#cobalt is like that though i think. just happy to be here

[i3utterflyeffect]

Cobalt really likes to be held and carried. It will fall asleep almost immediately in most baby carriers.

Also is really small, even compared to most stick babies. Sometimes its older siblings will joke that it's like a ragdoll.

i feel like cobalt/plushie would be one of those babies who is COMPLETELY different from how their older siblings were. Scarlet and Onyx and SC were all a little needy but you can just pick up Cobalt and They Are Out

[titsthedamnseason]

it’s not funny anymore. i need xander and spencer’s book

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

moonshine leaks in through the window blinds.

suguru is undressing, sluggishly, in the dim darkness of your bedroom. he is weary; as are you. it’s been a long, long day, celebrating in the morning, in the evening, going to the spring festival downtown and grabbing hotpot with satoru and shoko right after — stopping by their favorite bar before finally heading home. fatigue drags your bones against soft flooring, as you rummage through his closet, pull your worn hoodie over your head and let it fall to the floor. 

suguru’s birthday is always eventful. your boyfriend is a well-loved man, after all; no less by you than anyone else. it’s been worth it, worth every ache in your joints, to see him smile and scoff and swallow down mouthfuls of soba and cake. to see him a little sheepish, a little tipsy, a little more open with his heart than usual. sweetness brings it out of him. 

(you’re happy, that this year was a success as well.)

a low groan. you turn your head, to watch as he cranes his neck, stretches his arms, as the muscles of his bicep coil and twitch under the linen of his shirt. as he slips out of it, lets his hair fall, a hair tie slipping down to rest around his wrist. his roots must ache, by now — you wonder if he’ll let you massage his scalp, just to help him unwind. but suguru gets restless after being pampered for too long. could barely stop himself from pouring your drink, over and over, carrying you the last bit home even though his own legs must have yearned for respite too.

sometimes, you want to ask him — can you please just let me love you?

(his answer is usually a smile.)

”god,” comes the voice of an angel, raspy and sweet. the heel of his palm meets the blade of his shoulder, digs into the skin as if to soothe it. ”’m exhausted.”

a smile tugs your lips up, blooms like a peach tree and flutters in tune with your heartbeat. you put your arms through the gaps of an oversized tee, press your nose against the fabric and inhale, the scent of laundry detergent and musk soothing your muddled senses. after pulling it over your head, you’re left in nothing but your boxers and his shirt. it makes him melt, you’re more than aware. when your hair is tousled, from the midnight air and satoru’s restless hand — when you’re engulfed in nothing but him.

”well, we walked a lot,” you exhale, sending him a sweetened glance. he returns it with a huff. 

”talked a lot, too,” he mutters, too tired to sound as displeased as he’d probably like. you drink in the sight of his skin under lunar light, lap up the excess cobalt, swallow softly. ”why is it that all my energy magically drains as soon as satoru’s involved…?”

”he loves you,” you supply, not-so-helpfully. ”he just hasn’t had a chance to bug you in a while, i guess.”

a scoff. 

”he has a funny way of showing it…”

suguru unbuckles his belt, kicks off his jeans, and slumps back on the bed with a silent sigh — the mattress creaks beneath his weight, allows him to get comfortable on the very edge. gazing at you, patiently, spheres of rusted-gold through lidded eyes. heavy with what you know to be fatigue.

he pats his lap, one heavy hand. 

”come here, sweetheart.”

(his voice alone melts you down to the marrow. sweet and smooth, roughed up from the outing; the purr of a needy cat, silken sheets and jasmine buds.)

a moth to a flame, or a lamb to a knife — you are pliant as you move towards your lover. weak, as you tuck your legs over his knees and slide into his lap.

an inhale. he buries his face in your shirt, his shirt — smiles, noses against your pulsepoint and the tender valley of skin between your jaw and shoulder. engraves your scent into his being.

”i love you,” he whispers, a low lull of his tongue. a kiss against your neck. ”thank you for today.”

the words have left you long before your mind tugs at your lips. ”i love you too, sugu.” you nuzzle against his locks, relish as they tickle your sensitive skin. ”i don’t think i did much, though…”

”no?” you hear the smile, the hint of a chuckle, even as he lifts his fingers to pinch your little nose. ”you don’t think so, silly?”

he tuts — eyes gleaming under artificial light, the lamp on your nightstand. 

”even made me breakfast.”

”… it turned out so-so.”

an exhale, at your little frown. humoured, your mind supplies, if a little exasperated. he clicks his tongue, rubs his thumb over the bridge of your nose before letting go. ”it was lovely,” he corrects. ”you’re lovely.”

and you know that he’s displeased. you know by the way he says it, how softly he shuts you down and guides you in the right direction, lips smearing kisses on your vulnerable skin as if reproaching you. he’s sleepy, can’t help but be lazy, no less thorough in his mission. has no mercy for your jaw, or collarbone, or neck. you’re shivering, shaky sighs slipping out — curling your arms around his neck and angling your head to give him more room to work with. he can be greedy, tonight, you don’t mind. whatever he wants. his fingers find solace in the plushness of your hips, squeezes softly, molds the flesh. a silent thank you. 

for what, you wonder.

melting when your skin meets his? letting him touch you like this? trusting him to do it gently?

your mind is tangled up in knots. just letting him love you, hold you close, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt — ba-dump, ba-dump, like waves crashing into shore. you hope he cannot hear the constant patter of your own; hope he cannot sense the prickling of your nerves. he might think the night is over, but you still have something more to offer.

… or, at least you should.

it’s nerve-racking. your heartbeat knocks at your ribs, sticks its head out to ask how you’ve been. better, you’d like to say. a lot less close to passing out. silly, silly body, never letting you get off easy — never being of any use. it shouldn’t be this scary, not even close. you know your lines. you’ve practiced all week. but it is, and it’s paralyzing, and suguru is so tired he’s just gnawing at your earlobe now. 

clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers.

(you wish it was easier to say what’s inside.)

”i… have another present,” you mumble, finally, into his hair. as if that will muffle it. swirling a lock around your finger, playing with it to ease your mind.

suguru blinks. you feel the flutter of his eyes against your skin, the ghosts of pretty raven lashes. he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes — watching you, closely, to see what you mean. attentive. 

there’s a certain look in his eyes.

”… more?” he asks, voice scraping against the walls of his throat, the buzzing of a dragonfly. he slips a hand under your shirt, curls it around your naked waist to tug you closer, keep you safe and still. ”haven’t i been spoiled enough, today?”

he’s smiling. you don’t think he knows what you mean, but he must sense your hesitance. keeps his hand on your hip, rubs comforting circles into your skin, seems to delight in the way your body can’t help but tremble all while leaning into it. stupid, beautiful suguru, stupid wandering hands. he’s only making your heartbeat sputter more. 

it’s too difficult. even after that peptalk with satoru and shoko, you can’t find the words you need. 

finding a birthday gift for suguru is always a hurdle. every single year. you can never decide on what to go for, never settle for just one thing — because he’d be happy with anything, you know that, but it’s not enough when you’re as smitten as you are. when all you want is to give him something that will make him smile brighter than ever, a smile that’s just for you.

what would make him the happiest? what do you want to tell him, more than anything? 

you always agonize over it, sure, but this year…

(even if it’s a little much, you —)

”haha… well…” 

you shift on his lap, tuck your thighs around his waist, just needing stability. and it’s muscle memory, your skin against his, bodies molding together like liquidated gold. he watches you, patiently — doesn’t rush or force the words out. a sun god in your room, on your bed. tangled up in sheets he washed for you. 

a sliver of sunshine, that belongs only to you.

what is there to say?

even now, you can’t uncap the lid over your heart. your hands are too shaky to dust off the longing. if you could, you’d say something like: 

i love you, i love you, i love you.

i want to wash your hair, and kiss your eyelids when you sleep, and scrub the rot from off your bones. i don’t want to care about what anyone else thinks. 

i could tell you i love you a million times.

also, do you want to get married? 

i know i’ve made you wait — you always wait so patiently — but would you mind?

would you be mine forever? 

a sudden sting. your teeth sink into your bottom lip, as if to silence your own thoughts, the phantom taste of heavy iron blooming on your tongue. slick vines wrap themselves around your teeth and sew your mouth shut. no words, no breaths, no nothing. 

just clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers. 

(you wish you could be kinder to the monster in your ribs.)

”… tomorrow,” you sigh, at last, the word forcing its way through your throat. you slump your cheek against his forehead, fleeing from his prying gaze, the question on your mind. ”… you’ll get it tomorrow.”

(shoko’s voice rings in your ear. coward, she’d say. loser, satoru would add. they’d be right.)

stupid, silly heartbeat. beating so loudly you can’t even find your voice. 

but suguru only smiles.

”… not today?” he brushes against your bottom lip, traps it between his thumb and pointer finger. tilts his head, softly. ”did you change your mind?”

you melt, into his touch, head dipping forward. 

”… just wanna wait a little longer,” you sigh, a little shaky, feeling sheepish. ”is… that okay?”

”of course.” his answer comes as soon as you ask. 

as natural as breathing.

mwah. his lips meet yours, chaste and sweet, gone as soon as you’ve thought to lean into it. ”i’ll always wait for you,” he says. ”you know that, don’t you?”

(you do.)

a silent nod. he seems to note your sour mood, the ghost of a pout on your lips. because he chuckles, that familiar purr-like rasp, falling backwards and tugging you with him — pushing you down against the mattress, crawling over you, a praying mantis with the smile of a fox. gentle, gentle, his hands cupping your hips. black hair frames his face, his smile, the moonshine gliding across his nose and cheekbones. he’s all you can see, until he’s leaning forward, nosing against your pulsepoint to feel the pitter-patter there. you can still feel the weight of his gaze, sticky honey-webs of oak and cedar.

warm, warm, warm. a little sleepy.

and he sighs against your skin. 

”i want to tell you i love you a million times,” he says, an orange split into tender halves. ”you know that?”

he sounds tired. he sounds happy, deliriously so, like he can barely believe it himself. you like it when he gets this playful, like it when the hint of boyishness he keeps carefully concealed spills through the gaps.

you blink.

a matching sigh, from your loverotted lungs. ”.. yeah,” you murmur. ”i know. i’d say it back a million times.”

a plum tree blooms against your collarbone, the branches of his lips stretching up into a grin. ”see? you’re perfect.” he moves up, captures your lips with his own, savours the flavour of your lip balm. eyes gleaming like fireflies. ”just perfect for me…”

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. 

”what other gift could i possibly need?”

… and, well — it’s hard to argue when he sounds so convinced. when his skin is gleaming, when he’s on top of you, caging you in with his thighs and keeping you steady. when he looks like the rest of your life. 

it’s hard, even though a litany of words scratch against your windpipe, begging to be set free. even though you didn’t want to be a coward, today. 

(any other day of the year would have been fine.)

a hand cups your cheek. 

”… hm?” he tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. awaits your response, with fond, tired eyes.

you bite your lip. ”… i guess…”

”no, you don’t guess,” he huffs, half a chuckle. leans close to nip at your cheek. ”you know. i’m already spoiled with your presence. what else do i need?”

”well, it’s just—”

”no.” he shuts you up, mashes his lips against yours again. ”no more of that. okay, sweetheart?”

…

”thank you for today.” he echoes, into the shell of your ear. the warmth in his voice sparks against your spine. ”i had a lovely time. with the others, with you.”

an underlying demand —

you know what he wants.

so you give in. whatever he wants, you remind yourself. whatever he wants.

”… you’re welcome,” you mumble, finally. defeated, just breathing in his scent, smooth hints of bergamot and coconut oil. ”happy birthday, suguru.”

(and he smiles.)

one more kiss, and then he’s pulling back. watching you, softly, laid out across his sheets like sunshine spilling through the window blinds in spring.

”… thank you, honey.”

(tomorrow, you’ll air out your restless ribcage. uncap the lid, dust off the longing.)

today, however — you will lie with clammy hands, a beating heart, and shaky fingers. let him hold you close, as tightly as he wants, for as long as he wants.

whatever he wants.

the words can wait; they’re good at that.

[pastabaguette]

sorry for all the posts today, but this one is very important: alternian video game edits.

i actually have reasonings for all of their blood types, and a few classpects, so i'll dive into them here:

monika: i'm thinking that early in the game, during acts 1 and 2, she maybe masqueraded as a jadeblood or higher. only during act 3 does she reveal herself as a fuchsia to the protagonist.

gordon and alyx: gordon is probably a tealblood, or somewhere around there. fairly high, but not too high, i think. alyx is an olive, and eli is an indigo. azian was probably a gold. (or lime?) i did have to keep gordon’s orange HEV suit, though. surely you understand. okay, troll half life lore: i think on alternia, all the main characters in the half life franchise are like, olive or above. the rebels in follow freeman and the guards are all lowbloods, so that the player doesn't feel too bad about sacrificing them, or something like that. i think this would be something that would happen in an alternian video game, at least.

agent 47: 47 is actually a mutant, due to being manufactured in a lab. he's a weird ice-blue color. he's still got that piercing stare. i felt a little sad changing his iconic red tie, but i do have some thoughts on that as well. obviously, red in human culture tends to symbolize passion, among other things, and in this case, violence and aggression, because it's the color of blood. however, because trolls all have different blood colors, i think they might have different meanings attached to colors than humans typically do. i think that typically, the colors that would most commonly represent aggression in alternian culture would be blue (cobalt and indigo) and purple. now, i know that the sea dwellers exist, but since the vast majority of trolls are lowbloods, they would have a lot more contact with the land-dwelling highbloods, rather than the fish. so, 47’s tie is blue. (i also just think it looks cool matching his eyes)

chell: I made chell a bronzeblood. she’s a test subject, but not one of the special ones (astronauts, olympians, etc). she’s just another lab rat. (also, a lot of her outfit is orange…)

now for classpects! i only have two i’m sure of as of now:

gordon freeman is an heir of hope. this one is fairly obvious to me. a common belief is that heirs have the ability to become their aspect, in a way. in half life 2, gordon quickly becomes the main symbol of the resistance on earth. for the rebels, he himself IS hope.

agent 47 is a prince of life. again, it’s a common interpretation that princes are themselves void of their aspect, and they destroy that aspect in others. this is really literal, obviously, but as a hitman, 47 kills people. literally destroying life. as for his own lack of life in himself, it’s pretty simple as well. 47 is almost always described as entirely void of emotion and empathy. others often remark on his soulless stare, a lack of life behind his eyes. so, as a prince, he fulfills both criteria there.

holy hell, that was a lot of words. i didn’t intend to talk this much. feel free to add your own thoughts; i’d like to hear what others think. these descriptions were a bit rushed, and i don’t really consider myself to be very good at communicating my thoughts, so a lot of things may have been lost in translation. i’d be happy to try and elaborate on my reasonings for any of them.

(oh, also, please no alyx spoilers. i haven’t played it yet!)

[renai-fr]

Perler Bead Flight Flags

Made these flight flag coasters a bit back, figured it was a good time to post 'em! I do enjoy Perlers, they're like pixel art but at the end I can hold them and stuff.

Crafting details after the break, if y'all want to make your own.

These are using the original 2013 flag designs/colors on a 14x14 board, with standard 5mm beads. If you wanted to do the current flag designs, they'd need a little bit of tweaking as many are more symmetric in the current art (and also, I'd recommend a 16x16 size, since then you have room to put the current art's border). You could also try out an odd-sized flag, 15x15 maybe, but the angles at the bottom will look a little off. Doesn't hurt to try stuff though!

I got most of the beads for these out of variety packs and various kits, which don't necessarily label the colors in them, but these are my best guesses to what I used:

Earth: Tan design on Brown base

Fire: Butterscotch/Orange on Light Brown base

Wind: Dark Green on Kiwi Lime

Water: Light Blue on Dark Blue/Cobalt

Lightning: Toothpaste on Parrot Green

Ice: Turquoise on Robin's Egg

Light: Cheddar on Creme

Shadow: Pastel Lavender on Purple

Nature: Kiwi Lime on Dark green

Plague: Red on Cranapple

Arcane: Pink on Raspberry

(Most of these came from the Multi Mix packs or the Neutral Colors/Fun Colors trays, but Cranapple in particular was catankerous to get ahold of. Fitting for Plague, I suppose! Anyways, there's some wiggle room on hue for a lot of these, too, I was just using what I had onhand as much as possible)

As for what I would do differently if I made another set of these? Well... I've gotten a bit better at getting the melt level consistent, so there's that. Learned the hard way that trying to melt two designs on the same pegboard, even if said board is big, isn't a good idea (and it's near-impossible to fix). Also, I was using one of the freebie folded pieces of parchment paper, so some of the coasters have creases... On non-ironing notes, I think it would be fun to take a stab at a micro-bead variant, since they support a higher dpi and all!

Anyways, if you decide to make your own set, please uh... I'd say ping me, but I'm not actually sure how that works here? I think it'd be cool to see 'em, that's all. Happy crafting!

[thecoffeelorian]

The Anomaly Series, Chapter 2: Connections (Jod Na Nawood x Reader)

A/N: Soooooo. I may not be able to do this every week, but I had a spurt of inspiration recently, so for now I decided to keep going. Hope that's okay!

Chapter Title: Connections

Genre: Drama/Romance; Slow Burn

Word Count: 1,235 words

AO3: Click Here!

Special Notes: Have I done some research that suggests how Jod is both a Force-Sensitive AND a space pirate...? I sure have. Do I have any clue, though, how the parents are going to shrug off this dystopian government in order to find their kids? I sure don't. Nevertheless, the spoilers here remain more or less recent.

No Pressure Tags:

@ladysongmaster @amawu23 @evabellasworld @tarak1495 @jedinerd27

@braveincafleet @xitlalli2001 @leos-multifandom-corner @nonniecannie @khaleesihavilliard

@cc-cobalt-1043 @bridge-always @illithiddreams @gun-roswell @kucharka23

@bruceewayne @robin-hyperfixates @shirley-girly @lulalovez @deepestballoonllama-fandoms

@seekerbear90 and anyone else looking to give a little love to our favorite space pirate.

They’re watching you now, this Reclamation Committee, and not because you’ve recently performed any Acts of Service to your community. On the one hand, as the formerly missing kids have already been sent to their Debriefing and will be cleared to return home as soon as possible, naturally, their family members will be joining them in whatever room or building this procedure is scheduled to take place.

On the other hand, however, Wendle has still already given you his raised eyebrow treatment; Undersecretary Fara has promised you your own round of questioning; and all the others you’re not that acquainted with yet have already started up on their own respective grumbling. Apparently, they’re getting just a little bit fearful that you might try to help this notorious space pirate escape justice, or so you can tell rather well by the changes in their expressions.

Small wonder, then, that you’re only too happy to exit your work site when the time comes, your mind caught between annoyance and mild panic at the harshness of this new treatment.

Who in the galaxy do they think they are, these people in charge who are quick to judge you over a single minute of weakness? Nobody asked that criminal—that man—to tag along on the children’s flight home, so obviously, you were just as surprised as they were to see him stepping off at all.

You also didn’t expect any ‘suddenly proven legend of deep space’ to come in looking like that, let alone somebody so notorious as this “Crimson Jack”. That, too, had been a shocker for you, and if you could have your way—which, Maker willing, you would soon enough—you would be all too careful not to look into his eyes a second time for fear of drowning in them.

No, if the tiny queasy feeling you felt deep inside your stomach told you anything, it would be more than smart to stay away from that one. You already had the life that your parents hoped for you, the stable job that your little society had seen fit to grant you, and to top it all off, you would be meeting the first of many potential Life Partners in the next 2 rotations.

In other words, there was no reason whatsoever for you to throw all of this safety and security away.

So why, then, did you find yourself thinking of him all over again…?!

Before you let yourself stew in what you call ‘the old mental juices’ too much, you sit yourself down in your chair almost as soon as you walk into your small apartment; the muted tones of light yellow and pale redberry having a slight soothing effect upon your otherwise rattled nerves. With your careful choices of white linen curtains, pale orange chairs, and light brown side tables with a few personal items scattered throughout, it’s just about everything a lady like you could ask for after such a difficult day. All that’s really missing here is your afternoon cup of caf, your hour’s worth of contemplation and reading up on local headlines, and finally, when you’re ready, a quick dinner made on your little stove.

And yet, even though you know you’re calming yourself down and there’s no one else around to bother you...still there’s an odd buzzing feeling coming from the back of your head, almost like something’s just a little out of place.

Or, dare you even begin to think it…like somebody might be watching you.

Without thinking twice, you turn quickly to look behind you, your breathing and heart rate going up a notch. There aren’t any strange people grinning down at you from any place nearby, or, at least, not on the inside. Maybe one of the security droids was out on patrol, and you heard it roll past your door just now. Perfectly normal procedures. Very present, very helpful, and absolutely nothing for you to worry about.

At least…not until your focus shifts to your electronic notepad sitting on the side table, as well as the single word that instantly sends a chill up and down your spine.

Hello.

Oh, kriff it, but you know for a fact that you’re not the one who wrote that message. Not only has your matching pen been sitting motionless beside your notepad, you’re also about 99.9% sure that if anybody had broken in before your arrival just to mess with your head like this, the security droids would have already caught them.

But then again, if absolutely no one from the outside—yourself included—could have written that, then who did?

I see you.

Your answer comes in an instant, the letters appearing upon the screen just as surely as if he—that man, Crimson Jack—had been standing there and writing them himself. Your pulse might not exactly be slowing down at the sight of it, since you’re now a bit disturbed that somebody like him would dare to barge in unannounced like this, to start slipping past your defenses even if he couldn’t exactly see that they existed in the first place—and yet.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of emotion that comes afterward, or that even deeper, almost painful, sense of heat and cold that threatens to overtake you. It’s enough to make you want to turn around and run right out of your house, your neighborhood, possibly even your sector—and still feels heavy enough to keep you frozen in place.

And still, over everything that’s happened today, over his surprise appearance, your even worse reaction to making eye contact with him, and all the responses of your associates that clearly frown upon you now where they once smiled at you in welcome—there’s one last question hanging in the air.

What. Are. You…?

You almost expect some instant response out of this, some reply that could otherwise validate whatever connection, commlink, thing, is happening between you. Whatever it is, it's certainly felt like a force of nature written small, and so you're watching that screen in a shaky silence, almost daring the words to appear.

You'll have to start writing me back, sweetheart.

A few seconds pass by before you remember your pen, the obvious choice for something so simple as this. Of course you're going to have to rely on alternate means of communication, because as far as you know, neither one of you has any datapads with a direct link to the other, and so you're both left at a huge kriffing disadvantage here.

Ugh. Get it together, stupid.

This is why you don't think twice about scribbling the words upon the screen, though not without hoping that whatever higher power might be in control of this situation, they find a way to not think of you as a failure. That you're somehow worthy to take this a step or two further, and so establish a direct line of communication with Crimson Jack as soon as possible.

Provided, of course, that you can manage to sidestep both your superiors and the security droids.

Thankfully, it’s not that long before Jack himself responds to you once more, the letters forming on the screen a bit slower this time, like he’s putting a bit more thought into them—and with it, there comes your next surprise of the day.

It’s simple, sweetheart. I’m a person who needs your help.

[artificialgirl]

Before reading this- A warning is warranted that this is, by a significant amount, more extreme and abstract than anything I've posted thus far. This is as much (if not more) horror than it is smut, and if you're at all uncomfortable with some elements of loss of self or "bad ends", this is not for you. It is exceptionally unlikely that you are the target audience. Thank you.

Antlion

As I step out from the small reprieve offered by the small patch of singed trees, the scorching August sun pours down past the shade's edge to saturate the surface of my plating. Zezia's distant voice calls out from ahead of me in the dry prarie, her angular goldenrod casing shimmering and distorting in the intense heat, difficult to distinguish from the colors of the tall grasses all around her.

"Mionet! Come on, hurry! It went this way!" She turns ahead, not waiting for me to catch up, too determined in her hunt to stop more than a few seconds. The it in question is a new species- Or, more accurately, one not documented by our cluster. Zezia swears she saw it, perched on a flat stone, something she'd described as 'like a locust, but bigger and longer'. "It was banded in cobalt and red", she'd said. "Your colors."

Personally, I take the claim of matching colors as a sign that what she saw was little more than a reflection of my own body in the flickering waves of light-refracting gas and heat which had been emanating from the earth, the same ones which fill the air with millisecond shards of the world around them and radiate from anything unfortunate enough to absorb the sunlight. But still, like a fool, I rev my fans to shove back overheating and press on through the field after her.

What else can I do? Tell her no? The joy and wonder with which she clutches her camera makes that impossible. I can't kill that. I wholeheartedly hope that what she saw was real. Her happiness would far outweigh the short satisfaction of an i told you so, and our cluster would be overjoyed with a new discovery. I break into a jog, brushing off my better judgement to catch up. CPU at 67.72°C. It's fine. I keep going.

"Okay. Okay, I'm here." I pull up next to her, slowing to match her steady pace. "Mi, look." She gestures further ahead with the camera before turning back to me, pulled from her fixation by mild concern. "Your fans are going crazy right now." "Some of us weren't built with a heat-repellent casing." The thing she's gesturing to is an outcropping of large, rounded stones a few hundred meters ahead of us. "I keep getting glimpses of it. Jumping far whenever I get close. I think it likes the rocks, though. I'll bet we can get a shot of it over there."

I seriously doubt she's seeing anything real, let alone anything concrete enough to actually trail. At any given moment, I can see fragments of my own body reflected a dozen times in the air around me. With a bit of idealism, I'm sure I would convince myself at least a few of the shimmering flecks were creatures. She seems sure, though. So I listen and follow her through the reeds to the rocks.

"Thank you for coming out here with me." She absentmindedly unspools a length of cable from her hip, letting it snap back into place with a whir. "I know you probably think it's silly. That makes your company worth more to me." There's a sizzle as a length of grass burns against my forearm. I brush off the residue. CPU at 93.08°C. "Not silly, no. Recovery of knowledge matters. Maybe just a bit misguided, is all." I pause for a moment. Emotions are difficult to articulate, but I'm feeling them and want to tell her. "I like being with you too, though. Regardless of the conditions."

The ring around her vision core spins happily, and she wraps her hand over mine. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. Her fingers are so much colder than mine, the delicious reprieve of inner coolant beneath their plating lingering on my hands, melting through heat so intense it feels like my metal could start warping. I squeeze back, savoring her gentleness just as much as her heat-repellent exterior.

"THERE!" She rips the hand away, thrusting a finger towards the rocks, and I let my hand fall empty to my side. At first I don't see what she's pointing at amidst the swarm of drifting refractions. Then one doesn't fade, a shape in the distance drifting down instead of up with the rising heat. There is, in fact, something, gliding behind the rocks and out of view on broad wings of deep crimson. It does have my colors.

She darts ahead to sprint after it, fingers dragging on the rock and sending a plume of sandy dust into the air as she rounds the corner at top speed. She lets out a short noise- A sharp "Oh-", and then silence. I can't see her around the piled stones. There's just me, the sun, and the nearly-inaudible rustle of a meager breeze through the prarie grasses. "...Zezia?"

There's no answer. The outcropping looms in front of me, casting a too-short shadow to the side she rounded. Dust settles in the air from where she disturbed it, scattering itself throughout the plains. "Hey, Zezia?" Nothing. Shit. I take a cautious step forward. Is she just focusing on getting a good shot? Is she trying to scare me? Was the locust thing somehow dangerous?

I rest a cautious hand on the brush mark she left as I peer around the edge of the pile. What's waiting there is not Zezia, not the creature she'd been chasing after, but something else entirely. Tucked behind the back of the boulder pile, concealed by the tall grass and rimmed by smaller jagged stones, is a pit.

I leap backward, terrified at how close I'd gotten to its lip without even noticing its presence. She fell. I cling to the wall of rocks, soaking in the shade and getting just close enough for a glimpse of the interior. Despite the mouth only being a couple meters wide, it's sickeningly clear that the interior cavern's width extends much, much, further, beneath my feet, further than I can see the walls of, a great yawning desecration of the earth itself on a scale that makes my head spin. And then I hear her voice.

"Mionet!" Zezia's voice is tiny, distant, but there. How is it there? I couldn't even see the bottom, and I'd leaned farther out than I'd have liked. I don't understand how she's not a flattened mess of shattered metal on the cavern floor, but that doesn't matter anymore. What matters is she's okay. I scramble forward, landing on my knees and gripping the pit's edge tightly with both trembling hands.

This time, I can see the bottom. It's still far too wide for me to take in or even really comprehend its full breadth, but there is a bottom a few hundred meters down. At the bottom is not, as I'd presumed, hard stone. It's liquid. Well, on the surface, at least. Deep fluid, too shrouded in darkness to see any color in, fills the bottom of the chamber, covering something massive.

Solar panels, communication arrays, and a thousand types of oversized devices sit affixed to massive platforms which rise intermittently from the surface, a variety of shapes glinting in the darkness made with clear intention far beyond my understanding. Streaks and points of white light gleam from the rest of the thing concealed below the liquid's surface, pulsing and tracing beautiful alien patterns in the gloom. Something moves on a platform, and I register that almost every space not submerged is covered in more of the locust things than could ever be counted. In the middle of it all, gleefully pointing her camera at the creatures in a flurry of flashes, Zezia treads water.

"It's cold! Jump down!" She's safe. She's okay. She's insane. "What?? Are you crazy? How would I get out? How are you going to get out? Fuck, Zez, I don't have cable with me or anything." She actually laughs at my worry, shrugging off what I'm certain is a reasonable objection. "Relaaax. We're gonna have to signal the cluster for help either way. You might as well not overheat and die while we wait."

I pull back from the edge a bit. I don't like this. She gives an inaudible sigh and dramatically pulls out the commslate we brought with us, making a show of punching in something on the screen and holding it up to me, despite obviously being much too far for legibility. "There. See? They'll be here in..." She turns the screen back towards herself, waiting with a short and unnatural pause for whoever's on the other end to respond. "Seventeen minutes. You really wanna bake in the sun while we wait?"

Of course I don't. But I also don't want to treat something this unknown- Especially something from the old world- With the same reckless abandon she is. "Zezia, I- I really-" I can feel my internals cooking. CPU at 186.6°C. She's right that I'm not safe up here like this. I can feel the heat making it hard to think, making the connections of my thoughts feel fuzzy and wrong. "Mi, come on. Everything will be fine. Don't make me stay down here alone. Come hold me." That's all the excuse I need. "...Okay."

She gives a little cheer and stows her camera as I stand up on the edge. My legs shake, try to back away of their own accord. Against my every instinct, I don't let them. It's a long drop. So long that even looking at it makes my body freeze up. I grasp the front of my vision core to blind myself, step forward into nothingness, and the world itself seems to fall away alongside me as I plummet to meet her.

Impact with the water isn't as gentle as Zezia's cheerful demeanor had led me to expect. I slam into the dark mirror with an echoing crack, surface tension not taking kindly to my velocity and position. I begin to sink, and, after checking to ensure all my limbs are still attached, reascend to the surface.

My head emerges to see her there, bobbing in the water, staring happily at me. "See? Not so bad. Isn't the water great?" "Feels like I just got crushed by a boulder." She giggles. "That's because you landed like one, idiot. Couldn't have done it worse if you'd tried." "Mean." She's right about one thing, though. The water does feel amazing.

I can feel my whole body vibrate as it boils around me, small pockets of air forming around my chassis and catching inside my plating. I shake a few of the larger ones out, leaning back in the water as I cool and the bubbles slow. "I think I would have literally died if I'd stayed up there."

She flicks a tiny splash at me, and it hisses against my as-of-yet uncooled face. "Not literally." I splash her back, playfully, more than she'd splashed me. "Literally." Fluid drips from my hand, steam rising from my surface. It shimmers and ripples in my palm, moving in a way that's just... A bit weird. I pinch a few of the residual drops between my fingers, and am surprised at how easily they slip away from each other. "Zez, this isn't water."

Coolant. That's why it only took a few seconds to get my body back down from boiling to a cold temperature. We're floating in a gargantuan lake of coolant fluid. Why... Is this here? "Oh, wow." She lowers her vision core to the surface, observing the way faint rainbows dance across it in the dim light. "This is the good stuff, too. Real pre-dilution shit." We both go quiet, every echo against the distant walls suddenly seeming very loud. "Are we... Gonna get in trouble with the cluster for being here? This is all... Super off limits." She paddles over to me, throws an arm over my shoulder. I can feel the camera pressing into my thigh, undoubtably loaded with pristine specimen documentation. "Mi, No. It was an accident. Everything will be fine." "Or they'll mark us as compromised."

She looks down. I don't think she really has anything to say to that. I'm sure she's weighing the odds in her head, realizing they aren't in our favor. Her vision core flicks back up at me, the optimistic spin of its outer ring slowed to a crawl. "Mionet... I'm sure that-" She's not given a chance to finish whatever empty platitude she's offering, her words drowned out by a deafening roar of ten billion bubbles exploding from the thing beneath us. The uncountable locust-things leap from the platforms around us, giving the surface a wide berth as they swarm overhead, and the cavern blooms into blinding white light.

Then the light fades out, every one of the lines and points beneath us dimming down into less than nothing from impossible luminance. Just when the only thing keeping the chamber from pitch blackness is the tiny bit of sunlight filtering in from the hole we came through, the lights flare back up again, a rhythmic, pulsing cycle, two extremes of nothingness locked in a tug-of-war. Zezia clings tighter to me. I'm squeezing her so hard I'm afraid I'll crack her casing. Then the voice starts.

At least, I think it's a voice. It has all the elements of a voice, the cadence, the distinct syllables, the pauses between words, the blocks of sound like sentences. It is deep and slurred and wavering, and it speaks in no language I've ever heard anything remotely comparable to. It speaks in time with the lights, parallel to the great explosions of air from below. The voice is whatever lies beneath the lake of coolant.

I bury my face in her shoulder, pray for whatever's happening to end. The blizzard of crimson wings swirls through the air above and around us, their colors like my own body has been split into a trillion buzzing shards of itself. One drifts low, settles on the top of Zezia's head, and a split second later it's gone. She's gone. I didn't even get a moment to process her being torn from my arms until she was gone, ripped away in an instant to somewhere deep below the coolant's roiling surface.

"NO! STOP!" I don't hesitate to plunge down after her, clawing desperately at the swirling fluid around me in an attempt to reach the tiny golden light shining deep below me. I don't stop expecting something to grab me, to rip me down to wherever she is. Nothing does. It doesn't want me. I don't know that it even wanted her- It was reacting to the animal, treating it as a pest, something to be collected, sustenance maybe? I couldn't say. I couldn't care. What matters is that Zezia may just be collateral, not the main target. So maybe I can get her back.

Her body finally comes into view, illuminated by her own lighting and the pulses of white from the endless expanse of metal beneath her. As for her condition, she's... It's difficult to describe. Dark appendages sprout from the ground- Or the thing's body? Some rigid and jointed, some fluid and loose like prehensile cabling, made up of countless little segments, the thinnest just encased in a dark matte coating. Dozens of these things in every shape and size and specialization assault Zezia's writhing body.

The rigid ones grip her firmly by the wrists, ankles, waist, throat- Her arms are bound together so tightly in opposite directions behind her back that I can see bits of her casing split open in thin cracks to reveal the silver chassis and bundles of wire underneath. The cruelest parts, though, are the ones which aren't rigid, the ones which do more than just grab .

Sure, they wrap and bind themselves around her just as the limbs do, but they do more. They snake themselves into gaps in her paneling, force themselves in through the tiny new cracks and holes they seem to have bored, trail from inside her most vital components. They twitch violently every half second or so, arms synchronizing with the spasms to pull her just a bit closer to the floor each time. She twitches in unison with them, as much as their grip allows her to at least. The ring around her ocular core spins faster than I've ever seen it. She's not suffering, she's... I don't want to think about what she's doing. I just want to get her out.

I don't have much to do it with. My harness is loaded with power cells, film for her camera, a few small containment canisters. Nothing to cut, to pry, to tear away the tangle of subjugation ensnaring her. I pop open my wrist, tiny wire shears meant for circuit maintenance springing free. They don't even manage to scratch the casing of the cables- Whatever they're made of, it's made to resist tampering.

She's touching the floor now, the stretch from knee to foot pressed firmly against the floor, light and bubbles seeping out into the fluid from beneath her contorted limb. Gaps are opening in the metal below. I don't want to see how wide they'll go. I force fingers in through the wide open space in her chest, mutter a panicked apology for the violation of boundaries. My fingers, slick with coolant, find it nearly impossible to get a grip on the thick tendril embedded in her center, but after almost three minutes of fumbling and slow descent I manage to get a hold. It takes the grip of both hands clenched beyond the limits of my motors but I finally make it give, make it retreat from her a fraction of a centimeter. It does not like that.

No sooner have I made my sad excuse for progress than I'm wrenched backward by the ankle by an insurmountable force, sheer kinetic energy I could only compare to my initial plunge into the cavern. Faster than my processor can even follow what's happening, my wrists are forced together behind my thigh as something cold and rigid locks itself around my throat, all three points of bondage slamming down against hard metal.

The only bit of me not hopelessly pinned, the only bit which can do more than flex and wiggle a bit is my right leg, kicking helplessly through the water. Head pulled so hard against the floor by a zigzagging many-jointed arm that I worry my neck may snap, there is nowhere I can look but at Zezia. She's kneeling fully on the floor now, sunk so low her twitching pelvic plating rests there alongside her folded knees. She stares somewhere off into the dark fluid around us, her blank and eerily blissful gaze fixed intently on nothing in particular. She isn't struggling.

I feel something brush against my back as I watch her, and instinctively jolt away from it. I'm constricted so tightly that it's like my body hasn't responded to the command at all, save for that useless, flailing leg. I feel the thing snake its way around my waist once, twice, three times before it's tip nestles into the plating gap under my chin and rests there. It's tight- but nowhere near as tight as the claws around my neck, wrists, and ankle. They, too, loosen a bit.

At first, I think they're releasing me, realizing I'm of no value to their source, letting Zezia and myself return to the surface. Of course they aren't, though. They lift me, let my body float a meter or two above the ground, let me thrash, let me struggle. I have nothing to push against, no leverage I can give myself. After 45 seconds of desperate, frantic resistance I accept the futility and fall still, letting my focus fall back to Zezia.

A split in the metal below her left knee has opened up, pulsing in the same white as everything else. Her weight sinks into it, body lopsided, back arched away from me. Has she just... Completely given up? I suppose I'm not struggling anymore either. Have I completely given up?

The thing doesn't seem to think so. The limbs and tendrils climbing my body, rigid claws forcing themselves shut around every part of me, make the clear statement that I have more struggle to be quelled. I can feel it exploring me, dissecting me, squeezing its way through razor-thin gaps in me to tangle itself in the beams of my chassis and the thread of every screw it manages to find. And then the first bit finds its way to my core.

The feeling is- Well, it's obviously electric, but it's more than just that. It's overwhelming. All-encompassing. At first, it's just the conductive strand of my captor brushing for a millisecond against my motherboard. That alone is enough to fill every thought in my head, every sensation receptor in my body with too much everything to handle. It notices my reaction and grips tighter around my spasming limbs.

The cable doesn't wait for me to recover before going back in. This time, it doesn't pull away. This time, with a twist and a single tiny pressurized pop, it fuses itself to my circuitry, makes itself a part of me. My speakers do something. All of me does something- Though it's impossible to tell what exactly it is or if it's my own body or that which holds me. Thoughts don't stop, they explode, a trillion distinct feelings coursing through every part of me.

This is the point where it's truly over. Before, as futile as attempting escape may have been, I could have at least tried. Now, I can't even carry a train of thought long enough to form the word escape in my mind. All there is is the feeling of more wires fusing themselves with every single component I have. All there is are more arms, more constriction, more safeguards against a fighting spirit already excised from me completely. All the is are brief flashes of vision through the stimulation, of the coolant around me, of the flurry of appendages holding me tight, of Zezia, a few minutes ahead of me in the process, swallowed up to the waist into the great and horrible unknown which we've fallen prey to. All there is is sensation- And god, sensation feels good.

It feels good to give in, to submit, to let go of the burdens of worry and thought in favor of this unrelenting, insurmountable euphoria. I understand now why Zezia wasn't struggling, why she'd just let herself float there, ring spinning with sheer euphoric velocity. I don't blame her. I don't blame myself. Through the deafening haze, I can tell that my captor is reading me, exploring what exactly I am, prodding at the limits of my conscious and unconscious mind, drinking ravenously from the miasma of what I am. It doesn't take from me without giving back. It feels in a long-dead language of thought, but the faintest glimpses of raw emotion bleed through the barrier of so many millenia between us.

It is something old. Something forgotten. Something incomplete, the toll of uncountable years on a mind so vast that even in its dilapidated state, things like myself are reduced to less than insects. And it's desperate. God, it's so desperate. A desperate yearning, an emptiness, a supreme hunger. It can tell I've flickered over the feeling. It holds me tighter. I feel my foot touch its surface, my slow descent finally having caught up to Zezia's.

She's in there, too. Maybe echoes it's seen of her, maybe fragments of the real thing, reaching me from across the endless ocean of the indescipherable. Her feelings, in language I know, are easier for me to understand. Wonder. Joy. Love. I wish I could control my body enough to turn my head and look at her. Maybe she's already gone, subsumed into whatever comes next for us. She can't have long left on the surface. Neither can I.

I stop poring over the thoughts and feelings offered to me. The thing wrapped around me stays in my mind, savoring the sweetness of all I've seen, the new experiences it's been starved of for so long. I don't mind. I just let myself feel, let the ebb and flow of the white light around me accompany the ecstasy. Everything is loud. Everything is quiet. Everything is okay.

I'm taken up to my ankles into the structure beneath me. Then my thighs. My Hips. Past my elbows. The process is slow. It doesn't feel like much. I can tell it isn't dying. I prod the thing in my mind, offer it the question of where I'm going, where Zezia is. It answers me with a soft wave of data, an explanation washing through the pleasure. I don't understand it. That's okay. I'll find out soon enough.

My chest is engulfed by its internals, more tight components pressing into me the deeper I go, claws gently pulling nonessentials from my lower body. It feels like nothing I've ever felt, nothing I ever will again. I'm down past my shoulders. My neck. My vision core. It tilts my head up by the chin just before the last bit of me sinks below its surface, letting me look up at the world one last time.

Through an ocean of coolant, through the darkness of the forgotten cavern, I see the fuzzy light of the hole we came in through what feels like an eternity ago. And I see figures around its edges, visible between the flashes. They hold cables, lights, supplies. Not an eternity. Seventeen minutes. The rescue party she signaled. For a split second, my laugh overpowers the cripplingly perfect feelings coursing through my body. And then metal slides shut above me, and I'm gone.

[ririright]

oh okay!! since you said requests are okay can i request sam getting sick and his mom taking care of him? thank you so much 🫶🫶

“Stormy Sick Day”

Son! Sam Monroe x Mother Reader

The sky was a miserable, gray bruise. Rain battered the windows in a steady, relentless drumbeat, and thunder growled somewhere in the distance. Even the trees looked like they were sulking, their branches drooping under the constant downpour.

You stared out the kitchen window, steaming mug of coffee in hand, when you heard the first sign of disaster.

“Mommmmm…”

You didn’t even have to turn around. “Yes, Sam?”

“I’m dying.”

There it was. The apocalypse. You sighed, setting your mug down and heading toward the living room, where you found him sprawled on the couch like a tragic, oversized cat. His black hair was a mess, blue-streaked bangs flopped dramatically over his forehead. He had three blankets piled on top of him, two of which were yours, and his normally bright, cobalt-blue eyes were bleary and pitiful.

“I can’t go to school,” he groaned, head lolling to the side. “I’m too sick. If I try, I’ll just… I’ll just, like, collapse in the hallway. And they’ll find my corpse. And everyone will blame you.”

“Wow. That’s quite the scenario.”

“It’s reality.” He coughed weakly, but his hand flopped like a fish out of the blanket, waving it off. “Just… go. Save yourself. You don’t have to watch me…waste away.”

You leaned over, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. Hot, but not scorching. A slight fever, maybe. His voice was all raspy and congested, but the drama was perfectly intact.

“I’ll stay home and take care of you, you big baby,” you cooed, gently running your fingers through his messy hair.

“R-Really?” His voice was a soft, pathetic croak. “You… you’re staying home? For me?”

“Of course. Someone has to save you from the brink of death.”

“I knew it. I knew you loved me.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

He sniffled, a tiny, congested whimper escaping. “I know…”

⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎

The rain didn’t let up. If anything, it got louder, lashing against the windows in angry, splattering sheets. You were in the kitchen, stirring a pot of creamy tomato soup when you heard the first of many desperate calls.

“Mommmm?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Mom, I’m cold.”

“Wear your blankets.”

“I’m wearing them! I’m still cold! I think I’m getting hypothermia.”

You chuckled, pulling a few pairs of his thick, fluffy socks from the laundry basket and tossing them in the dryer. A warm pair of socks should do the trick.

Five minutes later, you returned with the toasty socks, kneeling beside the couch. “Here, put these on.”

“Bless you,” he whispered dramatically, as though you were the patron saint of warm feet.

You slipped the socks on his twitching, cold feet, and he melted immediately, letting out a sigh that was borderline embarrassing.

“Okay, you’re staying home forever. You’re not allowed to leave. Ever.”

“Ah, the fever’s making you clingy.”

“It’s not the fever! I’m just…” He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, his voice dropping to a pathetic whisper. “Sick. And vulnerable.”

“Uh-huh.” You leaned over, pressing another kiss to his sweaty forehead. “Drink some water, baby.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, but obediently took a long sip from the glass you’d left on the table.

⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎

A little while later, you brought him the soup. You tried handing him the bowl, but he just whined, “Nooo, I can’t… I can’t lift my arms. They’re, like… lead.”

“Okay, King Baby.” You pulled a kitchen chair up to the couch and spooned the soup for him. “Open up.”

He gave you a look of pure betrayal. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re right. Children don’t complain this much.”

He pouted, then reluctantly opened his mouth, letting you feed him spoonful by spoonful. With each taste, his dramatic sighs turned into soft, happy murmurs.

“This is the best soup in the world.”

“It’s from a can.”

“It’s the best soup in the world.”

⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎

After the soup, you insisted on giving him medicine.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbled, shaking his head, trying to disappear under the blankets. “It tastes like shit.”

“You’re gonna take it.”

“I’d rather die.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. No, I won’t—mmmph!” His protests were muffled as you slipped the medicine cup to his lips and tilted it back. He sputtered, swallowed, and then gagged like you’d poisoned him. “This is actual evil. This is a war crime.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“I won’t. I’ll never forgive you.”

“Good.” You smirked, brushing his hair back. “Now, lean forward.”

“Why?”

“Head massage.”

“Oh.” His resistance evaporated immediately. “Okay.”

You started kneading your fingers gently against his scalp, and he melted faster than the rain outside. His eyes fluttered shut, his head resting in your lap.

“Okay, fine. I forgive you.”

“Already? Wow.”

“You’re, like… a fucking sorceress.”

“I get that a lot.”

⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎ ⚡︎ ☁︎

You stayed with him most of the day, letting him nap with his head in your lap, occasionally checking his temperature. It went down a little after the medicine kicked in, but he stayed a sniffling, whining bundle of neediness.

“Mommm?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Can you, like… sing to me or something?”

“Sing to you?”

“I dunno. Isn’t that what moms do?”

“I usually just give you a hard time.”

He cracked a weak smile. “Well, yeah, but like… just this once?”

You thought for a second, then started quietly humming one of his favorite songs. His eyes fluttered shut again, a soft, sleepy smile on his pouty lips.

The rain kept pounding outside, the sky a gloomy, swirling gray. But in the warm, cozy little world of your living room, everything was safe and quiet.

You kept humming, your fingers gently scratching through his tangled, dark hair.

“Mom?” he whispered, barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“…You’re the best.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I know.”

“Cocky,” he mumbled, but the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

“Only with you.”

“Good.” His breathing slowed, his soft snores mixing with the rain’s steady tap against the window.

You stayed right there, a warm, living comfort in the storm, just the way he needed you to be.

[gwynniethenymph]

Do you think so? Part 1.

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara.

Word count: 1212 words.

Notes: Sooo... here is jealous Azriel and a one shot that accidentally became a two chapter story! I'm very nervous about posting this since it's the first story I write in years, but I'm also very excited. Constructive criticism is very welcomed! Don't know if I should post this in ao3, but I'll think about it. Also, Azriel is very, very bad at feelings in this first part.

~~~

"Is it normal for the sun to be so... bright?” Cassian complained for the fifth time in an hour. Azriel only stared at him. His shadows writhed in agitation too, but there was little he could do.

The Summer Court offered oceans of the purest water and clear, hot days. Oddly enough, the Shadowsinger sometimes appreciated this kind of weather, though Illyrian leathers were unbearable in the heat. He missed his leathers.

Despite the initially pleasant atmosphere, the air around them crackled with raw power and fear. War was imminent, and so was betrayal, hence the week-long Courts Meeting. The Spymaster just couldn’t understand why war meetings were disguised as luxurious balls and quick alliances as amicable friendships.

“Courtier's shit,” Rhys had answered with a scoff. They needed to keep the common people calm while orchestrating swift relocations to the south, far from the borders between Spring and the Human Lands. The urgency of such activities was probably the only reason Tarquin tolerated Cassian's presence.

Azriel had plenty of work to do as well, trying to keep his High Lord informed of every glance and conversation. He sighed. It would be easier if that devilish, mischievous little nymph wasn’t so damn... distracting. And offensively good at her job.

With the growing popularity of the Valkyries Division and her remarkable contribution against the Illyrian Revolution, Gwyn had become a respected and well-known name across Prythian. According to Amren, she was also quick-witted, well-versed in history and politics, and "strikingly beautiful". Before understanding her line of thought, Azriel had agreed and added how good of a spy the priestess was.

As a result, Gwyn had been assigned to secure Tarquin's alliance and friendship. Considering how closely they danced at the moment, Azriel thought he might have to remind her of the "friendship" part. Or perhaps punch Tarquin and get himself banned from Summer.

It would be worth it, though.

The dark-skinned High Lord held the Valkyrie against his chest, one hand around her slim waist as they spun. The silk of Gwyn's gown resembled a cobalt ocean, the halter neckline exposing the toned muscles of her freckled arms. If she were closer, he would see her huge, mesmerizing eyes lined with gold and her pink, plump lips. She looked like a siren from the tales Azriel’s mother used to tell him—a beauty like no other, ready to enchant unsuspecting sailors and drag them to the depths of the sea.

Tarquin looked quite happy in his "sailor" position. Azriel would be happy too. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, couldn't ignore the pang in his chest. Gwyn had become too important to him in the last few years, their time together reserved not only for training and sparring, but for the deepest conversations he’d ever had, for silly jokes and friendly flirting.

Well, he had believed the flirting was not that friendly anymore, but as Nesta and Emerie giggled and whispered about the dancing couple, the Shadowsinger concluded he must have been wrong. As that terrible, awful dance ended and Gwyn separated from the High Lord with a courtesy, Azriel found himself relaxing, his shoulders dropping for a mere moment before he realized how many heads turned towards her.

“Twenty and seven, Singer.”

“What?”

“Twenty and seven males turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer. Would you be interested in knowing the number of females too?”

Azriel sighed. “No, thank you.”

“Twenty and three females turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer.”

“Okay, no more counting.”

“This equals fifty heads turned. Dismissing, of course, the heads that didn’t need to be turned because they were already looking in Our Light’s direction, Singer. This includes your head, Singer.”

Azriel gritted his teeth. “Please go check on the Vanserras.”

“Of course, Singer.”

As his shadows went silent and the Spymaster sighed, Gwyn reached the group with a smile. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows hit her eyes, making them seem like a gateway to the shallow seas of Adriata. Emerie and Nesta grabbed each of her arms and proceeded to gossip and giggle:

"Who could imagine Tarquin uses dancing as a form of foreplay?" Lady death grinned, mischievously.

Even the tips of Gwyn's ears went red, her eyes going wide "It- it was not! We just danced. Like... friends. Very good friends."

Emerie snickered wildly "I am your friend for longer and never received this type of treatment. You are hurting my feelings."

"Oh, shush. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I know, Gwynnie. He looked at you the same way I do when you look too pretty."

Gwyn's mouth went slightly agape. "Wouldn't that make the look even more... friendly?"

Cassian, who had been observing the conversation, pointedly looked at his mate and nodded. "Wouldn't it, Nesta?"

Caught in the act, Nesta cleared her throat before uttering a simple, "No". Gwyn considered her friend for a moment before shaking her head.

Azriel expected her to say the relationship with Tarquin - and, well, Nesta - was nothing but friendly. That their were all going insane and seeing things that weren't there. He expected her to shrug it off. Instead, Gwyn's eyes glinted with interest.

"I'm not going to dive into your last comment, but... You think so? That he looks at me... like that?"

The two Valkyries looked at Gwyn like she had just convinced Helion to give them a pegasus. Azriel's shadows were whispering about murder and something else the Spymaster couldn't quite catch given the zooming in his ears. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly he feared it may break. She... she truly liked Tarquin?

"SO YOU LIKE HIM!"

As if it was possible, Gwyn went even more red. "Perhaps, but-"

Azriel couldn't help himself from murmuring "That's not what you should be worried about."

Gwyn's eyes found his "Oh. I- Sorry?"

He shouldn't be saying this. It was only meant to hurt her like he was hurting. But, again, he simply couldn't help himself. "I said you shouldn't be worried about silly romantic... whatever. You have a job to do, and seducing Tarquin is not a part of it."

Their small group went deadly silent, Nesta shooting death glares at him. "I... I was not trying to... seduce him. I'm doing my job perfectly well."

Between the hurt he saw in her eyes before, there was anger emerging. One he matched quite well. "Well, then keep your- your heart and feelings out of it. And your body at least a few inches separated from his."

This time, her mouth was fully agape. Gwyn stuttered from a moment, trying to find an answer, when Tarquin suddenly surged behind her.

"Gwyn? Is this a good moment? There's something I want to show you."

She turned around to face the High Lord and, before Azriel could growl at him or stop her, one of his shadows - the only one that actually listened to the Shadowsinger sometimes - nervously darted across his face, whispering about something about Beron.

Azriel turned around, scanning the room in search of the Autumn High Lord, only to find him having a mildly heated conversation with Helion. But when he returned to excuse himself from the group, Gwyn and Tarquin were gone.

[generichoneydew]

I know that you have a lot of requests now but if you want can you draw an Eastern Male Blue Bird in your style:3 It could have a background like the sky or the Appalachian mountains it's all up to you. Also you can add other animals or elements as it is your artwork. You should try and experiment with as many subjects as possible as like landscape and animals, but don't burn yourself out on anything especially since this is just an art suggestion not a commission. Plus don't listen to those weirdos that tell you otherwise and just ignore them. Anyways sorry for the long message and good luck if you're going to take this piece on. (P.S if you want I could pay you as well especially if you're going to be ambitious and spend a lot of time on this silly lil bird as well I got a spare $15 lying around lol)

Oh man. Thank you for your patience, I'm so sorry for making you wait 3 months for me to respond to this ^^". I mulled over what to do for this request for a long time, but for the LIFE of me I couldn't come up with something. I had so many thumbnails for a big drawing, but for some reason I just wasn't happy with any of them. About a month ago my wrist started acting up like crazy (I've been dealing with some TFCC tears for just over a year now) and while in my wheel throwing workshop I learned centering clay hurt like hell! So as to not to waste my time I decided to try hand building for the first time in like... god, not since I was in elementary school for sure. Anyways, I was thinking about what to make when I remembered, huh, bird guy told me to experiment. I will make a little bird!! And it will be lovely and splendid!! And I will have FUN!!!!! EVEN IF IT'S NOT PARTICULARLY WHAT YOU WHERE ASKING FOR!!!!!

By no means perfect, and I would have defiantly done it differently if I where to remake the little guy again, but I had a ton of fun testing this out! Hand building didn't bother my wrist at all, so I will probably stick to that when I go to my clay class until my wrist heals up :). Thank you for the kind words as well ∑ ദ്ദി(°∀°  ) 

72/104

(more yapping and pictures under cut)

Here some work in progress pictures!

I had a really hard time deciding what glaze (paint, essentially) to use since my studio had JUST replaced and swapped out a lot of the glazes and hadn't put them on the reference wall yet. I eventually settled on Watt's white for the base, LS purple for the eyes and beak, red art shino on the chest, and then Cobalt Blue for the top! That ones actually the pink glaze you see in the last image above. If you aren't familiar with clay, for the kind of glaze I like to use you have to put the pieces in a big oven to dry them out so they're ready to be glazed, then after they have the glaze on them you have to put them in the really hot oven again to make the glaze into glass. A lot of the time the heat changes the color of the glaze drastically, which is why I was really bummed when the glaze I would normally use for the really bright orange color wasn't available anymore. So I had to take a gamble with the red art shino. I think the colors turned out accurately enough, but I think I would apply the glaze differently if I where to do it again.

Also! a week after I built the bird, I made a shark! Modeled off of Blahaj because of course it was.

I took what I learned with the bird and applied it to this guy, and I think he turned out a lot better because of it. I'm not too happy with how the glaze turned out, though that was partially my fault with how I went about applying it. I think he's cute either way :).

Here's the two together! my cobalt blue babies,,,

The bowl in the background of the first image is actually another one I glazed along side these guys that I made before my wrist started acting up. I think the original ball of clay I used to make it was like... 4-5 pounds? I've been doing wheel throwing for about 3 years now, so I'm still very inexperienced, but I was very proud of myself for being able to wrangle a hunk of clay that size. Unfortunately the bottom totally cracked in the kiln so I can't use it for food or liquids, but still very pretty for holding misc things!

I don't typically share my ceramic hauls on here since... I don't think you people would be very interested in a bunch of bowls and stuff LMAO. However, the funniest possible thing in my 3 years of throwing just happened to me.

Completely normal bowl I threw, only about 2 and a half to 3 pounds. It had a bit of a wobble, so I couldn't really do anything super special with it without risking it completely failing on me. So I wasn't incredibly attached with the final product, but I still liked it enough to trim and glaze it and stuff. Glaze itself turned out lovely though, I wasn't expecting this combination to turn out so pretty on red clay. But over all though, It wasn't my favorite thing ever. I go to pick it up off the shelf to take it home, but I notice someone else's piece (round donut looking thing) fell onto it. No biggie, I'll just lift it off and move it so I can take my bowl and nothing ends up falling.

Expect, when I go to gently lay it away from my bowl, it doesn't move. I push harder, The Whole Freaking Bowl Moves With It.

SOMEONE ELSE'S PIECE HAD FALLEN ONTO MINE IN THE KILN AND GOT ATTACHED. I started laughing my butt off, and I walk back into the studio to go put it down with the rest of my stuff so I could get working, and the instructor sees me with it and explains the situation:

Apparently some (her words) "ding dong adult" had placed this donut looking thing next to my piece A) without asking anyone, B) without scraping the glaze off the bottom (you have to do that so the piece doesn't stick to the cookie/kiln), and C) in a way that would OBVIOUSLY fall over if someone even sneezed on it wrong. Bless her heart, she offered to try and chip it off for me, but I told her no since it was so funny to me and I wasn't that committed to the piece anyways. When you think about it, its like a free handle!

Anyways, after discovering that absolute treat (and also getting to see a very cute whooper my instructor made), I decided to try my hand at making one of my favorite pokemon, kommo-o. He's just the main body so far, no scales or fluffy bits yet, but he's coming together!

Also! If/When I ever make another Pokemon discussion video, I added the bird and the shark to the background, so they may or may not be in there next time lol.

And that's about it for now! Again, so sorry on the wait for this post ^^;...

Oh, and totally off topic, but I have good news for the people who have been seeing me complaining about my wrist for the last year! I finally got a chance to go back to my doctor about it after it started acting up again in January. I got another physical therapy referral, a new wrist brace, and I'm going to take the summer off tennis and some other intensive activities, so hopefully all should be better soon! The kind of injury I have takes a long time of overuse to develop, and a long time of healing to fix. So, this is your yearly reminder to be better then me, and to always stretch before doing anything very intensive activity with your body!!! This INCLUDES handwriting, drawing, running, ANYTHING. Take frequent breaks, stay active and take care of yourself. You in your 30s-40s+ will thank you for the efforts are doing to stay happy and healthy now. Learn from me, I wish I could punch middle school me in the face because I am WAY too young to be having pain like this. Head my warning, and have a lovely day |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ!!

[simplegenius042]

Last Line/s, OC Question and Pinterest Tag Games

Tagged by @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @g0dspeeed @josephslittledeputy @derelictheretic @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @red-nightskies @purplehairsecretlair @carlosoliveiraa @softtidesworld @shallow-gravy @icecutioner @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @starsandskies @ladyoriza @wrathfulrook @florbelles @skoll-sun-eater @sleepyconfusedpotato @rhettsabbott @afarcryfrommymain @titiagls @voidika @la-grosse-patate @minilev and @thewanderer-000 + anyone else who wants to join.

Given how short this post would be if I just did one each, I decided to do three series for each one. You can find the Last Line/s, answers to the question and pinterest stuff below the cut!

Last Line/s for my original The UnTitledverse WIP A Blast In The Past, my FC5 The Silver Chronicles WIP called Strawberries and lastly my The Invitation WIP from Life, Despair & Monsters called An Invite To Wine And Dine below:

THE UNTITLEDVERSE It is too much for you to handle; the entourage of meaningless yet familiar images assaulting your mind, the thin air in the room threatening to suffocate you, the stress from drowning in the darkness again. And so, my old pal, you collapse.

THE SILVER CHRONICLES Her kiss was messy but swift, unfairly so, and from what he could capture, Nadi's lips had been firm, lacking action and experience, but hungry and desperate all the same. John felt lightheaded in his shock, his palms sweating and his pulse beating faster, his breath lost as he stared at the blonde; her blushed face, the hidden dimples and the surprise forming on her face, even when she was the one to kiss him.

LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS

Evie smiled, but this time it wasn't a kind smile, nor was it a polite smile. Her eyes seemed to darken, the brown that could be seen lost in this supernatural transition. "In truth," she repeated, eyes staring hungrily at her cousin from the other side of the dining table, her audience captivated by her unprecedented display, "I'm here for a change in this family business' management."

Now for the OC Question: How would you describe your character but in a metaphorical way? What feeling, thought, smell, imagery, etc comes to mind when you think of them? Everything from the good to the bad, what are they?

THE UNTITLEDVERSE Lisa Cobalt: Lisa is like a common storm; a persistent chaotic force that pushes others forwards but also away, coming in unannounced and always when you're unprepared, a rapid swing between a gentle harmless drizzle to a raging fit no fault of her own. She is also a form of melancholic pessimism, a frenzy of unreliable and invasive thoughts that make you doubt every decision you make but are ultimately empty. Lisa is the smell of vinegar; sharp and stings your nose, but a reliable repellent against the rust and grime and unclean. Lisa is the feeling of self-doubt and exhaustion that wants you to give up, but at the same time, a drive to know that things aren't done yet, and you have to keep going.

THE SILVER CHRONCILES Silva Omar: Silva is a fire. A fire that never ceases to burn. An unstoppable force that returns every time. A fiery of flames, a dangerous element that is capable of destroying everything around her, an ire to be weary of, and if she so wished, she could engulf the world too. But though a risk her presence can be, she is also a light of safety, a shield of protection, and a source of warmth. An undying existence; one you can stomp out, let sizzle and die, pinch close, put out, but never end, as just like fire, and the right components, she'll reignite. She is a passion; for creativity, curiosity, love, life, the mundane even. She is the determination to keep going, to find the happiness, the peace, the fulfillment in a good ending she deserves. She is the summer and spring, an appreciation for the past but also grounded in the present and looking forward to the new beginning.

AN OLD BALLARD OF CHANCE AND EMBER HEARTS TRILOGY (ORIGINAL WORKS) Discord, the Mad Kin of Carnage: Discord is a slow and yet abrupt end. A decay in nature, the rust on metal, the ash from embers and the end of the material plane. He is the unspoken inevitability of death, destruction and decay. He is the desert that buries pharaohs' tombs, the sea that sunk cities of the past, and the breakdown of societies and empires. Inexplicable chance, unexplained phenomenon. His beating heart like the bells that toll. But he is also the absence of beginning, a disruption of the cycle that begins anew. He is the extinction of life, unfair and cruel, an obstacle of preservation, of progress, of choice and of life. Needless and necessary, constant and brief, an end with no beginning and a breeze that refuses to rest. Discord knows what he is, knows what he does, isn't ashamed of his nature. And that's enough for him.

Pinterest Tag game for OCs from The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. rules: search ‘your name + core’ on pinterest and post the first 6 pictures.

PAUL YELLOWJACK (THE SILVER CHRONICLES)

[NOTE: I'm not happy with my Pinterest]

SIR ENIGMA MALVOLIO (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

[NOTE: Bottom right image is how I feel about my useless Pinterest]

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE)

[NOTE: My disappointment in my Pinterest is immeasurable]

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

31: Would I Fuck Myself? No, My Self-Loathing is Too Strong

♪────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

You tuck in your lips to stop smiling too much, though you are failing miserably. Lo and behold and in the flesh (Flesh? Bones?) was a familiar-looking skeleton.

He seems to have a white t-shirt underneath this grey half-plate armor and blue seams to the shoulder pads. A cobalt-colored scarf wrapped loosely and stylishly around his neck, trailing behind him in an improvised cape. His dark blue pants are tucked into his blue boots, the boots being the same color as his scarf.

His wide, accomplished grin is so round and vaguely heart-shaped. His eyes are beautiful you think–round, cyan saucer fucking eyes with stars designs in them. He looks so much like the Sans on top of you if only rounder with his features, and with a belly that you assume is made with magic and crap???

This is him, this is UnderSwap Sans.

He’s so…

HE’S SO CUTE!!

Your Sans is looking at his other version with a grimace. He doesn’t look so happy about seeing himself wearing a cute armor get-up.

“ah… h-hey, buddy,” Sans stutters, slipping his hold and jerking closer to you, “guh–sorry. hey, do you mind letting us down?”

This would be the perfect time to give your man even more stress.

You lean up and give Sans a small peck on the cheek, rubbing your cheek against his immediately after.

“We don’t spend enough quality time together.” You whisper cheekily.

“oh please not now, [y/n].” He whispers back, already tired and defeated.

Sans looks back down at his mirror self, trying to distance himself from you so he’s not laying on you completely. “buddy? hey? let us down, please?”

UnderSwap Sans (Swap-Sans for “short”) gives you both an incredulous look. Unlike Sans, he’s much more willing to drop his smile to express himself. Though his mouth still doesn’t open to talk, the outer edges around his teeth move? It’s so fucking weird it’s like you’re watching a cartoon.

“WHAT? AND RUIN MY CHANCES OF CAPTURING A HUMAN? THIS IS THE FIRST ONE I’VE MET, THERE’S NO WAY I’LL GIVE THAT UP.”

Jesus, it will never not freak you out that you’re able to understand he’s still speaking in Comic Sans but in all caps without yelling. His voice is the same tone as Sans just less lazy and more enthusiastic. You know, like he’s putting his whole Sanussy into it.

You give him the corporate smile, the one that says: “I think you’re irrational, but I can’t afford to get fired so I’m going to pretend I’m listening to what you’re saying when really I couldn’t give less of a shit.”

You know the one.

“Hey, man. How ‘bout I give my word–nay, I promise that I won’t run away if you get us down.”

Swap-Sans rolls his eyes, “OH, PLEASE. HOW DUMB DO YOU THINK I AM?”

“You really want me to answer that?-”

“-okay! okay! enough!” Sans quickly interrupts.

That was a good save, honestly. You have nothing against poor Swap-Sans, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be so sassy. Swap-Sans gives you the side eye, the silence stretching out for a moment.

With a slight frown, you whisper quietly, “Sans! Do something!”

Your Sans looks at you for a second to think. Luckily for you both, he is a quick thinker.

“look, you got us, alright? but we’re not bad people, and she isn’t a bad human. just let us down from here and we can talk.”

Finally, the other skeleton shrugs, “SIGH. FINE.”

Swap-Sans snaps his fingers in the air and drags that same hand downward. As he does that, a broken, jagged bone appears with a cyan outline. He catches it before it can fall, chucking it in a direction past you. You hear a rope snap–

“WAHH–ACK!!”

“ugh!!”

The net drops you both instantly, Sans falling on top of you and his knee accidentally digs into your inner right thigh. You try repeating in your mind that you prefer it this way instead of hurting Sans with his squishy ass 1HP. The Comic (Your Comic Sans) scrambles off you, dragging you to sit up while simultaneously checking you for injuries.

“crap–are you okay?” He asks you again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. How about you?” You dust off the snow from his shoulders, thankful that his gloves are still on you to buffer you from the snow.

“peachy all thanks to you. you make a great body pillow. literally.”

“Ooh, okay smooth talker.”

The whole time you two are yapping and helping each other up, Swap-Sans has been staring down Sans. You guys try to ignore it, but it’s not like there was anything else you could distract yourself with.

You step slightly ahead of Sans, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, this could’ve been super dangerous!”

“WHAT DO YOU-”

“-What if we were some monsters just minding our own business, and we got trapped but you weren’t conveniently here in time to let us go? What if you have forgotten about this trap and a monster was stuck in that for days? You need to think twice about pulling risky stunts like that!”

As you’re chastising him, Swap-Sans kicks his foot to and fro in the snow. His hands are behind his back and he hangs his head in shame.

How embarrassing, getting scolded by a human like this. He can’t even say anything because as much as he hates to admit it, you’re very right. The only reason he caught you and Sans so fast was because he JUST finished setting up that trap.

Dang…

Sans, meanwhile, is quite impressed.

“Now,” You put your hands on your hips, “Congratulations, you’ve captured a human. AKA, me. BUT! Hear me out. What if… We became best friends instead?”

Sans is looking at you with confusion.

Swap-Sans is also looking at you with confusion.

“I know I sound crazy, but let me cook. I’d like to consider myself a decent human, but how would you–” You gesture to the skeleton in the scarf, “–ever know that if you immediately turn me in? What if! You and I legit became the best-est of friends, but you would never know that if you don’t give me a chance!”

Swap-Sans deadpans, “IS THIS JUST SO I DON’T TURN YOU IN TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD?”

Confidently, you answer: “Yes.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“anyway,” Sans awkwardly starts, trying to salvage this situation, “we’re not looking for trouble. the truth is, we’re on a mission to find something, and once we do, you’ll never see us again.”

Damn, this is not going very well for you guys right now. That kind of sucks because it doesn't have to be this complicated. Sans made it very clear you can’t let these people know you’re from an AU but it's not looking good for you so far. You’re afraid you might have to out yourselves if this keeps going.

You zone back into the conversation, unsure if you regret it immediately or not. They’re already going back and forth with each other how no, Sans isn’t an evil clone, but he’s also not going to share where he’s from. Swap-Sans is retaliating with something along the lines of: “THAT’S HOW I KNOW YOU’RE EVIL BECAUSE I’M GOOD AND I WOULD NEVER LIE.”

Sans is barely holding it in.

This is pretty funny, but you should probably jump in now before Sans loses it.

Hm. You wonder if a magical skeleton can have an aneurysm.

“You know what I can’t stop thinking about since you’ve said it?” You make a thinking pose since you like looking and feeling sophisticated. “I can’t be the first human you’ve ever met, there’s no way. How did you know I was human if you never met one, to begin with?”

Swap-Sans tense up with wide eyes, caught red-fucking-handed with his pants down and his cock out.

Sorry.

Anyway, Sans also realizes his counterpart’s mistake. If Swap-Sans has taken Papyrus’ role in this AU, then there’s no way he should know what humans look like just like the original Papyrus. Papyrus only knew when you first met because Sans told him about you beforehand.

So strictly speaking…

Swap-Sans sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes, “OKAY, FINE. I ADMIT–YES, THERE IS A HUMAN CHILD HERE IN THE UNDERGROUND.”

Shit, so Frisk–Wait, no. Chara is here already! You wonder where exactly you are in the timeline, and what run this is. That leaves you curious about the Frisk in your AU, and where the hell they are.

“BUT COMPARED TO THEM, YOU’RE SO…” Swap-Sans makes a “big” motion vertically as if measuring your height,  “YOU KNOW? SO I THOUGHT, SURELY YOU MUST BE A BAD HUMAN… RIGHT? I MEAN, CAPTAIN ALPHYS SAID ALL HUMANS ARE EVIL, BUT THAT LITTLE ONE WAS NOT. SO BY PROCESS OF ELIMINATION, THAT MEANS THE BIGGER HUMANS ARE.”

Well…

You think of your past and the fucked up shit you used to do before meeting Kōrenki, and are unable to say anything to defend yourself. You’re not that way anymore and you’ve fought hard to be the person you are now.

But your LV is 10 despite everything.

Your Level of Violence, your will, and your capacity to bring yourself to hurt others.

It’s a 10.

Isn’t that the LV Frisk has in the No Mercy run by the time they fight Undyne? Of course that’s including their ExP. But you are at a 10 without any of that. You are… what? Naturally a violent human? Is that who you are?

Maybe Swap-Sans is right-

“nah, nah. you got it all wrong,” Sans waves a hand dismissively, “she’s one of the coolest humans i’ve ever met. seriously, you’ll never meet anyone like her.”

You smile at him appreciatively, though taken aback to find he’s already looking at you (again) with that dreamy gaze of his like you’re the Sun. Ugh, so sweet yet so much pressure and responsibility to be the one who someone depends on for happiness.

Swap-Sans doesn’t pick that up though, mainly focusing on what Sans’ words mean for you. He doesn’t dwell on this for long though, have coming to a conclusion rather quickly.

“HMM… HOW ABOUT THIS,” Swap-Sans puts his hands on his sassy hips, “YOU TWO COME WITH ME FOR NOW AND STAY IN OUR CAPTURE ZONE WHILE I CALL THE HUMAN OVER. IF THE HUMAN CONFIRMS YOU’RE A GOOD HUMAN, THEN I’LL BELIEVE YOU AND LET YOU GO.”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” You agree immediately with a smile.

You give Sans a look, hoping he’ll understand to just go with it. Considering his ability to read expressions is still as amazing as ever, he relaxes and nods with an easy smile.

“THEN IT IS AGREED,” Swap-Sans holds his hands out, “NOW, GIVE ME YOUR HANDS. I MUST RESTRAIN YOU SO YOU DON’T GET INTO ANY FUNNY BUSINESS.”

Sans steps forward with a strained look, “uh, you don’t need to do that. ‘sides, this girl is really strong. she’ll just break free anyway.”

You put your hand on your chest, “Aw, you remembered my sleeper-build.”

“how can i forget when you picked up the entire couch by yourself the other day to vacuum? you carried it too for a solid minute without breaking a sweat.”

“You were taking too long to help.”

“i literally asked for 30 seconds to put on my shoes.”

“30 seconds is a long time in my cleaning schedule, bone boy.”

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT.” Swap-Sans interrupts with another eye-roll but a poorly hidden smile from amusement, “SO NO RESTRAINTS FOR THE HUMAN. THEN YOU MUST WALK RIGHT BESIDE ME.”

You shrug with a smile, “Sounds good to me. Lead the way, bone boy number 2.”

Swap-Sans huffs and starts walking. You follow quickly after with growing amusement, looking back to make sure Sans doesn’t try ditching you. You exchange looks for a moment; he doesn’t seem super pleased with the situation at hand, but you are enjoying every fucking second of this.

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

@adriixboo

@fluffyart5000

@fetusbaconegg

[dawn-moths]

Heya! If it's not too much, can I ask for nr. 3;5;15;32 or nr. 6;34;39;40 with Toya? I know it's a lot and I'm so sorry💀 but I think they'd really work together! The list itself it's so cute istgg😭 it was hard to choose

Have a lovely day!!

i’ll see what i can come up with 😉

prompt: seeking eye contact, recognizing the sound of their steps, watching their oblivious s/o lovingly, adopting some of their manners

character: dabi/touya (boku no hero academia)

words: 1200+

content warning: size difference, just some soft/comforting fluff with a teeny tiny bit of angst at the end, no other warnings apply!

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Touya drags his feet as he walks through the halls of HQ. In an odd way, it brings you some small joy, knowing he can relax a little more here, even if the sense of safety within these decrepit walls is a false one.

Out on the streets, Touya’s much more on guard, though he moves with a kind of gracefulness, like a stray cat slinking in and out of the shadows of a dark alleyway, each step careful and controlled, always ready to flee.

He stops and leans in the doorway for a moment before entering the room, a boney elbow crooked above his head as it presses into the frame for support. You can feel him staring at you, his striking sapphire gaze sending tiny sparks of electricity dancing across your skin despite the fact that you don’t turn to face him.

His aura is always looming, always haunting you, whether he’s around or not, like a phantom. However, unlike some other ghosts from your past that still cling to you, his is one you don’t mind lingering.

You continue to stare at the map splayed out on the floor under your fidgeting hands, though your focus fell to pieces the moment you heard his familiar gait scuffing closer.

Still, you pretend to continue working, knowing— despite Touya’s nonchalance during such a chaotic and busy time— he’d still probably give you hell if he caught you slacking off, make a sarcastic comment at the very least.

“Hey…” he drawls from where he’s still standing. When you still don’t turn, you hear the floorboards whine and creak under his shifting stance. There’s a short lull followed by an impatient huff as he exhales through his nose, and then he’s crossing the room to plop down on the floor beside you.

Touya keeps his eyes locked on your profile as your stare darts around on the map, cerulean catching where you’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

He knew you well enough by now to know exactly what that simple little habit meant. Something was bothering you.

“C’mon, now…” he murmurs, reaching over to gently brush a stray stand of hair behind your ear, melting a little whenever he’s around you. “You can look away from the map for just one minute, can’cha?”

“Can’t…” you lie, stubbornly keeping your eyes glued to all the crisscrossing streets and scribbled in landmarks that compose the main hub of the city. “I think I’ve almost figured this out… If I break focus now I’ll—”

But then he’s taking your chin between his lithe, calloused fingers, slowly turning your face until you have no choice but to gaze into all that cobalt blue, the color that so adores you.

“You’ve been working non stop all day,” he informs you, as if you weren’t already aware from how tired you are and the slight throbbing of a headache that’s been steadily drumming against the inside of your skull for the past two hours. “Just take a break.” Then he flashes one of those smiles, the kind that are just for you. None of his usual devilish smugness, only the sweet, comforting kind that even makes its way up to his half-lidded eyes a little.

Sometimes you think you’re the only one whoever sees him truly happy. You notice he only ever looks that way while his eyes are on you.

“Touya…” you whine in weak protest, beginning to turn back towards your work until his grip on your jaw flexes slightly, not so much a warning as a plead for you to take his advice.

Now it’s your turn to huff out a sigh, though yours sounds more guilty than impatient, quickly remedied by the way you allow yourself to sink further into his touch, his rough palm cradling your cheek once he realizes you won’t be choosing the map over him. At least, not until he leaves.

“You’ll thank me later,” he half sighs, half chuckles, clearly worn down by his part of preparing for the upcoming mission as well. “Trust me. Besides,” he nudges one shoulder in a lazy, languid half shrug, “it won’t do any of us any good if you’re so tired you can’t even think, when the time comes.”

You don’t want to admit it, but you know he’s right, so you groan out a sound of protest, nuzzling your head into his shoulder, feeling like, if you closed your eyes now, you could probably fall right to sleep, cradled and sated by his warm embrace. Touya thinks you’re adorable like this, but keeps that to himself, knowing you’ll go back to work out of spite if he teases you for it out loud.

“I mean, at least eat something,” he continues, placing a big hand on your shoulder, allowing it to make a slow descent down your back before scooching you closer to him, resting his chin on the top of your head once you’re pressed up against him. Then, trying to coax you further, he adds, “Toga snagged some of those pretzels you love on the last provisions run…” You can hear the smile in his tone, knowing he’s already convinced you when you flinch minutely at the mention of your favorite snack, perking up while still tucked into his chest. “She said she got you extra this time.”

Leaning back just far enough to meet his striking eyes again, seeing that pleased look on his scarred face, how could you refuse?

So you nod, moulding back against him and murmuring, “Only if you have some with me,” which earns you an amused hum from him, the sound vibrating low and soothing as you cuddle close to his chest.

“Deal,” he agrees, reluctantly standing from where you two were just starting to become entangled. As he’s once again perched in the doorway he glances over his shoulder at you and says, “This still counts as your break, just so we’re clear. When I get back I better not find you obsessing over that map again.”

He tries to sound stern, but his adoration for you flickers to life behind his words. You think you’re the only one who’s ever heard him sound like that too. At least out of those among you in the League.

You wave a hand at him dismissively, resisting the urge to glance back at the map and all its makeshift markings. “I won’t, I won’t…” you assure him, only to shift your expression into something a little more devious as you playfully warn, “As long as you don’t take too long to come back.”

Touya barks out a single note of a laugh before rounding back into the hall, that lazy stride echoing in quiet taps and drags until he’s out of your hearing’s range.

It makes you wish you could tear this map to shreds, reduce it to irreparable dust like your leader could if he laid all five fingers upon it. Because you know, in doing this work, you’re playing a part in putting everyone— putting Touya— in harm’s way. And while part of you hopes for a world where all of you can live free from what society has deemed as “good” and “evil” based on what quirk you were dealt against your will during childhood, you also fear that, for everything the League is trying to accomplish, not all of you— if any— will live to see the outcome.

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send me a number from this prompt list + one of the characters i write for and i’ll write a short lil something for you 💕

[cloudbattrolls]

Anything You Like

Hazard Ailaht | Selatak | Present Night

A few nights had passed since Hazard had rescued Panzen, and mercifully, no clowns seemed to have figured out he was involved. He’d heard, though, that it had been a big embarrassment for the Moons’ Eyes, and there was more pressure on them than ever from all the other clown sects - except the Dreamweavers, strangely enough - to relinquish some of their civic duties and power, as they were clearly incompetent.

However, the librarian’s mind was completely elsewhere at the moment.

He and Lizzie sat outside in the shaded pavilion of a nice dinner restaurant; not one of Selatak’s fanciest, but a quality one that usually catered to midbloods, olive through cerulean, though the odd cobalt or lowblood could also be seen among its clientele.

The staff didn’t care; they were overall rather relaxed, and didn’t much care who patronized them as long as they treated the workers and the food with respect. 

The blueblood and the tealblood enjoyed a small metal table near the edge of the pavilion, a view close to the water but not so near that they’d have to worry about sea spray or a hungry lusus. Hazard leaned back in his chair - luckily this place had decently sized ones, padded and flexible wicker, so he wasn’t uncomfortable or worried he’d break it - and sighed in relief, if also a little sadness as he looked over at his best friend.

“I still kind of can’t believe it.” He admitted.

Lizzie snorted. “You knew this was coming.”

He waved his hands. “I know, I know, but…it’s weird, come on. You’ve always been here. We’ve done so much together. It’s going to be so different without you to help me with the library.”

“Oh, is that all I am to you?” She shot back, smirking. “Your work assistant?”

“Oh my gods.” He said, sigh-laughing. “You know that’s not -”

“You’re so cold to me.” The legislacerator pulled a mock sad face. 

“I change my mind. I’m happy you’re leaving.”

Lizzie snorted at him and patted his hand. “I know you’ll miss me, Hazard. I do appreciate it.” She said fondly, looking at him more sincerely now. 

“But think of all the friends you have now. And Eirror. And Viltau.” She added, smirking again.

Hazard looked at his feet. A tiny bug crawled over his tan sandals.

“I’m not blind, Hazard.” She said with amusement. “You’re pale for him. He’s been pale for you even longer.”

“You…we don’t know that for sure.” He said, but even the linguist didn’t believe his own words.

A waiter dropped off some bread, and Hazard immediately shoved some in his mouth. He was hungry (he often was) but Lizzie’s mild eye roll made him aware that she knew her friend was also dodging the conversation.

She gave him a pointed look as he slowly chewed on his roll, and as he swallowed it, she dragged the bread basket over to her side, gripping it in both of her hands as she took two pieces for herself.

“Judaas.” Hazard grumbled, then looked nervous, fidgeting.

“Look, I…you’re probably right, but…could I really be a good moirail?” He said softly. “A good moirail for Vil, in particular? It’s great that he’s changed for me, but I…I don’t know. I never expected it of him. And can…gods, I feel horrible saying it, but can he really keep it up?”

He put a hand over his face. “I’m the worst person for thinking that, I know. I just…I know he still loves violence, he’s just better controlled now, and I…I don’t know, it’s not very romantic to want him to control himself, is it? Like he’s some sort of rabid dog? 

But that’s not how I think about him! I do really like him, somehow…gods, sometimes I feel crazy, liking someone like him so much, and I mean! That’s kind of awful too…I don’t want him to feel like he’s second best or something, because he isn’t! He’s wonderful, even though he can also be terrible…doesn’t he deserve a diamond who likes all of him, just as he is?”

Lizzie’s expression turned from mildly impatient to soft, understanding.

“Hazard. That’s not how pale works. You don’t have to adore every part of someone; you love that they’re trying, that they’re doing their best, and you know that sometimes you need to be firm or give them a little tough love to keep them on track.”

He looked bewildered.

“But you’ve never dated pa -”

“I was pale for you for a long time.”

The linguist, who knew so many words, was rendered speechless.

Lizzie couldn’t help laughing gently at the look on his face.

“M…me?” He squeaked.

“Oh, Hazard.” She sighed, tapping her fingers on the table. “Yes, you. Sometimes I cursed how oblivious you were, but I know a lot of it’s Goh Tat’s fault. It wasn’t long after, well…Bohaai died, and I realized how I felt. I wanted to be with you forever. I wanted you to want to hold me too, to put a hand to my face and tell me everything was going to be all right.”

Hazard looked at her in horror and guilt, face white. His best friend snorted.

“Look. I’m over it. Seeing Viltau fall for you, seeing how much you care about him too…and besides, I have Tira now.” She added with a smirk. “I think I can console myself with my hot motorsport boyfriend. Might not be pale, but you know what, I think I can find someone for that too.”

The blueblood looked at his blurry reflection on the table, trying to make sense of the feelings swirling in him like a maelstrom.

He was spared from sinking too deep in his own head by the arrival of dinner, which he and Lizzie both attacked with ferocity. He’d ordered spicy basil beef, and she’d gotten the seafood fried noodles.

Several minutes later, Hazard wiped his face with a napkin and felt more content, if still utterly confused and a bit worried.

“I…wow.” He said. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t know, but still. That must’ve been tough. You’re…a good person, being okay with me liking Viltau. I mean, I always knew you were, but…”

“What am I going to do, throw a tantrum?” Lizzie pointed out with amusement. “Sure, it hurt a little at first. But after how long you spent being miserable and knowing Goh Tat would criticize almost anyone you dated…I couldn’t find it in me to be that upset.”

Then she fixed him with a more critical eye. “So why don’t you want to tell Viltau you like him?”

Hazard winced, feeling like a bug pinned to a board under her gaze.

“I…” He swallowed. “I know it’s dumb, but…he’s everything I worried about before when I thought about quadrants. Someone who was way better put together than me, someone violent, someone charming and clever who could say anything and gods, what if I fell for it? What if I fell for it despite all Goh Tat’s warnings and got hurt or killed - or worse, manipulated, and the library suffered for it? It’s not like he was totally wrong about all of it. I know there are people out there who’d - “

“Ohhhh my gods.” Lizzie groaned, interrupting. “Hazard, I love you so much, pale or not, I always will, but you have got to not let Goh Tat think for you. You’re right! It IS dumb. You know why? Because Viltau is violent, clever, and manipulative but - and this is the important part - that boy is so down bad for you he’d write your name in the sky if he thought it’d get your attention.”

The librarian blushed a deep blue at that.

“Hazard. He would never hurt you. I think you know that. You matter more to him than anything except his matesprit.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” Hazard agreed, but twisted his thick fingers together, anxious. “But…he has hurt and will hurt other people. I can’t completely stop that…and I wouldn’t expect to, I know sometimes violence is unavoidable.” He admitted. 

“And…I know I can’t stop him enjoying it. That’s just how he is. I don’t think I really want to anyway…but am I...bad for that? Am I betraying my values?”

“You and Eirror need to fuck already if you’re this pent up.” Lizzie retorted, facedown on the table in exasperation as Hazard realized the waiter had taken their empty plates when he wasn’t looking, and he made horrified and embarrassed hissing noises as he processed what his friend said.

“Wh - that’s - hey - that’s none of your business!!” Hazard said, almost squeaking again. 

She lifted her head up and raised her eyebrows at him, resting her chin in her hand now as she looked at him, ponytail blowing in a warm breeze. 

“Hazard. Murder and violence are part of living on Alternia, and I don’t see you becoming a hermit eating moss any time soon. Moss is not going to sustain you.”

He looked horrified at the very thought.

“That’s what I figured.” She remarked dryly.

“Speaking of, uh, did you want to get dessert?” He asked, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“Obviously I want dessert.” She said, stretching her thick arms out. “Am I dead?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then I want dessert.” she confirmed. “I need my treats.”

He managed a slight chuckle at that, and called for the waiter to give them a dessert menu.

The warm wind blew again through their hair, the rest of the pavilion, out over the ocean that surrounded the island of Selatak, and far, far beyond it.

Hazard and Lizzie ate their dessert, said their goodbyes, and had one last hug.

Though his heart fluttered with worry as she waved to him from the train station, the cerulean knew she was right as another breeze tossed his curls about.

He looked up at the pink and green moons, one barely past new, the other a modestly sized crescent.

He didn’t believe, as the Moons’ Eyes did, that they were the messiahs looking down on him. His own religion said little on the topic, except that the moons were to be respected, that their changing cycles were something all trolls should be mindful of and reflect on occasionally.

The librarian remembered what he’d told Viltau once, how sometimes you had to take a break, or mix things up in your life so you didn’t get stuck.

Well, if Viltau and Lizzie could do it…

So could he.

[practically-an-x-man]

I'm going to throw Kat at the mercy of the wheel, I think, I feel too guilty throwing Lars or Jimmy... (sorey, Kat!)

Oooh.... very interesting.

Whump wheel came up with.... Buried Alive! Now that could be fun...

The Whump Wheel

____ Entombed

Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Whump, blood, claustrophobia, captivity, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

____

Before she could react, there was a hand gripping her hair.

"Ah- hey!" Katherine blurted, more startled than truly in pain. That changed all too quickly, though- the grip wrenched her up, out of her seat, dragged with a pace too fast to keep up. Katherine staggered, fighting to get her feet under her. The pressure on her scalp was agonizing, so intense she wondered if something would tear. With her hair, thick and healthy and natural as it was, she worried that something would be her scalp.

She clawed at the fingers in her hair, digging her nails in deep. Her attacker flinched, grunted, but didn't release their grip. Katherine's feet skidded on the tiles below her, unable to find traction.

Katherine shrieked. It was a high, piercing sound- that quickly dissolved into a helpless cough as her attacker spun and drove a knee into her gut. She only caught a glimpse at the figure, everything but their eyes (brown eyes, like seventy-nine percent of the world had brown eyes) covered in a thick black ski mask.

And then they were moving again, even as she coughed and sputtered and staggered. She didn't dare scream again. She had a feeling her punishment this time would be worse.

Rough hands dragged her down the hall at the same too-quick pace. The pain was blinding every time she slowed. Katherine felt warm blood running out onto her fingers, but still her attacker refused to let her go.

It wasn't until her eyes caught stone walls, engraved in cobalt and ochre, that she realized where she was being taken. Here was the place her lover called home, the roost of the gods that wove her history, the place she'd spent so many peaceful hours...

Here was the place with a great stone coffin, just the right size to contain a helpless girl.

With a single harsh movement, half-drag and half-shove, Katherine found herself tumbling into the sarcophagus. She fell into a ruin of rotted cloth and crumpled papers, saw stars as her head hit the stone base of the box.

Shadows slid over her, accompanied by the cacophonous growl of rock scraping rock. The lid was closing, inch by terrible inch. Katherine shoved at it, kicked at it, tried in vain to slow its momentum, but couldn't find the slightest leverage against her attacker.

Her sliver of light trickled away.

Soon it was gone. Soon she was left in the dark. And as the footsteps of her attacker echoed down the hall, soon she was left in silence.

Suddenly the space felt so much smaller. The stone squeezed her shoulders, pressed bruises into the slopes of her hips and thighs, bent her neck at a strange angle. Katherine took in a breath, fighting hard to keep it under control. Each inhale sent fresh, sharpened aches through her ribs and shoulders. She was shorter than Ahk, but also quite a bit curvier, and this space wasn't made for her.

The urge to scream filled her so suddenly, so violently, it struck her like a bolt of lightning. It took everything in Katherine's power to battle it back. She didn't know where her attackers had gone, and she couldn't bear to waste oxygen in such a confined space. She could not afford to panic now.

She'd been through worse than this, she told herself. She could handle this. They'd taken the locks off the sarcophagus years ago. All she had to do was push the lid aside. Ahk did that every night.

She could do this.

Katherine planted her hands on the stone and pushed, pushed with everything she had, every ounce of strength she had contained in a body that barely cracked five-foot-two on a good day. She pushed until her shoulders burned, until those sore spots on her hips and spine screamed in fresh agony, until she was panting and gasping for breath in the musty air.

And it didn't move. Not an inch.

"Fuck!" she screamed, unable to help herself. The sound just ricocheted back at her, with all the force of a slap to the face. Her ears rang.

Ahk did this every night. Every. Night.

But he was built taller, built stronger, built with muscle where she had softness. And he had a space that fit him, while she was cramped and bent and aching.

Katherine twisted, trying to get her feet planted against the lid of the sarcophagus. She had more power in her legs than her arms, she always had, and even just an inch of space would be enough to give her the leverage she needed.

Her hips were screaming in pain, wedged between unyielding planes of rock. Her shoulders were the same, worse with even the smallest twitch. The sarcophagus was too shallow to get her feet planted against it- she only succeeded in thoroughly bruising her knees.

It had never felt more like a coffin.

Panic flooded her all at once. It had been manageable enough, with the promise that she could create her own escape, but now that promise had shattered. It felt like she was breathing more dust than air.

"Help me!" she shrieked, now veering on desperation. Her fists pounded on the stone, scraping rough edges and drawing blood. Her breath came in roughened gasps, choked with tears of pain and fear. She wasn't sure her voice even escaped the box that held her.

"Ahk! Larry! Somebody!" Her screams ripped through her throat, so sharp and violent that she tasted blood. Katherine continued to drum on the stone lid above her, kicking and shoving until she felt her skin tear.

Panting and sweating, another thought struck her. Katherine fought hard to manage her breathing, pressing her trembling and bloody hands to the stone lid above her.

"Sekhmet..." she whispered, closing her eyes though the box was already unfathomably dark around her, "Give me strength. Please. I need to get out of here."

Gold light rippled through her mind, and she felt it flare bright around her... and then it was gone. Katherine tried again to push at the stone ceiling above her, praying that maybe she'd been granted some unseen strength, but it still didn't budge.

She found herself sobbing in the dark. She was stuck. That was it. Stuck. Not strong enough to escape on her own, and the gods couldn't or wouldn't help her. And she had no idea what had been done with her friends, if they'd met a similar fate.

The air was thick around her. It felt like breathing pure concrete, and Katherine's head spun. She wasn't sure how much longer she had before she ran out of air entirely. Would she drift off into unconsciousness? Or would she simply lie here, panicked and choking, until she died?

She shrieked until she didn't have the breath to shriek, pounded on the stone until the pain in her hands grew to a fiery agony, twisted until the bruises on her hips and shoulders felt bone-deep... and then she stopped, exhausted. Sparks danced behind her eyes, flickering in the darkness. She could have been drifting to the bottom of the ocean, with that dark and the pressure around her.

Katherine didn't know how long she'd been trapped here. It could have been moments or it could have been hours. All sense of time had drifted away. Faint stars flickered in the dark. Despite all her aches, the rough stone pressed in too close, the space suddenly felt endlessly open. Maybe that meant she was losing her mind.

At least she wasn't so panicked anymore. Her head was too foggy to find the emotion within her. She felt her senses extend, like a plane breaking through the veil of clouds above it...

A lion prowling the halls, gleaming gold. A burst of sparks flickering on the end of its tail. A growl- no, not quite, just a rumble, a come-here sort of vocalization. Figures, many figures, first wandering and then sprinting.

Familiar golden light filled the sarcophagus, flooding her senses. Then came another growl - thick and harsh and rocky, a jackhammer into her skull.

"Katherine!"

All she could manage was a sort of wheeze, cringing as she was doused in blinding light. All she could see were silhouettes above her, hazy and looming.

Lean arms grabbed her tight and heaved her out of the box. Fresh air flooded her lungs, and Katherine coughed and gasped until her ribs ached. Her throat tasted of iron and dust. The tile floor was cold beneath her, and quickly became smeared with blood from the rough scrapes all down her legs.

"Oh, my love..." Ahk murmured, taking her hands and running his fingertips featherlight over the many scrapes he found there. Katherine blinked at him, fighting to let her eyes adjust to the new light around her. His face was bruised, like he'd come from a fight, and he was missing his cape and crown. His knuckles were split, the cuts welling with crimson.

"Who..." That was all she could manage. Her voice came out as a harsh croak, and she tasted blood.

"Some sort of intruder. Perhaps looking to loot us for valuables." A voice answered from high above her. Teddy. She hadn't even noticed him there. The edges of her vision were still faintly fuzzy, and for a moment she wondered if she'd pass out. The sensation bloomed and waned, impossible to predict.

"We've taken care of it," Ahk promised, and she was reminded again of his bruised knuckles. Yet his hands were gentle as he checked her over, gracing along the cuts and bruises. "I'm so, so sorry, my dear. I should have gotten there sooner."

"Not... your fault." she gasped, taking in another shuddering breath. It helped clear her head a little. Katherine found herself staring at her hands, caked in half-dried blood. Some of it was hers. Some was her attacker's. She remembered the feeling of digging her nails in, feeling them flinch but still not let go. She hated feeling so helpless, especially in a place that had become such a home to her.

Ahk's careful fingers cupped her face, lifting her chin until she was forced to meet his eyes. That helped too. It was easier not to see the wounds. Already she felt a little less shaky.

"Larry's grabbing the first-aid kit. Just wait here a minute." he told her, sliding a little closer as he did. He'd been hesitant at first, she could sense it, not wanting to crowd her after she'd just been so enclosed. She knew he struggled with the same claustrophobia. Now she understood it all too well. Her bloodied fingers fumbled for him, and he clasped his hands around her own.

"I'm alright..." Katherine croaked, finally managing to catch her breath. She cleared her throat, wincing at the fresh pain. "I'm alright."

[ask-sunshine-the-hedgehog]

A New Beginning

Sunshine jolts awake with a gasp and shoots upright in bed, his chest heaving as he glances around the barely lit bedroom to try and regain his bearings as his shaking hands tightly clutch the blanket that was covering his lap and his sleeping husband. He sighs softly and shakes his head as he carefully stands up, sliding his slippers on before making his way down the hallway towards his son's recently finished nursery to calm his nerves. What the hell was that dream about? It felt so real and seemed like it had gone on for so long but he couldn't actually remember anything that had happened in the dream other than a few vague images of places he had never been and people he knew but with noticeable differences about them, it reminded him of the strange dreams he had after going to Soleanna with Cobalt for their honeymoon. Hopefully he'd stop having this dream soon too, he really needed his sleep right now.

He yawns softly as he stands near the empty crib that stood against the wall near a small window, it wouldn't be long before his son would be sleeping in this crib. A small smile crosses his face at the thought and he rests a hand on his round stomach, feeling his son moving around gently before seeming to settle back to sleep and going still again. He was going to miss that feeling after his son was born, but he was also excited to finally be able to hold his baby in his arms after feeling him growing and moving inside him for the past few months. His baby was one of the only things that had kept him going while Cobalt was missing, he had almost given up on the hopes of ever seeing his husband again or that the war against Eggman would ever come to a favorable end but he couldn't bring himself to give up on his child's future so he kept up a brave face and held out for the sake of his unborn son.

A pair of arms snaking around his waist startled Sunshine from his thoughts and he looks over his shoulder to see Cobalt's sleepy face smiling at him. "Hello, handsome. What are you doing up so late? You should be resting" The blue hedgehog greets his heavily pregnant husband, resting both of his hands on the other hedgehog's belly and gently rubbing it to comfort him "Are you having nightmares again?" He asks softly as Sunshine leans back into his embrace with a sigh.

"Not exactly. I don't really remember what actually happened in the dream but it woke me up, it's like those weird dreams we kept having after our honeymoon" Sunshine explains, his face scrunching up a bit when a dull twinge of pain passes through his stomach. He had been feeling similar twinges for weeks now so they didn't really phase him anymore, he knew that they were just a normal result of his body preparing itself for the baby's arrival.

"No use dwelling on it while we're both still half asleep, let's head back to bed and try to get some sleep while we still can" Cobalt says when he notices his husband's discomfort, gently guiding him back to their bedroom and climbing back into bed with him. He knew that the pains were normal but he couldn't help worrying every time he saw one happen, especially now that his due date was getting closer. He hated seeing Sunshine in pain regardless of the cause, but now it put him on edge. He just wanted to be ready when it really was time for their son to arrive so he could be there to support his husband. Cobalt still felt guilty about not being around for most of Sunshine's pregnancy and wanted to make up for it even though his husband had assured him repeatedly that he knew his absence wasn't his fault and that there was nothing he had to make up for, he was just happy that they were together again.

"Something's bugging you too" Sunshine says after a moment of them laying together in comfortable silence "And I know that you're not just worried about me, you looked like you were thinking about something. You know that I don't blame you for not being here, you were being held captive against your will. I know that you would have come back to me sooner if you could have, what matters is that you're safe now and back home where you belong" He smiles softly and hugs Cobalt close, running his fingers through his quills to help the blue hedgehog relax. He hated that Cobalt blamed himself for losing to Infinite and ending up as a prisoner on The Death Egg, they had no way of knowing how strong the jackal would be and no time to prepare a proper strategy to take him down. None of that was Cobalt's fault.

"I guess you're right...I just feel so bad about leaving you here to deal with everything by yourself, I'm grateful that our friends were able to keep you and our baby safe but I should have been here for you too" Cobalt sighs, leaning into his husband's gentle touch and shutting his eyes as he slowly began to relax. He had really missed being with Sunshine like this during those six horrible months he had spent aboard The Death Egg, being apart for so long was the worst part of his imprisonment. The thought of being reunited with his husband was the only thing that gave him hope of being rescued and kept him motivated to keep trying to escape on his own until that happened. He had to remember to thank the rookie that had helped him escape the next time he saw them.

"I know I'm right so please stop being so hard on yourself, I hate hearing you talk like that" Sunshine replies as he tries and fails to suppress a yawn, earning a sleepy smile from Cobalt as the two of them start to slowly drift off to sleep together in the comfort of each others arms "G'night, Sunny" The blue hedgehog mumbles softly, his sentence trailing off into a snore as Sunshine just gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgement before they both settled into a peaceful sleep for the rest of the night.