#to me it sounds like 'im going to creak and fucking crack your egg' which??

[letsfluxshitup]

audio equivalent to being in a washing machine. i watched back the actual slap like four times and i dont think they actually know what theyre fighting about

[Video ID: Everyone is picking our their new egg/child. There's a lot of background noise, but the focus is Quackity, Mariana, and Charlie. It is from Charlie's pov, so Quackity is a bit quiet. Frontflipo is the egg with glasses and is Charlie and Mariana's child, while Tilin is Quackity's child. It is from Charlie's stream on April 3rd, about 46min in.]

transcript:

Charlie: Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Mariana: Mijo- [My son-] [Frontflipo hits Mariana but he thinks it was Tilin] Mariana: Hey, hey, hey, motherfucker! Charlie: Discipline your fucking egg, dude! Watch where your son's going! You piece of shit! Quackity: Hey! My son is just fine! My son is just fine! I saw your son hit my son first! Charlie: Ours has allergies! Ours has fucking allergies! Step off! Step off! Mariana: Backflipo! Pégale! [Hit him!] Quackity: I saw your son hit my son first! Charlie: Step off! Quackity: My son didn't do anything! Mariana: Pégale, Flipo! Pégale! Matolo! [Hit him, Flipo! Hit him! Kill him!] Quackity: He's an angel! My son is an angel! Charlie: He's a loose cannon! My son could kick the shit out of your son! My son-I'm going to take your son's nose! Quackity: He would never do anything at all! He would never do anything at all! Charlie: I can [unintelligible] and crack your son! He can crack your son! Mariana: Mi huevo es mejor! [My egg is better!] Charlie: My son's gonna crack and eat your son! Quackity: Fuck your egg! I hate your egg! Your egg is stupid as hell! Charlie: What the fuck did you just say to me? Mariana: Tu huevo es parace mi testiculo! [Your egg looks like my testicle!] Charlie: That's right! That's right! Our huevo! Our huevo! Quackity, laughing and walking away: Tilin, don't trust him, don't trust him, you don't look like a testicle. Charlie: Frontflipo, kill him! Frontflipo, kill! We need to- We need to teach him to draw blood.

[rattlung]

i wanted to get this out for halloween but then it ended up getting (and taking) too long so i was like aight whatever i’ll split it and post the first bit so i know at least some of it will be in time for the spooky scary. not that it’s really spooky scary, but yknow

anyway the second i saw cowboy mirage and vampire crypto i knew i had to write a wild west au with them. if any of you knew me from my glory ovw days, you know wth im talkin about. 

so anyway, slooow burn, animal death, blood, blood drinking, and possible ooc-ness because i couldn’t decide on whether i wanted mirage to have a very thick southern accent or not so his dialogue may be a bit whack. also with it being an au, characterization probably got skewed to shit. sorry about that :^(

cross posting fucks up formatting, so to be safe here’s the ao3 link but if that’s not the jam for your bread, it’s all under the read more

=======

The sun had set hours ago, but Elliott remained at his post.

Crickets and grass were his only companions on his porch, not even a candle was lit to keep him company. He didn’t want anyone to know he was out there and the little flame would have given him away. Besides, the moon was high that night and the stars glittered from behind it thanks to the cloudless sky. His eyes had adjusted well enough, and the open fields of the farm didn’t provide enough shadows to cause much concern.

No, Elliott was confident he’d catch who he wanted tonight, it was only a matter of whether or not the little bastard would show up.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair to rest his crossed arms on the railing of the porch, then placed his chin on them. He hoped whoever it was would show. He couldn’t afford another big hit to the stock again. In the last week, he’d lost three chickens - one of them was the hen he’d sank three dollars into earlier in the month. It’d been a good one, too, healthy eggs up until she went missing with two of her sisters.

It was like nothing Elliott had ever seen before. There were never any carcasses left in the coop or on the land, no blood and maybe only a few stripped feathers. Coyotes were never that clean - not in Elliott’s experience anyway. And to take so many at a time?

Then the marks started showing up on the cattle. Two clean little holes at their shoulders that Elliott would have missed had it not been for the blood that oozed out of them, staining their fur a rusted brownish red.

That changed things. The body-less crimes started making sense, because they weren’t being killed - they were being stolen. Chickens were easy to make off with. Just toss a few in a bag and be on your way. Cows, though, they were marking those. Maybe one man was sent to scope out the pens to pick out the healthiest ones, then send off a crew to look for the marks and round them up to bring them home.

Elliott fought off a yawn and the on coming sense of second guessing himself. They would be coming with a group. He hadn’t thought of that before. If they did show up tonight and they were armed, there would be very little he could do with his mother’s old rifle. Quickly he decided he wouldn’t leave the porch if he saw anything. Just fire off a few shots and hopefully scare them off.

All of the Witts had met unfortunate ends. Two Witt sons died in the war, one to the flu soon after his third birthday, their mother to the plague - and the last Witt, dead to a bullet wound received while defending the cow that sneezed on him that very morning?

Yeah, no thank you, he’d stay right there on the porch, yes, ma’am.

So sit he did, scanning the horizon, the treeline, the pens, and tried not to fall asleep. He wondered if Ms. Williams had any hounds she’d be willing to part with to do this kind of stuff for him. Growing up, he’d always wanted a farm dog and Anita Williams trained some of the best he’d ever seen. Elliott would be able to leave it outside to patrol the land, sleep out on the porch, and chase off any predators or thieves that might be lurking while Elliott was in bed. That would be better than suffering through the brutality of waiting for the sun to rise himself.

Elliott didn’t notice his eyes had closed until they snapped open at the sound of sudden rattling in the hen house. He waited a moment, wondering if he imagined it, but soon there was a murmur of cluckings and Elliott got to his feet. He picked up the hat he’d hung on the back of his chair and placed it on top of his head before grabbing the rifle, standing at the very edge of his porch.

Surely they wouldn’t be going for more chickens, would they? When the cows they had marked were out roaming?

Elliott stepped off the stairs and onto the dirt pathway. If it was chickens being targeted tonight, that means there was likely only one of them. He checked the chamber of his gun before heading off, getting onto the grass as soon as he could in order to dampen the sound of his approaching footsteps. By the time he’s at the fence, the clucking had shifted and grew into something louder, the few hens he had left squawking at whatever was in there with them.

And maybe it was because their din was too loud, but Elliott couldn’t hear anything else. Nothing but feathered ruffling and the scrape of chicken feet.

A chill raised the hair on the back of his neck but he crept forward anyway. He wiped the palm of his hand off on his jeans and pushed open the gate, wincing hard when one of the hens in the coop got louder. The rest were a bit hysterical in their noise making, but this one’s panic was visceral. This wasn’t just someone walking through their nests and aggravating them out of sleep - these chickens were scared for their lives.

Elliott crept up to the wired entrance of the shed and peeked around. Small shadows flicked back an forth on the hay-filled floor in a frenzy. Hoarse, creaking noises spilled from their beaks and wings fluttered as they battled each other in their panic to press to the corners of the shed, close to the walls to get away from -

Now, Elliott wasn’t a religious man - which was an odd thing, when one lived in a small town like he did, where the person he bought canned goods from was the pastor’s brother, and the biggest building was the church which was always filled on Sunday. He never went to mass, not even for the holidays, and the Witt Family’s bible had been left in the bedside table’s drawer since he was a boy.

But he didn’t have to crack apart the thin pages of God’s Word to determine that whatever the thing was in front of him was bad.

Especially when it turned, a chicken limp and unmoving in its hands, and stared Elliott down with eyes that burned like indigo flames.

This isn’t a coyote, his mind helpfully informed him just as his mouth spit out, “Oh, fuck.”

The creature stood up fully and despite all its human-like qualities, there was still that electric energy that was just not right, uncanny and out of place. It showed off a human face, but its skin was so white it almost glinted blue when it passed through the moonlight that bled through the shed’s wooden panels.

Which is how Elliott noticed it was moving toward him. He raised the rifle up and pointed it square at the thing’s chest. If froze in its step, still as stone in half a second, but above the crying of his birds Elliott could hear the trill of something moving in its throat.

“Dro - Drop the chicken,” Elliott ordered, the stillness in his limbs compensating for his trembling voice.

To his surprise the creature listened to him. Its trill from before burst from its throat and its frown opened to let out a hiss, pitched low and piercing. The teeth it bared to him had a pink sheen, wet with blood, and its canines ended in vicious points - points Elliott was sure would match with the ones marking his cattle out on the fields.

“Oh, shit, okay - “ Elliott muttered, too panicked to remember that the creature could hear him.

It hunched down suddenly, dropping into a stance that made Elliott think it was going to lunge for him. Before he could really process that information, could even think to fire a shot at it to knock it down, to kill it, the creature spun around and crashed through the other side of the coop. Elliott blinked at the wire it split through like paper then hurried around the house. It was fast, already having leaped over the fence, a black shape that moved without sound, whispering over the grass in one, two seconds before it disappeared into the trees.

“That’s not a fuckin’ coyote,” Elliott said over the thundering of his heartbeat and the screaming of his chickens.

----=----

For a whole entire day, Elliott allowed himself to think that it was over. He let himself think that that was the last he’d see of the thing, that he’d scared it enough to retreat just from pointing a gun at it. Maybe the fear of Elliott actually using it would keep it away, whatever it was.

Truth be told, he didn’t really want to find out what it was. From the look he got out of it from the shadows, it looked human enough. A man as tall as him, dressed to the nines in black and red silks, slim with features Elliott might have tipped a hat at had he not been terrified the time he saw them. Human features. It looked human.

And yet, the bloodless chicken he’d been forced to get rid of proved otherwise. Once he’d been able to move, he’d wandered back in to examine it and found that it was little more than a husk, dried out and useless. It’s carcass was clean, feathers mostly untouched with no red soaked into them. On its breast were two, neat puncture holes.

The next day, one he’d used to catch up on sleep, he started feeling watched.

As he left the stables after shoveling out the floors, a familiar chill walked along his shoulders like icy fingers, eliciting a shiver from him. It lingered for a moment and slowly dissipated when he searched his surroundings, forcing himself to outwardly appear calm when he found nothing.

It would happen again - and often - in the following weeks. When he left the stables after milking, he’d feel it then. When he fed the chickens, when he lead the two horses out onto the pasture, checked on the hogs - someone was watching him. Waiting. And yet, as each night passed and he’d wake up, Elliott would set out to work and find that none of the livestock had been touched. The hens didn’t go missing. The puncture marks on the cows had scabbed over, and no new ones appeared.

Worriedly, Elliott wondered if he were next, that he was the one being stalked - but why wait so long? He lived alone on the Witt farm, and no one had visited him in the time between then and the encounter.

The idea of a peace offering came to him when he had to put one of the roosters down. It was the older one of the three, the one that was always more aggressive and tried to start fights with the others. Apparently, it had to learn the hard way that all fights it started were not always ones it could win. Elliott should have separated it sooner, or maybe had done something, but his mind had been in other places as of late. He’d felt terrible - for the cockerel, for himself. For his family. The only thing they’d left behind was this farm, and he was making a mess of it.

So, out he marched at the first sign of dusk, right to the edge of the trees where he’d seen the creature dart off all those days ago. He planned on calling out to it until it showed, dropping the rooster at its feet and declaring, There, see? I’m doing just fine on ruining everything on my own, so why don’t you just take the damn bird and go?

He didn’t do any such thing. He just stood there for a long moment, listened to the robins in the woods and the huffing of cattle behind him, and stared down at the rooster in his hands. Eventually, the watched feeling came. Elliott was so used to it that the chill hardly even registered. It was just eyes on him, now, no longer threatening or frightening.

For a moment, neither of them did anything. Nothing jumped out to attack him, and Elliott didn’t say a word. He never actually did. Eventually, he dropped the rooster onto the grass and turned back to the house, not even waiting to see if the creature would show itself.

The sun was finally wishing the horizon a farewell, sinking just under the trees as he’s finishing up the last of his rounds. Elliott tested the locks on the doors of the stalls to make sure they wouldn’t swing open and cast a long look at a cow sitting on the other side of one. She stared back at him. The scabs on her shoulders were just about gone, now, and her fur had grown over the little pink marks that’d been left behind. The rest of the cattle’s marks were just about the same. Nothing fresh.

Inside the Witt home, it was dark. There was still washing up he had to do in the big metal basin sat underneath the kitchen’s window. He probably wouldn’t get to until the next morning, so he pointedly kept his gaze away from there. He moved passed the old dining table that hadn’t seen use in years - mostly it was just full of tools he hadn’t moved back into the shed yet - and made his way toward the fireplace. Soon, the cold blue glow of the darkening sky was warmed by the slow starting flame. Elliott poked at it until he was thoroughly bored of watching sticks crumble into ash and was sure it wouldn’t smother itself.

With a heaving sigh he got back to his feet but didn’t go far, falling onto a wooden bench close to the fireplace. There were bigger and more comfortable places to sit, like the large wicker chair right beside him or the stool that had a pillow sewn onto it haphazardly, but Elliott had always sat on the bench. Maybe tomorrow, after he was done the cleaning, he’d move all the extra furniture out into the shed along with the tools on the dining room table. No use in having so many if he wasn’t using it. He didn’t get much company - none at all, really.

Elliott found himself staring at the book left on the seat of the wicker chair and doubted he’d even get around to doing the washing up.

Over the crackle of the fire, something thumped right outside the front door. Elliott straightened, twisted around to look toward the noise, and thought how weird it was to be thinking about never getting any visitors only to have one stop by. Or maybe the word was ironic.

But then he remembered the time and he held his breath to listen. There was no shuffling of someone on his porch and no knocking on his door. If someone rode all the way out to the Witt’s Farm after sundown it’d be for an emergency, so there was no real good reason for the stranger to be quiet.

Slowly, Elliott stood. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked, he crossed the room toward the door and picked up the rifle he’d left there. The silence was deafening and ringing with the dreadful thought of how he might actually be going crazy. Then, the idea of Elliott opening the door and finding nothing at all was almost as terrifying as opening it and revealing the shadow from the hen house. Had he actually heard something? Was there really something in his woods? What if he went outside to the coop and all of the lost chickens would be accounted for? What if the marks on the cows had healed so fast because they’d never been marked in the first place?

Elliott put his hand on the doorknob, sucked in a breath, held it, then twisted it and pulled it open. The door’s creak seemed like a wail in the empty night - because that’s what it was. Empty. No one standing at his stoop, no shadow perched on his railing ready to strike.

Nothing but the rooster he’d left at the trees, untouched and dropped carelessly at his door.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Elliott narrowed his eyes down at it and felt angry. Maybe it was the sleep he was losing, the constant worrying, the loneliness - or maybe he actually was losing his mind. Whatever it was, it was enough to have him bend over, snatch up the bird, and stomp down onto the path toward the trees. When he got there, he still said nothing, but that time he didn’t even wait around. Elliott just tossed the bird back onto the grass where he’d left it the first time and turned to storm away, ignoring the petulant feeling that rose at the display.

He made it about four yards before something hit the dirt behind him. He froze without looking back and grit his teeth.

“Alright, you sumbitch.”

Annoyed, he faced the trees again, passing the bird on the road. That chill was back. Instead of stopping him, have him think twice, it only achieved in making the anger thrumming around in his chest burn defiantly brighter.

Two indigo flames held his gaze when Elliott noticed them, dimmer than the last time he saw them. They regarded him with disinterest and that alone had him nearly seething.

“I’m tired of playing this game you’re havin’ with me,” he snapped. The shadow might have raised a brow at him, but with how dark it was Elliott couldn’t be sure. It didn’t say anything, so the question - the one he’d been wondering since that night - burst out of him. “Why haven’t you just killed me yet?”

Now the eyes moved, turning in a way that told Elliott that the creature had tilted its head. But still, the silence. Slowly, it looked down at the rifle Elliott had nearly forgotten about, pointedly, then back up at him. Elliott heard it hit the ground in the next second, which is how he learned that he himself tossed it aside.

Something that was smothered by the heat of the moment whispered to him, You sleep deprived idiot, just what in the hell are you doing?

What he said out loud was, “Do it, then. Nothin’s stopping you, so do it.”

The shadow did nothing; not a sound, not a movement.

Elliott heard his own breathing over the gentle breeze and wondered why it was so slow. He’d seen the speed the creature had moved at and his only protection was too many paces away. If it wasn’t planning on killing him, the anticipation should have been. But he was calm, staring demise dead in its lightning blue eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

The thought of it being incapable of speech occurred to him, but with the way it watched him, Elliott didn’t find it likely. Despite how inhuman they were, there was sentience behind the shadow’s gaze. Maybe too much for something that fed on blood. It looked at Elliott and he felt that it was capable of telling him exactly what it wanted to with a stare alone - all that and more. It was a heavy kind of thing to know. Elliott realized he had a hard time looking away, so when he managed it he didn’t dare look again.

“Just, get - get out of here.” He started making his way back - and didn’t look at the damned rooster again, either. “Leave me alone and terrorize some other poor bastard’s chickens.”

Coward, he thought, but didn’t know who it was directed to.

----=----

The next morning, Elliott woke up to one less crowing and his rifle propped up on the porch railing outside.

Something in the woods still watched him.

----=----

A few days passed until he saw the shadow again. Elliott was leaving the hen house and had thrown a look up at the sky to gauge the time, sighed at the moon, and turned to shut the wired gate behind him. When he turned around, a figure that definitely had not been there before stood in the path in front of him.

He gasped and sent himself back in a fit of shock, back slamming up against the shed. He scowled once he realized what - or, rather, who it was, but that was gone in the next second, too. The shadow’s posture was still one of casual disinterest; hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, and expression blank if not aloof. But it was different, Elliott was sure. The skin, while always having been pallid, took a different tone, now, one that was qualmish and almost sickly. And the eyes - the eyes hardly even glowed.

It looked more like a ghost than a shadow.

“What’s wrong?” He asked - and why was he even concerned? It hadn’t tried to kill him yet, sure, but it was responsible for taking out almost a quarter of his chickens.

True to a pattern, the creature said nothing, however, it did give a meaningful look into the shed behind Elliott. When its gaze returned, he could see how its throat worked around a swallow.

“Are - “ Elliott looked back at the hen house as if to check to make sure that was what the shadow had looked at. “Are you asking me to - “ He cut himself off again, but pointed into the house.

It narrowed its eyes at the incredulous inflection in Elliott’s voice but did not say no.

The whistling of grass is the only sound for a long moment as a cool night’s breeze moved over the fields, Elliott at a loss for words. As the wind washed over him, chilling him that much further, he could see the creature’s nostrils flare minutely, and this time when its throat moved it was around a rumbling noise. From the base of its chest it traveled up and out as that familiar trill. It filled Elliott with a sense of urgency, one he couldn’t really explain.

He was torn. It was strange to be asked such a thing, but he supposed he should be grateful of the fact that it was asking at all. But how was he even supposed to answer? As far as Elliott knew, none of his chickens survived. He’d never found markings on them, they would just disappear. With the colder seasons approaching, he really couldn’t afford to lose any more of his livestock.

The cows, though, they’d apparently survived a few run-ins with the shadow.

Elliott looked over to the stables and felt shameful the second he did. Was he really considering it? Other than the fast healing punctures on their necks or shoulders, there had been no real changes in their behavior or health. The morning he’d find the marks on them, they’d appear nonplussed. But what if it hurt them? What if the experience was traumatic in a way Elliott couldn’t see?

Then again, could he really afford to deliberate on this? In that moment, with the shadow looking at him expectantly, it seemed to be between Elliott and the cows. Really, the choice was an easy one, but he was still allowed to feel guilty.

“Follow me,” he told the shadow.

As the temperature steadily declined throughout the days, Elliott had started rounding the cows up into the stables more often. It got too cold at night , and he didn’t want to give the cows a chance to catch an illness. It meant waking up earlier to give them more time to graze but it was safer. While he was unlocking the paneled door to the stables Elliott thought that maybe that was the reason he was losing more chickens. It was harder to get through a locked door without raising suspicion than it was kidnapping a few birds and letting the farmer’s blame fall onto coyotes.

The shadow didn’t make a noise but when Elliott turned, it was standing right behind him, nose wrinkled a little at the intense smell of animal and dirt. He didn’t jump that time. He picked up the unlit lantern he’d left behind on the stacked bales of hay, lighting it fast and hung it on the rung in between two of the stall doors. Inside one of them, the dull eyes of a cow shimmered and regarded him blankly. Elliott drug the door open and stepped inside next to her, touching at the glittering wet nose and felt her hot breath huff against his hand in recognition.

“It doesn’t - there’s no - it - it’s not gonna hurt her too much, is it?” Elliott couldn’t help but ask. Now, he expected a nonverbal answer so he looked back to shadow for it, finding more whites in its eyes and the stoic expression looking cheaper. It wasn’t watching him anymore, purely focused on the cow Elliott was petting at nervously.

It stepped closer, into the stall, and Elliott watched as the cow’s head tipped up apprehensively. The huffing of her breathing got a little bit faster and Elliott heard himself shushing her lowly, scratching around the longer scruff by her ears. He couldn’t imagine he was helping too much, but the only thing she did when he saw the shadow disappear around her other side was let out a small grunt of displeasure.

Time passed; the only sound came from his and the cow’s breathing and the brisk wind rattling the wood of the barn. Elliott kept up his attempt at comfort, watching her face intently, and was surprised to find her calm once again. Slowly, he stepped away, gauging her reaction at the movement but didn’t get one.

He moved back into the base of the barn and heaved up one of the metal buckets he’d filled with grain. It was a favor he’d done for himself that night to save himself some time when he woke up to feed them, but he figured that the cow deserved some special treatment. Elliot brought it over to her front and held it right under her nose for her to sniff out, knocking the handle out of her way and hugging it to his stomach due to the weight of it.

The cow’s ears twitched back and forth in contentment, dipping her snout into the grain and eating it by the mouthful. Relief coursed through him like the blood in his veins and Elliott felt himself smiling a little.

“Good girl,” he told her, to which he got very little in the way of a response.

The shadow straightened in a fluid movement, one Elliott watched with rapt attention. Even in just the few short minutes, there was an excruciatingly apparent change in the creature. The intensity of its eyes returned, their brightness amplifying its now fuller features and adding more color to the porcelain-looking skin - it was the most human Elliott had seen him.

“You were starving,” Elliott muttered with a voice awed in his realization. He thought back to the look the shadow had given the cow before and identified it now as a pained and feral sort of hunger. “Why didn’t you just take the damned rooster?”

The creature wiped the cow blood off of wet lips and had the audacity to look at Elliott like he was the disgusting one. Before he could remark on that, prove to the other how backwards that was, the shadow’s mouth opened and for the first time, he spoke. In a voice that was low and smooth, with layers upon layers of something deep and new to Elliott threading through the syllables, he simply stated, “It was dead.”

Elliott sputtered, a little dumbstruck. “So?”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed into a disbelieving glare. “It was dead for a long time.”

“You’re gettin’ partipu - pertil - picky about what blood you’re drinking, now?”

If he were being frank, Elliott wasn’t sure why he was antagonizing the shadow. He’d been merciful so far in not maiming him. And Elliott couldn’t exactly say that if he’d left something out for the hours the rooster had been sitting, he would drink it, either.

But surely drinking blood wasn’t enjoyable in any sense.

Elliott pulled the bucket out from under the cow. Some feed stuck to the wetness of her nose which she cleaned off with a few swipes of her tongue. “I guess we’re done here,” Elliott said to her, but mostly to the shadow.

The shadow that had since disappeared from the stables.

Sighing, Elliott replaced the now three quarters filled bucket with the others as he shook his head. “Guess we are.”

----=----

They weren’t, but Elliott had expected that much.

Every other night, now, when Elliott was finishing his rounds he caught sight of the shadow leaning against the barn doors like it was an arrangement they’d agreed on. He’d finish locking up and meet him there where he’d open the doors and wave the shadow inside, direct him to one of the seven cows, and pretended it wasn’t abnormal. Every farmer had an odd case; a pair of horses that only fed at a specific time of day, cattle that grazed exclusively on the left side of the pasture, a herding dog that befriended and mothered ill lambs.

Elliott’s odd case was a vampire, but it was fine. Every farmer had an odd case. Some odder than others.

Things started to change on the evening Elliott had just left the stables unlocked. One of the pen’s posts had crumbled from age and the fences around it sagged too close to the dirt. It was a reminder that he’d have to put work into replacing them before the winter, or else he’d have a lot more work come spring. Like the dishes in the basin and the extra furniture still in the front of his house, that was a problem for tomorrow’s Elliott. He’d just repair the broken one for now.

He was just testing out the sturdiness of the new post when he noticed that the shadow was standing behind him. By then he was so used to the minor jump scares that he only just barely lost the hammer in his grip. It thumped onto the old, rotten fence post he’d left laying there and landed quietly in the grass.

“Lord - Jesus - Chri - you gotta stop doing that,” he told the shadow, hand over his heart.

Silence from the shadow. He’d gone back to his quiet pledge, not having spoken since their very short conversation in the stables.

Elliott was used to that, too, so shook his head and leaned down to pick up the hammer and the post. He could leave it to dry out on his porch, break it apart further and use it for tinder later. “I left the barn open,” he said when he saw that the shadow was still standing there.

“I know,” the shadow responded. Something flashed in his eyes, probably on account of how fast Elliott snapped up to look at him, not having expected an answer. It was some kind of struggle, Elliott imagined, because his mouth opened a second before he said anything. “Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened. “I - uh. Y-yeah, you’re welcome. It’s fine. It’s - y’know, it’s better than you killing my chickens.”

That flash of something struck again. Elliott wanted to apologize. He genuinely didn’t want to offend the shadow, and he might have actually done it if he didn’t speak before him. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

And that would have been smart, wouldn’t it? Letting the town know about the blood drinker in their woods. They could have helped Elliott a few dead birds earlier, rounded up enough of them for a search party - if they even believed him in the first place. But that would have involved killing the shadow, or running him off, and Elliott didn’t really enjoy the idea of that. In some kind of morbid way, through all of the heart-pounding meetings and stress-induced nightmares, he kind of liked the company. He’d probably miss it if it were gone.

Besides, the nightmares were really nothing new.

Still, he decided he wasn’t going to tell the other that. He just grinned, leaned up against the freshly repaired fence - very sturdy -  and said, “I think I’ve got you handled.”

The shadow’s brow rose and he looked Elliott up and down, then finally back up again. “No,” is all he said.

The smile dropped from Elliott’s face but he didn’t say anything more on that, because, unfortunately, the shadow was being very fair. “Right, well,” he muttered, pushing off the fence. He was ready for bed. “Have a good night, then.”

“Are you Witt?” He was asked after a few paces.

Elliott paused, turned around slowly. “How’d you know about that?”

“I listen,” the shadow stated simply.

Looking around acres of empty land, Elliott wondered, to who? “Yeah, I - well, I’m one of them. Witt’s my last name, so there’s… Well, there’s been a few Witts.”

The other’s head cocked to one side. “Which Witt are you?”

The only one, really. “I’m Elliott.”

The shadow nodded, looking him over once more. “Good night, Elliott.”

All he did was stand there for a moment, blinking, too caught up on how his name sounded in the smooth whisper of the other’s voice. He’d never heard it be said like that before.

Then, finally, his brain caught up.

“Hey, wait,” he called, despite the shadow not having moved an inch. “That’s not very fair, now is it? I don’t get to know your name?”

He wouldn’t exactly say that the shadow was the teasing sort, but it did take numerous weeks to get a decent two-sided conversation out of him. Mostly, Elliott expected the same response from before. Another ‘no’ before he disappeared for a few nights again.

“Tae Joon,” was what he got, though.

Elliott tried it out for himself. “Tae Joon.”

The shadow’s head tilted further.

Elliott smiled, tipped his hat. “You have a good night, Tae Joon.”

He shifted the wooden post around for easier carrying and put his back to the shadow, knowing that if he turned around now he probably would find empty air. It was fine. Elliott knew he’d see him soon.

=====

yyyyeaahh this is what i’ve been putting off prompts for BIG oof :^(((( 

not sure when i’ll finish the rest of it tbh but here’s this for now i guess 

[vicioushyperbolizer]

More Ace Dex

Ace Dex combating the casual aphobia that we all deal with at some point.  

“Dude, you’ve never done the nasty?”

Dex rolled his eyes, hard. Whiskey’s tone was just this side of shocked, and it made Dex was to take back the fact that he had said anything at all. It wasn’t exactly that he expected the team to be more understanding than other people, but he hoped that was the case, anyway.

On top of that, Whiskey managed to catch the attention of Ransom and Holster, who were walking past, heads close together.

“Wait, what’s this about someone never smuggling the ol’ bone?”

Ransom gave Holster a critical look, then grinned in that way that only someone on the wrong side of tipsy can. “Playing hide the sausage.”

Holster countered quickly with, “Making the beast with two backs.”

“Assault with a friendly weapon.”

“Entangling the lower beards.”

“Joint sessions of Congress.”

Holster held out a fist. “Bro, pound it out for that one.”

With a solemn nod, Ransom offered tapped his fist to Holster’s. Dex hoped that their (truly awful) back and forth would distract them from what was going on, but instead they plopped onto the couch to join in the conversation. Well, they pushed their way onto the couch, which was already too full, Ransom on one end and Holster in the middle of Nursey and Dex.

Whiskey pointed in Dex’s general direction, and told the captains, “Apparently, Dex has never had sex.”

Holster threw a big arm around Dex’s shoulder and turned toward him. Dex could smell tub juice wafting off of him. “Dex! My dude. My man. Bro. We gotta resolve this.”

“It’s not a problem. There’s nothing to resolve.”

On the other side of Holster, Dex could see his boyfriend’s concerned face. Nursey knew that Dex’s sexuality (well, his asexuality) was still a touchy subject. On the best of days, it was hard for him to have a conversation about. On the days after a game loss and with a group of drunken and less than subtle frat boys, well…. Chances were that it wasn’t going to go well.

“No, but Dex. Dexy. Dex. Sex is so good. Tell ‘im, Rans, tell him about… Shit, what’s a good one for Dex? Crab fishing in the dead sea.”

Dex scrunched up his face. “Dude, that’s fucking gross. And no, whatever fucking euphemism you use, the answer is no.”

On the other side of Holster, Nursey stood up and held a hand out to Dex, and yeah, that sounded like a better idea than having a discussion about life choices with a very drunk Holster. Dex pushed off the couch with a solid fist to Holster’s thigh, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary. He followed Nursey under the caution tape and up the stairs to Chowder’s room.

They spent the rest of the not-kegster (because apparently it could only be a kegster if they won the game) hiding out, watching Brooklyn-99. Dex could feel Nursey sending him concerned looks, but he ignored them. They fell asleep together, cuddling on the thin mattress.

When Dex woke up, he felt like he was roasting. Sometime during the night, Cate and Chowder had climbed into bed with them. Somehow, Cait ended up cuddling close to Nursey, while Chowder was curled up at their feet (probably because it was the closest to the bathroom door… he was a bit of a messy drunk).

Dex stripped off his hoodie and headed downstairs, where he could already hear the sounds of Bitty’s hangover breakfast being cooked. Bitty was in front of the stove wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, listlessly tending to a pan. Ransom was sitting at the table, head in his hands; his shirt was on backwards. Holster, who had by far been the drunkest of the night, looked the most aware, running a big hand over Ransom’s back.

Dex really hoped that the conversation from last night had been forgotten in a daze of alcohol. He managed to get as far as pouring milk into his coffee when that hope was shattered

“Dex, we have a score to settle, my dude.”

“The fuck we do.” Dex slammed the fridge a little too hard, making Ransom hiss and Bitty flinch at the loud noise of rattling bottles inside.

Bitty waved his wooden spoon, pointing at Holster and Dex in turn. “If y’all are gonna be fightin’, you’d best get your butts out of my kitchen. It is too early and I am too hungover.”

Holster held up his hands in surrender. “Not fighting, just discussing. Important things. Very important discussions.”

The rest of the team chose that moment to walk down the stairs. Cait had pulled on Dex’s sweater, which fell well below the shorts she had been wearing to sleep. Chowder was following behind her, eyes closed, holding onto the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt so that he wouldn’t fall over. Nursey brought up the tail, shirtless and rubbing a hand over his stomach blearily.

He headed over to Dex and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Cait settled her boyfriend in an empty chair before heading to the coffee maker and making a mug that Dex knew was for Chowder, since she didn’t drink caffeine. She bumped Dex’s shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“What is a very important topic?”

Holster jumped at the opportunity. “Dex has never had sex.”

At the stove, Bitty shook his head and muttered, “Lord give me strength.”

From where he was huddled, Chowder muttered something that sounded like, “a deck has an ace.” The only one who seemed to understand him was Cait, who looked between her boyfriend, Dex, and Holster with a surprised look on her face.

“Oh. Well, okay then. That makes sense.” She handed the mug to Chowder and perched on his knee.

Holster opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, Bitty dropped a plate piled high with his special hangover eggs in the center of the table. Ransom and Chowder both groaned at the noise.

Trying to head off any more discussion before it began, Dex told Holster, “Look, I’m asexual. I don’t feel sexual attraction, so I don’t want to have sex.”

“But, like, how do you know that if you’ve never had sex?” Dex could tell that Holster had good intentions, or at least not bad ones; he just didn’t know any better. Hell, he wasn’t even focused on Dex. Instead, he had an arm slung around Ransom’s shoulders, trying to push a spoonful of eggs at his boyfriend.

Nursey broke into the conversation. His tone sounded casual, bored even, but Dex knew differently; that was how Nursey sounded when he was pissed off. “Yo, Bitty. Have you ever had sex with a woman?”

Bitty didn’t bother answer, just gave Nursey a look over the top of his sunglasses that said it all. Nursey turned his attention forward. “C, you ever fool around with a dude?”

“Nope.” Chowder didn’t bother to look up from his coffee.

“Cool, cool. Holster, have you ever let Ransom sleep with anyone else while you’ve been together?”

Dex could see Holster’s arm tighten slightly around Ransom’s shoulders. “What’s your point, Nurse?”

“I just find it funny,  is all. You never questioned Bitty being gay, or Chowder being straight, or whether or not you’re actually polyamorous. You never tried to force anyone else into bed when they clearly don’t want to go. But Dex is somehow different, I guess. Weird.”

Without waiting for a response, Nursey stomped off. Dex followed after him. He heard the creak of the stairs, but when he got to Chowder’s room, he found it empty. It was a few seconds before he realized the window was cracked.

Dex absolutely hated the Reading Room, but he knew Nursey found it relaxing when he was in a particularly bad mood. He could make an exception for his upset boyfriend, so he climbed out, careful not to look down.

Nursey was sitting on the folding chair that had seen better days, rolling a cigarette between his hands. There was a tension in his shoulders that Dex hated to see. He sat down next to the chair, bracing himself on the roof with one hand and holding the other one out.

It was a long minute before Nursey sighed and handed Dex the cigarette. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“What for? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Dex wanted to march right back downstairs and punch Holster. He could say whatever he wanted about Dex, but upsetting Nursey was a step too far. Stress smoking was one thing. It didn’t take a lot to drive Nursey to pull out his emergency pack. But Dex had worked long and hard with Nursey about feeling guilty about things he had no control over. Nursey only did that when he was well and truly upset. Fucking Holster.

“I’m sorry that I spoke for you. And that you even had to deal with any of that shit to begin with The Haus should be a safe space for you,not a place where you have to explain yourself over your sexuality. It’s just bullshit, Dex.”

When they started dating, Dex and Nursey only had a short conversation about Dex’s sexuality. Well, it wasn’t a conversation so much as Dex told Nursey that he was ace, that they wouldn’t have sex, ever, and if that was a problem, they should stop before it even started. Dex was realizing that he owed Nursey the full conversation.

“Have I ever told you about Emily? Or Jake, or Tyson?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Dex flicked the unlit cigarette over the edge of the roof and turned his attention fully to his boyfriend. “Emily was my first girlfriend. She was my first crush, and my first kiss, and she wanted to be my first time. But I didn’t want to have sex. She… well, she didn’t take that well and among other things, she called me a fag. That got me thinking, maybe I was gay.

“So, Jake was my first boyfriend. Except, in the end, I didn’t want to have sex with him either. He knew I was asexual before I did. He was supportive and I just… I fucking loved him, Nursey, I swear. He went off to Stanford, but told me that Samwell was more accepting, and that I could find someone for me.

He cleared his throat. “Tyson was in my kinesiology class the first semester of freshman year. We flirted and went on dates, but I made the decision not to tell him about being ace. When it did finally come up, it was like a repeat of Emily all over again.

“I thought that Emily’s reaction was because we were from a small town, or because she was straight, or that she was the outlier. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that the shit Holster’s pulling? That’s the norm, and I’ve accepted it. He’s not trying to be malicious, he just doesn’t get it. Yeah, it pisses me off that he’s being ignorant, but at the end of the day, people who are supportive, like Jake, are who matter. You’re the only one who matters, Nursey.

Nursey finally looked at Dex. He didn’t say anything about Nursey’s misty eyes, just tilted his head up for a soft kiss.

Nursey clambered out of the folding chair so that he could cuddle closer to Dex. Head titled to sit on Dex’s shoulder, he asked, “So tell me about this first love… Jack? Jace? What was his name again?”

“Fucking jerk.” Dex couldn’t help but smile. “You would love him, too. He’s-”

[tandembicycles]

THIS IS ALREADY LONG SO I’M PUTTING IT UNDER A READMORE, BUT IT’S EVEN LONGER BECAUSE I ADDED MY COMMENTARY THANK YOU TI.................................

You awaken fairly easily today. Your head is a bit foggy still, but the day is new and you have work to do. So you shuffle out of bed and down the hall, ignoring the persistent but slowly lifting sleep fog as you start to grab everything for breakfast.

—-

Once the pan is heating and all of the ingredients for the pancakes are gathered, you hear the floor boards creak and a set of footsteps makes its way down the hall toward the kitchen. You hum happily as your husband comes up behind you, and lays his head on your shoulder.

“Need any help with that?” he asks while nuzzling into the side of your neck. You laugh and pat the top of his head, taking a second to run your hand through his hair.

“Well,” you say, turning, “If you’re offering, then how can I refuse?” He chuckles, pulling you in close and pressing a quick but passionate kiss to your cheek.

“Maybe breakfast will be done before I have to leave this time.” You pout at his light and teasing tone, pulling back and crossing your arms while trying to act insulted.

“If I remember right, it wasn’t me who charred the toast.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the counter with a hand held up to his forehead in feign defeat.

“Oh you’re right! How could I ever forget the toast!” He flashes you a teasing smile, making you crack a grin of your own.

“Alright, alright. Now are we going to make breakfast before you have to leave for work? Or is today the day of the drama contest?” He laughs, moving away from the counter and toward the fridge, making sure to brush against you slightly on the way.

“I’ll get the fruit and bacon?” You nod, smiling.

“I’ve got the pancakes and eggs.”

—-

The kitchen fills with the smells and sounds of the soon to be breakfast. You and Shouta are pressed next to each other at the stove, you minding the eggs and last remaining pancakes and him the bacon. Occasionally one of you will steal a quick kiss or press against the other’s shoulder, eliciting a happy hum.

Time passes quickly, and soon enough the table is set with all the food the two of you made laid out on it. As you start to grab food and fill your plate, you catch him gazing at you intently. The only response to your slightly questioning look is a shrug and a smile. And it’s one of those really good smiles as well, soft and almost delicate. The kind that makes the ever-present shadows under his eyes fade away and the rarely seen smile crinkles appear. The genuinely happy ones. The ones that he only ever shows openly around you.

You sigh, leaning your chin on to your hand, and admiring the man who’d so awkwardly asked for your hand in marriage all that time ago. How nervous he’d been, stuttering slightly with each word and shuffling his feet. The fact that he’d pulled is hair back and put on an outfit from his minimal number of dress clothes. You smile fondly. Yeah. There’s nobody on Earth that you’d rather be with.

He glances up from his plate, shooting you the questioning look this time. You simply shrug, the soft smile still on your face, before going back to eating in the hopes of finishing breakfast before it gets cold.

—-

The two of you finish fairly quickly after that, and place the dishes in the sink for later before properly getting ready for the day. You opt to stay in your pajamas, seeing as today is your day off. You sit on the edge of the bed, mulling over how unlucky it is that your day off isn’t the same as Shouta’s this time. Though at least not having to worry about your own clothes allows you time be concerned over his. Like the fact that he’s put the exact same jumpsuit on for the last three days.

“Don’t put that one on,” You say, as he goes to pick up the crumpled pile of black fabric. You head over to the closet and pull out a clean one. “Here, wear this one instead.” He takes the offered jumpsuit slightly sheepishly, grinning at you.

“I keep forgetting that you remind me to clean and hang up these things. Guess I’m still slightly used to having all of them in a pile.” You sigh lightly, shaking your head. Some things may never change. Before the two of you had moved in together, he didn’t even remember or have the time to properly sleep, much less do things like the laundry and cook a solid meal. But then, you didn’t at times as well. It became a system of sorts eventually, one reminds the other to do something if they forget.

You return to your perch on the edge of the bed as Shouta shrugs off his pajamas and pulls on the jumpsuit, and you can’t help but stare. The loose cut of his clothing doesn’t show it, but his body is incredibly well toned, most of it tight and well maintained muscle. (Though he does have a pretty soft stomach which makes for a great place to lay your head.) You lean forward slightly, eyes tracing the curve of his back and the scars littered across it. They worry you, even if they are the result of him winning out in the end. It’s hard, knowing the danger he puts himself in. Even if it isn’t as bad as it was before. You jump slightly at a deep chuckle.

“Enjoying the view?” You grin, pulling up a knee and resting your head on it.

“I can admire my wonderful husband, can’t I?” He laughs again, returning to his previous activity.

“Fair enough.” You stand as he zips up his jumpsuit, and grab his scarf off the bureau, before walking over and looping it around his neck and gently tugging it to get him to lean forward. You press a kiss to his lips, smiling as he hums happily. You let go of the scarf before taking a step back and turning toward the door.

“Come on, you’re going to be late for work again. The new generation of heroes isn’t going to teach itself.” You head down the hall first, stopping at the coat rack on the wall and pulling his goggles and belt off it. You turn to find Shouta already with his boots on, pulling his (still) ridiculously yellow sleeping bag out of the closet. You laugh slightly as you offer him the belt. Yeah, some things will never change. He accepts the item, dropping the sleeping bag in favor of clipping the belt around his waist.

“One last thing,” you say, holding up his goggles. He leans forward, dipping down a bit so you can comfortably place them on his head. You go to back up a step, task done, but before you can his arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

“I really wish I didn’t have to go to work today…” he mumbles into the side of your head. You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck.

“So do I. I wish we could have spent the entire day together. But there are kids you have to teach.” He makes a noncommittal sound burying his face further into your hair. “Come on, Shouta. The sooner you go to work, the sooner you can come home.” He sighs, pulling back slightly to look you in the eyes.

“True…” He then leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, which you happily lean into. When you break off, he leans forward again, pressing a light kiss to the edge of your jaw. “I love you JR… So, so much…” You return the soft kiss, lingering for a few seconds longer before pulling back.

“And I love you Shouta. Beyond words.” He smiles, letting out a contented sound and pulling you against him for a second before reluctantly letting go.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to work.” He presses one last quick kiss against your cheek, before opening the door and heading out. You sigh, leaning against the hall wall. It’s going to be lonely having your day off without him. But…

You grin as your phones buzzes, a cat emoticon showing up in your messages, followed by several pictures of what looks like a stray from the neighborhood.

Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

Holy fuck this is long oh my God I’mfuckign

H-HUSBAND????????????????????????? H-HEAD ON S HOUDLER........... CUTE................

KISS..................... CHEEK KIS.S................

bruhisng..................

“it’s one of those really good smiles” I KNOW THE KIND..............

F-FOR FUCKKC’S SAKE *GRASPSSCHEST* GOFOODD.........

FORGETFUL COHABITATION GOD BLESS...................

THE FUCKGINF I KNEW IT WSA SCMOING IM TAKGN A BREAK FROM THE NEXT SCENE I KNEW IT OWULD COME GOD DAMN IT MY FACE IS RED OAY M TAKING A BREAK  A BREA K

AND I’M BACK I NEED TO TAKE ANOTHER REAK

im back again

HOW COULD I NOT ENJOY THE VIEW

SSSTOP SATYUNG HUSBAANNNDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

KISSUUU

I SAW SOMERHING SO NOWI HAVE TO TAKE ANOTYER BRAK

IM BACK

anohtrro kis s s

hhguguuvu

JJJJAAWWWWW KISSDHFDH “LOVE YOU” NOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGNUFVCKGB

HHFHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFFFGGGFGGDHFHHDBDHFBFBRJHFHDSJHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!