#comfy-vember 2024: Week 1

[zrisewrites]

~ Tea and Timing: A Kasper Short Story~

While venturing through the halls of Tumblr, searching for writing prompts, I happened upon a lovely writing challenge: @comfy-vember! It's centered around platonic relationships and comfort prompts (especially after the pain of Whumptober...) and I have been very inspired to drabble for my own characters.

So, I have returned with a short story of one of my favorite pairings: Kasper! (a.k.a Katrina, the main character of my novel, and Jasper, the secondary main character of my novel) And even though they aren't currently a canon ship right now... I still adore writing them little AU stories and fantastical imaginings. And hopefully y'all enjoy them too ^w^

This is Tea and Timing, told in Jasper's POV. Kat hasn't been doing so well lately... and he wants to help.

Word Count: 1.1k

Content Warnings: One character has scars from previous trauma, that she got from sci-fi government-induced torture. She also has a mild anxiety attack during the story. 

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It’d been so long.

Four years, now?

I linger at the door, the two mugs in my hand steaming spiced warm air. Hot chocolate, topped with plenty of whipped cream and a peppermint stick for her. Chamomile for me.

She’d been sitting there for an hour. Tucked into the couch cushions. Staring into space. Her fingers tracing patterns over the ragged scars on her arms. Tinted blue and brown and red…

My throat tightens. Just thinking about it. Everything she’d be through. Everything they did. Our government—the people who were supposed to protect her—subjected her to a ghost of who she’d been.

And I hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it.

I softly clear my throat, walking over. She flinches slightly, her gaze snapping to me, before a faint smile flits across her face. Though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey. Didn’t see you there.” She murmurs, crossing her arms tight around her stomach. I smile back, shrugging as I sink down into the cushions next to her.

“It’s okay. Wanted to let you rest.”

She nods, shrugging and glancing away.

“I brought your favorite.” I hold out the mug.

She takes it with another ghost of a smile, hands tightening around the mug like a lifeline.

I lean back into the couch cushions, taking a sip of my tea as I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

She seems so much smaller, in so many ways. So much thinner. Her eyes are so much dimmer. Surrounded by the dark signs of all her sleepless nights. Gazing into the distance—as if replaying everything, in her head, over and over and over again. Knowing her, that was exactly what she was doing.

Sometimes, I could catch a glimpse of that spark of hers—when we went back to her favorite chocolate shop. Or last week, after attending a classical violin concert. The spark had been there, for almost two hours, and she’d raved about the music and the composition and the light of it all.

But then we’d gotten back home, and the house was quiet, and the spark faded after I’d accidentally let a bit of the news play from my watch. She’d gone to bed, and I heard her later. Making hot chocolate in the kitchen like she always did after her nightmares.

“I was thinking… maybe we could try to find another concert to go to.” I say softly, glancing at her. “Or—I don’t know, is ballet too typical for you?”

She smirks faintly, her gaze flicking to mine. “Ballet is fine. As long as it’s not like—I don’t know, all pirouettes or something. A concert sounds nicer though.”

I nod, flicking my holowatch open and scrolling through a couple upcoming symphonies I’d saved. “I thought so. There’s a fantastical one coming through in a couple days—a kind of Saga of Stars feel, you know?”

She nods, glancing away again and taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Sounds good.”

“Mmhm.” I flick my watch away.

The silence hangs heavy for a moment.

I glance at her. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“That’s a very generalized question.”

“Maybe.”

She shrugs, tilting her head. Gripping her mug again. “I’m fine. Y’know. It’s weird. But yeah.”

“Just fine?” I say softly.

She smiles, her gaze locked on the whipped cream in her cup, slowly melting into the chocolate. “Just fine.”

“Kat…”

“Really, Jasper, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.” She shoots me a smile, setting her mug down on the coffee table and pushing to her feet. I frown, setting my mug aside and standing as well.

“You’ve been tired for months.”

She snorts, turning away. “No duh.”

I reach out, catching her arm and pulling her back towards me. “Kat, please. I wanna help you, you shouldn’t have to… live like this.”

She shrugs, her fingers fidgeting at her bracelet as she avoids my gaze. I stay quiet, gently holding her shoulders, just waiting.

“I’ll be okay. I just need time.” She whispers.

“Healing time. Not time to let your mind spiral.” I whisper.

She winces, starting to pull away. “I—”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” I say, holding her still. “I just… maybe we can figure out someway to help more.” I gently squeeze her shoulders, tilting my head down to try and catch her gaze. “I want to help you, Kat. But I can’t if you won’t let me. And I know… it’s hard. But I just wanna see you better. See you happy again. And I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help that. Help you.”

She chews on her lip, hard. Gaze locked to the ground still.

“I don’t know.” She whispers, after a moment. I just…” She stops, fingers pulling at her bracelet. “I don’t know how to. I don’t know what to do—how to fix this, really. Like if there was something we could do I would’ve tried to do that already but I can’t figure out how—” Her voice cracks into a hiccuping gasp. “I tried—”

“It’s okay.” I pull her a little closer. Giving her space to pull away, if she wants to. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, her shoulders tightening, before she leans forward, hugging her arms around my waist and tucking her head against my chest. I hug her close, gently rubbing circles against her back.

“It’s okay.” I whisper against her hair. Slowly rocking her back and forth. “I know… it hurts. But it’ll get better.”

Kat’s breaths crumple into shaky, hiccuping gasps. But she stays quiet. We both do, for a long moment. Just resting in the moment.

Her breaths gradually slow—shallow, but calmer. A little steadier. I keep my breathing slow, and deep, and steady. Just holding her.

“Are… are you sure?” Kat whispers after a long moment, her voice muffled against my chest.

“What?” I glance down at her.

She sucks in another breath, her fingers tightening against the fabric of my shirt, before she glances up at me, her eyes faintly bloodshot with tears. “You’re sure it’ll get better?”

“Yeah. Little by little—and I’ll help you. With lots of hugs, and lots of talking under the stars, and lots and lots of chocolate.” A small smile tugs at her lips at the mention of chocolate. I smile slightly back, brushing her hair from her face. “But eventually—it’ll get better.”

She nods slightly, her gaze flickering down for a moment as she inhales. Slowly. Steadying.

“Okay.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[bunnyscar]

Until It Gets Better

Callie’s mama could fix anything. If Callie ripped her skirt while playing near the rose bushes, Mama could stitch it up in no time and it would be as good as new. If she went exploring among the berry bushes and tangled her thick brown hair so bad it looked like a bird’s nest, Mama could brush it out smooth as a newly-ironed curtain. If Callie got an owie by falling down and scratching herself or by bonking her head into a table, Mama could wrap it up and kiss the pain away.

Overly curious and somewhat mischievous, Callie was often getting owies. She stuck her nose into any and everything, sometimes even when she’d been told not to.

Like two weeks ago, when she tried to climb the old oak tree in their garden, despite having been warned several times that it was dangerous. After scrambling up to the first branch, she’d slipped off and bonked her head. Though fortunately she only had some scratches and bruises, it was only after much hugs and kisses from Mama and Papa that she stopped crying.

But even the bruises from that incident disappeared after a few weeks. It seemed to her four-year old eyes that anything Mama touched got better. It puzzled her, therefore, why Mama didn’t heal Papa’s owie. One evening at supper, she decided to ask.

“Papa, Papa! Why don’t you let Mama kiss your owie? Then it’ll go away!”

Papa looked a little confused at first. “My owie? Oh, you mean this?” And he traced the red line on his face that started a little above his left eye and ran down his cheek. He smiled gently at Callie.

“I’m sure Mama would kiss my owie away if she could, but she can’t this time.”

“Why not? My owies always go away when she kisses them.”

“There are some owies that don’t ever go away, at least not on this earth. They’re called scars.”

“Scars?” Callie scrunched up her face in concentration. “But why can’t scars go away? I want Papa to be better.”

“He will be better one day,” Mama replied in her sweet voice. “But that won’t be for a long while.”

“But that’s sad!” Callie cried in anguish.

“It is sad. But you know, I’m also glad that I have this scar. Though it has been painful, it’s has also made me stronger, and I’ve learned more about what’s right and wrong because of it. It’s taught me what is most important.

"Your mother and I pray that you will never have a scar like mine; but we also pray that the little owies you get now and the bigger owies you may get in the future will help you grow. That you’ll learn from the mistakes you make and turn into a strong, beautiful woman.”

“Like Mama!” Callie cried, and Mama and Papa laughed.

Suddenly, Callie hopped off her chair and scrambled up into Papa’s lap. “Papa, I’m gonna try hard to learn from all my owies!”

She leaned forward and slapped a wet kiss on his left eye. “And I’m gonna kiss your owie every day until it can get better!”

Papa laughed and hugged her tight to his chest. Mama also got up from her seat and wrapped her arms around them. Nestled in her parents' arms, Callie felt sure that day would come, when all their owies would heal. Even the scars.

[blogger360ncislarules]

Hetty gets a look at Callen's back injuries.

@comfy-vember

[comfy-vember]

Please refer to the pinned post for more information.

Prompts available in regular text below!

Comfy-vember 2024 - Prompt lists

PROMPT OF THE MONTH:

Healing wounds — Day together — Forehead kiss

“It doesn’t hurt when I’m with you.”

Song: ‘Safe and Sound’ by Taylor Swift

----

WEEKLY PROMPTS:

Week 1:

Scars — Mug of tea — Slow hug

“You know me better than that.”

Week 2:

Verbal affirmation — Movie night — Loving gaze

“Let's go home.”

Week 3:

Putting on ointment — Care for caregiver — Rain on the roof

“I've got you.”

Week 4:

Apology — Happy tears — Hot chocolate

“You aren't dead?”

----

DAILY PROMPTS:

Day 1: Breaking bad habits — New day — Train ride

Day 2: Favourite song — Holding hands — Walking and talking

Day 3:  Special breakfast — Spoon feeding — Forehead kiss

Day 4: Bed rest — Mug of tea — Soft music

Day 5: Saying their name — Hand on knee — Dressing fancy

Day 6: Weak crying — Trusting — Slow hug

Day 7: Eye of the storm — Sleeping on shoulder — First hug

Day 8: Found — Thunder shower — Fresh fruit

Day 9: Scars — Passing smile — Baking cookies

Day 10: Overcoming fear — Sharing a bed — Lullaby

Day 11: Verbal affirmation — Couch cuddles — Nose kiss

Day 12: Hand on shoulder — Practical gift — Movie night

Day 13: Relearning a skill — Surprise compliment — Fresh laundry

Day 14: After nightmare — Day together — Random gift

Day 15: Shopping trip — Storytelling — Laughing phone call

Day 16: Carrying — Reading aloud — Loving gaze

Day 17: Healing wounds — I love you text/note — Rain on the roof

Day 18: Coming home — Kitchen dancing — Sleeping in

Day 19: Putting on ointment — Thick blankets — Sunset

Day 20: Desperate hug — Sharing food — Care for caregiver

Day 21: Enthusiastic greeting — Late night laughter — Waking up together

Day 22: Bail out — Car ride — Lamplight

Day 23: Remembering medication — Art on fridge — Warm toast

Day 24: Apology — Palm kiss — Campfire

Day 25: Washing bloodstains — Hair brushing — Cheek kiss

Day 26: Confession — Crying hug — Picnic

Day 27: Promise keeping — Quick hug — Beach/waves

Day 28: Cast taken off — Sleepy kiss — Hot chocolate

Day 29: Showing up — Birthday gift — Bicycle

Day 30: In dreams — Happy tears — Dancing in rain

[star-farer]

fill the skies

Summary: A quiet early morning passes on Tipoca City AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @comfy-vember

Comfy-vember 2024, Week 1: Mug of tea, Day 1: New day

“Tech.”

He swivels around with a sharp jolt, fusioncutter grasped in one fist like a downturned knife, prepared to stab his assailant.

Hunter only raises an unimpressed eyebrow, a mug in one hand and a sleeping Omega draped over his other shoulder. His hair is mussed about his head, no bandana in sight, sleep-clothes rumpled and lined with creases. It appears he has woken only a short while back, despite how well-made his bunk seems.

“I called your name five times."

Huffing, Tech puts down the tool for the mug of caf Hunter hands him. The heat permeates through his thick gloves, and he savors it for a moment. A grimace crawls onto his face when he peers at the empty mugs along his workstation, stained brown with the drops of caf he could not gulp down.

“Apologies,” he says, turning around with a sigh, “I was quite caught up with fixing the holoprojector on my gauntlet.”

His brother hums, shifting Omega to a safer hold as he reaches for another mug set on the table. It’s only a handsbreadth away from Tech’s elbow, and Tech blinks, attempting to find in his memory when it had first appeared.

Narrowing his eyes past the upper rim of his goggles, Tech inclines his head and asks the man sipping his tea, “How long have you been calling my name?”

Hunter brings the mug away from his mouth and chuckles. He moves to sit down at the edge of the cluttered bunk, avoiding the paraphernalia of a technician.

“Long enough to put a crying Om’ika back to sleep.”

Sympathy twinges within Tech’s chest, right along with guilt. He lowers his voice to a murmur, “I hope I did not waken her.”

“Nah, you were quiet as a loth-rat. Y’know how she is, getting up at all sorts of Force-forsaken hours just for attention.”

“I…do not recall hearing her cries.” The guilt festers in the pit of his heart. He ought to have been more perceptive of his surroundings.

But Hunter, ever the observant eye, smiles at him. “Naak, vod’ika. We both know how it’s nearly impossible to break your focus.”

“Even so,” he fumes, staring at his steaming caf.

“Even so nothing,” Hunter ends for him, a definitiveness in his voice Tech can’t help but envy, “You missed your entire sleep cycle. I’d never have known that if her crying hadn’t woken me up.”

Tech mutters, “You need your rest as well.”

“Right, and you don't. Honestly Tech, have you seen yourself in a mirror? You look half-dead on your feet. You expect me to believe you could handle a crying ik’aad in your current state?”

He feels the weight of Hunter’s words, suddenly. Heaviness fills his bones, a fatigue bowing his already slumped shoulders. Sleep sounds terribly tantalizing, mundane as he deems it, at this present moment.

Still, he tries for stubbornness, even as his eyelids droop. He shoots a shrewd look Hunter’s way, eyes darting about his beruffled form. “I could tell you much the same.”

“Tech,” says Hunter with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He nods his head in the direction he faces. “Look.”

Confused, he does as commanded, swiveling his head around to the window.

Between the shimmering waters and the sheathing sky, no longer their dark navy but a paler blue, is a paint streak of burning orange, flickering yellow at its edges, both in the clouds above and the ripples below. The sun is a fiery circle, blazing a warm and jubilant hello. There is no trace of night, no trace of blackness, the nocturnal elements being chased away by a silver mist rising from the vast Kaminoan seas.

“You’ve missed your sleep cycle and stayed up all night,” reinforces Hunter quietly, “The only thing you’re guilty of is not going to bed on time. Omega’s fine, see?”

He turns to watch Hunter gently move Omega down from his steady shoulder to cradle her in one arm, her curled form bathed in the glow of the rising sun. He wonders, illogically, if this is what it’s like to watch a star sleep, all her energy and vigour folded away under the blanket of slumber. She is the very picture of sweet innocence, round face slack, little mouth agape, curls like the white rays of the sun springing from her crown.

Omega is indeed fine, safe and sound in her buir’s hold. And it is with this reassurance that Tech breathes out a sigh, nodding.

“Very well. If you insist.”

“I do insist, actually." Hunter grins suddenly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you know I’m always right.”

He can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, a sound that makes Hunter's grin grow like a waxing crescent. Trust his ori’vod to bring levity to any grave situation with practiced ease.

As he always has, Tech decides to play along.

“I do believe you are confusing the two of us for each other,” he says, lifting his mug to take a sip.

Snorting, Hunter shakes his head in bemusement. “Hey, we might be clones and everything, but I'm not that dumb to confuse between my vod’ika and myself.”

“Oh, I assure you, your intellect is still up for debate.”

“Bet my side’s winning.”

“Considering I am the opposition, I highly doubt it.”

“You traitor,” laughs Hunter, “You’re meant to be on my side. I’m your ori’vod.”

Tech’s own grin spreads wider. “All the more reason to stand against you.” When Hunter takes a draught from his own mug, Tech grimaces. “That pathetic excuse of a beverage is, I believe, an even stronger motive.”

“Hey, leave my shig alone. It’s not like I’m making you drink it.”

“You might as well drink plain water,” scoffs Tech, sipping his caf.

Hunter raises his half-empty mug in Tech’s direction. “I could say the same thing to you. And anyways, we've already had this argument, haven't we?”

And here is his attempt at finding common ground, at forming a pact, at keeping the peace with a simple turn of the conversation at hand.

“Yes,” says Tech with a smile, “It is the seventeenth time we have discussed this matter to no satisfactory conclusion.”

If Hunter finds it strange that Tech keeps track of this, it doesn’t show in his expression. Instead, his brows knit together. “Are you sure? I thought it’s the twentieth. What about that time on Kashyyyk—”

“Accounted for.”

“Well, that time in the mess—”

“Also accounted for. I am nothing if not meticulous in such matters.”

Hunter looks at the bunk he’s sitting on, littered with droid parts and wires and components and tools, and he turns back to Tech, face composed into a mask of dryness that cannot completely stifle the trickling laughter.

“Meticulous eh?”

“I did mention ‘in such matters’, you know.”

“Sure, Tech’ika. Keep telling yourself — Kar’ika, nayc!”

From a small waving arm, its hand reaching for his mug, Hunter holds his tea away. He grins down at the scowling kar'ika in question, especially when she whines at his refusal of the tea she so desires. “Finally decided to return to the land of the half-dead, eh ik’aad?”

She tries for the mug once more, stubby brown arms flailing as she makes indignant little noises like an angry tooka. Hunter places it on the shelf at the head of Tech’s bunk and eases her to sit upon his lap, one arm holding her up in support.

He wags a finger in front of her blinking brown eyes. “That is Buir’s shig, understood? Ibac’ner shig. Not yours. Buir's. Tech, help me out here.”

“You seem to have things under control.” He bites off a laugh when Omega pounds the hand away from her face with tiny fists, absolutely enraged by her present predicament.

Hunter sighs loudly, in time with Omega’s tiny squeak. “Just go get the bottle I left on my bunk.”

Taking a long sip of his caf, Tech places the empty mug aside, a smirk tugging his lips. He stands, walking around his makeshift workstation of crates for Hunter’s bunk while father and daughter bicker silently with each other.

Across the room, Wrecker and Crosshair lie snoring in a country of obliviousness. A herd of bantha could trample Tipoca City, and they would sleep through it. Presently, however, Tech supposes it to be a good thing, given the rising voices from his bunk and the earliness of the day. He shakes his head fondly when an awkward snort escapes Crosshair, the thought of recording the sound as blackmail lingering in the back of his mind.

“Here,” he says instead, leaning over a crate to hand Hunter the bottle he’d picked up.

“Look, ik’aad.” Hunter holds it before her eyes. “This is for you. For Om’ika. That tea in the mug? That’s for me, for Buir.”

But Omega pays him no heed, pouting and squirming away from both father and bottle, reaching out for Tech instead.

Who is he not to oblige her?

While Hunter begins to complain of prejudice and preference, Tech pushes his tools aside to climb onto the crate and seat himself cross-legged. Omega is transferred with much grumbling on Hunter's part into Tech's outstretched arms, and he smiles down at her little face and bright eyes.

“And how are we doing today, dearest?”

A content coo is the answer he receives. He watches her tilt her head to peer up at him the same way one considers a curiosity.

He is struck by an idea, and he gently lowers her into his lap to prop her up against his torso, one arm splayed over her chest to hold her upright. Placing his chin atop her head, he points out the great window that spans their barracks, at the pale sun climbing the blue sky which turns a soft white.

“Do you see it, cyar’ika? Do you see the rising sun?”

And when he looks down to catch sight of glowing twin reflections of pale-yellow circles in the pools of her wide eyes, he knows she is gazing upon no mere curiosity, but wonder incarnate.

[avatarskywalker78]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Diagnosis Murder

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Jesse Travis & Steve Sloan, Jesse Travis & Amanda Bentley

Characters: Jesse Travis, Steve Sloan, Amanda Bentley

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode s06e06 Alienated, Guilt, Regret, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Steve Sloan Needs a Hug, Jesse Travis Needs a Hug, And they get hugs, Implied/Reference Non-Consensual Drug Use, Angst with a Happy Ending, Humor

Series: Part 6 of comfy-vember 2024

Summary:

It's been a few weeks since Jesse was cleared to return to work after his ordeal and things are almost back to normal...except that Steve's avoiding him and he doesn't know the full reason why, only that it's got to have something to do with what happened, and that means he either said or did something that hurt him deeply - and when he finally remembers thanks to Amanda, he knows he has to fix this.

[star-farer]

the cost of joy

Summary: The return from Weyland is not one of loud victory. AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @comfy-vember

Comfy-vember 2024, Week 1: Scars — Slow hug, Day 2: Holding hands — Walking and talking

All around them, gently, the world falls apart.

Tucked under his arm and pressed close against his side, his heart watches its pieces crumble like falling stars. He watches along with her, mindful of each breath that fills and leaves his unfaltering lungs.

In, and out. In, and out.

For one brief, one terrible moment, no longer than a twinkling eye, she shudders, fingers digging into his flesh with a strength of denting his very bones.

It passes, however, when he bends and holds a kiss to the crown of her head, the only grace a man of his merit can bestow to a child of the stars. The tension does not flow from her like a gushing waterfall or wound — it trickles as tears from grieving eyes, calm and steady and quiet and slow.

He is a sniper. He is patient.

He can wait.

And wait he does, where they sit in a little crevice of the shuttle, bent close towards each other. Hyperspace glows past the viewport a blue he has long declared too sharp and painful for his eyes. Regs — brothers, corrects a voice that belongs to the girl beside him — shuffle around, manning the ship, tending to the wounded, murmuring to each other.

His hand curls around his heart, a thumb kneading the length of her arm. He stares at the two defective clones piled together, his ori’vod and his vod’ika, fast asleep where they lean against each other. There is no comfort in their positions, plastoid armor still cladding their worn figures. None of his squad bear their buckets, fallen along with Tantiss Base.

Echo, his breath seizes, ribs turning into a vice around his lungs, confining and restricting, when he does not see the reg, his reg.

Metal gleams in his periphery, and he snaps his head to see Echo in the doorway, conversing quietly with another clone, the scomp arm resting in a sling. He wears no headgear, skin even paler where the construct should be sitting, and Crosshair wonders if it was lost along with their buckets.

A new one will have to be made, if so. Perhaps Tech—

Tech. Tech.

His eyes burn with the memory of his loss, his—

Dead. Tech is dead.

Crosshair runs, like the coward he is. He flees from the thoughts and the memories and the shattered yellow polycarbonate fragments set in the black frame of the goggles that belong to his youngest brother—

Belonged. His youngest vod’ika.

He bows further, hiding his anguish in the curls that hang limp and wet before him. Even still, her hair gleams like a pale star. Some inexplicable peace washes over him at its unchanging nature, a firm assurance where he stands on unsteady ground.

A hand, small and shaking, makes its way towards his — his — his arm. He swallows as he watches it hesitate, then come slowly to rest a little ways below the — the metal — that — that encapsulates his — wrist.

She is gentle, ever so gentle with him, and it has been long since anyone has treated him so kindly.

“Does it hurt, Buir?”

It does, more deeply than anything he has dealt with all his life, in ways he never fathomed could exist. Inadequacy stirs within himself, but he numbs it away in favor of the daughter safe in his arms. She is here, present, beside him, unharmed for the better part.

She is all that matters.

“It’s fine,” he says, neither a perfect lie, nor a perfect truth. He hopes she will not press him further, not when his own mind, so muddled with strings of emotions, runs blank when he tries for clarity.

She shifts, turns, raises her face to his, lips a thin line. Where stars once flamed in the bronze of her irises, a dullness shadows them. Such fatigue, such sorrow; it is dissonant on a face as young as hers.

In his heart of hearts, she will always be the ik’aad he held in that fated med-bay deep within lost Tipoca City.

Her head ducks down to his chest, and her grip on his forearm tightens.

“I miss him.”

And oh, oh, if his bleeding soul doesn’t rend itself in two at her crackling whisper.

He sees the tears glistening on her cheeks, only just dried of rain and grime. He sees her mouth twist and eyelids crease shut as she draws her shoulders up to her ears.

“I miss him,” she repeats, voice choking, chest heaving.

What can he say to alleviate her pain? What can he say to soothe her grief?

He searches every corner of his mind for the words, the words, the words that evade and escape and scatter away from his reach. He begs for an answer, a sign, a miracle to work his tongue into the right sentences.

One final, wretched time, he is betrayed by his own anguish. He feels the brine run down his face, even as he curls his little love into his quaking arms.

“I know, ner kar’ta.” She wails softly at his whispered reply, weeping eyes pressing into the crook of his neck. “I miss him too.”

Around them, bitterly, the world falls apart.

[avatarskywalker78]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Krypton (TV)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Adam Strange & Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Adam Strange, OC: Ashley Tanner

Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Male-Female Friendship, Brother-Sister Relationships, Family Feels

Series: Part 14 of comfy-vember 2024, Part 3 of to fix the timeline (or make it better)

Summary:

After a shitty few weeks, Adam and Ashley go and visit a market to add to their many collections - and Adam spots a pendant he thinks she might like.

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @starstruckpurpledragon