#even though its. far too long to be a drabble i have nothing else to tag it with LMAOOO

[munefille]

I’m not sure if you already answered this but why is Lorne disliked? You mention that his coloring isn’t the chief reason

Also does Lorne like the reader in a platonic or potentially romantic way? I’m only asking because I wonder how Lorne would react to the reader coming up to him and asking for a blessing to pursuit a romantic relationship with someone ô_ô

Love your work!!! Thank you!!

They kind of know he's not really... all there. His mother is also to blame for some of it too. He was conceived while she was already in a courtship with another male, which is extremely looked down upon in a species that typically pairs for life. Even though Lorne had nothing to do with his mother's infidelity, the fact that he was the product of it makes him perceived as tainted.

I would say he just likes you in general, whether that's platonically or romantically depends on the scenario. It wouldn't matter much though because he's not sharing you either way. You're his little worshipper and frankly he'd start spiraling if you held someone else to the same importance.

here's a drabble to expand on it more (took so long to answer bc I kept rewriting this)

cw: gore

✂┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"What’s going on?"

Cool night air brushed past you in a hurry, the breeze taking with it the unorthodox scent of iron and melted ice. Far above hung the pale moon, gazing down like a witness to what was occurring, clusters of stars accompanying it in its judgement. Your question was left unanswered by a few moments of tense silence.

“This is your beloved?” came a quiet voice from above you, so slightly hesitant as it asks. An excited nod was your response as you directed your attention towards the person on the other side of the trees. The man remained unaware of the presence watching, merely believing you had taken him on a night walk and had disappeared to search for something beyond the forest line.

The being beside you spread his wings a small degree, the white feathers appearing nearly iridescent when hit by wandering moonlight.

"And you asked for my approval. There is one thing that must be shown before I can offer that." He answered, gently tilting your head to the scene before you. "Watch. If you are still together by the end of the night, then you will have my approval."

You would've found such a proposal suspicious had you not trusted Lorne, the angel, with your life. That's why you had asked in the first place for him to bless your union; surely, he would guide you in the right direction. Not far from where your beloved stood was a cave. Your angel seemed rather adamant at bringing him here.

It wasn’t long before you heard deep growls echoing from within the dark hole. A lump formed in your throat. It was during this time of the year that bears searched for their last meals before their long sleep. You had never stumbled upon one yourself, but you knew from others that there were some that roamed the forest, highly territorial creatures they were.

Your suspicions were proven right as a beast lumbered out of the cavernous shadows, nearly as dark as the place it emerged from. Your lover remained unknowing of the threat approaching, his back turned to the path in wait for you.

You wanted to call out, to warn him of the danger that was coming upon him with a ferocious snarl, revealing teeth longer than your hand. A pleading expression enveloped your face as you looked up to Lorne, “Please-”

He hushed you with a far too large hand over your lips, but it was too late by then.

The bear launched itself at the man with a final roar, though the time for warning had long since passed. He couldn’t even turn around fully to face the creature before it got ahold of his arm, tearing it nearly clean off. The scream he emitted then would haunt you. Never had you heard a man wail like that, the wail of a man watching his own flesh be torn and eaten in front of him. Oh, there was so much blood spurting from the stump, yet that was only the beginning of it.

He attempted to scramble backwards, but the removal of one of his limbs distorted his balance, causing him to collapse on his side. The bear saw an opening, large jaws revealing those wicked teeth stained red, bits of skin caught in between them. It latched onto his side, shaking him around like a ragdoll in its maw. There was a terrible choking noise as the bear’s teeth punctured his lungs, and finally you could take it no more.

You pushed past the dense brush from where you were positioned. Lorne made no move to stop your mad dash towards the mauling of your lover, eerily silent at what had happened.

It was a foolish idea, yes, but you couldn’t just stand and watch as his cries for help died. You picked up a stick, throwing it to the bear to get its attention. Anything to draw it away from the poor soul it was torturing. With a sickly crunch, the bear dropped the surely deceased corpse of the one you had adored, now hardly recognizable as a mass of badly desecrated flesh. Its angry eyes looked towards you first before its whole body lurched itself in your direction.

Bloody matted fur and flesh decorated teeth was what you assumed would be your last image before closing your eyes, expecting the same fate as your lover to become of you.

A few seconds passed, then a minute, the sensation of ripping limbs never gracing you.

When you found the courage to open your eyes, the bear was before you; its head was snapped all the way backwards. A shaky exhale came from your chest, tears beginning to blur your eyes as the adrenaline and grief still coincided.

“Oh. What a pity. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.” Lorne’s voice trailed on monotonously, clearly uncaring of the gruesome slaughter that had just occurred. It was disorienting at times how soothing it was when it really should've disturbed you. The tears finally released themselves then, a quiet sob wracking your body.

“You see, had I not been there, who would’ve protected you from such a threat?” He came closer to where you were trembling on the ground, hurling the bear corpse away from you.

“The one you had chosen was inadequate. Don’t spill such sorrow over something that would’ve died eventually.” He said, in what you assumed was supposed to be a reassuring way, yet the tears didn’t stop.

He frowned at your mourning. Your shaken form was lifted into his arms as your eyes remained glued to the explosion of guts that seeped into the forest floor.

“You don’t need to worry,” he muttered into your hair, “I’ll find you another one.”

He spoke so calmly, his words a halfhearted attempt at consolation. All you could think about was how brutal God could be.

[lovesickeros]

☆ the dove

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings violence, blood {☆} word count 0.7k

Her hands are weapons, forged in a tragedy as much as a war of ash and blood that seeps into the earth and rots it from within. To them, however, she is salvation. Her hands are a kindness, not a threat. She sees it in their puffy, red eyes just brimming with tears, their fragile body so delicate and weak is still remains marred by wounds new and old – the gold still stains their skin, even long after it had been washed away.

She has seen it all – and she takes the injured dove beneath her wing with the sickly sweet promise that someday she shall mend its broken wings and teach it to fly again.

And in their stupor, they do not see her clip their wings.

It is for the best.

The wolves still salivate below the nest, waiting for her little dove to fall again – no, she shall not send her little bird to fly when it will just fall into their waiting maws once again.

This..this one is hers, she has decided.

Her little bird who dreams of the sky and the woman who clips their wings..what a tragic pair they must make, she thinks.

Not for her, of course. Yet not to them, either, unaware of the way she grounds them and keeps the key to their cage tightly in her fist.

"Tsaritsa?" The soft, meek lilt of the little bird draws her from her reverie, and she smiles – all teeth and little else, wolfish and predatory.

Yet the bird sees nothing but love in the sharp points of her canines.

As it was meant to be.

"Yes, little bird?"

She coos in honeyed tones, brushing her cold, cold hands against their skin, reveling in the way they shiver and shake beneath the ever present chill in her very bones. They do not fear the claws that ghost across their skin, and the smile they offer that illuminates their eyes like stars only proves her right – she wants to devour them whole. To see the stars in their eyes burn out beneath her teeth, their golden blood burn upon her tongue and down her throat.

"You promised to take me to the gardens today, remember?"

Her pearly, sharpened fangs peer out beneath her lips as she grins wider, unnerving to all but the little bird who sees not the wolf but the wool it wears, her hands finding their place upon their shoulders as she whispers into their ear.

She will guide her little bird where they cannot go, where their clipped wings cannot take them.

She will give them that bittersweet taste of freedom and then watch them try to catch the stars..

Just to drag them back down to earth where they belong.

"Of course, Creator – I am a woman of my word, am I not?"

Such sickly sweet lies come to her with ease – she lies and she lies and they do not see past the woolen cloak of the wolf until its jaw has snapped around its throat and its blood has painted the world a shimmering gold.

She will delight in that, too.

"If I may be so bold, Creator, you have been distant lately..have you grown tired of me already?"

Her words were as sharp as a blade, yet as dull as a rock, as sweet as they were dangerous. Like watching a mouse trap luring in its prey, she would snap it shut as soon as the little bird strayed too close.

"No! No, that's not..you've just been busy lately, I didn't want to intrude."

They remind her so much of a rabbit in those moments, and she so badly wants to know what would happen if she just took a small, insignificant bite..yet she restrains herself with a far too wide smile, her jaw clenched so hard she almost thinks they will hear it creak.

"Intrude? You could ever hardly intrude, Creator – what is mine is yours. Though, perhaps I shall have to lock you in my room to ensure you compensate me for depriving me of your presence."

In just a few short words, she snares the rabbit – her little bird, her Creator. They will see nothing but the sickly sweet lure of her smile, letting out a pretty laugh of their own as they press closer, like a bird wandering into the open maw of the beast lying in wait.

"As long as it has a nice view, I suppose I won't mind."

They jest, but she does not. And oh, how easy it is to ensnare an unsuspecting prey.

"Of course, Creator – just for you."

It won't be long until her little bird returns to its gilded cage, now. Permanently.

It is better that way.

[ceyx-of-the-shore]

When The Music Stops

PAIRING: Emile-A239 x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You were the only one who Emile would listen to in times like these. You didn't know he valued you as much as you did him.

WARNINGS: Angst in the beginning, mentions of blood, mentions of injury/fighting, eventual fluff, growing feelings, Emile is heavily sarcastic and comes off as blunt, no set timeline - just a drabble, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform/into an A.I. program.*

You rush into the room, the door sliding quickly to the side beside you as a rush of chilled air slaps your face. The facilities on Reach were always cold—freezing, actually. Like a damn meat locker. The Medical branch more so than anywhere else, but this time you could deal with it. 

At the very least, it could steady out your heated annoyance.

“Emile!” You call, locking instantly onto the heavily armored man standing in his Mark V[B] at the center of the small room, hands clenched so hard you hear his gloves squeal as his knuckles crack inside of them. But the Spartan had already turned his helmeted face to you long before you opened that door, hearing your footsteps down the hall, the pattern of which he’d memorized months ago. That carved skeleton jeers in the overhead light, every little cut a funeral service for Covenant troops scored like paint across a canvas. 

To you, it was a far too familiar sight, and you liked it far more when it was out of your Ward.

“Jesus,” you comment, slapping the pad on the wall to make the door shut behind you as you walk through with a serious face, waving your hands in anger. “What the hell happened out there?! I have half of the staff running around trying to gather enough supplies to stabilize a damn skull fracture, Emile!” 

There’s blood on the ground of the examination room—your examination room. But it wasn’t Emile’s. It drips from his fingers and his MJOLNIR like a red river of dark deeds. The Spartan doesn’t even seem to mind it, and, you know, he doesn’t. If you had to guess, you would say he enjoyed it.

“Nothing,” that monotone voice slowly drips out, the SPARTAN-III nonchalantly shaking out his left wrist and fixing his stance, even though that casual rigidity remains. Animalistic calm. “Just cleaned up a few loose ends, Doc.”

“There are three ODSTs that went in for combat training today and are spending the night in here because of you,” you hiss, stalking up to the gigantic man and pointing a finger into his chest plate. He has to physically look down at you at this angle, and you think you’ll never get used to his unnatural height—both in and out of the MJOLNIR. “Carter warned you about another fight with non-Spartans, Emile—this can’t keep happening! I can’t keep trying to cover for you when you lose your temper!”

For once you’re shocked that the man in front of you lets you spew your words; it wasn’t often the hothead had nothing to say for himself, certainly about his own actions when his gung-ho attitude came out.

Your glare softens, tirade stalled for but a moment as the minutes lengthen after your scolding.

A silence falls, your own eyes blinking down at you from the reflection of the scarred visor, those etched marks that make up the image of death unwavering. Not a sliver of the Spartan’s visage is to be seen—it rarely is. Emile breathed slightly heavily, and his arms shook with leftover anger from not half-an-hour earlier when he’d sent his fist into those ODSTs. You can hear the scrape of his esophagus as clear as day, and if you strain your ears harder, you can image his fire-like pulse as well. 

Where a deep disappointment had bred, now only concern takes its place.

You blink, raising a hand from your side hesitantly; pausing. 

“Emile?” At the small touch on his elbow, the Spartan tenses, but you easily speak in a soft tone, dipping your voice. You can’t recall seeing Emile so…statue-still. “Hey,” you utter, brows creasing as the Spartan’s visor refuses to move an inch from staring you down. As if trying to calm himself by only your presence alone. “Hey, Big Guy. Okay, let’s…let’s take a breath, alright?”

You steady your own, but you know the rapid beat of your heart gives you away.

Emile grunts, turning his head from you to glare at the side wall; you know his jaw is clenched tight under his helmet. But he does as you ask, and you feel his chest bump your form as he inhales deeply.

It was a good thing you found him—of all the staff here, you seemed to be the only one he actually listened to. Even now, it brings a small feeling of pride with it, and you know it shouldn't.

It’s a quiet moment that once more settles, and you feel his tension seep out while you still hold onto his elbow, occasionally caressing your thumb up and down. You know the man best; you’re prideful because you’re the only medic on Reach equipped to handle his snark and aggression—the best at it. And the simple fact is that Emile only comes to you anyway.

“Good,” you nod softly. Taking a step back, you slowly tilt your head and frown at him. 

He scoffs before he speaks, but it lacks any venom. 

“Came on there pretty hard, Doc.” A nickname for you, only he’s allowed to use it. Emile grumbles and crosses his arms, feet spacing out. But his tone is…off. “Thought I’d be on my ass in a little bit.” “What happened?” You don’t beat around the bush, your eyes deathly serious. “You’re not acting right at all. You haven’t even bragged about how easy they were to bring down.”

“So I need to brag now, is that it?” 

Glaring, you set your jaw and level out with him. “Show me your hands, A-239.”

“Woah,” Emile drags out the word, chuckling as you grapple for his hand, moving his head to the side as if studying an ant and saying sarcastically. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

Peeling back the armor plating and the thick undersuit, you’re left with slightly inflamed knuckles. With the enhancements of the Spartan's physical forms, even so for the IIIs, these would heal fairly quickly—hours at most. But the sight still rang off alarm bells. 

How hard had he been punching those ODSTs to leave a mark on himself? Through armor and muscle? 

“Emile,” you urge, firm attention staying on the swelling.

You can feel his eyes on you—digging and heavy. But on this, you would not relent. In your time together, you’d grown fond of him and his horrible attitude. He was off putting, sure, and rough: a bit bad for civilian relations, of course; yet you’d had the privilege to know him as others usually didn’t. 

Emile was bluntly honest, and with you…he listened. That was a trust far earned and it had taken months to even get a break in him.

The giant released a low sigh and with a hand motion that equaled ‘fine,’ he shook his head and pushed out through a board tone. “...They were talking ‘bout you. Didn’t like their tones.” A finger touches the back of your skull, brushing across it briefly and disappearing as if never there. You fight back a gasp. “‘Specially when they thought it was smart to say it when I was right there.” 

You pause at that, still holding his warm hand as his fingers twitch in your grasp—tiny things compared to the calluses and bulk of muscle. It’s like your heart stops, a foreign heat making the room's chill completely halt. 

You stare at his knuckles and feel your eyes blink quickly. Inside of your chest, your heart completely skips beats.

“Took ‘em to the ring,” he says like he’s reading a report. “Threw ‘em down. They lost and I won, and I made them think twice when they’re talking about my favorite Medic like that.” His helmet shifts your way. “You think I’d let them get away with that, Doc?” 

“I…” you stutter, for once in your life, lost for words. Emile chuckles to himself, tilting his head mockingly. 

“Now isn’t that nice.” 

Your face burns even more as the man’s hand shifts out of your hold, tapping your chin up with a finger. His helmet leans into you. 

“Thought I’d stop by and have my girl check up on me before someone else managed to get in my way. You didn’t disappoint. Never do.” You’re speechless, heart rapidly pounding and throat bobbing with a swallow. You know he sees it because he chuckles again and his head moves up and down in a sweep of your body.

Emile hums, squeezing your flesh with his thumb and forefinger before letting his hand drop and pulling on his glove. 

“You hear anything going ‘round about you, you just let me know, yeah?” There’s a serious edge to that sentence. “Let me take care of it.” 

All you do is nod dumbly a blank moment later and feel your face go malleable. You don’t even know how to respond to that—you shouldn’t be encouraging physical fights just because you thought it was an…archaically sweet, if not inherently violent, sentiment.

But was Emile anything but? You knew what you were getting into.

“Good.” Emile moves his head back and stares for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling in a silent sigh of breath, before, soldier-like once more, he walks forward and exits the room with a whoosh of recycled air.

“Be seeing you, Doc.”

You hear the door slap shut and still gape at where he once stood in front of you, fire under your skin and a deep pull in your heart as you stutter under your breath. Clearing your throat minutes later, you blink, flatten out your clothes, and quickly exit into the hallway—hearing every connection of your feet to the floor.

There was something so very wrong about this that made you want to see how it might end. Even if it resulted in your blood-thirsty Spartan standing in your examination room once more, knuckles swollen and his body looming above yours like a silent, skeletal sentinel; some brutish dog ready to tear flesh at a moment's notice.

If only to feel his bare skin again, and the weight of his words on your chest.

"Shit," you breathe, grasping at the bridge of your nose as nurses rush past you. All of your thoughts are about Emile, and you have to internally wonder when that had started happening. "...This isn't good."

[cotillion-the-rope]

Shade Lord Ghost Drabbles: Never Happened Before

Summary: In canon, there is a mention of a people who worshiped the void... What if they survived and just traveled because they didn't have their own god... Please, I want to see you write this!

~

Growing up Val had found the quiet of the Void Sea’s shores to be unsettling. Her parents had worshiped it though and their parents before them, inheriting it from their own parents and so on and so forth. As far as anyone knew, her people had been worshiping the Void Sea since bugs gained enough sentience to be capable of worship. Probably that was an exaggeration but they had a long lineage of it nonetheless. So she’d kind of just inherited the faith too.

Like many young folks though, she had doubts about the wisdom of it. The Void Sea never gave anything back. It could be agitated into responding to various forms of stimuli and thus could be used in some capacity. But messing with it too much only ever resulted in the lose of life. It was dangerous and unlike proper gods, didn’t care about its followers in any capacity because it literally could not.

Maybe Val should leave. Where would she go though? Everyone she knew was here. Maybe she could…

A knock sounded on her door. Before she could get up from her desk and answer it, it opened. Ash poked their head in. “Something’s happening with the Void Sea!”

“A good something or a bad something?”

“We don’t know. Only that it’s never happened before. Mother Ela has sent us to gather everyone to witness.”

Val may have her doubts but she wasn’t about to disobey a direct order. She got up and followed Ash out, separating off from them as they headed to inform more of the news. Instead she fell in line with the others as they made their way down the hall until they reached the stairs leading down and down, deep in to the earth.

Upon their ancestors reaching this Void Shore long ago, they’d carved out viewing platforms over the Sea itself. At first just one, now there were three with a fourth in the works. By some stroke of luck Val ended up being among the folks on the first. The one closet to the Void Sea, giving the best view of it.

Down below, it looked to be boiling like water over a fire. Always it let off some amount of mist, now it was letting off great billowing clouds of it.

“What’s happening?” a child’s voice asked from somewhere to Val’s left.

“We don’t know but we must witness,” presumably the child’s guardian answered. “Now shush.”

For a long while nothing else happened other than everyone gathering to witness. Murmurs and whispers ran through the onlookers as people speculated. No one knew anything though, not even Mother Ela herself apparently and she was so inundated with Void, she was barely even alive anymore.

It went on long enough that the speculative murmurs turned to talk of maybe not everyone needed to be here to witness whatever this was. They could take turns watching and report back if anything else changed. Before any decision could be reached or even officially voiced though the Void Sea ceased its roiling, stilling instantly.

Like many in the Void Fishers, Val’s connection to the Dream Realm was fairly strong. Making the dying god’s scream that ripped through it sound almost loud enough to be physical. She flinched, instinctively covering her ears, as did many others around her. It did no good though of course. Blessedly, that scream of anger and wretched pain, was soon cut off as some final blow finished off that distant god. A sense of deep cold and emptiness took its place. Val would recognize that feeling anyway.

Somehow, somewhere, the entirety of the Void had coalesced under one will to slay that god. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, the Void Sea had been agitated into sentience, resulting of course in violence and death. The Void Fishers seemed like they might have a proper god to worship now. Val would have to stick around to see how that was going to play out.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

ANB Drabble: Starved

Masterlist

Content: Starvation, captivity, pet whump, vampire whumpee, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, non-con touching (non-sexual).

I really wanted to hurt carlos a bit, so have this. it takes place early on in Carlos' life, when he's still not used to constant starvation and finds it harder to cope with:)

-

Three weeks without food should have been nothing to Carlos by now. After several instances in which he’d been deprived of blood for years before getting the privilege of sating his hunger again, he thought three weeks would be nothing. 

But as it stood right now, he was already close to breaking. It was torture. It was beyond humiliating. He couldn’t even recall the amount of times he’d been belittled for drooling when the smell got too close to him or crying when his master cruelly decided to extend the length of time in which he would go unfed at the last minute.

And without a doubt, the evenings were the worst. They were when his master would invite him into his bed just so he could wrap him up in his arms and force him to endure the constant smell of fresh blood pumping beneath his skin. It caused his stomach to ache and his mind to obsess until the thought of feeding was the only thing keeping him from passing out from exhaustion. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep since this nightly routine began.

“Feeling hungry yet?” Master would tease as soon as he felt the vampire attempting to subtly pull away from him. Large fingers would slip into his hair, gripping onto it so hard that Carlos couldn’t help but let out a pained noise, before dragging his head in close again. So close that his nose was nuzzled against the human’s collar, forced to take in the sweet smell with every breath he took in. 

So close, and yet so damn far.

“It hurts,” he practically whined, his voice muffled against his master’s neck. As if to demonstrate just how much, his stomach growled a moment later, loud and desperate. “I’m begging you, sir. Please. I’m in so much pain.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut as soon as the human yanked his entire body closer to him. Despite being taller, he was no match for his master. Not without food. Not with his body in such a state. All he could do was allow it to happen, even his head feeling too heavy to lift on occasions. 

“Shh, I promise it’s just a few more days,” he gently encouraged, though they both knew it was an empty promise. “At the very least, this will make you appreciate what I give you just that bit more.” 

An anguished, pained sob squeezed its way out in response. His entire body trembled, fingers weakly clinging to his master’s shirt despite how much he wanted to get away from the overwhelming smell. He was forced to use so much willpower just to avoid sinking his teeth into the flesh on his shoulder. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. If he were anybody else, he’d have fed from him as he slept long ago. 

But he wasn’t. He was Carlos Emrick, a vampire who had never harmed a being superior to him and would never attempt to. So, he sat there and cried until his throat grew hoarse, long after his master had fallen asleep and left him to suffer in silence.

-

@choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @paniatheweirdone @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

[magistralucis]

Oh the things we do for internship [Snippet]

(Haven't posted wips for a while. The prompt was @metashard's, the pairing: Lysikor/Phillias. This was originally part of Lacunae - a drabble collection that began in July - but it just kept growing and growing, and I can no longer deny this will have to be its own thing 🤣

Pre-biotransference TDK. Phillias is a junior Triarch Praetorian, shadowing the Ithakas-Ogdobekh war on the Ithakan side. The Ithakans don't like her much because politics™, which she could put up with, if not for a stowaway who complicates things. She does not get paid enough to handle this. 🤦‍♀️)

---------------------

It did not take long for them to notice the stranger's presence.

Phillias was listening in when the elder prince of Ithakas was informed of the situation. The praetorian-in-training guessed he'd joined them about two hours into the march, and her host was inclined to agree. From the very back of the procession to the front the news had traveled, in whispers and nudges: credit where it was due, they'd said, the stranger had tried to blend in as seamlessly as possible. An Ithakan glyph tattooed on his wrist marked him as one of their own, and if not for the glaring lack of a marching partner, he might well have gotten away with it until evenfall.

Kynazh Djoseras took note of the disturbance. Notably, he did not address it on the spot. It was not until his troops had stopped for the night, and the evening tents had been set up, that he turned to the stranger and spoke: "Bold of a sutler to come this far without demands."

The hooded stranger chuckled. "Is that what I am now?" He had a reedy voice, dampened by the sand and exhaustion, but his speech was steady. "A sutler it is then, my lord, though a poor one. No money, nothing to trade."

The kynazh wasn't having it. "Stand."

The stranger obeyed at once. Some three-quarters of a Synaptic Disintegrator fell out from under his robes. The unassembled pieces rolled forward on the sand, followed by everything else that had bound him to the earth: copper weights, ammunition, salt rations, scarab amulets, a whole selection of dream-tobacco in tins and cases and bundles.

The Ithakan troops gazed upon this farce stone-faced. All save for Phillias. At that time she was green and new, and couldn't resist the tiniest smile quirking her lips, though she was quick to re-assume the indifference demanded of her role.

Djoseras closed his eyes. "Lysikor of the House of Leukas. Explain yourself."

"A decan ago we were hit by a geomagnetic superstorm." Lysikor replied, paying no heed to the shock that rippled through the men: that cannot be! Phillias understood this was a major subsidiary house of Ithakas. She wondered why a scion from such a family was bearing the Mark, nor why he was doing - well, whatever he thought he was doing, creeping around outposts, stalking them, or something else. "Mass malfunctions from both sides - all communications broke down, as did the vehicles and the gauss weaponry, and we fended for ourselves with the bare blade. The Ogdobekh fled in the confusion but our nemesor was killed. I know not where the rest have gone."

The officers exchanged looks of dismay. If Lysikor had been with whom they were marching to help in the first place, that was the entire reason for their journey nixed. A geomagnetic storm, Kynazh Djoseras seemed to be brooding through the still waters of his expression, another gift from the accursed sun of Tamar. "All parties were on foot?"

"Yes. If they made repairs I do not know of it."

This planet lay close to the Ogdobekh crownworld. They would've had the easier escape than the Ithakans, if anyone had been able to do so at all. "Is it possible we will run across either side?"

"It may be, but for my part, I saw no one. They'd scattered too far for one man to find."

"For one man distracted by dishonorable matters, perhaps." Djoseras replied sternly, and as if on cue four lychguard brandished their warscythes in Lysikor's face. With a scornful gaze he made known to his troops how Lysikor's items were distinctly Ogdobekh in fashion, from the design of the dream-tobacco cases to the copper-plated scarabs rolling around. "Foe or not, I might remind you that looting is punishable by death."

"This is going to make me sound like a robot, kynazh, but I don't consider life to be a valid metric in my decision-making." Lysikor wasn't intimidated in the slightest. He gazed straight into the prince's eyes, dark against dark in perfect serenity. "The sons of Ithakas are not afraid of sacrifice, and to be frank with you, I didn't think I was going to survive this. If I'd been worried about that I would've taken their rations, not their bagatelles. Their only purpose is to keep track of the enemies I saw felled."

"By you?"

"Most from the storm, some by me, especially in the past few days." Lysikor held out his monocular scope, which had been melted clean through in the middle by a gauss shot. Phillias's gaze fell upon the scarabs: five on their own, two threaded as pendants, both the cords and the faience stained amply with blood. "Got even with me, almost."

Djoseras heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. Nothing more of value would come of this interrogation. For the first time since her posting, Phillias saw exasperation in the young kynazh's face, he who was normally so stern and unflappable.

Yet for whatever reason Djoseras did not order the outsider destroyed. Maybe it was the need to salvage something from this failure, or perhaps what Lysikor had said about life and its utilitarian disregard had resonated with the kynazh. "Were these not desperate times, and every last hand not necessary, I would smite you here and now. But these are strange times indeed. Make no trouble or else you will be struck down, upon this world or out of it, wherever we may be."

"I thank the kynazh and the lords of Antikef for this mercy." Then at last Lysikor bid his prince his obeisance, taking down his hood and bowing low on the ground, his long unkempt hair falling about his face. As he straightened back up he caught Phillias's eye, and gave her a glimmer of a smile, regarding her with a surprisingly pure curiosity. "And my lady - you are?"

"Lady Phillias."

Djoseras's final words for that evening were directed to the praetorian: both address and admonishment, the intended subject left ambiguous. The proceedings were over and the evening tasks of his troops must resume, and that meant she was to return to the highborns' tents with the others. She made no spoken reply, and neither the kynazh nor the interloper demanded it.

With one long glance back she stood, then turned around, and left the clearing with her glaive in hand.

[chocobochaserstories]

Zack Fair Omegaverse Headcanons

Why does Zack get a drabble to himself while everyone else so far has been grouped? Don't know, don't care to think about it too hard. Focuses more on beginning of Crisis Core Zack, so he's on the younger side.

Zack is an alpha, though he’s much less aggressive than the average alpha. 

Zack doesn’t have any long term partners, nor is he bonded.

Zack is 16-23 in Before Crisis and Crisis Core, so obviously he’s a mix of teenage hormones before he mellowed out a little as he aged.

Zack is the sweetest when he’s not rutty, and will ask his partner questions the entire time (Am I too deep? Do you need me to move slower? Is this position okay? Do you need a break? Does everything feel okay? ETC.)

Zack on his ruts is feral, but given that Angeal taught him how to manage his ruts, he’s more mindful of his surroundings and finds himself a safe place where he won’t pose an accidental danger to himself or others, or do something embarrassing while he’s horny that’ll get him told off by Lazard.

Obviously, Zack isn’t perfect. SOLDIER prefers alphas to betas or omegas because of their volatile nature, but Zack was recruited into SOLDIER fairly young, and young alphas without guidance try to figure things out themselves. It generally doesn’t end well, but hey, live and learn by experience.

Alphas have a hierarchy, and there is generally a pecking order. Zack is most definitely not at the top of that order, with both Angeal and Sephiroth on top of him in the pecking order (With Sephiroth serving as a “Head” Alpha in terms of who the boss of the ‘pack’ is). This is mostly just because Zack is younger than many of the other Alphas, not his SOLDIER rank.

Zack’s dirty secret is he’ll occasionally steal laundry from an omega (usually Cloud) on wash day, and keep the shirt to cuddle in his den during his rut. He’ll sneak it back into the laundry room when his horny brain has run its course and he’s thinking clearly. He just makes it look like it was accidentally forgotten by the omega and just wound up in lost and found. He’ll rotate through what article of clothing he snatches to make it look less obvious. Cloud might catch onto him if his infantry-issued scarf was always somehow going missing.

When Angeal caught on, Zack got a lengthy lecture about how that was ‘dishonorable’ and there were more proper ways to handle his desires.

Sephiroth saw nothing wrong with it, Genesis made a mental note to do his laundry on a different day, even if Zack would never dream of taking Genesis’ laundry. Angeal would murder him.

Zack’s scent is reminiscent of his “Certified Backwater Expert” background. He has an earthy scent and smells of tree bark and ozone, clear indicators of his childhood spent outside in the Gongaga heat during summers. He has the same mechanical, metallic hints that all SOLDIERs have, as that is a result of Mako enhancements and materia usage, though the scents vary based on what materia is preferred by the operative.

[sharpsuite]

MUNDANE MOMENTS DRABBLE PROMPTS Topic: Chishiya's comfy and can't help observing, as always. Except its sweet. For: @crue11

please enjoy this first little drabble of a mundane moment 💖

It's a change that Chishiya has a day off but Niragi still has work - at least for this morning as far as he knows. Chishiya doesn't particularly mind ; he's fine to let the other work and not bother him despite how he CLINGS to the man in his sleep. ( And HE DOES ; both consciously and unconsciously. There's been times where Chishiya's passed out early from work and Niragi joins him later; the blonde inevitably always ends up almost immediately tucking himself into Niragi's side even when he's still fast asleep. ) This morning though he practically drags himself from the warmth of the bed and makes himself comfortable on the couch in a nest of blankets. He blames the sun for how he drifts between moments of consciousness and dozing off while Niragi's typing fills the background sound.

He must have dozed off again because when his eyes flutter open, Niragi has his glasses on and is staring intently at something on the computer that Chishiya couldn't even FATHOM understanding. It's not his field of expertise and he's more than happy to leave that to Niragi - he asks questions just to watch Niragi's expression change and the PASSION and CONFIDENCE in his voice. The sight in front of him is a sight that Chishiya's seen plenty of times ; Niragi focused and lost in the world of technology. There's nothing about this particular instance that makes it stand out or UNIQUE from the usual times. Maybe that's part of the beauty of this moment. To find something special and beautiful in the mundane. Or maybe it's just the simple fact that Chishiya gets something like this at all. This strange, ABSURD change in his life that even he never could have predicted. All it took was one of the most vexing people he's met to change everything.

His eyes trail over Niragi's face ; watches his eyes dart about the screen and the cute glasses that are at odds with what his piercings suggest. Maybe it's not even the glasses themselves. Maybe it lies in the fact that Niragi LETS him see him like this. Maybe once lots of people did - but he can't imagine so with the man he'd met. But he likes the look on Niragi just as much as he loves the arrogant, maddening smirks. He likes how the sunlight falls on his hair and gently illuminates it, likes when his hair is half-pulled back just as much as when its loose and free. Everyone with eyes can see Niragi's attractive. It's not really THAT which captures Chishiya's interest or soft moment of admiration this morning. He likes getting to see Niragi work even when he doesn't understand what is happening on the screen. The you know what I mean? Niragi sometimes says when he's sharing some problem or example even though Chishiya absolutely does not. But he's happy to listen and does take interest in seeing Niragi's end results or his success over something no one else could manage. It maybe doesn't make sense to Chishiya, but it clearly matters to Niragi.

Chishiya tucks his cheek against one of the large fluffy pillows on the couch and draws the blanket closer around him, hiding a faint smile beneath the blanket covering his mouth. Niragi leans forward and Chishiya knows that means he's figured something out or at least has a theory and it's FASCINATING to watch Niragi's mind work and read the language he shares without saying a word. He's so focused Chishiya doubts he would even react if Chishiya said anything as it were anyways.

It's terrifying. Terrifying what Niragi causes in him, how he can fall for just the smallest gestures, that most of the time he knows exactly what Niragi's doing or what expression he's making even WITHOUT LOOKING. ( It's both flattering and infuriating the other man is just as skilled to be able to do the same with him. ) He shoves the thoughts away before he can dwell on it too long. He gathers up his blanket and moves to the kitchen to make his and Niragi's favorite drinks for the early morning. It doesn't take terribly long before Chishiya carefully carries Niragi's over and sets it on the desk. CLOSE TO BE SEEN, but not too close to be potentially knocked over or damage anything.

" Here. " His fingertips brush against Niragi's shoulder just enough to get his attention to the offering before he disappears back to the kitchen to get his own drink. He doesn't quite want to be caught admiring and being asked questions, so it's a momentary safety as he curls back up on the couch with his hot chocolate in hand. It's rich and sweet and just how he likes it. It's not like he has work. He could indulge in another minute or two of silent admiration. As long as he didn't get caught. ( Which would certainly end in his denial that might fool anyone else but wouldn't fool Niragi no matter how convincing. But that's what redirecting attention with a QUESTION was good for. )

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

(placeholder) Zen AU, drabble 1

-------------------------------------

Benta stepped lightly through the woods, which were surrounded by a perimeter he deemed safe. It included a rather ample expanse of land, such as the nearest empty city and its parks, as well as a stretch of wilderness and the routes nearby.

He was headed to the main clearing to check on his son and his friend Lumi. If...they could really be called friends. He knew the two of them met fairly often, but quite a few of their outings ended in arguments. More than Benta would like. Surely the other pokémon's mother wouldn't approve of that..?

All the same, he knew Zen wanted to be around the others. Having no other "mewtwos" around like himself made the boy want companionship with them. Benta knew he filled certain roles and holes in his son's life, but...fortunately, unfortunately, not that one. Not truly, in the way he understood as a key factor. Being that he was born and not made, he did not feel as though he could relate to Zen on that level. But, these others could.

So, he decided to allow the children to have their outings and simply look in on them from a distance from time to time so they could have their space. The cautious mother- whom he had never seen but did in fact notice- evidently had the same idea.

As long as Zen behaved, was duely careful, and expressed a desire for their presence, Benta planned to leave them be.

However...things did not seem to be going well at all today.

The older pokémon sensed a strong rise of distress, and the first thing he saw from where he stood among the trees was Lumi snarling at Zen. And all he heard were three words.

"You're a MONSTER!"

His son's sharp spur of internal pain stopped Benta entirely. Something inside him briskly and abruptly froze him like a shot. From here, he could feel the panic of the child's mother rise for having sensed it too. Lumi had gone too far.

Benta's eyes flashed in the shade.

That, he thought with a growl. Is Unacceptable.

---

Zen stared wide-eyed at Lumi, stunned as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He was mentally shaken, but, most of all...he was hurt.

Badly.

They had arguments and spats before over more than a handful of things, but...this one had gotten way out of hand. Then Lumi said that, and Zen was swiftly overwhelmed by all that implied. And all it resurfaced too...

Should he have seen this coming..? Probably...?

What...was he supposed to say...?

Suddenly the pressure in the atmosphere dropped, and a shadow fell over the young 'twos as if it had appeared out of nowhere with a gust of wind. Zen saw the abrupt shift of expression on Lumi's face into one of fear, and promptly looked back to see Benta towering over both of them, his right eye gleaming as cold as ice.

When did he get here?? Was he in trouble?? "D-dad, I--"

The much larger pokémon deftly stepped around Zen, raising a hand to silence him while he glared down at Lumi. "You are calling him a monster?" he asked lowly. As he approached, Lumi shrunk down and moved back with his tail fluffing out in uneasiness as his tone briefly shifted to a growl. "I promise you...You don't know the meaning of the word."

Benta lowered closer to Lumi's level, his muzzle scrunched without baring his teeth. He did know better than to show his fangs to a child, but that didn't mean he was any less angry. "The real monsters have taken everything. They still take everything. They are why we hide," he went on. "Their eyes and actions wreak of blood and nothing else. They consume all before them. And they have no feelings. No morals. No regrets. No remorse."

He picked up his left hand from where it had been hidden beneath his cloak, revealing that it was entirely robotic up to his shoulder as an unnatural synthetic limb. And he balled his hand into a tight fist as Lumi's eyes widened at the horrific sight of it. "All they want is control, even if it means sacrificing the free will and lives of others," Benta told him.

"I have seen those monsters, and fought them and their wretched pawns with my own hands until I was close to death," he growled. "I know Zen has made mistakes by their hands that he is not proud of. But until you have seen them yourself and stared that death in the face--"

Benta glared sharply into Lumi's own eyes. More than aware of the fear coming off of his mother in the distance as well. "You have no right to call my son a monster."

Tears welled up in Lumi's eyes, and his heart raced as he felt the intensity of the older pokémon's own hurt and anger.

It was too much for him...

He turned and fled, back to the other mewtwo who appeared and waited in the trees with bated breath until Benta straightened up and let his hackles fall. After all, with his origin, as well as strange and later augmented abilities, he was arguably stronger than she was. Any kind of fight between them would become dangerous very quickly.

Benta had no intention of pursuing or harming either of them, though. He did in fact know better, and didn't want to actually incite a serious conflict. Instead, with a final glance back he simply turned to leave, giving a decisive flick of his tail to instruct Zen to follow.

Zen was in shock himself, somehow having never expected Benta to follow him to one of his and Lumi's secret meetings. All he could do was curl his tail around himself and follow after him quietly with his gaze focused squarely on the ground. He didn't want to make his dad any angrier than he already was.

But still...

I'm so sorry, Lumi...

---

The two of them walked in silence for some time on their way back to the city, and all the while Zen couldn't make himself speak, and spent the silence wringing his hands uneasily. He was unable to bear the thought of meeting his adoptive father's disapproving eyes. Though, when he did manage to lift his gaze, he couldn't help but let it drift to Benta's back, and his left arm...

Of course it was synthetic now, but, it hadn't always been that way. The truth was, he lost that arm well over a year ago in a bad fight. And it had him laid up for weeks. Maybe months.

In fact...just like he told Lumi...it had almost been fatal.

And Zen was the one who did that to him.

When it happened he wasn't in his right mind or fully in control of himself, as a result of the humans that stole him from Benta as a cub. Nevertheless, and in spite of everything Benta had expressed to forgive him, Zen still hadn't forgiven himself. Even now, he felt utterly sick. About that, and everything his dad said to Lumi.

Mostly, because he didn't see how Lumi could possibly be wrong.

Zen's pace slowed, and before long he stopped and sat, curling in on himself without a word and burying his head under his arms.

Of course, Benta noticed and came to a pause. And he turned back to go check on him.

His tone, unlike earlier, was much softer. It wasn't filled with anger anymore like Zen expected, and was rather edged with concern. "What's the matter?" he asked carefully. "Is it because I interfered..?" When his only response was a subtle shake of Zen's head, tried again. "So...what is it then..?"

A moment passed, and Zen could only curl tighter on himself. A muffled sniff told Benta that he was crying. He took a deep breath and sighed, crouching down and bringing his tail forward to curl around his son's back. "You do not deserve to be treated that way," he said, referring to Lumi's initial insult and guessing that might be the reason. "I hope you know that."

"...yes I do," Zen whimpered, responding to the first part. "He was right, and you know it..."

"No, as a matter of fact I do not," he stated calmly. "What happened was not your choice. And I would never blame you."

"But why?" He looked up at Benta, his face wrought with grief. "It's not like I couldn't have stopped, and I didn't. Not even once. Not even when- w-when it was you," he cried.

Benta pulled Zen close and hugged him to his chest with his better arm. "Yes you did..." he said, quietly but confidently. "If you didn't, I would not be here. Neither would Lumi, or his mother."

"But--"

The older pokémon gently cut him off by hugging him tighter. "Stop. No 'buts.'" When Zen seemed to accept that, Benta continued. "You should not blame yourself for what happened when you were under the control of those who only wanted to use you, and forced you into thinking and acting in ways that were not right."

"I know that is hard to accept..." he added. "But I do know you better than you do. And you are not the monster they wanted you to be. You are free again to make that choice now, and be yourself. The you that existed before their influence. I know you can. And I know you can do better, and try to make amends for those things if you want to." Shifting back a little, he lifted Zen's face to meet his gaze. "However, you never have to apologize to me. I can be here for you again and protect you. That is enough. Okay..?"

When Benta let go, Zen rubbed at his face and feebly nodded, trying not to think about his claws. "But what about Lumi..?" he asked when he found his voice again. "I want to be his friend, but he'll never forgive me..." Now that he thought about it, his mom might not either.

"Sure he will. At least, eventually..." Benta assured. "Children tend to have a harder time understanding things than adults do, but in spite of what he said, I think he will be able to come around someday." When he felt as though things had settled enough to move on, he stood up and gestured for Zen to follow.

"Who knows. Maybe the next time you two meet he will have changed his tune," he added.

Zen snuffed and rubbed at his nose as he stood up too. "You got really mad at him though..." he pointed out.

"Yes, yes I did," Benta sighed as he cast his gaze to the side. "I will be owing his mother an apology for being hostile toward her young, even if it was deserved." He certainly couldn't deny that. "Though, for now, I believe it is best we give each other a proper distance."

He waited for Zen to come up beside him so they could walk together, and carefully placed his left hand on his son's head as a loving gesture. Even though it was only metal and circuits, somehow it was still warm.

"Now..." Benta said with an exhale. "Let's go home."

‐------------------------------------------------

Based on an au that @dingbat-things and I came up with for their zangoose/two OC Zen, and their art post -> here

As well as a distant continuation of that au started on my blog -> here.

Definitely hoping to do more with this in the future as things go along, perhaps as snippets, scribbles, and other drabbles.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Not sure if I’m doing this correctly but can you do a Drabble/continuation of the broken promise thing or the engie and pyro series I commented on please?

I did both. Here's the continuation of 'Broken Promise', next week's drabble will be a continuation of the Engie/Pyro one.

TF2 Drabbles: Heavy/Medic - Delayed But Promise Kept

[A/N] Context for other people this is a continuation of a thing I wrote for a Valentine's Week Angst Event (fic is called Valentine's Week Angst, chapter five: Broken Promise) in which Heavy had promised to come home to Medic but is instead revealed to have died in a plane crash. So this is a continuation of how he might've survived to keep that promise after all, squished down into a drabble because I take drabble requests, so obviously it had to be one.

~

There wasn’t much flotsam left from the plane crash but for every bit of it there was Heavy got a survivor onto it. How they were going to stay together, he left up them while he got more survivors. Of which there weren’t many, the crash killed a lot of them, the roiling waves, most of the rest, making the lack of floating debris not much of an issue.

What was an issue though was that even once they were all clinging to bits of wreckage, they were still stranded in the middle of the ocean. The storm was dying down but the waves were still tossing them about. It was cold too, nothing Heavy couldn’t fight through but it still made the situation that much more dire, even he would eventually succumb to it and the waves fighting to pull him under.

He wasn’t about to give up though or let his little group of survivors do so either. If he was going to die, he was going to die fighting.

~

If the island was inhabited none of its inhabitants left any sign of themselves on the beach so it might not be true salvation. Even if so, it was still far better than continuing to tread water.

Once on land and safely out of the tide’s reach, everyone flopped over to rest, too tired to do anything else. Except for Heavy. He forced himself up and set to tending to any injuries that needed tending to and prodding people into taking their wet clothing off and drying themselves as much as they could to prevent hypothermia. Without medical supplies he was limited on how much help he could actually offer but he’d spent enough time with Medic, listening to him talk medicine and assisting him in various ways, to be more than competent enough to handle this. Especially since anyone who’d sustained serious injuries hadn’t made it this far.

Once he was sure he’d done as much as he could do – and hopefully hadn’t forgotten anything important – Heavy finally sat down to rest himself. They needed to explore the island and hope civilization existed on it somewhere that would allow them to call for rescue. If such wasn’t the case they’d have to figure out what to do about food, shelter, and getting off some other way. That was for later though after at least a nap. Hopefully Heavy would be back home with Medic soon regardless.

~

The island was indeed uninhabited. Making Heavy’s hope of returning home soon far more difficult, maybe even impossible. He was going was going to get there eventually though because he was not going to slowly wither away on a deserted island. He’d survive for however long it took to get off and he was going to drag as many of the people with him as he could.

Other than that though, they were in luck. There was plenty of fresh water and even some fruit and wild animals to eat while they figured out how they were going to start catching fish to eat. So as bad as it was, it could’ve been far worse. Hopefully it would be enough.

~

It couldn’t have been much more than a week before someone floated the idea of creating a raft and rowing back to the mainland. As appealing of an idea as it was on the surface, that kind of thing was the stuff of fiction. In reality, they’d all die of dehydration long before they got anywhere. As the unquestioned leader – even if it wasn’t a role he’d asked for but had instead inadvertently taken on – everyone eventually acquiesced to Heavy’s insistence against that plan.

Which left them with nothing to do but to continue to survive and figure out a way to signal to any passing ships or planes to come rescue them. Easier said than done, especially with how much Heavy ached to be doing more, but if one plane had flown close enough for them to be able to swim here, eventually another one would too… hopefully.

~

Under Heavy’s directions, they eventually settled into a routine where three people at all times were watching for rescue. One with eyes on the sky for a plane, the other two patrolling either side of the island hoping to spot a passing ship.

For a long stretch of time nothing came of this. But then a ship passed, giving everyone hope right up until it became clear it was too far away to spot their signal fire. That meant there was traffic coming this way though and thus hope.

Hope that had almost dwindled out before another ship came by. This one turned towards them. Heavy didn’t dare let his hopes get too high though. Not until it became undeniable that the ship had not only seen their fire but was also responding to it. Rescue had come at last. He could finally go home to Medic. Hopefully Medic wouldn’t be too upset with him for taking so much longer than he’d promised it would.

[good-beanswrites]

So, uh, may I request a director's commentary on your attack against me?

Why do you do this to meeee (and masterminding everyone else!!) Lol, well thank you for the ask regardless -- drabble is under the cut with my little commentary in pink!

“Amane, you must – please – !” Shidou’s voice changed from pleading to an icy calmness. “Kazui, hold her still.” 

So uhh I made myself sad realizing that no one would speak respectfully to Amane in this state -- Shidou would either use a placating kid-voice or a completely detached doctor voice. Kazui and Mahiru would also be tempted to use a protective kiddy voice, or they just talk amongst themselves and not directly to her...

Amane struggled from his grasp, but there was no hope of success. Even if her little form stood a chance against Kazui’s strength, even if her uniform wasn’t locking her arms in place, she knew she would not manage to draw up any power with all this pain rocking through her body. Her chest stung so that she could hardly breathe. The throbbing from her right eye made her dizzy.

I'm pretty sure the pain would be so overwhelming that it would stop her on its own, but I wanted to point out that she has so many obstacles in her way -- it really does feel like everything in the universe is against her. I wanted to do a lot more with her relationship with her god in this piece (feeling like he isn't there because everything is against her) but it kept sounding detached from the action. I ended up focusing on her tangible relationships rather than spiritual ones

Through her spinning vision, she could see Fuuta nearby. She was struck with the selfish thought that she wished she couldn't. He looked awful. Shidou had rolled him over so he wasn’t lying facedown in blood, but it still clumped in his hair and over his eyes. His arm was stuck at an odd angle. 

RIP FUUTA SORRY I INCLUDED HIM DIEDED 😭 Though I did include it to drive home the fact that at this point, even though we the audience knows he makes it, Amane is convinced this is the end for him.

“No,” she gasped. “Stop…” 

It was unclear who she was commanding. Shidou? Fuuta? God? Maybe all at once. 

She doesn't blame Fuuta per se, but this and a later line hint that she sees him in control of his fate. She was taught that life or death has nothing to do with medicine -- it's willpower and spirit -- so she's urging him to live as if it's something he can control for her sake. Similarly, she's feeling like she can control her own safety, as long as she makes god happy in these moments (which she currently thinks she's failing at by "letting" Shidou do his work)

The room wobbled as a wave of pain washed over her. Shidou’s hands were around her face. Though seeking her eye, he may as well have been covering her mouth with how suffocating it felt. Amane shook her head violently back and forth in an attempt to stop him.

I love Shidou but he definitely needed to be painted very villainous in this. Amane isn't one of his typical patients, and what would be really comforting to anyone else (speaking with calm precision, having strong and unshakable movements, reassuring hands offering care) is really traumatizing to someone who sees it as condemnation to hell :(

There was the ceiling – then Shidou’s face, far too close – a blood-spattered wall – Fuuta’s ginger hair caked in blood – the ceiling – intense gray eyes – the wall – a broken arm – ceiling – scowling lips – wall – ginger fur caked in blood – ceiling – a screaming mouth – blood-spattered floor – a paw bent the wrong way – ceiling – green eyes filled with fire – 

Crazy about the cat parallels!!! She is reliving her dooming moment over and over again! She cannot escape her "mistake"!! She will forever be haunted by that day, and it's repeating itself a little too perfectly for her liking!! Oh hey do we know what color Ms Momose's eyes are? I figured green was a safe bet

A hand clamped down on her head to keep her still. Her vision swam. She released a cry of anguish. The others probably thought it was from the pain, but she knew how to bite her tongue through pain. No, this was utter frustration.

Obligatory reminder that she's used to physical abuse because I hate myself apparently. I also wanted to highlight that there's a big gap of understanding between her thoughts and everyone else's

Then came a glimmer of hope. An angel.

Mahiru stood over her. Amane only had so many people left in this world who treated her kindly, didn't lead her towards sinfulness... and weren’t beaten to death. With the recent turn of events, Mahiru may be the only one left. 

Between the cat, her mother, and Fuuta, this girl has witness a lot of bloody beatings :( It's impressive she still likes cute things and has fun, colorful dreamscapes seeing how dark things have been to this point in her life

There was some arguing as Mahiru was told to leave, but she convinced the others to let her stay by Amane’s side. She smiled, though tears streaked down both her cheeks.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

That was it. Mahiru had been sent to save her. Everything would be alright.

Shidou’s tone was as cold as the disinfectant he was applying. “Tell her to hold still.”

Mahiru gave her a gentle nod. “Please, you have to listen to him.”

And just like that, the breath was knocked from her lungs. As quickly as her savior had come, she disappeared. Mahiru had turned against her, for the sake of that damned doctor.

Now Amane had nobody left in the world.

I'm still not sure if this part hit the way I wanted to, but at least writing it, I was struck with that gut-wrenching shock of betrayal. Mahiru, who always let other people stick to their beliefs and codes, is turning against her in her darkest moment.

She lashed out one last time before her injuries overtook her completely. Her adrenaline was receding.

“This is for your own good.”

It wasn’t. 

She’d experienced things for her own good. When her mother punished her, she’d repeat the reason for it over and over. When her father brought down his wrath, Amane knew exactly why he was doing so. Her teachers would ask her, when they’d finished giving out their discipline, if she’d learned her lesson. It made sense. It was fair.

Trying to build up a painful dissonance between making the reader think "yeah, this isn't for her own good!! Please, stop doing this to her!! She's right!!" and being plagued with "oh god that wasn't for her own good either... oh... she's not right about that..."

There was no lesson here. 

I was tempted to go into detail that technically Kotoko tried to offer a lesson, and drag the reader through all the awful things Kotoko told her while beating her up, but Amane wouldn't see that as a lesson, either, thinking she and Es are mislead. Including all that for no reason would have just ruined the flow of these paragraphs, but I was sad thinking of what she must have been yelling at Amane, much like her abusers...

One must work towards holiness. Amane had been working her whole life. She’d fought to learn from each punishment. She tried so hard to be good. But now, there was nothing to learn, nothing to strive for. There was nothing at all. Yuzuriha Kotoko was killing her, Kajiyama Fuuta was leaving her, Kirisaki Shidou was dooming her, Shiina Mahiru was betraying her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do. 

Hopelessness was a trial all on its own.

This last line read "Unfairness" until literally two minutes before I posted asdfsd. I was worried it was too melodramatic to say hopelessness, but unfairness kept bugging me since it was SUCH an understatement 😭I figured it was better to lean into the drama than not do her pain justice. I was already drilling it in with that last paragraph summary, so I wanted to keep saying things exactly as they were.

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

'Life' as a Ghost Drabbles: Frozen

Summary: Hat Kid is in some kind of danger. Angry Protective Dadcher.

~

In hindsight perhaps messing around in Vanessa’s manner had been a bad idea. But how was Hat Kid supposed to have known she’d sense her even while she’d tried to hide in the shadows? And how was she supposed to know Vanessa could freeze her in a block of ice? She was a ghost, she should be able to phrase through it but couldn’t! Though that likely had to due with the fact the ice was magical in nature. Which she’d known going in and thus could’ve perhaps predicated if she’d thought about it a bit more.

The ice was cold, almost painfully so. On one hand she hadn’t felt such intense physical sensations since her death. On the other though, the longer she stayed trapped within it, the more that ‘almost’ inched into being an actuality.

It was cloudy and warped too, making it difficult to see through. Of what little she could make out of the world around her she could only really determine that it was dark and that she was probably still inside the house. She’d been in the foyer when she’d been frozen but… was she still there or had Vanessa moved her? As a ghost and thus no need for a sense of balance, would she feel it if it got moved?

If she screamed would anyone hear her? Could she scream? She couldn’t open her mouth but as a ghost she shouldn’t need to in order to make sounds. But what if she was frozen so tight she couldn’t even…

Something moved outside of her prison of ice. What it was was impossible to tell other than that it was a big. Probably a good sign though, right? Because Snatcher was big and thus it might be him coming to save her! … Or, it was Vanessa because she was big too.

Hat Kid tried again to do something, anything; move, use magic to melt the ice or even just levitate it or something else. All to no avail. She was trapped.

A few minutes of nothing happened before the large shape outside returned. What little of the outside world she could see past it changed, going from dark interior of a house to purple. Snatcher’s pocket dimension? She was saved?

The ice cracked around her, loud enough to make her flinch. Something she could do again as its cracking had loosened enough to allow her to move again at long, long last. She wriggled and squirmed pushing at it until, finally, it fell away, freeing her.

She shot out of it as soon as she could, putting space between her and it until she felt safe. The cold was gone but, the remembrance of it was enough to have her pulling her arms in she hugged herself as she looked up at Snatcher. He had indeed pulled her into his pocket dimension.

“What the heck were you thinking, kid?” he said as as he glared down at her. “Why would you think going into Vanessa’s manor was a good idea? I’d ask if you have a death wish but you’re already dead so you were clearly just being an idiot.”

Normally when he scolded her she put up a defense. Even when it was deserved she always had proper justification that should’ve eased the scolding a bit. This time though, even if she had justification, she had to admit it hadn’t been enough. As soon as it had occurred to her, she hadn’t given the move any thought whatsoever, just blindly assuming it’d be fine. A very idiot thing to do for sure.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me.”

Snatcher opened his mouth as if to reply but stopped as he squinted down at her suspiciously. “Are you seriously hurt and traumatized or are you just finally admitting I’m right about something without trying to justify yourself for once?”

“Um… the second one.” It had been a bad experience and if left in such a state for long, it would’ve quickly grown far worse, but she was all right now. “You’re right. It was a dumb thing to do and I shouldn’t have.”

“All right, good. Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” Not until she was powerful enough to fight back properly. How long would that take though?

“What were you even trying to do?”

“I was gonna pull a prank on her and annoy her for being so horrible. I thought because I was a ghost she wouldn’t be able to see me or do anything to me so I could mess with her as much as I wanted and she’d never be able to do anything about it.”

“Nah, kid, that’s not how these things work. It’s only physical things that can’t hurt us, magic still can.”

“That is obvious in hindsight, huh? Thanks for saving me.”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t make a habit out of getting in trouble just because I came to save you this once.” Trying to imply he wouldn’t come to save her again was futile, they both knew he would. Though, she did intend not to get in such trouble again if she could help it, she’d rather be able to save herself.

[alphareleasemedia]

Daily Drabble Project May 1-10

5/1/23 Great waves crashed upon the shore in the dimming light of the day's end. In the distance the great lighthouse towered over the sea, its shining light spilling out over the dark and troubled water. Mitsy stumbled towards it as quickly as her tired and soaked body could take her. She was caught between the fierce waves and the jagged rocks that lined the beach, ever aware that one strong wave could end it all. At the bottom of a cliff, atop which the lighthouse stood, Mitsy paused for a moment to catch her breath. Then she began to climb.

5/2/23 Zuzu drifted sleepily down the dark hallways of her home and into the kitchen. The fridge blinded her with its heavenly light as she swung open the door. As her vision slowly returned to her Zuzu scanned the fridge for easy targets. Easy targets like the blackberries she finished off, or the honey baked ham lunch meat that she scarfed down one slice after another till she'd finished that too. Zuzu's 2 a.m. cravings still not satisfied she searched fervently for what else she could feast on with no effort. At last, Zuzu reached for the bag of shredded cheese.

5/3/23 I thought about calling up Dimple to ask him if he wanted to come over that evening and hangout. We could play video games or watch a movie or just sit on the porch and talk about nothing for hours like we could do sometimes. Ultimately, I decided not to. As much as I enjoyed hanging out with Dimple, I didn't think it was company, his or anyone's, that I was craving. I was quite excited to have the house to myself for the evening actually. But still a certain restlessness itched in my mind. A need I couldn't name.

5/4/23 Hara wasn't sure what she wanted for her birthday. Like, sure, she could ask for a bunch of stuff, but then she'd have a bunch of stuff. And then what would she do with it? She already had a bunch of stuff. Did she really need more? But she couldn't just tell people not to get her anything for her birthday. Even if she really didn't want anything and everyone knew that they'd probably still feel weird about not getting her anything. Which was dumb but true. And besides, some people just loved giving presents. It was a whole thing.

5/5/23 Pepper came by today to check on me. I told her I was fine and managing well enough on my own. She seemed skeptical but she didn't visit for too long. At the very least she was convinced that I had more than enough food to keep me fed for a while. Thankfully she didn't bring more to add to the growing pile. While I'm grateful for everyone's concern I feel like I'm starting to drown in it. Everyone is so eager to be helpful, I have no time to myself. What I wouldn't give for just a little quiet.

5/6/23 Simpkey had to consider his options carefully. For as much as everyone assured him there was no wrong choice, he knew there decidedly was. Several, in fact. He just didn't know what they were. The main problem, ultimately, was that there were far too many options. Simpkey had tried to narrow the field, but his companions gave him no additional information to aid in that endeavor. Save for what he already knew of their own personal tastes to eliminate the obvious. There was nothing for it. Simpkey would just have to pick a bad movie and face his friends' displeasure.

5/7/23 Yossy, Hossy, and Lossy set out from home one fine morning to go visit their Aunt. The sky was blue, the trees were green, and birds sang merrily as the three sisters walked along. Yossy loved birds and stopped to listen to their song. Hossy loved trees and as she walked beneath their branches she was overcome with a desire to climb up into them. Lossy hated being outside in the sun for too long, and so she hurried along to her Aunt's as quickly as possible and never noticed that she had lost her sisters somewhere along the way.

5/8/23 Deedle chewed on his fingernails as he watched the race. Not from nerves though. Nail biting was just a bad habit of his that Deedle had never been able to break. He was actually very calm about the race, giving way to his gross habit more from boredom than anything. The problem was that Deedle just couldn't get excited about watching a bunch of cars going round and round in their little circle. It wasn't half as interesting as the movies had promised him it would be. He really couldn't understand all the people watching with great excitement and energy.

5/9/23 The mountain loomed majestically in the background. Looking so much like it was doing its best to mimic a postcard or perhaps a travel brochure. Yes, the landscape was amazing and beautiful to look at, but that was just appearances. The reality of it all was much less picturesque. The delightful greenery was home to about a million and one mosquitos all ready to suck a man dry. But there were much larger terrors looming in the trees. Hungry beasts with razor teeth and giant claws. To say nothing of the vicious prehistoric behemoths that roamed fearlessly wherever they pleased.

5/10/23 The little bird hopped around in the grass. He was looking for worms. The sun had barely risen and the air was still gray and full of mist. The dirt was damp and cool beneath the little bird's feet. The soil was soft and loose and easy for him to thrust in his beak to retrieve his breakfast. The little bird was not alone in his early morning endeavor. Other little birds flitted about nearby, also looking for breakfast. Up above them in the trees the doves cooed sleepily to each other and the song birds heralded the new day.

[cotillion-the-rope]

Shade Lord Ghost Drabbles: Saw Blades

Summary: Ok now im curious, i dont know if you already did this, but i wonder is there was a senerio where ghost got reminded of the freaking saw blades from the white palace and just has a ptsd war flashbacks of dying in the path of pain like 87 times

~

Naturally when moved to the Dream Realm and left there for so long, the White Palace had changed quite drastically. The Pale King’s strong desire to keep himself safe and hidden, his secrets even more so, had filled the place with deadly traps and twisted its halls into an inhospitable mess. Reaching in and forcefully pulling it back out into the physical realm fixed some of that but not all of it.

Thanks to the strength of the Pale King’s magic many of the spike traps and saws were still present, no longer in perpetual motion or floating but still very sharp. The halls and rooms were perhaps back to their old layout but having never known what that was, Ghost had no way to know that for sure. They were different for sure though, laid out more like one would expect a palace’s interior to be. Just littered with spikes and saw blades.

With the different layout, finding the secret passage took some time but Ghost did eventually find it. Too large to fit in, they had to flow through the hole in liquid form, taking shape again on the other side. There was barely enough room for them if they hunched.

This area was the most different. It was a secret corridor, perhaps meant to make moving through the White Palace unseen. Ghost could traverse it to see but like the palace proper, the magical spike and saw blades had been pulled through as well, filling the corridor to either side with sharp metal.

It couldn’t hurt them anymore. Even made from magic, Ghost was too strong for it to be much of an issue. They could easily flow their form right through all of it. But… gosh the saw blades had hurt so much when they’d been contained to their old vessel. They’d cut through their carapace with ease, spilling their void out. And the spikes moved with enough force to impale their little body.

Navigating the palace proper hadn’t been too bad, just a few painful deaths here and there. This secret passage though had been something else entirely. The only place they’d died more had been that final Pantheon. They could’ve left of course but they’d needed to know what was at the other end, what the Pale King had wanted to hide and protect even more than his own throne room. Whether it had been worth it or not Ghost still wasn’t sure.

One thing for sure that wasn’t worth it though was their search for this place after the decision to draw the White Palace back into the physical realm. There was nothing for them here not except remainders of pain and suffering. The memory of it all weighed on the place pressing down on them with an almost palpable force.

They teleported out before it got to be too much, landing themself in the Void Sea. A part of them now, it was agitated, almost broiling. They settled into it, focusing on the feel of its distant shores. Places far, far away in some cases. They still hadn’t popped up at any of them, they were too fond of having friends around and those places, if containing any life whatsoever, would all be strangers. One day though they would. Today they were just relaxing, letting their vastness wash away the memory of saw blades and spike traps.

[lvsamine]

Lusamine paused, glancing up from her paperwork with furrowed brows. It was faint, and she wondered for a moment if it had even been real, but... She thought she heard something like an explosion. While there was a moment of worry, it soon dissipated as she rationalized that it really couldn't have been anything like that - Heating and electrical had their bi-yearly fix-up last month, and there weren't any Pokemon in the facility that had Self-Destruct or Explosion...

She couldn’t finish her thought. When a long unused alarm began blaring, after having the daylights scared out of her, Lusamine's heart practically stopped. Eyes widening, blood turning cold, she pondered for a second how something could be both nostalgic and horrifying.

The Ultra Beast alarm was going off.

“President Lusamine!!” A voice suddenly called from her intercom, sounding just as panicked as she felt. “Lusamine!! Are you there?!”

“Yes,” Her voice shook. “Yes, I'm here. What's going on?”

“It's – It's UB-01! It's Nihilego, the – the one from Ultra Space!! It's gone! It's trying to escape!!” It took a little too long for the words to properly register, the feeling of dread that flooded her senses overwhelming her mind to the point of short-circuiting. Nihilego... Her Nihilego... The one that had been trapped in a safe for three years? It's trying to escape?

“What the fuck do you mean it's trying to escape?” She suddenly snapped, her entire body beginning to shake. “How did it get out of its ball?! Who let it out?!” Her breath hitched as her heart skipped a beat, the overload of emotions aggravating her heart's rhythm.

“N-No one! It just – It just got out! We don't – We don't know how! Please, Lusamine, we need help! It's attacking ever – yo – in the secre – abs! Ple – lp us ...”

“What happened? Are you there?” A pause, with no response. “Answer me!” The intercom turned into indecipherable static, and she smashed her fits against her desk in frustration. It didn't matter, enough had been said for Lusamine to know that everyone in the secret labs was in danger. Standing quickly and grabbing Zinnia's Pokeball, she bolted out of her office, nothing but adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins.

It feels like an eternity before she reaches her destination, the descent of the elevator slowly revealing the damage that her precious beast had caused – The door to Secret Lab A had been blown open, shrapnel and debris littering the ground and no doubt destroying any information that had been kept in there. Several employees had been knocked unconscious, with only one trying to command his Pokemon to attack the Ultra Beast, to do anything to stop whatever rampage it was on.

Things fell unnaturally silent when the elevator hit the ground, Lusamine's horrified gaze falling onto Nihilego, and time seemed to stop. The beast that she'd loved so, so much – Her beast, her precious beast that she did absolutely anything to be with, the beast she would have died for, had it wanted such a thing... For the first time in three long, painful, and lonely years... The two gazed at one another, as if they were the only two in the room – The only two in the world.

It saw her, and she knew that it recognized her. Its previous tantrum had come to a complete stop, and now it was facing her. Its two front tendrils nudged against each other, like a timid child fiddling with their hands, and Lusamine nearly threw up right then and there. Her breath kept catching as her heart pumped irregularly, her frame visibly trembling, unable to move, to release Zinnia, to subdue Nihilego for the safety of Alola...

She'd been so ready to fight it off, and now she found herself completely paralyzed at the mere sight of it.

The beast moved. Slowly, it floated a little closer to her, oddly cautious about what Lusamine might do. With its back fully turned, the employee commanded his Kadabra to strike it with a Psybeam. The beast quickly whipped around and fired off a Sludge Wave, the toxic gunk sinking into Kadabra's skin before it had a chance to do anything. It let out a strange, alien screech that no one could possibly decipher, but both Lusamine and her employee understood the message – It was a warning, don't interfere. She could only stare in abject horror as her precious beast turned back to face her, the halls eerily silent once again.

It was so close. No more than a foot away from her, Nihilego hovered in place, tilting its head and fiddling with its tentacles again... It almost looked like it felt shy. It recognized her, she was absolutely certain now... Why had it escaped? How had it escaped? Why was it doing this? What did it want from her? Why was it acting so sheepish? Why couldn't she move? Why couldn't she speak? Why was she reacting like this? Why? Why? Why why why whywhywhywhy-

“Ah...!”

Her stomach dropped when one of those cold tendrils lifted to gently touch her face. The softness of the gesture, how careful it was not to hurt her, how it resembled a loved one affectionately cupping her face... Her dull green eyes quickly welled up, and it took almost nothing for them to overflow. There was so much happening in her head, to the point that it felt like her brain might shut down. Lusamine was happy, she was sad, confused, shocked, filled with love, filled with hate, and she was so, so scared. The cascade of tears gave away everything she felt.

The stiff, slow, robotic movements of her arm breaking free from her frozen state was almost a surprise to her. It felt so unnatural that she wondered if she was imaging it, but the sharp jolt that came with touching something as cold as Nihilego felt far too real. Just as its touch had been, Lusamine's was tentative, almost reluctant, but there wasn't an ounce of animosity to be found. They gazed at each other silently while her tears continued to spill, but before too long, the Ultra Beast let out another strange and distorted screech.

This one was quiet, soft, and though she didn't know exactly what it was saying, she knew that it was something kind – Her heart wanted to believe it was kind. A hello, a goodbye, an 'I missed you', any sign of affection to let her know that Nihilego still loved her.

The tentacle slowly moved down her face, before Nihilego retracted it and put some distance between them. There was a wet, almost slimy residue left on her skin, and as her crying slowly became more and more hysterical, the more it seemed to burn.

Then, suddenly, the air behind Nihilego split, as if a knife had cut open the very fabric of space. She knew what was happening far before it opened completely – Yet, as the wormhole fully formed and Nihilego began to drift towards it, she still found herself unable to act. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't do a single fucking thing to stop her precious beast from leaving, to end up who knows where, to be on the loose in Alola once again.

All Lusamine could do was watch as Nihilego vanished into the wormhole, disappearing from Aether Paradise. The wormhole sealed itself back up, and just like that...

It was gone.

Her weakened knees finally caved in, and she collapsed to the ground, staring blankly at where her precious beast had been moments ago.

“M-Miss Lusamine!” The employee that had tried to protect her earlier suddenly sprinted up to her, now that there wasn't the threat of an Ultra Beast attacking him. “Lusamine, are you okay?! What – What happened? What was that?!” He kneeled down next to her, obvious concern on his face as he checked her for wounds.

She couldn't speak. In a moment of vulnerability, of genuine fear and infatuation – In a moment of weakness, she didn't do the one thing she needed to. She didn't protect her staff. She didn't stop Nihilego, she didn't even try to fight it. Zinnia's ball was still in her hand, her grip far too tight, so angry that she couldn't do something as simple as throwing it to let her Bewear take down the beast. Now, because of her... Because of Lusamine, the entire region was in danger. For the first time in years, that parasitic Ultra Beast was a threat to the entirety of Alola.

“Lusamine...?” The employee's voice was softer this time, likely in response to her growing distress. She opened her mouth, as if to respond, but all that came out was a horribly pathetic whimper before she caved into herself.

“H-Hey, Lusamine...” A gloved hand placed itself on her back, which she didn't acknowledge at all. The fact that she wasn't alone barely mattered in this moment, but god she would hate herself later for being this disgustingly pitiful in front of someone else.

Why couldn't she do anything? Why was she still so captivated by its beauty? Why was she so scared?

It was too much.

All Lusamine could do in this moment was cry.

[missmonsters2]

hii can i pls request part 2 to the collage au with nat, “What's one little kiss between friends?"

But of course !!

ii. What’s One Little Kiss Between Friends

ii: comfort by the fireplace

Part 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Note: Drabble. College AU set. Feel free to request the next part !

Count: < 1K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha’s grandmother may have been the sole shining light for the redhead before you came into her life.

The old woman was boisterous and warm, nothing like Natasha’s mother, who was reserved and poised, or her father, who was cold and strict.

So, of course, it was only natural for Natasha to feel like her world became a little dimmer when her grandmother passed away.

The funeral was somber, something Natasha said her grandmother would’ve hated. She tried to make up for it by staying much longer after everyone left to give a real eulogy that her grandmother would’ve loved.

You stand by Natasha the entire time, holding her hand tightly because that’s what best friends do. You keep her company through the wake when she must stand for hours on end as people who mean nothing to her greet her and tell her they’re sorry for her loss right before they try to ask about her family’s business.

You keep her company by staying the night at her massive family estate house across the hall, even though the place makes your skin crawl.

Now, you lie in a bed that doesn’t belong to you and is much too soft to be comfortable with silk sheets you’re not used to.

And you can’t sleep.

It’s nothing more than a gut feeling if anything. An intuition that you’ve somehow developed over the years.

Knowing that the feeling won’t go away, you let out a huff of breath as you get up, silently opening your bedroom door. You walk past Natasha’s room without a second thought as you carefully walk down the cold steps to the main floor.

The library was located in the far back, the doors just barely open as you peek inside. Just like your gut feeling said, you could see Natasha seeing in front of the fireplace on the lush fur carpet.

You carefully entered in, shutting the door quietly as you joined her. You plopped down, shoulder bumping against hers as you nestled in.

Without any words, Natasha shared her blanket with you, huddling you into her warmth and sadness.

You don’t say anything; you’re not really sure what you could say.

“Why are you up?” Natasha asked softly.

“You’re up,” you mumbled as if it was a sufficient answer, but Natasha seemed to understand.

Silence fell between the two of you again.

The only thing you could do was slip your arm around Natasha’s as you laced your fingers together. The actions speak louder than anything, and it makes Natasha spill things to you that she could never tell anyone else.

“I think my grandmother was the only saving grace that kept me from becoming like my parents. Spending the one week I usually got with her in the summer was always a reminder that I could be more than my parents—that in my DNA, there was more than being cold and efficient,” Natasha muttered quietly as she stared into the fireplace. “Now she’s gone and I’m—worried. What if I become like my parents?”

You wondered what the hell Natasha’s even talking about. You’re confused as hell because what does she mean by cold? You could testify right now that her hands were warm, that her body heat was better than anything the fireplace could do. Everything about Natasha Romanoff was warm.

But you’ve met Natasha’s parents—and there’s a part of you that understands why Natasha worries.

You gripped her hand a little tighter.

“Nat,” you mutter quietly, just for her ears. “Your grandmother was a lovely person, you definitely take after her. Even if she’s gone, you’re still going to be that person you want to be because it’s you. You’re the one who decides if you’re going to be more or not. You’re the one who always decides to be warm, kind, sarcastic, lively, and funny. You decide when to be reserved and efficient. These things you’re worried about, they’re not bad things because you’re a good person. You’re nothing like your parents, do you understand me?”

Natasha merely turned her head as she stared at you, the fireplace reflecting in the corner of her eyes. Something inside her chest vaguely feels choked and tangled up, threatening to crawl its way into her throat.

The truth of the matter is that Natasha isn’t too worried that she’ll turn into her parents with her grandmother gone. After all, she has you. As long as she has you, she’ll be okay.

But Natasha needed something more—her eyes flickered down to your lips.

That’s right, Natasha thought distantly as she leaned over.

What’s one little kiss between friends?

Your lips are soft—sweet, even. But there’s something else. Something that can’t be tasted and only felt in Natasha’s heart.

Comfort. Reassurance.

Your eyes fluttered open when Natasha pulled back, and she wondered if she’d have to explain or apologize. But you merely sigh with content as you rest your head against her shoulder.

“Are you tired?” Natasha asked softly.

You hummed. “Yes, but let’s fall asleep here. It’s way better than the posh bed upstairs.”

Part 3