Bubblegum will never not be annoyed that Zigzag is so much taller than her lmao
I’VE WANTED TO DRAW THESE TWO TOGETHER FOR…. A LONG WHILE NOW. I mean, I’ve done it before, but now that they’ve actually interacted I have a BETTER GRIP ON IT I THINK. They’re just…. They’re cute ok…..
[Zigzag belongs to @alainaprana!!] [Bubblegum belongs to me!!]
He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.
Back at the prison, Michonne would give her colourful cat statue to Carl whenever she was away looking for the Governor. Carl would sit and read comic books with the cat by his side. Rick would join him and place the cat in his lap… they both missed their Michonne.
When Keith woke up, the night felt naked. He leaned forward
and trailed his hands along the wall until the light clicked on. His bedroom
looked like a raven’s nest, stock piled with mismatching pictures of home and
the alien planets they visited. Strands of valuable items like the Blade of
Mamora littered his room. Nothing was out of place, but his skin burned.
Barefoot, Keith stormed out of his room, looking both ways
down the hall. His eyes stopped on Lance’s bedroom door. It hit him. No Cuban
music was softly playing. The crap was like a lullaby to the pretty boy. And a
tick Keith had grown used to hearing. He must not have been in his room.
Keith journeyed down the hallway. The floor cold against his
feet. Part of him pretended he needed some air, the other part was a thought he
didn’t want to admit.
He stopped. The door to the projection room was cracked
open. When he peeked inside, he spotted Lance swiping his finger across the map
of the universe. Stars and planets and meteors flashed by. Under the dim light of the projection stars,
Keith watched him. It looked like he had been here for hours. Lance’s hands
slipped down from the map and flopped onto the ground. It slowed down on the
image of earth.
Lance missed home.
Keith sneaked in and stared down at the boy. “Hey, Sharpshooter.”
Lance snapped up-right, stuttering. But not without swiping
the projection map away.
He didn’t want Keith knowing about his home sickness.
“Keith! W-what are you doing here?” Lance narrowed his eyes.
“Spying on me now? Afraid of the competition?”
“You won’t be much competition tomorrow if you don’t sleep,”
said Keith. He sat down beside Lance. His bare shoulders brushed against Lances jacket. Lance hadn’t even changed clothes. He had been here longer than
Keith flipped the projection back on. “It’s cold, share your jacket.”
“Why do I have to-”
Keith tugged at his sleeves. “Don’t be stingy.”
“Fine.” Lance slid off his jackets, face turned away, but Keith knew he was blushing. He pretended not to see.
“The Court of Dreams. The people who knew that there was a price, and one worth paying, for that dream. The bastard-born warriors, the Illyrian half breed, the monster trapped in a beautiful body, the dreamer born into a court of nightmares… And the huntress with an artist’s soul.”