#garmgeyr

[cisoriaseams]

🎲 platonic, for one of the most frustrating men you know ;)

A kiss to the shoulder

Though the jaws of death were sharp and cold, the one that held the leash was much warmer. The unfortunate fact of the matter was that it was his lack of care for his dog that led her here, and it was her attention to detail and demands of retribution that found them in this position. After all, it was not often that you found a male model with the a build like that. Though she would much prefer to mend or make a dress, practicing tailoring on suits made for muscular builds was always useful.

"Can you relax? I've not struck you yet," she chides, face hovering over a seam closest to his elbow. "You have large arms, and when you flex, it makes the seam misaligned. You'll have breathing room, I promise." A sigh, pulling her stool in closer to help herself stitch quicker.

Perhaps he was tired of holding his arm up? Perhaps he shouldn't have let his creature drag her here, how about that?

After a few minutes, she would stand, circling him, "supporting" one of his triceps. In reality, two fingers trace down the seam, then back up closer to his shoulder. "Stand up." He follows instructions, a little too well. Too tall. "Stand less up." Better. Her leg extends behind her, pulling another stool to them with her unique heels. She then finds steadiness upon the step up, leaning on him more while she finishes yet another small seam.

Practically hanging off of him, the thirty seconds it takes to finish hopefully felt more taxing. As she finishes, he is released, with her assessing her work. "Good... See, that wasn't so hard? You've got a knack for it. Most of the time people are complaining by now... or..." or you're Navia. A gentle peck to his shoulder, before patting him on the back.

"Come now, let's see what the rest of the bar thinks of your new suit."

[trailblczed]

✧ tichloch: the anxiety of never knowing how much time you have left.

@garmgeyr also asked: obscure sorrows drabble prompts ( 1 + 2 ) | Not Currently Accepting.

You ever just sit in your favorite computer chair, or lay down in your comfy bed and think about your existence? You ever wonder why you cannot recall who you are, who you once were, who you are supposed to be? Caelus does. He does it a lot.

But can you blame the boy? His first memory is being woken up by two strangers, and after being probed about who he was or what he was doing, the silver had no idea what the answer to any of those questions were. Sure he gave them a name, but he always wonders if he's lying to himself, that his name is actually something else. Maybe another version of himself.

Ever since the discovery of a Stellaron inside him, Caelus always worries he might randomly go "BOOM!" and take out everyone and everything around him. He is a constant danger to everyone, why do they just let him hang around like nothing is wrong, like he isn't a threat to their lives simply by existing- sure, Welt may have been able to knock him out, or keep the Stellaron in check or whatever magical whimsy the man is capable of doing to prevent the thing from exploding, but that doesn't mean that it was a permanent fix. Even worse, Caelus doesn't want to have to rely on the man- or should a situation arise where they are separated and Caelus isn't in the elder's protective bubble, then there is no way of knowing when or what will make him tiktikboom.

Not that it entirely matters, because it isn't as if Caelus would survive afterwards anyway. He's sure he's only "alive" because it's inside him. So regardless the how, or when, he won't be around..

Who's to say it won't be tomorrow? Maybe the Script says he will live for another 20 years, maybe a few Amber Eras- living well passed the other Express' member's deaths and being on his own to pop in isolation.. maybe that wouldn't be so bad to explode at that point. Would it even be better to go before them? No.. they would likely mourn him.. and Caelus doesn't want to put any of them through that. He'd rather take the burden by himself.. Or, maybe he'd be able to stick with Pom-Pom.. being their companion for as long as the Express is operational. Maybe someday he too will be bound to the train created by Akivili and restored by Himeko.

The only thing that is for certain, is that it is uncertain.

[dreamingclockwork]

About: Princess Mirror

“Mirror Princess is one of Clockie’s best friends. He went on lots of adventures with her and Captain Revolver! Oh, she’s amazing…! Super intelligent, with her inventions and quick thinking helping Dreamville grow into the place it is now…! Clockie and I really admire her…. I wish I could’ve learned from her, but… she’s sleeping now. But even still, she keeps on protecting dreamville, her light forever showing the way forward, even when times get dark and scary..“

“…huh? …w-why am I… crying?”

[dreamingclockwork]

✧ ozurie: the feeling of being torn between the life you want and the life you have.

“S-Sorry.. is this seat available..?” With a shy expression, the bellboy sits next to you, single visible eye making contact with yours, before quickly casting down at the table in front of him.

While he sits with his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, you instead gaze upwards. The skyline of Penacony truly is a one-in-a-million sight. Stars shimmer brightly up above, yet in the far horizon the sky is locked into a permanent dawn, the sun never quite rising. Looking back at the boy sitting next to you, his gaze now also look towards the sky. The stars reflected on pools of violet, shimmering like a mirror.

“Um… can I ask you something?” His words are soft, full of uncertainty. “What do you.. think of Penacony? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Always so bustling, always so full of life….” Pale lips curl into the smallest of smiles. “I truly do love it..”

But then.. why does sadness tinge his every word?

“I can’t help but wonder though… what else is out there, beyond the horizon.” Ah. So that’s what that was. You weren’t sure what his gaze meant, but now it was clear. It was longing. “People from all over the galaxy visit Penacony.. bringing with them all kinds of stories. They call this place heaven, a way to escape from their lives..”

He turns to you, looking up at you with a questioning gaze. “…I wonder if I’m taking this place for granted… I truly love Penacony, I really do.” You could tell. There was so much affection in his words, A love beyond his years, almost. “On one hand, I want to stay here.. and protect it forever. But I also want to see what’s beyond this dream.. experience the world for myself.”

From his pocket, he pulls out a pocket watch- or rather, at a closer look… it’s a compass. You watch as he sighs lightly. “I wonder what grandpa… Er, no. What he would have done….”

You wonder who he’s talking about.

[secondsovereign]

✦ malotype: a certain person who embodies all the things you like the least about yourself, which leaves you feeling repulsed and fascinated in equal measure.

Obscure Sorrows - Accepting

A PERSON WHO EMBODIES ALL HE HATES ABOUT HIMSELF? There is only one person, one woman, he can think of when that question is asked. Oh, he knows exactly who the person is, the one who embodies every hatred he held for himself in one neat package. Her attempts to usurp Anti-Entropy from his control are well known in certain circles, and the methods she'd employed to do so are just as disgusting to him. Cocolia, a woman he'd cursed out for months upon months when the consensus had told him of the extent of what her radical ideas had done to Seele, to Bronya, to the twins. In a dark part of his mind, Welt harbours no love lost for that foul person who ran afoul of World Serpent.

Her usage of clones was ingenious, and yet he'd never once approved of her putting his students in danger like she had with a clone of him. He hadn't infiltrated St. Freya for the reasons she'd believed, he couldn't even call it an infiltration when Theresa herself had known who he was the entire time. Kiana and Mei had remained wards of Anti-Entropy even when training to be Valkyries, so it was only fair he'd slipped in for the week Tesla was sick to ensure their wellbeing, only for Cocolia to create her splinter group the moment he'd arrived.

There are few that Welt Yang hates, and the former leader of that splinter cell remains firmly at the top of his list for those fateful actions.

[huuuugestmoney]

🍸 A tall, frosty glass thunks down onto the counter, filled shortly by a blizzard emptied from a tumbler slick with condensation. By the time the bartender tops it with a sprig of mint and pushes it across the counter, snowflakes have already begun crystallizing from its base and spidering upward in a geometric array. A haze of cool air curls from the top.

“Name the flavor and the drink’s on the house,” he challenges, but this is easier said than done. Discerning any taste from the first sip is walled by an immediate brainfreeze. Second and third as well, but then it starts to thaw. All at once, it’s the damp fog hanging over a lake, the shimmer of a desert oasis that leaves your mouth dry, a backlit phantom thrown across a wall - first a dog, then a rabbit, then a lunging serpent consumed by the dark with the flip of a switch. Melting like fairy floss on the tongue, it leaves behind nothing to prove it had existed at all. But for a split second, you almost had it.

Nevertheless, the mirage runs ever ahead, to spite the effort to catch it.

All vacations must eventually come to an end - that's just the reality of things. Sampo's got what he came to Penacony for: a key, and the location of the lock it opens.

... Purportedly, anyway. Who knows with Sparkle. Really.

But just 'cause his business is all wrapped up, doesn't mean he's gotta be in a hurry to leave, right? Rumour has it there's a nifty little bar somewhere down there in the dreamscape, and hey! Who's to say he can't make a stop on his way out?

Just for kicks.

"A challenge, is it? You're on."

With an easy smile, Sampo leans forward, reaches for the glass, and stifles a flinch. It's cold. Even looking at it, at how wisps of cool air gently flee its surface, it's easy to tell. But touch is different, and taste - different, again.

He's not sure whether it's regret or some secret other emotion that grips him upon the third brain freeze coming. He blinks back tears, glass still in hand, dews of frost on his fingertips. Should he keep drinking? Is this guy playing a prank on him??

Sparkle, that you?

There's cash on the line though. Not a bank breaking amount, one supposes, but it's the principle of the matter. The cold is a familiar beast, anyhow - it'd be awful embarrassing if he went back to Jarilo-VI having been defeated by chill. And so: another sip.

Even Sampo, man of so many words, can't find a single one to describe this intended flavour. He tries to chase the taste of it on his tongue, but even a fifth curious sip and a sixth desperate sip yield no conclusive reward, no tangible answer.

He sets down his glass. It's empty, somehow, and he's lost, at a loss, and losing his marbles all at once. What in the world...?

"Hey... You wouldn't happen to have ever worked at..." ... a certain Tavern, would you? "... Nevermind."

Alfalfa credits are slid forth over the countertop. Something was given him this eve, just as something was taken from him. He's sure of that much, at least, and he's not talking strictly money.

"... Your friend Sampo knows when he's beat."

[avcnturine]

🍸 For once, the bartender is allowed something of a break from driving conversation with guests. This one carries it just fine on his own, with the soft clinks of glass accepted as the occasional rejoiner from his side of the bar. He works wordlessly, listening, until he finds space within a natural lull to slide a gold-rimmed shot glass across the counter, its opaque turquoise reminiscent of the feathers with which the peacock clothes himself.

”On the house,” he says.

There is no sipping this drink. It goes down altogether in one toss of the head or not at all, cloying and sticky-sweet. At first, that seems to be all there is to it. Sit with it, however, and it eventually plunges into the all-encompassing sensation of water. Petrichor. Dampened noise. Slow weightlessness enfolded by cooling darkness. Here is rainwater hoarded like wealth, in humid, dark reservoirs hidden beneath the parched surface. Here is the rock crypt for a lifeblood of countless others. Here, you alone exist.

In a blink, it is the halogen island cast by the bar’s drop light once more, with its grizzled keeper on the other side swiveling a rag in an emptied glass.

HE'D LEARNED A LONG TIME AGO not to partake in drinks given for free. a life lesson born of distrust and sharpened by the corporate wheel ; he hadn't even needed the " coming of age ", as madam jade called it, of the rich and famous. like you're already accustomed to having a target on your head, they'd said——and he'd smiled.

even here, even in penacony, land of the delusional and free, he can't help but hesitate. here is maybe the only place in all the universe where the mad can rave freely and the peacock with the most beautiful plumage can open its wings without fear of losing all its feathers ; best to take advantage of it, no? "that's a rare treat," he quips with happy gratitude, accepting the shot glass over the counter. it's not.

but he likes this bartender, and if someone wants a shot at taking his head in a bar, they'll have to try harder than doing it here.

there is no sipping this drink. down it goes, altogether, in one toss of the head——

cloying and sticky-sweet.

so sweet as to drown in, pouring in a kaleidescopic nectar of strong colors not too long later, like an aftertaste but more like an afterimage instead. an afterthought. an aftermemory. purple and yellow and vermilion and bright blue swirling together in thick honey, molasses dripping with the loamy bathwater of petrichor after a good storm. a long-awaited storm. the kind guarded jealously, supped from in long gulps like a baptism, feeling it course down through your veins cold and bring yourself back to yourself again: revitalization. vita. life.

he feels it dripping down, down ; or maybe he's the one dripping down, until it's hollow and soundless with the roaring of ancient rock and buried secrets entombed with the ones who had carried them. but instead of the age and majesty of something great long gone, it's the color of the new rainbow made old and the end of an order, stripped away to reveal that all that remained of it disappointed beyond one's lowest expectations.

he's filled with a deep and incomprehensible sadness that will never, never go away.

penacony. land of the drunk and dreamless, where sleep is just another allegory for wax wings melting. he looks at the bartender beneath the glaring halogen lights, too tacky and synthetic in the shadow of that roaring sepulchre, and then down at the empty shot glass, cleaned of its color. the expression on his face is unreadable——he turns it this way and that.

"quite a trip down memory lane, that one," he finally says, setting it on the counter with a clink. "not bad, not bad."

[trailblczed]

hc + 🗡 for a weapon-themed headcanon !!

@garmgeyr also asked: themed headcanon prompts | accepting.

When Caelus is first found on Herta Space Station, he fights with a bat. Where it came from? He's unsure, but better something than to be unarmed, especially when you get swarmed by enemies. But there are times that he feels as if he trips himself up or swings harder than the bat can handle and it ends up making his arm sore, or causes his footing and balance to be misplaced. While using the bat is fun, he doesn't find it the best to be his default weapon of choice- but it will work in a pinch. Plus he is blessed by Nanook/The Destruction after already becoming familiar with the bat, so the proficiency and effectiveness of it increases.

After Caelus receives the blessing of Quilpoth/The Preservation, and having the Flaming Lance, the man is a lot more confident in throwing around his weapon in the way the feels the most natural to him. Having something relatively heavy helps counter how strong he is and how much power he unintentionally puts behind each strike. Plus the added bonus of being able to block hits easily and protect himself while taking the attention off his party members is great.

While not necessarily a weapon, the WatchMaker's Legacy ( A Hat ) along with the blessing of Xipe/The Harmony, is the best choice if speed or agility is the priority of a fight or situation. Obviously, is the lightest weapon he has on him and is the easiest to throw at foes. But that itself can also be a bane- as it is so light that he has a high chance to miss a target from throwing it too hard or over-correcting and not throwing it hard enough to either hit or do any damage.

Overall, the Flaming Lance is his default and preferred option. Both for his offensive fighting style, but especially as a defensive- seeing as March is the only other one in the Astral Express that has any sort of defensive capabilities. Lighten the load for her, as well as do his share of taking care of his family.