Scott Of Chromia

My mind's made up, though my head still aches and

All my love you tried to take, but

Wait.

That doesn't matter :)

Strings as thin as spider silk but as strong as chains drop. He doesn't even see it as the enchanting threads wrap around limbs. wrist. shoulder. back. knee. When he finally noticed something was taking control he was too late. By now he's lost much use of his body. He could move it but what use were feet that didn't bend and fingers that couldn't move? Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful.

For a glorious performance.

For your dear lover.

:)

Scott's dragged up in air feet dangling more useless than ever before. His legs aren't really his, his body itself begins to stop listening. Only for the man doing it all to shrink down and enter unwelcome, but hard to say it was unexpected considering the wire digging into unfeeling porcelain limbs. He smiles, all he does is smile these days. Your body isn't yours. He holds out his hand, and you take it. a dance begins, a step back and forth that you've become an unwilling participant of. Each word that slips from your stiff lips falls on deaf ears. He doesn't care, never did, never will. You dance but you don't touch the floor. You don't get that privilege anymore. It's a short dance. A mockery of a dance you might have loved once upon a time. you don't get that privilege anymore. A proper puppet needs control of the head too. movement of the neck is vital to a life-like performance after all. I'm sure you scream. (But well who cares what the toy has to say?) the string is visible this time. drops between his eyes Scott has to go cross eyed to see the rather thick wire dangling. But when he does all he can notice is the sharp point of the wire. A fine needle of a wire squirming like a snake in a jungle as it doubles back out of his sight. It comes back down. Hard. the sharp pain spikes through his skull, blood trickles down his nose. He can still see for now, but he can't see what he's feeling. the wire is spreading hooks through his skin and muscle. it's not wrapped like the others. No, no that wouldn't hold right on the head, Joel simply had to get creative. It snakes under his skin and through muscles, hooks like thorns split from the main wire and stab into the muscle securing it. Scott could feel how far it crawled, wrapping around his skull as it pulled him up. his body was forced to follow or god (haha) forbid it tear its way back out. He's not given a moment of pause as two more spike into his head right above his ears. None breach his skull thankfully but he can feel them crawling through muscle. Invading what left of the body is his. Infecting it. Controlling it. Using it. because it is not yours. Not anymore and possible not ever again. He hangs limp in the air blood slowly trickling down from the holes in his head, staining that dainty porcelain a icky sort of brown. The wounds pulse with pain, it's the only sensation he can feel. He can't even feel the now present cracks from where the stabs shattered porcelain. Probably doesn't even notice until Joel runs a finger across the crack down his face.

I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind.

I hope not.

I still want to put on a show for him. :)

-@the-god-ever

These days, there’s nothing but lying in bed and waiting, for the inevitable. Like a lamb to slaughter except- a lamb gets the mercy of death, of not knowing its fate. Scott has no such luck, she is trapped, she is scared, and she knows what the future holds.

It is written in the way his legs are completely immobile now, no flesh to be found except where the knee has yet to form the proper joints that make Scott what he is now. It is written in the way his chest shutters in miniscule not even there breaths, like the whistling of wind through broken glass, nothing but a reminder of failing organs. It is written in the way she can make no sound, and her lips are barely moveable, same with her jaw, locked in place. It is written in the way nothing but his arms is hollow, stars he wishes the rest of him were hollow, everything would be so much easier. But she doesn’t get easier. All she gets is cruelty.

That’s when a voice whispers in her head,

“Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful. For a glorious performance. For your dear lover.”

And she’s pulled into the air.

The words sting, it’s worse than the man’s presence or anything that’s going to happen while Joel is here today. Jimmy doesn’t deserve this, any of this. She doesn’t care what happens to herself, Jimmy doesn’t deserve this.

He hadn’t- when did he get strings? Or wire? Scott isn’t sure, she’s not sure it matters either. Not when Joel is smiling like a mad scientist who’s proud of their newest abomination.

He isn’t- well- he’s not surprised when his body moves on its own. The surprising thing is that Joel is reaching out his hand for some unknown reason. It’s when a dance begins, that he realises what Joel is up to, a performance, he’d said.

There’s barely any fight left in Scott, he just doesn’t have the strength for it. Not after being bed ridden for months with no way to communicate other than head nods and shakes. So- he resorts to begging. She knows Joel can hear her, she can feel him lingering in her head:

Please leave him alone. Do whatever you want with me, just- Jimmy is so good, all he wants is to be left alone with his town, let him have that. He doesn’t need me, I’m not good, but he doesn’t deserve this.

Joel ignores the weak pleading, and the dance comes to an end. She and Jimmy had never gotten to do that…

With the torso and leg muscles he’s got left, he shutters as a string drops in front of his eyes. The porcelain containing those muscles vibrates with the motion, it makes Scott feel sick. He looks at the string, going cross eyed to look at it and then- it disappears, and he tenses.

It pierces and he screams, but there is no sound. His face screws in pain and he is helpless to take it. His body is not his. Is it really even a body? The answer, painfully easy to come too on his own, is no. She isn’t human, not anymore. So this isn’t a body.

It is a shell.

A porcelain shell, Joel had kept his promise. Even if the shell hasn’t been completed.

Scott is not a person,

It’s an object.

Blood runs from its nose and it’s gross and she closes her eyes like it can escape the sensation of the sticky red-brown fluid running over its half porcelain and half flesh skin. Strings worm around under his skin, spreading thorny hook after thorny hook, into one weak dying muscle after the other. Tears run unbidden because there’s no sense in holding them in, it only ever hurts worse and Scott just can’t stomach that right now.

He’s forced into place, and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it. He can no longer bury his face in her own blue hair for comfort. Simply made to look Joel in the eyes who is grinning sadistically. She hiccups and it’s once again an action without sound, a motion accompanied by the vibration of porcelain again. This time: the nauseous sick feeling is aided by the pain and with that comes the smallest bit of bile, it bubbles up from his throat and trickles from the right corner of his lips. There’s barely anything in his stomach, but this is still something her shell manages. Just like the first time… but that had worse. No questions.

The wire stops slithering around his muscles but that’s only because two more razor sharp strings stab above his ears. It’s the worst of the pain by far, and Scott noiselessly screams again. Nothing pierces his skull, she doesn’t think it’d survive strings wrapping around weaving through her brain.

Joel’s presence in its head as he listens to its internal monologue is enough.

It still crawls though, and he swears these two are slower than the others, drawing out settling into place and making Scott feel it.

It is infected.

He is controlled.

She is being used.

She wishes she could curse Jimmy and blame him for this. But he is not at fault, in fact, he’d warned her. Truth is he’ll be hopelessly in love till the day he dies, he chooses not to think about whether death is even possible like this. Shamefully, because he knows his earlier begging didn’t work, he hopes after the performance is over he’ll be allowed to stay in Tumble Town, to rest with Jimmy. It’s another thing she doesn’t think she’d survive, being alone after this.

Scott hangs limply in the air, in a body that’s still slightly too big to be a marionette’s; and he has the brief horror of considering whether they’ll have to do this again when the strings become too long. Gods above it hopes not.

After it’s all over, and he’s thankful for the pain, because at least it’s something to truly feel. That, and the dripping of more red-brown from where the final two strings had pierced. Everything else is just… numb.

When Joel reaches out again, this time to touch, he closes his eyes. It wishes it could squeeze them shut, but the glass would break. More tears slip out though, and that can be something.

When he does finally touch, her chest seizes, its face has been cracked.

“I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind. I hope not. I still want to put on a show for him.”

Pitifully, vainly, Scott wants to beg for them to be fixed. Sue him, she’s always prided herself on being pretty and he has nothing left. He’s got nothing. Anything it can cling to is something, and… she just wants to be beautiful. So she swallows her pride again,

And begs.

So many options, so much I could do with that but also so little considering how useless you are. Ha ha!

I just don't know what do do with you...

Oh wait...

I have a thought :)

It's impressive, turns out you do have it in you to be polite! I'm almost proud.

No but what I want is to take you to preform for your toy boy, and I want you to tell him how perfect you are now.

I want you to tell him you are a toy, and so is he.

and then I'll take your voice back, but you truly will be perfect.

:)

You’re sure I have to tell him that? I’m not- trying to argue. Or negotiate. Or whatever. And I will say it about myself. But- he doesn’t deserve that. He’s so good…

Wait.

That doesn't matter :)

Strings as thin as spider silk but as strong as chains drop. He doesn't even see it as the enchanting threads wrap around limbs. wrist. shoulder. back. knee. When he finally noticed something was taking control he was too late. By now he's lost much use of his body. He could move it but what use were feet that didn't bend and fingers that couldn't move? Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful.

For a glorious performance.

For your dear lover.

:)

Scott's dragged up in air feet dangling more useless than ever before. His legs aren't really his, his body itself begins to stop listening. Only for the man doing it all to shrink down and enter unwelcome, but hard to say it was unexpected considering the wire digging into unfeeling porcelain limbs. He smiles, all he does is smile these days. Your body isn't yours. He holds out his hand, and you take it. a dance begins, a step back and forth that you've become an unwilling participant of. Each word that slips from your stiff lips falls on deaf ears. He doesn't care, never did, never will. You dance but you don't touch the floor. You don't get that privilege anymore. It's a short dance. A mockery of a dance you might have loved once upon a time. you don't get that privilege anymore. A proper puppet needs control of the head too. movement of the neck is vital to a life-like performance after all. I'm sure you scream. (But well who cares what the toy has to say?) the string is visible this time. drops between his eyes Scott has to go cross eyed to see the rather thick wire dangling. But when he does all he can notice is the sharp point of the wire. A fine needle of a wire squirming like a snake in a jungle as it doubles back out of his sight. It comes back down. Hard. the sharp pain spikes through his skull, blood trickles down his nose. He can still see for now, but he can't see what he's feeling. the wire is spreading hooks through his skin and muscle. it's not wrapped like the others. No, no that wouldn't hold right on the head, Joel simply had to get creative. It snakes under his skin and through muscles, hooks like thorns split from the main wire and stab into the muscle securing it. Scott could feel how far it crawled, wrapping around his skull as it pulled him up. his body was forced to follow or god (haha) forbid it tear its way back out. He's not given a moment of pause as two more spike into his head right above his ears. None breach his skull thankfully but he can feel them crawling through muscle. Invading what left of the body is his. Infecting it. Controlling it. Using it. because it is not yours. Not anymore and possible not ever again. He hangs limp in the air blood slowly trickling down from the holes in his head, staining that dainty porcelain a icky sort of brown. The wounds pulse with pain, it's the only sensation he can feel. He can't even feel the now present cracks from where the stabs shattered porcelain. Probably doesn't even notice until Joel runs a finger across the crack down his face.

I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind.

I hope not.

I still want to put on a show for him. :)

-@the-god-ever

These days, there’s nothing but lying in bed and waiting, for the inevitable. Like a lamb to slaughter except- a lamb gets the mercy of death, of not knowing its fate. Scott has no such luck, she is trapped, she is scared, and she knows what the future holds.

It is written in the way his legs are completely immobile now, no flesh to be found except where the knee has yet to form the proper joints that make Scott what he is now. It is written in the way his chest shutters in miniscule not even there breaths, like the whistling of wind through broken glass, nothing but a reminder of failing organs. It is written in the way she can make no sound, and her lips are barely moveable, same with her jaw, locked in place. It is written in the way nothing but his arms is hollow, stars he wishes the rest of him were hollow, everything would be so much easier. But she doesn’t get easier. All she gets is cruelty.

That’s when a voice whispers in her head,

“Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful. For a glorious performance. For your dear lover.”

And she’s pulled into the air.

The words sting, it’s worse than the man’s presence or anything that’s going to happen while Joel is here today. Jimmy doesn’t deserve this, any of this. She doesn’t care what happens to herself, Jimmy doesn’t deserve this.

He hadn’t- when did he get strings? Or wire? Scott isn’t sure, she’s not sure it matters either. Not when Joel is smiling like a mad scientist who’s proud of their newest abomination.

He isn’t- well- he’s not surprised when his body moves on its own. The surprising thing is that Joel is reaching out his hand for some unknown reason. It’s when a dance begins, that he realises what Joel is up to, a performance, he’d said.

There’s barely any fight left in Scott, he just doesn’t have the strength for it. Not after being bed ridden for months with no way to communicate other than head nods and shakes. So- he resorts to begging. She knows Joel can hear her, she can feel him lingering in her head:

Please leave him alone. Do whatever you want with me, just- Jimmy is so good, all he wants is to be left alone with his town, let him have that. He doesn’t need me, I’m not good, but he doesn’t deserve this.

Joel ignores the weak pleading, and the dance comes to an end. She and Jimmy had never gotten to do that…

With the torso and leg muscles he’s got left, he shutters as a string drops in front of his eyes. The porcelain containing those muscles vibrates with the motion, it makes Scott feel sick. He looks at the string, going cross eyed to look at it and then- it disappears, and he tenses.

It pierces and he screams, but there is no sound. His face screws in pain and he is helpless to take it. His body is not his. Is it really even a body? The answer, painfully easy to come too on his own, is no. She isn’t human, not anymore. So this isn’t a body.

It is a shell.

A porcelain shell, Joel had kept his promise. Even if the shell hasn’t been completed.

Scott is not a person,

It’s an object.

Blood runs from its nose and it’s gross and she closes her eyes like it can escape the sensation of the sticky red-brown fluid running over its half porcelain and half flesh skin. Strings worm around under his skin, spreading thorny hook after thorny hook, into one weak dying muscle after the other. Tears run unbidden because there’s no sense in holding them in, it only ever hurts worse and Scott just can’t stomach that right now.

He’s forced into place, and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it. He can no longer bury his face in her own blue hair for comfort. Simply made to look Joel in the eyes who is grinning sadistically. She hiccups and it’s once again an action without sound, a motion accompanied by the vibration of porcelain again. This time: the nauseous sick feeling is aided by the pain and with that comes the smallest bit of bile, it bubbles up from his throat and trickles from the right corner of his lips. There’s barely anything in his stomach, but this is still something her shell manages. Just like the first time… but that had worse. No questions.

The wire stops slithering around his muscles but that’s only because two more razor sharp strings stab above his ears. It’s the worst of the pain by far, and Scott noiselessly screams again. Nothing pierces his skull, she doesn’t think it’d survive strings wrapping around weaving through her brain.

Joel’s presence in its head as he listens to its internal monologue is enough.

It still crawls though, and he swears these two are slower than the others, drawing out settling into place and making Scott feel it.

It is infected.

He is controlled.

She is being used.

She wishes she could curse Jimmy and blame him for this. But he is not at fault, in fact, he’d warned her. Truth is he’ll be hopelessly in love till the day he dies, he chooses not to think about whether death is even possible like this. Shamefully, because he knows his earlier begging didn’t work, he hopes after the performance is over he’ll be allowed to stay in Tumble Town, to rest with Jimmy. It’s another thing she doesn’t think she’d survive, being alone after this.

Scott hangs limply in the air, in a body that’s still slightly too big to be a marionette’s; and he has the brief horror of considering whether they’ll have to do this again when the strings become too long. Gods above it hopes not.

After it’s all over, and he’s thankful for the pain, because at least it’s something to truly feel. That, and the dripping of more red-brown from where the final two strings had pierced. Everything else is just… numb.

When Joel reaches out again, this time to touch, he closes his eyes. It wishes it could squeeze them shut, but the glass would break. More tears slip out though, and that can be something.

When he does finally touch, her chest seizes, its face has been cracked.

“I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind. I hope not. I still want to put on a show for him.”

Pitifully, vainly, Scott wants to beg for them to be fixed. Sue him, she’s always prided herself on being pretty and he has nothing left. He’s got nothing. Anything it can cling to is something, and… she just wants to be beautiful. So she swallows her pride again,

And begs.

So many options, so much I could do with that but also so little considering how useless you are. Ha ha!

I just don't know what do do with you...

Oh wait...

I have a thought :)

It's impressive, turns out you do have it in you to be polite! I'm almost proud.

No but what I want is to take you to preform for your toy boy, and I want you to tell him how perfect you are now.

I want you to tell him you are a toy, and so is he.

and then I'll take your voice back, but you truly will be perfect.

:)

You’re sure I have to tell him that? I’m not- trying to argue. Or negotiate. Or whatever. And I will say it about myself. But- he doesn’t deserve that. He’s so good…

Wait.

That doesn't matter :)

Strings as thin as spider silk but as strong as chains drop. He doesn't even see it as the enchanting threads wrap around limbs. wrist. shoulder. back. knee. When he finally noticed something was taking control he was too late. By now he's lost much use of his body. He could move it but what use were feet that didn't bend and fingers that couldn't move? Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful.

For a glorious performance.

For your dear lover.

:)

Scott's dragged up in air feet dangling more useless than ever before. His legs aren't really his, his body itself begins to stop listening. Only for the man doing it all to shrink down and enter unwelcome, but hard to say it was unexpected considering the wire digging into unfeeling porcelain limbs. He smiles, all he does is smile these days. Your body isn't yours. He holds out his hand, and you take it. a dance begins, a step back and forth that you've become an unwilling participant of. Each word that slips from your stiff lips falls on deaf ears. He doesn't care, never did, never will. You dance but you don't touch the floor. You don't get that privilege anymore. It's a short dance. A mockery of a dance you might have loved once upon a time. you don't get that privilege anymore. A proper puppet needs control of the head too. movement of the neck is vital to a life-like performance after all. I'm sure you scream. (But well who cares what the toy has to say?) the string is visible this time. drops between his eyes Scott has to go cross eyed to see the rather thick wire dangling. But when he does all he can notice is the sharp point of the wire. A fine needle of a wire squirming like a snake in a jungle as it doubles back out of his sight. It comes back down. Hard. the sharp pain spikes through his skull, blood trickles down his nose. He can still see for now, but he can't see what he's feeling. the wire is spreading hooks through his skin and muscle. it's not wrapped like the others. No, no that wouldn't hold right on the head, Joel simply had to get creative. It snakes under his skin and through muscles, hooks like thorns split from the main wire and stab into the muscle securing it. Scott could feel how far it crawled, wrapping around his skull as it pulled him up. his body was forced to follow or god (haha) forbid it tear its way back out. He's not given a moment of pause as two more spike into his head right above his ears. None breach his skull thankfully but he can feel them crawling through muscle. Invading what left of the body is his. Infecting it. Controlling it. Using it. because it is not yours. Not anymore and possible not ever again. He hangs limp in the air blood slowly trickling down from the holes in his head, staining that dainty porcelain a icky sort of brown. The wounds pulse with pain, it's the only sensation he can feel. He can't even feel the now present cracks from where the stabs shattered porcelain. Probably doesn't even notice until Joel runs a finger across the crack down his face.

I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind.

I hope not.

I still want to put on a show for him. :)

-@the-god-ever

These days, there’s nothing but lying in bed and waiting, for the inevitable. Like a lamb to slaughter except- a lamb gets the mercy of death, of not knowing its fate. Scott has no such luck, she is trapped, she is scared, and she knows what the future holds.

It is written in the way his legs are completely immobile now, no flesh to be found except where the knee has yet to form the proper joints that make Scott what he is now. It is written in the way his chest shutters in miniscule not even there breaths, like the whistling of wind through broken glass, nothing but a reminder of failing organs. It is written in the way she can make no sound, and her lips are barely moveable, same with her jaw, locked in place. It is written in the way nothing but his arms is hollow, stars he wishes the rest of him were hollow, everything would be so much easier. But she doesn’t get easier. All she gets is cruelty.

That’s when a voice whispers in her head,

“Not very useful are they poppet? But don't fret I can make you useful. For a glorious performance. For your dear lover.”

And she’s pulled into the air.

The words sting, it’s worse than the man’s presence or anything that’s going to happen while Joel is here today. Jimmy doesn’t deserve this, any of this. She doesn’t care what happens to herself, Jimmy doesn’t deserve this.

He hadn’t- when did he get strings? Or wire? Scott isn’t sure, she’s not sure it matters either. Not when Joel is smiling like a mad scientist who’s proud of their newest abomination.

He isn’t- well- he’s not surprised when his body moves on its own. The surprising thing is that Joel is reaching out his hand for some unknown reason. It’s when a dance begins, that he realises what Joel is up to, a performance, he’d said.

There’s barely any fight left in Scott, he just doesn’t have the strength for it. Not after being bed ridden for months with no way to communicate other than head nods and shakes. So- he resorts to begging. She knows Joel can hear her, she can feel him lingering in her head:

Please leave him alone. Do whatever you want with me, just- Jimmy is so good, all he wants is to be left alone with his town, let him have that. He doesn’t need me, I’m not good, but he doesn’t deserve this.

Joel ignores the weak pleading, and the dance comes to an end. She and Jimmy had never gotten to do that…

With the torso and leg muscles he’s got left, he shutters as a string drops in front of his eyes. The porcelain containing those muscles vibrates with the motion, it makes Scott feel sick. He looks at the string, going cross eyed to look at it and then- it disappears, and he tenses.

It pierces and he screams, but there is no sound. His face screws in pain and he is helpless to take it. His body is not his. Is it really even a body? The answer, painfully easy to come too on his own, is no. She isn’t human, not anymore. So this isn’t a body.

It is a shell.

A porcelain shell, Joel had kept his promise. Even if the shell hasn’t been completed.

Scott is not a person,

It’s an object.

Blood runs from its nose and it’s gross and she closes her eyes like it can escape the sensation of the sticky red-brown fluid running over its half porcelain and half flesh skin. Strings worm around under his skin, spreading thorny hook after thorny hook, into one weak dying muscle after the other. Tears run unbidden because there’s no sense in holding them in, it only ever hurts worse and Scott just can’t stomach that right now.

He’s forced into place, and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it. He can no longer bury his face in her own blue hair for comfort. Simply made to look Joel in the eyes who is grinning sadistically. She hiccups and it’s once again an action without sound, a motion accompanied by the vibration of porcelain again. This time: the nauseous sick feeling is aided by the pain and with that comes the smallest bit of bile, it bubbles up from his throat and trickles from the right corner of his lips. There’s barely anything in his stomach, but this is still something her shell manages. Just like the first time… but that had worse. No questions.

The wire stops slithering around his muscles but that’s only because two more razor sharp strings stab above his ears. It’s the worst of the pain by far, and Scott noiselessly screams again. Nothing pierces his skull, she doesn’t think it’d survive strings wrapping around weaving through her brain.

Joel’s presence in its head as he listens to its internal monologue is enough.

It still crawls though, and he swears these two are slower than the others, drawing out settling into place and making Scott feel it.

It is infected.

He is controlled.

She is being used.

She wishes she could curse Jimmy and blame him for this. But he is not at fault, in fact, he’d warned her. Truth is he’ll be hopelessly in love till the day he dies, he chooses not to think about whether death is even possible like this. Shamefully, because he knows his earlier begging didn’t work, he hopes after the performance is over he’ll be allowed to stay in Tumble Town, to rest with Jimmy. It’s another thing she doesn’t think she’d survive, being alone after this.

Scott hangs limply in the air, in a body that’s still slightly too big to be a marionette’s; and he has the brief horror of considering whether they’ll have to do this again when the strings become too long. Gods above it hopes not.

After it’s all over, and he’s thankful for the pain, because at least it’s something to truly feel. That, and the dripping of more red-brown from where the final two strings had pierced. Everything else is just… numb.

When Joel reaches out again, this time to touch, he closes his eyes. It wishes it could squeeze them shut, but the glass would break. More tears slip out though, and that can be something.

When he does finally touch, her chest seizes, its face has been cracked.

“I should have been more careful, cracks are quite ugly, wonder if Jimmy will mind. I hope not. I still want to put on a show for him.”

Pitifully, vainly, Scott wants to beg for them to be fixed. Sue him, she’s always prided herself on being pretty and he has nothing left. He’s got nothing. Anything it can cling to is something, and… she just wants to be beautiful. So she swallows her pride again,

And begs.

So many options, so much I could do with that but also so little considering how useless you are. Ha ha!

I just don't know what do do with you...

Oh wait...

I have a thought :)

“Oh, Jimmy!” He calls flirtatiously.

-@scottofchromia

Jimmy takes a deep, nervous breath, plastering a smile on his face. The muscles in his face are more string than proper connective tissue, end up in more of an awkward grin.

“Hey, darlin’. How was the flight over?’

‘It’s been goin’ well. That’s nothin’ you gotta worry about.’

She takes a deep breath to compose herself, face still tinged pink but otherwise he felt fine again. As long Scott didn’t think about Jimmy’s voice calling her Darlin’ again. “Chromia’s good, the festival is definitely a hard thing to plan but I’m managing. Gotta make it perfect for our date after all huh?” He winks, popping his hip and putting a hand on it.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

‘No, no, darlin’, you look stunnin’. That’s just a turn a’ phrase, okay? You look pretty as always.’

He pauses, realizing his words. He figdets, slightly regretting his words as he continues to speak.

‘And- I didn’t mean anythin’ by the handcuffs, but- I didn’t not mean anything about- this. Us, I mean.’

‘Woah, slow down there, cowboy. What’s runnin’ through that head of yours? You look like you’re gonna start cryin’.’

His tone immediately gets more panicked.

‘Oh my god- please do not cry, darlin’, I do not know how to help with that-‘

‘Woah, there. Take a breath, darlin’. What’s goin’ on, baby? You okay?’

‘Calm down, cowboy. Take a moment to breathe, mhm? Let’s just take’a moment.’

Jimmy continues to card his Scott’s hair, breathing steadily and slowly as a guide for Scott to follow.

Scott’s legs feel weak. She never wants to let go of the Sheriff but the world was cruel and she knew she’d have to at some point. He probably wouldn’t indulge her like this again though so she had to make the most of it, make it a wonderful memory while she could, especially for when she ever wanted needed a hug.

He sighs, hugging Scott tighter.

He waits a while before answering, eventually responding with- ‘..maybe not in the way you’re thinking. Mine in the sense to take care of, to protect. Same goes for all the folks I care about, y’know? I don’t own you, ‘n I certainly don’t expect you to stick around, I wouldn’t ask that of you- but I’m always here for ya. If you want me to be.’

‘Change is hard. You poor thing- you’ve spent so long on the run you ain’t sure how’ta settle down. But- I swear, on my mama’s grave, I’ll help you the best I can. You run, I’ll be waiting here for you. You stay, and I’ll be there whenever ya need me. I’m yours, for better or for worse. In whatever way you want me.’

It’s a bit messy, considering Scott’s tears, but Jimmy is gentle, his lips are soft, and his hands are still carefully placed on Scott’s sides.

It reminds Scott of a late night campfire, settling down by a warm fire and watching the flames flicker. No matter what was happening, chaos or calm, the fire would remain warm and steady, soft in the wind.

Jimmy stiffens, and hugs Scott tighter. Scott cannot hear his heart beat anymore.

‘I- mhm. Nothin’ is wrong.’

Jimmy pulls away from the kiss after a few moments, eyes soft and half lidded. He sighs, burying his face in Scott’s hair.

He flips the blade in his hand, and lifts his shirt, pressing the thin chrome blade against his soft skin. He presses the blade right underneath the rib, agaist a patch of skin that looks too silky to be actual flesh.

As the knife presses against his stomach, where skin would normally give, it instead pushes back for a second.

When his fabric-skin does break, it doesn’t cut like flesh should- it tears, slighty, and ruby red begins to seep into the flesh- no, the fabric around it. Thin pieces of thread fray at the edge of the knife as Jimmy drags it down, down, until it hits right about his hip bone and tears actual flesh. He yelps, and grabs Scott’s holster with his empty hand, pulling him close to put the bloody knife back.

He takes a deep breath, and gestures to the now fully visible wound.

It stretches from below his ribcage to his hipbone, the difference between actual skin and fabric obvious by the way the blood rests over his skin. The fabric stains, the skin clots.

The blood itself is half coagulated, slowly beginning to stop pumping as his heart begins to slow and stop. Fabric arteries aren’t good at their job.

Jimmy’s blood rests on Scott’s holster and hip where he had grabbed her, Jimmy’s hands and shirt, and a slight smear on his face as he rubs his forehead in exhaustion.

‘Y’know- ow, that’s probably smarter’n what I did, fuck-‘

Jimmy pressed his forehead against the floor, doubled over himself.

‘’M sorry, I jus’ needed to believe me-‘ He takes a deep, shuddering breath. He’s panicked, and would like to be patched up and rest with Scott and not talk to anyone else for a long while.

The moment it’s over, he makes a choked sobbing sound, and spits out ‘You had to know. Not assume, you had’ta know.’

‘You- you’ve got so much of my blood on ya’, do you want a change of clothes? I’ve got some stuff that I can give ya’.’

He walks to his home, and steps inside. It's a new place for Scott- they'd met in his office before, but never in his home.

It's weirdly homey for the Sheriff. Potted plants sit on the windowsill of the kitchen entry way, photos pinned to the fridge and wall of the room- down the hallway leading out of the kitchen, she can see a half open bedroom door and a living room, and a closed door she assumes is a bathroom.

He walks her to the bathroom and pushes her inside. "Uhh- wait here, I'll grab you some of my clothes'ta borrow." He rushes off, leaving her alone.

It's a pretty cute bathroom- there's a few potted plants by the window, and the sink has a few items strewn across it- a hairbrush, some styling products, a few bottles of medication with a sticky note on the mirror reading 'take ur meds loser' in unfamiliar handwriting. It's clear that the Sheriff has lived here for a long time and has no desire to leave anytime soon.

(It's not something Scott's familiar with- the idea of staying.)

A few minutes later, Jimmy is back- he's changed into PJ's, an old band tee with the logo of the Oh Hello's on it, and simple PJ pant's. It's the most relaxed Scott's ever seen him.

He hands Scott a large hoodie and a similar pair of pants and apologetically says "I dunno if this'll fit you but it's some of my stuff so maybe? My bad if it doesn't."

He steps into the bathroom, idly pulling Scott along by his waist and pointing out where things live. "Uh- hair stuff there, actually, all the soaps n' stuff live in that closet- Towels there, I have a spare tooth brush you can have here-"

As the Sheriff rambles, he purposefully does not acknowledge how nice it feels to just- be domestic, with Scott. It's not worth the inevitable heart break. But, in the back of his brain, he aches, and wishes they could always be like this.

(Scott sighs as she lands on the doorstep of their home. It had been a long day out in the fields and he was ready to relax with his boyfriend, fiancée, husband. They had lived together for a couple of years now and both of their empires were doing better than ever.

Scott smiles as he enters their home, the heavy scent of spice in the air from whatever Jimmy had decided he wanted to make for dinner. It had come as a wonderful surprise that Jimmy was an incredible cook, he’d made her her first ever home cooked meal right here after they’d first gotten together.

“Sweetheart? I’m home,” he calls a little wearily as he hangs his coat and hat next to Jimmy’s own, as well as taking off his boots and setting those next to his husband’s as well.

Scott immediately brightens at the sight of his sheriff coming to greet him from the kitchen. Jimmy’s blonde curls were messy with the days work and his sheriff’s hat, and there’s a little bit of flour on his cheekbone from whatever he had been cooking, all matched with a loving smile and adoring eyes.

“Hey darlin’, welcome home,” he greets, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a quick kiss, “How was everythin’ out in Chromia?”

The half-elf hums with the affection, “It’s alright handsome, happy to be home with you though. How was work here? Get that new home built? I swear you’re gonna need to stop building this stuff yourself soon, Tumble Town’s just getting too big,” he laughs.

“It was what it was, n’ you can keep sayin’ it but I ain’t gon’ stop. I like the work too much, beats out paperwork any day,” he makes a face at the end.

“You’re such a drama king,” Scott giggles.

Jimmy’s arms tighten around his waist and Scott melts into it with a pleased sound. She lays her head on his chest as her eyes flutter closed, soaking in the steady descent to relaxation. That is until Jimmy pulls away, “Ji-”

“Mm nm, no protests sugar, I gotta make sure our dinner don’t burn. I’ll hold you all you want after we eat, promise.”

Scott whines but lets him lead her by the waist into the kitchen anyways. There’s new photos alongside the originals, from their wedding mainly, but also some other special occasions.

She flops into a dining chair and pouts as Jimmy pulls away completely to continue cooking. “So unfair,” he says playfully, laying his head on his arms as he watches his husband in one of his many elements.

“N’ I’m the dramatic one,” Jimmy shakes his head at his husband’s antics. Years ago he would’ve never thought this possible, that Scott would settle down and give in to her wildest dreams of staying. Jimmy is so glad he did though.

As he stirs the pot of chili, his wedding band catches the light, Jimmy always gets so soft whenever he looks at it. It’s a simple thing, neither of them had wanted something flashy, but it was more than perfect.

“We both are, it’s part of the reason you love me so much?”

He turns to make eye contact with Scott, adoring cyan meeting exasperatedly fond brown, “It is darlin’, I love you very much.”

“I know you do, I love you too Jimmy.”

Whatever his husband was cooking smelled wonderful and familiar. He’d eat whatever it was as usual, even if it were poisone, (No matter how much her saying that messed with her partner) she knows he’d never do that, she still means it all the same.

Time passes with a syrupy-goldenness as Scott lays at the table, his eyelids droopy with a sudden over-tiredness. He gives a small yawn and lets the feeling take over, there isn’t really another option when he’s as relaxed as he is. So with the noise of her partner’s movements in the background, Scott drifts into a wonderful, dreamless, sleep.

When Scott wakes up, it’s to a hand in her hair and Jimmy crouched in front of her, “Hey doll, tired?” Jimmy asks softly once he notices Scott is awake.

“Mhm, sorry, I didn’t mean-” he’s cut off by a yawn, “I didn’t mean to.” She blinks slowly, steadily coming back to the waking world.

“No apologies Scottie, we’ll go have a lie down after dinner and a shower, m’kay?”

“Yes please.”

“Good. You go wash up now darlin’, dinner’ll be done in ten minutes,” he presses a kiss to Scott’s head and goes back to the kitchen.

Scott groans and stretches as he sits up, sometimes he wishes Jimmy was slightly less caring of a husband and would just carry her upstairs to sleep for the night. Alas, he wasn’t, and it was one of the many things he loved about the man.

Scott gets up and walks drowsily into the bathroom, taking in his appearance in the mirror once he’s at the sink.

He’s much chubbier than when they first got together. She used to be a stick, bones peaking through skin if it weren’t for the muscle he’d garnered as adventurer and builder, but now he has a small muffin top and love handles, and Jimmy loves it, so he couldn’t even really be upset with the change. Not that she was, he still thinks he looks damn good.

There had been other changes too, cosmetic ones. Under his clothes lie a couple of newer tattoos drawn by Jimmy, mostly flowers and stars that meant something of their relationship, like the additions to his back piece of the Altair and Vega constellations: the story of a star goddess who fell in love with a mortal. It had ended in tragedy but on one of their first dates Jimmy had told Scott they were like that, just without the tragedy. He’d gotten the tattoo after their engagement.

The other big change to Scott was her full chest, a development that had occurred with the years of being on HRT.

He remembers so fondly the day she’d been gifted her first bra by Shelby and Katherine, and then subsequently cried over it.

Scott shakes his head of memory lane and starts running the sink, splashing his face with water in a bid to wake herself up more. It works thankfully and he begins to wash his hands, she’d never ‘washed up’ for dinner before Jimmy, it was nice.

Scott re-enters the kitchen to set the table, giving Jimmy a quick, passing kiss to the cheek. Whatever he was making looked good, “Hey pretty boy. What’cha cooking?” She asks as she grabs bowls and spoons.

“Chili con carne n’ cornbread, that sound good?”

“Sounds great, but you know I’ll eat anything you make Jim.” After setting the placemats and dining ware, he fills two glasses with ice water and grabs small plates for the bread.

Finishing with the table, Scott rejoins his partner in the kitchen and wraps her arms around him; plastering herself to his back.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets her. “You sure you’re doin’ okay pretty thing? You ain’t usually so clingy or tired, not that that’s a problem or nothin’, I’m just worried,” Jimmy rambles a little as he grabs one of her hands in his and squeezes.

“Mmm, I promise I’m fine dearest, just a long day; and you always make me feel so comfortable,” he mumbles against his back.

“Well as long you’re promisin’, then I guess it’s fine,” he placates fondly.

“I do promise. You always take such good care of me love.”

A couple more minutes pass in silence and syrupy slowness before Jimmy speaks again, “M’kay, you go’ta let go now sweet pea. Dinners done and I wanna get you to bed soon.”

Scott nods and does as told, not usually his style but dinner smelled great and the promise of bed was divine.

As he waits for his partner to serve dinner like he always does, she contemplates just how was nice this little routine of theirs is. It’s something Scott can look forward to everyday without fail, and that was another concept he had had to learn, steady expectation.

With chili now in their bowls, the two of them dig in. Dinner was usually passed in quiet aside from the clinking of silverware and glasses on wood and tonight was no different. The chili was as delicious as it always was, the perfect blend of spice and general warmth. It only served to make the both of them more tired, finally winding down for the day in the company of their person.

Once they’ve finished, Scott quickly takes their plates to the sink to wash, it was always a race to see who could get to it first; and usually, it was Jimmy, who always finishes eating before she does. He guesses her husband hadn’t been expecting it from him today. His mistake.

Scott turns on the tap and rolls up his sleeves, quickly and thoroughly washing their dishes; that is until he’s distracted by arms around her waist and a head burying in her hair.

“Could’a let me do that, you’re tired darlin’,” Jimmy murmurs.

“So are you sweetheart, you can’t hide that kinda thing from me. Besides, you always wash the dishes after dinner, let me do it today,” he says like he isn’t almost done already.

Jimmy’s arms tighten around Scott in appreciation, and they stay like that while he finishes up, much like they’d done with dinner earlier, just the other way around now.

Scott turns in Jimmy’s arms and looks up at him with an adoring smile. “Shower time?” He asks sweetly, now done with his task.

Instead of a response Jimmy pulls back and scoops Scott into his arms with a cheeky grin. “Your wish is my command little lady!” He adds, unable to help himself from more dramatics.

Scott giggles at his husband’s antics and lays her head on his chest. “You dramatic dork,” he continues to giggle.

Jimmy presses a kiss to her hair and walks in the direction of the bathroom, “You love it, don’ lie,” he laughs along with her, entering the space and placing Scott on the counter while he busies himself with grabbing towels and briefly leaving to get clothes for them both.

Scott hums the tune of Boreas, swinging his legs back and forth, once again reminiscing. This time, it’s of late mornings spent dancing in the kitchen to vinyl records. That is until he’s pulled back into the moment by Jimmy tripping and giving him a sheepish smile as he starts the shower.

Scott levees his husband with another achingly fond look as he rejoins her at the counter, taking and squeezing at her hips for a moment before pressing a short and sweet kiss to her lips.

It goes unspoken as Jimmy pulls away, but after he pulls Scott off the counter they begin to help each other undress. It’s a simple comfort the two of them can enjoy, the feeling of their partner’s caring hands on their bodies as they shuck their clothes and admire the view.

The room quickly fills with steam from the hot shower, beckoning tired bodies into its warm embrace. Scott and Jimmy join hands and step into the small shower.

Upon entering the stream of water Jimmy and Scott simultaneously give a relaxed sigh, giving each other a loving look of familiarity that can only come from years of being together, before they share another kiss.

It lasts for longer than it probably should when they’re both bone tired and ready for sleep. But as the lovers embrace they find they can’t care less about hurrying their shower along. Losing themselves in each other like they always do.

When Jimmy and Scott separate from the kiss, they take a moment to cling to each other. All of the tension bleeding from their bodies as they soak in the hot shower. It is honey-golden just as it always is but eventually they do separate at wash their bodies.

About five minutes later and Scott reached out for the shampoo to wash her hair before Jimmy bats his hands away, “I’m gonna do that sugar, you just relax m’kay?”

Scott doesn’t protest, doesn’t want to really. He always loves the way it feels when Jimmy washes her long curls which reach all the way to the tippy top of her thighs. Only being cut every few months of dead ends. It was a pain most days but he loved is long hair more than anything and, well, her husband was always more than happy to help her take care of it. Whether that was brushing it during a slow morning, or braiding it for him, or like right now, washing it. He was more grateful than any words could ever describe for this man. How he had gotten so very lucky he would never know, Jimmy was a blessing. Plucked right from a fairytale and sent to make him feel so many emotions he’d never gotten the chance to experience before.

Their shower finishes soon after with Scott returning the favour of washing Jimmy’s hair for him. They step out feeling refreshed and more than ready for bed.

After they put on their pyjamas, one of Jimmy’s oversized shirts for Scott and lounge pants for him, Jimmy pulls Scott back into a bridal carry. Taking her to their bedroom and laying him on their bed.

“I’ll be right back darlin’,” he kisses Scott’s forehead and leaves the room.

A confused, but tender and sleepy expression takes over Scott’s face as he waits for his husband to return. Trying not to fall asleep with the cushy pillows under him and the soft blanket over his legs.

When Jimmy does return a handful of minutes later, it’s with two mugs in hand. He places them on the closest nightstand and goes back to shut the door and turn the lights off.

When he comes back for the final time he’s lit only by the soft yellow light of the lamp on the aforementioned nightstand. He climbs in bed and pulls Scott into his arms, handing her a mug and taking one of his own with another kiss to her head.

Scott smells the warm drink and with soft eyes and parted lips he speaks a soft, “Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you, you truly are the perfect husband.” He takes a sip and lays his head on Jimmy’s chest. Happily curling against the blonde with nothing but pure and utter love swirling in his chest. Jimmy had made chamomile tea for them. Scott’s favourite.

“You’re very welcome my love, you’re more perfect though,” he says as he takes a swig of his own tea, smiling at the subtle sweetness.

“Not possible.” Scott quips back; letting out a fluttery little sigh as one of Jimmy’s large, rough, hands finds its way into her still wet curls.

Neither say anything else as they lay together and finish their tea. Finally, after a long day, Jimmy plucks the mug from her weakening hands, turns out the lamp, and lays them both down.

“Goodnight darlin’,” Jimmy whispers in the dark of their bedroom.

“Goodnight dearest,” she whispers back.

They both fallen asleep soon after, hearts beating in time.)

Scott flushes brightly and covers his the lower part of his face with a hand. He’d never considered being married before in his life! What was wrong with her?

She snaps back to herself as Jimmy shuts the door and says he’s going to cook dinner.

Scott rolls his eyes and opens the door again. “You can’t get away from me that easily,” he says as he throws his arms around Jimmy’s neck. “I think that extra tooth brush might need to stay here on your counter in case I need it again, that okay?” she giggles softly, wanting to make her incredible daydream a reality. His voice as he continues speaking is softer than Jimmy’s ever heard her sound; though there’s a nervous lilt to the line of questioning, “Come back to help with my hair please? Unless you don’t want to of course. It’s up to you, in the end. I won’t push if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

Jimmy has him wrapped around his fingers and she doesn’t even think he knows that. What Scott would do or say for him if he so much as asked.

He moves to step out of the bathroom, to awkwardly excuse himself from the tangle of emotions and clinginess he’s started- ones that Scott, ever the wanderer, will surely not want to deal with. Jimmy is fine with the distance, fine with always being a few steps behind Scott, really, he is, there’s no aching void in his chest-

His internal ramble is cut silent by Scott wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him close and saying-

“You can’t get away from me that easily. I think that extra tooth brush might need to stay here on your counter in case I need it again, that okay?” He laughs softly, as if nervous to continue speaking. Jimmy’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than for Scott to keep speaking- anything to stay like this, Scott’s arm wrapped around his neck and their faces close enough to kiss. His voice is nervous as he continues. “Come back to help with my hair please? Unless you don’t want to of course. It’s up to you, in the end. I won’t push if you’re uncomfortable with it.” 

Jimmy is overwhelmed, half in awe and half in sheer affection.

Scott’s smiling, bright eyed, and asking him for help. Giving him a choice, as well- a request and an option, all wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To help and to have the choice- that’s all he’s ever wanted.

And Scott’s so bright. He always has been, of course- but this is different. It’s not the painful, blinding glow of a facade of confidence, but the open, gentle warmth of the flame on a cold deserts night.

And hidden deep in the back of his mind, Scott’s soft request and half-nervous smile fuels the old daydreams Jimmy’s kept boxed away for so long.

(In the dream, you haven’t changed. Well, not too much- Your body is your own again, fabric gone and old scars and tattoos back where they belong. You wear the same clothes, the same badge, the same arrogant confidence that hides a bashful pride in the work you do. 

The main change is the thin gold band you wear on a chain. 

It’s simple, practical- gold with nothing but a small poppy flower carved into it. You wear it like a king wears a crown, like a devotee wears a cross, like the moon wears the sun’s light.

In the dream, it’s your favorite time of year- a solstice. The sun is setting, but still casting her warm rays across your small town. People are singing, lights are on in every house, and all the doors are open- people spill into one house and out the other, exchanging words and gifts, helping cook, helping each other as they prepare for the potluck at dark. You’ve done your work- you’d spent all day making tamales with the older woman in the town, listening to their tales and gossip, chiming in when you could and listening intently when you couldn’t. 

Now, you stand on your porch, leaning against the railing. It’s peaceful, and you only wish for one thing in the bliss of quiet perfection.

And in the dream?

 You get your wish. Soft hands loop around your waist, and cold lips kiss the back of your neck before settling against your shoulder.

“Hey, Scottie.” You say. You can feel him smiling against the thin fabric of your button up- you’d declined to put your jacket on, the warmth of the summer more than enough for you. 

“Hello, Sheriff.” He greets. “Ready for the festivities? I thought you’d already be out there.” You chuckle. “Nah. Wanted to wait for you- it’s your first solstice with us, ain’t it? Figured it’d be best if I walked ya’ through it.”

“I can handle myself,  thank you! How complicated can it be?” 

You snort and respond. “Oh, more than you’d possibly imagine. You gotta learn our music, too.” 

Scott tilts her head with a questioning hum, and you giggles and untangle yourself out of her arms as long blue curls tickle your face. Free from his grasp, you turn to face your husband.

As always, your breath is taken away. You’ve seen Scott a uncountable number of times, in every way you could- with messy hair and a tired grumble into his coffee mug at 7 in the morning, half in tears while you hand her your old dresses and a folded flag, or with narrowed eyed and coy as he scams people for all they’re worth and then some, and smiling bright as she tells you Chromia.

Scott is perfect, in every way. You have said this, and will say this till you die- your husband was the best thing the gods ever made. And perhaps you’re biased, but all you want to do these days is be grateful, love and be loved. Not many people survive having their body and town and life used against them in some sick game and live happily despite it. You count your blessings as often as you can.

Your favorite blessing is staring right at you with a bemused smile. “Jimmy?” He calls, waving a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?”

You blink out of your grateful monologue, and smile sheepishly. “Sorry. Just got distracted by the view.” 

Scott’s face is filled with no small amount of satisfaction. “Ah- understandable.” He tilts his head with a coy grin. “I’m a sight for sore eyes, aren’t I?”

You laugh, and he does too. He steps forward, wrapping his arms back around your waist and pressing his head in the dip of your collarbone.

She’s quiet for a long moment, and you let yourself fall into the contented silence of late dusk with your husband.

It’s broken when she pulls away with a confused look. “Wait- sorry, music? Can we circle back to that?”

You shake your head. “No, you gotta learn it on the fly like we all do! I’ll probably drag you onstage with me, when it’s our turn.” You tease her, knowing exactly what her perfectionist brain will do with that information.

Scott looks vaguely horrified. “Oh my god. I’m going to make a fool of myself- sorry, you perform? On a stage? You want me to sing?”

You nod excitedly. “Yeah! It’s not formal, or nothin’- Just a nice thing we like to do.”

Scott still looks hesitant, that same old anxiety of not being good enough rising back up. Jimmy fights this the best he can, with a slight pout and a sad voice. 

“I don’t wanna perform alone.. besides, it’d be a shame if we deprived Tumble Town of your lovely voice!”

Scott stares at him, bright eyes conflicted, before softening with a smile. “Okay, fine. Only for you, though.”

She still seems nervous, so you grin brightly at her. “Oh my! The great thief of Chromia, agreein’ to performin’ at little ol’ Tumble Town’s solstice! What an honour!”

Scott rolls her eyes with a barely hidden smile, and bats at you with a gentle hand. “Shut up, oh my god-”

You both break into giggles after a few seconds, and you lean down to press a kiss against Scott’s forehead. 

“You and me, aight? Forever and always.”

Your love echoes it back, muffled as she presses her head back into the crook of your neck.

“You and me. Forever and always.” )’

Jimmy’s pulled away from his daydreaming by Scott humming anxiously. 

Jimmy, remembering the question, nods excitedly. It’s almost reminiscent of a puppy wagging its tail, how genuinely delighted he seems at the offer. “Yeah! Of course, I’d be honoured. Uhm- You sure you okay with that? Like, one hundred percent?” He doesn’t wanna take Scott up on an offer he’s not totally okay with, of course- even though Scott’s the one asking, Jimmy just needs to check. Just to be sure.

Love and belonging bubble up in her chest and leave her giddy with warm feelings. This is all he’s ever wanted… to be given the excuse to stay. To be given the chance to love. “I love you,” he says, softer, but still just as meant as the repeated sobs of earlier. What a far cry they were from that now…

On that same line of thinking, he connects their lips again; one hand cupping his face and an arm around his neck. Once again, as a contrast to earlier, it is languid and exploring, no longer a desperate display of sharp emotion and hurt.

It almost feels like a redo of their first kiss, though that warm campfire from earlier still blazes and warms her soul like nothing she’s ever felt. Like this, Scott notices things he hadn’t been able to earlier. Like the way Jimmy’s stubble scratches at her face slightly, or the fact that he tastes a little salty with a hint of spice from Tumble Town’s cuisine and a hard days work; or even the way his lips are slightly chapped, though plush and full. It’s perfect.

Escaped from his earlier fear, Jimmy finds that Scott’s kiss reminds him of a bright field of tulips in an array of colours; their petals rustled in a gentle breeze mostly from the nearby windmill. It is delicate, and maybe a little hesitant but lovely all the same. She tastes like strawberries and chamomile, the sweetest, loveliest thing he’s ever tasted.

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