🧭 ... what is he to say? this karl fellow didn't seem very eager to get to the point of cellbit's question. which was about as obnoxious as it was inconvenient. he swears a string of portuguese far faster than he intended, teeth flashing as he hisses through them. "I do not have time for your game," the feline sneers, tail twitching in agitation. "you tell me the world has ended—gone. where did it go?"
the question is as glaringly serious as the silver-blue of the cat's eyes as he levels them on the odd man, brows furrowing hard and hand twitching to the knife that sits in its sheath on his belt loop. "I have a son. my boy. family. are you saying they are gone too?"
he wants to drag the other down, speed through this little discussion—but he can't bring himself to. if he risks whatever being this is, threatens him like his hands twitch towards or his brain narrows in on, then he thinks he may never see his family again. richas comes to mind in a flurry of emotion, then his sister. friends and people who have come to mean the world to him—gone. gone?
there's no way it's real. no way this is true. cellbit won't allow it, won't let someone else take anything precious from him again. take anyone, ever again.
i don't care if you think you're fine. i'm staying.
Tubbo (@doomcdtofatc) to Telemachus
@doomcdtofatc sent an ask.
🍎 telemachus draws his knees closer to his chest, averting his gaze from where he sits. he fumbles with himself for a moment, especially when the other seemingly settles down next to him. the young man's wings tuck closer to his body - slicking down to make himself as small as possible, swinging his foot over the edge of the l'crater. there's nothing here now, the crater is overgrown and hardly looks like the land he and tubbo and everyone fought for - the land he died for, that tubbo died for, that paige...
"thanks.. tubbo." the boy mumbles through his arm, tipping himself forward enough that he could reasonably fall in - though his wings twitch at the notion, ready and waiting to catch his descent should he pitch over the edge. after a moment, he turns his face and rests his cheek on a bent knee - eyeing his best friend ( they're still best friends, aren't they? ) carefully.
"I know he's back, but I just don't know how to feel about it all yet. he keeps treatin' me like... like I'm that same little kid. I'm that same fuckin' little kid who just took it whenever he-" a shaky breath leaves him, and he leans his body onto he can rest his shoulder against the other. "I missed him, I did... it's just... hard, now."
@doomcdtofatc sent an ask. + vaguely plotted starter.
based on the prompt // "glow" (Sam to Eret)
💫 there was never anything easy about losing your life. the avisol might have been immortal, and would simply revive as if nothing had happened - only bearing the mark of a scar that she could easily glamour away yet another time, however; there was something immensely uncomfortable about the ways in which these humans decided someone branded a witch deserved to die. twice she'd been burnt - both times more horrendously than the last, and the woman most ardently did not wish to repeat such actions a third time. besides, reviving from nothing more than charred bone was rather uncomfortable, and left an odd feeling of brittleness that would soothe only after a week or two - but eret would rather avoid the sensation if she had any say in the matter. only...
she didn't. not really. people didn't like listening to women in this time, and while it had felt like they'd all but backtracked in the efforts she'd significantly taken herself on account for women and slaves alike, it was hard for her - both literally and figuratively - to keep her nose out of other people's business.
that hadn't been the case, unfortunately, as she'd tried and failed to tend to a sickly woman that had been resting near the outskirts of the town she'd been currently staying in, and even if they'd shunned and steered clear of the witch for her opalescent pools for eyes, most were keen to accept her as blind and simply... move on. yet, when she'd dropped down to help the woman who'd taken to clutching her heart as if she might die right then and there; croaking out please to prime for help...
well, eret couldn't rightfully stand by and watch it happen.
she'd done the best she could with what she had in the satchel strung over her shoulder, worrying a sore against the inside of her cheek as she worked to soothe the rattled and panicked woman, who had promptly turned on them - pointing, shouting, screeching like an old bitch of an elder that there was a witch; a soothsayer, a harlot.
cue now, really, where eret had turned back to the town - to the tavern, packing her things quickly (she couldn't abandon them here, not when they'd likely be burnt and scorned), and had to make a rather hasty retreat toward the back of the tavern. only, these townfolk were faster, it seemed. faster and more accustomed to the lay of this place (unsurprisingly).
instead, eret cuts through the narrowed hallway and slips through a window that's left open, scraping one arm and being ever thankful of the boots and trousers they wear underneath the layers of their skirts. the townsfolk persist - intent on 'burning the witch' and seeking due reward from their mighty and powerful god, who from her understanding of their oldest friend, was no more than a spoiled brat and a child than god. the avisol takes a firm dip into another house, dodging the frantic crowd and only realizing after a moment too late that she's not alone in this home.
eyes widening, she snatches a dagger out from underneath the layers of her skirt and roots an elbow into the man's chest, pushing with all her might and smashing him into the nearest wall. as soon as it's done, expression grown taunt and twisted up in both fright and trembling heat. static sparks through the tendrils of her fingers, arching off the blade pressed dangerously close to the poor man's neck. hell, even the woman's hair stands, her opal pearl eyes glinting with the might of a hurricane before the suddenly light catches between them. it stuns the woman, to witness the two marks' glow shine - intermingling like an intrigue dance that halted the spilling of his blood.
white hot anger flashes across her face, and eret turns back to the man with clenched teeth and wrinkled nose. the witch's face poised into that of a snarl, uncertainty and warning in equal measure ever present as well. she can't help the waver in her voice when she speaks. this glow could mean only one thing, after all. still, eret hisses through her teeth all the same. "if you so much as move, I will cut you where you stand."
🗺️ the words were stated as a joke, crossing one arm over the other and fluffing up his wings in a way that made him look bigger, more cross than he actually intended to be. the curve of his brows a tentative mark that pointed out how much time the crow avian spent furrowing them. if that was due to one thing or the other, be it casting judgment at people for acting in stupid ways, or instead rattling himself over something in builds simply... not looking right, was beyond him.
philza stares at cellbit hard, musing his face into a firm mask that looks a little too... screwed up in one direction to be genuine, eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth quirked upwards.
then, all at once, the avian barks out a laugh and the arms that settle across his chest lower enough to tuck around his midsection instead, snort-laughing as he flashes a playful smile of teeth and relaxed brows at his feline-friend, shoving an elbow into the taller man's arm. "oh piss off," phil states with a roll of his eyes. "if I cared about your questions I could literally just fly away from you."
a fair assessment and a right one. even if his wings are clipped and only give him enough air to glide now, it's enough to get himself off the ground and into the sky. which for most people proved to be a pretty obvious end to any conversation. "there's nothing wrong with curiosity. I only bite a little, and you haven't warranted losing a chunk or two yet."
❝ you have a nice smile, has anyone ever told you that before? ❞ while babysitting.
Forever to Hope - @doomcdtofatc
>>> @doomcdtofatc sent an ask.
🕊️ the little feline stopped what she was doing, eyes blown semi-wide to reveal the vibrant blue beneath her lids. it was startlingly clear what parent the little creature had, with her velvety fur and white hair, two perched ears speckled with flecks of brown at the base where the little twitching triangles met the child's head.
she was dressed in a much larger dress than she remembered owning, with soft lacey patterns at the hems and sleeves—decorated by a little yellow and blue bow at the midsection that hung in a loose flowing ruffle down to her knees. her feet—bare and adorned only by decorative bows instead of shoes, something one of her papa's had told her would be better for her feet than socks or shoes like a normal little girl might wear.
hope blinks up at the canine, then giggles and drops the teddy she'd been playing with to splay out her arms and rush to the much older.
"mh mh," she tells him, shaking her head so much that she feels the ends of the ribbons in her hair dance with the wavy locks. her hands rise to press to either side of forever's face, cupping and patting the skin on either side of his mouth with her fluffy toe-beaned fingers. "is it like papa's smile?"
🧭 polaris' expression is a mixture between narrowed and softened, brows raised in a semi-perplexed, yet also seemingly amused with the way his lip curls upwards on one side into a half smile. "yeah, well you've always had a shit immune system." the brother mumbles, halfheartedly stern as he forces the younger down on the couch in his living room. it's a long thing, stretching out like an awkward L so that when he's settled in his half form, polaris might also stretch out against the cushions.
now however, he tends to the younger with familiar hands and a lackluster gaze. polaris guides himself back to the kitchen so that he can find something better than stale bread for the other to eat, and shuffles through fridge, pantry, and then cabinets alike. "I bet you don't remember our aunt's soup." he muses, even if there's no 'our' and more his own. pluto had been too young to understand and recognize people when the elder brought him to the frigid snow village, but the snow leopard shifter remembered the bubbling cauldron and the overly large ladle every so often that he was sure it was engrained into his memory.
polaris too had made it several times, knew the recipe without looking, and thankfully too. no recipe book would survive the constant moving they tended toward in pluto's youth and his own work. as soon as one place had felt too familiar, they'd be off again. the server itself was almost too familiar now, but polaris was working—so as much as he might like to turn tail, grab his brother, and run; there was no turning back, least of all not when his... friend was concerned.
shaking his head, the cat-hybrid hummed under his breath and tapped the counter, and then turned back to the task at hand; soup for his ailing little brother. he could probably substitute some things for other things. hunting for rabbit right now would prove too difficult, and some of the frigid weeds they'd called edible in the past could be switched in place of something easy on the changeling's stomach. polaris reregisters being spoken at, likely due to having his dead ear to the boy, and pokes his head around the kitchen before cocking his head to one side.
"if you want me to shut up so bad," he muses, chuffing under his breath with a laugh and a snicker, "then you should have listened to me when I keep telling you something will make you sick."
"If they want you, they’ll have to go through me first.”
Pac to Tina
-doomcdtofatc
@doomcdtofatc sent an ask. // pac @ tina
🛼 ... she clutches at him, fingers scraping into the fabric of what's left of his shirt. purgatory had done a number on them—left them ugly and twisted, left her ugly and twisted. tina know what to do with it, with what looks back at her when she sees her face in reflections or water surfaces. nor does she know what to do when people's expressions change as they see her—their eyes always see the horns first. they always look. they always see the awful, ugly secret she keeps under wraps.
a few stand by her still—she's grateful for it, thankful for the friends who don't disown and don't ask and don't make demands when they see her. pac, she knows, is one of these people. safe, safer now—because of one thing. one ugly incident, one ugly demand. she'd never been held that tight and felt quite that safe in a man's arms before. it's bizarre, but now she can't help it. he's become an anchor in her mind, a lifeline in this hell. tina had told him just as plainly so—admitting the depths of her panic, and pac. pac. he'd clutched her like she was precious, like she was beautiful and real, and he speaks.
she clings to him, clutches at his shirt and arms and folds herself into him with a strenuous, odd sort of giggle. "do you mean it?" tina asks, croaking out through tears. "no, no. I don't deserve it. you, you got hurt because of me. I'm not worth it. I'm no good—a stupid fucking demon! I don't—you should just go away!"
