#jailshipping

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝟏𝟑: 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤

The jail boys are getting their turn!

"I'm tired. And hungry. And thirsty," Trudly complained. 

Folly said nothing. He couldn't blame his partner, not after hours of trudging across the desert to run errands for their boss. If anything, he was plagued by the same things. 

But if they didn't get their work done, their boss would be angry — and not get his work done either. And that in turn meant Master Nascour would notice, which none of them wanted. 

Trudly's steps faltered. Folly didn't turn around. 

"Keep going. We're almost done," he encouraged his partner. 

They continued on their way. 

In Phenac City, a popular dessert item is called the Castform Cone. Believed to be an adaption of the Castelia Cone, the sprinkles on the cone represent each of Castform's transformed forms.

Oops, my warm up sketch for Desert Storm got out of hand, and I ended up completely finishing this piece instead.

Little Christmas gift for @eyelash-bug since she's THE queen of jailshipping !

Send me 2 characters and a Pose

♡Close up♡

Jailshipping for my beloved @porcupiss🦺🗼 (Prompt list) Trudly and Folly are trying to unwind in a club in Pyrite Town after a long day of work. ☞ AO3

The music inside the club is loud, letting Folly feel the heavy beat in his very bones. Bright, colorful lights cut through the darkness in slightly irregular intervals and flash across the crowd. Faces, bodies, movement, all of it is visible for a split second at a time. He feels as though he's watching Venus' show on an old TV with a bad connection, rather than participating himself. 

Then again, Folly lost interest in the club a while ago. As he's dancing — attempting to — and drinking — somewhat successfully — he only has eyes for Trudly. Trudly who is dancing right beside him, whose beanie is bobbing to the beat, who occasionally leans over to tell him something, who keeps getting pushed against him whenever someone shoves past them to get to the bar. His hair flies in all directions when he moves his head, his labret reflects the lights. 

Folly finds it hard to focus on anything else. 

Again, Trudly gets close and leans in to say something. Folly sees his lips move, but doesn't understand — the music is loud, and he can't follow. Not when he's busy staring, fascinated by the gleaming labret and the wetness glistening on Trudly's lips, defying the heat with drinks. Not when he's catching his scent, strong, sweaty and so very much like the partner he's come to know. 

Folly leans in as well, both to listen and to inhale more of it. Unfortunately for the two of them, yet another Pyrite partygoer shoves past them right in this moment, causing him to stumble and spill his drink on Trudly. He can hear him yell after them, but all he can do is quietly stare at the large wet spot on his partner's chest, growing as the liquid drips down his torso. His shirt clings to him now, and his scent mixes with the alcohol's. 

Fuck. Trudly smells good like that. 

Instinct kicking in, Folly grabs him with his free hand and drags the two of them outside. Finally some space. Trudly complains and grumbles some more, but eventually just settles for taking the drink out of his partner's hand and gulping down what remains of it. 

Folly listens to the sound of ice cubes against glass and teeth and shudders at the thought of Trudly's wet lips and cool mouth. Probably tasting like his drink, sweet and delicious. 

"Aw, man. I can't believe–" But Trudly doesn't get to finish his sentence. Folly snatches the glass out of his hands, drops it carelessly and pushes him against the wall of the club. Their lips collide in tandem with their bodies. Hot where skin meets skin, cold where icy liquid stains Trudly's clothes. 

Folly can't bring himself to care about the drink. Not when he can taste it on Trudly's lips and inside his mouth. Nor does he care about dancing anymore, now that his hands begin to wander.