#anyways enjoy <333

[silverwhittlingknife]

So you're a go to source for all things Dick&Tim bros and you tend to write primarily from Dick's POV. So, odd question, but if you were to summarize their relationship from his POV in FIVE panels which panels would you pick? Keeping in mind that one specific aspect of their relationship that you love needs to be clearly represented by each panel (loyalty, trust etc). I hope this is a fun challenge and not an annoying question so if you don't want to answer that's cool! Have a wonderful day!

No more talk. The same thoughts run through two minds... (SotB 29) / You're my equal. My closest ally. (RR 1) / I can't stop thinking how much I rely on him. (GoG 3)

25 Feelings Dick Has About Tim

This was such a kind ask & a cool challenge which I totally failed; here are TWENTY-five panels of Dick's POV on Tim sdfdsfds Look, I got carried away! Marcia and Cindy! The boys!!

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET TO THE PANELS A FEW NOTES:

WARNING THAT THERE ARE SOME NEGATIVE EMOTIONS IN HERE because I love conflict but but but you gotta remember those are not the final word!! They are complicated people and sometimes they get mad at each other BUT ultimately their relationship is so hugely important in both their lives & they love each other and rely on each other so much -!!! <3

Also I have CONCLUDING THOUGHTS at the end about what Dick's POV leaves out (mostly: a lot of Dick defending & protecting & supporting Tim, which Dick does instinctively but isn't very self-aware about most of the time)

I have loosely organized my list into 5^5 format (5 categories with 5 examples each!), so if you want to skip to a relevant one, here are the categories!!

Below the cut:

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1-5)

On second thought, he's endearing & fun (#6-10)

Grief is complicated & he's all tangled up in mine (#11-15)

I love him & think highly of him (#16-20)

I rely on him & though it's hard for me, I trust him (#21-25)

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1 - 5)

1) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze me and Bruce, but he doesn’t know me at all, he should get lost (New Titans 61)

2) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze Bruce but he doesn’t know Bruce at all, he should get lost (Gotham Knights 26)

3) He is so nosy about stuff that is MY business (Robin 0)

4) He sounds like an insincere suck-up half the time... but okay, fine, if you push him he's got a sense of humor about it (New Titans 65)

5) I'm sure he's a better vigilante than me. It's my fault for being a failure, but I resent him anyway. (Nightwing 9 - Dick's having a nightmare)

On second thought, he's kinda endearing (#6-10)

6) He worries too much and gets anxious so easily, but it makes him fun to tease (Robin 67)

7) I'm not that competitive - okay, so maybe I'm a little competitive, I gotta make sure he doesn't get a swelled head (Prodigal)

8) I'm supposed to be his favorite! It is not cool for him to be fanboying over my not-girlfriend's not-boyfriend!! (Birds of Prey 19)

9) We have fun together. I can kick back and relax when it's just the two of us. Plus I get to boss him around a bit. (Prodigal)

10) He’s always trying to reassure me, and I guess it's a little comforting, but also he doesn’t really get it. Or me. He makes excuses that he shouldn't, because he doesn't understand that I suck. (Nightwing 64)

Grief is complicated and he's all tangled up in mine (#11 - 15)

11) He reminds me of everything I try not to think about. Sometimes the memories are so strong it hurts to look at him. (Batman 441)

12) WHY IS HE BEING IMPOSSIBLE ALL OF A SUDDEN??? THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING (Nightwing 139)

13) We're the same. He says all the things I don't let myself think about. It's like arguing with myself. (Nightwing 139)

14) He thinks he gets to tell me what to do but he doesn’t, fuck him (Battle for the Cowl)

15) Life sucks, so what. I sucked it up so he should too (RR 1)

I love him and think highly of him (#16 - 20)

16) He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have.  If someone hurts him I will hurt them harder. (Nightwing 6)

17) I can't handle the idea of losing him. (Nightwing 97)

17) He’s so good and I’m not. I'm afraid I’m bad for him. (Nightwing 110)

18) He’s better than me, and it’s kind of a relief because I know no matter what he’ll be okay. (Gates of Gotham 3)

19) In my head he’s the responsible one.  (Gotham Knights 10)

I rely on him, and though it's hard for me, I trust him (#20-25)

20) I know I have to trust him but I'm afraid he'll make the wrong choices and get hurt (Nightwing 139)

21) I'm sure I know what he should do because I see myself in him - not that I can take my own advice, but he should (Blackest Night 3)

22) I trust him.  When I’m losing my grip on things, he pulls me back. (Gotham Knights 10)

23) I want him to trust me (Red Robin 12)

24) He can tell when I'm lying. Sometimes he sees my weaknesses better than I wish he did. (Detective Comics 874)

25) He’s always there when I need him. (Teen Titans / Outsiders Secret Files)

Final rambling thoughts:

TIM: Uhh, okay, so I'm just skimming this list - do you really trust me? you're not just saying that? - but anyway, I'm confused because you left some stuff out? Like some stuff that's kinda important? DICK: No? I think I got everything? TIM (starts counting on his fingers): The time I was having a bad day but then I called you. The time I got captured by Two-Face but then you saved me. The time I fell off a train but then you saved me. The time I fell off a building but then you saved me. The time I fell off a different building - DICK: I feel like you're trying to make some kind of point but I'm not sure what it could be.

SO THE THING IS, I put 25 panels in here and not a single one has Dick catching Tim when he’s falling!!! But I think that's a central motif of their relationship from Tim’s POV, not Dick’s. I love Dick, but in some ways I think he is spectacularly un-self-aware.

And I think he especially has a lot of blind spots about Tim. He kinda intermittently gets that Tim admires him, and he enjoys it in a playful I-get-to-boss-you-around way. But Dick tends to consistently underestimate all of his own good qualities & skills, and he meets Tim at a point in his life when he's especially down on himself & his abilities. And so he's unable to see his own influence on Tim, & therefore unable to fully understand a lot of Tim's priorities and loyalties and motivations, because you can't actually understand Tim without understanding Dick's impact on him. There's a fascinating moment in Bruce Wayne: Murderer when Dick's completely blindsided & upset to discover that Tim doesn't entirely trust Bruce, even though this has been a definitive fact of Tim's whole thing ever since he showed up with his Batman needs Robin theory, and Barbara has to actively remind Dick of the obvious-to-everyone-except-Dick fact that a lot of Tim's loyalty is to Dick, and Tim loves Bruce but feels free to be more wary of him. (And to give Bruce credit: this is not something he ever begrudges.) But anyway Babs points this out, and Dick manages to sorta process it for about five seconds, but he cannot actually accept it into his worldview so instead he discards it at the speed of light and goes off and has an argument with Tim instead sdfsfdsf

All of Dick's virtues - Dick's kindness at the circus and Dick's determination to fight through grief and Dick's rigid sense of morals and Dick's vigilante skills and every time Dick has ever backed Tim up or listened to him or protected him or saved him from something or just been casually kind to a stranger in Tim's presence etc etc etc - all these things loom really large in Tim's mental story of Who Dick Is, and What Dick And Tim's Relationship Is. Tim meets Dick before he meets Bruce, trusts Dick more than Bruce, aspires to be Robin instead of Batman. And so in Tim's default version of the story, Dick is the super-special and admirable hero and Tim is... nobody in particular, a tagalong outsider who's barely managing to be a hero, not part of Dick and Bruce's family and not part of their story, who, if he's VERY LUCKY and tries REALLY HARD, might be able to fight his way to proving himself and offering something to Dick that Dick will value, if Dick doesn't get fed up with him first.

But that's not Dick's version of the story!!!

Dick's version of the story is almost the exact opposite, a story where Dick's an outcast failure black sheep who's screwing up everything he tries, and meanwhile Tim is The Sudden New Perfect Robin Who's Better Than Me And Probably Bruce Loves Him More And Probably They Gossip About What A Loser I Am, mixed with a complicated edge of Tim Thinks He's So Smart But He Doesn't Know Me/Us At All. Dick gets much more attached to Tim over time, and Tim gets unnervingly better at the know-it-all psychoanalysis so then Dick gets to have complicated feelings about him being right instead of just annoyance at him for being wrong, plus Dick's relationship with Bruce improves a lot, so Tim stops feeling so threatening. But Dick never fundamentally changes his basic theory of their relationship in which Tim is highly impressive and capable, and Dick is not so much.

And so asking Dick about Tim is kinda like if you asked George Bailey to tell you about Harry Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life; like, you'll be there for five hours while he tells you how great Harry is, and how accomplished Harry is, and how he doesn't really get how or why Harry does the things he does, and maybe George does feel a little resentful or jealous sometimes, but that pales in comparison to all his admiration and trust for Harry who he loves so much, who's better than him in so many ways, and he's not gonna openly gripe but secretly he can't help but feel sometimes like he's such a failure in comparison to Harry, a perfect person who emerged fully formed from Zeus's head with all the virtues and also all the accomplishments, etc. etc. etc. --

-- and he will not actually remember the part where he changed and saved Harry's whole entire life unless you literally send him to an alternate timeline in order to force him to remember it. <3

[carpathiians]

uncle caught on a security camera on the 1st of august, 2004

from @horseishere 's housebuilding youtube series au

[fiyaharts]

holix for anon!!

[diamondsheep]

The Mighty Wano Tiger 🐯⚔

This is my illustration for @opanimalszine, i really loved being part of this beautiful Zine 💚

[wickmitz]

just a couple of flappers enjoying the ( very dead! ) ambience of a speakeasy!

bonus queer frepper doodle <3

[palabraasinnecesarias]

secret kisses ao3 | ff.net ship: ranma/akane words: 1,625 Ranma and Akane would steal kisses at every chance they got, secretly behind closed doors...usually. They hadn’t known how it began happening, but once it started it was hard to stop.  

Akane had just reached the bathroom’s door when a gentle squeeze at her wrist pulled her away too easily. She yelped at the sudden movement, her body twirling to land perfectly onto Ranma’s chest, as her eyes widen when she felt his soft mouth press itself against hers. She couldn’t help but allow her lips to widen into a dopey grin, feeling the way his hands snaked themselves against the small of her back to pull her in further.  

The young woman indulged effortlessly, relishing at the way he continued to pepper a number of kisses, her brain losing its trail of thought. Even after he pulled away, taking her a moment to readjust her mind and shake herself awake, remembering where they were. Still, his arms continued to stay hooked around her body, his face centimeters from hers as he whispered, “Morning, tomboy.”  

She huffed a chuckle, nervously looking behind her as she smiled bashfully, warning, “We’re gonna get caught, idiot.”  

He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly not caring of such consequences, his rather bold smirk tangling her insides. He was so handsome, his chiseled jaw now rubbing itself against her cheek before kissing her temple, and she could feel her feeble stance betray her completely as her knees wobbled at her nervousness.  

It had been a few months of this taking place; Ranma and Akane would steal kisses at every chance they got, secretly behind closed doors...usually. They hadn’t known how it began happening, but once it started it was hard to stop. Ranma usually had the upper hand, as it was easier for him to sneak up on the shorter woman, planting one quickly and walking away just as fast before she could say anything.  

Although that morning, he lingered just a tad longer, wistful to her essence. And like always, he released his hold and began walking away, leaving her completely abashed before making her way into the bathroom for her morning shower.  

That afternoon, the duo had found themselves home alone, as their parents were having dinner with family friends and the eldest Tendo sisters had gone to the market, Nabiki only tagging along because the marketplace was nearby a clothing store promoting a store wide clearance, and she wanted to stroll the aisles in case something caught her eye.  

Akane usually tagged along, shopping being one of her favorite pastimes, but she needed to study for finals – considering they were in their last year of high school. She had brought her studying materials to the family room in hopes that her fiancé would want to tackle the books with her; of course, he didn’t. At first, Ranma got lost in a book, not paying any mind to Akane as she silently read her textbook and scribbled mindlessly on her journal.  

It wasn’t until he stepped away, going and coming back from the kitchen with some snacks Kasumi had premade before heading out after knowing Akane would be studying. He held a plate of diced fruit, munching on an apple slice as he noticed Akane’s concentrated face. She hovered over the kotatsu table, her eyebrows furrowed as she mindlessly chewed on her lower lip, and he could feel his entire body heat up.  

Without much thought, Ranma made his way towards her and set the plate on the table, offering her some. She glanced quickly at it and shook her head, murmuring, “No, thanks, Ranma,” under her breath as she continued to study. He grumbled, his face souring before breathing in deeply.  

“Really got your nose in that book, huh?” He muttered quietly, not thinking she’d actually hear him, or stop her study to look over at him.  

“This is what studying looks like,” she replied quite sarcastically, offering him a quizzical look as to where his attitude had come from. Did it bother him that she was studying in the family room?  

He took a seat next to her, rather closely she noticed, propping himself with his arms, leaning back as he looked at her. His light eyes seemed to bounce about her face before landing on her plumped lips, finding himself leaning forward to kiss her. He pulled away after a moment, his smile widening as he said, “And you look real cute doing that.”  

Akane could feel her entire face change color, her heart racing at an absurd speed, having to look away otherwise she’d melt into a puddle right there and then. “G-geez, Ran-Ranma,” Akane stuttered, looking back at the table in a sense of going back to her studies, but she knew that boat had sailed. Not when Ranma decided that he wanted to kiss her instead.  

“What?” He scoffed, leaning towards her with a suspicious stare, “you don’t wanna’ kiss me no more?”  

“I- that’s not what- uh,” and then he kissed her again, his hand having reached for her head as he tangled his fingers into her short strands of dark hair to pull her forward. She sighed merrily into his mouth, her large eyes easily fluttering themselves shut, shivers running through her entire body at the way Ranma’s lips caressed hers.  

His kiss was always soft and tender, warm with the rest of his skin. And he smelled so good, like soap and sandalwood. Yeah, she was done studying for the night.  

Ranma’s eyes widen as a new parfait glass was placed in front of her, her lips widen in pure bliss, unable to hide how much she enjoyed the dessert. She sat next to her fiancée, quickly digging into a new spoonful, glancing over to catch the now-taller woman watched her with an amused expression.  

“What?” Ranma asked, swallowing and finding himself get embarrassed at the way Akane’s soft smile never faltered, shaking her head as an answer.  

“Nothing,” she replied quietly, “you just seem to be enjoying your sweets.”  

Ranma was now blushing, not knowing exactly why. Still, she shrugged her shoulders, “What can I say? They serve a mean parfait here, I tell ya’.”  

“Yeah, I can tell. This is your third serving,” she chuckled endearingly, noticing the way her blemished cheeks only managed to deepen their shade of red. “You look cute eating your dessert,” Akane confessed, now resting her chin against her propped hands, her cheeks round at the way her smile lifted them high.  

She didn’t know what to say to that.  

Not expecting much, Ranma’s eyes widen when she felt Akane lean forward and softly press a chaste kiss on her lips. It lasted a moment before she pulled away, the tip of her tongue licking her lower lip as she said, “That strawberry flavor is strong.” And she couldn’t help herself but laughed a tad louder as Ranma’s crimson face almost camouflaged with her red, oversized mandarin top. Now she knew why he had so much fun catching her off guard.  

“Ak-Akane,” she whispered harshly, looking around seemingly paranoid, “we’re in public.”  

“Ranma,” Akane scoffed softly, “Shampoo and Ukyo hardly ever come to this ice cream shop,” she assured her with a wider grin. “I think it’s okay if we kiss a little.”  

Of course, they both knew that wasn’t what she meant by her statement. Still, Akane kissed her again, just as soft and just as long.  

Akane had walked in to see Ranma self-train with some katas, dressed in his own gi, finding that they were matching. She smiled softly at him, shamelessly walking over to him and taking a seat in front of him. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, admiring the way his skill was easily reflected in his performance.  

He stopped soon after, noticing she had sat and was watching him, admiring him. His ego was already past the roof, he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly at her, “Watching ain’t gonna help ya’ get as good as me.”  

“If you sparred with me once in a while, maybe I'd get better,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.  

He walked over to her, crouching right in front of her, “Whaddya’ mean,” he retaliated, “I do spar with ya’.”  

“Nuh-uh,” she accused, “all you do is avoid my hits.”  

“I ain’t wanna hurt you, is all.”  

“I’m going to start avoiding all your kisses, so you can see what it feels like.”  

He grinned mischievously, “You can try.” His arms went to wrap themselves around her body, pulling her towards him, ready to plant one when she turned her head, chuckling under her breath.  

“Not until you spar with me,” she said.  

He was now pecking her entire face, her sounds of laughter and mirth loud and beautiful, and pleasing to his ears. “But you want to kiss me,” he accused, finding themselves with Ranma atop of her through all the wiggling and wobbling.  

She was breathing heavily, looking up at him, his dangling braid brushing her cheek. “Not anymore.”  

“Liar.”  

Akane shook her head, her teasing smile never leaving her face, “I am not.”  

Ranma quickly leaned down and kissed her, pulling away fast, “You like my kisses.”  

“Nope.”  

He kissed her again, “See?”  

She wrinkled her nose, “No, that’s not doing it for me, I’m afraid.”  

“What about...” And this time, Ranma’s mouth spread fuller, taking in Akane’s lips completely, his shut eyes not letting him catch the way her wide eyes twitch at how good it felt having him kiss her like that. His kiss was rough, full of passion each time he pulled away and angled his head to kiss her again and again. The pit of her stomach churned, and she shivered at the intensity of it all.  

After a long moment, Ranma pulled away, their heaving chest pressed against each other's as he said, “I told ya’.”  

[tyudeongi]

HAPPY WOOYOUNG DAY ! 23.11.26 WOO'S 24TH BIRTHDAY 💗

[wexhappyxfew]

you, me, and the stars

(a/n): judy x rosie girlies, this is for you!! this is for all the ones who have never been in love, who are trying to protect the last parts of themselves in the face of others, and for the ones deserving of love!! these two represent all those awkward, newly-found emotions and feelings, that surprise even themselves, so please enjoy! :)

Judy had dwindled into down to just this; home was more of a feeling, not entirely a place.

The flak house was beautiful, an escape, somewhere to get one's mind off of the mental torment that was the God-forsaken war they all seemed stuck in.

But, it wasn't Thorpe Abbotts; with its metallic scent of air, voices and grinding machine parts echoing at all hours of the day, the marching, the footsteps, the way the air danced through the tree leaves. The flak house was quiet, save for the occasional flight path overtop. Thorpe Abbotts was loud and enough to make you feel like your brain was being knocked about inside, but it was home in a way the flak house wasn't.

The thing that made Thorpe Abbotts feel like home was especially the people. All the men in the 100th, their leaders both lost and MIA, and the women of Silver Bullets.

It was just like her home, in North Carolina. With Ma and Pa, that large house on the river, big meals to feed all six kids, making sure the lambs, chickens and cows were kept up with, that laundry was hung, crops harvested, plates and bowls washed in the river.

They didn't have much, but they had each other.

And even across the ocean they still did - in more ways than one.

Now, Judy felt them even in the women beside her. Strong and courageous, putting on their brave faces against the waging war of the world. Something her family had done ever since they'd come to America.

"The stars are so bright out here," Bessie said from Judy, their arms interlinked, sat side by side on the steps in front of the flak house, the light dripping out from the main door where cool, night air rushed in,

"I almost wish Tommy could see it." Judy looked towards her with a small smile.

"He does," Judy whispered quietly, reaching a hand forward to gently brush her hand over Bessie's calloused palm, "where ever he is right now. He sees it. Maybe not this instance, but he does." She watched Bessie smile, the corners of her lips turning upward, before she glanced over at Judy, a big grin on her face, her eyes glowing, the softest they'd been in days, the least stressed Judy had seen the navigator.

"You know, when we were kids," Bessie started, "we sat in his parents' apartment, right by one of the windows and watched the stars one night, all night practically, side by side. Not only was it my first kiss, but…he also told me he'd name a star after me. I think he named it 'Bee'….something or other." Judy giggled into Bessie's side and clasped a hand over her mouth with a gleeful smile.

"You two were meant to be," Judy whispered quietly, "everything you say, about him, about you, about the two of you together. God, you'll make the cutest babies, Bessie, I'll tell ya." Now, it was Bessie's turn to laugh and shook her head.

"You know he told me one time that if he had a daughter, he'd name her Charlotte," Bessie said, "he thought the nickname, Charlie, would be cute."

"Taste." Judy said with a laugh, nudging Bessie's side, "Charlotte McKenzie has a ring to it."

"And so does Bessie McKenzie." Bessie said back, sending the two of them into a fit of chuckles under the moving dusk. They fell quiet for a beat and then Bessie sighed and wrapped an arm around Judy's side, giving her a tight squeeze and rubbing her shoulder.

"Well, I'm heading up, going to get some rest and enjoy waking up and drinking coffee without having to hear a bunch of bullshit from Blakely," Bessie said with a chuckle, "you good out here? Staying up a bit?" Judy smiled and wrapped her arms around her sides and nodded.

"Yeah, just a bit more," Judy said, "you go though, I'll be up in a bit. And…Bessie?" Bessie watched her as she stood and sent her a smile.

"Just...give Lieutenant Bradshaw an extra hug for me," Judy said sadly, "her eyes looked like she'd been crying all night. About Captain Brady, so….incase I get in late, just do that for me, please?" Bessie smiled at her and nodded.

"You think she loves him?" Bessie asked Judy. Judy stilled.

"I don't know a whole lot about love, but I know he looks at her like she's the only woman in the room," Judy said softly, "and she gets all blushy around him, all soft and sweet. I like to think the universe doesn't just do things for the hell of it." Ripping them from each other, Judy thought to herself. Bessie grinned and then looked at her sadly.

"Try and get some rest," Bessie said, "don't stay up too late, okay? You need to keep yourself well-rested. Goodnight, honey."

"Night, Bes." Judy called after her, watching Bessie offer her a smile and then disappear inside. Judy smiled softly, looking forward again towards the oncoming darkness and comfort of nightfall, the singing birds and bugs all around and sighed.

Lieutenant Bradshaw's eyes looked sadder more often than not, but she was trying and that's all the credit a person like Annie Bradshaw needed - that she was being seen.

To be seen, was to be loved.

"Hey," Judy looked over her shoulder and was almost surprised to see Rosie Rosenthal there, coming towards her from the doorway, hands in his pant pockets, his A-2 jacket over his shoulders and a soft smile on his face, "mind if I join you?" Judy watched him for a moment - he looked so….different, a nice different. A different that made her think they weren't in war for a second.

"Of course, sir," Judy said, watching as he came forward and settled down on the step beside her where Bessie had been, "come to watch the stars?" Rosie let out a chuckle and then glanced towards her, his face bathed in blues and purples from the night, his eyes like a doe's as he watched her.

"You could say that." he said, then he grinned, nodding at her,

"How've you been?" Judy watched him, unable to contain the grin wanting to grow on her face and then chuckled lightly.

"Good," she said, and then smiled nervously, "sir, uh, good, being away from base, it's been….a breath of fresh air, I'll admit. Just, not having to get those planes going in the morning, get in the ball turret and shoot, over and over. It's nice to just….." she watched as he watched her, "be."

"Good," Rosie said, his voice light, "good, good, I'm glad. Really. You've all been putting out the last few months. I know that - Pappy's been talking Kennedy's ear off and well…."

"Collateral damage." Judy supplied and Rosie nodded with a small chuckle, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Exactly, exactly," Rosie said and then glanced up at her, "I'm just glad the Silver Bullets crew is getting some deserved rest. All of you."

"Thank you, sir." Judy said, her voice tender, watching him in a moment of seriousness that was different than a few seconds previous.

He watched her for a moment, just taking in the feeling it seemed, the same she was allowing herself to feel in her heart. They both seemed to come to at the same time and smiled, laughs leaving both their lips as Judy shyly looked away and crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Judy, are you, uh, cold?" Rosie asked leaning forward a bit, and placing a hand on her shoulder, "October's never been a great month for short sleeves." Judy watched him, looking between his face, his hand and him. Short sleeves, right, she was in that right now. And freezing; he was right. How'd he know? She glanced down at her short sleeves, her right side hidden beneath his hand and then looked to him, his face full of worry and seriousness. And then she let out a shy laugh and blushed quickly and then nodded.

"A bit, but," she shook her head, "I was planning to go upstairs in a bit anyway, so, it's okay."

"Here," Rosie said quickly, shrugging himself out of his A-2 and then leaning to his side to lay it over her shoulders, "just to warm up." And warm up she did in fact do; to the point, she was blushing all over and inhaling the scent from his jacket and him beside her and suddenly very overwhelmed with his presence. Alright, so it was a stupid feeling she had been trying to hide, but it was a feeling she had never felt all too well. And in a war, she wasn't sure what to even feel. But right now, with this jacket and him beside her, she wasn't as eager to head up to bed anymore.

"Thank you," she said softly, grasping the edges and then looking at him, "I appreciate it really." Rosie watched her with that tender gaze of his again before leaning back a bit and looking up.

"You can really see the stars from here," he said, his voice a small bit of astonishment and adornment for the world above them, glowing with the life of the night, shining little orbs so far away they'd never be able to actually grasp them, "they're beautiful."

"Yeah," Judy said, her eyes traveling back up to the night sky above them, "sitting in the darkness, on the ground, staring at the stars? It's almost like home." She could feel Rosie staring now, and glanced his way. Something so harrowing, yet nostalgic in a way. A mixture of feelings lingering between them at her simple statement - thoughts of home, seemingly so far away now, a place that'd be changed in a thousand different ways by the time they did actually got home - if they got home.

"Where is home?" he asked quietly, leaning to his side to bump her shoulder. She laughed quietly.

"North Carolina." she said, glancing at him in the quiet - she could practically hear him breathing. It was so … comforting.

"A tiny town," she admitted, "nothing big, a river, a general market, a wood mill, friends here and there down the road. But it was home." Judy looked over slowly towards Rosie beside her and quirked out a smile as she saw him sitting there, grinning.

"What?" she said grinning, "Where you from?"

"Brooklyn." he said, looking at her. Judy's face hurt from smiling, but it was okay because it was Rosie.

"Brooklyn," Judy said with a soft smile, "never really been in one of those big cities."

"You'd like it," Rosie said, looking out towards the darkness, "you'd fit right in. Bright lights, the people, the music. All of it." He looked at her. Judy smiled and pulled her knees to her chest, and glanced towards him again.

"Music, huh?" she asked him and he looked at her with a smile.

"Yeah, can't sing real well, but my mom, my sisters, they're pretty good. Far better than me," he said with a nod, and then grinned, "still love music though. You can never go wrong with Artie Shaw." Judy smiled, her thoughts consumed with the idea of what a younger version of this Rosie could've been, home with his family, dancing and attempting to sing. Far away from war and fear and grief. She liked the thought of that at some point, they were all like that. Young, youthful and free.

"Did you do a lot of music and dancing before the war then?" Judy asked him quietly, with a hopeful smile, watching as he comprehended her sentence and then let out a small smile. He shook his head and then leaned forward on his bent knees.

"I was a lawyer before the war actually," Rosie said and Judy's eye widened in near amazement, "yeah, was doing that and then the war broke out. Couldn't just sit back and do nothing." His face grew serious at that last statement and then melted as he looked at her.

"What about you? What was the thing Judy Rybinski was doing before this whole thing started?" he asked, leaning forward, with genuine curiosity and she watched him before letting out a laugh and shaking her head.

"I'm afraid nothing as cool as being a lawyer," she admitted and she watched Rosie's face soften as he tilted his head towards her, "but I was 3 years removed from high school, didn't have money for college so….I worked in the local mechanics, fixing cars, boats, anything and everything. Learning what I could. Made some good money, too." Judy watched him and sighed.

"But….I always dreamed of getting to go to college, continue to learn, allow myself to grow," she said, her thoughts swimming back to that time her parents told her they didn't have enough to help get her through schooling and Judy had cried herself to sleep and then gathered herself together and gone to the mechanic to start learning some trade, "maybe get a job teaching. Maybe geography or something of that sort….I don't know. One day, that's the goal." Rosie stayed watching her, his eyes holding her gaze as she looked at him.

"You should go for it," Rosie told her, "when the war is over, I mean. You'd be a great teacher, great with kids, getting to teach, you just…." Rosie cut himself off for a moment and then smiled at her, suddenly looking more shy and unsure of himself than in recent minutes. Judy watched him, her cheeks warming slightly at his encouragement and genuine thought. It made her stomach twist pleasingly. Rosie let out a nervous laugh and then looked at her, crossing his arms and leaning against his upbent knees.

"You're just someone I like being around," Rosie admitted quickly, running a hand behind his neck and then glancing at her, "and I think you'd be someone good at teaching kids. And being a teacher so….I think you should go for it." Judy was watching him, her cheeks all crimson and her heart racing and for a moment, she caught his gaze and she saw things that made her heart race faster.

Rosie Rosenthal was equally someone she liked being around, but the thought of telling him that made her sweaty and panicky and she figured she'd embarrass herself, so instead, she blushed further and smiled.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, and then let out a small laugh, "sorry, it's just….I haven't really told many people that, so…it just means a lot - the support I mean." Rosie smiled at her and nodded.

"You deserve good things after this war, Judy," Rosie said and then swallowed, "all of us do." Judy watched him, this urge to reach out and brush her palm against his cheek inviting her closer, a wish to curl up beside him and let the stars stare down at them, the need for human touch, to be looked at and loved.

By Rosie.

"You too, sir," she said quietly, her smile soft, "only the best." This staring, these lingering glances, they seemed to be whatever they couldn't say and just that look in his eyes made her blush further. Judy tried to control her racing heart, and her breath, and then cleared her throat.

"I think I'll be heading up now," Judy said, and pressed her palms against her cheeks and then sighed and looked to him, "Bessie said she'd braid my hair and I don't want to keep her up."

"Of course," Rosie said, standing to his feet and then offering his own hand towards her, which she took rather quickly, and then stood there, staring up at him like a goof, "try and get some rest tonight, alright?"

"You too," she said, and then chuckled, "sorry, Lieutenant Bradshaw said she couldn't sleep last night and it ended up being the two of you down here, with Doc, unable to fall asleep, just talking and stuff. So….yeah, just, you too, sir." Rosie laughed at her words and then schooled his facial expressions again.

"Thanks, Judy."

Staring at him, she couldn't constrain what she felt and stood on her tiptoes, before placing a small kiss to his cheek, and then turned and walked away, as fast as her feet could carry her and up the stairs, towards the room she was sharing with Bessie. Her mind raced, her thoughts knocking at the edges of her brain as she hurried in, shut the door, and let out a sigh, before turning to the two beds, where Bessie was sat up in one, reading a book and staring at her, confused.

"Since when did you get a jacket….like that?" Bessie said, raising a brow, "And that, large?" Judy blushed and then tried to speak and choked on her air a bit before clearing herself up.

"It's just Lieutenant Rosenthal's," she said, stepping forward and settling on the side of her bed to take her shoes off, "he saw me outside, gave it to me because he said I looked cold."

"Judith Rybinski," Bessie, sitting up and then practically launching out of the bed to sit beside her, "you're blushing like a loon! What happened?" Judy looked at Bessie, her heart pounding, her thoughts racing, emotions running high in far too many wacky ways. Bessie watched her excitedly, but then slowly let her face fall and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I think he's just being nice," Judy whispered quietly and then shook her head, "and then I gave him a kiss on the cheek because I wasn't thinking-"

"-a kiss? On the cheek?"

"Yes, yes, a kiss on the cheek, it was stupid, he was just trying to be nice-"

"Giving you his jacket in this cold is never just him being nice, Judy-"

"It's a part of it-"

"But not all of it!" Bessie said and looked at her, and smirked, "He probably wants to you know….get to know you more." Judy stared at her and then let her shoulders fall and shook her head.

"No….I don't think so," Judy said and then crossed her arms and bit back her lip, "and plus, did you know he was a lawyer before the war? Bes, he's probably, I don't know, someone from some sort of money to do that sort of thing, ya know? My family comes from people who've lived on the streets, we showered once a week as kids. What am I thinking?" Judy ran her hands over her face and sighed, before squeezing her eyes shut.

"It's stupid," Judy said quietly, "it's just a stupid crush, it'll go away. He's just being nice, and I latched onto that because a nice guy, is a nice guy. But that's it. And….it's fine. I'll be fine." She grew quiet and watched as Bessie stared at her, eyes full of that lingering worry.

"It's not a stupid crush, alright?" Bessie told her, "You're allowed to feel that and if someone's ever told you otherwise, they're the stupid ones. He clearly is someone who is interested, too, Judy. Don't discredit that about yourself. You're one of the sweetest peaches I've ever met. And someone like that? You deserve that." Judy looked over at Bessie and then offered a small smile.

"Thank you, Bessie," Judy said, leaning to her side to pull Bessie into a hug, "you're too nice to me." Bessie chuckled into the hug and patted her back.

"You deserve it, Judy." Bessie said, "A whole lot of things, but sweetness is one of the many."

[qprpbj]

i pulled through god bless <33 eat up gay people!!!

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (hot spring bath)

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

-- a piece of warmth in a cold wasteland (a piece of hope in a nightmare) --

It takes some time, to slowly patch up the wounds on their souls and bury the incessant fears. Scar and Grian have each other, and they aren’t letting go. Not this time. Not again. Never. (Unless we get our hands on this au which, oh, we have. Funny thing—)

It’s now the midst of winter, and they huddle from shelter to shelter, clothes wet from snow, progress slow as they have to constantly try and cover their marks. The food is scarce, and they’re using every trick Juni taught them in late autumn to stay safe and not starve. (The thought feels bittersweet, but they don’t linger on it.)

And one day, the sun disappears. [This will be the eclipse bonus ramble, dw about it rn <3]

In the aftermath, they’re both feeling destabilised and unsafe. Grian in particular grows to feel like even more of a liability, becoming quiet and withdrawn. Terrified Scar’d leave him, despite feeling like maybe it'd be for the best if he did. (Best for Scar, that is.)

Scar does his best to divert Grian’s attention from bleak thoughts. He talks about hope, and possibilities, and—most importantly—future. He remembers that one time [in a bonus fic we never finished kjxnb bUT ONE DAY] when Grian mentioned wanting a treehouse. Wanting a permanent place. Somewhere to stretch his wings. Somewhere to be.

He tells him, softly, that come spring, once the trees are less barren, they can try building one. They will do it! Scar will build as many as it takes. Each better than the last!

And one day, they’ll get far enough. And they’ll build one that’ll last. And they’ll be able to stretch their wings, free.

Grian isn’t sure how much he believes that. But he wants to. He wants to.

They wander through the lands, seemingly directionless. The winter is harsh. The violet is bright against the whiteness of the snow and the dark brown of the bare trees. Still, with stolen cloaks, they do their best with the circumstances, never feeling warm or relaxed.

That is, until they stumble upon something rare.

They find a cave that is warm and, curious and seeking shelter, they go in. 

Inside, they find a large cavern with the ceiling caved in, sunlight pooling from the hole down onto a steaming surface of… a hot spring.

Scar gets immensely excited and, without hesitating, dives right in. The warmth is blissful, melting away all the aches and coaxing frost out of his bones. It’s the best thing he’s felt in a long time.

“I’m never getting out of here. You’re gonna have to drag me out. I am willingly turning myself into a raisin.”

Grian, unlike Scar, hesitates. His wings are still dirtied and full of debris, never preened, never touched. Kept dishevelled and dull to try to hide their desirable sheen. Flaring up with discomfort and aches, muscles tense and never stretched, in an attempt to turn them into something that’d be less of a beacon.

Getting them wet would mean washing off months of that effort. (Months of held-in suffering.)

And Grian wants to sink under the water and feel its warmth, relax into it just like Scar does, but he can’t. He can’t get through that mental block. So he just crouches on the side, sad and torn and wistful.

Scar tries to coax him in by assuring Grian they have enough time to dry them (he doesn’t use the word wings). But drying them isn’t the problem. The problem is making them bright again.

Scar doesn’t quite understand what is holding Grian back, but he tries to offer him ways to sidestep it without tacking a name to it. He holds out his hands and opts for goofiness, asking if Grian is shy, promising he’ll close his eyes, as if it was a simple act of undressing that was the problem. He’s trying to offer a simpler anxiety to latch onto, one more easily dealt with.

And despite the anxiety, Grian laughs a little at his antics. It’s barely a laugh, strained around the edges, but the fondness rings so clear through it.

But Scar’s suggestion doesn’t solve Grian’s problem, and Grian is wholly unwilling to name it and put attention to it—to the hopeless way he feels about the weight settled on his back. 

Scar is stubborn and determined, trying to read Grian without pushing too much. He wades to a more shallow part of the pool and softly—and still so very lightheartedly—points out that Grian could take a dip there, feel the warmth, “And only half of you gets turned to raisins.” Endlessly aware of what they’re not saying, words tucked between the lines: Your wings don’t have to get wet.

 Grian eyes the side Scar pointed out with enough suspicion, as if he expected the ground there to be playing a trick on him, in fact not solid at all. Slowly, he uncurls and shuffles over to peer at it, taut yet curious, unsure yet hopeful.

It’s timid, at first. The undressing, the reach for water. But as soon as his skin meets the warmth, yearning shoots through him and he can’t stop himself.

The water splashes in his rush to get in, something that delights Scar immeasurably.

And it’s quickly clear the water is only going to incite him to give in further, setting alight a craving for more. To keep sinking, to submerge all of his body, to melt against its warmth and let it make him stop aching. 

Unable to resist but still unwilling to get his wings wet, he ends up opting to slump himself over Scar’s shoulders, letting most of him dip into the enciting warmth of the water.  

The effect is instant: the warm water eases the hidden pains and tension right off, making Grian huff in relief as his hold on Scar turns lax, trusting Scar to keep him safe. It’s only Grian’s back that keeps some semblance of tension, wings held up above the water line even as the rest of him helplessly melts into it.

And Scar has to ask. Inevitably, the issue cannot be skirted around anymore. “Why don’t you want them wet…?”

Grian’s breath hitches, and just like that, all the tension and anxiety is back. Just like that, he’s pushing away, back upright into the shallow water, and then further, splashing as he goes, until he’s perched at the edge of the pool, safely out of its depths.

Arms wrapped around himself and shivering, Grian tries to breathe through the reminder of everything that’s wrong, everything that he doesn’t want fixed—can’t have fixed—attention pinned to his feathers that he reslots against his spine, dry and as small as possible. 

But there's no sidestepping this anymore.

It’s only when he admits, words miserable and broken, muffled into his palms and edging a sob, that washing the wings would turn them into more of a beacon, that Scar truly starts to understand this.

It was always only implied and never spoken—the topic of feathers always carefully avoided to sidestep the panic lurking just beneath those words—now broken and brought up to the surface for the first time since Grian's freak out on that very first day so long ago. 

It slots together in Scar’s mind now: It’s not just trauma and fear keeping Grian from allowing anyone (including himself) to touch his wings; it’s his unwillingness to brighten what he believes is to be a spotlight that’s made a home on his back. It explains weeks and weeks of unpreened, tucked back wings hidden uncomfortably under the cloak Scar gave him the day they found each other. What Scar thought was a deep-rooted anxiety born from the time they spent apart actually goes much, much deeper. The fear is a constant in Grian’s mind.

Scar pauses, taking the new pieces to the puzzle he’s been offered and pressing them into place, considering the proper approach. “Grian,” he tries again, voice soft. “One little soak isn’t going to make a difference.” (He wishes it would. He wishes Grian would wash them out properly, let them shine like they did before. He’d fight off the whole server if he had to in order to see that once more.) 

Something desperate in Grian is latching onto Scar’s words. He’s begging himself to listen, to give in, to let go, to succumb. He sniffles, dropping his hands a little bit, looking over at Scar, silent plea written into his eyes. Please. Please please please. 

He wants Scar to win him over. To convince him. To yank this tight knot of anxiety and let him breathe.

With a sigh, Scar continues. “We don’t have to wash them, just…” He hates going along with any part of this, but he’s not about to change Grian’s mind so easily. He has to bargain. “... One hour. One hour where you don’t worry so dang much. Just relax, forget everything else. Let me—” He doubts his word choice for a moment, but commits to it, considering them appropriate. “Let me watch your back.”

There’s a pause. And then, from his curled-up position, Grian asks: “One hour?” It’s small, a word just shy of crumbling to dust. He wants this. He needs this. He needs Scar to sway him here. But he can’t just give in. So he asks for more. He asks Scar to promise that this won’t cause anything bad. 

"Nothing bad," Scar assures immediately, even if he doesn't truly have the power to promise that. He'll make it true. He's determined to. "I'll make sure of it. And you just relax."

The words bounce around in Grian’s head.

Nothing bad. I’ll make sure of it.

He sniffles, wrangling the ever-present constraints of anxiety, and then, ever so slowly, he uncurls. His hands drop from his face and his glistening eyes find Scar’s, locking onto them as if Scar was his life raft. “Okay.” 

He isn’t sure he knows how to relax, not where his wings are concerned, but he’s been tense and scared for so long, he’s so tired, so greedy for the idea of it. And if Scar can somehow will it into existence, Grian will do his best to give himself over to him.

It’s slow. Every move hesitant and unsure, every Scar’s word soft and reassuring. He tells Grian it’s just the two of them here. He leads him, step by timid step.

Grian ends up draped over him again, arms wrapped around Scar's shoulders, trying to stifle his fears into his hold of him as they tentatively make progress into the warmth that begs Grian to surrender completely.

Grian’s coherency is slipping from his grasp as the warm water and the security of Scar’s presence take over. He hasn’t allowed himself to relax in so impossibly long, only ever forced by the circumstances. (Feeling faint, being wounded, dizziness pulling him to his knees—) This is different. This is so very different, and he finds himself simultaneously nuzzling against Scar and entirely letting go, his grip growing weak as Scar holds him with his back above water.

Grian’s wings falter and droop the littlest bit. He barely notices it. They’re hovering so, so very close above the waterline.

He hums, and they dip further, and—

He twitches, startled at the sensation of water against his feathers. Running on nothing but well-trained instinct, his wings flap, frantically splashing water.

Scar pulls Grian a little closer, keeping his hands firm and tight so he doesn’t drop him altogether. “Hey, hey, hey it’s okay. I’ve still got you.” He slides one leg out a little wider to maintain balance, continuing to mumble soft shushes. “The water won’t hurt ya, G.”

Grian pulls himself tight against Scar, his wing movements calming somewhat at Scar’s reassurance. They’re left treacherously hovering over the water again, unsure, as Grian buries his face in Scar’s neck, eyes tightly shut. He’s tense again, back at square one, and even the warmth of the water isn’t working enough to lull him out of it.

But Scar says the water won’t hurt him.

He knows that, right? He’s— The water won’t hurt him, it’s just the consequences he’s meant to be afraid of. But Scar already promised those will be okay.

Grian knows Scar doesn’t have the power to promise that.

Still, he tries to wrangle both the rational and irrational parts of his fear.

He breathes heavily, pressed close to Scar, and he whimpers a quiet, very unbrave sounding word: “Down?”

“Yeah?” Scar asks, a little unsure. “Do you— want me to let you down?” He doesn’t move his hands yet.

Feeling the steadiness of Scar's hands, Grian is sure that there won't be anything unexpected; not unless he agrees, nods, gives consent. But his head is so messy, not knowing how to communicate, and he's not sure he won't misstep.

"The wings?" Grian asks, and it's not much more coherent than the original question.

“The—“ Scar tuts his tongue, remembering to take the time to think. He glances over at Grian’s wings, something he very purposely tries not to do typically, but with Grian’s head tucked against his collarbone, he looks them over, curious. “Yeah, yes— you can let them down, G.” A small reassuring press of his fingertips. “Really.”

Grian takes a breath at the encouragement; it's damp and hot, water and scar's skin heating him up, both working on stealing all the tension out of him.

Gingerly and with a tinge of fearfullness, grian relents.

He lets his wings drop.

Tentatively, the feathers meet water. Calmer, this time. Expecting it. 

Grian’s hold on Scar doesn't exactly tense up, but his fingers curl, feebly looking for a tidbit of purchase, something to hold onto as his wings spread and sprawl, rippling the water, floating atop it, and— And it's so warm and it feels so good to stretch them, to let them be without force and without pressure and—

There's a half-sob, something small and all too relaxed and relieved, as looseness floods through Grian. His fingers uncurl and he sags further against Scar, whimpering quietly without any real distress. 

Scar can’t help the bright, genuine grin that spreads across his face at this success, even despite the small sobbing sounds—because he knows, he knows it’s from overwhelming relief. He had half a mind to cry when he first stepped foot in the water, so he can only imagine how Grian feels right now. “Shhh, good, good,” Scar coos, pressing a soft kiss into Grian’s hair. “Still got you.”

Grian makes a jumble of incoherent sounds at Scar's praise, melting further into the warmth. His eyes are closed and his muscles loosen bit by bit, aches stolen from them. He's not working to support any of his weight anymore, surrendering it all to Scar and to the water. He doesn't even register his wings fully; they float, and it makes them feel numb and nonexistent in the best of ways. 

Loose feathers and dirt drift across the surface, the spot near Grian growing murkier.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Scar whispers, not wanting to disturb Grian’s moment of bliss here. He eyes the spot where the water darkens from the dirt and debris coming free from Grian’s wings, trying not to let it affect his mood, tug at his heart. 

He wishes he could rake his fingers through the feathers and dislodge all the uncomfortable things that poke and prod at Grian on a daily basis. We wants to hold him closer and take care of him, wash all the troubles away, but—

Baby steps, he reminds himself. 

Grian's mind is hazy, all of him melting into the warmth bit by bit. (He doesn't remember the last time he was warm.) He feels engulfed and cradled, held and supported, and it makes him want to drift off. He's melting further into it, eyes closed and mind pleasantly dazed. He thinks he might just stay here forever. (The insides of his wings are warm warm warm; the water gently bobs them, the muscles loosening after months of being stiff and taut.)

It reminds Grian of what it feels like to be comfortable. (He isn't sure he can quite grasp it; the feeling seems too big for his comprehension.) He lets out a long, reverberating hum, almost purr-like, sinking further into the water. His eyes are still closed. He's secure in the knowledge that Scar's still here, he's got him. everything is okay.

Everything is more than okay.

"'m gonna live like a raisin," he says as a vague threat, or a promise, or— or something. Something mildly delirious. He's never getting out of this lake. It's too nice. He's going to stay here and submerge himself in bliss and escapism.

“Yes!” Scar croaks out amidst some airy laughter. “Join me in the raisin life, Grian!” 

Scar's laughter echoes around Grian, setting bright, joyful sparks behind grian's ribcage. He could listen to that sound forever.

While keeping his arms in place, supporting Grian so that he doesn’t sink entirely, Scar ducks his face back underwater and blows some bubbles, loving the feeling of having semi-clean skin for the first time in far too long.

Grian hears the bubbles. Curiosity gets him to crack one eye open, only to see it's just Scar being silly. Unbridled, a laughter spills from him and— He's laughed before, sure. Here and there, they’ve had their moments. But never before has his laughter felt so light in this world. Unburdened.

Scar’s ears flick attentively and he pokes his head back out to share a grin— practically beaming at Grian due to the delightful sound. It’s a genuine Grian giggle and Scar is loving it. It rings like victory, dancing across the air. Scar feels like he’s won a tiny battle. (And it’s a much-needed win at that.) 

“Seriously,” Scar says, smile still pressing at the edges of his cheeks. “Dunk your head in— it feels amazing.”

The idea doesn't seem as daunting as before. Encouraged by Scar's delighted grin, Grian can't help but wish to oblige.

His wings flutter a little, and then he's tilting himself, taking a breath. No more warning is given before he fully submerges his head.

The water rushes around him, muffling the world instantly. It's warm all around him.

Just like Scar before, Grian also brings his arms to rub at his hair, reveling in the feeling until he needs to come up for air. He pushes his now-wet hair out of his face and blinks, before he settles with twinkling eyes set on scar, a wild grin on his lips. "I did it!" And he finds that he wants to do it again.

“Isn’t our hair disgusting?” Scar says, laughing and smiling like that’s somehow a good thing. 

"It’s sooo gross," Grian agrees with a laugh. He drifts closer, reaching out to run his fingers into Scar's wet hair and rub at his scalp, wanting him to feel nice.

Scar makes an approving, happy hum and leans into the touch. “And you’d touch the gross hair? Wow, you must like me or something. How embarrassing,” Scar croons, grinning with all his teeth as he pesters Grian.

A growling noise rolls out of grian, but it sounds wrong, soft and unthreatening. He grins right back, and he moves closer, gaze flicking to Scar's lips. "Yeah. I guess I do like you. Or something." And then he presses on Scar, pouncing to use his own weight to push Scar under water. "But you should really wash them some more," he notes playfully with a laugh.

Scar barks out a half-yelp half-laugh as he’s submerged, bubbles rising to the surface until the noise escapes the watery prison when he comes back up. ”Wow,” Scar grumbles, absolutely no bite to his bark. “And here I was being so nice.”

Completely unphased by Scar's grumble, Grian cackles. And then he leans forward, hands settling on the sides of Scar's jaw as both of them drip water. 

Grian's eyes close and he kisses Scar.

“Oh,” Scar’s mouth barely forms the words before he’s pressing closer, greedily kissing back. There’s a bit of whiplash from going from being dunked under to being kissed, but it’s a pleasant sort of ride, the kind of dizzying back and forth he would have always expected from Grian. Part of the reason he was always so drawn in.

Bouncing lightly in the water, Grian breaks the kiss only to press a laugh against the corner of Scar's mouth. He's holding onto him, fingers finding their way back into Scar's wet hair. His feathers trail ripples behind him. "Do you want to help me wash my hair?" he ends up asking, sounding so very hopeful and impulsive, eyes alight as he peers up to meet Scar's gaze.

“Yes!” Scar exclaims, instant. Because he really does want to. 

Grian's expression brightens and softens simultaneously at Scar's quick agreement. Eager excitement settles abuzz under his skin, oddly fitting alongside the newfound looseness of his muscles. 

Scar removes one of his supporting hands first, testing if Grian isn’t still melting into the water too much to handle it without them.

Grian shifts to readjust, to carry his own weight and stay floating. He gives Scar a small nod. "Floating raisin-in-training," he reassures, wildness tipping into an almost timid grin.

Scar snickers, highly amused by the continued bit. "I'm very impressed with the raisin's progress," he teases as he removes his other hand, allowing Grian to wade freely. "I wish we had soap. I still don't understand how to make soap." It's a mournful statement, but Scar manages to keep his tone light, as if it's a joke and not a genuine problem. He opens both palms and wiggles his fingers in a goofy invitation, letting Grian lead the way on how he wants to do this.

Grian doesn't, in fact, know how to do this. He just knows he wants Scar's fingers rub at his scalp and brush through his hair and he wants it all to be nice and good. (He wonders if his hair will be fluffy when it dries. Fluffy hair and somewhat clean skin. A luxury.) (He wonders how will Scar look at him, then.) "Should I... turn my back to you?" he wonders.

But turning his back carries many things with it. (Namely his wings.)

Scar’s eyes flick to the sprawled out feathers—a lightning-fast glance, trying not to be noticed—before he hums in thought. He doesn’t want Grian to have to reel his wings back in. He likes that Grian is finally relaxing them like this, having them splayed out without care. 

So instead, he tries to say that this is good. That he likes facing Grian and looking at him. He steals a kiss, quick and gentle, drawing Grian’s attention away from any implications turning around might have.

Grian lets Scar's affection easily distract him; for once, he's not hyper-aware and hyper-vigilant about his wings, and so the warning thought dissipates before it even has a chance to form properly, everything in him instead paying attention to Scar's adoration and the promise of getting his hair washed. He giggles quietly into the kiss at Scar's exclamations. "Alright. All yours." 

Scar’s heart swells at all yours, the words satisfying something small yet primal deep inside his chest. 

But as it turns out, Grian floating in the water on his belly really isn’t a position suitable for hair washing. They fumble, Scar trying to throw out some pointless, dead-end suggestions, staying lighthearted even as it’s becoming clear that there’s no way around this.

Grian hums, glancing at his wings—the top feathers are still dry, as his wings float the inner-side down. The seeping warmth from the water keeps them relaxed and feeling good, and Grian doesn't even realise he's considering them without the usually instant flare up of anxiety.

"Let me try something," he murmurs, an edge of experimental pensiveness to his tone. He pushes himself away from Scar, using him solely for momentum, so he wouldn't have to wade to get more space. He spins, water rippling, feathers gliding across it.

He doesn't make enough space. His primaries almost brush against Scar.

Scar flinches back to avoid the wings, shocked by the casual nature in which Grian is currently treating them. He’s relieved, certainly, but slightly nervous as well. “You better not be trying to escape, you have a good fifty-some minutes of relaxation left, mister.”

Grian glances over his shoulder, chuckling at him, but doesn't deign to answer. He's climbing to the shallower part again; his wings are heavy, dragging him down as he fights them and flaps them around, sending droplets through the air. He curls them, bringing them forward, and with a squinted focus, slowly lowers them back down.

The water turns murky again in an instant, as the backs of grian's wings hit water. He almost slips off the perch of the platform as a wave of weakness rushes through him at how good the warm water feels on those spots. His eyes flutter shut without him intending for it, and a groan leaves his throat.

And then he's slipping off the edge back into the depths, this time purposefully. his wings are spread around him, messy and wet and wide, and—

He semi-floats on his back, his hair now dipped in water. It feels so insanely relaxing—a word he was forgetting even exists; he lets out a dazed hum, eyes still closed, temporarily forgetting his mission is to get back to scar.

Scar chuckles quietly to himself, trying to shield the sound with the back of his hand. He’s able to ignore the distress the muddied water caused him last time, too enthralled by the wide span of Grian’s wings, which he hasn’t seen in so long. 

 Even dirtied and drenched in water, they’re beautiful.

“Should I leave you alone with the water for a bit—?” Scar teases after another moment of admiring Grian. “Would hate to interrupt.” 

Despite saying that, his hands itch to touch. They twitch and he hides them underwater, remaining patient.

"Mmmm." Grian lets the water gently push him around, and he keeps his eyes closed for a while, staying silent after Scar's question. But then he remembers: he's going to get his hair washed. Scar's fingers are going to press and rub against his scalp and—

"Please do interrupt," he begs, dark eyes dazedly finding Scar.

“If you insist,” Scar says like he’s not equally as antsy. He approaches with caution, careful to wade between any scattered feathers, then wiggles his fingers on either side of Grian’s head. “Any requests? Gentle? Deep tissue massage? Kisses or no kisses?” He hovers over Grian’s head as he asks, grinning.

Grian peers up at Scar, upside-down, and even though he appreciates Scar’s silliness and him offering choices, decision-making feels a bit overwhelming right now. 

And yet as soon as he catches sight of Scar, he can’t help but tilt his head more, desiring more closeness. His hair submerges, obliging towards the task at hand, but there’s far more than that in the simple gesture: Grian’s throat is bare (so is the rest of him, to be fair) (exposed wings included), and there’s something eager about the way his lips fall slightly apart. “Kisses. Definitely kisses.”

Without hesitation, Scar leans down, smiling. “Oh excellent, that was my recommendation anyway!” He plants a kiss on Grian’s forehead to start, just a taste of what he’s offering, then threads his fingers into Grian’s flowing hair underwater, keeping his touch tentative for the time being.

Grian hums, both at the kiss and at the touch, a sound that reverbs in his throat. His wings spread a little more. He’s feeling pleasant and pleased, edging that state of melting into everything.

Scar starts by running his fingers through Grian’s hair, mapping out the territory and smoothing out his locks to make it easier for the proper cleaning. 

Helpless to stop it, Grian finds his eyes falling shut again. Everything's so pleasant and lulling, he can almost imagine falling asleep here. (He's certainly tired enough for it, the dark bruising under his eyes speaking volumes about that.) He wants Scar to keep touching him, to keep brushing his fingers through his hair, to— to be here, in this, with him.

“Good?” Scar checks even though he knows the answer, his fingers still gentle; he wants to hear Grian say it, confirm that this is happening, that this moment is real amidst this server of hostility and cruelty.

“Good,” Grian purrs mindlessly.

Scar slowly adds more pressure, lightly scratching at Grian's scalp for maximum effect, trying to provide as much relief as he can. 

Grian lets out little noises—sleep-laced, groggy little things—as he melts against every Scar's touch. He wants to tell him how really, really good it feels, but he can't find coherent enough words, nor make his vocal cords work. He just floats, in more ways than one. "'m sleep," he murmurs, as a warning. 

He wants to look up at Scar, but his eyelids are heavy, his body gently bobbing in water that keeps him warm and relaxed. Scar continues effortlessly lacing his fingers through curls and working small bundles of hair through his fingertips to loosen any pesky dirt that's made home there, finding almost as much pleasure in this little routine as Grian does.

"Gosh, making it my job to keep you from drowning?" Scar scolds lightheartedly with absolutely no disdain. Truthfully, the wings might be working as enough of a feather floatie for Grian anyway, but Scar doesn't mind making up for where they slack. 

"Mmmmhm," Grian confirms. His muscles are so lax. He forgot this was even possible. He hasn't felt pleasantly sleepy in so long—so many horrible dreams and endless fears and never-ending tension. This hot spring is tempting him to succumb to everything it offers, and Scar's hands are breaking the last of his resistance. "Won't let me..." he trails off, meaning to say won't let me drown. The sentense stays broken, sinking out of Grian's reach. "Trust," he murmurs, barely audible, word slurred with sleep.

Scar's about to ask who won't let him sleep, but understands that's not what's being said after he continues listening. He smiles. "Of course not," he confirms, lightly scratching behind Grian's earwings, a spot he himself took great relief from.

The scratch behind Grian's earwings sends something in him skittering and haywire in the best of ways. He chirps through the haze of sleep, unable to catch himself. His earwings flutter against the water, sending a small spray of droplets around them, but they settle back down quickly enough, limp like the rest of him. A drawn-out coo is coaxed from Grian's throat as he blindly tilts his head further into it, chasing the pleasant touch. 

There's no tension to Grian’s expression, no fear marring the space between his brows.

It feels like a dream, if this world ever knew such a thing as good dreams.

Scar chews at his lip, swallowing down all the comments we wants to make about how adorable Grian is all relaxed and bird-brained. He's not so sure Grian is sleepy enough to resist groaning and quipping back at that, so he resists, wanting him to continue drifting. 

He directs his fingertips over Grian's temple and to the top of his forehead, grazing his nails over the skin as gently as he can and massaging into the base of his hair. And he lingers. Keeps rubbing circles and tracing across Grian's hairline, taking his fine time as if he intended to clean each individual strand.

The way Scar is touching him would make Grian go positively insane if it wouldn't turn him into an incoherent puddle first. He hums, quiet, the sound barely there, edging dreamy delirium under Scar's attentive guidance. 

He really does feel himself drifting, sleep latching on and consciousness waning. The combination of stacked-up tiredness and the wholly complete relaxation are taking him over and, before he even fully realises what's happening, he's completely limp, breath evening out. 

He dips a little in the water, but stays mostly afloat anyway. Scar preemptively lifts one knee to catch Grian if his body starts to dip too far underwater, but he seems steady enough for the time being. 

Content with his successful attempt to get Grian to relax, Scar goes for softer motions, just enough to keep the flow of pleasant sensations going without doing anything that could wake his sleeping bird. 

After a minute or so, Scar sneaks a proper glance at Grian’s splayed out wings, how they fill the water around them with dirt and smaller pieces of debris. He has to resist plucking a twig from a close-by cluster of feathers, praying the water will do it for him. He settles for what he can do for now, not willing to abuse the trust Grian is offering him here by pushing his luck.

He hums a soothing, soft melody as he works, filling the space as he gets Grian’s hair clean, hoping to keep the avian’s sleep relaxed and nice. Without nightmares, for once. Warm and safe and spoiled. 

Such strange concept for this world.

And yet even those things can exist here.

Scar watches his sleeping bird and he thinks that maybe there’s hope for them still after all.

[skrunksthatwunk]

something he can't put into words.

[fujii-draws]

Rest

Summary: As a zephyr of light wind passed the cloaked wraith. The bustling, lively sounds and sights of Treasure town are unable to capture his attention. For the Gripper Pokémon was too busy tending to a certain pup, gently resting in his arms.

[Word Count: 3731]

———————

‘Riolu, Emanation Pokémon’

‘It is a widely known fact that riolu’s have a tendency to curl up and nestle into Pokémon they fully trust. Though, a rare phenomenon, seeing as they can sense one’s intentions. You’d be lucky to have one of them even remotely tolerate you.’

…

…It’d been text from a book Dusknoir had picked up recently out of morbid curiosity, mainly as to figure out why a certain young aura pup with him had been so… needy. Suffice to say, the answer he’d gotten did not disappoint, feeling a great sense of pride, and fondness swelling deep inside his chest.

“Mmmn…”

Speaking of…

…An Aura pokémon had been slumbering peacefully on the ghost-type for the past hour or so— having curled himself into a tiny ball on Dusknoir’s scarred chest. It was a foreign feeling. Yet it endeared the specter to the riolu. The cloaked ghost could feel the small aura pup’s breathing, as well as his little heart, beating rhythmically within his small body.

Rather than picking up the boy and letting him lay on the grass… Dusknoir had kept him close. Even going as far as to take extra precautionary measures ensuring the young pup had been comfortable. The Gripper Pokémon’s giant hand reached for the Relic fragment and red scarf wrapped around his yellow neck fur—gently loosening it with his index finger and thumb. Before placing it on the soft patch of grass.

It was a strange feeling, having something barely as big as Dusknoir’s hand, peacefully dozing on him without a single hint of fear …If anything, he’d assumed his imposing stature would scare the riolu away. But seeing Aimilios… it made the ghost-type feel… calm. Dare he goes far as to say a little delighted, especially when putting into consideration the circumstances around it.

Normally the riolu would be working himself a mile-a-minute, having been too anxious to rest for even a second with the dreaded ‘Time Gear thief’ on the loose. Everyone at the guild, including his own Eevee partner, had begged for the Riolu to calm down. To rest. That Grovyle would be captured in due time… yet to no avail. So to see the young, agitated Pokémon… finally having a moment of peace… It had made Dusknoir slightly protective of the Riolu, wanting to ensure that the poor, young pup got his much needed rest.

Any Treasure Town residents that had passed the two Pokémon had been met with a simple nod of acknowledgement, or finger hovering under his red and gold eye in a ‘shushing’-like motion. He’d sometimes even glare at certain Pokémon who were being obnoxiously loud. Which usually did the trick. But every single time, the ghost-type’s attention would fall back to the little pup.

“Mmn… nngh…”

Aimilios had let out a tiny yawn, before shifting to sleep on his other side. Dusknoir found himself smiling towards this small action, gently reaching his massive hand towards the riolu.

“Tired little one, aren’t you..?” Dusknoir hummed, petting his fur gently.

“..Mhm..” Aimilios unconsciously responded with his eyes closed. He yawns, before nuzzling into the ghost even further.

“I see.” Dusknoir chuckles out, responding humorfully towards the riolu’s… clearly concise response.

The sleepy aura pup used his tiny paws to hold onto Dusknoir— His equally small tail and knees curling in an admittedly endearing attempt to hide from the cold. That’d go without even mentioning the momentary twitching of his ears— all of which endeared the cloaked ghost-type even further towards the riolu.

He bellows a chuckle, continuing to pet the fighting-type with his large hand— humming to himself. Dusknoir continued to watch over the riolu fondly, securing the small fighting-type safe in his arms— offering warmth as he continued to watch him idly with a half-lidded eye. As the pup held onto Dusknoir unconsciously… he couldn't help but wonder… where did his trust in the ghost-type spawn from so quickly…?

Despite his positive reputation as “The Great Dusknoir '' perceiving him, aswell as saving him and Ribbons from Amp plains… he knew just how easily frightened Aimilios was. Especially considering the reputation and intimidating features ghost-types are known for… and that’s without touching upon the sizable differences compared to the pup. It played a small factor in why Aimilios evaded him and his affections in the beginning.

Dusknoir knew his hand alone was probably big enough to equal that of the riolu’s body size- it wouldn’t be difficult to snuff the life out of him with a single, bone-crushing grip-- to be done with his mission…

And yet…

“……”

…There Aimilios was, gingerly sleeping on the ghost-type after a long, somewhat eventful day.

_____

…Just an hour ago, the Gripper Pokémon had been reading under a shaded tree, wanting to take in the world of the past as much as possible before his inevitable return to the dark, bleak future that had awaited him. It was… a nice and rare leisurely pass time for the ghost; Dusknoir wanted to savor every bit of it. It comes to a halt however, when he sees something in the corner of his eye.

“Hm..?”

A frozen riolu, who’d been staring at Dusknoir from afar. It was rather obvious he was trying to muster up the courage to interact with the ghost-type. With a smile, Dusknoir decided to invite the riolu over— humming with a nod.

Off in the distance, Aimilios… clearly wasn’t expecting an offer from the famous Dusknoir to come sit with him. Judging from how caught off-guard he’d been. The cloaked specter only chuckled at the riolu doing a double-take; looking both ways before pointing to himself. He’d almost yelped when he saw Dusknoir signaling him over, giving him the go to come near… It felt almost unreal to the fighting-type. Trying to hide his fear, (and excitement), Aimilios awkwardly shuffles his way towards the Great explorer.

…At first it’d been rather quiet; with Dusknoir reading and Aimilios staring up at the sky, with the occasional, unsubtle glimpse of the book the ghost-type had been reading. Dusknoir didn’t mind however, pretending to not notice the riolu’s obvious interest. Not wanting to put the riolu on the spot so suddenly.

He allowed the curious pup to peer over his shoulder, pretending to be oblivious to the riolu’s excitement. It was until Aimilios piped up with the tiniest, excited bark; pointing at one of the passages the cloaked specter had skimmed, that he finally acknowledged the riolu. Aimilios almost immediately apologized for the outburst, (almost as formally as Dusknoir, which humored the ghost-type.) but Dusknoir only raised an eyebrow, shifting the book closer to make it easier for the both of them to read.

“O-oh!-“ Aimilios stuttered. “I’m sorry Mr. Dusknoir, sir! I didn’t mean t-to—!”

“No no, by all means!” Dusknoir boisterously spoke, shaking his head. “I’d quite enjoy your company. It was beginning to get rather quiet.”

The large ghost-type smiled warmly, the wrinkles in his eye folding up. Dusknoir preferred silence— but he’d added in that last bit to ease the riolu’s nerves— curious to see more of this side of Aimilios.

The ghost patted the patch of grass, signaling Aimilios to sit near him. He awkwardly scoots over— falling strangely silent once more… but with a little reassurance and time, the aura pup had started to wag his tail, excitedly pointing from passage-to-passage with enthusiasm. Not only eagerly asking the ghost-type questions about certain things within the book, but also explaining passages to him… displaying his sharp-wit and intellect despite his younger age.

Aimilios’s brightness and eagerness to learn, mesmerized Dusknoir, to put it lightly. He’d never seen this side to the riolu before, despite hearing from Ribbons— his smaller, more louder Eevee partner, plenty of times. Which piqued Dusknoir’s interest, but he never quite got to see it.

…Not until now that is.

Dusknoir had always assumed from their first interaction… that he’d done something to upset the Riolu. What he hadn’t accounted, was for the small child to pick up on some of his mannerisms. Psychoanalyzing the large revenant with terrifying accuracy. Something Aimilios stopped doing when he felt the renowned explorer staring at him for a little too long.

The cloaked revenant felt a shift in the fighting-type’s demeanor when Aimilios read his aura for the very first time; around when they conversed at the Kelceon Market, to be more specific. Going from a soft-spoken, yet starry-eyed pup… into a more uncomfortable, timid form— hiding behind his smaller partner. He saw this same, apprehensive look in the Riolu’s eye when they were on the beach. Where Dusknoir had insisted that he ‘unfortunately’ didn’t have any information to spare regarding his Eevee partner’s memory. The wraith sensed Aimilios’s sudden want to leave when he presumably absorbed the nauseating aura radiating from him.

This… admittedly somewhat saddened the large ghost-type. He didn’t understand why he seeked the small aura pup’s acquiescence the way he did. But it hurt to see the aura pup’s blood pressure spike whenever he’d gotten near. Perhaps… because of how terrified and shy Aimilios was… he reminded the battle-scarred phantom of himself when he was a meek Duskull.

Compared to his partner, who he seemed to already have wrapped around his finger, it was clear to the cloaked specter how much more patience and maintenance the riolu required. Being extra cautious and kind around the fragile pup. Making himself out to be approachable as possible as he sought out the young fighting-type. Taking priority in the riolu’s as he took him under his wing, personally training and educating the young pup. In one-on-one sessions together.

It didn’t take long for the rest of Treasure town to see the clear special treatment he’d been giving the Riolu. Ribbons were also an exception, but it was clear how much less tense and strict the Great Dusknoir had become around the Aura Pokémon.

He’d greeted other Pokémon in the township rather professionally, but when Aimilios had approached and tugged on his cloak sheepishly. It felt as if the ghost-type became an entirely different Pokémon— floating closer to the ground and extending careful hands towards the pup as he warmly greeted him.

Though the majority of his kindness had been fabricated towards the beginning…Dusknoir’s gestures slowly grew to be more genuine. It was indescribable. To see the timid riolu slowly grow more comfortable around him. Whether it’d been a small smile, or watching as the small Pokémon reached for his large hand. Curling his black mittened paw over his finger as the pup rambled on about what he was previously telling the now endeared specter. Holding his paw back with a gentle squeeze.

Aimilios looked happy merely seeing another Pokémon take him and his interests seriously. Dusknoir couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, being able to aid in breaking the riolu out of his shell… The pup had gone on and on… to the point of tuckering himself out.

Eventually leading to where they were now. Finding the same, reticent aura pup… sleeping comfortably on him. Dusknoir’s cloak tendrils curl around in a protective barrier at the mere sight alone. Dusknoir simply watched over Aimilios as he continued to cling onto him like a baby Komala... It was a sight the Gripper Pokémon had been taking in for the past hour.

“Nghh…”

The Gripper Pokémon observed quietly as Aimilios woke up—in the form of a little stretch whilst yawning, smacking his lips. The fighting-type rubbed his eyes open, whirling his head left and right—looking as if he’d been trying to figure out which continent he was on.

“This…” Aimilios groggily begins. “…isn’t the guild…”

Dusknoir’s stomach maw parted slightly, letting out a low, rumbling chuckle at the now awakening Riolu. Aimilios’s eyes drift upwards, squinting at the source of the noise… only to find himself on top of the gargantuan wraith’s chest.

“No, I do not believe it to be so either.” The gargantuan wraith lightly jokes.

“D-Dusknoir..?!” He exclaimed, staring up at the cloaked ghost-type that’d been holding him for the past hour, his tail frizzing out visibly as his ears and black appendages perked up.

“Good afternoon, Aimilios.“ Dusknoir chuckled out in a playful wit, continuing to lightly tease the young riolu.

“W-why am I here..?! Did I..?” Aimilios frantically sputtered. He nearly leapt off the dusknoir; his paws hoisting his upper body as he continued to whip his head left and right. Interrupting Dusknoir with his frenzied panic.

“…Aimilios?” Dusknoir had stopped smiling at this point, his worry increasing from the Riolu’s frantic movement. “Please, try to calm down— I don’t understand-“

“O-oh no— oh no no no—!“ Aimilios holds his paws on his face in disbelief; red pupils shrink as more and more intrusive thoughts fill the aura pup’s mind— “I didn’t mean to—!”

“Aimilios.”

…Dusknoir admittedly felt horrible, slightly raising his voice towards the panicking riolu. But it was the only way he could stop whatever train of thought Aimilios was having right in its tracks.

“Just slow down.” He cuts the terrified aura pup off, stroking his face with his huge, scarred thumb. Calming the small riolu. His words prove effective, seeing as Aimilios froze completely per Dusknoir’s request. He continues to pet the riolu, trying to calm the little one down.

“I…”

“…It’s quite alright.” He says, already have forgiven the young fighting-type— his soft smile not leaving his face. “Now… Did you rest well?”

Aimilios stares wide eyed, almost bewildered by the ghost’s question. After a couple of seconds have passed, he coyly looks away, nodding slightly with the tiniest ‘mhm.’

Another low chuckle.

“I'm glad to hear.”

Despite this, Aimilios looks away from the giant wraith, almost ashamed of his actions. Dusknoir’s expression contorts to that of slight worry.

“…What troubles you?” The large specter asks, his head slightly tilting in confusion at the riolu’s movements.

“Wh-why didn’t you wake me up…?”

“Pardon..?” Dusknoir eye widens slightly. Aimilios breaking away eye contact as he does.

“…W-With all due respect Dusknoir sir..!-“ Aimilios yelps. “Y-You could’ve just told me to leave you alone…! You didn’t have to wait that entire time just for me to w-wake up..!”

Ah.

“You looked peaceful.” Dusknoir calmly stated. “I did not intend to disturb you.”

“Wh?- Why not..!?” Aimilios shouts near the end, covering his mouth with his paws towards his outburst. The riolu now having gotten the ghost-type’s full attention, who looked down towards the young Pokemon in concern.

“Was there something you were planning to do today?” Dusknoir woes. “Forgive me, Aimilios. If I had known, I would have—

“That’s not it..!”

“Then… what is?” Dusknoir had sat up more straightly at this point; giving his full, undivided attention to the terrified riolu. The ghost-type’s expression is filled with concentration; traces of worry added into the mix.

“Excuse me for my bluntness… but… I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Aimilios looks bewildered at the last part of Dusknoir’s sentence.

“I-I mean-..! You’re the Dusknoir..!” Aimilios exclaims. Gesturing to the ghost with both of his paws stretched out. “You’re the world renowned explorer of the Grass-continents..! You probably had a bunch of important work you could’ve been doing…!”

Dusknoir’s expression shifts slightly.

“…You didn’t have to wait on a nobody like me…” Aimilios pouts. “I-I would’ve gotten out of your way if you’d just told me-“

Aimilios is cut off rather abruptly by the cloaked ghost. He feels himself suddenly being cradled against the phantom’s body. His cloaking wrapped all around the grass and riolu in a protective, outer ring. Dusknoir makes quiet shushing noises in an attempt to soothe the little riolu. Aimilios feels his stress slowly evaporate the longer he’s held. The young fighting-type shuts his eyes as he sinks a little into the soft, dark-gray like flesh.

“Is that all..?”

“…”

“Aimilios.” Dusknoir began softly, yet with assuredness in his words. “You need not worry about how I spend my time. Whether it be work, job requests, or even to sign autographs.” He inhales a deep breath, before sighing melancholically. “That being said…”

The Gripper Pokémon rubs the side of his face with his large thumb in circular motions in an attempt to console the self-deprecating Riolu. He cups the riolu’s face with his large, battle-scarred palms, making certain that the young boy was looking at him when he says his next words. “I wished to spend my time with you. I wanted to be here, regardless of whatever duties I could have been attending to.”

Aimilios looks up at Dusknoir with his glassy eyes. His words getting through to him once more.

“So rest… I won’t be going anywhere, lest you request me to.”

“……” The riolu stares at the ghostly giant for quite some time. Bewildered by the sheer authenticity of his words. All while the same, soft expression never leaving his eye. Aimilios was trying to find a hint of irony or perhaps even cruel sarcasm… but all he sees is Dusknoir’s real and faux, gold eyes. Smiling softly.

“Y-You mean it…?”

“I do.”

“And…” Aimilios stutters “Y-you don’t mind…?”

Dusknoir brings the riolu closer to him.

“Not one bit.”

“………okay.” Aimilios mumbled, barely audible, but just loud enough for Dusknoir to hear. He sees Aimilios no longer fighting to keep his eyes open. Dusknoir softly smiles once more. He watches Aimilios shifting around to get more comfortable— balling both of his little paws into fists. The Riolu huddles into himself once more. Something in the riolu’s chest twinges with a warm feeling when he sees Dusknoir gathering him closer into his arms… Aimilios smiles at Dusknoir one last time— before returning to his sleep. Being held gently by the large figure watching over him.

“…Comfortable?”

A nod, Aimilios willingly allowing himself to go limp in Dusknoir’s embrace. The ghost-type feels the young riolu smiling.

“I’m glad to hear it.” A large, gentle finger reaches to move the black appendage covering Aimilios’s face. He stared fondly at the aura pup, who was now finally allowing himself to be vulnerable around Dusknoir… the ghost’s mind wanders back to the book he’d been reading. About how difficult it was to gain the trust of a Pokémon such as Aimilios, considering their built-in lie-detector in aura sensing… and how much trust he put in Dusknoir.

“…...” a slight shadow fell over the ghost’s face as more sinister, deadpan expression twisted in the specter’s eye— looking away from Aimilios.

How it pained him knowing soon that Aimilios would come to realize how foolish he’d been, trusting a deceptive Pokémon such as himself.

But for now…He’d indulge in this moment… he’ll take in the scene laying right before him. Of when Aimilios still trusted in him. He’ll carry out this meaningless delusion… just a little longer.

“Rest well…little stalwart…” Dusknoir hummed softly. Gazing at the Aura Pokémon once more with the same fondness he’d been looking at him since he’d first slept. His cloak wisps and surrounds the small fighting-type— swaying and curling in-tune with the ghost’s emotions towards Aimilios. The time for their confrontation will come, but for now…

…He’ll keep Aimilios happy.

For as much time as he has left.

…

Dusknoir stayed true to his word as he held the small riolu until sundown. Orange-pink skies were now replaced with a star-filled night overhead. A black, yet beautiful tranquility fell upon the town and its residents as the revenant took in the majestic view. Nights in the present were much better in comparison to the empty future.

The ghost-type’s attention is promptly stolen by the young pup, sleeping gently in his arms. A small bit of warmth from the aura pokemon leaked into his chest from the time spent cradling him. Keeping the little one from freezing with insulation. But it was clear from the way Aimilios began shivering that his thin fur coat wasn’t enough to brace the elements.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm, shall we?” The cloaked revenant spoke to the unconscious aura pup, still smiling at the sight.

Dusknoir grabbed the Relic Fragment and red scarf laying on the patch soft grass. Now holding the riolu’s belongings in his fist, the revenant begins departing onwards, floating straight to Wigglytuff’s guild.

…

He was aware of the curfew set for guild members. Primed of the knowledge thanks to a certain nosy brown fox. Dusknoir really had to speak with Ribbons’ snooping activities, especially regarding her guildmates’… personal journals. The ghost-type floated stealthily by the perched bird. Sparing the aura pup from a harsh scolding that would have awaited him in the morning.

The giant specter floated silently past the other guildmates’ rooms through the narrow hallway. He noticed Aimilios grimacing in his sleep as they went by Loudred’s room. Which Dusknoir empathized with as soon as he heard the same, ear-splitting snore roaring from within. No wonder the poor boy hadn’t gotten any sleep.

Upon entering Team Hope’s dormitory, Dusknoir is greeted with the sight of a slumbering Eevee. Laying flat on her back with her maw agape— drool dripping from the side of her mouth. If her hind legs twitching was any to go by— It was clear the Eevee was dreaming about… something. What that was could be anyone’s guess, Dusknoir internally chuckled to himself. Her snores, while not as loud as her purple companion, were… unnatural to say the least. Sighing heavily, the cloaked wraith hovers over Aimilios's haybed. But stops himself halfway.

Almost hesitant to let go.

Between the Riolu and his vixen partner, physical contact with the young Eevee was much, much common. Ribbons would almost always be located somewhere around his body— mainly his ruffs. Dusknoir thoroughly enjoyed her company, despite her complete disregard for personal space.

Then there was the Riolu, who was the complete opposite.

Any attempts made at getting physically closer to the riolu were met with shy declines. Most of which, we’re always laced with a hint of fear, looking up at the ghost type before backing away slowly. Which the Gripper Pokémon understood. It was a given, afterall. Ghost-types we’re not known for their positive reputation or welcoming looks. Even if Aimilios was starstruck— he would only retreat from Dusknoir at the very last second.

So when the aura pup finally felt comfortable enough to not only climb on his stomach to better study the book he’d been skimming. But to fall asleep right on his chest…?

It felt almost sacred.

…

After moments of contemplation, the hesitant wraith gently placed the young Pokémon down. The Riolu didn’t make it any easier on the elder ghost-type, who kept clinging onto him as he tried to let go. Once detached from Aimilios, Dusknoir floats back the way he came. Not before taking one, final glance towards the sleeping pup.

[zootzar]

"WELCOME BACK. IT'S SURPRISING THAT YOU'RE STILL CONSCIOUS, NURSE."

@banana-zim & @mybrainisbigpoop more art made from brain maggots on your AU that I adore

[lelianasbong]

listening to angelarts' (love his content) speculation video about taash this morning.... made the mistake of glancing at the comments and they were overrun with every flavor of homophobia misogyny and transphobia bc of course they were.

[happi-tree]

⚔️👑 shield and scepter 👑⚔️

Howdy, y'all! So my wonderful mutual @raemeh did this really cool fanart of my royalty Swiftli au (the fic for which can be found here), and I had some little design ideas about them in my wips, so I thought I'd post the two of them here! Thank you so much to everyone who's enjoyed it <333

[gothsuguru]

once i get back into the groove of things i’m gonna pick up some hobbies 🙏🏼