#void writing

[divine-misfortune]

Mmmmm wed nes day wips

I still write i promise gang

[void-lantern]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86486741

all dis jojo character analysis made me want to finish da yukako and okuyasu friendship fic i madeeee so here its done.

[divine-misfortune]

Don't deny what your poor heart needs

Rating: General

Relationship(s): Zephyr/Mountain

Words: 3,001

Tags: Kinda hurt/comfort, established relationships, references to established dom/sub dynamic but nothing nsfw, Mountain has a bad day, Zephyr makes it better, idiots in love

EVERYONE SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY @forlorn-crows RN!!!!!! Ilysm bestie, knowing you has been so wonderful and I hope today is amazing because you deserve it, 1000 kissies for crow

Read on ao3 or below the cut

Thrown carelessly by the whims of the cold autumn breeze, the door to the greenhouse squeaks and whines on rusted hinges. The wind drifts in like an uninvited guest. Invades his space and creeps up his spine slowly, from the base of his tail to the notch beneath his skull. Vertebrae by vertebrae until he involuntarily shudders. Mountain’s body shakes, the half repaired pot held together in his hand loses a small shard where the glue hasn't yet dried, and his tail twitches in annoyance. 

Mountain hunches further over the workbench as he blinks forcefully. His vision struggles to focus and he does his best to fight it. To persist through the burning in his eyes, through the ache in his back, through every innately human limitation his vessel presented. Exhaustion, fatigue…It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, the concept of being adjacent to mortal. Beneath him. He would sneer if he had the energy to spare but Mountain doesn't because he has nothing to lend his frustration as he exchanges one shard of broken pottery for another when the former does not fill the space. He heaves a sigh through his nose and promptly regrets the action, the smell of glue fills his nostrils and his stomach turns. 

He reels back for a breath of untainted air and tries not to gag. More pieces of clay fall from their place in his reckless movement. His tail kinks up behind him. 

He drags both hands through his hair as his gaze sweeps across the greenhouse. He unintentionally tears through the tangles with a frustrated warble as he takes in the disrepair.

Bags of soil turned over or cut clean open, earthy innards spilling out onto the cement alongside jagged shards of broken terracotta and displaced plants. Victims of unwarranted brutality, innocent casualties uprooted and ripped from the comfort of their dirt beds with little regard for the delicacy of their root systems. Mountain’s stomach sinks as he stares at the plants strewn over the floor. There’s no vibration, no steady hum of life radiating from them. A silence that makes him feel vaguely sick. Unsalvageable, the realization sits like lead. Many of these plants predate him and his care, laid carefully by older hands that nowadays rarely reacquaint themselves with the inside of these glass walls. 

His greenhouse, the one place he could control, lies before him in a state of carnage. Torn apart by vengeful siblings, driven by spite and pride alike. Siblings that could not take no for an answer, siblings that felt entitled to the fruits of his labor, siblings that had turned his greenhouse upside-down and made off with his cannabis plants on the way out - not even just taking his weed, taking the whole damn thing, pot and all. 

Mountain had spent hours trying to undo the damage. The morning sun had streaked slowly across the sky above, and he worked on. Daylight shifted and changed at the edge of his awareness. Golden light tinged orange until day finally bled into night, and he worked on. 

Every moment of labor is harder than the one before it. He feels it in his muscles, his tendons, his nerves and the pain only leaves him spiraling further towards hopelessness. He wipes his eyes on the back of his arm. Denies himself that final step towards despair. He won’t cry, he won’t. Mountain swallows the lump in his throat and shakily reaches for the puzzle of shattered clay left on his workbench.

The creaking door and the howl of the wind masks soft footsteps moving across the concrete behind him. The gentle tut of concern is what registers above the white noise. His ears perk up but he doesn’t turn from his work, not until a hand laid itself between his shoulder blades. His own began to tremble that much more. 

“Mountain…” 

Zephyr‘s voice makes his chest tight. Light like a whisper, steady as the ground beneath his feet despite just how much it feels like the world could crack apart and swallow him whole. 

“Is this where you’ve been?” 

“M’fine…” He responds automatically. Mechanically. His words sound as empty as they taste. The fingers against his back twitch in response, gives away their worry before he can turn to them and find it settled on their face. “Not done working.” 

“And you won’t be done for quite a while at this rate.” Zephyr frowns, he knows the sound of it. “You’ve done enough for one day, Mountain.” 

“I’m not done yet.” Mountain repeats, quieter. Telling himself more than them, it needs to be done. He has to be the one to do it.

”It can wait.”

”It can’t.” 

Their palm follows the curve of his spine to the small of his back. Delicate and fluid, a flower petal carried on a lazy river's current. The ceramic in Mountains hand does not click seamlessly back into place, rough edges audibly scraping rougher seams. Just another shard among the mess but the starting of a signature, split by the break, makes it priceless. Only a ghoul like Earth could sign something so small and clean, never a tremor nor twitch when a brush was in his hand. 

Mountain holds his breath and thumbs over the letters. Thinking. Zephyr says nothing until Mountain voluntarily sets it down among the rest. He finally lets the inhale go. It escapes ragged and weary. Only empty handed does he turn to look at them, defeated. The furrow of his brow is harsh, etched deep, Zephyr’s lips turn down that much more. He holds his hands out silently like an offering. Surrender. Pleading for guidance, to be taken far from this disaster, anything to shrug off the guilt crushing him.

”I’m sorry.” He croaks, throat tight. The words have to force their way out, fight to be heard. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

”You don't have to know.” Zephyr takes his offering carefully, fingers threading between his. Second nature to hold him, to reassure, to be the grounding force he needs. “Not right now, love.” They squeeze and his shoulders lower, only a fraction of the way. “It can wait.” 

Mountain bites the inside of his cheek, it isn’t suggestion. Telling, setting expectations. 

“…It can wait.” He concedes.

”Very good, pet.” They hum, pleased from the sound of their tune to the curl of their smile. 

Relinquishing control is done in a silent, well practiced, exchange. Zephyr tilts their head and he bows his in response, eyes meeting briefly as they pass. He heels to an unspoken command when their fingers slip from his. His heart, to its credit, does not sink at the loss of contact. Stutters, but does not fall. Mountain brings his hand to his chest instead of reaching for them again. Curls his fingers into starched fabric and forces himself to breathe. In and out. His mind fixes on the repetition as he trails behind them. They do not pause, no second glance to ensure he follows, Zephyr knows he's no more than two steps behind, as loyal and obedient as their own shadow. 

The halls of the abbey have long since been vacated by the time Zephyr leads him back towards the ghouls wing, the weary souls of the clergy already tucked in for the night. He envies the thought, the idea of sleeping so easily. His expression turns downwards, knowing the siblings that destroyed his sanctuary were among them, peaceful. Rest is undeserved, for both him and them. Mountain begins to scowl but where anger should burn, embers do no more than glow. Barely enough to put off any real heat. Mountain’s expression smooths itself out, though his features turn ever so slightly downwards. 

Mountain keeps his eyes trained on the floor as they walk, watching Zephyr’s tail swish behind them. A gentle to and fro, feathers lazily dusting the tile. Another easy thing to focus on all the way back to the air ghoul’s quarters. 

He crosses the threshold and slinks inside, shoes dragging against the carpet as he moves. His path diverts towards the bed but Zephyr reappears in front of him before he can make it much further. Mountain stops. Sways on his feet. Zephyr cups his jaw with a sigh, something about it sounds so much more tired than they let on. 

“I won’t have you dragging that mess any further.” Their gaze flicks down and over him, his follows to the dirtied front of his uniform. Now in proper lighting, not just the glow of dull fading lightbulbs he’d been putting off replacing in the greenhouse for a few weeks, he can see the extent of his own damage. “You’re filthy, pet.”

“…Sorry.” Mountain manages after a drawn out pause. 

Their thumb strokes lightly across his cheek.

”Shower, then you can rest.” They tell him. Simple, direct, without the burden of decision and yet Mountain still wrestles with the instruction. Enough so that he opens his mouth. Protest at the tip of his tongue, ready to tell them no, he doesn’t want to, but he hesitates to actually defy instruction. When no sound comes out of him, Zephyr repeats themself, leaving no room for decision. 

Instead of opposition, his more vulnerable, selfish wants make themselves known.

“Come with me…?” Mountain asks and almost immediately bites his tongue when he hears himself. Needy, meek. Far from himself and closer to a nervous kit. He almost turns and walks himself to the bathroom before they can answer and the embarrassment of sounding so desperate can really dawn on him. 

But Zephyr smiles, always endeared to him, even in such moments.

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Stepping into the bathroom feels like stepping into another plane of existence, it only carries his mind further from the reality of his tired, aching body. Mountain’s vessel feels tight, stretched across his demonic form like a second skin that doesn’t quite fit. He scratches at the line of his throat as he cranes his neck, glowering at his own reflection like a dog catching sight of itself in the mirror for the first time. It doesn’t look like him, doesn’t feel like him. 

Angry red welts begin to raise under the lines his claws repeatedly rake across his skin. 

His claws — He notices the dirt caked under them and jerks his hand away.

Mountain turns the shower on, turns it to a little shy of boiling, and begins to unbutton his tunic while the water slowly starts to heat. The fabric slips from his shoulders and pools on the tile around his feet. He barely feels lighter, his bones and his burdens each a thousand pounds on their own. A few layers of fabric don’t make much difference on that end, but Mountain can admit to feeling far less strangled by the confines of existence. A little less caged in but not quite free. 

He steps under the spray and inhales through his teeth as the heat crashes over him, an overwhelming wave that he instinctively starts to flinch from. Mountain fights the natural urge to retreat from the burning water, he sets his jaw and braces his hands against the linoleum, shoulders heaving as he forces himself to keep breathing through the pain cascading down his back — Different to the ache caused by hours of uninterrupted labor still present in his spine, sharp and vivid as opposed to low and dull, equally persistent but just enough to distract him. He screws his eyes shut. It isn’t pleasant, pain hardly ever is, but it’s something new for him to latch onto.

The bathroom is filled with steam by the time the door opens and closes with a soft click, a thick fog having taken over when he opens his eyes again.

 It could have been seconds or hours under the scalding water, his skin feels raw either way. 

Knowing better than to carelessly step into a shower after a few too many incidents with a certain fire ghoul, Zephyr is smart enough to test the water before joining him. They also flinch from the heat with a displeased noise and reach for the faucet. The water goes from burning to a more tolerable level of hot in seconds flat. Mountain shudders and presses himself closer to the wall when they slip into the narrow space with him. Their hands feel icy when they come to rest on his bare chest. 

“Did you intend to steam yourself like broccoli before I came in?” Zephyr teases.

”Thought you liked broccoli.” He mumbles as they move to push their fingers through his now sopping hair, mindful of the snags when they push it back and away from his face. 

“But I prefer my Mountain, and I prefer him uncooked.” 

Mountain laughs, shallowly. 

When their hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, he allows himself to be pulled down to their height. Zephyr kisses the space between his eyebrows then the bridge of his nose, and rests their foreheads together, their arms come to drape over his shoulders and in turn his hands find  their waist. 

They stand in silence, basking in all the warmth contained in the shower stall certainly not meant to fit two ghouls. Zephyr holds him until his rigid edges soften, until the tension melts, until Mountain lets them in. Then they hold him a moment longer, maybe for his sake, maybe for theirs, Mountain can’t say. Not that it matters.

He sighs, shuffles slightly, and tucks his face into their neck. His breath is hot and humid as he exhales against their damp skin. 

“I’m so tired, Zeph…” Mountain rasps and feels them nod in understanding. “I just couldn’t leave it like that.” He swallows, honesty a lump in his throat. “If Ivy saw the greenhouse like that—If Earth saw it like that—They’d hate me for it.”

”Mountain,” Zephyr says his name sternly and his ears pin back. “Ivy isn’t capable of hate, and Earth would never blame this on you. He knows you love every leaf and root in that garden.”

“How do I fix this?”

”Slowly.” They stand him up and wipe the water from his eyes. If they asked him, he’d tell them it was simply the shower, but that would not explain away the red tinging his eyes. But Zephyr knows when not to pry, he knows they won’t, that this wasn’t the time for such inquiries. “You’ll fix it as it comes. What is it the humans say? Rome was not built in an evening?”

”In a day.” 

“Hm?”

”Rome wasn’t built in a day, the thing the humans say.”

”Ah—“ They nod again and turn towards the rack on the wall behind them where they lather up a wash cloth with a bar of soap before facing him again. “Hands.” Zephyr instructs and he silently holds them out where they start the delicate process of scrubbing away dirt and dried blood from his skin, mindful of the dozens of little cuts over his fingers. “Always clever, pet. Sharper than this old hen on a good day.” 

“Humans say such strange things…” He says absently. 

“Humans are such strange creatures.” The air ghoul agrees and turns his hands palm up to check for further surface level wounds. Thankfully they were confined to his fingers. 

They work upwards from there; moving to his wrists, up his forearms, traveling all the way to his broad and solid shoulders, washing away his woes. He watches the suds drip from his body and run between their feet to swirl around the drain. Mountain feels heavier by the bubble, not in a weary sense, simply tired. Eager for the rest they promised in exchange for this, he assumes it was part of their plan. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me here.” They hum, breaking the quiet lull his mind was drifting away on. “I can’t carry you back to our nest, you know.”

”I know.” Mountain watches them wring the excess water from the cloth and hang it back on the rack. “Am I dirt free enough for your standards?”

”I would dare to say yes, you might be.”

The faucet is turned off and the chill begins to creep in the instant the curtain is drawn back, like it was waiting for the chance. His tail flicks and sprays a few droplets of water outside of the confines of the shower. Zephyr steps out of the stall and onto the soft carpet first and he follows into the waiting embrace of cotton. They drag the towel across his body and even take care to squeeze the excess water from his hair, thorough from toe to tip. Mountain takes the towel from their hands and drapes it around their shoulders. He’s far from meticulous, he wishes he could be, but his brain and his body refuse to communicate on the same frequency. He does what he can and they chirp happily nonetheless. 

Mountain felt a mixed sort of haze entering his skull as Zephyr pulls him from the bathroom back towards the bed, content yet disconnected. His brain sinks into the feeling when his body sinks into their thoughtfully laid nest. Every blanket is picked with intent, and every quilt folded with purpose. It smells strongly of linen and ozone, peppermint and smoke somewhere distant. He breathes it in as Zephyr slips into the space beside him. He rolls into them, and they were waiting for him. Zephyr pulls him close, brings his head to their chest, and coos softly when he so clearly keens at their touch. 

The anxiety is not gone, the hurt and the anger that he harbors only waits on the side lines. It will return to him, but not for a good long while. Not while he is wrapped in Zephyr’s embrace. His eyes droop, his bones have clearly been replaced by lead, but his heart feels full. Light with relief, not burdened by the crushing responsibility of the task ahead. 

[divine-misfortune]

Oh yknow its that time again kids

A fun little mountain moment for the people on this wip of Wednesdays

[divine-misfortune]

Hello

♡ "i fucking yearn for you and you haven't so much as spared me a glance in years!" Dewtom 😁

Pressed between Dew’s body and the wall, Phantom should have felt elated. His heart hammers in his chest but the heavy feeling in his gut is nowhere near pleasant, not the pit of arousal he had expected, but a well of dread. It’s like the floor dropped out from underneath him when Dew backed him into the corner, when he swayed on his feet and closed the distance with no preamble. Their lips met and Phantom’s stomach twisted. No butterflies, just growing dissatisfaction as Dew continues to kiss him, ravenously. Feels less like kissing and more like taking.

He can’t quite place a name to the taste of Dew’s tongue licking into his mouth. Watermelon, Phantom thinks, but if watermelon was harsh and sour. A flavor he can only describe as invasive. Overwhelming. He wants to gag. It ruins a clumsy kiss that could have passed for endearing if Dew was sober, but Dew isn’t sober in the slightest. So drunk he hadn’t been able to insert the keycard into their hotel room door without a little help. And now Dew clutches at his shirt, not as a result of being desperate for him, but because Dew might end up on his ass if he doesn’t.

Phantom had tried to get over the initial sinking feeling and melt into it. Tried to convince himself to enjoy his first kiss with Dew, after all, he had wanted it for months, but it all feels too wrong to ignore. Worse the longer it continues. At a certain point, Phantom can’t stomach it. He pushes Dew away and watches him stumble backwards till he hits the bed. Dew giggles stupidly as he flops out on the mattress like dead weight. He even pats his lap and slurs out something Phantom can only interpret as an invitation to something he now finds himself wanting no part of. Closer to an insult than an invitation, if he’s honest with himself.

Without the fire ghoul plastered against him, the room is cold and suddenly miles wide. The gap between him and Dew has never felt wider, more impossible to bridge than ever.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Phantom does not budge. Can’t move himself from his spot against the wall.

“Aw c’mon bug, don’t make me beg for ya.” Dew laughs again and sits himself up enough to look at Phantom again. He’s flushed deeply and Phantom grimaces, knowing it isn’t from the kiss.

His mouth opens but the words don’t follow. A mess of questions; Why? What changed? What does this mean? What do you feel for me? All of them caught and tangled in his throat, trying to fight their way out before any of the others had the chance. It results in him choking. He isn’t sure why his first instinct is to ask much of anything, not that Dew has the capacity to respond meaningfully in any way. His face only falls as he continues to stand silently under the crushing weight of Dew’s glassy, expectant gaze. Everything he’s hoped for delivered with a specific irony he can only consider a little bit of personal cruelty sprinkled on by the universe. It manages to cut deeper than Dew’s rejection had ever. Knife right down to bone.

“…Am I a joke?” Phantom blurts out much to Dew’s confusion.

“Huh-?”

“I must be.” He follows up and laughs, not out of humor, just pure disbelief. Dew tips his head and his eyes droop. The blank stare feels like another act of indifference to add to the growing pile. “You’ve spent the last year ignoring me, Dew. I’ve been begging for your attention since day one and you’ve never so much as looked at me like I was worth your time but now that you’re drunk and Rain’s not here to entertain you, suddenly I’m good enough.” Phantom says through his teeth. The words sting him more than they do Dew, Dew won’t remember any of this come tomorrow, and that’s what enrages him. He has to live with this, and Dew gets to forget in exchange for a hangover.

Phantom could scream, he might have if not for the innocent hotel patron unlucky enough to be neighbor to this breakdown.

“You’re selfish.” Phantom hisses. “And you are too drunk to fucking care that I’ve been yearning and aching and waiting on the sidelines. Doesn’t matter! But now Dew wants another body in his bed! So I should just be grateful for the attention.”

It spills from him with all the grace of a glass bottle shattering on concrete. Messy, too much all at once. Feelings that don’t get the opportunity of being tucked away now that their containers been broken. Despite the emotions letting loose, Phantom staves off the tears. Won’t spare them on someone who won’t remember why he shed them in the first place. He bites the inside of his cheek when the tightness in his throat threatens to set off the water works and opts to retreat. He grabs his jacket from the chair his overnight bag is living on and spits whatever taste of Dew lingers into the trash by the front door as he leaves the fire ghoul to sleep off his choices, alone.

[divine-misfortune]

I loved your bathing fic with them so much so I am humbly requesting you to do "the gods took their time with you" with Dewdrop and Aether.

I take it you're referring to this fic ? Consider this a little peek at the aftermath

The soft flannel sheet drapes easily over Dew's lithe body. Fabric rising and falling with the gentle and repetitive motion of his chest. It makes him look so delicate. So fragile. Aether almost hesitates to take his place in the bed for fear of disturbing him but his reluctance lasts briefly, his body feels too heavy to resist the siren's call of their mattress for very long. He is at the very least careful.

Aether settles, and even in his sleep, Dew moves closer. Drawn together at a subconscious level. He smiles to himself and shifts onto his side, content to watch with weary eyes. Like this, he can study the fine sculpt of his profile. Proud nose, carved cheekbones, he might as well have been shaped from marble. Lips half parted, still red and puffy from the tug of Aether's fangs between kisses he could only describe as ravenous, unapologetically hungry to taste his favorite indulgence.

He sighs. Knows his smile is bordering on dopey, and Dew would make fun of him for it if he was awake to see it. It isnt something he can help, not after sleeping with a memory for months. Dew is real, close, radiating a familiar lazy warmth that reminds him of late summer evenings - comforting, easy to sink into. Real and so close.

Aether reaches out, just because he can, because Dew is the type of artwork created to be adored, up close and personal. He graces his knuckle along the cut of his jaw and watches Dew's nose scrunch momentarily before the expression smoothes itself out, leaving him in bliss. Just as soft as he remembers. All this time apart, he would spend the next few days relearning every inch till the image of Dew exists as vividly and vibrantly as he does in this moment.

After all, Lucifer was so careful in Dew's creation, it is only fair Aether devotes the same time into his worship.

[divine-misfortune]

♡ guttural rain confessions. Pebble/alpha :3

This was supposed to be about love and whatnot but I just love making Pebble and Alpha sad about Delta so......Not exactly what you asked for sorry

He hates the rain. He hates that it hits his skin and evaporates like it refuses to touch him, like it harbors a disgust that Alpha can almost understand - he wouldn't touch him either given the choice. Maybe that was why Pebble chose to retreat somewhere he believed Alpha would not follow, and stupid as he is stubborn, Alpha decided to follow him into the downpour because he knew Omega wouldn't. Knew Omega was just as resolute as him. Wouldn't roll over with an apology until the wound had stopped bleeding, and the knife was still hilt deep.

When he finds the little ghoul, soaked and shivering, he has half a mind to retreat and leave him to his misery, sniffling under the canopy of a tree. Alpha feels his expression twist into something sour. Angry at Pebble's own refusal to accept the things he could not change, but he's no better. The scowl fades before it can properly form, and his face falls as he remembers that Pebble is hurting, the same as he is. Alpha's shoulders fall next, weighed down by the grief, the exhaustion, the soaked uniform clinging to his body, and he forces his feet forward. One after the other until he stands looming over Pebble who doesn't look up. Instead, buries his face in his arms and shakes his head before Alpha has the chance to open his mouth.

He sighs and slumps onto the damp grass beside Pebble. Sits himself somewhere in the mess of roots as comfortably as he can, which isn't very.

"He'd never forgive me for letting him become this." Pebble rasps, he sounds exhausted in ways Alpha knows he'll never understand.

"Delta wasn't," Alpha pauses and corrects himself when Pebble flinches. "Delta isn't a child. He was going to do this regardless. Neither of us could have stopped him."

"I wish he never tried to save himself." He says, too loudly for such heavy words. Alpha looks at him, and Pebble lifts his head to meet his eyes. The sincerity held in them makes his heart ache. "It would have been easier if he just died."

"Easier for who?"

"Him, I think." Pebble rubs his hands over his face. "...I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"

"You're not horrible for not wanting him to suffer like this." Alpha hesitates but scoots closer, enough for his body heat to radiate. He let Pebble choose to close the distance, which he did after a long moment of considering to put his pride aside.

"I miss my friend, Al...That? That's not Delta. Not anymore. It just feels like keeping his ghost around."

Alpha's lips press into a flat line. It hangs over them, heavy and hard to ignore but impossible to broach. Haunted by a shell of their former pack mate while they try to accept his replacement with varying levels of difficulty - it isn't her fault this happened, but her presence only forces them to accept the truth, not run from it. It's harder by the day.

"I'm sorry, sprout."

But sorry doesn't undo reality. Sorry doesn't unweave the threads of quintessence currently eating away at Delta's frayed psyche. And sorry certainly doesn't take back the venom Omega spat at Pebble's accusation of complacency. It can hardly be considered a band-aid, but it is all he has to offer in the face of such pain. Maybe one day he'll find the right combination of words, the right tone of voice to carry them in, and maybe one day they'll all only carry the scar.

[divine-misfortune]

♡ “i missed you.” “i was gone for two hours.”♡ soft shoulder kisses.

For dewtom plss:33

His signature warmth has faded from the sheets by the time Dew slinks his way back to Phantom's bunk. The cooled cotton under his palms as he pulls himself up from the floor leaves Dew feeling ever so slightly guilty. Reminds him of just how long he's been gone, much longer than the five minutes he had promised Phantom before he took his buzzing phone and slipped towards the front of the bus as quietly as he could.

The absence being as prolonged as it was hadn't been intentional. A quick call from Aether had gotten away from him, turned into something more than catching up and saying goodnight, and it hadn't been Dew's fault.

Phantom had been conscious when he left. Not quite awake, more so dozing in and out, but Dew finds him well asleep. He half considers leaving for his own bed, perhaps a bit too late, as he tries to arrange himself against Phantom's back. Another twinge of guilt hits him when Phantom stirs, shifts closer to the wall to try to give him more space though there wasn't really much to offer.

He chirps weakly, a half-hearted sound as Dew slots himself to his back.

"Sorry bug." Dew whispers against the nape of his neck, earning a little shudder. "Go back to sleep."

"Where'd you go?" Phantom mumbles as the fire ghoul begins to adjust the mess of blankets he'd been hiding under. He presses back to him as the cold air slips in. "Missed you..."

"Didn't mean to be gone so long."

"Felt like forever." He whines. Small and a little sad. Dew brings him closer. Finds his hand beneath the blanket and laces their fingers together apologetically.

"Was two hours, and you were asleep for most of it." He laughs and Phantom huffs. "You only missed me because you got cold."

Silently, Phantom's eye narrows, then begins to droop for a moment like his body remembers to be tired. It's clear he doesn't have the energy to pout, though Dew's certain he will in the morning.

"Warm me up and I'll stop bein' mad..."

Dew hums. Resists the urge to roll his eyes at the demand, Phantom is starting to sound like Rain. He leans forward and kisses the curve of his shoulder, acquiescing before he can land himself in any more trouble with the half asleep ghoul in his arms.

"Deal."