Prime Colab with KACItheCAT
I guess it's time for my semi-yearly Sonic-esque art. This one's a collab with @KACItheCAT of Boscage Maze variants. I call this one Scraggle.
He got the Birdie treatment and got all big and feral in the transition.
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Best we're getting, she's mad.
But! Scraggle's checkup is today. She's doing much better, pretty much back to her old self. I'm so fucking relieved
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welcome to the scraggly check. please check in on your scraggles and make sure they are loved <3
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K or N for Joe and/or Nicky
K. On the edge of consciousness.
Yusuf wakes slowly, so slowly that he can’t see and isn’t even sure he can open his eyes, only half-sure he still has eyes, and that’s how he knows there’s something very, very wrong. He can’t move, can’t hear, can’t even smell anything. He doesn’t remember exactly what happened to him, but every part of him is burning, and he’s fairly sure the weird aching sensation in his head is his skull knitting itself back together, which. He really, really didn’t need to know what that feels like.
There’s a scraping in his chest when he breathes in, but at least he’s breathing.
Where is he? He could be anywhere. He could be in the middle of the street, could have been dragged away from the fighting from someone who had seen him breathing through a wound that should have killed him immediately. When he wakes, what will he find? Will they have taken his weapon? How long has he been dead?
Will Nicolò be able to find him, if they are separated? Will he even try?
Slowly but steadily, he starts to hear something: a high pitched whistling that sounds like it’s coming from deep inside his own head. The darkness begins to lift, leaving flickering amber lights across his vision, and a shadow in front of him.
There’s a voice, too, one that sharpens into words as Yusuf’s hearing begins to return. He doesn’t understand their meaning, but the cadence of them and the voice itself is familiar.
“Are you awake?” Nicolò asks softly, switching to Arabic.
Yusuf tries to make a sound in response. Whether it’s audible he doesn’t know, because the only noise he can really make is a rasping exhale, but Nicolò hushes him anyway.
“Do not… you can be slow,” Nicolò says. He’s more comfortable with the sounds of the language now, but still doesn’t always string sentences together well. “We are safe. I am here.”
He’s made aware of where his hand is by the feeling of Nicolò reaching for it. Yusuf manages to make an actual sound this time, but still can’t form words. Nicolò squeezes his hand gently.
“I am here,” he says again.
Eventually, Yusuf’s skull seems to piece itself back together fully, and his vision sharpens, letting him see that they’re backed into the corner of the two remaining intact walls of a house ravaged by fire, Nicolò crouched in front of him with his sword in hand. There’s a trail of blood leading to where Yusuf is lying now, and a section of the room that has collapsed. He can piece together enough. Nicolò would have had to drag him over here.
This time, he manages to make a sound, even if he can’t quite form words. Nicolò looks down at him over his shoulder, and there is blood on his face and in his hair, and only then does Yusuf notice the bodies in the room.
“Okay?” Nicolò asks.
Yusuf manages to nod, and it sends a spike of pain along his spine. Nicolò turns slightly to look at him properly.
“You are almost done, I think,” he says. “You did not… you were asleep for a long time. I did not know if…”
“Nicolò,” Yusuf finally manages, hoarse.
“Rest,” Nicolò says. “I am here.”
(letter asks)
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speaking of happy trails, my brain simply cannot decide if trace is the kinda person to be hairless or be scruffy body hair-wise. i can see Smooth trace but i can also see scraggly fuzzy trace.
The great thing about being a shapeshifter is that Trace can do whatever they want from second to second. Their favorite form is pretty hairless, though.
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Lucia fic no. 2 💜💜💜💜💜
i have GOT to get back to this fic its just . well there's a lot of emotions in there. but what i HAVEN'T previously mentioned is the actual framing of the fic, i.e. it doesn't all take place in the past!! for example:
It's not until late afternoon, when Andy is napping in the other room, that Nicky brings up the reason for their visit. The TV is chattering away softly in the background, some drama show she's too tired to watch, though she’s getting better at understanding the rapid Italian. Joe'd pulled the curtains open to let the sun in a little while ago, casting a square of golden light on the terracotta tiles, and is now seated in one of the armchairs, sketching in a little black notebook, glancing up at the TV every now and then.
“Nile,” Nicky starts. “There is something I would like to show you tomorrow, if you will let me.”
“Sure,” Nile says, shifting position – she'd been starting to drift off in the afternoon sunlight. “What is it?”
“There is a village, a few hours' drive from here,” he says. “I know Booker” – and here Joe's shoulders tense, just a little – “told you about his family already, but I would like the chance to tell you about mine. Only if you want to hear it, of course.”
Nile wonders if that's why Andy had argued with him about this. She's been carefully avoiding thinking about her family for too long; Copley had handled it, sure, but that doesn't mean Nile doesn't still wish with every part of her that she could go home, even if it was just once.
“Yeah,” she says. She could use getting out of the house anyway.
Nicky relaxes, just a little. “We can leave in the morning,” he says. “Eight?”
Nile nods.
The next morning, Joe and Nicky are already in the kitchen when Nile gets up, talking to each other quietly in Italian. She doesn’t even bother to listen in, still a little too tired to process another language right now, but she catches the odd word that’s close enough to Spanish or French for her to understand.
There’s two thermoses on the kitchen table already, and a little plate of pastries, possibly bought from the bakery a few streets over that Joe had mentioned yesterday; Nicky stands when she enters.
“Ready?” he asks.
Nile nods.
“Domenico’s is closed,” Joe says to Nicky. “I checked yesterday. But there’s a place not far from where it used to be.” His expression softens, then, and there’s something almost sad about the way he looks at Nicky when he says, “Bring her something from me?”
Nicky nods. Joe catches hold of his wrist as he walks past, kisses his palm. Nicky shudders for a moment, then leans down to knock their foreheads together briefly, eyes closed like he's bracing himself for something. It’s the most physical affection Nile’s ever seen them show towards each other: of course, they’re never that far from each other, but they’re not usually like this, at least not in front of her. She can’t help but wonder.
“You’re not coming?” Nile asks.
Joe shakes his head. “Not this time.”
Again, she wonders. But then Nicky passes her one of the thermoses and a couple pastries in a paper bag, and they head out.
It’s not until they’re out of the city and on the autostrada after a quick stop at a florist’s that leaves Nile with even more questions, and she’s halfway through her thermos of coffee, that Nicky says, “I had a sister.”
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