the stall-holder, but Jimmy notices something, and disappears from their side.

fWhip doesn’t notice right away.

It’s when the children jumping rope behind him giggle and whoop, before the children’s rhyme starts up again, louder and more gleeful, and the vendor glances over fWhip’s shoulder and does a double take.

fWhip turns, now, and blinks. A smile stretches over his face as he sees Jimmy, robes hitched up over his knees, jumping rope perfectly in time with the kid’s chant.

Jimmy even manages to jump and spin between beats of the rope on the ground, which earns a scream of excitement from the kids around him.

“Faster!” Jimmy calls.

The kids spinning the jump rope grin, and the rest of the kids clap in time with the increased speed. fWhip folds his arms as he watches Jimmy keep up.

Even adults gather around, now, as the Codfather keeps skipping rope, and the kids keep getting faster to see how much Jimmy can manage.

Jimmy eventually loses grip on his own robes and trips on them, and fortunately he doesn’t fall over, but he does get wacked with the jump rope, which makes all the kids laugh.

“Wow!” says one holding the rope. “That was awesome, Mr Codfather!”

Jimmy bends in half, leaning on his knees, gasping for air, but he offers the kid a grin and a thumbs up.

And then fWhip sees all the kids expectantly turn and look at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.”

“C’mon, Count fWhip,” Jimmy teases breathlessly. “Not even once?”

fWhip’s wings press in close, and they get met with a chorus of pouting children.

“Please?” says the other one holding the rope. “We don’t even have to go as fast!”

fWhip rubs his temple, before he approaches, and Jimmy pulls him in.

“We could do doubles!” Jimmy says, his breathing back under control. “What do you say?”

“I say I’ll fall on you,” fWhip grumbles, but looks around at the expectant faces. “What the hell, why not? When’s the last time I jumped rope?”

Jimmy takes the time to hitch up his robes a bit more securely, before looking at fWhip expectantly.

fWhip shakes their head but smiles back, and nods.

The rope starts. They both clear the first jump. fWhip centres in on the rhythm, and ends up staring at where the rope hits the cobblestones, focussing intently.

One of the kids starts up a chant fWhip remembers from his own childhood.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around!”

fWhip bites his lip, and it takes him about three jumps to turn on the spot, but they manage it. Jimmy copies him, grinning.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, touch the ground!”

The step involves leaning down and, well, doing as the instruction says without getting hit by the rope. fWhip does it, and Jimmy copies him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, climb up the stairs!”

fWhip raises his knees in a couple of high-step jumps. Jimmy laughs at the step and mirrors him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, say your prayers!”

fWhip bends over, pressing their hands together in a prayer gesture, and Jimmy mimics him.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the light!”

fWhip mimes pulling on the cord of a redstone lamp to turn it off. Jimmy only just manages to avoid hitting the rope as it goes over their head.

“Teddy bear, teddy bear, say goodnight!”

It’s the last line of the chant, and fWhip… fWhip isn’t as young as he used to be. He can’t remember what the last action is, or if there is one, so they tilt their head to the side and put their hands under it like a pillow, miming lying down. Jimmy laughs delightedly, and copies the gesture.

The chant’s over, but the kids keep going, starting to chant their way through the alphabet in time with the rope thudding on the ground.

fWhip ends up mouthing along.

“A… B… C... D… E… F-!”

fWhip mistimes the jump, stumbles, and trips. Jimmy squawks as the rope tangles around both of them, pulled from the hands of the kids swinging it, and Jimmy tries to catch fWhip as the Count almost falls over.

They end up leaning against each other, laughing.

“Sorry!” fWhip says, looking up at Jimmy from where they’re pressed to his chest, tangled up in jump rope as they are. “Sorry, I never was any good at this.”

Jimmy just laughs fondly, and pulls them in close.

“It’s alright,” Jimmy says. “It was cute. So therefore it was worth it.”

The kids hurry to untie their leader, apologising, but fWhip also gets a hail of ‘that was so cool!’s and ‘you know that rhyme?! That’s awesome!’s

fWhip laughs as Jimmy casts his eye around.

“A drink would be nice,” he says.

“Let’s find something.”

As the skipping games pick up behind them, Jimmy leads fWhip over to a cart he spotted that’s handing out water.

--- --- ---

The day has been long and gorgeous and full of fun, but as the sun sets, fWhip’s nerves really take over.

Jimmy side-eyes them as they reach automatically for their scarf – to wring it in their hands – and realise they’re not wearing it, and stick their hands in their pockets instead. He unfolds and folds his wings instead.

“You good, love?”

“The fireworks,” fWhip says, glancing at the sky. “They’re happening a half-hour after sundown. I’m… It should be good.”

“Knowing you, it should be better than good,” Jimmy bumps their hip with his. “Worried?”

“Not for any good reason.”

“Bad ones are fun, too.”

That makes fWhip snort, and he turns to Jimmy properly.

“The Count has many roles and duties,” they say. “But… planning the fireworks is my favourite one, I think.”

Jimmy’s smile is soft, under the Codfather head.

“I know what you mean,” he says, looking around. “Sometimes, our jobs are… just, the best.”

“A high honour,” fWhip agrees. “And… Jimmy?”

Jimmy tilts his head at fWhip.

“I love you,” fWhip says.

Jimmy’s smile spreads. “I love you too,” he says, and he takes fWhip’s wrist and gently pulls until fWhip’s hand emerges from his pocket, and Jimmy takes the time to lace their fingers together. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.”

fWhip glances around again, at the sky. The best places will already be crowded with people – some people reserve their spot for the fireworks a good hour or so in advance. He… he has a special, more private place in mind, though.

“Do you want to go find somewhere to sit?” Jimmy asks, and fWhip laughs, because Jimmy read their thoughts. “I could do with a sit-down, honestly.”

“Yeah, we can,” fWhip says, before they fidget a little.

Jimmy pauses for a second, before he snorts in amusement and stops walking, making fWhip stop too. fWhip looks up at Jimmy with wide eyes, the unshakeable feeling of being caught plotting settling on their shoulders.

“You have a plan,” Jimmy sing-songs.

fWhip can’t keep the giggle that bubbles out of him down, and he looks down, shoulders rising, wings enveloping them just a little, sheepish.

“Yeah,” fWhip says. “Just a little.”

Jimmy waits, expectantly, and when fWhip doesn’t look up right away, Jimmy steps in closer, and tilts their head up with his free hand. It knocks the breath out of fWhip, and they can only stare in wonder at Jimmy.

“Tell me,” Jimmy says.

“The roof,” fWhip blurts, before he goes red. “I was thinking I could fly us up to the roof, and we could get the best view from up there.”

Jimmy softens.

“That sounds wonderful,” he agrees.

“Only thing is, it’ll be loud,” fWhip warns, glancing up at the sky again.

And now, Jimmy laughs openly, head tipping back, before he shakes his head and shoots fWhip a look.

“fWhip,” he says dryly. “Love. We’ve both lost enough hearing from your explosions that it’s not going to matter.”

fWhip laughs back, though he goes a little redder.

“Alright, alright, fair point,” he says. “Sorry.”

Jimmy flicks his nose in vengeance, then holds his arms out expectantly towards them.

“Well?” he says. “Roof time.”

fWhip grins, and scoops Jimmy up, cradling him in their arms bridal style, and quickly double-checking they aren’t going to hit anything around them with their wings. The coast is clear, so fWhip spreads their wings and takes off.

Jimmy clings to him, arms around his neck, but leans his head against fWhip’s.

The flight is short. fWhip lets Jimmy down on the roof of fWhip’s Manor, and steadies Jimmy as the Codfather gets comfortable on the slates. fWhip settles beside him, and leans back, tucking their hands behind their head.

The stars seem even brighter up here.

When fWhip was first gifted his wings, his main form of practice was flying up and down from this roof. They liked being up here at night, admiring the constellations and pretending he knew any of them. Getting down in the dark was less fun.

In the past, he’d brought Gem up here with him, and even Sausage a couple times, and Gem had gladly told him the constellation names, and Sausage had told him the myths behind a few of them.

Jimmy doesn’t say anything. He just looks at fWhip looking at the stars, and the smile Jimmy gives them is tender.

fWhip checks their wristwatch again.

“Just a few minutes, now,” he says anxiously.

His anxiety, however, is melted away by Jimmy sitting up and carefully removing the Codfather Head. Jimmy puts it in his inventory before he turns to fWhip, and fWhip gets to have his breath stolen all over again for how Jimmy’s face is lit up in the moonlight.

“You’re beautiful.”

fWhip says it without thinking.

This time, when Jimmy smiles, fWhip can see how his eyes glitter, how the skin around them crinkles, the dimples on his cheeks, the way his too-sharp teeth glint.

“So are you.” Jimmy then takes a breath in, holds it, and lets it out, eyes closing. “Gods above, I… I can’t believe it, fWhip.”

“Can’t believe what?” fWhip asks, scooting in a little closer.

“Can’t believe we’re here,” Jimmy replies, opening his eyes again, and fWhip’s heart beats so fast in this moment, and so loud that they’d be surprised if Jimmy can’t hear it. “Can’t believe we’re at peace. Can’t believe we’re together.”

Then Jimmy’s eyes flick down to fWhip’s lips, and Jimmy’s expression sharpens into a grin.

“Can’t believe you’re going to kiss me right now,” he adds.

fWhip snorts, but gives in without complaint, shivering as Jimmy pulls fWhip in closer, and they kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, at least at first, until Jimmy makes a sound in the back of his throat that makes fWhip’s knees go weak, and he lets Jimmy pull them on top of him, and deepen the kiss.

fWhip’s eyes drift close, they cling to Jimmy’s clothes as they lose themself in it, long and slow, and when they pull apart for air, fWhip studies Jimmy’s face.

“What do you see?” Jimmy asks. His voice is so soft.

“Something worth remembering forever and ever,” fWhip replies, equally as low. He almost dips down for another kiss before-

BANG!

fWhip jumps as the firework show begins, and he scrambles off Jimmy so he can watch it too, which makes Jimmy laugh and scoot up beside them. fWhip puts a wing around Jimmy as he snuggles up close so they can block the wind.

Jimmy laces their fingers together again, squeezing once.

They watch the fireworks in the quiet, there, alone on the roof. The crowd below cheers for the bigger ones, but all of them are beautiful. Jimmy watches ones that fill the sky with glimmering jewels, ones that streak across the sky in a trail of stardust, ones that whistle and pop with the most tremendous of sparkles. Jimmy doesn’t have a favourite. The whole display is stunningly gorgeous.

Throughout it, though, Jimmy catches fWhip shooting him anxious side-eyes, trying to judge if Jimmy is enjoying himself. So, Jimmy squeezes their hand again, and lets the awe he’s feeling shine through in his voice.

“It’s beautiful, fWhip,” he says earnestly. “You’ve done a splendid job.”

fWhip absolutely lights up under Jimmy’s words, and they finally relax, curling up to Jimmy to watch their hard work come to fruition.

“Here’s to Progress,” he mumbles.

“Here’s to life,” Jimmy agrees, before he rests his head against fWhip’s again. He couldn’t have imagined a better day spent here, with fWhip, if he tried. “Here’s to us. To you. I love you, fWhip.”

fWhip looks away from the fireworks to look at a far prettier sight, and smiles up at Jimmy.

“I love you too, Jimmy,” they say.

And so they curl up here, content and together, and for once, fully at peace.

[arts-and-drafts]

Home Again (Hermempires Crossover)

(In which Tango and Jimmy stargaze on the roof of their new ranch in Tumble Town, and reminisce. This one is unbelievably sweet, it rotted my teeth writing it. Enjoy!)

CW: Mentions of death

-

"It's beautiful, Jimmy." Tango said, for what felt like the millionth time.

And for the millionth time, Jimmy smiled wide and flushed, shyly turning his eyes away from Tango's to the ranch he built earlier that day. Tango kept it up for two reasons; the first being that the ranch really was beautiful, and nostalgic, and the fact that Jimmy built it solely because Tango was here meant a million unsaid words.

The second reason is that Jimmy rarely smiled near the end of Double Life, and Tango missed it with an ache that surprised him. Now that they didn't have to expect death at every moment, Tango tried to make Jimmy smile every chance he got.

Turns out, when he wasn't fearing for his life, it was extremely easy. Jimmy smiled so much, and it never lost it's novelty. Not to Tango.

"I'm so glad you like it." Jimmy beamed, tipping his hat upwards to take in the cobblestone "R" at the very top. "I figured it fits right in."

"It sure does." Tango agreed warmly. He didn't feel like it was fair to attribute Jimmy's whole western aesthetic in this server to the short few weeks they spent together previously, but it was a beautiful coincidence. The ranch fit right in with Tumble Town's theme.

Jimmy's hat and badge suited him even better. Tango could tell his Soulmate stood a little taller with that title on his chest, and the responsibility fit him well. Now that he saw the person Jimmy had grown into, Tango couldn't imagine him being anyone else.

He hoped Jimmy was as respected as he looked he deserved to be. He had always deserved respect, to Tango, but the imp hoped that his Soulmate's appearance commended it from the other rulers in this server.

Jimmy was looking at him again, his smile turning shy. "What're you lookin' at?"

"Uh, nothing." Tango coughed, and turned his eyes away. "The hat is just very impressive."

"Isn't it?" Jimmy agreed with pride, readjusting it on his head. "That blue fire is something else, too, man! It's cool!"

"'Cool', you say?" Tango grinned cheekily and gestured to the frost pattern on his robes, and Jimmy laughed.

It was like sunshine, his laugh. Jimmy practically emanated light as he doubled over, hiccuping and giggling, and Tango had never felt warmer in his life.

"Stop," Jimmy giggled, getting ahold of himself and turning back to the barn as he waved an enthusiastic hand over his shoulder. "Come on, I want to show you the best part!"

Tango followed him, smiling all the way, as Jimmy started to climb a ladder propped against one of the barn posts. "I had to wait till it was getting dark."

Once Jimmy was a decent amount ahead, Tango started to climb as well, his excitement building purely from Jimmy's reaction.

Tango's head breached the trapdoor at the ladder's top, and he looked around to find Jimmy already smoothing out a blanket on the stable roof.

"Woah, a stargazing spot?" Tango grinned and climbed onto the roof to join his rancher.

"Yup!" Jimmy said, rising to his knees as he finished laying out the blanket, and turned his eyes to the sky. "It's also got a pretty good view of Tumble Town!"

Tango followed Jimmy's point and saw that yes, the part of town that was this side of the mountain was perfectly in view without strain. Illuminated by the softly glowing lanterns placed at the fronts of the buildings, it looked unbelievably quaint. If Tango didn't know better, he'd have easily believed this town had been here for at least a decade.

But he did know better, and he knew Jimmy built this whole place with his own two hands. It made the feat unbelievably impressive.

"It's beautiful." Tango said, for the millionth-first time. Jimmy's face lit up at the praise, just as before, but this time it was echoed by something soft.

"Thank you." The sheriff said, his eyes fond as they traced over the buildings. "It means a lot."

Jimmy's hand touched Tango's, and the imp curled his pinkie finger over the sheriff's and pressed their shoulders together. "Remember when you said you weren't a builder?"

Jimmy laughed, his eyes scrunching up. "I do! And I'm still not."

Tango gasped, and pulled away to whip around and stare at Jimmy like he was terribly offended. "Are you nuts?! Look at this place, Jimmy!" He waved an exaggerated hand at the sight before them, and Jimmy giggled again.

"This is downright beautiful! It's rustic!" Tango pressed, a smile pulling at his lips as he watched Jimmy's laughter. "And the way you used the stripped logs to make texture--'not a builder', I can't believe you!"

"Alright, alright!" Jimmy gasped through his laughing, pushing Tango's arm back down. "Thank you, I get it!"

Tango chuckled along with Jimmy's giggles, the two of them fading into a comfortable silence. Jimmy's hand had traveled from Tango's bicep to his hand, and he didn't pull away.

"I--I missed you." Jimmy said, quietly, and didn't meet Tango's eyes when he looked at him. His focus had turned to the stars, and Tango saw the whole sky reflected in Jimmy's eyes.

"I missed you too, buddy." Tango smiled softly, and maneuvered his hand to hold Jimmy's properly. They were close enough that the imp heard Jimmy's breath catch at the movement, and for a moment he worried he overstepped.

But then Jimmy's hand squeezed his, and a rush of a different heat than Tango was used to warmed his chest.

"Do you still--" Jimmy cut himself off and cleared his throat, staring stubbornly at the sky. Tango furrowed his brow. "...Still what?"

"We're not Soulmates anymore." Jimmy said plainly. "You don't--I mean, you don't have to be here anymore."

Tango blinked. Jimmy's hand was solid as a rock in his own, as if he had tensed it so it wouldn't shake.

"I'd argue we are." Tango said, softly, and Jimmy's gaze snapped away from the stars to look at him with wide eyes. Tango smiled in response.

"I can't feel your pain anymore, but you--the portal I went through lead right to you." Tango continued. "Can you imagine the chances of that?"

Tango squeezed Jimmy's hand gently. "I'm pretty sure that means the universe wants us together, man. And...I do too."

It was Tango's turn to look away, heat flushing his face. "If--if you'll have me."

"Yeah." Jimmy said, immediately, his voice sounding a little strangled. Tango turned back to him, and saw Jimmy's eyes were shining brighter than the stars above combined. "I would."

END.

[the-ruler-of-rabbits]

There's a little stained note in front of the toyhouse. It's hard to read properly, unless you know what it says.

It's a town square, with a couple of houses, a little sheriff's office, and a barn. A little figurine stands in the middle of the square, hands up by its mouth to amplify a call. There's a toy horse in view through the half-open barn door, with a toy child feeding it an apple. They’re lovingly, if inexpertly, painted.

There's a little stained note in front of the toyhouse.

If you had to summarize the entire toyhouse, inexpert love would be the words. This isn't the type of toyhouse that's mass-produced. What was built here was built by hand, by someone who loved it very much. There are crooked tumbleweeds, and a wagon, and infinitesimal sticks of dynamite poking out of the wagon. Smudges of paint look like an attempt at dusty footprints. A toy dog lies on the office porch, a toy cat sprawled over the desk inside. If you hold a light to the window of the sheriff's office, the cat appears to be sunbathing.

There is no toy sheriff, anywhere in the town. The absence feels glaring.

There are people in the houses. A toy child, opening a window with a toy parent behind reaching out. Most houses have the doors closed and shutters drawn, but you can make out each hinge, or at least where each hinge is meant to be. There's a figure faintly visible in the cells, inside the sheriff's office. It's only visible if you press your face to a window and squint. The detail is astounding, even if the skill is not. Someone, somewhere, loved this place very much.

The little stained note in front of the toyhouse is hard to read. The letters have run slightly, from what could be either tears or oil. Here is what it says:

They were people, before the god came.

[thecoddaughter]

Sneak peek from the Jimmy fic

(Wrote most of this during a lull at work)

[circesays]

The Beginning and the Discovery (Part 1)

The Betrayal (Part 2)

The Change (Part 3)

The Shelter (Part 4)

It was a beautiful day in Stratos. The birds were singing, the people were content, and The God of Lore was as handsome, strong, sexy, and wonderful as ever.

(Every day was beautiful, in Stratos, rain or shine. How could it not be, when run by the perfect God?)

On days like this, Joel knew exactly what he should be doing.

Messing with Jimmy, of course!

He even brewed a little something special for the occasion, because he’s so kind and generous and giving like that. He’d already sent out a message to some of the other rulers online about his incredibly devious plans for the day, and they were eagerly awaiting the results. All that was left to do was find his favorite toy.

(A thousand miles away, a Sheriff rested on the steps under the cover of his office, and waited.)

As Joel began his effortless descent into the dustbowl, he snickered as he saw the new building style that Jimmy had adopted. The dollhouses looked rather adequate, if he did say so himself! A very Jimmy style of building, plain and uninteresting.

(Jimmy walked out to meet the god. He was sick and tired of this. He wanted his home back.)

“Oh Jimmy! I brought a little gift for you,” Joel called out as he landed, a small cloud of dust rising outward.

The Sheriff didn’t have time to get another word in before he was completely soaked in the strange potion.

(And oh, how it burned. It ached and tore through him without a shred of mercy or a pause to breathe. If the wire in his throat weren’t strangling him, Jimmy would’ve screamed.)

(But the string pulled taut.)

He vaguely noted the other rulers swooping in, hooting and pointing in glee. The Sheriff only had the strength to raise his head to stare at them.

(Giants. His friends fellow rulers were giants, cooing and mocking him, staring down at his tiny form. )

“Joel, how have you done this?!” He managed to strangle out, his voice cracking and hoarse.

(It’s been so long since he’d talked to anybody.)

He caught a few words, something about a “Potion of Truth,” and “his true form,” but the Sheriff could barely follow in his shock.

“Oh guys, you’re not going to believe this, it gets better!” Joel laughed, picking the now-panicking Jimmy up.

He turned him over to reveal-

(The string, the string, the string. Pulling taut, choking, muting him, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t protest-)

“There’s a snake in my boot!”

(And the others howled and laughed in delight, passing him back and forth to tug at his the string.)

“Reach for the sky!”

(And as the wire tugged tighter, Jimmy could not say a word of his own.)

“Howdy there, partner!”

(And if the Sheriff had the air, he would’ve screamed until they stopped. Until they realized that everything was wrong.)

Finally, finally, Joel set him down and let go of the pullstring, insisting that they all take a selfie together.

(Jimmy could not say a word, the wire still wound up in his throat. Magic forced his face into a picture perfect smile.)

“Well, this was fun, but I have to take care of some MCC stuff. Byeeeee!” Scott giggled, taking off in a shower of colorful sparks.

(And of course, the man’s golden eye had noticed the strings around the Sheriff, but he assumed that was the shrinking potion. After all, Jimmy was the one leaning into the bit with his story magic! He was basically already consenting to all the toy jokes. It was all in good fun.)

The God of Lore grinned and chuckled, waving his friends and fellow rulers off as they went to do whatever it was they did in their free time. Probably nothing as cool as what Joel could do.

(One by one the others left, still oblivious to his distress. Was he that inhuman, that his panic was completely unnoticeable?)

The God turned to the toy sheriff and pulled something out of his inventory. A bright red, shining apple.

“Eat this, and you’ll go back to hiding your true size, and continue lying to everyone and saying that you’re not a toy. I’m out of here. I’ve got some very important business in Stratos- spoiling my beautiful son with little Sheriff toys. You should come to the toy barn soon! I’ve got a shelf waiting just for you!”

And with that, the God took off, lightning curving off his wings as his rockets propelled him into the sky. Another successful prank on Jimmy! Amazing! It went off without a hitch!

(Left alone and abandoned, the wire in his throat still pulling tight and choking, the Sheriff clutched the perfect apple in his hand.)

Yes, it was a beautiful day in Stratos. The kind of day where nothing could go wrong.

(Left alone on the ground, Jimmy clung to an apple he could not eat, and wished once again that he could weep.)

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

breathe be still

(robert aeor high au p8)

masterpost

part 8?!?!?! omg?!?!? ahhh sorry it's been awhile- i got stuck on part 9 and generally wait to post the next chapter until the one after it is done lmao- but uh yea enjoy!!! ALSO ALSO the return of jimmy pov >:D

“How is he kicking you out of the house and throwing a vase at your head- I’m sorry, how is that your fault? And I’m assuming you’re talking about your dad?” Jimmy’s appalled; what a horrific way to treat your child.

or, Scott's gone to Jimmy's and this is what happens next :0

TW: head injury, concussion, disowning, mentions of abuse and neglect, delirium, blood, etc.

(4906 words)

Jimmy has no idea what to do. He’s brought Scott upstairs to his bedroom and bundled him in blankets- he’s got a nasty cut on his face and he’s covered in ice for some reason, as well as a growing goose egg on his forehead. He’s calmed down a little bit since he came inside, just Jimmy’s presence seeming to ease him into himself a little. 

And now Jimmy’s downstairs with the kettle on to boil, frantically googling “what do you do when the boy you like comes to your house at 9:45 at night looking like he’s been beat up sobbing and covered in ice” and for some reason there are just no results, the internet failing him right when he needs it- hasn’t anyone else ever been in this situation before?

He supposes probably not, and all he can do right now is thank the gods or whatever’s up there that Beks’ parents aren’t home right now, and Bek herself can be persuaded to keep a secret. Jimmy leans against the countertop, picking at his feathers. What on earth is he supposed to do with this? Scott looks horrific, he has a terrible cut on his cheek and Jimmy tried to clean it up for him, but it’s almost like he’s delirious- he’s not making complete sense, his words quiet and childish, and Jimmy’s scared, scared for Scott and for whatever happened to him.

The steady whistle of the kettle crescendos to a keening scream, and he quickly lifts it off the burner, pouring the boiling water into two mugs. He plops in an orange spice tea bag for himself, and a mint one for Scott, because the gorgon loves everything mint-flavored, whether it’s synthetic or natural. Jimmy cracks open his freezer and puts two ice cubes into each cup, watching them slowly melt away into the water, the steam slowly decreasing until there’s none, just the cups of liquid sitting silently on the countertop.

Jimmy sighs and picks them up, ascending the stairs and haphazardly opening the door to his room, both cups clutched in one hand. Scott’s huddled on Jimmy’s bed, the comforter pulled around him like he’s a cat, his face the only part visible. His head pokes up when the door creaks open, fear creasing across his features, eyes wide and mouth half-open in an unspoken yell until he realizes it’s Jimmy.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Scott visibly relaxes, his snakes shaking the now-melted ice off themselves.

“Just me,” Jimmy agrees, walking forward to sit next to Scott on the bed. “I have tea for you, it’s mint.”

“Mint’s my favorite,” Scott mutters, reaching out for the teacup. Jimmy plops it into his hands, and Scott breathes in the smell for a couple of seconds, eyes closed, before taking in a  big drought, both hands still wrapped around the ceramic surface as he drinks.

“I know it is, that’s why I chose it,” Jimmy explains, taking a small sip himself. “So, uh…why are you here?”

Scott shivers. “I did a bad thing.”

“...What do you mean?” Jimmy asks, concern probably showing plainly on his face.

“I mean I yelled at him. And he said ‘no, you’re no son of mine,’ and then he threw a vase at me and said, ‘get out!’. So I got out. And this is the place I came to.” 

“How is he kicking you out of the house and throwing a vase at your head- I’m sorry, how is that your fault? And I’m assuming you’re talking about your dad?” Jimmy’s appalled; what a horrific way to treat your child. Sure, Patty would get mad sometimes, but she never was genuinely abusive- or he doesn’t think she was. Jimmy supposes he wouldn’t really know. But the gorgon’s voice is shaking, and Jimmy can tell he’s not entirely in his right mind; if he had to guess, he’d say that Scott probably has a decent-sized concussion.

“B-because I’m the one who made him angry,” Scott says, staring into his mug, covered in water. “He got mad that I had a phone and he got mad that I was talking to you because you wear dresses, and I said, ‘that’s what makes him comfortable, shouldn’t you wear what makes you comfortable?’ and Father said no, and he said you were gay and that was bad, but what he didn’t know is that I’m the one who’s gay and I told him I was and he- he said to get out. 

“So I got out but not fast enough and he threw a vase at my head, and now I’m a-alone, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go-” Scott’s shaking even harder now, his eyes clouding up with fear. Jimmy feels so bad for him, it must be terrible to be kicked out of your home by someone you’ve known your whole life- at least Jimmy had chosen to leave, at least he hadn’t been evicted. Also- he feels terrible for thinking about this in this moment, but Scott’s gay?! That’s a bit of a revalation- and one that works in Jimmy’s favor.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now, I’m here,” he says, putting down his almost untouched cup of tea and scooching closer to Scott, wrapping his arm around the shivering mass of blankets. “It’s not your fault. I don’t think any of this is your fault- I think your dad is a bad person who feels bad about himself, so he takes it out on you and other people too. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you come to me, exactly? Doesn’t Owen live a lot closer, like on the same street kind of closer?”

“I don’t mind,” Scott breathes in, obviously trying to calm himself. “Owen has, like, fifteen sisters, and he is my best friend, but I just think I felt like it would be safer to go to you. I dunno. And I couldn’t go to Shelby’s because her house is too small, also it’s miles away, even further than yours. Plus it’s Gnome New Year and I don’t want to intrude on that, it’s like her favorite thing.”

“And Joel?” Jimmy prompts, trying to keep Scott talking so he can gauge the level of damage, particularly the cut on Scott’s cheek and the bruise that’s slowly spreading all over his forehead.

“Joel’s parents h-hate me. They always have, and her sister thinks I’m a terrible person. I don’t like her. She reminds me of Father.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” Jimmy reaches a hand towards Scott’s head, and the gorgon scoots away. “Oh, sorry- I should’ve asked, do you mind if I take a look at your head? We might need to use an ice pack.”

Scott relaxes. “Sure, I can make one.”

“What do you mean, ‘make one’?” Now Jimmy’s confused, furrowing his brow in a way that apparently looks quite funny, because Scott laughs, the tiniest grin Jimmy’s ever seen ghosting across his face for a split second.

“I probably should’ve told you this sooner- can I have like a wet washcloth?”

“Sure,” Jimmy says, standing up and walking to the bathroom, grabbing the cloth from the hanger and running it momentarily through the water that seeps from the faucet before returning to Scott. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing the sopping cloth and lifting his shades.

Jimmy only has a moment to realize how gorgeous Scott is when you can see his whole face, how much his eyes shine in the dark room, the bright cyan almost glowing against his skin- his snake-like slit pupils that are for whatever reason just extremely attractive. And then something flashes within them and suddenly, the washcloth is frozen stiff, ice coating the wet fabric.

“What the-” Jimmy’s own, unspecial, eyes widen, because since when can Scott freeze things with his eyes? Since when is this a thing that someone who isn’t an ice celestial might possibly be able to do- and even they freeze things with their touch, not their vision, as Jimmy’s learnt from Aimee, another of Beks’ friends.

“That’s why I have to wear my shades even though I can’t petrify,” Scott explains, pushing them back up, over his eyes, and shoving the almost solid block of ice towards his head before Jimmy catches his hand, stopping Scott dead in his tracks.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, very aware of the fact that Scott’s staring at him with gorgeous eyes that drive a spike into his middle even through the glasses. “A giant block of ice isn’t gonna do anything. Can I?” Scott nods, looking away, and Jimmy takes the washcloth, holding it tightly in his hands for a few seconds until the ice begins to slightly melt.

“I might need to touch your snakes,” Jimmy warns Scott. “I’ll try my best not to, but it might happen and you gotta know that so it doesn’t come as a surprise.”

Scott nods, muttering something Jimmy can’t quite make out. “What did you say?” he asks, still pretty unsure of how to go about ice packing Scott’s head, his hands hovering awkwardly.

“I said, I don’t care if you accidentally touch my snakes; so long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter,” Scott says slightly louder, looking anywhere but Jimmy. And he isn’t sure, but he thinks there’s a slight redness spreading across Scott’s cheeks- and that just brings Jimmy back to this morning, when he’d walked down the stairs in his dress and Scott had been there, total jumpscare, with he same blush adorning his face.

He can’t help but remember how the gorgon had looked at him like there was no one else in the world, like tunnel vision- and if he’s completely honest, he hadn’t really needed a backrub at the movie theater; it would have calmed him down just as much to simply brush his hair, and he'd had a brush with him just for that very reason.

But Jimmy’s a selfish person and he wanted a backrub from his crush.

“Jimmy,” Scott says, bringing him out of his thoughts, “My head hurts.” Jimmy’s eyebrows crease, and he moves forward, finally bringing the cold washcloth to Scott’s forehead with one hand, looping the other around to the backside of his head to support.

“I know it hurts, I think you’ve got a concussion,” Jimmy says, shaking out his wings. “I should really get you to a doctor, huh.”

Scott shakes his head suddenly and violently, wincing at the motion. “No. I don’t want to see a doctor. I don’t like doctors, all they’ve ever done is try to fix me and I don’t want to be fixed.” There’s genuine fear in his face, the kind that only comes from experience.

“O-okay,” Jimmy agrees, slightly taken aback by the outburst. “That’s… fine, then, I guess. But you need to keep your head still or it’ll just make it worse.” Scott mutters consent, and Jimmy reassumes his position, pressing the frozen cloth against Scott’s temple. They sit like that for a while, Scott still huddled in his blankets, Jimmy crouching next to him, very aware of the way his thumb is resting on Scott’s cheek, the skin soft and cold. And then Scott’s eyes flick momentarily in his direction, and suddenly a rope is connecting his and Scott’s minds, glowing and strong and-

For a split second, Jimmy feels like he’s somewhere else, a place that feels at once familiar and completely wrong. He’s in a movie theater, just a little kid, walking by the side of a much taller man. He knows instinctively that the man is his father, a person he admires and hopes to be just like one day. They’re going to see a new thirty-minute movie, a weekly tradition that he loves because it’s one of the only times he’s allowed to be with Father. 

And then the vision is gone, leaving him shaken and confused- he’s not sure if Scott’s seen it too, if the shock on the gorgon’s face is just his own imagination playing tricks on him or if something really did just happen- and if so, how? Neither of them bring it up, though- because Jimmy absolutely doesn’t want Scott thinking he’s crazy. So he keeps his mouth shut and continues pressing the ice to Scott’s forehead.

“How old are you?” The gorgon breaks the silence with the strangest question imaginable; has Jimmy really never told him that?

“I thought you knew,” Jimmy says, momentarily lifting the washcloth from Scott’s head so he can see him better. “I’m sixteen, I turn seventeen this August.”

“You’re almost a year younger than me,” Scott notices, looking Jimmy in the eyes in such a way that makes the avian shiver slightly, because Scott is so good-looking, the cyan of his snakes and irises piercing and just very…

Well. Scott’s a lot. In a good way, but he’s just hard to look at sometimes because of the way Jimmy’s stomach turns. He’s had a crush on Scott almost since the day they met, it developed within a week and now he’s fallen hard, deeply infatuated with a boy who’ll never like him back. But god, he’s just so… 

When it comes to Scott, there are no words.

And the worst part is, Jimmy doesn’t think he knows how gorgeous he is, how much he flusters Jimmy whenever he even looks in his direction. It’s infuriating, the way that he’s 

“Sixteen?” Scott asks, shaking off the comforter a little bit, his clothes soaked through. “You look older. You’re very pretty for sixteen.” He looks away at the last words, blushing slightly. Jimmy’s definitely not imagining that this time- oh, god, Scott must be so delirious right now, probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying.

“Um… thank you,” Jimmy says, his own cheeks probably red-hot at this point as he fidgets with the hem of his nightgown nervously. “You’re really nice-looking too, actually.” Oh, god, what is he saying, he’s so hopeless-

Scott turns in his direction, cheeks still flushed but seemingly determined to keep this conversation from going awkward. “Do you have anything for me to wear? I’m cold, my clothes are all wet.”

“Um, I guess you can borrow some of my pajamas, the only things I have are nightgowns though.”

“That’s fine, I’ve always wanted to wear more dresses but Father wouldn’t let me,” Scott explains, making to stand up.

“Oh, no, mister, you are not going anywhere. I’ll show you the options and then leave so you can get changed, okay?” Jimmy admonishes, shaking his finger and standing up off the bed, pulling open the sliding bamboo door to his closet and leafing through his garments. He’s pretty certain that he and Scott are about the same size, the gorgon’s only a couple inches taller and they have about the same build: slim and short.

Jimmy pulls off three of his comfiest nightgowns, one a deep maroon red fabric, silky and not very warm, but very nice for summer nights; one is bright purple, very fluffy and warm; but the last is Jimmy’s favorite of all, a light blue nightgown made of a soft cottony fabric, not too smothering but not too cold. And just as anticipated, when he shows them to Scott, the gorgon immediately points to the blue.

“Can I wear that one?” he asks, running his fingers along the fabric, seemingly infatuated with the texture of the soft fabric.

“Yeah, course,” Jimmy agrees, hanging up the other two back in his closet. “I’m gonna go get some food while you get changed, you can also take a quick shower if you need.”

“You don’t have scale grease though,” Scott points out, “So I wouldn’t be able to wash off my snakes.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Jimmy concedes, plopping back down on the bed momentarily, leaning up against Scott. “But it might be nice to just get warm again, right? You felt ice cold.”

Scott laughs silently. “I’m always ice cold. It’s part of the whole thing.”

“Sure. But still.” Jimmy doesn’t press it, but he makes certain that Scott knows if he wants to warm up, he has the option to. Then he makes his way downstairs, giving the gorgon a quick, supportive hug- because let’s be honest, Scott’s probably just had the worst day of his life, and he needs it.

But oh god this situation is so- Jimmy squeaks a tiny scream under his breath because ARGH.

As soon as he gets downstairs, he lets out an almighty groan and falls down onto the couch, limbs splayed every which way. What on earth is he doing? Scott can’t stay here, Laura and John would never allow it, they were even a little on the fence about taking Jimmy in. 

But where else does Scott go? Jimmy can’t stand to see him so hurt, physically and mentally. He’s certain the gorgon’s delirious, at least to some capacity, and he doesn’t know what to do, because Scott doesn’t want to go to a hospital and Jimmy can’t drive anyway, also his phone’s out of battery and they don’t have a landline, so there’s none of that.

Plus, if he’s honest, he’s genuinely kind of flattered that Scott came to him over any of his other friends. He hadn’t thought they were that close, but apparently, Scott genuinely trusts him, and that makes Jimmy happy- not Scott’s situation, that part’s horrific, but he’s glad that what he said the first day they met really sunk in.

There’s just… so much to digest. Scott’s gay. Scott’s gay so technically, Jimmy stands a chance, though he can’t see what someone like Scott could ever possibly see in him, just a short, awkward little avian who can’t do anything right- and of course there is the fact that Jimmy’s just a curious little bird.

And it’s back, Patty’s voice is back, ringing in his ears- god fucking damnit, he hasn’t heard it all day- a part of him, a small part, has hoped that maybe, just maybe, it’ll be gone for good. He knows it’s silly to ever imagine that he’ll be free, that there will be a day when he won’t have to hide from the ghosts of his past, but he can’t help but hope- because all Jimmy wants is to be a normal kid, all he wants is to be safe and to fit in and have friends.

And now he’s finally found people who care about him, people who can be bothered to actually spend time with him (with the exception of Owen), and he loves them all so much: The way Shelby’s so kind to everyone but Joel, the way Joel pretends to take offense at all the little things but loves all of them so much anyway, the way Scott sits quietly in the backseat of the van, only half-listening to the conversation, before chiming in spontaneously, saying something so funny and deadpan that the rest of them keel over laughing.

Scott is… Scott is the kind of person Jimmy’s needed to meet for a very long time. He can’t imagine his life without the gorgon anymore, without his dry smiles and calm disposition and the emotional underside that Jimmy knows broils underneath, sharp and cutting and wishing for something more.

The only time Jimmy’s ever felt this way about someone was when Patty took him out for the first time, to the zoo in his old town, and he’d kissed a boy by the lion exhibit. Blue eyes and with the same bearing Scott has, but with more youthful exuberance, more of a wild side.

Jimmy’s wondered about that boy for a long time, and he pops into his head again as he grabs a bag of leftover samosas from the fridge, ascending the stairs and knocking briskly on his bedroom door. “Scott? You good? I brought food, can I come in?”

“Yeah, I’m dressed- I also made your bed, by the way.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” Jimmy turns the doorknob, pushing open the entrance to his room. Sure enough, there’s Scott, tucked in on one side of Jimmy’s bed, all Jimmy’s blankets spread evenly atop of the gorgon.

“I wanted to be useful,” Scott mutters, Jimmy handing him a samosa as he tucks himself into bed as well. 

“You were useful, but you also have a beast of a concussion. Did you clean your cuts too?” Jimmy adds, lifting up a finger to trace along the previously dark red slash on Scott’s cheek, now just a lighter shade of his skin tone, a slight pink peeking out from the inside of the cut.

Scott nods, and doesn’t resist Jimmy’s touch, instead flopping down against the pillows propped up against the back of the bed, head turned towards Jimmy, curiosity written on his features. “What was it like when you were a little kid? Did you ever do anything fun?”

“Hardly,” Jimmy laughs darkly, memories of the same rooms and the same house and the same people flashing through his mind. “I mean, I suppose there was one time when I went to the zoo.”

“What happened?” Scott’s invested now, Jimmy can tell.

“Well, I was seven or eight, and Patty, my guardian, was taking me to the zoo for the first time. Of course, I was super excited; I wanted to make friends and look at giraffes and all that kind of stuff. So she drove me there, and while we were looking at the orangutans, this boy, maybe a little older than me, came over from where his school was on a field trip and just straight-up asked if I wanted to be friends.

“Obviously, I said yes. I was so excited- I was really little, remember, so my wings hadn’t even fully grown yet. I don’t think he was fully matured yet either, as I couldn’t see any distinguishing features on him- he was wearing a hat, though, so I guess that could’ve covered horns or snakes or something. But anyway, I kinda ditched Patty to walk around with this boy, and then when we were in front of the lion exhibit, I dunno, he was kinda like, ‘Do you wanna kiss?’

“And I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ Because we were little, and everyone kisses someone when they’re little, just to kinda see, you know, what’ll happen. And so, we kissed, right? And I really don’t remember it that much but after that, I got really spooked and ran away just kinda left the boy in the dust, I could hear him calling after me but I didn’t respond because I was scared that Patty would be mad with me for interacting to such an extent with another person. And that’s, um, that’s about it, really.” 

He’s expected to hear something more from Scott, so he’s slightly surprised when the gorgon doesn’t respond to his story at all. Jimmy turns in his direction and immediately recognizes the look on his face- an unbelieving stare full of questions that haven’t been answered.

“W-was the zoo in Laurentown?” Scott’s practically shaking, his eyes wide and confused.

“How did you know?” A suspicion is growing in Jimmy’s mind, but that’s not a possibility, there’s just no way- what are the chances, how would that even happen?

“I kissed a boy at the zoo in Laurentown when I was little.” Scott’s voice is hushed, trailing off as his eyes meet Jimmy’s. “I’ve w-wanted to find him ever since.”

Oh, god. There’s no way, this can’t be happening- but he’s leaning into the hope that maybe it is, maybe something’s brewing, maybe the truth was right under their noses the whole time.

“Me too,” Jimmy confesses, his heart beating out of control in his chest, the three feet separating him and Scott feeling like miles.

There’s really nothing to do except close the distance. Scott crawls across the bed towards Jimmy until their faces are close enough that the gorgon can reach out a hand to touch Jimmy’s face, cupping his cheek, cold and deep and real. Jimmy shivers, both from the touch and the frozen feel of Scott’s skin. 

“I’ve missed you.” Scott’s voice is quieter than Jimmy’s ever heard it, and he has to remind himself that this is not his fairytale moment, Scott has a serious concussion and probably isn’t in his right mind, he really shouldn’t be letting this happen, but he needs to see-

Scott leans forwards and kisses him, quick and soft and too sudden for Jimmy to register anything other than the coldness of Scott’s lips, the chill of his skin in general, a direct contrast to Jimmy’s warm temperature. It’s only a moment, only a split second, and then it’s over and Scott smiles quietly at him, his eyes bright and hopeful, crawling back to his side of the bed.

Within a minute, Scott’s fallen fast asleep, Jimmy still petrified still in the same spot he’s been, the imprint of Scott’s hand still cold on his cheek, too shocked to do anything more than sit for a couple minutes. Then he sighs, resigned and shaking and not even sure how he’s feeling right now, and flops down on the other side of his bed, pushing his hands into his face with his wings spread akimbo. 

This is not good. This is not good at all. 

I mean, obviously Jimmy’s ecstatic that the boy he likes kissed him: that part goes without saying. But Scott’s delirious, he’s not in his right mind, anything he says could be a false memory, or something he thinks is true but isn’t- Jimmy doesn’t even know if he’s telling the truth about the kissing a boy at the zoo thing. But if so… he won’t let himself hope.

Jimmy’s been wondering what it would be like if he met the boy again for a long, long time, and now it turns out that potentially, zoo boy and Scott are the same person? That’s crazy. No, that’s actually insane. He lies there in silence for a couple more minutes before realizing that he’s been so caught up in all this that he’s forgotten to turn off the lights; Jimmy hops out of his bed, his gaze resting briefly on the gorgon snoring peacefully beside him, and flicks his finger across the light switch, darkness washing over his room.

He stumbles back to his bed and tucks in, pulling the blankets up above his head, his back pressed up against Scott’s. They really shouldn’t be sharing; Jimmy only has a small double bed and there really isn’t enough room. Plus, you’d think that having another person under the blankets would make it warmer, but Scott’s absolutely freezing. He’s warming up, but slowly, and Jimmy shivers, the cold stealing warmth from his body.

But he can’t have Scott sleeping on the couch, the gorgon has what looks like a beastly concussion, and Jimmy sure as hell isn’t gonna be sleeping on another couch in his life. He’s had enough of that back when he lived with Patty.

A part of him wonders why she hasn’t tried to contact him, wonders if she ever really loved him. Then he laughs, a dry snort that brings him back to his senses. She never loved Jimmy. She was rude and neglectful and only nice to him when he obeyed her, when he did what she wanted.

At least she’d let him wear dresses, though, even if it was only at home. The few times they went out, Jimmy remembers how he had to wear a giant hoodie to hide his bird-like features so Patty could pass as his mom, even in the heat of summer. Jimmy knows she’s still out there somewhere, knows he’ll probably have to see her again someday, whether it be in court or because she’s found him again, but it’s just oh so much easier to pretend she doesn’t exist.

His arms are resting behind his head, his wings tucked in closer so as not to disturb Scott, sleeping soundly besides him. Jimmy turns his head, his eyes following the gorgon’s back as it goes up and down with every breath, rhythmic and calm. Even his snakes are still, emitting quiet hisses every now and then, but other than that, not a sound comes from Scott- the snoring from earlier gone as if it’s evaporated.

If he concentrates, he can still feel the cold of Scott’s lips on his own, still feel the imprint of the hand on his cheek.

Goodness gracious.

Jimmy supposes he should get to sleep- though it’s a Saturday today, so no school tomorrow, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do anyhow. John and Laura are not going to be pleased that he has a boy sleeping in his bed- but maybe if he explains well enough, they’ll see how bad Scott’s situation is and let him stay for a little while.

He sighs deeply, stretching out his wings. As he does so, Scott turns in his sleep and grabs Jimmy around the middle like a little rag doll. Jimmy stiffens, the touch flipping over and over in his stomach. Cautiously, he moves his hands atop of Scott’s, both pairs resting comfortably around his waist. He needs to sleep, but he’s never felt more alive than right now.

It’s going to be a long fucking night.

[entityredacted]

Yea that hasn't awoken anything in Scott, totally not

[kelp-my-beloved]

Most people avoided going to Cogsmeade.

It wasn’t because of the location, though the fact that it was so far away from the rest of the empires did not help. People found their way to Tumble Town just fine, after all, and a few brave tourist could be seen around the Evermore. No, it was more like… a feeling.

It was a creepy place.

Sausage shuddered as he set a foot on the entrance to the bridge, the feeling wasting no time on settling. As he walked to the entrance, his eyes darted towards the structures, some new, some not exactly old, but old enough that they should be at least a little weathered by the pass of time. Roads that should show traces of carts and horses, seats that should be worn down on the most popular spots.

Instead, they looked as perfect as the day they had been built. The only sign that time had passed was the thin layer of dust that seemed to cover everything.

The man from Sanctuary reached the doors that officially separated the empire from the rest of the word, and pushed one open. It took him more effort than he had expected, and it cracked as it gave in, but he crossed it either way. It closed back again as soon as he let go of it, and Sausage realized that there was probably supposed to be some sort of mechanism to hold it open, like a weight on its base, or some sort of roping system.

He couldn’t manage to find any of them. Maybe False had forgotten to install one. Something told him that he was the first person in a long time to open it.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Sausage looked down at his hand, only to find it covered in dust. He shook it off on the side of his pants, hoping to get rid of the nervous energy with it.

The man couldn’t find an explanation as to why he had decided to go through the door. He had an elytra; had arrived by air, in fact. Landing on the other side wouldn’t have taken him more than a second. It was what every emperor did, after all, hence the fact that the door was so out of use.

Because everybody knew that the only ones who ever visited the place were the other emperors, and only did so when they absolutely needed it.

Sausage tried not to let that show. It’s not that he felt specially comfortable in what was basically a ghost town, but it would be rude. Besides, he believed in not judging a person by how creepy the place that they lived was. Even if it looked more like a Halloween’s attraction than a home.

Well, it wasn’t really a ghost town, was it?

It had one habitant.

That did nothing to better the general unease feeling that overcame the visitors. In fact, it almost made it worse. The Great Architect, as she signed her messages, was almost as skittish as the animals that lived around, almost never showing her face unless she absolutely had to. But you could almost feel her eyes on you, as you walked on her lands, even if she wasn’t there. False had a knack for appearing out of nowhere, and it led people to be almost paranoid about the woman’s whereabouts.

The fact that almost everyone had caught her silently watching them from the distance did not help.

So, yeah, False was a cryptid, but Sausage had always been good with unusual creatures. Dolores was proof of that, after all. If he could befriend a warden, he could win over the elusive woman.

Besides, he had a feeling that she could really use a friend. Even if she hadn’t realized that yet.

He continued walking towards False’s base, and as he got closer, the signs of life started to appear. The fields of crops that he had seen even from behind the door, too big for a single person, started to show signs of actually being picked up and replanted towards the edge closer to the mountain. He actually saw a few cows on the giant pasture on the left, just the appropriate amount to substant the habitant of the empire. A cat meowed from the top of a platform.

Sausage had always been more comfortable with animals than people, and even if he had grown out of shyness a long time ago, their presence still gave him some sort of reassurance. And even if the wildlife was still too shy to show itself around, a wild contrast with Sanctuary, the few curious eyes that glared on his direction managed to relax him enough to make him let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

A few chest and barrels were scattered around, this ones with a messier look that spoke of frequent use. Sausage didn’t need to open the ones near the gates to know how empty they were.

The stairs leading towards the doors didn’t creek under his weight, but you could see it was frequently used in the way the dark oak had weathered into a lighter color, showing the path people usually took. Sausage looked at the way his feet instinctually fell on those spots.

It wasn’t light enough for how old the stairs really were, and there were some parts where the light spots abruptly ended, as if someone had taken the effort to replace the planks as their color washed out. He wondered if it really bothered False enough to justify the effort of constantly rebuilding the structure, or if it was simply something to do, a way to fill a day. Sausage was no stranger of working as a way to release nervous energy.

There was another barrel, right next to the door. On it, a few stacks of iron waited next to enchanted books. A paper was hung on the wall behind.

In what he had learnt to recognize as False’s messy writing, the pieces of the items were laid, next to a note indicating how to place an order, for the enchanting books, and how to operate the farm on her balloon, in case you needed more iron than what she had at the moment.

And that was it. No large shop like the one he had on Sanctuary, or mysterious underground structure like the one by Pixlriffs’ place. No even a statue like the ones on the Bridge. Granted, since she put her balloon there, most people didn’t bother to come all the way here.

He took a deep breath. Knocked once. Nobody answered.

“False?” Sausage called after a moment, knocking once more. “It’s me! I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss trading!”

Granted, there wasn’t much to discuss, thanks to her careful labeling system, but he still liked to talk for a while when doing business. Catch up on his friends’ lives, what they had been up to.

Last time they talked, he had gotten involved in some sort of clone, secret spying, undercover agent, kind of situation. Besides, he had gotten himself some good diamonds.

Positive interaction, all around.

He wasn’t sure False got many of those.

“False?” He tried one more time, before giving up. She wasn’t there.

He looked around. He really, really didn’t want to investigate the place on his own, but he felt like it would also be kind of silly to have to make the whole trip another time if False was hanging out on the other side of the river. Or on the iron farm. He looked on its direction. Unlike Hermes, he had never been a fan of floating structures.

Towards the isle it was.

This time he used his elytra to glide across the distance. He didn’t want to cross the bridge, or walk alongside the forest. They would probably be as creepily-perfect as the gate had been, and if you added that to the inexplicably lifeless forest, well. He felt much better flying over.

(He had never seen a single animal roaming the forests of the empires. Hadn’t even heard a bird.

He didn’t want to think of a reason as to why that was)

The island was as perfect as the rest of the empire, maybe even more so. The only vegetation besides grass had been carefully planted by the Architect, the trees attentively nursed until they grew strong enough to fend for themselves. Only their shape, twisted on one direction by the strong winds that seemed to never relent, could be called natural. It was the only part of the town that looked… Alive. Real. Unperfect in the way only life and time could shape.

Sausage walked through the streets, between buildings. They were fully furnished, chairs and tables placed so perfectly that it looked like a picture taken from a magazine. And still, the curtainless windows, the perfectly made beds, they were all details impossible to ignore once you noticed.

He walked faster.

[seth-kia]

Pixlriffs sees the world as it used to be.

At first, he's nothing special. The archeologist's guild relocates him to the Ancient Capital, where he sits for hours in the blistering heat, hikes across hills and cliffs and mountains, even delves into caves armed only with a torch and feeble sword--he's a historian, not a mercenary--to catalog a massive diamond-infested ribcage the neighboring Sheriff discovered during his spelunking trip.

He mines and farms to keep his little patchy settlement alive. He brushes fossils and restores paintings and is careful, so careful, with the crumbling stone and the withering grass. He does his job, and his research, and does his best to restore the past with gentle hands.

Perhaps it is his gentleness that gifts him the visions.

His hand brushes through the rising columns of houses made from basalt and deepslate, through the walls as if he's the ghost. It's disorienting, at first, to reach out and be met with nothing. He calls it a vision, because it's far too vivid to be a mirage, and he does his best to ignore it.

But something about the ruins haunts him while he tries to work. Something stirs in his heart as he watches the walls flicker and shift, and he feels… he feels longing, deep in his ribs.

Maybe that's why, the next day, he picks up his tools and gets to work.

Pixl knows what his job is. Preserve, restore, discover, record. This isn't what the guild authorized.

But the instinct to bring the vision to life, to put it where it belongs, is insistent.

Building, as it turns out, is much more difficult than restoring. He gets the hang of it, though, and the blueprints that he sees each time he blinks are helpful, if maddening. The itch in his ears is resolved once the ruins are no longer cobbled, and the frame of a long-destroyed home is returned.

He knows his strengths, though. It's not returned to its former glory. But the house is once again standing where it belongs, and it fills him with awe and longing and emotions he can't even begin to describe.

It's only a house, but it's inexplicably, indescribably right for it to sit on the crest of that hill, nestled between his wheat and the slowly wearing path to the campfire.

He brought it back from the past. He brought something back to life. He feels warm, like peace has settled into his stomach and given him time to rest, and to work.

The next time he sees something that isn't there, the peace is obliterated, and he is filled with apprehension.

There is no way he could build that.

The bridge spans for miles upon miles. It is absolutely massive, with twelve towers digging deep into the river, and it screams to be a symbol of pride, of honor, of unity. It is regal, tall, brilliant. He is washed in awe to bear witness, but he knows his limits.

He's just an archeologist. He can't do that.

So Pix tries ignoring it.

He spends the day working, getting his hands dirty. It's easy to turn his back on the vision in the distance, while the sun is high. He focuses on the discovery of the catacombs, of trading with the other… 'rulers', they call themselves, expanding his area.

The night is a different story.

Pix is a light sleeper. He tosses and turns on a good night. But he can't close his eyes, and he can't stop thinking about the bridge. His muscles still ache just from the little house across his field.

He tries to reassure himself--maybe it's a mirage. Go to sleep, Pix. Everything will be normal in the morning.

When the voices speak, he thinks he's lost his mind.

It is a big thing to undertake, but we are with you.

"Who?" he starts, choking on his saliva and nearly landing on the floor beside his bed.

The Great Bridge must be build again, they whisper, low and conspiratorial and ageless, and you, with your gentle hands, and your fire, are the one to do so.

"I… who are you?"

The voices don't answer.

There are voices in his head. He's losing it.

He thinks. He clings to the sheets of his cot, and he prays to whoever is listening that he's not going just as crazy as whatever Joel has going on.

"I can't do that," he says, hushed and bewildered. "I'm… I'm just a man, I can't do that."

Heroes like to say that, they whisper sadly. But do not fear. We are with you.

The vision fills his mind once again. The Great Bridge, miles above the sea level from where it once was, in glory and in greatness.

A symbol of unity.

"Okay," he says, voice small. "I'll… I'll try."

After that, he loses time.

He remembers his knees scraping against sharp stone and getting soaked from falling into the river several times. He remembers calloused palms and burning skin. He remembers building. Working.

He's good at that. Working.

When he feels himself again, he is kneeling, covered in dust, with bloody knees and aching hands, in the center of a bridge a million times his size, and he feels like the world has woken up.

There are voices in his ears, cheering to him. He is laughing, helpless.

This is what he was made for. Restoration. This, the thing he's collapsed on top of, this is history.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, kneeling on the bridge. Someone swoops by and asks if he's alright, and he answers yes, feeling light. He's never been better, he says.

They fly away rather quickly, but he hears their elytra spiral around the bridge for many seconds before it fades into the distance.

Hero, the voices whisper. We are with you.

He goes home, and he sleeps for three days, and then everything goes back to normal. He tends to the wheat and the cows and the froglights. He eats, and cleans his bloodied knees, and speaks with the rulers, and trades.

He is complimented on the bridge for weeks after. Even Joel, the eleven-foot god, stops by to leave a small floating bedroom in one of the towers. The rulers seem to have accepted him in their world, and he feels the stories move along around him. The blueprints are gone from behind his eyelids, now that he sees the true buildings before him every day.

The next vision is different.

Pix wakes up, in the middle of the night, forced out of his bed by something akin to fear, to anxiety. It stirs in him, pulses and ties his stomach to knots, and his gaze is frantic as he tries to discover the perceived threat.

His eyes land upon a statue that certainly wasn't there when he went to sleep.

There is a woman.

She towers. She is strong, in all but the material that builds her; she is love, she is strength, she is mothering kindness, and she is light, in everything, she is light.

She holds a sword, but her arms are open. Her hair is long, in waves; and behind her spreads wings, and behind her still a circlet of gold like the sun behind her.

Santa Perla, the voices whisper, and they ache equally with longing and joy.

When his gaze meets hers, the fear calms.

Santa Perla.

The night is high, and the air is cold, and the monsters are angrier than most, but he picks up a shulker, and he works.

Pix remembers the moment before, when her gaze is locked on him, melancholic and ageless. And he remembers the moment after, when she stands tall, in glory, looking to the horizon, gracing the land with light.

His fingers are bleeding from the stone, his eyes are dry and his stomach is howling and the sun is setting, but the peace fills him and he can't stop smiling.

She has returned, he thinks, and it is right.

"Are you there?" he asks the voices, once he's brushed the final dust from the stone. "I did it. She's back."

We are with you, they whisper. The air around him shimmers, cool against his burning skin. We are grateful.

He laughs, breathless and achy. "What's next?"

Wait, hero. You have served us well. Rest, and we will return.

"I'm no hero," he says, and is met only with silence.

It continues. The gates are shaky in his mind, like a mirage in the desert. The museum grows to be a constant, the voices murmuring soft in his head as he adds history into reality. The castle, oh, the castle, it is bigger than he could ever imagine.

But the bridge was just as big, and the voices just as strong. Hero, they call him, and he finds the word fits on his shoulders.

So he puts down his feet and he gets to work.

He builds and discovers history as he creates it. With every piece he restores, he stills the stirring in his chest, and he feels more like himself.

He works, and he grows, and he learns. He is called hero and he is called king.

Pixlriffs sees the past as reality, and he brings it all back to life.

ao3 link here, inspired by @darubyprincxx and their post on pix's lightmatica wristband actually being visions. i love my prophet!pix headcanons. sue me.

[arthropod-concoctions]

King Joel of Mezalea had died of a broken heart.

That's the conclusion he came to, at least.

He had felt rage, at first, at the destruction of his palace. Months of work, ruined in a few minutes; he'd have to start all over again. He had stormed off to find Lizzie, or Jimmy, or anyone, really, willing to listen to him complain for a bit. But they had both vanished. Citizens of the codlands had mentioned seeing Jimmy run off into the distance, seemingly crying and refusing to speak with anyone; and the Ocean Empire had no citizens left, the shoreline having receded so far it left the aquatic city completely dry. No one had seen Lizzie anywhere, but he didn't give up on her. She has been able to live on land before, surely she would be alright...?

He did find her, days later, among a ragtag group of refugees; but she wasn't the same. She had become shorter than him again, there was no trace of her aquatic origin, and worst of all, she had no memory of him or anybody else. Joel had tried getting to know her again, but to no avail; she wasn't his Ocean Queen anymore, and eventually she simply faded into the crowds of foreigners flowing into Mezalea. After all, the mesa kingdom had fared far better than most others; although the matral palace was still in ruins. Joel knew he should have rebuilt it; but what was the point, with no wife to show it to, no best friend to visit and look around in awe?

And so King Joel stopped building; he stopped visiting other empires (what was the point? Everything has fallen into ruin), he stopped speaking with the populace, and eventually he stopped paying any attention to the world around him at all. The Mother Tree withered, smothered by the unchecked crowds, and one by one the Mezaleans born from it lost their life force. Mezalea became a place of broken towers and silent statues, slowly getting covered in sand by the winds.

There King Joel laid. His clay body needed no air; eventually his world was reduced to nothing but the sand covering his body and his own thoughts. He had never experienced death for long; there was always respawning, always another Mezalean body for his soul to enter. But now, laying immobile in the dunes of his former glory, his mind stayed, alone.

This must be what death is.

…..

….........

A bout of sharp pain struck his arm.

Joel felt as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. He hadn't felt anything but the sand against his body and the subtle vibrations of the earth for... years? Decades? He thought it must have been at least a decade. But now something had hit his arm, and the sand was shifting around him, and... did he hear muffled voices?

Suddenly the sand was removed from his face. He was blinded by sunlight, but when his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a familiar face. He was getting excavated by none other than King Pixlriffs, who looked less like a king and more like a guy who explores ruins for fun. He was frantically writing notes in a book, muttering to himself while doing so;

“This is an incredible discovery. Seems like the god Joel was around even when ancient peoples lived here, and had enough influence to have statues made in his honor...”

So Pix still remembered his name, although he was talking about things that made no sense to Joel. He also didn't seem to realise Joel could hear him. He tried to sit up, but failed miserably; his lower body was still covered with sand, not to mention he hadn't moved in a century. Baby steps; maybe try talking first.

“...Pix?”

(part 2 | AO3)

[the-demons-writings]

Hello! o/

I was wondering if you could do a part two for the Scott fic you have?

If not it’s completely fine and I understand! Have an amazing day :]

Just for you Pt 2

Empires S1 Scott x Dsmp Child dragon reader .

Thank you for the ask I had fun writing this !

Pt1|| [Pt2]

The reader has suspicions about Scott

Cw: mentions of being hurt, mentions of manipulation

When you woke up it was dark outside , as Scott had said there was plenty of snow.  As you think about it you realize you could've frozen out there if he hadn't decided to take you in for the night.  Looking about you noted the cooler colors of the castle . With a quiet sigh you pulled yourself out of the bed  surprised to see you weren't limited to the confines of the room . 

You noticed the cookies on the dresser and hurriedly stuffed some in your pockets as an expedition snack. You tucked your wings closely as you pushed the door open . You waited for anything: a sound, a voice, something telling you that you were doing something wrong. Surprisingly as you opened the door  there was no squeak, the floorboards were the same. Slowly you continued on  checking  your surroundings regularly. 

It wasn't as bright as it was earlier, the natural light from the sun bouncing off the snow was no longer a bother. However, the moonlight was a much somber turn rather than a bright blinding white it sat at a cold blue. Other than that candles were the only other light source and they provided a warm orange in comparison. 

You gasped at how regal everything looked , though you continued on regardless .  Your ears flicked as you hear the noise of conversion. Slowly you began to walk towards it noticing a light from under a door   you decide you're not going to go in but instead you'll snoop.. 

"- Scott what do you mean there's a surprise for the both of us?"One of the voices asked. It sounded reasonably like Scott's voice though more hoarse over all a different voice. 

"Well I found someone-" Scott started only to be cut off immediately by another voice,this one a tad bit whiner and high pitched. But oddly different from the accents Scott and the other had.

",Wait does that mean you don't wanna be with me anymore ? Did I mess up? I'm sorry!" The third voice whines sounding distraught and panicked thinking that Scott no lomger liked him .

"No Jimmy, that's not what I mean, I still love you, I promise. I found a kid and we'll they're a dragon" he muttered, sounding a little nervous.

"Scott don't be ridiculous dragons aren't around anymore, not since you accidentally set me free" the first  unnamed voice huffs

"Fine, come see you've got to be quiet though they might still be sleeping "

He urged, the sound of footsteps made their way to the door, though you were frozen. Maybe it was the cold air or maybe it was the fact you got comfortable enough to trust an adult . You knew this wasn't going to go well. You were supposed to be in bed, and now you have no idea what was going to happen.

The door opened and still stood there frozen in fear, was you . Scott blinked he wasn't expecting to see you up so soon but regardless he smiled. " Hey Y/N, what are you doing ? " The way he spoke almost felt belittling , he spoke to you as if you were maybe six or seven but that's not the case you're  thirteen, that means your practically able to take care of yourself. 

You hissed looking at the three of them Scott and the one who looked oddly similar to him looked could probably take you in a fight however the fishy looking one you could probably take in a fight, though all of them at once could quickly detain you. 

You sighed looking  between your surroundings before glancing behind you once and deciding to run . It wasn't a full run as you tripped nearly unable to keep yourself up as you ran through the maze of hallways . To you freezing was better than being another toy in someone's sick game. 

Scott looked between his brother and husband gesturing for them to stay put as he goes to run after you. He knows his house better than you do somat the least he can predict pretty accurately which hallway you'll end up in, and when he meets you there he gently picks you up by the back of your shirt again.you squirm and he sets you down in a corner and kneels beside you ."Y/N ,Kid? Breathe." He spoke worriedly, holding hands out in front of you. He's worried he's scared you into not talking to him. 

The words for you have been muffled, you can hear your heart in your ears and you're struggling to breathe. It's dark, cold, and you want to cry ever so desperately. You grasp at your sleeves wincing as the once comfortable texture now feels like too much. You curl up facing away from Scott , you don't exactly trust him in this moment so you'll just wait for him to leave. 

Scott sits by your side watching as you turn away from him,  curling up with your knees to your chest , he  reaches up and pulls one of the candles down front he lighting fixture and places it within arms reach ttying to keep you warm as he waits for you to start up a subject. After a minute or two of sitting in tense silence Scott sighs. "Sorry for scaring you Y/N that wasn't my intention." 

Your ears perk at that as you scoot away from him. "Go away , better yet let me go , I don't need some stupid adult that makes decent at best food to help me, all adults are stupid!" You huff , attempting to hide the whimper in your voice . 

Scott frowns at that sighing as  he watches you curl in on yourself more 

"Can I ask why? I mean you'd be frozen out there if I hadn't brought you inside, in fact I'm more than certain you're freezing right now. "  Scott attempts 

"I'm not cold, you are. Besides, you think im stupid because you think I'm going to talk and do nice things till I stop doing what you want and you get tired of me and then I get hurt!" You shout pulling your knees to your chest and burying your face between your knees and arms . You refused to cry in front of him but it was going hard to do and  you just wanted to leave.

"I'm not going to do that .. I have no intention of doing so. I just want to make sure you're safe and okay. If it helps you can hold me to that all you like , I even give you permission to punch me if I ever go back on my word."

He states, sighing as he  sits in front of you, nudging the candle closer.

" Yeah right, I'll punch you once and you'll threaten to hurt me back." You huff as you sniffle. Your voice wavers as you hold back tears. Though you consider his words. "What about the other two?"

"The other two? Oh , you mean my sibling and my partner ?" He smiles as he thinks of them fondly. "Neither of them would hurt you and actually my sibling is a dragon as well, well half dragon, they're not exactly a hybrid like you are, it's different and complicated . But I can promise that neither of them will hurt you. You can actually bite me if they go against that. "

" Okay. " You mutters glancing up at him in-between sniffles. You're still cold but honestly you're just tired at this point "I want to get warm and sleep" you state wiping away the tears from your eyes and trying your hardest to clear up your face.

Scott picks up the candle and sets it back in his proper place . He helps you up with a smile silently aweing as you lean against him tiredly . " I'm gonna pick you up and take you to bed, sound good Y/N? "

You don't verbally respond, instead nod into his shoulder . And hold tight as  he picks you up. Scott still doens tlike that you're this easy to pick up . Xornoth is their sibling and he has a hard time lifting them for fun , but you're so light regardless of body figure it makes him very concerned. 

He brings you back to the room you're staying in and he sets you down in the bed. He makes the effort to tuck you in as well as bring Xornoth and Jimmy into the room. He sighs holding a candle out to Xornoth. "Light this, they're cold..." Xornoth rolls  their eyes in response.. 

" Scott, that's a fire hazard. " They huff

 as they produce a small flame in his hands. They're quick to just snatch one of the jars off of Jimmy's waistband and slip the flame inside humming as it still produces heat.  They smile smugly as they leave it to float in the air in the vague middle of the room. "There  that's better for them anyways "

"You've never done this for me !"  Scott  huffs playful as he drags everyone out of the room 

"Exactly, it's just for them. They deserve it more." They grin glancing over at a very cluelessness Jimmy 

"Just for them? That means we're taking care of them right? Right?" Jimmy asked looking between the two.  

[djpurple3]

his tears freeze when he cries, did you know that?

3k words, Empires s1, romantic scwhip (fWhip/Scott), vaguely canon compliant, set just before Scott leaves on his Elsa Arc. Full fic both on AO3 and posted below.

Tagged: kissing, crying, self-deprecation, abandonment issues, hurt no comfort, angst, winged Scott and fWhip, tragic romance.

Summary:

After fWhip's sister gets hit by Scott's newly developing and quickly out-of-control powers, fWhip has that sort of... gut feeling that everything is about to fall apart. He rushes to Rivendell to see Scott just in time - catching Scott as he is about to leave. fWhip now has to try, in vain, to convince his love to stay.

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

fWhip has that… that gut sort of feeling. When Gem had shown up, allegedly ‘feeling fine’ but corrupted to all hells and back, and talking about Scott, fWhip had a terrible sort of feeling. Now, coming to a quick landing in Rivendell’s main plaza, he sees he was right to assume the worst.

Scott, wings half-unfurled, stares at him, caught off guard, and… painfully scared.

When fWhip dares to approach, he has to swallow hard, stomach twisting itself into agonising knots, because as he draws closer, Scott shies away.

“I’m not mad,” fWhip says quickly. He raises his hands in a show of peace. “Not anymore, I promise.”

“It’s not just that,” Scott says, and he doesn’t even look at fWhip, and that hurts too. “It’s… no. You should go.”

“Go?” fWhip stops five paces away, hands still in the air, and he tries to smile, tries to joke it off. “But I just arrived! And it was such a long journey, too.”

“You may use one of my people’s homes to rest,” Scott says. He’s really trying to brush fWhip off. And, fWhip notices, Scott’s… not in his usual robes. He’s in warm weather gear – not sleek and well-fitted royal garb, but thick and sturdy. Scott is… he’s in runaway clothes, isn’t he? “I will send word for you.”

“Scott.”

“You can’t… I-,” Scott cuts himself off with an aching sigh. “We can’t, fWhip.”

And Scott finally looks up. His eyes are wide and bright and exhausted. fWhip can’t help but notice that Scott’s been clutching his hands tightly together over his stomach this entire time.  It’s a stark contrast to the usual way Scott would gesture as he spoke.

“You should understand better than anyone else.” Scott’s lips purse, and he looks away. “…How is she?”

“Well, she’s…” fWhip looks away, too. Scratches the back of his head as he fumbles for his words. “She went looking for a cure herself, and got corrupted, actually, but… I took her to Katherine, who managed to purify her. She’s good as gold, now, …if not a little shaken.”

“Corrupted?” Scott echoes, horrified, and he steps back sharply, hands flying to his mouth. “Even Gem? E-even the… the Great Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs…”

“Hey. We both know that it doesn’t matter who you are,” fWhip says sharply, but the way Scott’s face falls tells fWhip he’s accidentally hit a sore spot. “But! She got help! We defeated it together.”

fWhip does his best to smile, now and takes a half-step closer.

“And besides. This,” fWhip gestures at Scott, now, up and down, “isn’t that. You’re… you’re you, Scott. You didn’t mean it. She knows you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it. It… it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Scott’s hands tighten, and the air gets several degrees colder even as Scott takes a jerky step back that spreads frost from where his boot makes contact with the ground. fWhip fights down the urge to shiver, and holds his ground. “I… you’re not listening to me! I can’t control myself, fWhip. A-and I don’t… I don’t want to keep hurting people.”

And fWhip watches in quiet horror as tears fall down Scott’s face. But… but they aren’t normal tears. They’re frozen on his cheeks, long before they hit the ground, and bounce on the cobblestones with little tink-tink-tinks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scott says, and he reaches out to fWhip for a moment, just a moment, before he catches himself, and tucks his hands away again.

fWhip involuntarily makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat, before he has a thought, eyes lighting up. Scott watches him in confusion as fWhip frantically pats down his coat.

“Look, wait, hang on,” he tells Scott, before he finds the right pocket and pulls out his work gloves. “These- these babies? Designed to withstand the extreme temperatures of my forge.”

And fWhip doggedly closes the distance before Scott can argue, pulling his gloves on, and takes Scott’s hands in his. Scott flinches, gasps, his hands flex as frost spreads across fWhip’s gloves, but fWhip just raises a shaky eyebrow, and smiles.

Scott’s eyes widen.

“See?” fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands, coaxing him along, and finally, the tension leaks from Scott, his shoulders uncurl enough to stand tall again. “You can’t hurt me. It’s alright.”

“…Your technology is marvellous,” Scott says, musing. He gently turns fWhip’s hands over so Scott can inspect the gloves closer. “And you’re sure I’m not…?”

“Can barely feel a thing,” fWhip assures him. “You’d really need to start pumping the temperature up or down to damage these.”

In truth, he hasn’t actually really tested these for cold. But they certainly work for heat. Wearing these, he can handle magma and, to some degrees, even lava with his hands. Which is more where his expertise lies. But they’re holding up more than fine right now. fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands again, even as the frost thickens. He still doesn’t feel the cold.

Scott looks up now, finally meeting fWhip’s eyes… and, gods above and below, he looks tired.

“I’m about to go,” Scott whispers. “I’m… I’m going.”

“Where?” fWhip asks, voice equally hushed, worried, and he immediately steps closer.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here. I have to.”

“You… Scott.”

“I have to,” Scott’s still crying, his frozen teardrops are almost piling around them now. “I need to learn to control myself. And I need to do it somewhere I won’t freeze someone half to death. O-or worse.”

“And you?” fWhip tilts his head, studying Scott’s face.

“Oh,” Scott says, his best attempt at playful, and he even does his best to give fWhip a smile. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“…H-how long will you be gone?”

“Long enough,” Scott says, and his hands tighten around fWhip’s for a moment. “I… I don’t know if I should even…”

“You better come back,” fWhip cuts Scott off, brow furrowing as the pain in his chest threatens to seal off his throat. “You better. I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”

“fWhip,” Scott says He sounds in pain.

“Scott,” fWhip matches his tone. “You… you can’t go. …I-I’m sorry. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” Scott says, the bitterness in his tone taking fWhip aback, and he watches as Scott’s lip curls. “A menace? A danger? A threat?”

“Scared,” fWhip says, earnest and simple. “In pain.”

He moves in, now. fWhip catches Scott in a full-on hug, and wraps his leathery wings around both of them, best he can.

“You better come back,” he half-growls, hugging tighter as Scott tenses up with a sharp gasp. “We… gods, Scott, we were just beginning to work.”

“I know,” Scott says, and he sounds so… mournful. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to-”

“You better not finish that sentence either,” fWhip cuts him off again, voice so dark, and fWhip looks up sharply to meet Scott’s ice-blue eyes. They’re practically pressed chest-to-chest now. Scott’s shaking in his arms. “I… you can’t… I can’t… I’ve already lost so many, Scott, you…”

fWhip closes his eyes for a moment, before he finally says, “I can’t lose you too.”

Scott’s face crumples, and he watches fWhip with a devastated expression. fWhip takes his opportunity to lean in and place a kiss on Scott’s cheek.

“fWhip!” Scott reprimands him, and snowy owl wings push draconic ones aside. Scott physically shoves his way out of fWhip’s arms.

“What?” fWhip tries not to sound choked up even as he stumbles back a few steps. “You can’t say you don’t want it!”

“I’ll freeze you!” Scott cries, and fWhip’s eyes widen as frost spreads from around Scott’s boots, seeping deeper into the ground, edging closer to fWhip. “I’ll kill you, fWhip, and I don’t want to. You’d be safer without me!”

Scott puts his head in his hands, turns away, wings circling himself, drawing in tight.

“Everyone would be safer without me,” he whispers to himself.

fWhip chokes on his tongue. He can’t breathe. He needs to say something, anything, but he can’t. The words won’t come.

He takes one hesitant step forward. Then another. He tries to take care not to slip on the ice. Scott doesn’t look up until fWhip is directly in front of him again.

“…fWhip?”

fWhip reaches out, now. He reaches out, worn leather gloves reaching out until he cups Scott’s face gently, so gently, and fWhip tears up as he watches Scott’s eyes widen. fWhip guides Scott’s head down, not all the way, just until their foreheads are resting together, and fWhip closes his eyes, staying there. It’s almost too much to bear.

“I can’t stop you,” he says, low and slow. “I know I can’t. But promise me, Scott. Promise me you’ll come back. I need you to come back.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You can.” fWhip’s face scrunches up, eyes screwing tighter shut. “…Who’s even looking after your people, when you’re gone?”

“My advisors,” Scott says. “I’ve left them letters; they know what to do.”

“…The Grimlands will lend aid, if they need it,” fWhip’s voice is so soft. Scott’s touch is much colder than it used to be, but fWhip isn’t scared of it. He likes it, even. It… fWhip runs too hot for his own good. He could even get used to this, grow fond of this, …if Scott would stay.

“Thank you,” Scott whispers, and somehow, he’s the one who shivers. “…fWhip.”

“Scott.”

fWhip hasn’t opened his eyes yet. He can’t. If he opens his eyes to see that fear on Scott’s face, it’ll… make this far harder. Too hard. fWhip wants to remember what Scott looked like with a smile. What he used to look like before the demon. Before everything.

“What are you doing?” Scott whispers to him.

“I-I’m trying to remember you happy,” fWhip replies honestly. “So it’ll hurt less when you’re gone.”

Scott’s breathing hitches. Under fWhip’s touch, he shudders. Slowly, fWhip feels the familiar warmth and softness of being encircled by feathery wings, and he melts into it.

“Don’t go.” fWhip can’t help but beg.

“I have to.”

“Then kiss me,” fWhip finally opens his eyes, and takes in Scott’s tears, the fear in his eyes, the way his mouth is hanging a little open, the way he’s drawn tenser than a bowstring, and knows he won’t be able to erase how Scott has changed, has been changed, by all of this. “Kiss me, one last time. Please.”

Scott gasps again, and fWhip watches Scott as he openly wars with himself, fear and longing clawing at each other until Scott gasps for air, and-

“I…” Scott’s hands almost make it to fWhip’s face, but they falter, fall a little, and lightly cup his throat, over where his scarf is, like Scott can’t bring himself to touch fWhip’s bare skin.

“Lean in,” fWhip whispers. “Close your eyes, if it helps. I just… Gods. Give me something to remember you by, Scott.”

Scott caves. fWhip watches it happen, watches it play out across Scott’s face. Scott caves, and closes his eyes and tilts his head down, hesitant, waiting. fWhip is the one who cups Scott’s face again to guide the kiss.

Scott’s lips are cold. fWhip doesn’t let it throw him, just presses their mouths together insistently, tries to press everything he can against Scott’s lips to try and let Scott know he has something to come back to.

When they part for air, Scott doesn’t open his eyes for another moment.

fWhip leans back just a little to start undoing his scarf, and he slips it off, loops it around Scott’s neck, and he’s fumbling with doing up the knot when Scott’s eyes fly open.

“I… I can’t take this,” Scott tries to argue, though he makes no move to stop fWhip.

“I have others,” fWhip tells him sharply, doing up the knot a little too tight as his nerves spike. “Remember me.”

Scott touches it softly, his expression twisting. “Red’s not my colour,” he whispers.

“Means you’ll have to give it back.” fWhip drags him in by the scarf now, and kisses him again, pressing his words to Scott’s lips. “Means you’ll have to remember me.”

It seems to be yet another touchy thing to say to Scott – his lips part like he was going to say something. fWhip almost takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss then and there, but he doesn’t. He… doesn’t think Scott would forgive him if he did.

They break away. fWhip just doesn’t want to take his hands off the elf before him, yet. When he does, Scott will go, and it’ll all be real.

“Is there any last things you need?” he asks instead, makes himself ask instead.

“No.” Scott’s hands fall away to hang at his sides.

“You have enough food?”

“I do.”

fWhip smooths down the scarf. …Scott isn’t wrong about red not being his colour. It just kind of washes Scott out.

fWhip still thinks he looks beautiful.

“…Be safe?”

“You too,” Scott says earnestly. “…If there’s an emergency, send an owl. They’ll find me.”

“I will,” fWhip promises.

And the conversation lulls. It’s come to an end, fWhip can feel it has, but he doesn’t want it to. But Scott steps away now, leaving fWhip’s hands trailing behind him. Snow has started to fall around them, slow and soft.

It settles on Scott’s hair, gleaming in the sun.

fWhip wants to say all sorts of things. Things like I’ll miss you and things like I love you. He doesn’t say any of it, though, because… at the end of the day, he knows Scott knows. And he knows it’ll only make this hurt more.

fWhip knows he can’t stop him. Despite how badly he wishes for the contrary, fWhip cannot stop him. And he knows Scott wouldn’t cope with fWhip following. Even if fWhip wanted to, he …can’t. because even outside of the ‘powers’ thing, it isn’t really, politically, the best of times to leave. But fWhip won’t tell him that. He’ll just have to… to try to cover Scott’s tracks for him.

Scott now leaves five, now six, now seven, now eight empty paces between them, before he smiles, so sadly, so scared, at fWhip; and… there. In that moment right there, fWhip knows that this expressionwill be the face that will haunt his dreams from now on.

“Goodbye, Count fWhip,” Scott whispers. It’s almost as soft as the snow falling around them, but it falls louder than an avalanche on fWhip’s ears.

fWhip swallows hard.

“Goodbye, King Scott,” is all he can whisper back. Helpless. He feels helpless, watching Scott extend his wings, put his back to fWhip, and hesitate only once before he takes off.

Scott circles once, overhead. What gold he’s still wearing catches in the sunlight, as does his hair. fWhip has always thought his hair looks particularly fetching in the sun. It makes his heart lurch now. With a few mighty beats of powerful wings, Scott is soaring into the distance.

Just like that, he’s …gone.

fWhip stays rooted to the spot until Scott’s out of eyeshot, and then a little longer, just for good measure. Snow settles on his hair, his shoulders, his wings. fWhip stays, still as a statue, frozen in place until he can’t stand the cold anymore, and he cracks. fWhip wraps himself up in his wings, finally giving in and shivering as he rips his eyes away from the horizon.

 He feels barer – colder – without his scarf.

As fWhip drops his head, gritting his teeth, something sparkling catches his eye. fWhip makes a sound – a sound that’s a little too close to a sob to play it off, before he leans down, and scoops up a handful of Scott’s frozen tears. He cradles them in his hands, watching them glint in the morning sun.

They are small and delicate in the palms of his thick, dark, leathery gloves.

…It’s only morning. He has a whole day ahead of him. Buildings to build. Councils to meet with. Treaties to negotiate. Paperwork to finish. Inventions to fix.

He…

H-he needs to replace his scarf first.

fWhip stands, turns sharply, and spreads his wings too, closing his hands around the tears. They don’t even seem to be melting, yet. And they don’t the whole way home, and not even when he takes off his gloves and cups them in his bare hands, where they sit, freezing and lonely, against his skin.

fWhip leaves them on his windowsill, in his bedroom, by his bed. He puts his back to them as he huddles by the fire long enough to stave all the cold off, replaces his scarf, though he gave Scott his favourite one. …It was bloodsheep wool. Sausage had made it for him, years ago.

…It’s one he can probably never replace, nowadays.

Eventually, fWhip rises to his feet, making to leave, to try function for the day, and ends up turning back to the window. fWhip can’t help but notice with detached curiosity and buried pain that, even in the full sun, Scott’s tears aren’t melting.

Well then. Good to see fWhip’s got something to hold onto, too.

So, fWhip doesn’t let himself cry. fWhip plasters on his best smile, and leaves, trying to put some fake pep in his step as he goes to meet up with his civil planning committee to try suss out the last of the preparations for their newest building project, and does his best not to slam his bedroom door behind him, as all he can do is to… continue on with his life, and hope for Scott to come back.