#their ‘claws’ only really extend when they’re aggressive

[sleepylabs]

[daughterofluthien]

“decisions were respected” Sorry but didn’t Scott violently throw Isaac against a wall more than once just because Isaac liked his ex girlfriend in canon? That’s the literal opposite of healthy...

Hey, anon!

This is in reference to this post about Scallison for the shipping meme, where I said that one of my favorite things about Scallison is that the show lets them have a healthy breakup, and even date other people while still remaining friends. The scenes you are referring to are a pair of scenes in 3x13 Anchors.

So lets’s take a look.

(under a cut bc it turns out that when you try to be comprehensive, things get v long v quickly 😅)

The Scenes

I’m actually gonna copy/paste the dialogue of both scenes (along with minimal action/inflection notation for context) so that we can really make sure we know what we’re talking about here, so bear with me:

The first of these scenes occurs as Scott and Isaac are getting ready to head to school in the morning. After some initial ‘hey, what’re you doing, are you heading to school’ dialogue—during which both boys seem a bit awkward—we get the following:

ISAAC: [anxiously] Can I ask you a question? SCOTT: Okay... ISAAC: Are you angry with me? SCOTT: No! ISAAC: Are you sure? SCOTT: ...No. ISAAC: [awkwardly] What's that mean? SCOTT: I guess I'm not really sure how I'm feeling... ISAAC: [nodding] Okay. ...Do you hate me? SCOTT: [sighing] No, of course not. ISAAC: Do you want to hit me? SCOTT: [taken aback] No. ISAAC: I think you should hit me. SCOTT: I don't want to hit you. ISAAC: Are you sure? SCOTT: Why would I want to hit you? You didn't do anything, did you? ISAAC: [stammering] No. I mean, um... What do you mean? SCOTT: I mean, like, you didn't kiss her or anything, right? ISAAC: No! Absolutely not. No. SCOTT: ...Did you want to? ISAAC: Oh, yeah. Totally. [scene cuts to hallway outside the room. Isaac flies through the doorway and hits the wall] MELISSA: Hey! You two teenage boys? Don't test my entirely un-supernatural level of patience! ISAAC: ...Feel better?

The scene then ends, and we cut to subsequent scenes of Stiles and then Allison also getting ready for school.

The second scene is much shorter and happens later in the episode, after Isaac saves Lydia from an arrow that Allison fired while hallucinating. He and Scott are in Scott’s room again, and he’s telling him about the incident:

SCOTT: Right at her head? ISAAC: Almost right through it. And she keeps saying the same thing-- that she keeps seeing her aunt. Whatever's happening to you guys is getting worse. If I hadn't been there, then Lydia would be dead. SCOTT: ...What were you doing there? ISAAC: Uh... [scene cuts to hallway outside the room. Isaac flies through the doorway and hits the wall] MELISSA: [groaning] Oh, you guys, come on! This house does not have a supernatural ability to heal! So, stop it!

But of course just the text of the scene isn’t enough to accurately convey everything in even a tiny portion of a larger narrative, because nothing happens in a vacuum. With that in mind, let’s look at...

The Context 

The first of these scenes occurs immediately after the opening credits, and is the first time we see either Scott or Isaac this season. (Assuming you consider 3B a separate season, of course, which is a whole ‘nother can of worms. This tv show we all choose to enjoy sure is Something.)

Often, the opening of a season is used to reintroduce the audience to the main characters—letting us know where their characters arcs are starting, and what they’ll be struggling with this season. Teen Wolf did this previously (and did it well, imo) in 3x01 Tattoo. Act 2 of that episode begins with a series of four scenes showing our main characters getting ready for school in the morning, highlighting where everyone currently is, and setting up where their arcs are going to go.

Scene order taken by itself would seem to indicate that they were trying to do something similar in this episode. It starts off with the hook of Stiles’ extended nightmare sequence. He can’t tell dreams apart from reality anymore, and wakes up screaming. Cut to black, cue opening credit sequence.

Immediately after the first ad break, we get a sequence of three scenes. The first is the longer of the two Scott and Isaac scenes (which, as previously mentioned, occurs as they’re getting ready to head out to school). The second is of Stiles. He’s packing for school, and the audience learns that he’s been struggling to read when he’s awake as well. Finally, we see Allison leaving her and her dad’s apartment. She seems like she’s doing fine, if a little over-focused. But then she gets into the elevator, and has an extended hallucination/flashback of Kate.

We learn soon after this that all three of them (Scott, Stiles, and Allison) are suffering from the aftereffects of their sacrifice in the previous season. According to the explanations we get both from Kira and, later, from Deaton, they’re slipping into bardo, or the space between life and death, and there’s a door open in their minds. 

Okay, problem established.

It stands to reason, then, that all three of those opening scenes are supposed to serve to set up this problem. We’re shown, in three successive scenes, that all three of our sacrificees are, as the kids say, Not Doing So Hot.

(yes I know the kids don’t say that, let me be an increasingly out-of-touch millennial in peace)

This is all well and good, and honestly makes sense! Under this paradigm, the Scott and Isaac scene should be highlighting that Scott is Losing Control. Bardo is affecting him, and it’s causing him to be more aggressive. Giving in to violence in a way that he generally holds himself back from. Heck, the scene even starts with Scott flexing his fingers, and we (and Scott) see the shadow of a clawed hand against the door.

In the context of the narrative, it makes sense.

Except.

eXCEPT—

The Framing

The thing about the medium of television is that, when we’re talking about a scene, we can’t just look at the narrative structure. We also have to look at the scene itself: how it’s shot and directed, how it’s edited, even what music is paired with the scenes.

In the Stiles and Allison sequences, the scenes are very clearly shot for tension and horror. Long lingering shots on the things that Just Aren’t Right. Music that heightens the tension. Stiles gets some nice lil scare chords over the shot of the book that he can’t read, and there’s a very quiet droning in the background of the Allison nightmare sequence that slowly grows into some classic horror soundtrack music.

Okay. So far that tracks with the narrative thesis.

Now let’s take look at the Scott and Isaac scene.

We start out with some of those lingering shots I was talking about, as Scott is halted in his tracks when he notices the shadow of the clawed hand. We see his own hand is human and unshifted. There’s quiet, percussion heavy music over this portion of the scene that increases in tension at this point. Shaken, Scott closes his hand into a fist, and when he opens it, both the shadow and his own hand are smooth and human. The tense music fades out to silence, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Scott opens the door to reveal Isaac, which startles him. There’s a short musical sting to underline this moment, and then the background music cuts out completely, leaving us (and them) in the awkwardness of this moment. 

And OH BOY. IS IT AWKWARD. 😬

You can kinda see the Awkwardness Inherent in the System in the dialogue that I pasted up at the top—it’s a lot of back-and-forth, short statements, trailing off... And both Posey and Sharman are playing up the awkwardness as well. Neither boy looks like they really want to be there, and that includes Isaac, who initiated this entire conversation.

But here’s the thing.

The thing that really frustrates me about this scene.

It’s not the sort of awkwardness that exists to increase the tension. The sort that builds and builds until it reaches a fever pitch and you know something just has to give. You know, the sort of tension that you would want to build if you were showing how the protagonist of your show is no longer fully in control, and is on a knife’s edge of lashing out at his friend and beta.

Instead, it’s played for comedy.

And once again, a lot of this is down to the music.

Before the dialogue that I quoted at the top even begins, the music starts back up, and this time the tense percussion has been replaced by light, pizzicato strings. (That may not be the exact right term, fyi, I only really know enough about music theory to be dangerous.) But you know, the playful, plucked strings that often accompanies comedic or otherwise not-serious scenes.

Background music tells the viewer how they’re supposed to feel about the events in a particular scene, and the music here is saying that we’re not supposed to find this whole confrontation that dramatic. In fact, we’re supposed to find it funny.

But it’s not just the music that that frames this scene as comedic. It’s also the fact that we don’t actually see Scott shoving Isaac. Instead, the scene cuts to the hallway, and all we see is Isaac flying through the doorway.

Now, obviously I don’t have a direct line to the director and editors’ minds here. But I would bet money that those particular shots were chosen 1). because it’s so much easier to do a wire pull stunt when you don’t have to show what it’s in reaction to, and 2). because it’s kinda difficult to show your main character directly doing a violence and make it funny.

But show someone yeeted into frame, and that’s funny. Right?

(Spoiler alert: not in this context, it isn’t)

Now, I know I’ve been focusing on the first scene a lot—partially because it’s longer and partially because it’s really the only reason that the second scene exists—but I do want to take a look at the second scene really quickly as well. It’s much shorter and generally adopts a more serious tone than the first one, mostly due to fact that we’re smack dab in the middle of the action at this point. The weird visions that the sacrificees have been having all episode have started endangering lives, and they can’t just wait for it to resolve on its own.

But then the focused, intent exposition is broken by Scott’s question of “why were you there.” Then smash cut to a near identical shot of the hallway,and Isaac yeeting into frame.

The thing is, this scene is entirely dependent on the previous one. It only “works”—and I use this term loosely—as a call back to the scene at the beginning of the ep. Heck, both even have the stinger of a frustrated Melissa at the end of both scenes, frustrated at all the boys-will-be-boys roughhousing going on in her house.

Much like the first scene, this one is also set up and framed for Comedy.

Which is um. A Choice. 

But What Does It All Mean

What frustrates me about these scenes, at the end of the day, is that the narrative intention and the directing/editing seem to be fundamentally at odds.

On the one hand, it makes narrative sense to say that the purpose of the scenes is to show that Scott is losing control. That he’s being affected by bardo and the open door in his mind, and it’s putting the people close to him in danger. But then on the other, the way the scenes are actually used are as comic relief. As a way to release tension between very tense, dramatic scenes. 

I don’t think it works, as I don’t personally find it funny at all. But that really does seem to be the intention.

Once again, absolutely wILD choices were made on the part of tptb, and I really wish anyone had thought for two seconds about the implications of all of this, but nO

Ahem.

So now (literally 2K words later I’m so sorry 😅) what does this tell us about the characters? Certainly no one here is arguing that shoving someone is a good or defensible choice, whether it’s due to forces outside the character’s control or not. But even taking the influence of bardo in mind, is it even in character for Scott in the first place?

Because canon can also be written inconsistently/out of character, especially when we’re talking about a long-running show like tw.

One’s an Incident, Two is Coincidence...

Well, we all know the end of that saying.

So let’s end by looking at a few patterns.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this, once again, eXCEEDINGLY long post, this is reference to a post I made about scallison. I said the following in that post:

And I also really like that they [Scott and Allison] didn’t get back together. That they were allowed to be friends. That even though sometimes it hurt to watch someone you love loved love become romantically close to another person, decisions were respected, and no friendships were broken over it.

The first pattern we need to look at, then, is this:

What’s Scott’s pattern of behavior toward Allison and Isaac’s relationship?

And does Scott’s behavior toward Isaac in these two scenes match the pattern, or is it an outlier?

3x11 Alpha Pact: Sacrifice Prep The revelation that Allison and Isaac have grown close enough for him to act as emotional tether for her is very visibly a blow to Scott. He looks like the rug has been pulled out from under him, but he doesn’t look angry or upset, just.... sad. In fact, it looks like he’s swallowing back tears. But he nods towards the two of them and just says, “It’s okay.”

3x12 Lunar Ellipse: “I look for my friends” This is the epilogue of the season. Scott walks into the hallway at all of his friends in turn. Satisfied. Happy. First at Lydia and Aiden, then at Danny and Ethan. Then he turns and watches as Isaac and Allison walk down the stairs, and they’re laughing, and so obviously happy, and Scott’s small smile grows. He isn’t jealous here—he’s happy for them. 

3x14 Illuminated: Mutual Recognition Scott and Allison are both at Danny’s halloween party, but they’re not here together. He sees her from across a crowded room, just like he did at the winter formal, so many months ago. But so much has happened, and they’re different people now. Allison’s with Isaac, and he’s starting to having feelings for Kira, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and that he doesn’t miss the relationship he and Allison had. For a moment, his fingers slip away from Kira’s, and he and Allison share a sad smile. 

Believe it or not, these are actually the only other examples I could find of Scott reacting to Isaac and Allison’s relationship. And uniformly across them, he’s sad, yes—after all, he loved her, and that relationship is very definitively over now. But he never seems jealous, and he isn’t angry.

So, if the Scott and Isaac scenes in Anchors don’t fit the pattern of Scott’s behavior towards the new couple, what pattern do they fit?

“Hit me.”

The teen wolf writers have a... really upsetting habit, honestly, of “resolving” interpersonal conflict between two characters by having the “wronged” party hit the other. Afterwards, the tension is almost completely broken between them, as if letting the person act aggressively in a way consensual to both parties has somehow solved the problem.

2x11 Battlefield: Derek and Peter After Peter comes back from the dead, he confronts the now pack-less Derek and offers to help him. Derek, likely remembering that Peter killed Laura and was responsible for most of the events of S1, attacks him instead. After taking a beating, Peter says the following:

PETER: Okay, go ahead! Come on, do it! Hit me. Hit me. I can see that it's cathartic for you! You're letting go of all the anger, self-loathing, and hatred that comes with total and complete failure. I may be the one taking the beating, Derek, but you've already been beaten. So, go ahead. Hit me if that will make you feel better. After all, I did say that I wanted to help.

3x13 Anchors: Scott and Isaac We’ve already discussed this scene in uh. Detail. So I don’t think we need to go into the specifics again. But just a reminder that this dialogue exists:

ISAAC: Do you want to hit me? SCOTT: No. ISAAC: I think you should hit me.

5x15 Amplification: Scott and Liam During the previous supermoon, Liam—swayed by grief, the full moon, and Theo’s manipulations—tried to kill Scott and take his power. They’ve since rediscovered an equilibrium in their relationship, and Liam’s back in Scott’s pack, but they’re both still dealing with the implications of that event. In this episode, they’re attempting to break Lydia out of Eichen, but they’re not as strong as they should be, due to the mountain ash laced through the building, and are having difficulty breaking down a door. Then, the following exchange occurs:

LIAM: Hit me. SCOTT: What? LIAM: Hit me! I'll get angry, then I'll get stronger. STILES: Hit him. Hit him! LIAM: I tried to take your powers. I tried to kill you. Hit me! STILES: He also left you for dead. LIAM: I wanted you dead!

6x16 Triggers: Liam and Theo No one actually directly says “hit me” in  this one, due to the circumstances, but the sentiment’s there. In this sequence, Liam and Theo are trying to convince Gerard and the hunters that the whole pack is hiding out in the zoo, so Theo goads Liam into hitting him, in order to stage a very audible fight.

THEO: Okay... Then they have to believe us.[shouts] Isn't that right? LIAM: [whispers] Why are you yelling? THEO: [shouts] You got a problem? Oh, that's right, you always have a problem! LIAM: [whispers] What the hell are you doing? THEO: [shouts] Shut up! [punches Liam] Yeah, you see that, Scott? Your little Beta can't even take a punch. And what do you think, Malia?

While there’s a variety of primary textual reasons here, all of them deal with personal issues between the pair, and all of them involve some level of catharsis for the person doing the punching. Taken all together, it’s honestly a pretty troubling pattern, especially given the inclusion of an actual canonical abuse victim initiating and receiving the violence.

TL;DR

This is a writer issue, not a character issue. The serious narrative context conflicts with the comedic framing in a way that is honestly baffling to me, and it doesn’t fit the established pattern of Scott’s character and actions. Moreover, it’s an example of the writers’ apparent belief that interpersonal conflict can and should be solved through consensual violence.

The pattern we do see, is that the Scott is saddened by the knowledge that Allison has moved on, but he’s glad that she and Isaac are happy. Similarly, Allison is saddened that Scott is moving on as well, because she does still care for him deeply. Despite their conflicted feelings, neither tries to disrupt the other’s new relationship.

On other shows, that would be a season-long, drama-filled plotline. Here, nothing.

And I legitimately love that so much.

[fairyreaper22345]

Bokuto Being A Happy Owl, 5 Times in a Row

❤ ao3 link in reblogs ❤

ship: bokuto koutarou/akaashi keiji

words: 2625

tags: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Mentioned Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Thirdwheels BokuAka, One Shot, Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Owl Bokuto Koutarou, Owl Akaashi Keiji, Akaashi Keiji is Soft for Bokuto Koutarou, Non-Sexual Shower Sharing

summary:

5 times Bokuto was a happy owl, and 1 time Akaashi was too.

---

1 - Taking Food Without Feeling the Need to Hide or Show Aggression

“Akaashi! Akaashi!” Bokuto sang, like a bird repeating a tune - it hardly still sounded like a name. He said it so often, crowing it repetitively like a chick in the nest, that it felt more like a gust of wind or a poem in a foreign language.

“Mmm?” Akaashi hummed, indicating he was listening to his boyfriend, but his eyes were still trained down on the paper plate in his lap as he sliced the yakiniku into edible strips of pure, thick, barbecued meat. Kou’s favourite. Kou had a lot of favourites, he was frankly very opinionated - he had a favourite multiple of 7, even (49) - but his favourite person, favourite teammate, favourite thing in the whole wide world, was Akaashi Keiji, and he made sure Akaashi knew it.

“Did you see that AWESOME cut shot I did the other day? Didya? Didya Akaashi?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” he continued, still not looking up, stabbing a piece of meat with his plastic fork and lifting it up to Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto took it between his teeth eagerly, chewing, continuing to talk, “it was a fluke! I bet I could do it again though Akaashi. You gotta let me try again!”

Akaashi nodded, sort of listening and sort of not, still slicing meat to feed to his overactive boyfriend.

“Come here,” he said, positioning the meat in front of Kou’s face, staring subconsciously into his golden eyes. With a bright, beaming, 24-karat smile, Bokuto opened his mouth as wide as he could.

“Really guys? There are first years here,” muttered Kuroo, tired of third-wheeling their overly wholesome relationship. He was slightly jealous of how easily they displayed affection in public, but mostly he was just… so, so tired. Like, c’mon guys. We get it, you love each other. Jesus.

Through chewing, Bokuto somehow managed to reply, “you wish you had what we have.”

Kuroo really, really didn’t.

Okay, maybe a little, but that was a whole other thing.

2 - Gently Using Beak, Feet and Talons

Bokuto liked being little spoon. He felt safe, with Akaashi's arms wrapped around him like a mother goose protecting a gosling. He liked when Akaashi nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck.

But he liked being big spoon, too - he was a big guy, 6'1", 78 kilos of pure muscle - and he felt so powerful when his huge, muscular arms cradled Akaashi, a nest of blankets above them, his face breathing warmly into Akaashi’s space. When Akaashi’s feathery locks brushed his nose, he felt so safe, and felt like Kaashi was safe too.

He wasn’t the most… immobile cuddler. Something about the way Bokuto was meant that he really struggled to stay still - so when he snuggled with Akaashi, his boyfriend, light of his life, protagonist of his world, he couldn’t help but fidget, his feet twitching occasionally, his fingernails running lightly over Akaashi’s tummy and drawing shapes and writing names gently on his skin. His nails weren’t sharp, exactly, but they were pointed, and when he would slightly scratch how much he cared into Kaashi’s flesh, the marks would stay a little while, even though they never hurt.

Kaashi’s skin was fragile, see. He bruised easily, often ending up with bruised legs and no idea how the bruises even got there (turns out Bo kicked calmly when he dreamed). Keiji having such sensitive skin was both a joy and a pain in the butt - Bokuto loved it when he could see his biting kisses still on his setter’s shoulders from the night before, but more than once it had led to uncomfortable confrontations in the clubroom.

Kotarou was always very placid with his angel; he feared harming this delicate, not frail exactly but certainly not robust, beautiful dove of a man. Akaashi was a clear, ripple-less lake, a cloudless sky, a gliding bird, a swan in flight, and Bokuto treasured every raindrop of time they spent together.

When they huddled together, on a couch or in Akaashi’s too-small bed, Bokuto always was so, so patient with Akaashi, so gentle, his hands roaming less like jeeps and more like kingfishers searching for a flower to drink from. His feather-light kisses trailed from Akaashi’s cheeks, to his neck, to his forearms, all the way up his long, talon-like fingers, where they rested ever so carefully against the pads of Akaashi’s fingertips.

With Bokuto curled so meticulously, so caringly around his spine, Bo’s arms like powerful wings extending from his body and curled flush around his torso, Akaashi felt safe. He felt loved. He felt, as Kotarou’s biceps pressed just a little too heavily against him, that he belonged with those dull nails against his tummy, and the bouncing feet against his calves, and the kisses lighting sparks in his heart. He belonged there, with Bokuto. And there he planned on staying.

3 - Allopreening

Another practise match against Nekoma. Another narrow victory.

The team captain squatted on the gym floor, his body so low to the ground, but just high enough for him to tuck his feet underneath himself. Sweat stained through his uniform - it was lucky they wore black, or the marks would be more than obvious - and his hair gel was slipping, horns deflating with exhaustion rather than emotion.

Akaashi couldn’t help but stare at him. He was only sitting two or so feet away, on the bench, chugging water from his bottle, admiring the glistening of Bokuto’s arms, the way his broad chest heaved with hard breaths, the way his slick hair started to fall from it’s heavy-sprayed position.

Keiji loved Bokuto’s hair. Sure, it was pretty when it was down, but Bokuto never felt more like himself than when his locks were shaped into a crown, with his face like a bird's nest settled comfortably in the crook between branches. It was more genuine, like that - he just wasn’t himself when his hair was down. He even slept with the horns, for goodness’ sake - it can’t have been good for his hair, but he liked it that way. With his hair up like that, he was just so unapologetically Bokuto , and that was all that Keiji wanted, and all that Keiji loved.

Kotarou’s golden eyes looked up to find Akaashi, not glaring exactly, but he always had that harsh face. In reality, he was looking with infatuation, obsession, a love so overwhelming it consumed his every moment. Bokuto had gotten used to this. At first he thought the looks were aggressive, or reproachful, but he learned with time that those hard, expressionless looks simply meant that Akaashi valued him above everything else. Above volleyball, above gold, above the future and the world - to Akaashi, Bokuto was worth all of it and more. His heart was pure, and it belonged to Bo, and to him alone.

“Hey,” he offered, still attempting to catch his breath, his hair elevating ever so slightly as his eyes locked with his setter’s.

“Hey.”

His hand reached out, gentle as water on a lake, to close the distance between them. His nails landed just above Akaashi’s hairline, wiping sweat away from his face haphazardly, trying not to mess up his fringe.

“You had some sweat there.”

“I’ve got sweat everywhere, Bokuto-san.”

Kotarou smiled, just a little, lifting himself so his face was in Keiji’s, and he started using the hem of his shirt to mop at Keiji’s pinking face.

When he lifted the cloth, his abdomen poked out, his belly button searing itself into Kaashi’s vision, the chiseled and tight muscle - born from hours upon hours of workout routines - seeming to reflect the artificial golden light from the gym’s strip lights and making him look a little more blessed than usual. With a body like that, Kotarou could do whatever he wanted, seduce anyone he wanted, play any sport or perform any role (that was, assuming said role was of a member of the Greek pantheon). He was just- he was- that torso- if the gods have ever visited Earth, then Bokuto, with his wings and his horns and his claws and his abs (oh man, his abs) was their last true descendant. His swan-like grace as he flew up to spike, and that eagle’s eye precision… he was a tengu , for sure.

And then the shirt lowered, and Akaashi snapped back into focus, and now he was sweating more, only this time it wasn’t from the game.

4 - Preening, Feaking and Bathing

Was it unusual for Kotarou to sing in the shower?

No.

Was it unusual for Kotarou to leave the door unlocked when he showered?

Also no - apparently he was paranoid about slipping in the tub and ending up dead on the tile.

Was it unusual for Kotarou to attempt to write songs as he showered, the door wide open, cawing loudly about Akaashi’s eyes?

Yes.

He stood in Akaashi’s bathroom (he was staying with him for the weekend - Keiji’s parents were thrilled to see Bokuto again, and he was allowed to use their shower whenever he pleased), soap suds all over his body, massaging his pecs with moisturising body wash. He wasn’t wearing clothes, and Akaashi knew he shouldn’t stare, but with the way he was smiling and singing- “and his EEEEEEEYES, they’re like… uh, hold on, what rhymes with eyes-” and his body was covered with bubbles, Akaashi couldn’t really help it.

“Akaashi!”

Keiji took a second, and then realised Bokuto - oh, beautiful, handsome, magical Bokuto, Bokuto who moved like the wind, Bokuto who smiled like the sun and kissed like flower petals and laughed like birdsong - was talking to him, gesturing, flapping his hand and suggesting Akaashi joined him.

“C’mon! Can you help me with my hair?”

Keiji felt his cheeks flare up - Bokuto asked him to share a bathroom, to stand together with nothing but hot water and steam between them, and- and he asked him to touch-

Letting out a strangled hum of agreement, sounding like a chick that hadn’t yet found its song, Akaashi pushed himself forward, stripping down and filling his hands with shampoo. As Bokuto knelt down, so Keiji could better massage the shampoo into his hair, Akaashi couldn't stop himself from dwelling on the stretch marks on his biceps and thighs, where he'd gained so much muscle in so little time that his body just couldn't keep up. The slightly purple, pulled skin just made his wingspan look larger, the muscle more toned and defined  (not that he needed it), the strong body even more beautiful and unique and Bokuto .

Bokuto played enthusiastically with the bubbles as Akaashi’s long fingers ran through his iridescent silver-black hair, using them to make it look as if he had the world’s fluffiest beard, and then covering his hands in bubbles and pretending they were some form of water magic.

It was so endearing. He was so at ease, and the world seemed to follow - the shower water wasn’t as harsh and biting as it was when Akaashi was alone, and the sunshine from the small frosted window kept making a dappled spotlight flicker on and off Bokuto’s statuesque arms.

Massaging lotion into his boyfriend’s shoulders, Akaashi thought to himself.

Hm, he thought. When Michelangelo sculpted his masterpiece, this must’ve been what drove him.

5 - Content Vocalisations and Standing on One Foot

The whistling of the kettle filled Bokuto’s small kitchen, the high pitch interrupted as Keiji lifted it and poured his and his boyfriend’s morning tea - calming chamomile for him, berry for Bokuto - and the placid tune of the radio drifted hazily through the room like a mating tune for dawn-rising birds. The windows were open, and the dew that rested in the air felt clean as the slight breeze from outside dusted it on Akaashi’s face. Sipping from his favourite mug (novelty - huge, shaped like an owl, with black and gold glittery eyes), Bokuto hummed lightly to himself, bouncing on the tips of his toes. The music felt comforting to him, and occasionally between sips he’d try and whistle along, or sing a couple of the words if he remembered them - every time he did, Akaashi gave him one of those special smiles, the ones where his ice-eyes melted from sub-zero to a warm bath, and his mouth tugged up into a crescent moon.

Akaashi’s smile was the moon, and Bokuto was nocturnal.

Soon enough, a song came on that Bokuto knew, and his grin stopped for just a moment; and then it was back, wider than ever, as he haphazardly placed his mug on the counter, his heart in Akaashi’s hands, and the lyrics in his throat. Kaashi was in his arms as he pranced through his kitchen, caroling to a song Akaashi would treasure, throwing his legs into the air and doing clumsy pirouettes on his linoleum floor. The chorus felt like a love spell - or perhaps a curse of passion - and Akaashi was under it, with the way he tried to swerve underneath Bokuto’s impressive wingspan as they made up a dance as they went.

The tune finished, but Kotarou continued, fingers darting up Akaashi’s arms, then to his hips, then twisting him around like a ribbon in a traditional Chinese dance. He’d laugh, and whistle, and just make little noises as Akaashi played along, and when he put him down Keiji all but jumped into Bokuto’s arms.

“It’s like I was flying,” he said, tucking his arms in as close as they could get to Kotarou’s strong back muscles, trying to not to let Bokuto stand on his feet as they twisted in patient harmony.

Bokuto saw that smile again, that crescent-moon smile that he thrived under, and couldn’t restrain himself from kissing it like that was all he had.

Akaashi tasted like chamomile - a chamomile crescent.

+1 - Comfortable Playfulness

Bokuto was his own brand of chaos - uncontrolled, unpredictable - and in a way, Akaashi was too. Akaashi was controlled, and patient, but had a way of making the weird seem normal and the normal seem weird. When Kaashi relaxed, stopped overthinking, put his heart before his head and pushed all his responsibility aside, he was a handful, playful, an exhibit of unrestrained joy.

It was no mystery that this version of him existed only when Bokuto sat beside him.

“Kaashi,” started Bokuto.

“Bo.”

Bokuto stopped, knowing he’d just been interrupted.

“Akaashi-” he tried, starting again.

“Bokuto.”

Squinting, Bokuto smiled, and tried a third time.

“Keiji-”

“Kotarou.”

“You’re playing a game! You’re messing with me, aren’t you!”

Restraining a polite snort, Akaashi looked up, his eyes intense and humoured, his brows furrowed in a way that was almost avian. “Me? Never.”

Bokuto, ever so gently, pushed Akaashi, just to see if he’d comply.

Akaashi damn-near grinned, before shoving Bokuto as hard as he could.

“Oh, it is so on,” Bokuto said, jumping out of his position on the couch and running after Kaashi as he dashed to the door.

“Catch me first!”

Akaashi might tease Bokuto, and he might pretend to be cold and empty and he might sigh with discontent as Kou fell into one of his slumps, but as they chased each other around the house, taking chips from the fridge and eating a few before throwing them at each other, politely tapping each other to say who was “it”, fixing each others’ hair after messing it up with kisses, adjusting their shirts and laughing to each other as they fell in a heap on the floor, Kaashi knew there’s not a single person on Earth he’d rather hold.

In this life, and every one following, in every reality, Akaashi and Bokuto were in love.

Akaashi and Bokuto were both handfuls - but that’s why they held each others’ hands.

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Warriors Smile

Fandom: Pocahontas Characters: Kocoum, Kekata, Nakoma, Pocahontas Relationship: Kocoum AN: So I remember seeing this request for Kocoum, but I cant seem to find the specific request. I remember it being about him not dying and the reader traveling with John and the reader falling in love with Kocoum and respecting his culture, but the details are foggy. Im not sure if this was what you had in mind, but I hope it satisfies you for now and if ive totally miss remembers the request or its not what you were looking for, just let me know 😊

  You didn’t like being on deck when it was such a storm. You were useful as a medic, but your training didn’t extend to battle the harsh sea. But after John had jumped overboard for Thomas, you came to make sure they weren’t injured. John saw your sour face when the men started talk of killing anyone you came across in the new world. After he came down from the crows nest, he tried to cheer you up, not knowing that you only stayed on deck to speak with him. “You look like you were the one who fell overboard.” He leaned against the banister, his face scrunched up in fake concern. “I wish you wouldn’t call them savages.” You mumbled to John, not having enough energy to fight with the rest of the crew. “But they are.” He looked at you perplexed. “Besides, everyone else on this ship calls them sav-“ “You’re not everyone else, John. And they look up to you. You cant have not noticed Thomas following you around like a shadow.” You saw the smirk pull at his lips meaning he knew what you were talking about. 

“He listens to you, too. Hes becoming pretty knowledgeable with medical stuff because he follows you around like a child.” John fires back, and he was right. But only because you warned Thomas that you might not always be around and he needed to know enough in case something happened to you. “Just, just remember. They’re humans too.” You huffed, wanting to move the subject back. “But they’re different.” John kicks off a boot to pour out some water. “They aren’t as different as you think, John. We’re different. Most people on this ship are different. Different eye colour, hair colour, height, weight, built.” You wave to the crew who weren’t paying any head as they secured the deck. “But i bet they have hearts that beat, lungs that breath and blood that runs red.” “Maybe I’ll find you a savage for you to find out.” John smirks at you as he tries to lighten the mood, but the moment he saw you weren’t impressed, he stopped. John could normally read you like a book. You had bother grown up together, and he pulled you along on his adventures many times. He got into fights and you patched him up. You had warned him that you were just a nurse, and one day you might not be able to patch him up. But he dismissed you as a ‘rambling wife’. Not that you were married, or anywhere near a relationship. In truth, you were sure you two would rip each others throats out if left alone too long. But people often assumed there was more than friendship. “I truly hope you are joking, John. No one deserves to die for simply being alive.” You shake your head, disappointed as you stand, rubbing your arms. You turn to disappear back into your quarters, hoping your words might have some weight with the man.

------time skip ---------------

 When John disappeared from the landing party, you found yourself wondering into the surrounding woods. You knew you would be chastised for it later, but you didn’t care. It was so beautiful. you wouldn’t go too far, venturing about 15 minutes away from the others until you found a clearing. The way the sun shone down on the forests was like something out of a fairy-tale. You were so lost in the beauty of it all that you almost didn’t notice the small chirping coming from the ground beside you. Glancing down, you saw a small bird. It had a yellowy orange chest, with a blue back and black markings. Crouching down, you wondered why a bird would be this close to the ground. It seemed dangerous. Unless something was wrong with him? The bird began to jump to you, but you saw its left leg wasn’t taking any pressure and it hobbles a little. “Shhh.” You picked up the small bird with ease and sat down with your legs crossed, your skirt making a small nest for the animal to sit in. “I think you have dislocated your leg, sir.” You mused, gently wrapping the bird in the towel and making sure you could still get to the leg . You grabbed some small bandages you used for fingers and smaller cuts and folded it in half so it was the length of the birds leg. You wrapped the small leg till you felt it had enough padding without hindering the bird too much and then tied it up. “All done. My fee will be in the mail.” You laugh to yourself, even though there was no one around to hear your little joke. You unwrap the bird, which tweets happily. “Lets get you somewhere high.” Getting to your feet, you hold the bird in your hands, leaving the towel and your medical supplies on the floor as you searched the surrounding trees till you found a branch about the hight of you eyes. Taking the bird over, you place it on the tree, but the branch wasn’t thick enough and you didn’t think it was high enough either. “Higher?” You ask, even though the bird has no say as you pick it up again, venturing to another tree which was higher up. The bird didn’t even move from your hand as you reached up to let it go onto the branch. It started tweeted, looking up to a near by tree. You followed its eyes and saw a small bundle of sticks and twigs nestled between two thick branches. The problem was that the nest was about 10 foot off the ground. You groaned, walking up to the tree and looking up at your new destination. There was a branch that you could grab onto, but you didn’t know if you had the upper body strength to pull yourself up and hold yourself with just one free hand. Moving the bird into one hand, you reached up and grabbed the branch. You managed to walk up the tree and pull yourself up till you were eye level with the branch you were holding, but your arm was shaking. You were almost parallel to the branch as you glanced down, seeing you were now a good 5 foot off the ground.  Before you could even reach out and attempt to put the bird up to its nest, your arm spasmed and you lost your grip. You didn’t even have a chance to yell as you fell, preparing yourself to crash on the ground. Until arms caught you. Your eyes had been scrunched shut, expecting pain, so your mind immediately thought John or one of the others had found you. Opening your eyes, you forgot how to breath. The man who had caught you was unbelievably handsome. Strong cheek bones and jaw line with dark brown, intelligent eyes that stared back at your own. You knew your surprise was painted on your face, but his was stoic, like a warrior. He had long hair with shaven sides, like a mohawk, but the hair fell to the left and down to his shoulder, and white feathers adorned the back of his head. The man lowered you to the ground gently. You both watched each others every movement, trying to work out if the other was dangerous or not. Just because you refused to call them savages didn’t mean you trusted them completely. You were on their land, their homes. They were within their rights to chase you off or punish you if they saw fit. The bird chirped in your hands. Apparently, you had tried to protect the bird from the fall rather than try held yourself. Great self-preservation skills. The man took a few steps back from you but before you could ask why, he ran at you. You let out a small yelp, turning away to try protect yourself. But then you heard a grunt. Looking through your hair, you saw he had ran right past you. And up the tree. He was holding himself on the branch, managing to get enough momentum to get past the lower branch and brace himself on it with a straight elbow on one hand. The sheer strength in his arm was shown by the muscles. He reached out to you, eyes darting to the bird. You instantly understood and went to him, placing the bird carefully in his outstretched hand. He rose it to the nest and the bird jumped happily into its home. You smiled widely, happy that the animal could recover from its injury in its home from a little while. Perhaps you could bring it some food later. The man looked back to you, and you caught his eyes. Despite your smile, his face stayed stoic. Taking a step back, you allowed the man space to jump back down, landing elegantly before straightening back up. He towered over you, and you suddenly felt rather intimidated by his presence as your eyes fell to the red markings on his chest. Two clawed paws. Like a bears or wolfs. You opening your mouth, about thank him when you heard voices calling your name. Whipping to look over your shoulder to where the voices came from, you started to panic. If they found this man, he was dead. Looking back to him, you saw his eyes darting to the sound as well, his stance strong. In fact, you could see that he was growing more hostile with every call. “you need to go.” You whispered, drawing his attention back to you. But his eyes showed confused. He couldn’t understand you. You tried make a shooing motion with your hands, but he only grew more perplexed. Eventually, you were drawn to more drastic measures. You placed your hands on his bare chest and pushed him back behind the tree. He stumbled slightly, before his stance became really aggressive. But he was out of sight now. You backed off, pressing your fingers to your lips as you silently begged him to stay hidden. And just in time. “[y/n]!? Where have you been?” Thomas called out to you and you flashed the man a small smile before walking back to your items. “Frolicking through the flowers, are we?” Ben laughed but ti quickly stopped. “Whats that on your hand, lass?” Looking down, you saw some of the red paint from the stranger had rubbed off onto your hand. “Oh, I found an injured bird.” You wiped the evidence on your skirt as you gathered up your things. “We better get you back.” Thomas looked to the sky, the sun lower in the sky. “Okay. I’ll follow.” You nod, throwing your bag over your shoulder. The two men retreated back into the woods, you following behind. But not before you could steal a glance back to the tree, seeing the stranger watching. You smiled at him before turning back. You heard the men grumbling about having to dig for gold. You would certainly make sure Ratcliff had a piece of your mind if he thought for a second you’d be digging. however, the moment you got back, all hell broke loose. Guns were firing, and crys that there was savages. Ducking behind a waggon, you saw them firing at some people in the trees, and they hit one. That might have been the end of it, but then you saw the man from the forest. He scooped up his fallen alley and carried him back into the wood as they all retreated. Stuck in a conflict, you stayed hidden as you thought. You owed him something. Not your life, but he had saved you from a broken hip or a concussion. And you knew they probably wouldn’t be able to treat a gun wound. You thought of the man, suffering in agony before dying with no understanding of what had hit him. So you did the unthinkable. Racing into the woods, you followed them, until they reach a village. You almost collapse when you see the colony of small huts. The crew would slaughter them as sure as day. A deep sickness filed your stomach as you press your hand over your mouth. You took an oath to help people, not hurt them. Holding the strap of your bag, you take a shaking breath. You could very well be walking into certain death, but that man needed your help. Taking a deep breath, you circled the outside of the village until you saw them taking the injured man into a hut. That must be either his home, or a medical place. You would bet the latter. Slipping inside, the group were too preoccupied with the wounded man to notice someone who wasn’t like them had entered. You felt like you had just entered a sleeping lions den. So you cleared your throat. Like lions, they turned and bore weapons at you as if they were fangs. “No, I want to help.” You held your hands up to show you meant no harm, but the men couldn’t understand you. You looked around, trying to figure out a way to show them you wanted to help him. Pulling the bag open, you pulled out the bandage you had. Showing it to them that it wasn’t a weapon, you began to wrap it around your arm. “Help.” You repeated, pointing to the gunshot wound. Their eyes narrowed, but none protest as you moved closer to the injured as you unravel the bandage from your arm. You would need it. You inspected the gunshot wound. There was no way he could survive this without medical help. But you would need the take the bullet out, clean the wound and sew him shut. You didn’t notice the chief looking to the man you had met not an hour ago. There was a silent understanding between them to let you be unless you caused any issues. And the shaman had said he didn’t know how to heal such wounds. “I need to take the bullet out.” You spoke, knowing they couldn’t understand everything you said. You rummaged to the bottom of your bag and found the spare bullets that the men had dropped. Pulling them out, you showed the man you assumed to be the leader one of the bullets between your thumb and pointing finger. You then mimicked how the men held the guns and made a quiet gun shot noise before showing them the bullet flying to his wound. Eyes widened as they realises what you were saying. “We need to take it out.” You pull out your bullet remover. It was a relatively new invention in the medical word, only about 50 years old but it was a key part of your tool kit. But you didn’t know it they would understand that. Your eyes flickered to the head healer, who looked to chief. A breeze came through the tent, making you shudder while the small group closed their eyes for a brief moment. When the chief opened his eyes, he nodded to the head healer who looked back to you. “Save him.” He told you, making your eyes widen at his English. But you nodded, and got to work. They let you work without question but with watchful eyes. You warned it would hurt, and apologised. But the man gritted his teeth and managed to stay still. Bullets were kind of a speciality of yours. It wasn’t something you were proud of, but it was a fact. the bullet was out with 5 minutes. But that didn’t mean it was over just yet. You sewed up the wound, trying to make it as neat as you could. “You’re doing really well. Im nearly done, I promise.” You glance to the injured man, and you could see the relief in his eyes. “Why did you come?” Their leader asked you. “To help. Im a medic. I took a vow to heal people where I could.” You answer truthfully as you wipe away the blood from around the wound and placing a gauge over it. “Your people caused this.” The chiefs words made you flinch. “My people are ignorant and arrogant. I am not like them. I don’t want a war or anyone to get hurt.” You shook your head, feeling the guilt in your stomach. “Why?” he knelt next to you, his eyes watching your face closely. “All blood is red. Its my job to heal that.” You look at him, hoping he might understand your reasoning more than you did. “We cannot let you leave.” The chief stated as he stood, but you had prepared for this. “if you don’t, they will come to find me.” You answer, looking up at him. “Then how do we know we can trust you?” he asked, his chin rising as he spoke to look down at you. “You cant.” You answered honestly, your eyes dropping. “But I can trade you supplies. Like these. To help if you do get into fights. I don’t have much, but it will help you.” The chief regarded you for a moment, his mind thinking over your deal. “Are they dangerous?” The leader asked you as you focused than you needed to on tying the bandage. Pressing your lips together in a straight line, you nodded once. “Leave by night fall. Do not return.” He spoke with authority and you nodded, thankful he was allowing your freedom. “Thank you.” You bowed your head to him out of respect as you packed your things. “We will fight this enemy, but we cannot do it alone. Kocoum-“ the chief was answered as the stranger from earlier stood and followed him. “Send messengers to every village in our nation. We will call on our brothers to help us fight.” He walked out the door, the stranger from earlier at his side as he addressed his people. “These white men are dangerous. No one is to go near them.” You sat back on your heels, unsure what to think. Had you condemned your friends? But these people had a right to know, to protect themselves, didn’t they? You were conflicted, torn between the right thing to do. The lead healer hummed a little, regarding you. You held out a spare gauge and bandage to him, which he took along with a bottle of anti-septic. “Its incredible, how calm he was.” You look at the man, who lay with his eyes closed as if in a trance. “I will speak on your healing once it is done.” He muses, but his eyes danced with some amusement as you smiled at him. He pushed a bowl of water to you so you could wash the blood off your hands. Just as you were drying your hands, the stranger from earlier stepped back in. Kocoum. “I hope to meet you again, child. But not in such circumstances.” The healer smiled, nodding to you before he continued his chant from earlier, signalling it was your time to leave. Kocoum snuck you out the back, and guided you through the forest in silence. You followed without question, occasionally falling behind a little but always catching up until you saw the wooden logs being hauled up to build a fortress. Placing a hand on Kocoums arm, you stopped him. “You shouldn’t go any further.” You told him, your eyes screaming apologies to him as you stepped in front. “But im glad we met again, even if the circumstances were awful.” Kocoum nodded, and you were sure if he was agreeing with you or simply acknowledging your words. “Goodbye.” You step away from him, and he gives you a small bow, before he moves behind a tree, hiding. When you emerge, it feels like the entire crew fauns over you, worried. But Ratcliffe suddenly appears, parting the crew like a sea as he regards you. “Where did you run off to?” he asks, his voice not showing any concern for your wellbeing but probably for your lack of labour. “The guns and fighting scared me. I ran to the woods for cover and got lost.” You lied. “And did you… find anything?” Ratcliffe prys, leaning down as if to intimidate you but you stood your ground. “No.” You shook your head, not breaking under his pressure. he huffed, demanding everyone gets back to word before retreating to his quarters. As the crew disperses, you steal a glance to the woods, unable to see Kocoum anymore.

  -------------time skip ------------

You told yourself that you were just going to feed the bird. That’s the only reason you were going back to that clearing. But you weren’t. That man had plagued your sleep, and you wanted to see him again. walking through the forest, you wondered if you were lost, until the clearing came into view. Digging into your bag, you grabbed the paper bag of bread pieces and seeds you had managed to get your hands on. Walking up to the tree, the bird appeared on the lower branch that you could reach, apparently recognising you and tweeting happily. You took a palm full of the food and held it up to the creature, who happily jumped onto your wrist to peck at the food. “Thank you.” A voice spoke from behind you, making you jump. But when you saw it was Kocoum, you relaxed. You had never heard him speak before. “How is he doing?” You ask, going back to your task of feeding the bird. You could just leave the seeds on the branch, but you wanted to be doing something. “He grows stronger every day.” Kocoum informs you. “That’s good. I cant imagine the fear he must have felt.” You muse, as the bird jumps onto your fingers, hopping across your hand to stand on your palm to peak at the food. You were grateful because you could lower your arms, which were hurting a little. “Why did you follow?” Kocoum suddenly asked as you turned and sat at the bottom of the tree. In truth, you knew it was risky. Any instinct you had told you to run away, but you were so interested by him that all you really wanted to do was talk. “I already told you. I don’t like seeing others suffer.” You move the seeds into one hand, freeing your right hand. With the back of your pointing finger, you stroke the birds head, smiling. “Plus, I own you for saving me from a nasty fall.” He didn’t laugh with you, but you didn’t mind. You were a stranger to him, an enemy even. Kocoum stayed standing, but backed away so he wasn’t looming over you. It suddenly dawned on you that you knew his name, yet he didn’t know your own. “Im [y/n].” you suddenly say, wanting to right that wrong. “Kocoum.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I know.” You smile, amused by the birds trust in you as you petted it. Looking up, you saw Kocoum was confused and, perhaps, suspicious. “I heard the others call you by that name.” Your explanation seemed to ease his suspicions, but not completely erase them. He sat with you for an hour or so, and you told him about your home. You didn’t want to ask about his own in case he thought you were going to relay information. When you noticed that your absents would soon be reported, you stood. Placing the bird back in the tree, you told Kocoum goodbye, but he followed you. At first, it made you a little uneasy, until you reached the edge of the forest and it dawned on you that he was making sure you got back safely. Before you could turn and thank him, he was gone. For the next few days, you found yourself running off to the clearing, and most times he was there. There was the occasion that he wasn’t, but he seemed to like your little meeting. You were both suspicious of each other, but it seemed to ease out as you both spoke. Well, you spoke and he listened. He would ask questions, and seemed interested in you, but didn’t seem like much of a talking. You joked about it, saying that it was fine because you could talk the ear off anyone, so you could easily make up for it. And, at the, he smiled. You nearly fainted. In the setting sun, in this beautiful clearing with this handsome man, he smiled at you. Your legs were jelly as you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Your voice like bird song.” Kocoum’s words would be the death of you, you were sure of it. Now a blushing mess, stumbling over your words, you knew it was time to head home. He accompanied you as always, and yet he stayed a little close than normal. Just before you reached the outskirts, he grabbed your hand. “Stay safe.” He whispered, and you could see the corner in his eyes. “You too.” You returned the concern before the two of you parted.

-------time skip ----------

Whatever was going on with John, you were worried. Pacing by your tent, you wondered where he had ran off to at such an hour. He should know better than to do this. You didn’t want to confide in anyone in case they told Ratcliffs and he got angry. In fact, you hadn’t seen Thomas around either recently. Stopping, you glance around. Something felt off. Suddenly, the calmness of the night was broken by screams. Grabbing your medical bag, you followed the others. Thomas came running, crying out for help, that John had been attacked and taken. You rushed to calm him but the others got there first, demanding to know what happened. “I kill one of them.” Thomas whispered, swaying back and forth before dropping his gun. “You- you did what?!” You nearly shriek, but managed to keep it down as the men gathered weapons. “I shot one. They took John because I killed one of their own.” He scrunched his eyes up, but when he opened them again, you were gone. Running into the forest, you felt yourself trembling as you raced to the tribe, treason be damned. Maybe you could help, or exchange something for John. You didn’t know. “[y/n]!” A voice called out, making you nearly fall over as you stopped, heart beating so loud as you saw a woman running through the forest to you. She stopped when she saw you had noticed her. “Kekata told me to find you. He said… you could help Kocoum.” She seemed unsure as she spoke, her eyes darting around. “He- He was the one shot?” You whisper in disbelief. And she nods. You followed her as she raced back to the hut where you had went to heal the first man. Sneaking around the outside of the village, you both managed to slip inside without notice. Kekata sat by Kocoum side, who was still. You were praying he was asleep. Passing Nakoma, you raced to his side. “It isn’t as the first one was.” Kekata spoke to you quickly, and you could hear the worry in his voice. “No, its in a more dangerous area.” You nodded, confirming his worries. A hand was placed on your shoulder, making you turn to Kekata. “I wanted to give Kocoum a fighting chance. But I do not expect a miracle from you.” his words sunk in as he stood, preparing to leave. You didn’t know what was going on. What was going to happen. “I do not trust the white men. But I trust you. you might save one life, but I suspect blood will still fall at sunrise. Stay here. This is my safe haven for you, for what you have done for us. A debt repaid. Do not come out of this hut. Do you understand me?” Kekata spoke with such urgency and hints of aggression that all you could do was nod. “If he wakes, sound the horn.” Kekata draws your attention away from Kocoum to look the elder. He was standing at the entrance, gesturing to the corner. You didn’t follow his direction, instead noticing Nakoma, who seemed confused and almost fearful that Kekata was leaving you alone with an injured Kocoum. “But I do not know if it will stop the war.” War. The word hit you like a bolt of lightning as the realising dawned on you. You knew what would happen now, but you couldn’t think about it. You just had to focus on saving Kocoum as the two left the hut with no further words. Putting on your calm façade, you told yourself it was just another patient. Your hands shook a little more than normal, and you paused before you went near the wound. But once you got to work, you were immersed. All the items you had given them were laid out to your side, along with your own and 2 bowls of water. Time seemed to drag, and you felt sick, but you pushed through. You heard things happening outside the hut, the warriors marching to battle, but blocked it out until there was silence. Working by candle light, you blinked away an odd tear and focused. Maybe, if Kocoum did wake, you could spare John too. Then its not a life for a life. Shaking away the grim thoughts, you worked through till you heard the morning chirping of birds. It was still mostly dark out. Once you were finished, you sat back. The cloth you had been using to clean the wound was bloody, and you didn’t want to use it any more. Ripping a piece of your shirt, you knew it was freshly cleaned this evening. The first bowl of water was more blood than water now, so you moved on to the fresh bowl and used the rag to carry water and run it over the wound to clean it. You went to the water and wet another tore bit of your shirt before coming up and sitting beside his head to clean his brow. Your eyes darted to the paint on his chest, but you didn’t dare touch it. It wasn’t your place to remove that sort of thing. You didn’t speak, not needing to offer any comforting words to anyone, but the silence was near unbearable as you waited for something to happen. For war to break out? For Kocoum to wake? You really couldn’t put your finger on it. After what felt like a millennium, you noticed his eyes were moving behind his eyelids. You held your breath, your lips pressed together in a harsh line as you tried to keep yourself calm. However, the moment his eyes fluttered open, you broke. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks as you pressed a hand over your mouth to hid your sobbing. The fear which had had your body in a tight grasp eased the moment he woke, and you had done so well keeping yourself calm while you had been alone that you were overwhelmed. His eyes found you, and he began to sit up, despite the pain he must be feeling. Leaning on his left elbow and forearm, he pushed himself up into a sitting position before you could even talk. “Don’t sit up, it will be painf-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence as a large hand slipped behind your neck and he drew you to his lips. The moment his warm lips met your own, you were a goner. The nurse had left you, replaced with the girl who was screaming with excitement as he kissed you. The kiss was intense, but controlled and carful, just like Kocoum. He controlled every aspect and, if you had been standing, your knees would have been weak. It was so perfect, like a dream which you wished to never wake from. Some part of you was convinced you had falling asleep by his side and you were dreaming all this. You reached up to his face, your fingers gently grazing across his cheek before mirroring his own hold on you by slipping your hand around the back of his head to just above the base of his neck. with your other hand, you gently wrap your hand around his wrist, your thumb pressing against the veins, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. A small shiver ran through your body as you moved closer, running your hand along his arm and to his chest. Pressing an open palm above his heart, you could feel the steady beat. Pulling back, you felt the air flood into your lungs and the tent suddenly seemed to much bigger and brighter. You couldn’t help the red in your cheeks, or the smile on your lips as you look at the man who had stolen your heart from the very moment he had caught you. Much to your surprise, you saw a smile tug at his lips, his eyes dancing with a joy you had never seen before. No one had ever looked at you like that. He looked so happy, so full of life. Suddenly, what was happened beyond the tent hit you like a wave as you jolted back. “We have to tell them you’re alive.” You suddenly say, and you see the happiness be replaced with concern and confusion. “They think you’re dead. They are going to kill John in revenge but Ratcliffes marching to war with them.” You began to panic again as you turn to where Kekata had pointed before he left. In the corner was a horn. Moving from his side, you grabbed the horn. Turning back to Kocoum, you knew you couldn’t ask him. He was already moving way too much and you were terrified his stitches wouldn’t hold. Getting to your feet, you went to the mouth of the hut and looked up at the blue sky, praying it wouldn’t see red today. Taking a deep breath, you raised the horn to your mouth and blew. The sound was deafening but you pushed through for a solid 10 seconds before lowering it. You didn’t know what it would do, or who could hear it. Perhaps you were too late. Some leaf’s rustled as a wind ran through them in your direction, but what you felt was not the wind you knew. It was a small gust, and it seemed to run up your body, winding around your legs and waist before passing your head and fleeing, taking leaf’s with it. You stared in the direction it had went, and something told you that there was still a chance. You jumped when you felt a hand on your lower back, turning to see Kocoum standing behind you. “We need to go to them. They will need proof.” As he spoke, you knew he was right. “But, you are still healing.” You press a hand to his chest, desperate to keep the heart beating within it. “I will have time to heal when this is done.” Kocoum spoke with conviction, but you pressed firmly on his chest. “No, you could undo your stitches.” You shook your head, until a small figure appeared from beside the hut. Your eyes darted to her, nearly jumping at her sudden appearance before you recognised her as the girl from the night before, Nakoma. She looked at Kocoum as if he were a ghost, a hand pressed over her mouth before she stepped forward. “I’ll go. I’ll tell them you are alive.” She nods firmly, before turning on her heel and running off towards wherever the battle was going to happen. Hopefully, the horn was enough to cause a moment of doubt, and Nakoma would be the voice of reason. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late. You pushed your worries to the back of your mind and turned to Kocoum. “You need to rest. Please.” You take his hands in your own and guide him back into the hut and towards the mat. Despite his protests, you helped him lie back down as you chested the stitches and saw they were fine. Although, even if everything did turn out okay, you were sure you would have a battle trying to keep him still to heal. There was not much else to do, but wait.

Within an hour, Nakoma ran back. By the look on her face, it wasn’t good news. You held your breath, waiting for her verdict. Thankfully, the sound of the horn had reached Pocahontas in the forest as she ran to save John. Apparently, this was the one John had been sneaking off to see. She had manged to stop everything, even speaking sense to her father before Nakoma had appeared, telling everyone that Kocoum was alive. But then she grabbed your wrist. “Your leader, a shot hit John. Hes bleeding.” As she spoke, you felt sick to your stomach. Another bullet. Grabbing your bag, you stuffed your medical supplies in. “I’ll go. Will you stay and make sure he doesn’t move? His stitches are fresh and it could do damage.” You didn’t wait for her to respond before taking off in the direction she had came. Something guided you through the woods, until you appeared at the bottom of a hill. You saw your crew on the other side at the bottom of a sheer drop, and Kocoums tribe were on the hill. There was relief on everyone’s face from your crew at your appearance. But you were worried. You had patched John up a fair few times. Your worries were that this time, you couldn’t. Climbing the hill, the tribe parted for you as you came to John. “Another bullet, eh?” you dropped to your knees beside him. he was lying with his head on Pocahontas lap as she soothed him. “Yep, I’ve heard you’re pretty familiar with them.” He tried to laugh, but winces, holding his side where the blood was. When you saw the position of the hole in his shirt, your heart sank. Pulling away the material, your greatest fears were confirmed. “John, the entrance wound is right on top of the scar from before.” Your voice shook and, for the first time since you arrived, you felt useless. “What does that mean?” Pocahontas asked, unsure why that was an issue. “It means I cant help him here. He needs to go back to England and get it surgically removed by a doctor. I don’t have the tools or the ingredients to do it here and I’m totally useless-“ Tears welled in your eyes as you were overcame with emotions. But John interrupted you. “Hey, hey, hey. From what I heard, you’ve been very useful. Theres only so many times a sailor can patch up his ship before he has to put it to specialists, eh? And this ships taken a few waves or two over the years.” He chuckles, wincing yet again. But he soothed you immensely. “I’ll get your bandaged up, give you some stuff for the pain. Im sure Thomas will be by your side the entire way home.” You smile, reassuring both him and yourself.

-----------time skip --------------

You stood by the sea, waiting as John asked. He said she would come say goodbye, and Kocoum had agreed the same. “So, let me get this straight.” You sat, crossed legged by Johns side. “Me and you, two people who get mistaken as a couple all the time, each started a relationship with two members of a tribe who were due to be wed?” “Yeah, funny how things work out, eh.” John smirked. “Look.” Thomas, who had been standing on watch, pointed to the mist that lay thick on the forest floor this morning. You couldn’t see anything at first, until there was the silhouette of not just Pocahontas and Kocoum (you were partly annoyed that he was walking so soon), but also of at least 8 others. The crew held their breath, clutching their guns, until it was revealed the others were carrying baskets of food for the journey home. You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. As Pocahontas came to John, you stood. But Thomas met her, taking off his hat out of respect. “Going back is his only chance. He’ll die if he stays here.” Thomas spoke with her, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. You watched the two with such amazement and respect. Powhatan and Nakoma approached. Powhatan pulled off his shawl and lay it over John. “You are always welcome here. Both of you.” He looked to you as well, making you smile with gratefulness before turning to speak only to John. “Thank you, my brother.” He smiled down at John before retreating. John said farewell to the animals, he then turn to Pocahontas. He cupped her cheek in an intimate way. He asked her to come, and she refused because she was needed by her village. But when he offered to stay, she said he needed to go. Their love would be broken by distance, and as she leaned in and kissed him, you took your leave to go see Kocoum. “Stay.” He took your hands in his own, holding them tightly against his chest as if he never wanted to let them go. You couldn’t help but smile, but you faltered in answering. Was it selfish to stay? John was leaving Pocahontas, with an open invitation back. What if something happened on the way home and they needed a medic? Were you abandoning your promise by staying here? But you were staying as a healer as well, so did that balance everything? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a hand clapping your back. “Sorry to interrupt.” John called over to you. the smirk on his face was not one you trusted. “You know, [y/n], I think that we need a new nurse. One whos not going to run off and heal the enemy. Not that you’re the enemy now.” He quickly added to Kocoum. “No, I think that you should be somewhere that’s peaceful, somewhere that you cant run into trouble. Like, oh say I don’t know, here? Just something to think about.” If he hadn’t been shot, you might have kicked him. Had everyone been eavesdropping this whole time? Looking back to Kocoum, you couldn’t help but beam at him. “I think that means I can stay.” You nod, bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement. Kocoum smiled, and you heard him let out a breath that he had been holding. Something small flutters to your side, and you turn your head to see an old friend. The bird, with the blue back, was hovering beside you, chipping before flying into the sky. Something told you that you would see the little guy again. You raced to say goodbye to the crew, and Thomas promised you that he would take care of John no matter what. You told him that you believed in him. John didn’t like long goodbyes, so gave you a handshake along with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, anyway.” You smile. “oh, I’ll be back as soon as I can stand.” He joked. “You know, I would roll my eyes, but Kocoum only got stiches a day ago, and he came to stay goodbye, so I have no doubt that you men are stupid enough to do that.” You returned, swatting his arm. But soon, it was time to part. The sadness you felt from seeing the ship sail into the distance was no unfelt, but as you felt the warmth of Kocoums body beside you, you couldn’t help but be excited for this next chapter of your life. You were welcomed in the village both as a healer and Kocoum’s wife, and quickly became known as the only one who could make the warrior smile.

[imagine-darksiders]

Algeō.

Chapter 4 - Fear Realised.

Summary: What could a monster possibly be afraid of?

-----

Death had promised.

It was a promise made with no small amount of reluctance behind it, but it was a promise nonetheless.

When you want to leave, Death must let you.

Loneliness is a debilitating thing - a sickness of the soul, in a way, especially true of those whose souls have been alone for a long time. And the old spectre of ShadowBrook House has been alone far longer than any human has ever been alive. Death was lonely. It knew it was lonely. But it had had no inkling of just how lonely it was until you stumbled into its home.

Now, the thought of you leaving isn't just worrisome, it feels downright threatening, and the shadowy beast can barely keep its hands from fumbling over each other or its wings from twitching with apprehension as it follows you around the house.

The hours are flying past too quickly for a creature that has never had much use for keeping track of time and every minute that goes by is another minute that brings your inevitable departure closer.

This is the thought that keeps turning over and over in Death's head as it hovers close behind you, watching attentively whilst you explore its home with the argyle blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a dusty cape.

The spectre's voice is still ragged and painful from disuse, so every question you pose, you try to ensure that it can be answered with either a nod or a shake of that gigantic skull.

“Was this a library?”

Death's head snaps up and its fingers cease their constant fidgeting with the ratty fabric of its cowl. It had been so lost in its own mind, it hadn't even noticed that it had followed you into what had once indeed been the old library – the pride of ShadowBrook manor, once upon a time. Now though, the room stands just as empty and undisturbed as the rest of the house, thousands of books piled high on towering shelves and not a soul to thumb through their delicate pages.

The phantom's bleached skull bobs up and down in the affirmative to your question.

“Oh...” you mumble, “That's kind of sad....”

Ignoring Death's ensuing clicks of concern, you wander over to one of the bookcases and tip your head back to look up at the vast ocean of old tomes, all of them covered in an inch-thick layer of dust.

“All these books, and they're just sitting here,” you continue, more-so to yourself than the gigantic skeleton behind you, “I can't believe nobody has come to take them...” Actually, you can believe it. You're well aware of the stigma that lingers over ShadowBrook, and the townspeople are nothing if not a superstitious bunch. During your research into the 'Monster of ShadowBrook,' you'd learned of a terrible tragedy that had befallen the family who once lived there several centuries ago.

'Don't trouble the dead,' had become the town's unofficial motto with regards to the old manor in the woods and aside from yourself, Charlie and Mia, you can't imagine it's seen many visitors since. This library, along with everything else in the house, has likely remained untouched for hundreds of years.

The thought is humbling – even more so that the house's own legend has all but adhered itself to your side.

As if on cue, a hard nose bone bumps into your spine and you offer up a meagre sound of protest as you're nudged away from the book shelves and back towards the doors you'd come in from by a very insistent spectre.

It's eager to keep you moving. If being in the library is making its friend sad, Death has little interest in allowing you to linger.

“All right! All right!” you chuckle, jogging forwards a few steps to escape the Reaper's prodding nose. With a clack of its teeth, it finally relents and lifts its head once again, curious to see where your exploration will take you both next. Although perfectly familiar with ShadowBrook's layout, the spectre derives a great deal of contentment from watching you discover its home, perfuming each room with your comforting, familiar scent, leaving a hand print or a tiny shoe mark in the dust, a part of you that will stay in the house even if you yourself are to depart from it.

The adjoining corridor leads you back towards the main hall and you amble down it at a lackadaisical pace, cast in the eerie, green glow of Death's swinging lanterns.

It's only when you stroll past a window and happen to glance outside that you halt in your tracks and stare through the glass, stunned to see the first rays of sunlight poking out above the surrounding tree line.

Before you can stop it, an exclamation of “Oh, shit!” leaps out of you.

All of a sudden, in a flurry of tattered robes and clacking bones, Death surges into the space between you and the window, aiming a vicious growl at the glass, its pupils darting around to locate whatever is was that had apparently startled you.

A little rattled by the sudden aggression in its stance, you reach out and grab a handful of the phantom's robes and give them a hard tug. “It's okay, big guy! I was just surprised by how light it is outside!”

Slowly, its flared wings droop into their original spot on its back and the enormous skull swivels around to look down at you, tipping to one side and crooning a question. However, it's taken aback when you just shake your head and turn to march down the corridor again, pulling the blanket off your shoulders and muttering, “God, how is it morning already?”

You.... You're leaving it...

Death's eye sockets grow wide, the twin, pinpricks of light almost winking out entirely at the sight of your retreating back.

This is it.

Morning has come and you're leaving.

Too soon. Far too soon.

Already, you've made it to the end of the corridor, disappearing through a doorway into the entrance hall. With a single flap of its bony wings, the monster catches up with you once again and squeezes itself frantically through the narrow doorframe, bursting into the room to find you bent over the pile of things you'd dropped in the corner upon your arrival.

“Sorry, Death,” you sigh, gathering up your backpack and slinging it over a shoulder, “I really do have to go now. It's Friday, and I've got a studio session at nine o' clock.”

A wheezing moan warms the back of your neck and alerts you to Death's proximity just seconds before it slinks around in front of you and drops its skull down to your level.

Straightening up, you shoot it an amused glance whilst tugging your woollen hat down over your ears, asking, “What?”

In lieu of a reply, the colossal skeleton extends its neck and presses the hard bone of its forehead lightly against your chest, crowding closer until you're forced to stumble backwards. Unbeknownst to you, Death is intent on gradually guiding you away from the front door.

It had promised, yes. But what if this time, you really don't come back?

An exasperated sigh brushes warmly along the oversized skeleton's nose and two, tiny hands are suddenly placed upon its cheekbones.

“Death.” Though your voice is stern enough, there's an underlying hint of caution as you push yourself away from the skeletal face and sidestep around the monster, skirting underneath a scrap of its billowing cloak. “Now, you promised I could leave when I want to. Didn't you?”

It lets out a miserable groan, even as it twists itself about to chase you over to the door, half heartedly reaching out and scraping its claws over your backpack. Even through the thick canvas, Death's fingertips can detect the warmth radiating off you.

That precious warmth.... So easily lost.... And the outside world is so bitterly cold.

Finally, rawboned fingers curl around the backpack's upper handle and you're pulled gently to a halt just in front of the main doors, one hand already stretched out to grasp the doorknob. Blowing a huff from your lips, you're in the middle of turning your head over a shoulder to glower at the clingy ghost when all of a sudden, the handle underneath your fingers begins to move.

How you kept yourself from crying out is anyone's guess.

Tearing your hand away, you retreat backwards for several, clumsy steps and end up colliding with the monster's front, though you barely have time to register its responsive trill as it blinks down at you, pleasantly surprised that you've seemingly decided to stay. That is, until it too catches sight of the jiggling doorknob.

A low, menacing hiss would have slipped off its tongue had you not whipped around and pressed a finger to your lips so fast, you startled the creature into silence. “Hide,” you breathe frantically, eyes wide and pleading. To your dismay, the beast's rigid brow bones only knit together and it shakes its head from side to side.

From behind you, the door gives a long and clamorous creak as it starts to swing open and a shaft of sunlight floods through the gap, growing larger and longer every second. Mustering up all the desperation you can and packing it into a single look that you send the monster, you finally spin about and prepare yourself to face whoever stands on the other side of that door.

What on Earth are you going to say to the person who comes through? When they see Death, they're most likely to panic, and you have no idea how ShadowBrook's secret will react to seeing another human besides yourself. Truth be told, you're more worried for the creature than you'd care to admit. It may be strange, a little needy and an utter mystery, but you don't want anything bad to happen to it. The beast is – so far as you're aware - perfectly harmless, and certainly not deserving of the fate it might receive if the wrong person were to discover it.

You're so busy fretting, you don't even notice the slight breeze that rolls over the back of your neck.

All too soon, the old, wooden doors creak open in their entirety and you're forced to raise a hand and cover your eyes, squinting into the morning sunlight that glistens off a fresh layer of crisp, white snow.

“Y/n?”

A silhouette stands in the doorway, eclipsing the sun when they step forwards. You're suddenly met with a familiar mop of unruly, golden hair and a face covered in freckles to match.

“Luke!?” you manage to sputter, heart beating a mile a minute, “Wha- I – What are you doing here!?”

You aren't really sure who you'd expected, but of all the people it could have been, you're relatively glad it's only Luke. You wouldn't call him a friend, per se, having only ever spoken to him in passing, yet you know of his reputation for being one of the more amicable students on your course.

His brown eyes contrast warmly with the icy snow outside and he takes another step forward, crossing the threshold of ShadowBrook and reaching up to pull his thick, grey scarf down, uncovering his mouth.

Before he can say a word however, you blurt out, “I can explain!-”

“Explain what?” he huffs, stomping his boots on the marble floor to rid them of snow, “Why you spent the night inside a creepy, derelict building?”

“I-... Wait. What?” 

He isn't screaming. Why isn't he screaming at the monster behind you? Twisting your head over a shoulder, you're shocked to find that there's... nothing lurking at your back. No phantom. No grinning skull. Nothing. Just the grand staircase and shattered chandelier. Frantic, your brain tries its hardest to come up with something to fill the expectant silence. You'd been preparing to explain the existence of the Grim Reaper. Not a lack thereof, which is surprisingly more difficult to find the words for. “I was …. just.... looking around...” you manage to slowly mutter, spinning around in a circle and scanning the dark room for any trace of your spectral friend whilst Luke stares at you, raising an eyebrow at your odd behaviour.

“Uh.. Yeah, no kidding,” he huffs, walking past you and glancing around the room as well, as if expecting to find what you're searching for, “You've been 'looking around' since yesterday evening.” He shoots you a sly grin. “What are you doing? Meeting up with a secret boyfriend here, or something?”

“Oh, you caught me,” you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, “Nothing says romance like meeting men in an abandoned mansion out in the woods.”

Lukas chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I'm not judging! Just wondering. What you do in spooky houses late at night is your own business.”

Still somewhat baffled that Death had actually listened to you and hidden – evidently 'please' really had been the magic word – you give up raking your eyes over every shadow and instead offer Luke your full attention. “Yeah, well. I'm afraid there's nothing juicy going on behind these walls. I was only-” Just then, you pause, mouth hanging open as something occurs to you. Cocking your head to peer at Luke, you cross your arms and add, “Hang on. How'd you know I spent the whole night here?”

The tables have turned. Now it's Luke's turn to look like the guilty party. Shuffling his feet, he shrugs. “I promise I wasn't like, following you, or anything,” he says carefully, “There's this cafe, a-across the road from here? Looks out over ShadowBrook's gates? Well, I like to go there and do some of my essays and I guess, today I saw you sneak in here.”

“And you... what? Had a stake out?”

Luke is quick to shake his hands defensively. “No! No! I went back to my halls after an hour or so. I didn't actually know you were still here until just now!” For a moment, he looks as though he wants to say something further, so you remain silent. Sure enough, he rubs at the back of his neck and darts his eyes very deliberately away from yours. “I... I thought I'd check back this morning to see if you were still inside, cos' I was worried.”

Oh. That... isn't what you'd expected. Beads of sweat begin to glisten on your brow as your own gaze keeps sweeping all over the room, mindful that there's another pair of eyes watching intently. You can feel the back of your neck prickling under their ethereal scrutiny. The longer Luke is in here, the more time Death has to grow curious about this newcomer.

“I heard what Squall did,” Luke presses on, “About how he locked you down in the basement here...”

The temperature in the room suddenly drops and you could swear there's a low rumbling through the walls and the floor below your feet, like ShadowBrook is coming alive. Luke, unfortunately, seems to notice the house's shifting atmosphere too. He glances up, eyeing some dust that trickles down from the ceiling. “I was also kind of worried because this place is literally falling apart. I'm amazed it's actually lasted as long as it has. But I don't think you or I should be here.” Looking back down at you, Luke reaches out and slides his hand around your upper arm. “Come on. We should get out of here before the ceiling collapses on us.”

He hadn't meant any harm in clutching you by the arm. It wasn't a malicious touch. It wasn't even supposed to be controlling. It was merely an action meant to guide you out through the front doors. Luke however, had no inkling of what was about to happen. The moment he grabs you, it's as though every ounce of warmth brought by the morning sun is sucked violently out of the air. This time, the temperature doesn't just drop. 

It plummets.

You're dragged several steps from the front door when he staggers to a stop. “What the Hell?” Luke gasps as the sudden cold literally steals the breath from his lungs.

Even you aren't spared from the freezing chill, the only difference being that you know what's to follow.

“L-Luke!” you shiver, your arm still fastened in his grip, “You need to leave, like, right now!”

Puffing out a clouded breath, he squints up at the sky, only half listening to you. “The temperature shouldn't just drop like that. What's going on!?”

“Luke! Listen to me!-”

He turns to face you.

Your heart sinks when you see his eyes grow wide, roving up to stare in horror at something above your head. You don't need to look to know what he's seen. You can feel the ragged breaths on the back of your neck, hear the cracking of bone and cartilage as angular wings stretch up to the sky and clawed fingers curl into tight fists.

The fabled monster of ShadowBrook is towering over you both like a storm cloud, immense, daunting, and utterly, irrevocably, furious.

Death's brilliant pupils are barely visible in his dark eye sockets but they bore like drills into Luke's terrified eyes. It had been reluctant to hide when you asked it to, and the only reason it had, in the end, was because of the desperation in your voice as you whispered, 'Please!' It was content to watch from the shadows whilst you spoke with the stranger.

But when that stranger wrapped his hand around your arm and tried to steal you away – to steal Death's first and only friend – the spectre was suddenly struck by a great and terrible rage that amalgamated with its fear - the fear of losing you.... Of being alone again. The awful concoction of anger and terror exploded in Death's hollow chest and drove the lonely creature to a state of near-madness.

Dropping its bony jaw wide open, it lets out a screech so loud, the windows of ShadowBrook rattle and shudder, threatening to break yet not quite following through. The awful cacophony spurs Luke into motion and before you even realise what's happening, he's off, galloping over the icy driveway with your arm still clamped in his trembling fist. A yelp of surprise jumps out of you when you're suddenly tugged along behind him, forced to keep pace lest you lose your footing and tumble face-first onto the frosty ground. “Luke!” you cry out, “Luke, wait! It's okay!-”

Behind you, Death's screech of outrage turns into an alarmed hiss and it surges forwards, easily sweeping around to Luke's front and cutting off his path to the wrought iron gates, its wings thrown out wide and its cloak billowing amidst an other-worldly cyclone. Only you can see the distress in its gaping eye sockets. 'It's... it's actually panicking!' you gasp.

With a yelp, Luke tries to skid to a halt, his arms pinwheeling to keep his balance and in the process, his hands fly up and you're released from his grasp. However, unfortunately for him, the momentum of his flat-out sprint makes stopping dead on snow predictably difficult. You manage to stumble to an unsteady halt just as his feet slip out from underneath him and he topples backwards onto his rear with a shout, scrabbling and kicking through the snow just to put some distance between himself and the floating phantom. “Get- Get away!” he screams, shaking as Death advances, a clawed hand poised in threat.

“Death! No!” Horrified about what's happening, you dart forwards, leaping over Luke's prone form just as the spectre aims a swipe at him.

You realise too late that Death hadn't meant to actually strike Luke. It's fingers didn't even come close to the boy. But by placing yourself well within in range.... You see Death's eye sockets burst open at the sight of you.... Then...

There's an awful, burning sting lancing across the front of your belly and you jerk, choking on a gasp of pain.

A dreadful hush descends over the courtyard, perfectly silent save for Luke's rasping breath.

The monster is staring at you, its bony jaw slack and its hand still held in the air, fingers curled over with a few drops of blood staining the very tips.

Your blood.

Blinking dumbly, you crane your neck down to gape at your stomach. Four, long gashes have been torn out of your jumper and the shirt under it. Beneath them, you can make out the marred surface of your skin. Thin, red lines stretch from one side of your torso to the other, blood already starting to trickle in little rivulets down to your naval. You have no idea how deeply they run. You're still rooted to the spot, too shocked to register the ringing in your ears and the tightness of your throat, unaware that the monster before you is trapped in a similar state.

Death, continues to stare as a whine bubbles up its trachea. Hesitant – horrified – it twitches its fingers towards your stomach, unable to tear its focus from the wound. Inevitably though, upon seeing the approaching appendage, you grit your teeth and flinch away, eyes wide and brimming with tears and the phantom jerks away as well in response. That's when its pinprick pupils flick down to the blood staining its sharp fingernails.

'No... No, ɳ σ ɳσ ɳ σ, N̵̤͑ǫ̸͋N̴̗̓O̸̲̒N̷͓̈́Ỏ̸̧N̶̻̓Ö̶̠́ ...” Death's enormous skull swings slowly from side to side, transfixed by the scarlet liquid. It appears to have forgotten all about Luke sprawled out on the ground behind you. Now, the spectre is far more concerned by the greater threat - itself.

Heart in his throat and dizzy from the monumental shock of discovering something that should not exist, by any stretch of the imagination, Luke simply gapes up at the bizarre events unfolding right in front of him.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, the creature isn't attacking you. If anything, the way it hunches over on itself and draws its long, skeletal arms up against its exposed sternum, he'd have to guess it was almost afraid of you. The giant skull's expression shifts and changes with the fluidity of a human face – as though even bone could be made to bend under the strength of this monster's will.

Death spares you one, final, forlorn murmur and then, its hands creep up and grab the tattered hood resting behind its skull. With a flick of its wrists, it tugs the fabric up to hide its head and gives its wings a tremendous heave, propelling it up and over your head, over Luke's head, and on towards ShadowBrook. There's an almighty clamour as the monster shoots through the doors and they slam shut in its wake, taking with it the wretched cold whilst an echoing wail finds itself lost under the gently falling snow that softens every sound and leaves the courtyard a somber, silent place.

For a long while, Luke keeps his attention fastened entirely on the house and it's only a gentle groan that at last draws his head around to peer dazedly up at you.

You have an arm wrapped around your middle and your face is screwed up, teeth clenched tighter than a vice, yet you still manage to extend a hand to help your classmate to his feet. And after a few moments of staring dumbly at your outstretched appendage, he shakes his head with a rapid jerk and lifts an arm, allowing you to slide your fingers around his wrist and drag him upright once again. He doesn't miss the subtle hiss of air that slips between your teeth when you're jostled. Luke twists his neck over a shoulder and spares ShadowBrook's entrance a wary glance. “What...” he shudders, “...the Hell... was that!?”

You don't say a word for some time as the two of you come to terms with what had just happened. All around you, the woods seem to be holding a perpetual breath. No breeze dares to disturb the tree branches and no birds greet the morning with their song. The townsfolk always wondered why the wildlife seemed to avoid this stretch of land. Now you know why. Death stalks the grounds. 

Then, faintly, the silence is broken by a distant sound, soft and muffled like a whisper, but undeniably a sound that could never be made by any known creature that ever walked the earth. It comes from deep within ShadowBrook's ivy-infested walls.

Letting a tremulous breath shake itself loose from your throat, you tip your head back and stare up at the house. When you whisper out a name, it isn’t so much in answer to Luke’s prior question as it is a gentle sigh born of conflicted sympathy for the monster that lives inside the abandoned manor. 

“Death...”

[fanfictionisusuallylife]

Bokuto Being A Happy Owl, 5 Times In A Row

❤ ao3 link in reblogs ❤

ship: bokuto koutarou/akaashi keiji

words: 2625

tags: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Mentioned Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Thirdwheels BokuAka, One Shot, Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Owl Bokuto Koutarou, Owl Akaashi Keiji, Akaashi Keiji is Soft for Bokuto Koutarou, Non-Sexual Shower Sharing

summary:

5 times Bokuto was a happy owl, and 1 time Akaashi was too.

---

1 - Taking Food Without Feeling the Need to Hide or Show Aggression

“Akaashi! Akaashi!” Bokuto sang, like a bird repeating a tune - it hardly still sounded like a name. He said it so often, crowing it repetitively like a chick in the nest, that it felt more like a gust of wind or a poem in a foreign language.

“Mmm?” Akaashi hummed, indicating he was listening to his boyfriend, but his eyes were still trained down on the paper plate in his lap as he sliced the yakiniku into edible strips of pure, thick, barbecued meat. Kou’s favourite. Kou had a lot of favourites, he was frankly very opinionated - he had a favourite multiple of 7, even (49) - but his favourite person, favourite teammate, favourite thing in the whole wide world, was Akaashi Keiji, and he made sure Akaashi knew it. 

“Did you see that AWESOME cut shot I did the other day? Didya? Didya Akaashi?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” he continued, still not looking up, stabbing a piece of meat with his plastic fork and lifting it up to Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto took it between his teeth eagerly, chewing, continuing to talk, “it was a fluke! I bet I could do it again though Akaashi. You gotta let me try again!”

Akaashi nodded, sort of listening and sort of not, still slicing meat to feed to his overactive boyfriend.

“Come here,” he said, positioning the meat in front of Kou’s face, staring subconsciously into his golden eyes. With a bright, beaming, 24-karat smile, Bokuto opened his mouth as wide as he could. 

“Really guys? There are first years here,” muttered Kuroo, tired of third-wheeling their overly wholesome relationship. He was slightly jealous of how easily they displayed affection in public, but mostly he was just… so, so tired. Like, c’mon guys. We get it, you love each other. Jesus.

Through chewing, Bokuto somehow managed to reply, “you wish you had what we have.”

Kuroo really, really didn’t.

Okay, maybe a little, but that was a whole other thing.

2 - Gently Using Beak, Feet and Talons 

Bokuto liked being little spoon. He felt safe, with Akaashi's arms wrapped around him like a mother goose protecting a gosling. He liked when Akaashi nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck.

But he liked being big spoon, too - he was a big guy, 6'1", 78 kilos of pure muscle - and he felt so powerful when his huge, muscular arms cradled Akaashi, a nest of blankets above them, his face breathing warmly into Akaashi’s space. When Akaashi’s feathery locks brushed his nose, he felt so safe, and felt like Kaashi was safe too.

He wasn’t the most… immobile cuddler. Something about the way Bokuto was meant that he really struggled to stay still - so when he snuggled with Akaashi, his boyfriend, light of his life, protagonist of his world, he couldn’t help but fidget, his feet twitching occasionally, his fingernails running lightly over Akaashi’s tummy and drawing shapes and writing names gently on his skin. His nails weren’t sharp, exactly, but they were pointed, and when he would slightly scratch how much he cared into Kaashi’s flesh, the marks would stay a little while, even though they never hurt. 

Kaashi’s skin was fragile, see. He bruised easily, often ending up with bruised legs and no idea how the bruises even got there (turns out Bo kicked calmly when he dreamed). Keiji having such sensitive skin was both a joy and a pain in the butt - Bokuto loved it when he could see his biting kisses still on his setter’s shoulders from the night before, but more than once it had led to uncomfortable confrontations in the clubroom.

Kotarou was always very placid with his angel; he feared harming this delicate, not frail exactly but certainly not robust, beautiful dove of a man. Akaashi was a clear, ripple-less lake, a cloudless sky, a gliding bird, a swan in flight, and Bokuto treasured every raindrop of time they spent together.

When they huddled together, on a couch or in Akaashi’s too-small bed, Bokuto always was so, so patient with Akaashi, so gentle, his hands roaming less like jeeps and more like kingfishers searching for a flower to drink from. His feather-light kisses trailed from Akaashi’s cheeks, to his neck, to his forearms, all the way up his long, talon-like fingers, where they rested ever so carefully against the pads of Akaashi’s fingertips.

With Bokuto curled so meticulously, so caringly around his spine, Bo’s arms like powerful wings extending from his body and curled flush around his torso, Akaashi felt safe. He felt loved. He felt, as Kotarou’s biceps pressed just a little too heavily against him, that he belonged with those dull nails against his tummy, and the bouncing feet against his calves, and the kisses lighting sparks in his heart. He belonged there, with Bokuto. And there he planned on staying. 

3 - Allopreening 

Another practise match against Nekoma. Another narrow victory.

The team captain squatted on the gym floor, his body so low to the ground, but just high enough for him to tuck his feet underneath himself. Sweat stained through his uniform - it was lucky they wore black, or the marks would be more than obvious - and his hair gel was slipping, horns deflating with exhaustion rather than emotion.

Akaashi couldn’t help but stare at him. He was only sitting two or so feet away, on the bench, chugging water from his bottle, admiring the glistening of Bokuto’s arms, the way his broad chest heaved with hard breaths, the way his slick hair started to fall from it’s heavy-sprayed position.

Keiji loved Bokuto’s hair. Sure, it was pretty when it was down, but Bokuto never felt more like himself than when his locks were shaped into a crown, with his face like a bird's nest settled comfortably in the crook between branches. It was more genuine, like that - he just wasn’t himself when his hair was down. He even slept with the horns, for goodness’ sake - it can’t have been good for his hair, but he liked it that way. With his hair up like that, he was just so unapologetically Bokuto, and that was all that Keiji wanted, and all that Keiji loved.

Kotarou’s golden eyes looked up to find Akaashi, not glaring exactly, but he always had that harsh face. In reality, he was looking with infatuation, obsession, a love so overwhelming it consumed his every moment. Bokuto had gotten used to this. At first he thought the looks were aggressive, or reproachful, but he learned with time that those hard, expressionless looks simply meant that Akaashi valued him above everything else. Above volleyball, above gold, above the future and the world - to Akaashi, Bokuto was worth all of it and more. His heart was pure, and it belonged to Bo, and to him alone.

“Hey,” he offered, still attempting to catch his breath, his hair elevating ever so slightly as his eyes locked with his setter’s.

“Hey.”

His hand reached out, gentle as water on a lake, to close the distance between them. His nails landed just above Akaashi’s hairline, wiping sweat away from his face haphazardly, trying not to mess up his fringe.

“You had some sweat there.”

“I’ve got sweat everywhere, Bokuto-san.”

Kotarou smiled, just a little, lifting himself so his face was in Keiji’s, and he started using the hem of his shirt to mop at Keiji’s pinking face. 

When he lifted the cloth, his abdomen poked out, his belly button searing itself into Kaashi’s vision, the chiseled and tight muscle - born from hours upon hours of workout routines - seeming to reflect the artificial golden light from the gym’s strip lights and making him look a little more blessed than usual. With a body like that, Kotarou could do whatever he wanted, seduce anyone he wanted, play any sport or perform any role (that was, assuming said role was of a member of the Greek pantheon). He was just- he was- that torso- if the gods have ever visited Earth, then Bokuto, with his wings and his horns and his claws and his abs (oh man, his abs) was their last true descendant. His swan-like grace as he flew up to spike, and that eagle’s eye precision… he was a tengu, for sure.

And then the shirt lowered, and Akaashi snapped back into focus, and now he was sweating more, only this time it wasn’t from the game. 

4 - Preening, Feaking and Bathing

Was it unusual for Kotarou to sing in the shower?

No.

Was it unusual for Kotarou to leave the door unlocked when he showered?

Also no - apparently he was paranoid about slipping in the tub and ending up dead on the tile.

Was it unusual for Kotarou to attempt to write songs as he showered, the door wide open, cawing loudly about Akaashi’s eyes?

Yes.

He stood in Akaashi’s bathroom (he was staying with him for the weekend - Keiji’s parents were thrilled to see Bokuto again, and he was allowed to use their shower whenever he pleased), soap suds all over his body, massaging his pecs with moisturising body wash. He wasn’t wearing clothes, and Akaashi knew he shouldn’t stare, but with the way he was smiling and singing- “and his EEEEEEEYES, they’re like… uh, hold on, what rhymes with eyes-” and his body was covered with bubbles, Akaashi couldn’t really help it.

“Akaashi!”

Keiji took a second, and then realised Bokuto - oh, beautiful, handsome, magical Bokuto, Bokuto who moved like the wind, Bokuto who smiled like the sun and kissed like flower petals and laughed like birdsong - was talking to him, gesturing, flapping his hand and suggesting Akaashi joined him.

“C’mon! Can you help me with my hair?”

Keiji felt his cheeks flare up - Bokuto asked him to share a bathroom, to stand together with nothing but hot water and steam between them, and- and he asked him to touch-

Letting out a strangled hum of agreement, sounding like a chick that hadn’t yet found its song, Akaashi pushed himself forward, stripping down and filling his hands with shampoo. As Bokuto knelt down, so Keiji could better massage the shampoo into his hair, Akaashi couldn't stop himself from dwelling on the stretch marks on his biceps and thighs, where he'd gained so much muscle in so little time that his body just couldn't keep up. The slightly purple, pulled skin just made his wingspan look larger, the muscle more toned and defined  (not that he needed it), the strong body even more beautiful and unique and Bokuto.

Bokuto played enthusiastically with the bubbles as Akaashi’s long fingers ran through his iridescent silver-black hair, using them to make it look as if he had the world’s fluffiest beard, and then covering his hands in bubbles and pretending they were some form of water magic.

It was so endearing. He was so at ease, and the world seemed to follow - the shower water wasn’t as harsh and biting as it was when Akaashi was alone, and the sunshine from the small frosted window kept making a dappled spotlight flicker on and off Bokuto’s statuesque arms.

Massaging lotion into his boyfriend’s shoulders, Akaashi thought to himself.

Hm, he thought. When Michelangelo sculpted his masterpiece, this must’ve been what drove him.

5 - Content Vocalisations and Standing on One Foot

The whistling of the kettle filled Bokuto’s small kitchen, the high pitch interrupted as Keiji lifted it and poured his and his boyfriend’s morning tea - calming chamomile for him, berry for Bokuto - and the placid tune of the radio drifted hazily through the room like a mating tune for dawn-rising birds. The windows were open, and the dew that rested in the air felt clean as the slight breeze from outside dusted it on Akaashi’s face. Sipping from his favourite mug (novelty - huge, shaped like an owl, with black and gold glittery eyes), Bokuto hummed lightly to himself, bouncing on the tips of his toes. The music felt comforting to him, and occasionally between sips he’d try and whistle along, or sing a couple of the words if he remembered them - every time he did, Akaashi gave him one of those special smiles, the ones where his ice-eyes melted from sub-zero to a warm bath, and his mouth tugged up into a crescent moon.

Akaashi’s smile was the moon, and Bokuto was nocturnal.

Soon enough, a song came on that Bokuto knew, and his grin stopped for just a moment; and then it was back, wider than ever, as he haphazardly placed his mug on the counter, his heart in Akaashi’s hands, and the lyrics in his throat. Kaashi was in his arms as he pranced through his kitchen, caroling to a song Akaashi would treasure, throwing his legs into the air and doing clumsy pirouettes on his linoleum floor. The chorus felt like a love spell - or perhaps a curse of passion - and Akaashi was under it, with the way he tried to swerve underneath Bokuto’s impressive wingspan as they made up a dance as they went.

The tune finished, but Kotarou continued, fingers darting up Akaashi’s arms, then to his hips, then twisting him around like a ribbon in a traditional Chinese dance. He’d laugh, and whistle, and just make little noises as Akaashi played along, and when he put him down Keiji all but jumped into Bokuto’s arms.

“It’s like I was flying,” he said, tucking his arms in as close as they could get to Kotarou’s strong back muscles, trying to not to let Bokuto stand on his feet as they twisted in patient harmony.

Bokuto saw that smile again, that crescent-moon smile that he thrived under, and couldn’t restrain himself from kissing it like that was all he had.

Akaashi tasted like chamomile - a chamomile crescent.

+1 - Comfortable Playfulness

Bokuto was his own brand of chaos - uncontrolled, unpredictable - and in a way, Akaashi was too. Akaashi was controlled, and patient, but had a way of making the weird seem normal and the normal seem weird. When Kaashi relaxed, stopped overthinking, put his heart before his head and pushed all his responsibility aside, he was a handful, playful, an exhibit of unrestrained joy.

It was no mystery that this version of him existed only when Bokuto sat beside him.

“Kaashi,” started Bokuto.

“Bo.”

Bokuto stopped, knowing he’d just been interrupted.

“Akaashi-” he tried, starting again.

“Bokuto.”

Squinting, Bokuto smiled, and tried a third time.

“Keiji-”

“Kotarou.”

“You’re playing a game! You’re messing with me, aren’t you!”

Restraining a polite snort, Akaashi looked up, his eyes intense and humoured, his brows furrowed in a way that was almost avian. “Me? Never.”

Bokuto, ever so gently, pushed Akaashi, just to see if he’d comply.

Akaashi damn-near grinned, before shoving Bokuto as hard as he could.

“Oh, it is so on,” Bokuto said, jumping out of his position on the couch and running after Kaashi as he dashed to the door.

“Catch me first!”

Akaashi might tease Bokuto, and he might pretend to be cold and empty and he might sigh with discontent as Kou fell into one of his slumps, but as they chased each other around the house, taking chips from the fridge and eating a few before throwing them at each other, politely tapping each other to say who was “it”, fixing each others’ hair after messing it up with kisses, adjusting their shirts and laughing to each other as they fell in a heap on the floor, Kaashi knew there’s not a single person on Earth he’d rather hold.

In this life, and every one following, in every reality, Akaashi and Bokuto were in love.

Akaashi and Bokuto were both handfuls - but that’s why they held each others’ hands.

[vampylovesaliens]

Duality - p18

--regained trust

With the water lapping in his ears and his eyes closed, the lagoon’s steady pulsing with the waterfall and the pleasant bickering of the Youngblood trio nearby, Silas was suddenly brought out of his reverie by a claw tapping on his forehead. He opened his eyes again to see Dre’vik-kha leaning down, her head tilted as she peered down at him with her long tresses hanging around her face, the longest of them near enough to almost brush his face. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” He smiled, lifting a hand to gently bat the tip of one long tendril, making Dre’vik-kha click in mild amusement. “...How can something as big and fierce as you move so quietly? I didn’t even feel you approach.”

“We are good at what we do.” She stated plainly, straightening again and sidestepping, only to sit beside him in the shallows. Silas sat up, shaking the water from his hair and pushing it back from his face again. “Thanks for, uh...saving me, heh. I was pretty sure that I was gonna fall and break my head open.”

“It was foolish of you.” She clicked, giving him an almost scolding look--before reaching over and lightly prickling her claws across the top of his head in what he figured was a much gentler version of the tress-tousling she had given her Youngbloods. “But it was bold. I didn’t expect you to push yourself so far.” She leaned back again slightly, bracing on her elbows as she turned her gaze to the waterfall. On the rocks nearby, Rok’aan yelped as Epi’ta-kha pushed him unceremoniously off the perch they’d been sharing. Silas couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the twins bicker, Kray-ekh’a laughing at their antics as well. “Species doesn’t matter when it comes to sibling antics, I guess.” Dre’vik-kha rumbled her agreement, her mandibles twitching. “I assume your sister was always the more aggressive between you?”

Silas sighed, plucking a pebble from the shallows beneath him and turning the smooth rock in his fingers before he tossed it, the little stone plinking lightly into the water again. “I guess. I mean, I had my rebellious phase, but she’s always been....I guess militant, even before we joined the Corps. But she’s the eldest, and we had a tough time as kids, so I guess she didn’t have much choice.” He shrugged.

Dre’vik-kha tilted her head, and he realized she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more. He fidgeted briefly--he hadn’t really planned to tell her his life story, or at least he hadn’t expected she would actually care to hear it. “Er...our dad took off when we were little. I don’t even remember him. And he never called or tried to visit us, so...he just stopped existing. Our mom tried to keep things together, but then she got together with a new guy who was...not great.” He frowned as he recalled, lowering his gaze to the water and dipping his finger in, lifting it out and watching the droplets gather at his fingertip. “Maeve and I were left on our own a lot. Mom was either working or out doing who-knows-what with her new boyfriend, and then she lost her job and we finally lost our house. So we moved back with him all the way across the Atlantic into a shitty little apartment--” He paused, glancing back to the Yautja to make sure she was still listening and not visibly irritated, “--and that’s when everything really got bad.”

“Was he cruel?” Dre’vik-kha clicked curiously, her mandibles flexing. Silas let out a slightly bitter laugh, absentmindedly rubbing at his jaw where an old scar now lay hidden beneath his closely-trimmed beard. “Yeah, you could say that. He didn’t like us at all. I was just a kid--I think I was only four when they got married so she could stay in the States.” He doubted the names of places made much difference to Dre’vik-kha, but he realized that aside from Rodrigo, he had never really had the chance to tell anyone about his life before the Corps. “He thought I was a whiny little brat--maybe I was, but I was so little, you know? Maeve had to take a lot of shit trying to defend me.”

Dre’vik-kha narrowed her eyes briefly, tilting her head. “Your mother allowed it?”

Silas shrugged, shifting awkwardly. “I don’t think she liked it, or anything, but...well, she didn’t try to stop it much, either. He’d be nasty to her too, if she ever argued.” He glanced back to the towering alien, eyeing her quizzically for a moment. “...I don’t suppose the Yautja have issues like that. I can’t really picture anyone bullying you, heh.”

She growled her approval at the statement, her mandibles flaring. “Any male who tried would quickly regret it. There are many of us across many worlds, though; I can only hope it’s as frowned upon everywhere as it is on Prime.” Silas perked at that, his curiosity latching onto the cryptic name. “Prime? Is that your homeworld? What’s it like?”

Dre’vik-kha chuffed humoredly. “Yautja Prime, yes. It is...difficult to describe. It is where the Yautja began, and where our Primarchs rule over all Yautja space.” She shifted slightly, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of sharing this rather more personal information. “...It’s harsher than this world, by far. But more developed, naturally. One of the only places we have built true cities, rather than just making our settlements to suit wherever we live. I don’t think your kind would survive the climate.” She eyed him skeptically, and he chuckled a bit at that. “So..the Primarchs are like your government, then? Do you...keep contact with them often? I haven’t seen much of your tech beyond some of your gear, and your medical facilities.” He grimaced awkwardly, hoping the question wouldn’t overstep too much.

She gave him another searching look before rumbling quietly, nodding. “They check in periodically with clans across the stars. They do not interfere, though, unless there is major concern.” There was a certain weight to her words that unsettled him, and he couldn’t help but think about the compound in the midst of a razed chunk of jungle land, and the Pilgrim station that orbited overhead. “...Have you talked to them about, uh...us being here?”

Dre’vik-kha picked up some pebbles from the shallows, letting them fall through her claws to plink back into the water. “Yes.” She stated plainly. “They are. Don’t fret, they’re not going to have your ships torn from the sky. Not yet at least.” She gave him a look that was difficult to read; he wasn’t sure if it was meant to gauge his response or if it was meant to convey a joking tone--or maybe it was a threat? Just when Silas felt he was starting to understand the nuances of Yautja expression he found himself fumbling again. “Ah.” He finally stated with a brief nod. “...Good to know, I guess. What have they said about us, though?”

“That is not something I feel I can share.” She grunted, pushing herself up and getting to her feet again, shaking herself briefly. Silas balked a bit, his brow furrowing as he craned his head to follow her as she towered over his still-seated position. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” “It isn’t your fault.” She extended a hand in an offer to help him up, which after a moments’ hesitation he reached up to take, letting her powerful grip nearly haul him up without any effort on his part. “I believe you when you present yourself as trustworthy, Silas. But I do not trust your kin, and I would not want to see you harmed at their hands in their pursuit of information about us.”

Before Silas could comment on that she’d released him again, clattering at her Youngbloods to signal them to get up and retrieve their gear after her. Part of him wanted to dismiss the notion outright--he had nothing to fear from his people. Maeve did not agree with him, but she would never cause harm over their disagreement. As much as he distrusted Lao, he didn’t think there was malice behind his odd behavior. A small, defensive corner of his brain wanted to turn his skepticism onto Dre’vik-kha now; was she just trying to stir discord in him, to derail any investigation that could bridge the gap between their peoples? No, that didn’t sit right. She wasn’t conniving like that. He shook his head, sighing flatly as he got up and followed the Yautja back to where he’d left his clothes. His legs shook slightly beneath him--the strain of the climb wouldn’t be quickly recovered from. But he didn’t dare complain as he shook out the water and grabbed his things, falling into step behind the Yautja as they headed back up from their little lagoon hideaway. As they returned to the forest he cast his gaze up through the treetops overhead. They did not have aerial patrols yet, but it was only a matter of time before they had operational shuttles for more than just supply and personnel runs. And then the lack of scanning clarity wouldn’t matter; the humans would find the pyramid easily, and the village around it. But he knew pushing the matter too much would only derail his efforts to build trust now; Dre’vik-kha was intelligent enough to know what was on the line anyway. Surely she knew that day was coming, when there wouldn’t be any more use in hiding or laying low. He took a deep breath, silencing the impatient thoughts that nagged at him. He was too exhausted to dwell on it now anyway; a good nights’ sleep would be enough to refuel him for the subject tomorrow.

By the time they had returned to the village the daylight was fading, the jungle full of noise from nocturnal creatures that made Silas anxious, dragging his leaden legs in his determination to keep up with the Yautja. Dre’vik-kha retreated to her bed with only a brief dismissal, doubtlessly tired and consumed with her own thoughts, and as much as Silas wished they could’ve spoken more he didn’t want to wear out his welcome. Rok’aan tousled his hair as he dragged himself to the pile of bedding waiting for him, a friendly gesture--and one that he felt indicated he had earned respect from the young warrior. And while perhaps the Youngbloods were not as discerning as their Matriarch, it still stirred a flutter of excitement in his belly to think that perhaps he was worthy of their approval. For perhaps it meant that at least someday he would be worthy of hers, as well.

[yandere-wishes]

Innocence //Yandere Leona x reader x Chaka

Thank you so much to @yandere-romanticaa​ for the prompt. I tried to make this perfect... and I failed 😭😭 Remember that all interactions between Chaka and reader are platonic!

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Visits from the young prince always filled you with a melancholic sentiment. The child, Chaka, was practically the embodiment of innocence. He was sweet, lively, bold and above all caring. Noting at all like his apathetic, sadistic uncle. The two may have shared a lineage but they were as opposed as could be. For the most part, this was a good thing, the purity Chaka radiated was what kept you sain. It was what prevented you from sneaking off into the Savanclaw kitchen, grabbing the sharpest knife you could find and sliting your throat with the utensil. Bathing yourself in your own blood, then throwing yourself in front of a starved Ruggie, to be devoured. He was just so oblivious to the pain and suffering that circled you, oblivious to the morbid thoughts that danced in your head every waking second. 

Chaka had always loved his uncle. His uncle Leona was strong, handsome and would always listen to his tales of adventure. He never thought he'd ever love anyone as much as he did Leona. Of course, that was all until he met you. The young Prince isn't really sure what you are to his uncle, he's old enough to comprehend the concept of marriage and courting....yet that's not what seems to be the cause with the two of you. For lack of a better word he calls you auntie but the title doesn't stick well, it melts every time he throws it around, sinking and morphing into a metamorphic puddle with toxic properties. You're kind and loving practically motherly towards him but never as strict and dotting as his own mother is. You permit him freedom, the liberty to be whoever he dreams, the only other person who's ever given him that notion of independence has been his uncle Leona. 

Ever since meeting you, Chaka has been more frequent in his visits, constantly begging uncle Leona to let him come over. Leona isn't too keen out of sharing, he loathes his family including his young naive nephew. But he leaps at the opportunity to force you into a corner. To watch as your determination crumble, your resistance shatter for the sake of his "naive" little nephew. You play along hanging off of Leona's arm the way you think a caring loving girlfriend would. You crunch down and hug Chaka tightly as he practically leaps out of the carriage/ limousine (I-I don't know) racing into your embrace relishing the feeling of your soft touch. You take his tiny hand in yours leading him to the Savanclaw dorms. Leona's arm wrapped around your wais tugging you aggressively to his side, claw-like nails digging into your tender flesh leaving tiny angry red dots that would surely sprout out blood once he removed his nails. Chaka just continues to smile and cheerful chirp about the "new land" his friends and him had discovered the other day. 

"Auntie (Y/N)! Uncle Leona! Ranla, Timothy, Payton and I found this giant lake in the forest behind our house! There were soooo many colorful bugs there! You should have seen them! Timothy dared me to eat one of the fat blue ones!--"

You only partly listened, too focused on the prideful smirk that kept growing on Leona's face. He's enjoying the power he has over you, the power you practically handed over to him. 

As Chaka's stay extends, reality begins to settle in, shattering your already broken heart. Chaka and Leona aren't that different. Oh sure, Chaka still isn't fully aware of what his uncle has done to you, can't fully understand why to flinch so violently when Leona touches you. And sadly there is no way to get him to understand. You can't explain that Leona has broken both your legs before so you'd stay in bed with him longer. how he's sunk his "teeth" so far into your tongue when you tried to tell director Crowly that Leona has been stalking you. And lord forbid the young prince ever hear about the time his "dear old uncle" cut you so deeply that the blood wouldn't stop, how he'd let both Ruggie and Jack have they're fun with you as you bleed out. But even without the knowledge of those horrors or any "malicious" intent of his own. Chaka still harbored the same sick and twisted obsession as Leona did. Maybe the young child didn't want to hurt you but he was almost as ruthless as his uncle, all anger and mania. 

If you let the image of the warm caring aunt slip for even a fraction of a second. He'd yell, scream, cry demanding that you tell him why you didn't love him anymore, you wanted to abandon him! What had he done wrong? He thought you loved him unconditionally! WHY WOULD YOU STOP LOVING HIM! He throws tantrums, pushes you away but never hurts you. No, the only person with the privilege of watching you scream your lungs raw is Leona. The second he hears Chaka's voice waver ever so slightly, see the tiniest tear leak form his big amber eyes, Leona is dragging you by the hair to his room locking the door and ordering Ruggie to entertain Chaka while he "re-teaches (y/n) her manners".

But if you play your part right, keep up the image of a perfect dollhouse, then the two Kingscholars are so loving towards you. Joking around, hugging you. Leona's kisses get sweeter bordering on nearly caring. And Chaka's hugs aren't as tight and possessive as they are when he's screaming and crying. You let them pick your outfits, let them play with your hair, let them do whatever will keep them both pleased and quite. As long as you smile and hug them and give them your most generous kisses then they are happy. But don't start giving one more attention than the other, expecting a fraction of mercy. Oh, no darling it doesn't work like that. Leona will enjoy the favoritism, cause that just means you've finally realized how much you love him! But the victory is short-lived when Chaka runs up to him, hugging his midsection and bellowing about how "auntie (Y/N) hates me! She won't pay any attention to me!" Leona will make you kneel in front of both of them apologizing profoundly for neglecting the future king, begging Chaka to forgive you, that you'll never dismiss him again!

If it's Leona you start to ignore that a different more vicious story. The second prince is driven into a jealous rage very easily, Chaka already has the love of everyone back home how dare he steal the love and attention of his darling as well! Leona will threaten you with Chaka's safety promising to hurt the young prince if you don't continue to ignore him. He'll punish you leave so so many bruises, bitemarks, hickeys and any other mark that shows the world who you truly belong to! He doesn't want to make his nephew upset but he simultaneously doesn't want to lose another thing he holds dear to the little hairball. He'll let Chaka play with you, drag you out on adventures but he also has to be there, you need to stay closer to him!

In the end, it's a grim fate that awaits you. The sadistic second prince will use his young "innocent" nephew to further control his darling. Not that the future prince notices as long as he can stay close to his favorite "auntie" and "uncle" then he's content!

You where wrong a harmless innocent Kingscholar does not exist in this twisted world. 

[grumpyhedgehogs]

tangled up in your old bedsheets

Summary:  Fabian wraps Riz in his sheet a lot, The Hangman is strangely jealous all of a sudden, and Riz figures some things out on his own.

~

It takes maybe a lot longer than it should for Fabian to understand exactly what’s happening with the whole “wrapping Riz up in his sheet all the time” thing. In his defense, there’s a lot of shit going down when it first happens. Riz has just been revivified only to be kicked off a fucking cliff by Kalina and the world is in peril and Fabian is stretching, stretching, stretching, to reach Riz before he’s lost to him forever. So when the fire elemental snags the goblin out of the air and kisses his cheek and Fabian curls his best friend into himself, swaddling him like a newborn, the half-elf doesn’t think much of it other than thank the gods you’re alright.

But then it happens again. And again. And again. And no matter what, even when Fabian doles out gifts and aggressively supports all his friends, Riz is the only one who ever seems to end up wrapped in Fabian’s sheet.

Fabian realizes this the summer after sophomore year and then aggressively stops thinking about what it could mean.

~

When the Night Yorb is defeated, Riz dies again. Thankfully Kristen is standing right next to him when he goes down so their rogue isn’t out for long but Fabian feels it deep in his bones. He sees the light go out of Riz’s eyes, watches, like he had just last spring, as his best friend falls, limp, to the ground. He sees him die and is unable to do anything about it. Again.

That evening, they have a bonfire. The final showdown had happened on the beach, where the Night Yorb had been ready to extend its power from the shores of Solace to Leviathan to Fallinel and beyond until the Bad Kids stopped it.

Now, Kristen and Fig are teaching Ayda how to shotgun a beer with mixed results. Adaine and Aelwyn are curled together, Aelwyn already trancing after using every ounce of her abjuration magic to keep her sister from being completely obliterated in the last ten minutes of the battle. Gorgug had almost immediately been mobbed with invasive, uncomfortable relationship advice from the Seven Maidens, who had come to help in the last fight after Riz had cracked the code which revealed the location of the Night Yorb’s power source with Zelda’s help. The half-orc seems fine, if a little overwhelmed by their chattering--Zelda is at least acting as something of a buffer.

Fabian and Riz had been side by side to strike the finishing blow to the Night Yorb when it went down. He’d turned and looked at Riz and had seen the bruises and the blood and the lines of pain in his face and had pulled out his sheet without hesitation. Riz hadn’t even pretended to protest.

Now, as they sit in the shadows, the fire’s light flickering over the bags under Riz’s eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, Fabian doesn’t pretend to resist the urge he has to pull the fabric tighter around Riz, tucking it between his arms and chest so it can’t pull free when the goblin shifts. He’s pressed up against Fabian’s side, half on top of him as Fabian drapes his arms around him and pulls one knee up against his back. His other leg extends out towards the fire and they’d both kicked off their shoes like everyone else had a long time ago. He digs his toes into the cold sand and lets it remind him he’s alive. They have survived.

“You know, I’m not actually that cold,” Riz mutters. His ears are drooping with exhaustion. Fabian hums and leans his chin on the crown of his head. Riz’s hair smells like seasalt. “You could take your blanket back now.”

“Battle sheet,” Fabian corrects absentmindedly. “You uncomfortable?”

“No.” His voice is so soft. He wriggles one hand out of the sheet--Fabian feels an unhappy rumble begin in his chest--and curls his clawed fingers around Fabian's hand, splayed in the sand beside Riz’s sheet-encased hip for balance. Fabian tightened his grip immediately. The rumble dies in his throat. “No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Fabian tugs the sheet just a little more, secures it, and rests.

~

It happens when they’re not in mortal danger or coming down from a battle high, too. The first time Fabian notices it--and when he notices Riz noticing it--is movie night. All the Bad Kids as well as Ragh, Tracker, Ayda and Aelwyn are gathered at Mordred Manor, sprawled over couches and armchairs and across the floor. Fabian is cuddled up to Aelwyn on the couch, Adaine on her other side, when he is chosen to be the first sacrifice in the name of snack refills. Naturally, he tells everyone goodnaturedly that he hates them, and goes.

Fabian isn’t even really thinking about it when he does it.

He comes back and sets the popcorn in Tracker’s lap and hands the sodas out and then he realizes that his spot next to Aelwyn has been filled by Fig, who is sitting with Ayda in her lap and very much not paying attention to the crystal screen. Both Abernant sisters do not look like they appreciate this development, but neither are very likely to say anything in the name of keeping the peace.

So Fabian shrugs and begrudgingly lopes over to the cushy armchair with the winged back where Riz is curled up with his knees to his chest. The Ball looks up, startled, but doesn’t make a sound when Fabian picks him right up, plops down in the armchair and then sets The Ball down beside him. Without even really looking away from the movie, the half-elf digs out his sheet and unfolds it, letting the sparks settle before he spreads it over both of them. Riz is wedged between his left thigh and the armrest, small enough that he doesn’t have to fully sit in Fabian’s lap to share the space. He does have to lean into Fabian’s side to see the screen around him though; Fabian feels more than sees The Ball glance at him out of the corner of his eye. His tail slaps once, twice against Fabian’s side, and Fabian drops his arm onto The Ball’s back in response, quelling the detective’s squirming. The Ball leans harder into his side and mutters to himself.

“What?” Fabian asks, defensive and not really understanding why.

“You know you could’ve just asked to sit down,” Riz says. What he means is, what the fuck, Fabian?

“Can we just watch the movie in peace, please?” Fabian replies. What he means is, please don’t call attention to this.

Riz shuts up. They watch the movie in peace.

Fabian catches Aelwyn looking at him that night, a strange gleam in her eye; it’s the one she gets when she’s mastered an overly complicated piece of magic that’s been elusive for a long time. Fabian shifts, but doesn’t let go of Riz, who is tucked even more tightly into his side as the night wears on, his head on Fabian’s chest and the sheet tangled up between them.

He shakes it off; there’s nothing here for Aelwyn to understand.

Nothing.

~

After that, it’s just an easy way of keeping track of Riz. The rogue has such high sleight of hand and stealth; he’s really a menace to society. Fabian is doing the authorities a favor, honestly. It also helps him get used to how to whip the sheet in a non-lethal capacity, teaches him how hard to snap the fabric around someone’s ankle to send them careening back to their spot on the couch, or how to flick it around their waist to pull them back to his side without leaving bruises. He even gets good enough to snag Riz’s tail and yank him back from the curb when he went to step into the road without looking up from his clues, which is probably the coolest thing Fabian does that week.

Riz complains and pouts and never tells him directly to stop, which he would if it were a real issue. But since he is a gentleman first Fabian asks, just to make sure.

“I don’t--really mind, actually,” Riz says haltingly. The tips of his ears are slowly turning turquoise. Fabian is extremely interested in this development. For science, of course. “It’s nice, knowing--uh, knowing you’re there to, like, catch me. If I fall. Or something. And the elemental keeps the sheet really warm, so. It’s nice. I don’t mind.”

Fabian grins, and something strange and pleasant settles in his chest.

~

The first time he really has to confront the idea that maybe it’s not just Fabian being paranoid about the amount of time he spends wrapping Riz in a sheet is when Aelwyn breaks up with him. It’s been coming for a long time, so obvious it’s like staring down an oncoming train. Aelwyn is trying to be kinder now, has been working on being gentler with people, and so of course she comes to their meeting at the ice cream shop with a delicately worded bullet point list on why they can’t be together anymore.

“And really, we did both acknowledge exactly how unhealthy for each other we are when we got into this,” she finishes, looking up at him over the rims of her new catlike glasses. She and Adaine match now. “I mean, I very explicitly stated how bad an idea this was and you agreed.”

“Yeah,” Fabian says, because he did. It still doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Honestly Fabian, sometimes I--I wonder why you even said yes in the first place. It’s not like you don’t have another, probably better, option hanging around all the time.”

He has no fucking idea what that’s supposed to mean. “I have no fucking idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

Aelwyn looks at him, shrewd and calculating, and then sighs. “Men. You’re all so useless.”

“Hey,” Fabian says, halfhearted. She just broke up with him; it’d be nice of her to display a little consideration.

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and even though he knows she’s not happy about this either, Fabian gets the distinct feeling she’s laughing at him. Just a little. “How come you never wrap me in your sheet?”

“Wh-what?”

“You always wrap Riz in your battle sheet. Constantly. I’ve counted three times this week, Fabian, and it’s only Thursday. How come you never wrap me in your precious battle sheet? I was your girlfriend up until this moment, wasn’t I?”

“I have no idea what The Ball has to do with you breaking up with me,” Fabian tells her honestly.

“Everything, my dear.” Aelwyn says as she stands and tosses a five dollar bill on their table in Basrar’s. “Absolutely everything. Think about it.”

~

The Ball has nothing to do with this.

“You have nothing to do with this.” Fabian tells him when Riz rushes into his room in Seacaster Manor, armed with dvds and ice cream and a grim expression Fabian recognizes from the moment before he ate Kalvaxus’s face off.

“Well if you didn’t want me here why did you call me?” Riz asks, looking affronted. He takes a step towards the door but wavers, looking back and forth between the hallway beyond and Fabian’s teary, red face. “Look, I wanna help, but if you need some time alone--”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Fabian flaps one arm at him frantically. “I just-- it’s just stupid, never mind, just get over here, The Ball.”

Riz dumps the items in his arms and bounds over, sympathy leaking over his expression. He stops by the foot of the bed which is too far away and Fabian would roll his eyes and whip the sheet out for him if he weren’t already wrapped up in it and trying not to look like he’s been crying for the past hour and a half. He has not. He has only been crying for an hour and twenty minutes, thank you very much.

“I’m really sorry, Fabian,” Riz says, soft and kind and what Fabian needs to hear and what he wants none of at the same time. “I know you really like Aelwyn.”

Something in The Ball’s expression shifts, a little, drops down and gets even more serious and Fabian feels that instinctive, commonplace need to know more about him. Fabian fails an insight roll though, and shakes his head. He reaches out again. “Just, just come here, The Ball, gods--”

“I’m standing right next to you--” is all The Ball can get out before he lets out a high little yelp and gets lifted into the air. He’s so light Fabian can manhandle him onto the mattress and into the sheet with one arm. Fabian wonders if he’s getting enough to eat, if he’s spiraling in his office too much, if he hasn’t been sleeping lately. After the Night Yorb incident, he and The Ball had slept in the same bed on and off, on the promise to wake each other up when they had nightmares. It was a terrible few weeks.

The only thing Fabian misses, he admits to himself as he sets The Ball down on the mattress next to him and drapes half of the sheet across his shoulders, is the warmth he woke up to every morning. Riz is a familiar, reassuring weight against Fabian’s side; he didn’t realize after the nightmares went away and The Ball started sleeping over on the weekends rather than every night how much he would miss this.

Riz is, as always, game once he realizes what the plan is. He curls up under the sheet with a familiarity that makes the pressure in Fabian’s cracked chest ease just a little. He wraps his arms around Fabian’s middle and his tail flicks up to curl loosely around Fabian’s wrist where his arm is hooked around The Ball’s shoulders. The sheet is soft as cream and silvery in the low light as it folds around them both; it is on autopilot that Fabian takes the edges of the sheet and tucks them around his friend, until they are nothing more than a weirdly shaped lump of fabric.

“I’m supposed to comfort you right now, not the other way around,” The Ball points out, humor coloring his tone even as he keeps his voice low. Fabian leans harder against him and Riz grunts.

“You are,” Fabian says. “You are.”

He’s not okay, but he will be.

~

Fabian gets over Aelwyn relatively quickly, which should probably be a sign of how serious he actually was about her. But there’s still something strange in not looking forward to meeting her now, after a year of striving to get information on her, a year of striving to get her out of prison, a year of striving to come off as anything besides an awkward teenage boy when she kisses him. It leaves Fabian at a bit of a loose end.

So, naturally, he makes it The Ball’s problem. Or not-problem. It’s more like a solution. He is the solution to The Ball’s depressing self-care mystery. The Ball, it is unsurprising to note, is terrible at taking care of himself. Fabian, on the other hand, has literally trained all his life to protect and fight for others; he’s gotten very good at turning this innate urge into making sure The Ball eats enough and sleeps enough and takes a goddamn break every once in a while.

Case in point.

“Come on, The Ball,” Fabian whines. “This place is honestly so depressing, you reek, and I know for a fact you haven’t slept in three days. It is time to go home.”

“My mom asked me to help her, Fabian,” Riz says. He doesn’t turn to look at Fabian when he speaks, nimble fingers spidering across a map of Elmville he has set up on the wall. There are strings of different colors connecting seemingly random locations together, but Fabian does not doubt they make sense to The Ball. It must be a serious case, anyway; The Ball only loses his hat and tie when it’s serious business. “I can’t give up now.”

“It’s not giving up. Why do you always have to assume that stopping for a little while makes everything worse?”

“Sure feels like it.”

Okay. Time to pull out the big guns. Fabian takes a deep breath and prays Riz won’t hate him for this tomorrow. “Your mom is worried about you. Again.”

Riz’s head jerks around sharply enough that Fabian winces. There’s a sharp crack and Fabian watches as the ink from the broken pen in Riz’s clawed hand drips to the hardwood. Ah, well. That’s the least horrible thing that’s stained this floor. When the detective turns to him Fabian takes a hasty step back. The slits of his eyes dilate wildly, shrinking and growing in size rapidly.

“Did you,” Riz asks deliberately slowly, “just try to use my mom against me?”

“It’s true,” Fabian protests weakly. “She sent me here when I asked where you were. She thought you were with me anyway and she got really mad when she figured out you were still working. You gotta learn to take breaks, man.”

Just like that, Riz deflates. His shoulders relax from where they’ve been hunched around his ears since Fabian walked in and his hackles lower. He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving trails of blue ink through the strands; Fig would probably call it a look . “I hate when I make her worry.”

“You make everyone worry,” Fabian says without thinking, before backpedaling like a champ at Riz’s scandalized look. “Wait! No! I didn’t--it’s just that you make her-- and me-- but you don’t mean to so it’s fine. Is it hot in here? I feel like it’s hot in here. We should go. Let’s go.”

“You worry about me?”

It’s the quiet way The Ball says it, quiet in the way he hasn’t heard often since the Nightmare King’s Forest, that makes Fabian square his shoulders and set his jaw in determination. He rolls initiative on a surprise round and succeeds. Nat twenty.

“Right.” Fabian declares, and reaches into his jacket. “We’re doing this.”

“What?” Riz’s eyes widen a second later, though, because his insight is crazy high and even his passive rolls are ridiculous. “Aw, no, Fabian, you don’t need to get the sheet out. I don’t need the sheet!”

“It’s too late. It’s already over.”

“Oh come on man, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It's inescapable,” Fabian flourishes as the sheet unwinds and dances before him, obscuring The Ball’s view of him. “You’ve brought this on yourself.”

Between one blink and the next, Fabian has thrown the sheet about his best friend, movements fluid and expert from so much practice. He’s sure to leave Riz’s inky hand free, but he takes care to bundle his legs into the sheet. Fabian wraps one end of the sheet around the unoccupied arm before pulling it across his body gently and tucks the other end over his chest in the opposite direction before securing the free edge between Riz’s back and his own chest.

Riz is still so light in his arms as Fabian hoists him right off the ground and into a princess carry. Riz squawks and waves his one free hand in Fabian’s face, which makes Fabian grimace and lean back. Ink splatter across the desk.

“Spring break,” Fabian says. He meets Riz’s dark eyes, something in his gut sparking and fluttering and warming him all the way to his toes. “I believe in you.”

“Spring break, I believe in you,” Riz repeats, laughing and accepting the bardic inspiration before rolling his eyes. “It’s nearly winter, you dolt.” It makes something soft in Fabian curl up tight in his chest to hear his best friend laugh, to feel it reverberate in his own arms, in his own bones, and Fabian grins right back.

“The sentiment still stands. Just because you mess up every now and then doesn’t mean that you’re a bad son, The Ball. You’re just so passionate and conscientious and you want to make sure you do your work right the first time so no one gets hurt on your watch. That’s a noble thing to do. Your mom and me worrying about your well-being doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person; it’s just a sign of how much we love you.”

Fabian takes the stairs down to the parking lot as he speaks, focusing more on his feet than Riz’s face, because if he does focus on Riz and his wide eyes and the way his pupils are really fucking dilated right now and how his dumb hair is slicked back with ink and the way his ears are twitching and how he smells like coffee beans and old newspapers, the something in his gut will come up to his chest and constrict around his heart and then he’ll do something really stupid like lean in and--

Nope! Not dealing! Fabian gets his kisses in-- got his kisses in--enough already. No need to deal with all-- this.  

But then Fabian finishes his speech and The Ball makes a strange squeaking noise, and his hand comes to ball up under his own chin, and his eyes are still very wide and his face is so soft and he’s biting his lip, fuck.

Fabian’s hands are sweaty and he nearly fumbles his handful as he comes down hard off the last step, rolling a natural two on his athletics. He curses.

Sire! Are you alright? I will destroy the very stones which mock your footing until they are nothing but dust!

I’m fine, Hangman. Just tripped.

Shall we be escorting The Ball home, then?

“You can let me down now,” Riz says at that exact moment, just as Fabian goes to confirm with his bike. Whatever his expression meant before, the jolt seems to have knocked some sense into him before Fabian could roll insight, and the goblin shifts in his arms. Fabian tightens his grip reflexively, and Riz settles. “You don’t have to take me home.”

“Don’t have to?” Fabian repeats dumbly. Of course he has to! The Ball is his--his--The Ball is capable and brilliant, yes, but he is small and a rogue and Fabian is a martial class. He should be here, to make sure that The Ball is safe.

What do you mean we’re not taking The Ball home? The Hangman howls in the back of his mind. Fabian one hundred percent agrees with the bewildered sentiment.

“I have a bus pass now, I was going to take it home tonight anyway. You’re on the other side of town from me, so you'd just be going out of your way.”

Master! The Hangman exclaims, engines revving. The Ball must not stoop so low as to take the bus!

This is another development that Fabian didn’t really realize was happening until after the fact; The Hangman, for whatever reason, has gotten weirdly possessive of Riz. They’ve given more rides to the detective than the rest of the Bad Kids combined. The Hangvan has been the subject of more than a few arguments.

We are much more capable of protecting The Ball than this bus, Sire. With your battle sheet and my infernal soul, we will be an impenetrable defense!

Fabian isn’t sure what they’re defending Riz against, but he’s not going to disagree with The Hangman. They can protect Riz much better if he comes with them.

“The Hangman is right here, The Ball,” Fabian scoffs. “Don’t be silly. Just get on the bike.”

The Ball opens his mouth like he’s thinking of protesting but he’s also forgetting two very important facts: Fabian has eight points of Strength on him and has him wrapped in his battle sheet, effectively grappled. He hasn't got a chance unless he wants to take the fall damage from wrenching himself away from Fabian, which he would never do. Riz trusts Fabian.

A soft, golden glow starts up in Fabian’s chest at the thought. The Ball should trust Fabian. Fabian--Fabian wants to keep The Ball safe and warm and cared for, and like this, wrapped snugly in Fabian’s regard, The Ball is all of those things. It means a lot--so, so much--that The Ball trusts Fabian to provide this for him.

Okay, Fabian is getting off track again.

“You’re getting on the bike,” Fabian declares imperiously, and plops The Ball down on the seat before sliding on in front of him. He waits, The Hangman revving below them, until he feels The Ball curl up against his back. His arms worm their way around Fabian’s waist and his sharp chin digs into his shoulder; something in the half-elf loosens and expands and the warm glow gets brighter.

They’re silent on the drive home; he can feel Riz curl up tighter against the wind and the sheet flutters around the two of them. Sparks flicker across the fabric, retaining warmth against the night’s coming chill. Fabian purposefully drives slowly, lets the time tick by as Riz presses warm up against his back, safe and sound and wrapped in Fabian’s protection, with Fabian’s bardic inspiration flowing through him. He also purposefully does not consider why this is so very important to him.

It is only when they stop outside Riz’s apartment and he disembarks--The Hangman lets out a low rev of his engine, almost like a purr-- that they break the soft silence that’s descended.

“Back at my office,” Riz starts, faltering, as he hands the sheet back. “You said--you love me?”

Panic bursts like fireworks in Fabian’s chest. “Wh-uh?” He says. “Uh. Uh. You have ink in your hair.”

Then Fabian makes a tactical decision and runs the fuck away. It is not his best moment. (However, since Chungle-Down Bim isn’t there, it’s also not his worst.)

~

He is not avoiding The Ball. He is regrouping, coming up with a strategic return and possibly a retaliation for whatever weird, confusing, warm feelings Riz keeps setting fire to in his chest. This is strategy. This is war.

This, frankly, sucks. So much.

The Ball has called four times in the past week before giving up abruptly on Wednesday. It is Sunday afternoon. They usually spend Saturday night watching movies or going to Basrar’s together and then take Sunday to spar (for Fabian) and go over the latest town mystery (for Riz). They have done neither of these things; they also have not texted, spoken or passed each other on the street. Riz is supposed to come over for homework and hot chocolate on weekdays in the winter. He’s supposed to give The Ball rides home every day, to make sure he doesn’t have to walk home in the rain or snow. They’re supposed to be together--

And Fabian has no one to blame for their separation but himself. It twists his gut, seeing The Ball light up his phone so much before the calls stop and he’s left with nothing but unending silence. He can’t seem to stop trying to catch a glimpse of him in the halls at Aguefort, looking for a briefcase or a flat cap, anything, anything. But In the end, he’s the one avoiding The Ball. He’s the one not answering his phone.

He’s the one with weird feelings in his chest.

This cannot, Fabian realizes, possibly go on. He’s having trouble sleeping, and when he does he’s gone back to having nightmares about Riz falling during the Night Yorb debacle. He needs to sort this out, fast.

But Riz is a rogue and so his stealth rolls win out every damn time against Fabian’s perception, and  throughout the next week there’s no time between classes to catch him and he’s nowhere to be found at lunch.

Adaine doesn’t seem too happy with Fabian either, and hasn’t since this weekend. Riz must have said something to her about him, but she relents easily enough when she sees his frantic expression.

“He’s been skipping class to work on that case with his mom for a couple days,” she says. “He--doesn’t really want to see you that much, Fabian.”

It feels like his heart breaks at that, but Fabian smiles winningly anyway. “Who wouldn’t want to see me? I’m Fabian Aramais Seacaster.”

“Son of Bill Seacaster, yeah I know,” Adaine finishes, and at least she’s got that fond exasperation back. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, Fabian, but you’ve got to fix it. I can’t take Riz moping around much longer. He’s been insufferable.”

“Leave it to me,” Fabian says with more confidence than he’s feeling, and peels out of the parking lot with a roar from The Hangman.

He thinks maybe things are going to be okay, somehow; he’ll make a suitably dramatic entrance, and he’ll say all the right things to get Riz to forget that Fabian had some kind of crisis for a week and change and didn’t bother to let his best friend in on it and they’ll go back to Seacaster Manor and watch dumb B-movies and everything will be fine and Fabian won’t have to confront this weird thing growing perilously close to his heart.

And then he steps into Riz’s office and faces reality.

“What do you want?” Fabian winces at the flat tone of Riz’s voice, the way his eyes won’t meet Fabian’s, the way he’s crossed his arms over his chest and hunched in on himself.

“I--well--uh, that is--” Fabian pauses, breathes. “I just thought I’d check up on you, since last time I was here you were about to fall asleep on your feet. I heard you were working too late again.”

Riz’s mouth is a flat, thin line. “That’s what you want to talk about? My work habits?”

“Well--I--work-life balance is a very real, serious thing, The Ball. Not everyone can be as healthy and committed to self-care as I am. I thought I would help you out, like always.” This is the part where the movie hero would puff out his chest and the girl would fawn all over him and they’d live happily ever after. Fabian doesn’t really feel up to puffing out his chest when Riz’s eyes go hard and flinty like that.

“It didn’t really seem like you cared about my self-care when you were refusing to acknowledge you loved me.”

Oh. Oh.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The last piece of the puzzle slots into place, and Fabian is absurdly glad Aelwyn isn’t here to cast Detect Thoughts and laugh at his misery as he realizes what she knew practically from the start. Because he’d said it before--toxic masculinity is over. He’s in touch with his emotions now, and he loves his friends and he’d had a hard time showing it or saying it in the beginning but these days his affirmations roll off his tongue like so much honey so why has he had such a hard time with The Ball?

Of course. Of course he loves Riz. It’s--it’s not even that much of a revelation somehow; it’s like he always knew somewhere deep in his soul that they’d end up like this, with Riz being brilliant and brave and kind and Fabian loving him and loving him and loving him. Admitting it to himself, for how hard it has been to see it clearly in the first place, is easy. It’s like saying the sky is blue or Arthur Aguefort is insane. It’s just a fact. Fabian Aramais Seacaster loves Riz Gukgak.

He’s in love with this strange little goblin man and he’s been so dumb about it.

“Okay, okay,” Fabian says, more to himself than The Ball. What happens now? What is he supposed to do? Should he just come out and say it? Or, no, Riz might think he’s joking, or trying to smooth things over. He'd hate it if Riz thought Fabian didn’t mean it the very first time Fabian says those words. Besides, they’re having an argument--a real one, which he doesn’t think they’ve ever had--and this is so not the time. No, he'll tell him after this is over, when they’ve made up and Fabian has taken care of Riz because he does really look like hell, all bags under his eyes and stiff limbs. He needs to apologize, probably, and then get The Ball somewhere safe and warm and comfortable and then he needs to do something grand and dramatic and then he can tell Riz Gukgak he’s in love with him.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” It comes out sharper than he intends, but he’s dealing with wave after wave of astonishment and fear and love and he could use a bit of a break, to be honest. “Can we just forget it?” He has to get this over with to get to the next step of his foolproof, ten second plan to woo The Ball in which nothing can possibly go wrong.

“Forget it?” Riz repeats, incredulous. This is not at all going the way Fabian needs it to go. “You want me to forget the time you took back saying you loved me--when you haven’t even called me your best friend, yet--and drove off and then didn’t talk to me for a week? That’s something you think can just be forgotten? You left Fabian!”

“The Ball--Riz--”

“I’m not just going to let this go, Fabian. No. But if you think that I’m just something to be so easily swept to the side and then picked up again when you feel like it, then--then--great! Great. I see clearly now where I stand with you.”

“Okay,” Fabian declares, because enough really is enough, “it’s sheet time.”

“No, Fabian!”

Riz has never raised his voice outside of crazy group antics before. Not to Fabian, at least. The sheet flutters out of his fingers as Fabian stares, open-mouthed. His chest is cracking again, like it did after Aelwyn broke up with him, but this is worse now; this crack is not just a hairline or a fissure, but a damn canyon. It feels like someone reached inside his ribcage and scooped his heart out.

Riz’s mouth twists and he hugs himself tighter, looking as miserable as Fabian feels. “I don’t want your goddamn sheet, okay? I don’t--I don’t need you to act like I’m some kind of burden or--or--”

“A burden--The Ball--”

“Or calling me The Ball all the time!” Riz’s voice rises again. His fists are clenched now. “I’m--I’m sick of you wrapping me up like a little kid. I’m not a baby, okay? I can take care of myself. I'm fine on my own.”

“Riz,” Fabian tries again, weakly. This can’t happen. Not now. Not to them.

“I think it’s best if you leave now,” Riz says grimly, and turns his back. He doesn’t look around when Fabian closes the door softly behind him.

~

“I’m sorry.”

Fabian blinks.

He and The Ball only had their fight two hours ago; he’d got on The Hangman and ignored the bike's probing questions, and gone home and cried and then he’d gotten up and done what he’d thought Riz would do in his place. He made a clue board.

First on the board is the picture of himself and Riz taken the night the Night Yorb was defeated; Fig had snapped a shot without them knowing, of the two of them talking in the firelight, Fabian craning his neck to look down at a swaddled, comfortable looking Riz who was looking up at him, mouth open seemingly in mid-sentence. His hair is in his face and Fabian always looks at it and remembers how seconds afterward he’d reached up and pushed the curls out of Riz’s eyes gently. That was the end of the summer--it’s the middle of winter now. He’s been in love with his best friend at least since then, maybe before.

Next on the board is his half of the best friend necklace; he’d actually stolen it out of Riz’s briefcase on their way to fight the Nightmare King. It was after Fallinel, when he was getting back to himself, reinventing how he saw the world. He’d wanted to know--to have something, just a small thing, that reminded Fabian who really loved him. And Riz had been there.

So. Maybe he was a little in love with Riz back then, too.

The third clue was actually absent from the board, but Fabian writes it on a post-it note and sticks that there in its place; my old letter jacket. He’d gotten a new one when he’d been on the team in the beginning of sophomore year; he’d filled out too much, built up enough muscle from practice that he hadn’t been able to keep using the one his father gave him freshman year. He’d given it to The Ball because he was complaining of the cold one day and then just. Never bothered to take it back.

Riz wears it to his games sometimes. It makes Fabian--feel. Certain things. It’s fine.

The final clue is, of course, the sheet. He almost doesn’t bother pinning that one up either, since it’s pretty fucking obvious. Aelwyn could see it all just from the way he wrapped Riz up in his sheet, after all; he really doesn't need to rest of his clues to figure this out. But there’s something soothing in this, in looking at the world the way he knows Riz looks at it.

He’s just working himself up to maybe crying again when Cathilda knocks on his door and lets Riz quietly into the room.

“What?” Fabian says, because what?

Riz is biting his lip, which is entirely too distracting, when he speaks again. “I was--unfair. And a dick. And I've been--going through some stuff and I put all that on you, and I’m sorry, man. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I--I mean, I’m sorry too. I mean--you don’t need to be sorry, because I should be sorry. I just left you hanging and then spaced on you and I didn’t even tell you why, I just wanted to go back to normal. So I’m the one who’s sorry and you can’t take that from me. I’ll fight you if you try, just so you know. Stop being sorry.”

And just like that, the corners of Riz’s mouth turn up which is a relief because Fabian love him and just figured out that he’s maybe been in love with him for over a year, but he also knows that even before he knew he was in love he’d have done just about anything to make sure Riz never looked as sad as he does right now. He’d kill to put a smile on Riz’s face.

“I don’t think you can just have a monopoly on apologizing, Fabian,” Riz says and the way his name sounds out of The Ball’s mouth, gods, how did Fabian not realize this sooner? “I’ve just been--I’ve been dealing with a lot and you’re my best friend, man, and I just...It sucks not talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Fabian agrees. “It really fucking does.”

And then, opening his arms tentatively, “Can I?”

Riz’s face twists horribly then, and Fabian’s heart has just enough time to sink to his stomach before Riz throws himself into Fabian’s arms. Fabian holds him and holds him and doesn’t ever want to let go now, he’s got Riz and he’s pressing his face into Riz’s hair and lifting him up and holding him close to his chest and Riz is wrapping his arms around Fabian’s shoulders, claws scratching at the back of Fabian’s neck, he’s whispering into that twitching ear, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” and he loves and loves and loves and he doesn’t know if it’s supposed to hurt so sweetly but it does.

“I’m sorry, gods, I’m sorry,” Riz babbles into his shoulder and Fabian wants to tell him to stop but he’d have to interrupt to do that and he can’t, not when he knows Riz has such a hard time with the idea that his friends don’t listen to him. He folds at the knees instead, takes Riz with him to the ground and cradles him like something precious because that’s what The Ball is and has always been, precious and so important and, if he has his way, Fabian’s. “I’m sorry I acted like you didn’t care, I know you do, I just don’t want to ever make you feel like you have to do everything for me, like I’m weak or less than or like I don't get that you have other things, other people to take care of--”

And then Fabian does interrupt because like hell is he letting this slide. “Stop it, stop, I know you’re strong and you’re brave and you’re so smart, Riz, gods, you’re brilliant. I just-- I wanna take care of you, I know I don’t have to but I want to, I love to, I love you, I'm in love with you and I want to take care of you, please.”

It’s only when Riz rears his head back that Fabian realizes what just came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh, shit. Uh--I wasn’t supposed to say that yet.”

“Yet?” Riz squeaks and fuck it, Fabian decides. Fuck it all. In for a penny, in for a dime.

“Yeah, yet,” Fabian rushes. His fingers clench and release the fabric over Riz’s spine rhythmically and he can feel the goblin shivering against his chest and without thinking Fabian pulls down his sheet and wraps them both in it. Riz’s skin stands out dark and forest green against the silvery material and he hopes he likes it, hopes it is soft and warm against the thin, fragile surface of Riz’s cheek because Riz is so good and Fabian loves him and he deserves nice things. “I--I was gonna make a plan and strategize and not tell you until I’ve done at least three heroic deeds in your name, dude. I had so many ideas.”

“Ideas?” Riz’s voice is faint.

Fabian nods solemnly. “There were also schematics for a dramatic duel on the clifftops, but we’ve already done that a couple times, so I scrapped it.”

“Too much of a Nightmare King-Night Yorb repeat.”

“Yeah,” Fabian nods. “Exactly. So uh. Just. If you could pretend I haven’t said that yet, I can get on the heroic deeds and we can revisit this. Conversation. Uh, later.”

“Right,” Riz says, nodding slowly too. “Or we could, like, do it right now. Since I'm in love with you too and everything.”

Fabian’s brain stops working.

“Oh.”

“'Oh?' That’s it?”

“I, uh, didn’t plan for this.”

“You didn’t plan for me maybe liking you back? Dude, everybody knows already.”

Fabian draws further away at that, blinking wildly. (His hands stay on Riz’s hip and back because he’s got him now, he’s got him, Riz is in his home and his arms and his heart and wrapped in Fabian’s protection and he’s never leaving if Fabian has anything to say about it.) “Everyone?”

Riz scuffs the back of his neck and his ears are turning turquoise again. “Uh, yeah, man. Adaine told me if I complain about how much I like your eyes to her one more time she’s gonna get Fig to hex me. I um, I thought maybe you were doing the whole sheet thing to, like, let me down easy. Make me see you didn’t think of me as more than like, a kid or someone who needs your help or something.”

“Oh my gods. That is so dumb,” Fabian blurts, because what the fuck, The Ball, seriously. “That is so dumb The Ball. You’re so dumb.”

“Gee, thanks. I really feel like you love me right now, just so you know. Just overwhelming amounts of love pouring out right now.”

“Oh shut up.” Fabian says, laughing. “I wrap you in my sheet because I love you, The Ball. Like, more than I think I’ve ever liked anyone. It’s how Aelwyn knew we were over.”

“Huh?”

“She broke up with me and told me I never wrapped her in my sheet because I was always doing that to you.” Fabian explains, not even bothering to be embarrassed. “Because I've been in love with you for like, forever, man. She just realized it first because I always wanted to use the sheet on you and not my own girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Riz replies, sounding breathless. All things considered, Fabian’s going to take that as a good sign. He leans in now, presses his forehead to the crook of Riz’s neck, and breathes. Riz smells like newspaper and ink and old coffee and Fabian loves him so much. He tilts his head, nosing at the detective’s collar, and slides his lips over warm skin. He lets his teeth catch there, just a hint. “Oh.”

And then, before Fabian can even move, Riz’s hand is in his hair, tangled up in the strands, and he says, very fast, “By the way I’m demisexual, it’s on the asexuality spectrum and I was also being weird because I didn’t know how to deal with how attracted I am to you!”

“Okay,” Fabian says easily, drawing back. “Do you want to have a conversation about it? Because I don’t think I’m your guy for that, but we could go to the LGBT group meeting with Kristen next week and see if they have any resources. Jawbone could probably help too.”

Riz’s pupils are dilating slowly and his mouth hangs open before he snaps out of it. He looks less miserable now but still unsure and it’s not a good look on him. Fabian desperately wants to erase it. “That’s it? You’re not--you don’t think I’m weird?”

“Of course you’re weird, The Ball, but not for that. Besides, I think starting a relationship--we are starting a relationship, right--” Riz nods frantically, the beginnings of a grin forming, and Fabian pauses to lean in and press his mouth to the corner of Riz’s, “with the only problem being you don’t know what to do with all the insanely hot attraction you have for me is, like, the opposite of a hardship, dude.”

He stops then, considers, and then something terrible occurs to Fabian. He pulls even farther back and splays his fingers across Riz’s chest, feels his heart rabbiting there under his fingertips, and says quickly, “Not that I need you to have any kind of--any of that kind of attraction to me, Riz. I’d be okay, you know, with just this. Although you may have to tell me how hot I am from time to time. For, you know, moral support.”

Tension seems to drain out of Riz, has been since Fabian first started speaking, and this time it’s his turn to lean in and brush his lips across Fabian’s mouth. Fabian lets out a breath, takes in the scent of old newsprint and coffee and realizes he could die happy here. “You are, in fact, very hot, Fabian. And--thank you. For understanding. I might--I’m not super interested in sex, but. It’s a maybe. If you’d like it to be, for the future.”

“Of course I would, you’re incredibly attractive. But it’s not that big a deal,” Fabian says, and he picks them both up off the floor.

The sheet comes with them, sparks playing along the skin of his forearms but never burning him as he sets Riz down on the mattress because Riz is good and perfect and loves Fabian and deserves better than to sit on the floor. He doesn’t hesitate like he usually would now, and curls up around Riz, pulls the sheet over them both, encases them and pulls Riz close, closer, closest. “I love you. I’m probably not going to stop saying it now, just so you know. I’m going to be very annoying about it.”

Riz reaches up and brushes his claws lightly over Fabian’s brow and his smile is so soft something in Fabian melts. “It’s a good thing I love you then, or I’d never be able to put up with it.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 19

Title: Control

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007​

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

They converse in harsh whispers as they seek refuge in the pantry. Using the excuse of wanting to prepare food and drink for their unwanted and unwelcome guests and then leaving them in the living room. They’ve been bickering back and forth for half an hour; arguing about the Sarge’s appreciation and approval of chosen furniture and decor and Michelle’s distaste of the ‘mix mash’ of colours and themes on the Christmas tree. Her voice is enough to drive Tyler over the edge. The way it picks up in both pitch and volume when she’s vehemently defending even the most pointless or ridiculous of things, the Midwestern twang that becomes stronger and more noticeable the more annoyed she becomes, the constant tinge of self righteousness and condescension. She’s the classic narcissistic; infamous for her staggering gift of gaslighting and her ability to make herself seem like the victim despite being the quintessential bully and walking definition of ‘mommy dearest’. Through the five years they’d spent in Colorado, he’d tried his best to ‘mend fences’; extending the olive branch a handful of times in hopes of helping to both repair the relationship between mother and daughter, and create a bond between Michelle and her grandchildren.

They HAD reached a somewhat peaceful agreement; she’d attempt to tone down her hatred towards him and at least try and treat her daughter like a fully functioning adult instead of a hopeless, hapless child. But it had lasted all of three weeks; his involvement with Michael McMann and the subsequent threats against his family only caused the woman’s spite and hatred for him to grow. After that, she’d vowed to never forgive him for putting her daughter and grandkids in danger, and double downed on her belief that he ‘stole’ Esme away and somehow bullied and intimidated her into not only marrying him and giving him children, but returning to Australia. She refused to accept any responsibility for either her daughter’s struggles with mental illness or her horrible self esteem, and placed the blame solely on Esme’s shoulders; calling her weak and pathetic and insisting that she had married a horrifically abusive man and was simply too scared to leave him. He WAS a mercenary after all; he brutalized and killed people for a living. He was an alcoholic and drug addict; his brain unstable and volatile. His involvement in the job immediately made him a threat; he was strong and big and capable of tremendous and painful bloodshed. What would stop him from inflicting damage -or even death- on her?

“How the hell would I know? I’m just as shocked as you are. Not to mention totally embarrassed. My mother and step father know what we were up to; before you answered the door. I didn’t have any pants on! Just your shirt! They heard me talking about how you destroyed my underwear! Not to mention you’re not wearing a shirt and your back and ribs are clawed to shit and you’ve got the whole ‘just got fucked’ messy hair going on. Do you know humiliating this is?”

“I’m pretty sure they know we have sex. We have seven kids. I don’t think they’re going to be surprised that we fuck. For fun. Not just for procreating.”

“It’s one thing for them to know we have it, but it’s another thing for them to know we JUST had it. How the hell am I supposed to keep a straight face around them? When they know I just got done getting railed?”

“Imagine if they knew you got railed TWICE. And besides, us fucking? Them knowing it? That’s the least of our problems. Your mother...who I fucking hate more than I have ever hated anyone OTHER than my old man...just showed up on our goddamn doorstep. And she’s planning on staying.”

“Well, Sarge did say they’re staying at a hotel.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it. But you know what? They’re damn lucky they DID get one. Because there was no way in hell I’d let them stay here. I’d pay for the hotel myself. What the hell, Esme? Why are they here? Did you know they were going to do this?”

“I never would have invited them here. And even if they HAD mentioned they were coming, I would have told you. I don’t want them here anymore than you do. I’m not the one blame for this.”

“I told you to call her back. Or text her. When it became clear that she wasn’t satisfied with your ‘thank you’ email and started messaging you and calling you, THAT was your chance. You should have got some fucking balls about you and talked to her. Did I not tell you? To get in contact with her? To avoid her escalating? Did I NOT say that?”

“You did,” she admits. “You DID say that. And I should have listened to you. I WAS going to call her.”

“After Christmas. When we got home. You should have done it days ago; when she started calling at all hours of the goddamn day. Did you really think she’d stop? That she WOULDN’T escalate? You know her. You know how fucked up she is. What did you think was going to happen when you kept avoiding her?”

“Not this!” She wildly gestures with both arms in the direction of the living room. “I didn’t know she’d just show up! There’s no way I could have known that. She always has a big thing at Christmas. It’s her chance to look perfect and come across as the most amazing mother and hostess ever. I didn’t think she’d ever give up the opportunity to do THAT. And why are you mad at me? This isn’t my fault!”

“You know what? It is. Because I told you to call her. So she’d stop her shit and leave us alone. And now look! She’s sitting in our fucking living room. On Christmas Eve. And how the hell did she even know our address? How did she know where we live? You can’t look it up on the internet; I made sure of that. So some asshole wanting a piece of me wouldn’t come after my family.”

“I don’t know how she found out. Someone must have given it to her.”

“Who would know? Riley? Riley would tell her to go fuck herself.”

“Maybe Riley told her dad and he let it slip somehow. I don’t know, Tyler. I don’t know HOW she found out. And yeah, maybe I should have grown a set and talked to her. My bad. But you being pissed at me is NOT helping. We need to be in this together. Not fighting and tearing each other apart.”

“I’m about five minutes away from totally losing my shit. You know what the last two days have been like. How I’ve been struggling. And now she’s here? If she ever wanted to give me a psychotic break, this would be her perfect chance. Just watch the son in law completely snap; prove to everyone just how big of a fuck up he really is.”

“You are NOT a fuck up. You never have been! And I know you’re struggling. I’m the one going through it WITH you. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I want her here? That is the last thing I want! But she IS here. And there’s nothing we can do about it other than suck it up and get through this together! And you snapping on me is NOT helping! I’m not the enemy, Tyler!”

“I never said you were. I’m just saying that…”

His words trail off as his attempts at damage control are ignored. Her petite frame intentionally bumping into him as she steps away; frowning when he tries to grab hold of her wrist and she aggressively yanks her hand away. He chooses 'peace keeping' in favour of escalation; giving them both of a chance to cool down. And he leans against the back of the pantry door, arms crossed over his chest as he watches her furtive search for something to feed their surprise visitors. The shelves are packed; extremely well stocked and organized. And while they bear a wide assortment of goods, she hastily rummages through things as if there’s nothing suitable; tears welling in her eyes and her entire body tense and her hands shaking. And suddenly he no longer sees a grown woman in front of him; the love of his life, his spouse, the mother of his children. She’s been replaced by a desperate and broken little girl so hell bent on trying to impress her mother; driving herself to the brink of panic and anxiety trying to prove herself worthy to a woman that would rather she’d never been born. And it’s far more painful than any of his own issues; an ache that claws at his heart and forms a deep, empty pit in his stomach.

“I’m sorry." Stepping behind her, he lays his hands on her shoulders and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I KNOW you’re not the enemy. And I sure as hell don’t ever want you to feel like I see you that way.”

“I know you’re going through a hard time and I know her being here is going to put you even more on edge. But I also know what will happen if we even attempt to kick them out.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t kick them out. It’s not like I’d say ‘get the fuck out and never come back’. I’d be a little more...tactful.”

“You think THIS is her escalating? Do you know what will happen if we even try to explain our way through things? Why it’s not a good time for her to be here? Do you really want to get into that with her? Considering all the things she’s already said about you? How she feels about you?”

“I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. Or how she feels about me. I don’t…”

“But I do!” She slams a jar down with even force to shake the other items on the metal shelf. Both her body and her voice tremble, and her chin and her lower lip quiver as she tries to hold back a threatening flood of tears. “I care what she says about you! I’ve always cared! Because it hurts! You’re my husband and the father of my children and you deserve so much better than that. And it fucking hurts when she says that shit about you!”

“Alright...easy now." Running his palms along her upper arms, he leans down to press a kiss to her temple; lips against the side of her head as both forearms come to rest along her collarbone. “Just breathe, Esme..." he draws her against him, squeezing as tight as her little body will allow. “...it’s okay…”

“I care what she says because I love you. Because I know what kind of man you are. Because I know what kind of heart you have and how much you love me and our kids. Because you’ve almost died for me. TWICE. Because she doesn’t know you like I do and she won't even give you a chance. And THAT hurts. To hear those kinds of things about the person you love more than you love yourself. Who SAVED you.”

“I never saved…”

“You did!” she interjects. “You saved me in every way a person can be saved. And you’ve been willing to die for me. Right from the start. And all she can do is hate you and talk shit about you and you have no idea what it does to me. What it does to my heart.”

“I’m sorry…” his lips brush her cheek, then settle against her ear. “...I never thought of it that way. I never thought about it hurting you like that.”

“I hate that she won’t even give you a chance. I hate that she looks at you like you’re some kind of horrible, evil person. That she treats our kids like garbage. I don’t care what she says about me. Or how she treats me. But when she does that to you? Or our kids? That shit kills me inside.”

“You’ve got to let it just roll off you, Me. Stop letting her have this power over you. Stop giving her that kind of control. It’s what she wants. It’s probably why she’s here. See how far she can push you. Try to break you. And I know you usually tell me not to react and keep the peace, but I don’t think I can. I won’t let her disrespect you. I don’t let ANYONE do that. So I can’t promise you that I won’t snap on her. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

She closes her eyes as she leans her head back against his chest; tips of her fingertips repeatedly gliding along his forearms. “I’m at the point where I honestly wish you would. I mean, maybe not go BATSHIT on her. I don’t want her calling the cops or child protective services. But I would seriously enjoy you going off on her within reason.”

“Baby, I will protect you from anyone or anything. I will stand up for you no matter what. You want me to flip my shit on her? I’ll do it. Want me to toss her ass out into the street? I’ll do that too. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. And I AM sorry,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, followed by her cheek and then her temple. “I didn’t mean to snap on you. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an asshole.”

“You can be,” she admits, and he loosens his hold on her when she turns around to face him. Hands falling to her hips and then sliding around to the small of her back, fingers laced together. “But it’s rare. That you’re like that with me. And I know you’re on edge. I know you’re going through some real bullshit. And believe me, I would give anything to take that away. To make everything better for you.”

“I know you would,” he presses his lips to her forehead. “And I’m serious; I’d do anything to protect you. Against anyone or anything.”

“I know. I’ve always known you would. Right from day one. Even then you were pretty intense. When it came to the whole watching over me thing.”

“Well technically it WAS my job.”

“You were getting some good benefits on that job.”

“They were pretty damn stellar, I gotta admit. Who needs dental or prescriptions covered? I’ll take the five days of hot sex.”

“You were very well compensated for your hard work. Actually, I think you were pretty spoiled. I think you STILL are.”

“I am not going to deny that.”

“I’m sorry too. I SHOULD have got a hold of her. I shouldn’t have waited. This is just a huge mess. But I honestly didn’t think she’d do something like this. I know she’s crazy, but THIS crazy? What are we going to do? We have our things that we do. With the kids. We have our own traditions for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We can’t just forget about it all. It’s what they’re used to. It makes them happy. And to be honest? It makes ME happy.”

“And we’ll keep everything the same. I’m letting her fuck things up. For the kids or you. We’ll just go on with it. Do what we’re used to. If she doesn’t like it, fuck her.”

“You just know the kids aren’t going to be happy. The boys and Millie are old enough to remember how awful she was to them. Millie still talks about the time grandma said she was a mistake because mommy and daddy weren’t married when she was made. And Tanner? Tanner had nightmares for three years about you going to hell because you got me pregnant out of wedlock.”

“Well in all honesty, I was probably already going there because of other things.”

She stares up at him pointedly.

“I’m kidding. That was a joke. Not a very well timed one, but…”

“And what if she gets on Nugget about being antisocial? About needing sensory breaks? About needing his safe place and his safe person? I can guarantee she doesn’t give a shit about Autism and won’t bother learning about it. I bet she’s even in denial about. That she’ll say something like ‘there’s nothing wrong with him other than your parenting.’.”

“She says something like that? I WILL toss her ass out onto the street. Literally. Talk shit about my kid AND my wife? That’s not happening in my house.”

“Then we have Declan. A bull in a china shop. You know she’ll get on his ass about being too loud and too hyper and too active.”

“He’s a kid. He’s eight. And he’s got red hair. Of course he’s wild.”

“What about Brooklyn? She looks cute, but she is all daddy and she’s a savage. She will pick up on my mother’s bad vibes and she’ll open her mouth and all hell will break loose.”

“Babe…” he unlocks his fingers and moves his hands to her hips; squeezing tightly and softly massaging. “...you are working yourself up even more and that’s the last thing either of us need right now. Take a breath. It’s going to be okay.”

“And then there’s Takota. Who is crazy shy and super sensitive and I already know he’ll hate her.”

“He’s in good company then. We ALL hate her.”

“You get her and all seven of them together? It’s a recipe for disaster. Especially the Tanner thing. Because TJ will go the fuck off if she even steps out of line with Tanner.”

“So what do you want me to do? Sneak the kids out of the house and replace them with imposters? Get the real ones back once your mom leaves?”

She sighs in exasperation. “You are NOT helping.”

“I think you need to calm down and just let shit take its course. Whatever happens, happens. We can’t predict what’s going to go down and stop it before it does. And you know what else we can’t do? Stay in here for the rest of the day. We went to look for food to make. We’ve been in here for half an hour. She probably thinks we’re in here having sex.”

“We SHOULD have sex. Really piss her off.”

“While I’d normally be right into it, I don’t think even I can get it up under these kinds of conditions. Your mother is kind of a mood killer. Remember how we barely had sex when we lived at her place? And then totally made up for it when we moved into the farmhouse?”

“I always thought you were saying no for other reasons. You always told me you were worried about ‘hurting the baby’.”

“You actually believed that?”

“You were very convincing. I thought maybe you were just super paranoid that something would happen to Millie. And that you suddenly got over it. You should have just told me.”

“The whole ‘honey, your mother’s voice makes me impotent’ wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. So while I love you and I’d love to be able to bang the shit out of you right now and have you making the kinds of noises I know you’re capable of, it’s not going to happen. We need to get our shit together and deal with this.”

“You know what I was thinking? Never mind getting the kids out of the house. WE can sneak out.”

“And leave the kids with your mother? I know I hate her, but I love my kids and I would not do that to them. Now…” placing his hands on her cheeks, he gently turns his face up towards him. . “...we need to get out there before she comes and breaks the door down. You gonna be alright?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

“I got you, Me. I always do. We’ll get through this like we do with everything else,” he presses a kiss to her brow, then to her lips. “Together.”

*****

They make awkward small talk; brief snippets of conversation in between sips coffee and tea and nibbles of the assortment of finger foods Esme had prepared and laid out on the coffee table. There’s a lot that SHOULD be said; grievances waiting to be aired, hurt feelings dying to be brought to the surface, demands for both forgiveness and apology. But for the time being it’s nothing more than comments on the weather; the differences between the dry Colorado chill and the dampness that plagues the Eastern Seaboard. Five years have passed and no attempts have been made to heal both old and fresh wounds; Esme’s mother either in denial of her shortcomings and her responsibility in pushing her daughter out of her life, or simply refusing to accept blame or apologize for all the damage she’d caused over the years. For the most part she stays silent. Leaving it up to her husband to ask about the kids and life in Australia while she ignores the conversation entirely; spending her time glancing around at their belongings with a look of pure disdain. He even sees the way her entire body stiffens whenever he so as much shows Esme even the slightest bit of attention or affection; eyes narrowing and lips tightly pursing together if he gives her a reassuring smile or wraps an arm around her shoulders or presses a kiss to the side of her head. He knows the mother in law can’t stand it; any form of physical interaction between them or the way they’re so in tune with each other’s body language and facial expressions. Able to easily and effortlessly read each other’s awkwardness or nervousness and then doing their best to provide comfort and support.

He’s been hated since the very beginning. Viewed as the enemy who’d ‘stolen’ Esme from her family and somehow convinced her to give up her old life in favour of a new one with him; keeping her trapped by repeatedly getting her pregnant and intimidating and terrorizing her into staying with him. And while they HAVE had their issues and stumbling blocks, he’s never been THAT bad; refusing to follow in his father’s legacy as a domestic abuser and all around asshole. Even at his worst he’s always adored her; respecting her as the love of his life and the mother of his children. Any logical and rational parent would want that for their kid; someone who worships them and busts their ass to provide for them, who has proven time and time again that they’d willingly sacrifice their own life for theirs. But it’s never been enough. All the good going ignored yet all the bad being thrown in his face and used against him. And while he’s the first to admit he’s not perfect, he also knows that he’s not the monster even his own brain often makes him out to be.

“Do you still do what you do?” The mother in law addresses him, refusing to make even the smallest amount of eye contact.

“Not as much anymore. Now I have employees I send to kill people.”

Beside him, Esme clears her throat noisily and then reaches for a mug of tea that sits on edge of the coffee table. She’s been on edge since the moment she’d finally sat down beside him; nervously bouncing her leg up and down or swinging it from side, or chewing on her bottom lip or thumbnail. He’s done his best to step up and be her rock; tucking her into his side or taking her hand or running a palm over her hair. Little things that let her know that she’s safe. That he’s more than ready, willing, and able to protect her. And it gives him something else to concentrate on other than his own issues; caring for her forcing the dark and dire thoughts plaguing his brain to take a back seat.

Michelle tucks her chin into her chest and stares at him pointedly. “YOU have employees?”

“I own my own business,” he says, then wraps an arm around Esme’s shoulders and gives her arm a squeeze. “WE own our own business. We have for almost six years now.”

“A mercenary business?”

He nods. “A successful one too. Very successful, actually.”

“Tyler’s good at what he does,” Esme says, as she lays a hand on his knee and lightly squeezes; the smile she gives him one of love and pride. “VERY good at what he does. He already had quite the reputation before starting his own company. Now that he has? He’s extremely well known and extremely well respected and sought after. His guys are the best of the best. Second to no one. You won’t find people like that anywhere else.”

Her mother stares at her; a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “And you’re perfectly fine with that? Him having THAT kind of business? Making money by killing people? Or having others do it for him?”

“There’s more to it than that, Michelle,” he husband grumbles. “Way more to it.”

“That’s not all it entails,” Esme informs her. “It’s not just about killing. It’s about helping people. It’s about protecting them and defending them. It’s about doing what’s right. Just because you don’t understand it…”

“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it now and I didn’t understand it twelve and a half years ago when you willingly ran off with a man that kills people for a living. That has so much blood and God knows what else on his hands.”

“That’s not all he did, mom. He didn’t just kill people. He’s saved a lot more than he’s hurt, believe me. But you can’t seem to grasp that because you’re too busy hating him for stupid reasons. I didn’t care that he was a mercenary. I was just as much as involved as he was. So stop making him out to be some kind of monster because you have some bullshit vendetta against him. Stop…”

“Let’s just try and calm down, okay?” Tyler suggests, his hand on the top of her arm as he pulls her into him; lips pressing against her temple, then her ear. “Just breathe, babe. No need to get worked up.”

“It’s typical of her, isn’t it,” Michelle snorts. “She’s always been over dramatic. Always blowing things way out proportion. How you’ve managed to put up with her for this long, I’ll never know. I’ll give you credit for THAT; being strong enough to hang in there. Mark sure wasn’t.”

“Don’t,” Esme warns. “Don’t you dare bring him up. Don’t you come into my house and sit here across from my husband and bring that piece of shit up.”

“He was a good man, Esme. You just couldn’t see that. You were too busy finding faults. It’s what you do. You get bored of people easily. Which is why it's extra shocking that you’ve made it this far. Twelve and a half years, seven children. Normally you would have pushed him away by now. I don’t understand the appeal, but you seem to. I guess whatever works for you…”

“You know what, it DOES work. WE work. And I know you hate that. I know you hate that I’m happy. That I got away. That I found someone that loves me. Someone that won’t let you control me and manipulate me and abuse me. That’s what it is, isn’t it. That’s why you don’t like Tyler. He doesn’t let you get away with your shit.”

Laying a hand on the side of her head, Tyler draws her even tighter into him, lips against her hair as he speaks. “I think you need to calm down, Me. Just try and relax, okay?”

“You really ARE brainwashed,” Michelle says. “You will defend him no matter what he does. No matter how much he drinks or how many pills he pops or how many times he puts you and those children on the back burner. You will always defend him.”

“I will. And you know why? Because he’s a good man, mom. He’s a good man and he’s a great husband and he’s an even better father. Only you don’t see that side of him. You’ve never been able to. You REFUSE to see it. You refuse to see how much he loves me and his kids. How he’d do anything to protect us. How he’s so willing to lay down his life for mine. You don’t see any of that. Because you don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you get some air?” Tyler suggests. “You’re getting a little worked up, babe. Just go and take a few minutes and…”

“I WILL defend him,” Esme continues. “I will ALWAYS defend him. I will defend him until my last breath. And you know why? Because he would do the same for me. He HAS done the same for me. No questions asked. So don’t you care come into my house and disrespect my husband like this. I spent years letting you walk all over me. And I refuse to let you try that shit now.”

Wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, Tyler gets to his feet; pushing into the soft flesh as a silent request for her to follow. “We’re going to go and step outside for a bit. Neither of us do very well when people just show up on the doorstep. And she’s a little on edge; Christmas always stresses her out.”

“It’s not Christmas,” his wife argues. “It’s her! It’s always her! And she just keeps pushing me and pushing me…”

His hand moves to the back of her neck, effectively steering her towards the front hallway. “Let’s go and get some air. You’ll feel better if you do.”

“Only thing that’s going to make me feel better is that bitch out of my house,” Esme mutters, as she shoves her feet into her beloved -and hated, by him and the kids- Crocs as he opens the front door and gently pushes her outside. Smirking when he hears The Sarge laying into the mother in law; accusing her of being insensitive and intentionally ‘stirring the pot’ and to stop acting like the victim when she’s the one that’s ‘doling out the bullshit’.

Stepping out onto the porch, he allows the door to shut behind him, then lays his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“I can’t do this.” She shivers in the cold; arms folded across her body and her hands aggressively rubbing her biceps. “I thought I could. I thought I could keep my shit together; get through the next couple of days. I can’t even last two hours! Here I was worried that you’d be the one to lose it! Yet I’m ready to throw her out the front window!”

“I need you to take a breath and calm down. Don’t let her do this. This is what she wants. She wants to get under your skin and she wants to ruin things for you. Don’t give her that satisfaction, Me. You just give her power when you do that.”

“I can’t help it. She just gets under my skin and she keeps digging away and digging away. Until I can’t take it anymore. And she knows exactly what buttons to push! She knows the more she shit talks you, the angrier and more defensive I get. She knows that’s my weakness. In the same way that shitty people know yours is me and the kids. It’s why she does it; to see me squirm and get worked up and eventually snap.”

“Which is why you need to settle the fuck down.” He runs his palms along her arms, vigorously rubbing against the chilled skin. “Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her screw things up for you. For US. That's what she wants. She spent five years trying to tear us apart. She tried ruining what we had every chance she got when we were in Colorado. And if you let her get under your skin like that? You let her do that? You give her all the power. That’s what she wants. That control. Don’t fucking let her win.”

“I can’t stand when she talks about you like that. I know you have thick skin. I know you can take it. You don’t let it bother you. But think about what it feels like when someone talks shit about me. Or disrespects me. Think about how that makes YOU feel.”

“I hate it. It hurts. Makes me want to hurt them right back. Physically, usually.”

“You know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on. Well that’s what it's like for me, too. When she starts in on you. It hurts. Because I know who you are and I know much you love me and our kids and the lengths you’ll go to take care of us. To protect us. I’ve seen you on death’s door. TWICE. Because of me. Because you’ve always been so willing to sacrifice yourself for me. So when she starts on her bullshit…”

“She’s never going to see me the way you do. Hell, I don’t even see myself the way you do. But she’s another story altogether. You KNOW what she’s like. You know the hate she has for me and why she has it. So why do you let it bother you THAT bad? Just let it go in one ear and out the other, Me. Take it from the source.”

“I’m not like you, Tyler. I can’t just turn my feelings off like that. I’ve never been able to.”

“I don’t turn my feelings off. If I could, do you really think I would have busted my ass twelve and half years to get you out of Dhaka? If I was able to turn them off, I would have left you and Ovi behind and I would have saved myself. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone through what I did FIVE years ago. I don’t turn my feelings off and you know that. I take it from the source, babe. And her? She’s not worth my time. I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. She’s doing it to be petty. She wants power. She wants control. I won’t give it to her. And you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t think I can do this. Just let her walk all over me. Say shit about my husband. About my kids! I can’t just sit back and listen to that shit. I just can’t.”

“So stay your distance from her. As much as you can. Avoid being alone with her. Try not to get cornered into that kind of conversation with her. I will have your back no matter what. You know that. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. I DO know that. In the same way I have YOURS.”

“I don’t need you to defend me. Or protect me. Not against her. I've gone up against bigger and better and I’ve lived to tell about it. But fuck with family? Disrespect my wife? That’s not going to happen. And you need to trust me to be the one to handle things IF they get out of control. Can you do that? Trust me?”

“I always trust you. I always HAVE. With my life. With our kids’ lives.”

“It’s going to be alright.” He rubs his hands against her upper arms, then tucks her hair behind her ears and cradles her face in his palms. “I need to get your shit together, okay? I need you. To be my wingman. Or woman. I can NOT deal with your mother and eight kids all my own. There is no way I can survive that. So you think it can keep it together? For my sake?”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think so.”

“Because those kids are going to be home soon and your mom being here is going to throw them off and who knows what kind of shit show is going to go down. Don’t bail on me, Esme. I need you. In more ways than one. In EVERY way, actually.”

“Finally admitting it, huh?” She chides. “Only took you twelve and a half years.”

“I know you’re going to try and argue with me, but I need you a lot more than you need me.”

“I don’t think…”

“Nope." He pecks her lips to silence her. "Not gonna listen. Not even going to give you the chance to finish that sentence. Because you know I’m right. You always talk about how brave and strong I am? Me, you’re the bravest and strongest person I know. That I’ve EVER known. The things I’ve seen you go through? Willingly? The things I've seen you deal with in the past twelve and a half years? The things you've done? Especially for me? There is no one on this earth that’s stronger than you, believe me. And you have no idea how much I really do love you. How much I actually do worship you and respect you."

“It’s only Christmas Eve and you’re already going to make me cry. Don’t you usually hold off until Christmas Day? When you do something so incredibly sweet and romantic and amazing?”

“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he grins, then tangles his fingers in her hair and gently tugs her head back; lips softly pressing against his forehead. “Just stick with me, kiddo. You’ll be alright.”

“I remember you saying those exact words to me. At Gaspar’s house. In the guest room. After we…”

“It wasn’t RIGHT after. And I was being an asshole. Because you made fun of me because you said I had gray hair in my beard.”

“I didn’t make fun of you. I said it was sexy. That it would look distinguished if the whole thing went gray.”

“Old. You said I’d look old.”

“Well I MEANT distinguished.”

“Sure you did.”

“And look, twelve and a half years later, and you still have the same amount of gray in your beard. A little more in your hair, mind you.”

“All those gray hairs? They all have your name on them.”

“You can complain all you want. You can bitch and moan that I’m stubborn and I’m difficult and that I’m a huge pain in your ass. But you’d miss me if I was gone.”

He hates the feeling of dread that creeps in at those last three words; so simple and said in a light and playful way, but sending a chill that seems to borrow through his bones and travel right to his very soul. It’s his worst nightmare; facing a future without her and struggling to stay on the straight and narrow for the benefit of his kids. His old vices would return with a vengeance; the booze and the pain meds and suicidal tendencies. And then he’d lose any and all remaining links to her; his children torn from him because his demons and weaknesses would somehow overpower his love for them. But he manages a smile for her sake; never wanting her to realize just how much losing her WOULD actually destroy him.

“I don’t even like thinking about that.” His hands slip from her hair; sliding down her spine and resting at the small of her back . “Never mind talking about it.”

The smile broadens, and she perches her on tiptoes in order to wrap her arms around his neck. “I knew it,” she says, eyes sparkling playfully up as her body leans into his. “I AM your favourite. You do love me, Tyler Rake.”

“I do,” he confirms, and he lightly slaps his palms against the cheeks of her ass; lightly squeezing before drawing her into him and pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “And you have no idea how much.”

[moretapes]

okay i'll bite tell me about connor dwight

THIS GOT SO LONG IM SORRY PJH;GKLJKL

Sexuality Headcanon:

oh connor gay. connor homosexual gay. well in theory. i can’t actually see connor being attracted to anyone (expect for... well.) i feel ‘aromantic’ would be the wrong word choice here because connor’s just a dumb shithead who doesn’t have the sympathy in him to see other people.

connor only comes out of the closet when he realizes it gives him a pass to call stan a  f

Gender Headcanon:

i cannot see him as anything other than aggressively cis. connor’s gender is toxic masculinity.

A ship I have with said character:

my favorite specific relationship dynamic of "the only two people in the world who could understand what the other is going through, but they also can't stand each other"

i don’t really “ship” stan and connor romantically so much as i am just fascinated by their relationship. like. obviously stan and connor are extremely extremely toxic for each other in a way that you could not ‘fix’. connor doesn’t want to ‘get better’ and stan could never forgive him. even if, and that’s a strong if, he could forgive connor personally, he wouldn’t allow himself to because connor’s other victims don’t have the chance to and he needs to be held responsible for that.

but at the same time, in this brief, private universe between them, they were all each other had. it’s was horrible and toxic and unhealthy but. :( ??? :((((

the closest i can think of for a stanconnor Good Ending requires one or both of them still being completely fucking miserable because they’re so apposed to each other on a fundamental level. and that’s what i like! i like that they’re so tangled together the series itself kind of frames meeting connor as the moment that doomed stan for LIFE.

like ok!!! ok!.

...there’s also uh. kind of a scene in the old series that alludes connor had feelings for stan at one point? and it’s definitely just because of the series being written on the fly and not considering the implications very thoroughly but. it’s there. and. miserable angry teenage connor confusing his fierce possessiveness over stan for romantic feelings immediately before stan ditches him is. hm. hoo boy. i gotta sit down.

A BROTP I have with said character:

genuinely do not think connor is capable of extending an emotional connection to anyone to form a legitimate friendship. 

i guess in a real world setting, i do like playing connor as susan’s overprotective brother. i don’t think they’d be close exactly, but it’s... better terms than canon. (side note i personally see connor not having a good relationship w david or the rest of their family so it’s kind of a ‘susan is the only one willing to take his side out of pity, even though he’s probably wrong’)

A NOTP I have with said character:

honestly? anyone else. connor has extremely bad ideas on what a platonic relationship would involve, my brain shuts down trying to think about what he would be like dating. 

not to mention he only interacts with like, what, 3 people? who would you even ship him with lmao

A random headcanon:

oh god i’m so bad at these without a prompt.

uhh connor is a massive straight-edge because he hates feeling ‘out of control’ and applies that to everyone in his vicinity. 

connor is insistent on being referred to as the older sibling despite only being born 7 minutes before susan.

he’s a very light sleeper. he’s someone who is always awake before everyone else but also stays up past everyone else. very few people have actually seen him asleep.

General Opinion over said character:

maybe i like him, just a little bit. 

tbh a LOT of the reason i like connor so much is just that it is hard to separate his influence from who stan is. this isn’t a good thing in any capacity btw. 

oh god how do i contextualize this like YES he’s the WORST ever and i love him so much so fucking much. honestly the worst someone portrays connor as the more enamored i become. maybe i just have a specific hang-up that if i see a character die i immediately become more sympathetic towards them; and seeing connor die like 3 fucking times just caved my skull in. 

but godddd there’s these super tiny things he does that just crawl into my brain and die there like WHAT is this kid’s problem!!! is it the abandonment issues from being passed around foster homes since he was born. is it the paranoia from being constantly stalked by an otherwordly beast his entire life. is he just kind of a dick. WHO KNOWS!!!!! I LOVE HIM

plus i think he’s really fascinating in the context of the slenderverse as a whole. there are plenty of ‘proxies’ (i’d argue he doesn’t count but i’ve seen other people call him such so idk) who do bad things because they’re being controlled. but connor is just... some kid? he was a scared 17 year old with bad morals who only wanted to save himself, and became a monster in the process.

and that’s way more interesting for me to dig into!! he made the choice to harvest other people, he is the one that approached stan for help, he decided to kill people. slenderman was there, yes, and his influence obviously drove connor to desperation but connor was never without control. at any point he could’ve stepped away but didn’t. and it just got worse and worse and worse until it killed him. by the time stan stepped into the picture connor was probably already beyond help. and that just... fuckiening. bro that makes me SAD

and connor ceased to be connor. he’s lines. he’s a corruptleum. connor as a person doesn’t exist in the record. he’s the literal ghost of stan’s past.

it’s sooooooooooo auuuuuuuGHHHHHHHHHHHH *CLAWING AT THE WALLS*

BOY

[lonelyreputation]

C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER FOUR, wc: 3.4k

previous chapter | let’s chat | C’est Toi Index

Saturday - January 19, 2019 - 17:26

I went back to the coffee shop today and Shawn was working.  We didn’t talk that much.  He seemed a bit out of it, I overheard some customers be a bit rude and I know that can put a person off.  I still can’t believe what happened yesterday.  For some reason I can never form a sentence around him.  He probably thinks I’m insane.

—

I woke up to three consecutive bangs on my door.  Not soft morning knocks, absurdly loud and aggressive bangs.  I rolled over and checked the time on my phone. Eight o’clock.  I rolled over and groaned into my pillow; who on earth would be banging on my door this early?

Realizing that whoever was on the opposite side of my door would stop banging until they got what they wanted, I flung my covers off and trudged my way towards the door.  With one last yawn, I unlocked the door and swung it open.

I was met with Ella’s fist up high up in the air, eyebrows raised, surprised that I opened the door.

“Good morning!”  She smiled wide.

I did not return her smile, “Yes?”

Ella rolled her eyes and strolled into my room, “Just thought I’d make sure you’re awake––Early bird gets the worm and all that,” she plopped down on my desk chair and spun around, “If I remember correctly, you promised a certain barista you would be at the coffee shop today to do work.”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Never too early for romance.”

I grabbed a pillow from my bed and threw it at her stomach, “Let me get dressed.”

Approximately forty-five minutes later, I was dressed appropriately for the dreary London weather; an olive green sweater, jeans, and brown ankle boots.  Once I double checked to make sure I had all of my textbooks for a day of hunkering down to study, I adjusted my canvas bag on my shoulder and called over to Ella.

“Took you long enough,” she snarled as she grabbed her own bag off the floor.

“Relax,” I told her as I closed my door and pulled out my key to lock it, “It’s early Saturday morning, people are probably still asleep from their wild escapades the night before.”

“It’s still a Saturday morning,” Ella stressed her point as I placed my hand on the handle to make sure my door was locked, “Londoners like brunch or just grab a morning coffee––We need to get there fast.”

“We’ll be fine, Ella.” I pressed the elevator button to bring us down.

Once the door dinged, we walked into the elevator and Ella pressed the ground floor level, “Yeah you’re probably right, we’re fine,” Ella mocked my accent as the doors closed, “Shawn probably has a table saved for you.”

I blushed and ignored her comment. Right after I had stumbled over my words asking for his name, I immediately called Ella and yelled out all of my anxieties over the phone.

He probably thinks I’m an idiot––A stupid study abroad student––How will I be able to show up again––And oh my God, Niall and Lola were there too and they probably think I’m a psychopath––They probably talked about me right after I left.

And while I felt some of the anxiety leave my system, it was never fully gone.  Instead, the anxiety felt as if it was recycled into my body, not caring that I felt ready to throw up at any given moment.

Ella tried to calm me down, but it didn’t work.  With every reassuring sentence she gave me, I came up with three more worrying thoughts that circled around my head.  Mix in my embarrassment in front of Shawn and being late for my lecture, my leg bounced throughout the whole hour and a half, with the girl sitting next to me only glaring at me once when my knee hit the bottom of the table.

“So what’s your move now?” Ella asked as we made our way out of the Temple underground station and walked up the steps to the main road.

I tilted my head, “My move?” I slowed down my pace to trail behind her for a second as a woman walking her dog came down the opposite side of the sidewalk, “What do you mean?”

“Well you obviously need to get his number now,” Ella spoke as if this was written in a step-by-step tutorial on how to get a guy to like to like you back.

My legs stopped moving on their own account, “There’s no way I would be able to ask him for that.”

Ella rolled her eyes and grabbed ahold of your wrist, telling you to walk, “You’re over exaggerating––“

“I’m not!” my voice was shrill, “If you saw how I was yesterday you would not be encouraging this.  In fact,” I said as we were coming up to the familiar doors of the coffee shop, “You would probably suggest I never show my face here again.”

Ella slowed down her walking and paused right outside of the front door, “If you’re not comfortable going in, we can go somewhere else.”

As encouraging as Ella had been in my slow and silent pursuit of the Canadian barista, she was giving an out.  She was saying that I didn’t have to do this if I didn’t want to; that I never had to see him again and she wouldn’t bother me about it anymore.

But did I never want to walk through the door again?

It was tempting, my embarrassment slowly clawing its way up from the depths of my stomach, but the feeling of sorrow overshadowed all of those emotions.  I knew I would be sad if I stopped going to the little coffee shop I had equated as a safe escape from the city.  I would regret it if I let childish feelings get in the way of an enjoyable study spot.  And I knew I would mourn the sight brown curls that had a tendency to peak over the espresso machine.

I would find my way back here one way or another.

Without saying another word, I took a few brave steps forward and was met with a gust of espresso smelling air as I opened the door.

It was quiet when we walked in, my eyes scanned around the room and saw a few open tables, but then my eyes were instantly drawn to the barista at the front counter.  He was behind the register, looking down at what was presumably his phone, with a frown on his face.

I had become accustomed to walking through the doors with a bright smile, kind eyes, and an enthusiastic shout of my name.  But this time, I wasn’t met with any of what I was familiar with.

Ella nudged my shoulder, knocking me from my place in the middle of the doorway, as we walked up to the counter to order our drinks.  We stood there for a few seconds, waiting to see if his attention could be easily taken from his phone, but it took a signature snarl from Ella for his head to pop up.

“Bit rude to be on the phone when you have customers waiting.”

My mouth dropped down, shocked she was so blunt with her accusations.  If anything, Ella knew how attentive Shawn was when he worked from all of the rambling I did.  But she didn’t hold back her offense of being ignored as she slightly leaned back, arms folded across her chest, with her eyebrows raised high.

“Oh, I’m so sorry––I really didn’t hear anyone come in and––McLane,” his rambling stopped as he registered my presence.  A small smile graced his lips and a small flame of fire erupted in my stomach, “Hi.”

“Hey,” I offered him a greeting as weak as his own.

Before any more words were said, he extended his arm to grab a yellow cup from the side, “Latte?” His eyes briefly looked into mine as he wrote my name.

“Yeah,” I answered, “That’d be great.”

Something wasn’t settling right with me.  It was a bit selfish of me to expect a grand welcome every time I walked in, but now it only made me more confused seeing as he wasn’t even trying to make conversation.

Did his co-workers say something about me?

He set my cup to the side, arm outstretched again toward the stack of different colored cups that determined the size, as he waited to see Ella’s order, “And for you…” I could see the wheels in his head turning trying to remember her name.

“Ella,” she said with a bit of edge, “I’ll just do an americano, small.”

He grabbed a purple cup from the side, “Ella,” he repeated her name in a whisper, as if he was trying to remember it for the next time she came in, but his voice was distant and there was no way he would remember it for when she would come up for a second drink.

He rang up the orders separately and I dropped my change into the bowl next to the register.

“I’ll call your names when they’re ready.”

And without a second glance over his shoulder, he was already off to the espresso machine, turning on the noisy machine to grind the beans together.

“Geez,” Ella mumbled as the two of us made our way to the large table we sat at yesterday, “What’d you do to him?”  

I paused my movements of pulling out the chair as I felt a bundle of nerves fly up my throat at lightning speed and then fall straight down into my stomach.  Had I done something to him yesterday?  Did I embarrass him in front of his co-workers to the point where he was uncomfortable around me?  I looked questionably at Ella, eyes full of worry.  If I had messed up, she would be the one to know.  

Quickly, Ella’s eyes widened as she shook her head rapidly, “No––no, sorry, love,” she offered me a sympathetic smile, “That was a poor joke.  I’m sure he’s just had a shitty day.”

And a shitty day he had.  

I was only thirty minutes into studying when I heard a customer walk back up to the counter and complain about how the avocados on their sandwich were sliced too thick.  Then twenty minutes later, a woman who had ordered a dry cappuccino, slammed her cup down on the counter and complained how there was too much foam in her drink and not enough milk.  And an hour after that, someone complained that their juice wasn’t blended up enough.

With every turn of my textbook page, I heard a complaint.  Instead of the charisma I was so used to hearing in his voice, I just heard a deep sigh. Even sitting at a table a few feet away from the counter, I could feel the unsteadiness of his work ethic.

Ella pushed her chair back from the table with an ear screeching noise as she went up to order another drink.  She wasn’t gone for very long, her hand curved around a yellow cup with a tea bag in it as she grumbled, “Didn’t even remember my name,” she sat back down and continued to read where she left off, “Arsehole.”

Once noon started to roll around, the coffee rush started to pick up, and luckily Niall had shown up and taken up residence at the register; sending Shawn to the espresso machine to have as little contact with people as possible.  Niall beamed at customers that walked through the door, held light-hearted banter when appropriate, and kept the shop afloat as Shawn felt like he was sinking.

With a kick to my shin, I looked up from my notebook with eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance.  Ella paid no mind in answering why she had kicked me under the table, “Go check up on him,” she nudged her head over to the espresso bar.  I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see Shawn leaned up against the far back counter, eyes staring at his phone, with a frown on his face, “It’s not busy.”

“I could use a refill anyway.”

A caring smile was placed on Ella’s face as she nodded, “I’m sure you’d brighten up his day.”

I ignored her encouraging words that for once didn’t hold a teasing tone as I felt my cheeks heat up.  Unlike how Ella loudly moved her chair back, I made sure to ease my way out of the chair without an attention grabbing noise.

I took my yellow cup with me, crushed it before throwing it out, and walked up to the counter.  Upon seeing it was me, Niall’s smile faltered slightly as he let out a sigh of relief, “Thank fuck it’s you,” I let out a small laugh, not knowing if I should take that statement positively or negatively, “I think my face is ‘bout to break with how much I’ve been smilin’.”

I nodded my head, “Yeah, from what I’ve overheard it hasn’t been…” my words trailed off as I let my eyes wander to Shawn.  He was still leaned up against the counter, looking at his phone, lips tugged downward, “…the best.”

Niall followed my gaze and let out a sigh as he leaned in close, “Had it really tough this morning, someone overslept and didn’t open the shop on time so he had to rush to get here,” Niall said sadly as he grabbed a yellow cup for me, “Comes all the way from St. John’s Wood on his day off,” he wrote my name on the cup and set it aside, “Bloody hell…If I was the manager.”

“Manager?”

Not once in our conversations had Shawn mentioned he was the manager of the coffee shop.  I glanced over at him once more and then looked back into Niall’s piercing blue eyes.  Manager? He looked so young to be in charge of a store front, I thought to myself.  And the more I thought back to our conversations we shared, the more I realized it was just me and my rambling self who did most of the talking.  I didn’t know much about him.

Niall nodded his head and offered you a soft smile and spoke in the same caring tone Ella had sent you off with, “It’d do him good talking to you.”

Ignoring the tingling feeling in my stomach at everyone’s reassurance that I could be the one to cheer him up, I took out a five note and handed it over to Niall.  He shook his head, “On me,” he tipped his head over to where Shawn was standing, “Cheer him up.”

“Shawn,” Niall gently called over his shoulder.  Shawn picked his head up and let out a hum in response, “Got an order,” he smiled before sliding the empty yellow cup down the counter.

At the mention of having to make a coffee, Shawn’s shoulders dropped and I felt bad for him as I saw the tiredness in his eyes.  Without looking at me, he took the yellow cup, placed it down next to the espresso machine, and started grinding the beans together.

I looked over at Niall with wide eyes pleading for help.  But all he did was offer me a shrug and went back to playing around with the buttons on the iPad.

Instead of going back to my seat and waiting for my name to be called like I usually would, I stayed put out the counter, waiting for Shawn to notice my presence. He had the espresso beans ground up in the puck and when he popped back up from grabbing the milk from the fridge under the counter, he noticed me.

“McLane,” his voice sounded more relaxed than from when I first walked in, “I didn’t know it was for you.” He held up the yellow cup.

I let out an awkward laugh, “Yeah…Back for a second cup.”

Shawn nodded his head, pouring the milk in the silver frothing pitcher, “How do you drink so much caffeine? I swear you come up and order at least two a day.”

I order so much so I can have an excuse to talk to you, the truth rang through my head, but I knew I couldn’t say that to him.

“I’ll literally fall asleep at the table if I don’t have a cup,” I lied, “Need to be able to study.”

Shawn let out a chuckle.  It wasn’t a full on laugh like I was used to hearing, but it was something that flipped the slight downward turn of his mouth into a pull of a smile, “I’m sure you have top marks.”

I waved a hand in the air at his comment, “Definitely not.”

When he was done frothing the milk, he tapped the pitcher on the counter a few times before concentrating really hard on pouring it into the yellow cup, he peaked up at me a few times, a curl dangling in front of his forehead, “You’re in here studying all the time,” his eyes faced down at the coffee as he moved the pitcher up and down, making a design, “Got a lot of knowledge in that pretty little head of yours.”

Luckily, he set the coffee down and I didn’t have to reply.  I didn't know how to respond to that compliment except with a blush on my cheeks.

I smiled down at the latte art he attempted to create, “It’s a really nice flower.”

“It’s supposed to be three hearts.”

My eyes widened, embarrassed that I mistook his art for something else.  Oh God, I thought to myself, I should’ve just waited until he told me what it was.  I picked my head up, with my eyes doubling in size, when I saw that he was being serious about the art being three hearts.

“Oh wow, how could I not see that––My eyes––I have terrible vision because that––the three hearts…” my rambling slowed down as I felt the beat of my heart increasing in speed every time Shawn’s smile grew wider, “…Your latte art is really good.”

“You think?”

I nodded my head and bit the inside of my cheek to keep my grin at bay, not wanting to let him in on how happy our tiny conversations make me, “The best.”

Shawn gently placed the latte on the counter and pushed it toward me, “I’ll tell Niall to refund the coffee,” the smile hadn’t left his face, “As a thank you for cheering me up.”

I shook my head as I reached out to wrap my hands around the warm cup, “Niall already covered it for me.”

His smile faltered and I was scared that I said something wrong.  Maybe Niall wasn’t supposed to give out free drinks.  Shawn is the manager after all, he probably gets the final decision on who does and doesn’t get a free coffee.

But slowly, Shawn’s smile reappeared into a small smirk, “Bastard beat me to it.”

I tilted my head and scrunched up my eyebrows in confusion, “Beat you to what?” 

“Buying you a coffee.”

Luckily the cup of coffee was still on the counter or else I would’ve dropped it.  I averted my gaze from his eyes, to the three hearts in the coffee, wondering what I was going to say.  But for once, I didn’t think for too long and said the first thing that popped into my head, “There’s always another time.”

Shawn smiled, “Tomorrow?”

I nodded my head as I picked up my cup of coffee, taking a sip of the contents that, just like our conversation, filled me up with warmth, “Tomorrow.”

I walked back to Ella with a smile on my face and a new motivation to study.  

Her head was buried deep in her textbook, but when she heard the soft sound of the paper cup being set down on the table and heard the soft squeak of the chair I pulled back, she lifted her head up.  A smile took over her face, and then she quickly looked over my shoulder and her smile widened as she looked into my eyes, “Good chat?”

“Yeah,” I said in a dreamlike manner as I heard the ring of a bell above the door, and the voice I had just had a conversation with, filled with its familiar charisma, “Good chat.”

A/N: A sweet little chapter for you 😌 I’m pretty sure it’s been more than 10 days since I’ve updated skdfjlk my bad I have to plan more so I’m trying to fit everything in with a flow! And expect some angst coming up 😌

Happy Wednesday! Can’t believe we’re halfway through the week again why has 2020 seemed like the absolute longest year but also has picked up some speed?? Wild. I hate thinking about the concept of time. Anyway…I hope you all enjoyed it!! Chapter Q for you: when you’re having a bad day, who is a person that always seems to cheer you?

Thank you thank you thank you for all of your support!!! I love you all with my whole heart and cry into my tea whenever I see any comments on C’est Toi bc this is definitely a piece of work that I hold near and dear to my heart 🥺 THANKS A MILLION EVERYONE!!!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!! AHH!!💖🥂✨

taglist: @mendesficsxbombay @5-seconds-of-mendes

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 37: Red Khezu, the Charging Wyvern

TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD

I don’t normally talk about the monster’s qualities in the introduction, but I have to here to make sure that no one’s gonna get hurt because of this. This is a monster that’s veiny and blood red, and combined with Khezu’s design, it’s pretty disturbing. The weapons, however, are probably worse, as they have a cracked, fleshy aesthetic that looks like it could start bleeding at any moment, and I’ll put the trigger warning a second time once we get to talking about them in case it slips someone’s mind. Might seem overkill, but with a situation like this, you can’t be too careful, which is also why I’m gonna put this review under a “Read More” so anyone who doesn’t want to see it doesn’t get an eyeful while trying to scroll past it. Now, let’s talk about Red Khezu proper, shall we?

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Freedom 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 4)

Appearance: See what I mean? This thing’s made to look like it had its skin ripped off, which is not a look you want to have unless your intention is to scar someone or their children for life. The MHF1 render conveys the skinned appearance better than the MH4 one, in my opinion, because it’s a deep red, like the kind you’d see in gore in PlayStation era games. The MH4 render reminds me more of a particularly red worm or lamprey...well, until you get to the body. Then it looks like someone plucked a chicken and painted it red. It probably looks more visceral in-game.

I think I prefer the standard Khezu design, to be honest. The pale complexion combined with everything else gives me Silent Hill vibes, and even though I haven’t played any of the games, I’ve watched videos on them, and I appreciate all they’ve done for the horror genre. Red Khezu, on the other hand, doesn’t give me that same impression, and I don’t know of any horror series’ I’m interested in where such a vibrant red on a fleshy-looking monster is part of the aesthetic. Still, it does its job well. 7/10.

Behavior/Lore: So, here’s something interesting: Red Khezu aren’t a subspecies. They’re what Khezu are supposed to be like; the Khezu everyone views as being “normal” are actually albinos who likely only got more populous than the red ones because they spend most of their time in caves, where anything that would want them dead likely wouldn’t be relying on visual cues to hunt anyways. That said, both types of Khezu leave caves to eat non-cave dwelling monsters and, surprisingly, mushrooms, which Red Khezu have been seen feeding on in the Swamp region. Unfortunately for them, being so fatty means that once they leave their cave, they put themselves at risk, ‘cause a lot of monsters want to eat them, including the Rath pair.

For some reason, Red Khezu are much more aggressive than the albino variety, and they even have increased muscle mass, which allows them to not only visit cold regions (which white Khezu can already do), but even stay in them during the winter months (which white Khezu can’t do). I don’t know why albino Khezu aren’t like this, ‘cause I can’t see how albinism would affect your muscle growth and temperament, but I don’t make the monsters, I just critique them.

I’m really glad that this is more interesting than “Khezu+.” The fact that Red Khezu aren’t a true subspecies is a neat idea, and considering that the Ecology page on the common Khezu doesn’t mention any omnivorous tendencies, it’s likely that Red Khezu even have a different diet than their pale cousins, which is something that I don’t think the previous G monsters had. While making them more aggressive than albino Khezu is to be expected at this point, it doesn’t take away from anything, so I’m not going to gripe about it. When you combine all of this with the qualities they likely share with albino Khezu, you get an interesting counterpart for what was already an interesting monster. 8/10.

Abilities: If you thought that keeping warm was the main benefit of having more muscle mass than a common Khezu, I have to question your educational history; Red Khezu are physically stronger than the albino variety, and their electrical organs are superior as well. Not only are their electric attacks stronger, they can also use electricity to incapacitate prey in ways common Khezu can’t. Also, their skin seems to be very elastic, as Red Khezu can stretch their necks out much farther than their pale brethren can. I think more needs to be stretchier than just the skin, but whatever. As a final note, for some reason they’re immune to fire, but this apparently comes at the cost of being weak to water.

Red Khezu do what I wish more subspecies’ do, which is take the basic abilities of their weaker forms and mix them up, not just make them more powerful. The new ways they can manipulate electricity and the extended reach of their more elastic necks likely make battles with them stand out more than the ones you have with some other G monsters. 7/10.

Equipment: Like I said at the beginning, TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD. These weapons look just plain nasty, which, while potentially being part of their appeal to some people, will likely make others very queasy or worse. I’ll start with the least disgusting one, the Hunting Horn called the Blood Horn:

“Red Hunting Horn made from wrapped Red Khezu hide. Its color is very unsettling...” The color is unsettling? Not the fact that it literally has a mouth? Okay, in all fairness, the color of the wraps makes it more gruesome than the Khezu Horn, which just looks like it’s covered in bandages; these look like bandages that were soaked in something, and they were probably white before they were applied. Make of that little observation what you will. Now, here’s where things start getting nasty--this Long Sword from MHO:

...I can’t say I know what that implement is, but I do know that the Red Khezu skin is wrapped around it in a very unsettling way; until I saw the little bit of metal that was exposed at the sword’s base, I thought that those spikes were independently attached to the flesh instead of being the teeth of a full blade. And speaking of unsettling, the sheathe looks like it’s bleeding. That comparison to cracked flesh I drew earlier makes more sense now, don’t it? I’ve got one more weapon to show you guys, and it’s probably the nastiest one of the bunch: the Red Khezu Sword and Shield from MHO. If you’re already uncomfortable after looking at the above weapons, you might wanna scroll past this:

The reasons I find this the most gruesome of the weapons I’ve shown are A: the “sword” is a surgeon’s saw, which adds to the whole “twisted hospital” vibe that Silent Hill likes to use, and B: the shield literally has the Red Khezu’s “face” stretched over it, and the mouth is...what are those black things holding the mouth shut? They’re not sewing lines, ‘cause they’re way too big. Wait, the way the two on the left are angled, it looks like they’re 3D and not flat--are those things made of metal, like the shield? ‘Cause there are a few implications for that, and they’re all unpleasant. Moving on to the armor, the only renders the wiki had are the men’s sets from MHO. Here’s the Blademaster set:

This isn’t as vibrant of a red as Red Khezu normally are, but it does look like raw meat or exposed flesh, so that’s...cool? The fact that there’s nothing obscuring or darkening the face like in other games with Khezu armor makes it look kind of silly, though; it’s like a fleshy raincoat, which is equally parts disgusting and hard to take seriously. As for the Gunner set, it’s very different from the Khezu R Armor I showed off in the Khezu review:

To be fair, this does look a lot like the normal Khezu Gunner armor, so expecting it to look like the R Gunner armor is silly. There are a couple of neat things here--the arm guard has a spine embedded in it, and the right arm has a glove with claws (or at least long nails)--but for the most part this doesn’t stand out too much to me. It does look like someone cooked the meat for a few minutes, though, so it’s probably not violating any health codes.

Honestly, I prefer the standard Khezu equipment to this, but that’s mostly because there’s much more of it than Red Khezu equipment. Plus, outside of the ones from MHO, the weapons the devs recolored for Red Khezu don’t really look that unnerving. The red’s a bit too vibrant, so it doesn’t really fit the filthy hospital aesthetic that made Khezu weapons so eerie, and the armor looks gross, sure, but that’s all it has. Still, the MHO weapons are their own kind of disturbing, but the fact that the majority of Red Khezu weapons are in a game that most people don’t even consider a real MH game is depressing. 6/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: After sifting through so many monsters that did so little, it’s nice to get something that stands out like this. Don’t get me wrong, I still prefer normal Khezu over red ones, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like Red Khezu at all; I just think that the albino ones have more going for them. 7/10.

[yukimoji]

Hello ! Can I request a small headcanon of Zenitsu meeting a shy and quiet demon slayer reader during a mission ? ( Maybe Zenitsu get a little scared by her because he didn't her killing the demon). Sorry for my english btw ;w; ! I hope you will have a nice day ! Oblivion

(a/n: hi! im so sorry that this took so long, i hope you can forgive me for being such a neglecting author. i hope i did justice to your request askdjhaskdhakd)

(Total words: 1300+ words)

Genre: idk? Maybe Crack with hints of fluff at the end.

No manga spoilers

Warnings: None

Meeting You. ( Zenitsu Agatsuma x Reader ) I Headcanon

Darkness had come, the stars were twinkling in the night sky. The bright rays of the moon shone throughout the dark forest, giving light to those who dared to venture inside.

They say that those who go inside the forest, whether it be for curiosity or childish motives, have never been seen again. Only an idiot would have been foolish enough to go inside when such disappearances escalated with each passing night.

Sadly for Zenitsu, he was among the unfortunate few who ventured into the forest, albeit forcibly.

For this particular mission, a Demon was believed to be responsible for these disappearances. With the number of missing people steadily rising, there was no question that the creature had enough strength to be stronger than the average demon.

However, since he was tasked with slaying such a strong demon, another Demon Slayer was assigned as his partner. He was told he was going to meet the fellow Slayer when he arrived in the forest.

Still, the inevitable possibility of facing a terrifying and powerful demon has made Zenitsu shake relentlessly ever since he stepped into the damned forest. He had been walking for a while now, but there was no sign of a Demon Slayer in sight. This only made the knot grow tighter in his stomach as he continues to venture deeper.

"This is so unfair! Why was I even given this mission?! I don't stand a chance against a Demon like this! Why could've they just only give the mission to the other Demon Slayer?! They haven't even showed up! I'm going to be a dead man! I'm going to die sad and alone in this wretched place!"

He does not want to be here.

He just wants to be ANYWHERE but here.

He continues rattling and trembling with every passing step, glistening tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It doesn't ease his anxieties when he hears every little sound in the forest, from the singing of the Cicadas, the buzz of the Fireflies, and the heavy breathing of a large creature aggressively approaching him —

Wait.

Heavy breathing..  Large.. Creature..?

He whimpers, slowly turning around to meet the bulbous, bloodshot eyes of a Demon. It's elongated tongue was dripping wet with its drool, massive limbs sunk into the dirt, veins popping around almost ready to burst at any moment. A sinister glint was present in it's intense gaze, as it prepared to pounce at him at any given moment.

Zenitsu screams in absolute horror as he dashes off, shouting out profanity and insults as the demon immediately chases after him like a starved beast.

"YAAAAAAHHH! STAY AWAY! STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

The demon laughs venomously, picking up his pace to catch up with a crying Zenitsu, it's tongue extending out to strike him.

"No! NO! STOP THAT! DON'T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR FILTHY TONGUE! DON'T YOU DARE INFECT ME WITH YOUR DISGUSTING DROOL! YAAAHH!"

Suddenly, a glimpse of the Demon Slayer Uniform suddenly flashed, as the demon cries out as it's tongue and limbs were suddenly cut apart.

Zenitsu couldn't process his surroundings quickly, as he crashed into a tree. Immediately, his body ached from the collision, and he scrambled to face the demon. His back was flush against the hard trunk of the tree, as his heart continued to rapidly pound in his chest, the vibrations almost deafening his hearing.

He hears quick footsteps from above, high branches shaking loudly with each step. Surely, the other Demon Slayer was here now! He was saved! He was going to live and see another day!

But his inner celebration was interrupted as the demon screamed out dramatically in rage, as it instantly regenerated its tongue. Now, Zenitsu was suddenly well aware of his situation; here he was, cornered against a tree, with a scary demon right across him.

He screams again before the Demon could slaughter him, as he abruptly shuts his eyes as he could he could feel himself pass out at any given moment.

But then, claws and fangs never reached him. Zenitsu continued to shake and tremble, but he attempts to open one eye to see his surroundings. He sees the demon's head at his side, a stunned expression present in it's face as it disintegrates into nothing but dust.

He opens his other eye as he takes in what happened. Relief washes all over his body, but he becomes wary when he hears footsteps approaching him. He feels fear overtake him again, rapidly looking around to try to find the culprit behind the footsteps. He feels his face pale once more, realizing that he never saw the Slayer that killed a demon.

"Oh no, maybe they got angry because all I did was cry! I did nothing to help them! They're going to kill me! I'm dead, I'm a dead man! I'm dead, I'm deadI'mdeadimdeadim-"

He lets out a surprised yelp when a gentle hand touches his shoulder.  He looks up to the owner of the hand, and becomes flabbergasted when he sees a pair of [E / C] orbs staring at him with concern.

"Are you okay?" The mysterious Slayer voices out, an unsure smile present in her face.

Wait a minute.

A girl.. is there with him. He was saved, by a girl!

He was alone in this forest, with a girl!

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, A GIRL WAS TOUCHING HIM!

All traces of Zenitsu's cowardice have disappeared like lightning, as he slowly lifts his other hand to gently brush the girl's hand. A suave expression shapes his face, as he gazes into her eyes with a small smirk tugging on his lips.

"I am, now that you're here."

The girl's face turns beet red at this statement, and quickly retreats her hand from the boy's gentle grasp. She hurriedly scurries away from him, placing both of her hands in her face to avoid the boy's confused look as she turns away from him in complete embarrassment.

Zenitsu's confusion grows with actions of the girl. Usually, when he compliments the ladies, they would either slap him or just glare at him and mutter a "thank you." He never had a reaction when a girl would just cower away from him in panic.

He gets on his feet, slowly approaches the girl, and starts to sense her fear and hesitation of him. He feels the guilt begin to cripple within him, recalling how the girl literally rescued him from imminent danger when he was being coward. Now, here he was, making his savior uncomfortable only because he couldn't control his flirtatious behavior.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry about my behavior! I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable right after you just saved me!" He begins, kneeling in front of the girl while clasping his hands together.

"You went through the trouble of defeating the demon while I was just cowering like an Idiot! I really thank you for saving me! I couldn't help you in any way because I kept whining and screaming, I'm so sorry for being useless, please forgive me!" He cries out, genuinely feeling remorse and regret form his actions.

The girl peeks out from her hands, and sees Zenitsu kneeling infront of her with tears streaming from his eyes. She hesitantly places her hands down, and kneels in front of him.

"..You weren't useless, mister.." She mutters out, making Zenitsu look up at her with utter shame in his eyes.

"While you were running and screaming, the demon never noticed me coming after him. You were so loud and fast that all the demon's attention was directed to you. If you didn't distract him, I would've been dead too. So.. thank you, for that." The girl trails off, giving him a shy smile, making the boy's heart flutter.

After that, the two of them walked out of the forest in silence. The girl never said a word during the walk, and Zenitsu could tell that she wasn't the type to speak unless spoken to. When she announced that she would now part ways with him, Zenitsu realized that he never got her name.

"Wait! I'm sorry for my rudeness, but I never introduced myself. My name is Zenitsu, Agatsuma Zenitsu." He introduces himself, giving the girl a warm smile as he holds out a hand for her to shake on.

The girl just gives him a small smile and, in agreement, nods at him.

"My name is [Y/N] [L/N]. It's nice to meet you."

[lumassen]

RomNor where they’re both animal loving dorks. I’m gonna do this over two parts cause I got carried away. Here’s the first part from Lukas’s POV, and I’ll write the next part soon from Vlad’s POV.

Part 2 here!

------

“Mr Thomassen? He’s here again. The cat guy.” 

Lukas looked up from his paperwork when the receptionist's voice echoed through the pager system and sighed. He drummed his pen on the desk, chin in palm, waiting to see if he pretended to be busy the receptionist would just tell this guy to go away or book an appointment-

“Mr Thomassen, he’s asking to be seen and you don’t have your next appointment for another 10 minutes. Shall I send him in?”

-but she didn’t. He stood up and wheeled his chair back under the desk.

“Fine. Send him in.” Lukas said into the pager, then snatched his finger away from the tannoy button and pulled on a fresh pair of blue latex gloves. It was always busy at the surgery he worked in, and as a senior vet with the most experience that often meant that he got stuck with the walk ins between appointments. Lukas didn’t even have to ask the name of this particular walk in, as he already knew.

Forcing the best fake smile that he could, Lukas watched as the door opened and the person struggled between pushing their door open with their back and heaving a large cat carrier into the room.

“Vlad, what a surprise. What can I do for you this time?” Lukas said as he walked around the examining table in the middle of the room and peered into the carrier when Vlad set it down.

“Thanks for seeing me. This is Pebbles. She was surrendered to us a couple days ago and she needs a check up and her nails trimming.” 

Lukas glanced at Vlad, his expression flat and thin eyebrow raised.

Vlad was a volunteer from the local animal shelter and had been bringing more and more animals to the surgery over the past few months to the point where Lukas was debating making a membership stamp card for him. Though he loved animals and was proud to be a vet, there were only so many walk-ins from Vlad that Lukas could take.

“You do realise that I’m a vet, not a groomer. I’m happy to spay and neuter for free for your shelter and perform the odd surgery, but I’m going to have to charge you for my time today- ow!”

Lukas quickly retracted his hand away from where he had his fingers through the bars of the carrier in an attempt to open it. Blood seeped through the tear in his glove from where Pebbles had scratched him.

“If it were any other cat I’d have no problem checking over her myself, but I learnt the hard way too.” Vlad said sheepishly, extending his own hands that were red raw and covered in scratches. Lukas winced as he looked at them, tearing his glove off and quickly wiping the scratch across the back of his own hand with an antiseptic wipe. Pulling another pair of gloves from the box, Lukas walked back over to the cat carrier and peered inside at Pebbles as the poor thing cornered at the back, hissing and spitting at him.

“I’m guessing she was surrendered for aggression then?” he asked, glancing at Vlad as he nodded,

“Yeah. We think she’d been abused too which is why she’s like this.”

Lukas tutted and shook his head, his heart aching for the poor cat. 

Looking at the clock, Lukas was wary of the time and the fact that he didn’t have long before his next appointment. As much as Vlad would frustrate him by just showing up with cats, dogs, rabbits, and even a snake once, his heart was too big for his own good, and as a fellow animal lover Lukas couldn’t help but admire his dedication to the animal shelter.

He rolled his sleeves up and tucked his hair behind his ears.

“Right, Vlad, on the count of three I’m going to open the cage. One… Two…”

Vlad stepped back and Lukas braced himself,

“Three!” he leaned forward and gripped the lock on the front of the cat carrier, flicking it open and watching as Pebbles shot out from the cage and darted under the desk, her eyes wide and panicked as she growled lowly, her tail swishing behind her.

“How the hell did you get her in the cat carrier?” Lukas turned to look at Vlad incredulously, and he just shrugged and grinned,

“I’m like the cat whisper.” he said, though his grin faltered under Lukas’s unamused stare.

“Cat treats. I put them into the cage and she just went in.” 

Walking over to the cupboard in the corner, Lukas took out a packet of chicken flavoured treats and tipped a couple into his hand before tossing the pack at Vlad.

“Here, put a couple of these on the workbench and keep the pack in your hand so that she can see it.”

Then, he crouched down to look under the desk, his palm outstretched towards Pebbles.

“C’mon Pebbles. Come to Lukas. I’m not gonna hurt you.” he cooed softly, staying as still as possible while Pebbles cautiously crept forward. He waited until she’d eaten a couple of the treats from his hand before he reached forward and grasped her around the middle. She hissed and scratched and threw a fit while Lukas lifted her up and put her on the bench, but calmed down again once all four of her paws were down on the surface and she’d tucked into the huge pile of treats that Vlad had tipped out.

Lukas could feel his cheek burning from where Pebbles had struck him once again with her claw, and he wiped the blood away on the sleeve of his veterinary scrubs.

The two of them watched as she ate, growling between mouthfuls.

“I know I’m annoying, and I’m sorry for bringing her in, Lukas, but she’s on the kill list and I really wanted to just try and give her a chance but she’s not making it easy for herself.” Vlad spoke up after a minute or so, his expression crestfallen, and Lukas reached over and touched his arm gently.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m happy to help.” Lukas said, and it was true. Although he loved his job, it could be tough and stressful at times, especially when he had to put down a perfectly healthy animal just because it was considered ‘unadoptable’ for silly things that sometimes literally came down to the colour of it’s fur or it’s temperament. He wouldn’t let that happen to Pebbles, or have it weigh on Vlad’s conscience. 

Lukas thought for a minute, looking between the cat, then Vlad, then the clock before he sighed heavily.

“Look, I have one last appointment in a couple of minutes, a check up on a pregnant rabbit so it shouldn’t take long, before I’m done for the day,” he began, then closed his eyes for a minute in disbelief of himself, “why don’t you wait here until I’m done and I’ll foster Pebbles for a while until you can rehome her.”

When Lukas opened his eyes, Vlad was just inches from his face, grinning ear to ear,

“Lukas, seriously? Oh my god, I could kiss you!” he cried, and Lukas felt his face turn bright pink. He smoothed down his scrubs and avoided Vlad’s gaze as he walked to the door,

“Don’t be silly. It’s not a big deal. I care for animals, it’s my job.” he said as he opened the door,

“I’ll use assessment room three so you can wait in here. I won’t be long.” 

Lukas left the room, closing the door gently behind him then leant against it. He wasn’t sure if his heart was hammering at the thought that he’d just fostered an aggressive cat on a whim that was sure to tear up his carpet and swing from his curtains, or if it had anything to do with Vlad’s choice of words to express his gratitude. Whatever was causing it, Lukas shook his head and set off down the corridor to the waiting room and stuck his head around the corner to call for his next appointment.

[wing-culture]

Beowaulf’s Guide To The Avian Race

Avems

Description: Feathered wings, crest feathers, and tail feathers of varying colors depending on the bird they take after; tufts of feathers on ears; talons on their hands and feet; two eyelids

Abilities: Heightened sight; generally strong fighters and fliers; powerful talons

Classification: Male- Rooster/cockerel; Females- Pullet/hen (but only if she has had children); Non-binary folk- Ave; Children- Chick

Goddess: Abiel

Facts:

Avems are the most common species of avians, making up around almost half of the population. Their genes are very dominant, and any children between an Avem and a different avian tend to have feathered wings.

The certain bird an avian has the wings of is not based on their parents (example: a mallard duck and a cuckoo bird could have a scarlet macaw child). It’s very rare that a child actually takes the wings of their parents.

The rarest kind of wings an Avem can have are as followed: caladrius, roc, phoenix, lightning bird, thunderbird, Quetzalcoatlus, pterodactyl, pteranodon, and any extinct bird species. Quetzalcoatlus, pterodactyl, and pteranodon are actually quite controversial in the avian community, as some Avems don’t see them as one of them and rather Hydras, while others do consider them Avems, despite lacking any feathers.

There used to be a class system among Avem communities, where the prettiest wingers would be treated better than those with more muted colors. Brown was specifically a hated color, despite a good chunk of Avems having brown somewhere in their wings. This class system has since been torn down over the years, but some feathers still consider those with prettier, brighter colors better than others.

Avems are less likely to tap into their instincts, unlike the other species of avians. They retain their humanity much better.

The bird each Avems takes after is highly worshipped between those with those kinds of wings.

No Avem eats any kind of poultry, even those with the wings of a bird of prey. The consumption of eggs usually varies from Avem to Avem.

Nesting season is a certain time of the year where Avems, specifically expecting or generally maternal hens, become ten times more anxious and aware of their surroundings. Nobody really knows why it happens, but it causes them to become supremely protective over their flock and sometimes even aggressive. Mother hens tend to be more affected by this season.

Mother hens do not sit on their chicks, although jokes are made about this anyway. Instead, they fold/hood their wings in front of themselves so their chicks will be covered at their sides. This is for protection, warmth, and comfort.

Avems are big on learning how to fly as soon as possible, as they worship the sky more than the other species of avians. Most chicks learn to fly before the age of ten.

Avems are intensely community based, everyone takes care of each other in a very genuine way, which is why flocks are a thing in the first place.

Even if you can’t fly with them, the appearance of wings is important. Grounded Avems will put extra care into making them clean/pretty to compensate for lack of flight. The Avem community is very caring towards grounded feathers and all usually pitch in to help out whenever they can.

However, the Flightless are seen as disgraces and are usually thrown out of flocks. The lack of an ability to fly and no wings is too much for them.

Baby Avems are born with fluffy down on their wings, and then grow in their flight and adult feathers as they get older.

They are praised for their vocal talents.

Birds of prey have the strongest talons, the most powerful being a harpy eagle Avem. They can grip something so tightly that they can crush certain bones.

Gifting feathers is a common form of courting.

They will also do mating dances to attract a partner. They always make sure to have their wings clean, pristine, and very shiny for the event. Two courting Avems (or one Avem and a different species) will also do a special sky dance to declare their relationship.

A large chunk of Avem culture in general puts a LOT of importance on the ability to fly. The common feather belief is that they were the original and purest avians, and that all the other species flew too low and were changed in some way (Hydras became too infatuated with the wealth and jewels in the earth, making them greedy and cunning; Cimexs flew too low and grew too attached to nature; Vespers flew too long under the moon and became addled by them; Flightless’ simply flew too little and lost their gift of wings completely), while Avems retained their true colors and flying prowess.

Hydras

Description: Scaled wings with vary colors and patterns; webbed frills behind their ears and protruding out of their skull; horns; claws on their hands and feet; scales stretching up their back and on their palms; pointed ears; two eyelids

Abilities: Heightened sense of smell; extended barbs from wingtips; firebreath or frostbreath

Classification: Male- Drake; Female- Dragoness; Non-binary folk- Draco; Children- Wyrm

Goddess: Haniel

Facts:

The color of their wings do not depend on parents, like all other avians.

Horns vary from Hydra to Hydra.

Hydras are the most successful species in preserving their customs and culture. It’s very well documented and taught to wyrms.

Hydras have a love for tapestries, weavings, and other forms of art. They are especially fond of entertainers and theater.

They are also the most dedicated to fashion out of all the species.

The Hydra attitude is very much “protect your own”, which covers immediate neighbors. This leads to Hydras usually being hyper-aware of everyone around them, for better or for worse.

Gift giving is a pretty big part of the Hydra community. Genuinely not accepting a gift is completely unheard of, no matter how unwanted the gift is or any personal feelings between the gift-giver and the recipient.

Pawning your trash off on another avian under the guise of a gift is extremely trashy and rude, and a good way to sink your reputation.

Mother dragons tend to be the most protective out of all species, with mother hens coming in close second. Like hens, they will hood their wyrms with their wings and will flare their frills when intimidated. They are also very prone to attacking if they feel that their young are being threatened and don’t let up until the enemy is dead or far away.

When a Hydra would die, the body would be wrapped up in fine silk and coated in gemstones, favorite personal belongings, and dead prey. They do not bury their dead, but instead go to a very special ceremony site and give the body up on a flat stone as an offering to the gods, signifying that “hey, they’re dead, they’re for you now” and send up their spirits to the afterlife. The prey is to attract the spirits and gods and bring attention. Lavish memorial parties would then be thrown at sunset and can last hours into the early morning.

As the stereotype suggests, scales are very fond of treasure, but they tend to be very picky. Gold and copper are seen as cheap. Silver and quartz are highly valued. Colorful jewels like amethyst, sapphire, emerald, and ruby are commonly used in jewelry.

That’s another thing-- they LOVE jewelry. Horn bands are popular because they don’t get in the way when flying. Wing bands are also sometimes worn, but they can be heavy and make flying difficult. Most Hydras would rather use gemstone laces on their wings.

Getting tattoos and gemstones embedded in wings is quite common, although painful at first. Some scales even dye/bleach their wings, but the result can cause the scales to burn and fall off over time.

The barbs in their wingtips are made of a compound mixed from shedded scales and bone. These barbs are full of blood and marrow and break easily. They take a few days to grow back if broken off.

Hydras will gift a scale as a courting method. They will also actually put the scale of their mate underneath their tongue to let it dissolve in their mouth.

No matter where a child comes from, or even the species, all Hydras watch out for younger avians and make sure they stay safe and protected. Even the Flightless and hybrids.

Cimexes

Description: Insect wings of varying shape, sizes, and color depending on bug type; four arms; antennae; chitin along the back and on palms, but fuzz if the Cimex is a moth; short, curved claws; retractable mandibles in mouths; two eyelids

Abilities: Moth and butterfly Cimexs can spin silk from their wrists; bee, hornet, wasp, and yellowjacket Cimexs can extend stingers from their wrists to inject a nerve toxin into enemies; other Cimexs can deliver painful, itching bites like an ant

Classification: Male- Beckett; Female- Monarch; Non-binary folk- Insecta; Child- Nymphs

Goddess: Cybiel

Facts:

Their blood varies from blue, green, or yellow, but never red. This also means tongues, scabs/wounds, blushes, and insides are either blue, green, or yellow.

Cimexes are the most diverse race when it comes to appearance because of all the varying wing shapes.

The mandibles in their mouth are retractable. They grow from their bottom jaw, behind their teeth, and fold into little glands at the bottom of their mouths when not in use. These mandibles are usually quite spiky and smooth and can dig all the way down to bone.

Mandible bites itch like an ant bite because they secrete an acidic venom into the skin when in contact with it.

Mandibles are also barbed, so they do just as much damage going out as they do going in.

Moth and butterfly Cimexes are born without wings, but have two colorful bumps on their backs. When they become of age, they spin cocoons and stay inside them for seven days. During this process, their organs liquidate themselves and rearrange into a new, stronger system. Because of this, it is dangerous to disturb a cocoon during metamorphosis because it could harm the Cimex inside.

Several butterflies and moths make a living by spinning silk and making things out of it to sell.

Cimex wings are the easiest to damage, but heal within hours.

They are the only avians that can hover (minus moths and butterflies).

Silk glands are located right below the hand on the wrist. They’re thin slices that sort of look like paper cuts.

Butterflies and moths need to spin silk at least once a day to keep their glands from getting clogged up. This could lead to clumping in the silk passage, swelling of the wrists, tenderness, and a lot of pain and discomfort when moving the hands.

Their antennae predict the weather and sense vibrations in the air.

They are able to twist their wings during flight. By doing so, they can preserve and even control the quantity of lift they generate.

Dragonfly Cimexes have selective attention and are able to lock onto something and eliminate everything else around that one thing.

Most wings are waterproof.

Moth and butterfly Cimexs make these bracelets called Infinity Bands with their silk. These bracelets symbolize eternal love between two mates and they’re usually made with beads and small gemstones. They’re like wedding rings of sorts, but there’s also platonic Infinity Bands.

Vespertilios

Description: Bat wings of varying size and color; large bat ears; fangs; opposable fingers on wings called dewclaws; retractable talons in their feet and hands; prehensile tongues; two eyelids

Abilities: Night vision; echolocation; blood and raw meat consumption without getting sick

Classification: Male- Sire; Female- Vixen; Non-binary folk- Fox; Child- Pup

Goddess: Valtiel

Facts:

Upon drinking a creature's blood, a Vesper’s special stomach acid will kill the bacteria, making it safe to digest. The kidney will then turn the blood into a plasma, which is excreted out of the cloaca. Plasma appears as a thick black liquid.

Bloody Marys have actual blood in them. They’re made specifically for Vespers to drink. This, however, does not stop other avians from thinking they can drink it. They usually get sick as a result, as they cannot urinate out the blood plasma like Vespers can.

Pups are born with tiny fangs that grow longer as they get older.

Most pups can’t be breastfed because they would bite their mother’s breast and drink her blood.

Vesper wings are made up entirely of skin with a thin layer of fuzz on certain Vespers. Their bones, membranes, and blood vessels are visible. Because of this, they are the only avian race capable of getting sunburned on their wings.

Bat flies are a problem for Vespers. The bugs like to cling to their wings in swarms and drink their blood. It’s kinda gross to see and it’s very painful for the poor Vesper infested with them.

Vespers enjoy hanging upside down.

Vespers feel most secure when they’re swaddled by things. It’s an instinct that they never grow out of, so it’s not just a pup trait.

They also like to suck on things. Fingers or their own dewclaws are a common thing they will suck on.

There are entire shops dedicated to selling the best bugs for Vespers to eat. They are, of course, Vesper-owned businesses because no other race would want to have such a profession.

Deaf Vespers can still use echolocation and are actually better at it than hearing Vespers because they can focus more intently on the vibrations.

Despite bats being the number one carrier of rabies, Vespers are completely immune to the disease. This, however, does not stop people from saying otherwise and still claiming they will infect others.

Like butterfly and moth Cimexs, dust and pollen tends to stick to the wings of Vespers.

Vespers have more flexibility and control over their wings compared to other avians, letting them turn more smoothly.

Vespers enjoy eating fruits, nectars, and bugs. Bugs are their favorite food. Many Cimexs don’t like them because of this.

Several Vespers wear sunglasses or simply keep their eyes closed when outside because of how sensitive they are to bright lights.

They will “wing” their ears around their face to keep themselves cool.

Vespers will catch the most colorful butterfly in the area and give the wings to their mate as a courting technique, then the two will eat the body together, since butterflies symbolize love in their culture. They may also drink each other’s blood as a marking of sorts.

Vespers have long, thick talons on their feet for hanging upside down. These talons are usually around six to seven inches in size, one and a half inches in width, and are hooked, sort of like a raptor’s claws. The curves of these claws will catch on surfaces, like bars, so they can hang. The muscles in their legs and feet bunch up to help lock themselves in place so their claws won’t instantly rip out from their body weight.

The talons are usually sheathed in the feet and can be retracted outwards when needed. When out, a leather avian becomes digitigrade and walks on their toes. It’s sort of like walking on giant toenails.

When it’s cold, Vesper ears and wings are more susceptible to frostbite because the skin tends to be thinner than the skin on a regular avian’s.

Vespers are the most discriminated pureblooded avian race. Several avians don’t like them because of their ability to drink blood and so they see them as demons.

The Flightless

Description: Tightly curled wingbuds extending from their shoulder blades, which can unfurl outwards

Abilities: N/A

Classification: N/A

Goddess: N/A

Facts:

Wingbuds are tightly curled membranes that extend from the shoulder blades, which vary in size from Flightless to Flightless, but they’re usually the size of a regular book. However, they can unfurl and form a vague wing-like shape.

Sometimes hints of color can be seen under the skin if the complexion is light enough.

They molt every two months, which consists of the top layer of skin on their back peeling off.

Flightless aren’t just wingless avians, but also avians who have one wing, a lame wing, or wings that don’t work at all. “Purebred” Flightless are the ones with the wingbuds, while “half-bloods” are the others. Purebreds do not like half-bloods because “at least they have wings.”

Most Flightless hate when people touch or try to touch their wingbuds, which is quite common, especially in children. The flesh on the wingbuds are extremely sensitive and the sensation of it being touched is like running your nails over the skin of a body part that fell asleep.

Forcefully unfurling a Flightless’ wingbuds is painful and extremely uncomfortable.

Skin infections are common with the Flightless because of how tender the skin on their back is. It isn’t unnatural to see one with long slices and cuts marring their back from the flesh breaking open.

“No-Wings”, “Bareback”, “LameWings”, and “Wingless” are slurs to the Flightless. They don’t even like being called “the Flightless”, they would prefer to actually be called “Smooth Skins” because of their smooth backs. Of course, nobody ever respects these wishes.

They have the highest depression and suicide rate out of all avian species.

Hybrids

Description: Appearances vary depending on parents

Abilities: Abilities vary depending on parents

Classification: N/A

Goddess: Depends on crossbreed

Facts:

Hybrids are as rare Flightless and are about as discriminated against as they are, too, if not more.

Hybrids happen when the genes of two different species mutate into each other instead of one dominating the other, so the resulting child will be a mix of both parents.

Most of them don’t even survive past childhood. They either die because their body is unstable or are killed because they’re viewed as a freak of nature by all species. They’re also very sickly and susceptible to illnesses.

If crossed with a Cimex, a hybrid’s blood will be a different color. Yellow bug blood + normal avian blood = orange blood; Blue bug blood + normal avian blood = purple blood; Green bug blood + normal avian blood = A brown-grey blood.

Normal hybrid blood is usually a darker red than normal blood, almost black when it first comes out.

Avems used to kill hybrids to keep the genes from spreading. This has since been outlawed--or is at least done behind closed doors so nobody will ever know.

A lot of Vesper hybrids usually die from drinking blood because they are unable to urinate out the plasma (because they didn’t get that ability), so the bacteria kills them.

Several butterfly/moth Cimexes die during metamorphosis because their already-grown-in pair of wings don’t stop moving and rip the cocoon open. The result is very messy, as their body will essentially be liquidated.

If they do live, the strain of giant butterfly/moth wings have a chance of ripping their back open.

Some hybrids are born with more than one pair of wings, causing difficulties and back problems as their life progresses.

Hybrids used to be enslaved and used for show. Several nobles would keep hybrids as “pets” of sorts and would show them off at parties.

Hybrids are incredibly infertile and cannot reproduce, as the resulting child would be a tribrid.

Medical issues run rampant in hybrids, such as muscle deterioration, breathing issues, and brittle bones. As stated before, they are also very sickly and get ill very easily. As a result, almost all of them are frail and scrawny.

Some hybrids can’t even fly because of how weak their bodies are. They just aren’t strong enough to get off the ground, so their wings will sometimes just drag behind them.

Hybrids have a hard time molting because of conflicting pelt types. Assistance is most likely needed, but most avians usually don’t want to go near hybrids.

Hybrids aren’t wanted by pureblooded avians OR the Flightless. The purebloods see them as screw ups and monsters and freaks, while the Flightless see them as glorified show pets and consider them lucky to even have wings. As a result, many hybrids spend their lives alone and are discriminated against.