Cannibal-walleye - Cannibal Walleye

Skizz - Laughter and control

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Burn Out

Word count: 5,161 Warnings: Blood/injury, violence, death, dissociation, fictional racism/xenophobia, panic attacks, slavery, heavy angst Description: Tango and Zedaph are traveling between cities when they are ambushed on the road, and Tango is critically injured. Zed has to save him, before it's too late! You'll see how that goes. ;) This fic is entirely based on @amethystfairy1 's Traveling Thieves au on Ao3, so if you're confused, go give it a read! A lot of inspiration for this came from the song Burn Out by Imagine Dragons, which I, again, recommend listening to.

On with the angst!

Tango's POV

There was a time when Tango would’ve noticed and cataloged every minute lilt in his master's tone, every shift in their body language, every twitch in their expression. He would’ve memorized the sound of their footsteps on stone and been alert to every snap of a twig, panicking at their entry to the room, acutely aware that any sour look or misplaced breath could leave him convulsing with pain. It was a learned skill, one that had been forced upon him after being taken captive to a twisted system, one that he hadn’t needed for months. 

Is this what freedom feels like? 

No. This was better than freedom. Zedaph was better than any master Tango had ever had—though he much preferred the title ‘friend’—better, even, than living in his nether pyres as a boy, scrounging for scraps, the last time he had been truly free. Zedaph’s presence was more comforting than fire or light; Tango would gladly bear being a slave—if you could even call him that—if only to stay by his side. Zedaph was safety, Zedaph was relief, a balm to the scars across Tango’s soul that fled before the light like ghosts. 

But despite it all, Tango desperately wished he still had the attention to his surroundings that had saved him so often before, in those dark, desperate times; it might have saved them now, it might have given them a warning as to what was coming. 

He and Zed had been traversing a deep canyon, on the road between cities. The master-smith had taken up a commission from an old client who’d done him favors in the past, and as such, Zed took every opportunity to repay them, even if it was something so minor as repairing a chipped broadsword, even if the quickest route was known for being hostile to travelers.

They were halted now, though not by one with the appearance of a thief; the man was tall, well-built, well-fed. He sported a purple sash and gold medallion—symbols of the royal guard—with a broadsword attached to the hip and a crossbow on his back over plate armor. Typical paladin attire, though what he was doing out in the middle of nowhere was impossible to say. Perhaps traveling himself? Whatever the reason, it did not matter. As an officer of the law, he had stopped them. 

The man surveyed their wagon suspiciously, gaze landing on Tango, in the front seat, next to Zed. Once upon a time, that might have made him squirm, but now he just watched with a carefully neutral expression. 

“What are you doing?” He addressed Zed.

“Traveling!” Zed answered easily, tone bright as though he were about to tell a joke.

“Nether-borns must be blindfolded while traveling.” There was a hard edge to his voice, but that was nothing new; most strangers were like this, before they knew who they were speaking to.

“Do they, now? Is that a law in these parts?” Zed turned slightly towards Tango, playing confused, though he could hardly conceal the twinkle in his eyes. Tango could barely keep from smiling himself; it was funny, watching offended officials blunder their way into conversations with someone of such superior status, almost an inside joke at this point. 

Vaguely, Tango heard the shuffle of footsteps to his left, but he didn’t register it. His senses were not so keen or concerned as they used to be. 

“Step down from your wagon,” the man commanded, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for joking. “I would like to see documentation of your ownership of the animal, as well as search your cargo for any contraband.” 

Zed’s easy-going smile instantly morphed into a scowl and he folded his arms across his chest. Tango could hardly conceal his hurt as his flares began to spark and blaze rods circled defensively. This is nothing new, he reminded himself, even if the term was a bit jarring. No need for him to get worked up, Zed would handle it, Zed would protect him. 

“No, I won’t be doing that, thank you very much. I’ll have you know that I am a master-smith, and the closest thing you’ll get to documentation of my companion is the seal on my hammer, as proof of my title.” Zed glared down at him. 

But instead of the shock, embarrassment, or even fawning that usually followed such a revelation, the man only grinned snidely. 

“A master-smith, eh? You must have quite the pretty penny in that cargo.” He unsheathed his sword and twirled it in his hand, taking a step towards the wagon. 

This is wrong. Alarm bells were ringing in Tango’s head as he finally snapped to attention, bristling, ears flicking back and forth to catch any suspect noises in the area. He was just a little too slow to pick it up, though not for the first time in his hellish life. That wasn’t much comfort right now. 

“Ambush!” Tango cried as he leapt from his seat, landing roughly in the dirt just as an ax embedded itself in the wood where his head had been. Pain lanced through his arm as he hit the floor, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet and summoning his fire, face to face with a masked bandit wielding a battleaxe. 

A million things flooded his senses: the foreboding smell of rain in the air, the metallic sound of someone—presumably Zedaph—grabbing gear from the wagon, the thunder of footsteps on the ground. Panic rose up in his throat, but he swallowed it down; a deeper, darker emotion was taking control: rage. Visceral, mind-consuming rage. It gave him tunnel vision as he lept into action. 

Tango was never trained to fight. Being a nether-born, he was already seen as some brutish savage, bred for survival like any other animal. Being a blaze-born, he was something that needed to be controlled; an exotic fire hazard at best, an erratic pyromaniac at worst. What fool of a master would give him the training to properly defend himself on top of that? All they wanted was control. Control his fire, they commanded, threatened, cursed. Control your flares, they screamed into his ears, the sound echoing in his nightmares. Tango wanted the screaming to stop, the phantom pain to fade from skin and memory. He didn’t know how to fight. He only knew docility and submission, even when he couldn’t control his flares, even as they berated and blindfolded and broke his body, broke him down into something less than human. An animal, a monster, a hazard. That was all Tango ever was, something to be controlled, something to be used at another’s whim. 

Until Zedaph. Zedaph, who was fire and light; Zed, who was the sun. He befriended, encouraged, and comforted Tango, whilst all the world turned a blind eye to his torment. The first day he knew the man, Zed had bought Tango clean clothes, soothed his panic attack, promised his safety—even if Tango couldn’t believe it at first. He had loved the parts that the world despised. How could such cruel people bring him here in the first place, why drag him from his pyre, kicking and screaming and burning, only to hate the fire they’d captured, to stamp it out by any means necessary? Control, control, control! Tango had lost control the first day he met Zed, but instead of reprimands, instead of pain, Zed offered up awe and admiration. A miracle, Zed had called him, for wielding fire like another limb. He coaxed the flames out of their cage, gave them direction and purpose, spurring Tango on like a child learning to walk, cheering when he ran. 

Tango had never been allowed to freely practice his fire before, but he knew it now like he knew the curve of Zedaph’s smile, the sparkle of his purple eyes, the warmth of his hands. Tango would rather die than lose that smile. He’d sooner drown in a frozen lake than allow a single hair on his master’s head to be touched. So he wielded his fire as Zed had taught him, with the fury of a bear defending her cubs. Maybe he was every bit the savage animal the world saw him as—but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter what anyone else saw; Tango saw red. 

Zedaph's POV

An ear-splitting wail rent the sky as Zedaph hefted his war hammer from where it was buried in dented plate armor. The man underneath wasn’t getting up anytime soon—not that Zed noticed, sprinting around the wagon to the passenger side.

“Tango!” He cried, rounding the bend, breathing heavy from the exertion.

“Don’t come any closer!” A voice shouted at him, and he froze, surveying the scene. Bodies littered the ground around him, several still alive and groaning, all of them charred. A few yards in front of him were the only two raiders still standing. One loosely wielded a sword in her left hand, the right arm dripping with blood, her hair burnt on the ends—the smell of it stung his lungs. The other, a man, had a foot planted firmly on Tango’s back to hold him down and brandished a staff topped with a green gem, the other hand swirling with purple magic. Tango himself was still wailing, shoulders tense, claws gouging out the ground with no other outlet for his pain. His blaze rods were circling at lightning speed, sparking off one another, and his hair was turned totally to fire. Zed’s ribs tightened around his heart at the sight.

“Get away from him,” he growled, tensing up to spring into action. 

“Drop your weapon,” the man fired back. “Drop it, and we’ll let the two of you live.”

Zedaph gripped the hammer indecisively. Could he take the two of them by himself? One injured, one not, Tango incapacitated. The screaming filled his ears and rattled his mind—he couldn’t think straight. I need to save him, I need to save him was the only discernible thought in the whirlwind. Save him by any means necessary. If he fought, if he lost, Zed was dead, and Tango would be thrown back into the twisted system he’d only just been saved from, that Zed had grown to hate with his entire soul. He could not let that happen—but would these people keep their word? He bit his lip. He had no choice. He let the hammer fall. 

The man tapped the gem against Tango, and instantly the screaming died to a whimper. Tango’s body convulsed with coughs. The man took a step back, gesturing for his partner to follow.

“Now get out of here, before I change my mind,” he threatened. 

Zedaph didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed up to Tango and gathered the small, trembling frame in his arms, ignoring how the flares singed his skin. Without another word, he fled the scene, leaving it all behind before the bandits could have second thoughts about letting them escape. 

Only after he had rounded the bend, passed out of sight, did he break. Tears stung his eyes as he dropped down, resting Tango on his lap and freeing an arm to brush the dirt and blood off his face.

“Tango, Tango can you hear me? Are you okay?” Zed asked desperately, heart catching in his throat at the moans his friend let out. His flares were still alive and roaring. Blood was dripping from his mouth, and his claws were caked with the stuff. It was difficult to tell how injured he was; his clothes were scorched black and now sported holes. The visible skin was riddled with minor scrapes and bruises, but aside from that Zed could only spot two major injuries: lacerations on his arm and his thigh. Both were bleeding heavily. 

He gingerly set Tango down completely and grabbed the rag he always carried in his belt, tearing it into strips to use as bandages. Tango’s expression shifted and he cracked his eyes open, tears silently leaking out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse, hardly audible.

Relief flooded Zed at the sound of Tango’s voice. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he soothed, crudely wrapping the cut on his leg with the impromptu bandages. Tango recoiled at the touch, poorly smothering another whimper. 

“I-” He was immediately broken off by a fit of coughing, and Zed desperately wished he could take Tango’s hand in his to soothe it. Instead, he moved on to the arm, whispering soft consolations.

“Sh, it’s okay, Tango. Just relax.”

His friend hiccuped as a sob broke out. “I- I didn’t- hic -I couldn’t protect you,” he managed in a strangled tone. It was clear every word hurt; his entire frame was tense and quivering, as though lightning coursed through his blood. 

“Hey, hey, hey now—You did wonderfully; I’m fine, see?” He tied the second bandage as securely as he could, and Tango tried not to flinch. “I failed to protect you. It’s not your job, it’s mine.” 

Another cry built up in Tango’s chest, but he swallowed it down. “But the wagon… I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, eyes closing. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay; it’s just stuff, it can be replaced. Just rest.” Panic began to flood Zed’s senses once again, but he smothered it—he needed a plan. Their destination was not too far off. Zedaph was strong; he’d worked with metal and hammers his whole life, he could carry Tango all the way to the city. At least, he hoped so. He had no choice but to believe it; Tango needed proper medical attention. 

He worked his arms under Tango’s knees and back once again and lifted him into his lap, struggling to get to his feet whilst being as gentle as possible.

Tango looked at Zed once more, eyes impossibly sad. “No- you don’t- hic -you can’t carry me.” He sniffled miserably. “I’ll burn you.”

But Zedaph didn’t set him down. He forged straight ahead, resolve in his expression, following the path as fast as his feet could carry him. It was true that Tango’s flares were still burning strong—of course they were; Tango was distraught, Tango was in agony—and it was true that it stung. But there was no chance in a million years that he would let his friend walk in his current state, exhausted and in pain, barely able to string a sentence together. 

“It’s okay, Tango; I’m a master-smith.” He tried for humor, forcing a chuckle through his teeth, though all he wanted to do was cry. “I’ve survived far worse burns than any you could possibly give me.”

“But, Zed-” Another cough racked his trembling frame. Hot tears were pouring down his face, dripping onto Zed’s arm underneath, and Zed cradled him closer.

“I don’t want to let you go–” his voice broke as he said it, and his own tears began to flow freely, blurring his vision. “I don’t want to let you go.” He declared again, this time with firmness in his voice.

Tango took a sharp breath in, pulling his arm away from Zedaph’s chest, almost throwing them off balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” He immediately cried out as Zed stumbled. “It- it- I’ll keep still.”

Alarm fluttered in his chest, but he never stopped moving. “What’s wrong?” He asked as evenly as he could. He needed to stay strong, for Tango. For Tango. He marched on.

Hesitation flickered on Tango’s face as he clearly bit back another whimper. “...your tears.”

Zed glanced down; the spots where tears had landed on Tango’s arms were now blistering and sizzling. The water. The water burns.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he managed through a tight throat, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. 

Tango tried for a smile. “I guess we’re even, then.” He coughed again.

You’re going to break my heart.

The next hours were painfully slow. Zed’s thighs were burning with the exertion, Tango’s trembling hadn’t stopped, the flares were still alive and roaring, and the smell of Zed’s singed skin clung to them. It was sunset by the time they reached the city; though the sky was painted gray with storm clouds, rather than the normal oranges and yellows. Zed knew the humidity stung Tango’s lungs, but there was nothing to do. He just had to pray they found a medic before the sky opened up. 

They almost weren't let into the city; the guard wore a not-so-subtle expression of disdain towards the little blaze-born, and hardly believed Zedaph when he showed him the seal on his smithing hammer, one of the few things he still had from the raid. Precious minutes slipped away as Zed explained the situation, and it had started to drizzle before they were finally allowed in. 

Tango curled up even tighter in his arms, trembling, trying desperately to hide from the rain as his breathing quickened. The makeshift bandages were thoroughly soaked with blood. Heartbreak wove a noose around Zed’s throat as he raced along the empty streets. He didn’t know this city, he didn’t know where he could find a healer. It was night time, the rain was coming down; there was hardly a soul to be found that he could ask, and the few that were still out hadn’t the patience for his plight. It was written in every stranger’s face and heart; they turned Zed away with apathy, bordering on contempt for the creature nestled in his arms, a creature condemned to a life without love.

Zed couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen. He loved Tango, even when the world didn’t. He huddled against a wall, trying to shield Tango with his shoulders as he came up with a plan.

Even if they found a healer, would they deign to help him? Zed had little to pay with but his gratitude. He needed a bank, but he needed to save Tango first. Who would possibly help him now? He couldn’t get a healer, couldn’t get bandages, couldn’t even get a roof over Tango’s head without the coin to back it up. He was a stranger, utterly alone in a hostile city. 

He gazed down at Tango’s little face as despair sunk her teeth in. Tango’s eyes met his, still shivering, holding back sobs as hiccups racked his ribs, cowering from the rain, powerless to escape. Red spots like mosquito bites spattered his skin where the raindrops landed—they were more to him than mere pain; Zed knew that by now. They were years of suffering and hopelessness, a cruel blend of manipulation and abuse, weaponized by tyrants and packaged so beautifully, so tenderly, so harmlessly. They were memory, they were anguish itself. You could see the torment in his scarlet eyes, the misery, the blood-curdling fear palpable as he anxiously searched Zed’s face for any trace of the hope he’d clung to for as long as they’d known each other. There was none to be found; Tango resigned himself to his fate, once more, forced back into the spiraling past as though he had never left. 

No.

No, he couldn’t let Tango suffer like this. There had to be someone, anyone, who would help them, who would lend them a roof or a coin, if only for a minute, long enough to get to a bank. Zed steeled himself and set out once more. The rain wasn’t relenting, and though it didn’t hurt him like it hurt Tango, the cold still bit into his drenched skin and sent shivers down his spine. His arms ached, his legs pulsed with pain, but he continued, begging any stranger he saw for help.

But nothing. It was hopeless.

Zed looked down once more, to find Tango’s eyes had closed, the flares on his head dimmed, his breathing slow and shallow.

“No, no, no! Tango! Please, please don’t burn out on me,” he sobbed, drawing him impossibly closer as the water dripped down his plastered hair. 

Then it struck him—Gem. Gem was here, for his commission, she would help him. Hope flickered in his chest, not quite doused by the rain. 

Gem has healing powers, Gem will help me. Gem has healing powers, Gem will help me.

Zed forged deeper into the city. He was lost; he’d become so in his panic to find a healer; he hadn’t kept track of where he’d come from. All he knew was the name of the inn they were to meet at. He stumbled through the dark with the limp body of his friend, the name ringing in his head, with none around to get directions from.

His legs were about to give out on him, hysteria rose in his chest like a tidal wave.

But vaguely, through the mist, he saw the figure of an avian. Her wings and arms were spread wide, opened up towards the sky, and she danced in the rain. 

This was his last hope. 

He heaved Tango up further and sprinted forwards.

“Please,” Zedaph cried, dropping to his knees in front of her, “please, do you know where Gemini Tay is staying, at the inn, the–” A dry cough shook him, cutting him off. He looked up at her, pleading, trying to catch his breath as shock rippled through her wings. 

“Please, I need help, the rain, I–” He gazed down at Tango again, curled up and weakly shuddering, illuminated only by the fading glow of his flares, blaze rods frozen in time. “Don’t burn out, don’t burn out on me,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. This couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be the end.

After seconds that felt like eternity, a hand was on his shoulder. “Follow me,” the avian commanded, turning up the road.

Zed grit his teeth and struggled to his feet, hardly able to force himself to stand through the pulsing fatigue. But he had to, for Tango, for Tango.

He stumbled after her, and she lifted a wing to cover them from the downpour that only grew stronger by the minute. She didn’t say much as they wove through the streets—not that Zed had the breath to reply anyways—eventually happening upon a cheery pub doused in warm light. The avian briefly shook out her wings before mounting the stairs to the second floor. He did his best to ignore the stares of all the patrons at the bar, following silently before anyone could stop them. Finally, she burst into one of the rooms without even knocking.

“Hi Pearl, I was wondering when you’d be back after the rain–” Gem’s voice broke off as Zed staggered into the room behind her. “Zedaph!?” She exclaimed incredulously, dropping the brush she had been combing through half-dried hair.

“Gem, please,” he started, “please, can you help him?” He lifted Tango up with what little strength he had left, exhaustion and anguish plastered all over his face. 

She rushed to him and grabbed the blaze-born from his hands, transferring him gently to a bed as she spoke. “What on earth happened?”

“Bandits. Ambush,” he replied, trying to stifle another cough that built in his lungs. He grabbed the bedpost for support as his knees buckled underneath him.

“Sit down, Zed, sit down!” She gestured to the chair she had been sitting on. “Pearl, could you get some towels, please?”

The avian nodded and left the room as Zed promptly disobeyed Gem, choosing instead to place himself on the bed at Tango’s head, stroking his fingers through the blaze-born’s tangled hair. Despite having finally reached safety, fear tightened its icy grasp around his heart when he looked at him. Was he too late?

“Are you alright?” She asked, eyes filled with concern. She reached for his burnt arm, but he pulled away.

“I– I’m fine, but Tango, he–” a sob broke the sentence. “He fought half a dozen all alone, and–” More coughing shook his frame and Zed wiped away stinging tears with a damp palm. “They got to him, and, and– the water, Gem! The rain burns him, and I couldn’t protect him, and I just–” He buried his face in his free arm, silently quaking as guilt and heartache washed over him. 

He’d promised this would never happen to Tango again, that he would take care of him, that he would protect him. Brilliant job he’d done of that, for the second time now. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at Tango, who was covered in the angry bruise-burns he’d seen once before. Tango, who, for all his pain, for all his trauma, for all the righteous anger he could and ought to have towards the world, only ever apologized and took the blame for himself. Zed had gotten out unscathed, and the first thing Tango had said to him was ‘I’m sorry’—as though he had been anything less than perfect the whole time Zedaph had known him. It all boiled down to the same inevitable conclusion: the world is a cruel and twisted place—and Zed was powerless to change it.

Gem had been surveying the blaze-born, but now she stomped her bare foot on the floor, summoning fairy-lights that flitted around him, flashing and glittering, before landing in her palm. She worried her lip and moved to unravel the crude bandages Zed had wrapped earlier, thoroughly soaked in blood, the wounds not even scabbed over yet. Golden magic danced in her fingertips as she touched his bare shoulder, but she instantly flinched back in shock.

“Why is he so hot?” 

He was hot—scalding, even; the water on his clothes and skin had completely evaporated. If he was awake, Zed was sure Tango would be pushing him away, afraid to burn him. But right now, Zed didn’t even notice the heat, and continued brushing his hands through Tango’s hair, hoping that the motion somehow soothed him in his slumber. 

“He just gets like that… I think it’s a built-in defense mechanism, as a nether-born,” he answered mindlessly after a moment, thoughts elsewhere. 

“Are you immune to burning or something? Keep your hands off!”

He looked up at Gem, a thousand emotions in his eyes. “I don’t want to let him go.” He couldn’t let go, he couldn’t, not like this. A million things whirled in his blazing brain, but mainly, Zed was terrified—what if Tango never woke up? What if he was too late, too slow, not strong enough to save him? What if his flames were snuffed out for good?—the fact that Tango was warm, not cold, not yet, was the only thing keeping him anchored to this world. He couldn't bear never hearing his raucous laugh again, never seeing his tail flick back and forth with a cheerily crackling flame.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but held it back, instead turning back to the gash on Tango’s shoulder. To Zedaph’s surprise, it had scabbed over completely. He stared in awe as Gem did the same to the thigh, again flinching at the heat, but sealing it nonetheless. She sent some more of what the blond could only describe as fairy dust over Tango’s whole body, to seemingly no effect, before stepping back, visibly exhausted. 

Finally, finally, Tango shuddered lightly and turned onto his side—out of Zed’s grasp—though he didn’t fully awaken. For the first time in several hours, Zedaph felt like he was able to breathe. He closed his eyes and leaned back, praising his lucky stars that Tango just might be okay. 

He heard light footsteps on the wood and he opened his eyes once more as Gem pulled up a chair. “I’ve only closed the major injuries,” she reported somberly, “but he’ll need to be very careful these next few days that they don’t reopen. I’m not good enough to heal all the burns, but I’ve done what I can for the pain.”

Zedaph took a deep breath and let the tension unwind from his shoulders. “You’re a miracle, Gem. Thank you so much.”

“Of course I am!” She replied cheerily. “Now, spill. What happened?” As she spoke, she grabbed his arm—singed from shoulder to fingertips—and sent pulses of magic through it. 

“We were on the road to the city, almost through the canyon, when we got stopped by a thief under the guise of a guard and ambushed. Tango took on the majority—almost won, in fact—but they took him down, told me to either surrender and escape with our lives, or die. I couldn’t– I…” He paused to clear his throat. “I couldn’t take that chance; I took their offer, but Tango was too injured to walk, so I carried him to the city, tried to find a healer as it started raining, failed miserably.  Eventually ran into the avian, and now we’re here.”

It was a short story, but Gem had listened with rapt attention.

“You carried him—Tango—here, from the ambush?” She asked, incredulous.

Zed nodded.

“From the canyon??”

“...Yeah?”

“Zedaph, how are you still awake? How have you not passed out from exhaustion??”

“Adrenaline?” He answered weakly, with a shrug. He was tired to the bone, but he couldn’t relax yet; Tango still wasn’t awake; the knots in his stomach hadn’t completely unraveled.

“Ugh, nevermind that, lemme…” She stamped her foot once more, and Zed watched as the fairy-lights danced across his own skin and returned to her. “Zed, you need to sleep.”

He made vague noises of protest. “But Tango still hasn’t woken up, and– and first, I need to get a room, and–”

At that moment, the avian—Pearl—reentered the room, arms full of towels. “Here ya’ are!” She crowed, piling them on a side table. 

Gem grabbed one with a “thank-you” and handed it to Zed. He obligingly stood after a moment to dry himself off, not wanting to splash Tango—though he desperately needed a new set of clean, warm clothes to finish the job. 

“Good. Now, go. to. sleep.” Her tone was playful, but firm.

“But I– I need to go get a room…”

“With what money, Zedaph? Hmm? Just sleep here,” she insisted.

“Oh, no, no, no! I’ve already trespassed far too much on your hospitality, we’ll just, em…” He glanced over Tango, not sure if he had the strength to lift him up and carry him… well, nowhere. Because Gem was right, he couldn’t afford a room right now. But surely he could figure something out… “Maybe the owner will give us a free room?” He tried. “Because I’m a master-smith, surely he’ll give me a loan? And we can pay them back after I go to the bank tomorrow. Yes, yes that’s what we’ll do.” 

“Nuh uh!” Gem chided. “You’re staying here. You can pay me back later, if you really need to.” 

With that, she sent a flicker of magic over him, and his vision began to blur—well, more than it already had—and he felt himself slipping away, fighting it though he was. He felt someone catch him and lay him in a bed, and vaguely heard Gem mention a new target before he completely lost consciousness.

flustered impulse v2

i love him sm and i love my drawing tablet

from @enkays-den's fic

Day 23: TFC...?

As always: All journal posts, @hermitadaymay fundraiser post, and go follow @enkays-den for all the hard work they do!! + click to see our fic ao3

do you think you'd ever release the galactic font for download? I actually really love it, enkay did a great job making a handwriting version of galactic. it's been really fun reading the extra notes, I've finally managed to get to the point where I don't need to have the key on hand anymore! 🥳

I'm not against it, but I have no idea how that would work, and Enkay says he doesn't want to host something on his Google drive, so if anyone has other ideas, let me know! Also, good job learning to translate!! And thank you for taking the time to translate and read the notes :) I'm glad people are getting invested :D

Chapter 8 is HERE! I REPEAT: Chapter 8 is out and available to read!!!

The aftermath of the coffee incident... ((rambling below))

I have a few things to say about this!

First, sorry it took so much longer to get this out than previous chapters D: I kinda hit a wall with inspiration because I kept getting sucked into other fics (coming soon to a walleye near you ;) ) and then spent a month drawing some stupid squishy lil guys that I love with all my heart but you can't see because it's TOP SECRET. SECRET, I say!! I don't even have permission to tell you about their EXISTENCE so nobody say anything to anyone! Anyways, I aim to do a chapter a week from now on, we'll have to see if that happens :]

Second, I am obsessed with art. Like, I've had my drawing tablet for years, but haven't ever seriously used it until recently and guys. it is the best thing ever. Anyways, I think this is my favorite drawing for the series yet, for both the lineart and the colors. I used a fancy color palette picker thingamajiger and it's beautiful and I'm in love. Skizz's wings look so much better cream than they did that weird purple-blue that I couldn't let go of. The colors make me so happy, and then the LINE ART. Probably one of the cleanest line arts I've ever done (I especially love Skizz's shirt). I couldn't not share because I'm so pleased with my progress; this feels a hundred times better than my stuff just two months ago, so I hope you like it, too! Not to mention the coffee drips looking more realistic, and the poses and AUGH.

Well, that's all. Gushing over! Enjoy the chapter :3

PS: here's the link AGAIN in case u missed it in the title :]

Day 20: xB!!!

This is like,, the first hermit I got really excited for the design :)) As always: All journal posts, @hermitadaymay fundraiser post, and go follow @enkays-den for all the hard work they do!! + click to see our fic ao3

Bonus design sketch (that I really love):

Can I give the poor impulse all the sweet treats and kisses he wants

ahh sorry it took so long to reply to this!! I dunno if he'd want kisses, given how shy he is rip. If only there were someone to give him treats...