Nights in Kazdel are rough. Too rough, sometimes.
The winds blow, devils creep about, houndbeasts scour the sour terrain in search of a sleeping moron to tear apart. A real bummer, some would say.
Thank the gods for a technological wonder, Babel's fancy-shmancy landship.
Nights spent beneath the metal ribcage are a great alternative to being mauled alive in the cold. But sometimes, even the peaceful solace of four walls and a roof proves too little to truly put the mind at ease. On one such night, the snarky Contemporary Operator W and her inseparable companion, Contemporary Operator Ricketts, find themselves snuggled in bed, dazed by the nightly influence on their sleep-deprived brains.
Dams come undone, bursting with unvoiced feelings and bottled up emotions, topped by a silver lining of a lethal amount of warmth.
Even on the coldest of Kazdelian nights, Rhodes Island teems with heat produced by the two - and the words their lips push onward.
Words neither of them expected to ever say out loud.
A little one shot related to my other piece, "No Life 'Til Leather." Enjoy ! (cant be asked to make a proper cover lmao, enjoy this shitty one)
it was just an average day for a certain Phantom Mercenary... death, blood, guns, warfare... it was all normal for him... until something anomalous appeared once he spawned at the strange area of the map..
that would change his life and his mercenary work... forever.
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