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randomwriteronline · 4 months

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Pohatu was not here.

Kopaka registered the thought in an objective manner, not angry nor relieved, and kept laying down in the half miserable little cave in Ko-Metru which might as well have been his sad attempt at a den.

Misfortunes and blessings always come in groups of six; so of course six Visorak had stubbornly remained in Metru Nui even a thousand years after being told to scram, one for each of its sections, and of course each Toa Nuva (Takanuva notwithstanding, furtunately) had gotten bitten by one of the disgusting little pests while exploring the desolate city that felt so incredibly unnatural compared to the island paradise they had just left, and of course the Hordika venom had ensnared them all in an iron fist and mutated them into six new unwanted flavors of monstrous Rahi-adjacent beings.

Sure, they weren't alone in this hellish situation: there were the Matoran, and the Turaga, and the Rahaga, and Keetongu. Technically speaking, this should have been a non-issue, and it shouldn't have been taking so long to be rectified - it was just a matter of wrangling the Nuva up all together, making them hold hands, slapping the majestic Rahi in their circle of friendship, and boom. Problem solved. No more Hordika. But things could never simple, and this time the new complications were caused by the very simple fact that the venom had that annoying effect of adding on top of the already horrendous packaging of the new forms a nice complementary picnic basket of inane oddities and instincts that had immediately taken over the Toa's lives and made them even harder to handle than they already were.

It is one thing to deal with a bunch of seven-foot-tall children who came out of their canisters full of elemental powers, a lot of fighting experience, and no knowledge of the world whatsoever. It's even more of a hassle to look after those same barely matured kids after they've promptly gotten even more power, instantly had it stripped away, regained it, gotten the tar beaten out of them by snakes in gundam suits, and gained a brand new even taller baby brother. All things considered, the former Toa Metru and their villages had done egregiously already.

But to deal with semi-feral Toa was a new can of beans entirely.

Not that the interested specimens were having an easier time wrangling themselves - by all means, they were failing at that rather spectacularly: Gali had begun voicing her displeasure with her brothers in more assertive manners, which would have been very healthy if she also hadn't fallen into a habit of roaring them into submission and smacking them around like Kohlii balls if they were too stubborn for her opinion; Tahu had put Ta-Metru under a protective seige of one, essentially, yelling at his siblings to piss off when he saw them come too close and whining inconsolably when his cries and growls frightened the Matoran away from him as he tried to groom them clean almost obsessively; it had taken roughly two days to find Lewa after he'd mutated, plus one and a half to catch him, the other half to convince him not to start another round of Tag across the Metru and another good dozen hours to make him promise to engage in less expansive games before they had to do all that again, because keeping him put did not work; a group of Matoran was now glued to Onua to keep him company and give him little safe excavation tasks so he would not dig directly through the Archives' floors and into the deepest pits of the world, because the last time he absentmindedly started doing that he almost collapsed half of Onu-Metru and thank the Great Spirit Taipu had managed to drag him back up or they might have lost him forever to the depths; and Kopaka, of course, had gotten an enormous anxiety attack due to his horrifying appearance and had decided that the only way to handle this was to disappear into the mountains for an indeterminate amount of time, possibly forever, avoiding any and all contact with civilization before either his looks scared someone to death or he was laughed at into his grave.

Pohatu was fine. Because of course, Pohatu was fine. He'd gotten the sensory overload of a lifetime for all of ten minutes, and then he'd gotten immediately over it and taken it all in stride. As Pohatu does.

He'd very quickly acclimated to his new body, senses, instincts, and secret languages, and since there was technically nothing wrong with him he had been allowed to leave his Metru and try to help out his siblings regain their minds from the intensity of their uncontrollable Hordika moods. His intervention had generally proven irreplaceable in those terms: just by splaying himself on the ground he was able to calm his brothers and sister's boiling rage, he could coax them into playing or stopping almost on command, and thanks to the way he angled his body at every step his mere presence soothed them into a more agreeable state. He'd even managed to find Kopaka and be admitted into his sad little recluse home, bringing him toys or food or water and tending to his needs - including his fears and his desire for privacy from wayward Matoran who tried to seek him out, reassuring them that their Toa was just fine and they needn't worry about a thing.

Perhaps he was almost a little too comfortable in this situation. Almost like this entire ordeal had given him a new role among their group, their pack - that of the peace-keeper, of the calming presence, the one who keeps everybody happy and at ease for the sake of themselves and those around them - which nobody else had been able to fill, thus easing his nagging worries about what exactly he brought of worth to the team. Maybe this was how the Hordika venom was trying to corrupt him, promising a shield from his anxieties in exchange for his and his siblings' real natures.

Kopaka pawed at the ground and furrowed his expression. His mind felt too disgruntled and heavy for these thoughts.

His entire being had been feeling too disgruntled and heavy for anything in the past few days. It was like having a weird itch in a point of the back that is just unreachable without putting yourself in an awkward position that is just as if not even more uncomfortable. Standing up was a chore, and while moving around did help it wouldn't stop the annoying sensation from sitting all over him with a light but maddeningly ever shifting weight; so he generally preferred to lounge around lazily as he allowed the days to pass him by, looking like the spit image of depression. Not that he was depressed in truth, he felt anything but - he was just... Fatigued. Lethargic. Uninterested. Maybe just too busy trying to shake off that bothersome feeling to focus on anything else around him. He had responded so differently to so many different stimuli already, he reasoned, so who was to say this couldn't have had something to do with the climate, then? If that was the case, he hated that. How dare this new form make him so tired and devoid of energy in his preferred environment and weather. He wasn't going to look for a hotter place to stay at, that was certain: the Hordika could be as miserable as it wanted here in the snow, but the Toa refused to be made miserable by migrating to any of the other Metrus.

While he'd been stuck in this funk, Pohatu had been stuck at his side. He hadn't seemed too worried about his condition, but he definitely wasn't too keen on it either: he was always gently coaxing him into at least some activity every day, usually through some of the puzzle toys that Onewa would carve for him and that he placed with Kopaka's reach, not forcing him to engage with them but offering him some low effort entertainment nonetheless, or simply sitting or laying by his side to nap with him if he really couldn't stomach to move at all. He had decided to handle the hunting for him as well, as he was clearly too distracted by his inexplicable condition to fetch food properly. It was logical to imagine that he was off getting breakfast for the both of them right now.

How nice he was, Pohatu. Nice and reliable. A real sweetheart, when he put himself to it.

Normally, when the Rahi instincts within him stirred and dropped their muddled thoughts into his mind, Kopaka snarled and shook his head in an attempt at getting them out of himself; he was his own master, thank you very much, and he did not need nor let alone want some incorporeal semi-voice to tell him what to think or do or feel.

In this case, however, he didn't fight back against them. Why should he? They were right. Pohatu was nice, reliable, and a sweetheart. Those were simple objective facts he had known and been keenly aware of for months by now - nothing less, nothing more. Even an idiot would have come to the exact same conclusions, because they were true. The mere fact that the Toa of Stone had thought of seeking him out to check on him in the first place and then decided on sticking around in a relatively unobtrusive and pleasant manner upon seeing his sorry state spoke volumes of his kindness and patience already. None of their other siblings would have managed to stand him like that, especially in their current situation.

Yes, Pohatu was so kind, the beast within him nodded as it began kneading at the ground: a very kind, very good being. He was open and friendly, so willing to listen even when he got bored, terribly stubborn and yet also fast, strong, protective, steady - maybe his quick thinking got the best of his common sense and he was not too smart at times, but that wasn't anything Kopaka couldn't fix. He had proved himself to be a great provider in times of need, and awfully loyal to boot - so many chances to desert him in favor of someone else, someone more agreeable, more fun, more pleasant, like he was, and yet it was always the Toa of Ice he was drawn to the most... He was so good at handling smaller beings as well, taking care not to frighten them too much if unnecessary: when Matoro had come around looking for Kopaka on Nuju's behalf, Pohatu had taken it upon himself to greet the Matoran in his peer's stead, carefully posing himself to appear as inoffensive as possible so that the little hunter would not react violently against him. He had even helped Matoro on his hunt, and made sure to secure him on Kopaka's back so that he would have a safe trip back to the slowly rebuilding Metru while he carried enough food for all of the villagers waiting - even allowing them to actually bask in their Toa's presence for a few minutes before his anxiety demanded kicking and screaming to be whisked as far away from people as possible again, yet another wish fulfilled by his Stone peer's unmatched affability reassuring Turaga and Matoran alike that he'd look after him. A kind heart in a powerful body; yes, his instincts purred again, making his entire frame stretch out across the ground with a sudden rise of delight, Pohatu really was a great candidate, and Kopaka was so caught up in the satisfaction of that assertion that he didn't even stop to wonder what that meant.

He pulled himself to his feet, feeling reinvigorated all of a sudden. His joints popped with a pleasant feeling, and a strange antsy excitement coursed through them in careful jolts: he began pacing around the cave restlessly, almost trotting, his previously stifling itch turning into a soft energy that pervaded his entire frame. His stomach shifted a little with a low rumbling growl and his mouth started to salivate: he probably must have been hungry, though he didn't quite feel like eating yet, either. Strange. No matter. A great candidate, his instincts kept repeating, a perfect candidate, and despite not knowing what exactly the phrase referenced he couldn't help but agree wholly, feeling more and more energized.

If Pohatu had said he didn't miss his normal body, that would have been a plain lie - but he had to admit, readjusting his teeth's grip around the poor no longer breathing thing that had the unfortunate duty of being his and Kopaka's breakfast today, that wading through the snow on four legs was much easier that on two. It still wasn't ideal by all means, what with the wet feeling it left on him and having to trudge through it because he couldn't help but sink in the freezing cold stuff; however, he'd take the mild discomfort over nearly falling face first in the white cover at every other step.

His back wagged a little. What was he excited about, he wondered briefly, interrogating his rumbling instincts? The speedier travel, the food in his mouth, or the fact that he was almost at his destination? The Rahi in his chest made him jump into a few piles of snow for the fun of it: a bit of all of that, he assumed in the end, plus the hopes that Kopaka would be awake enough to eat with him. The Toa of Ice had been woefully under the weather recently, laying around most if the time, not even wanting to go out hunting. He wasn't big on playing, Pohatu had realized very quickly - or at least not on the sort of roughhousing that their other siblings enjoyed destressing through from time to time, which made sense considering his character. No, he had much more fun tracking down scents and footprints, stalking little beasts with his light paws barely pressing dents onto the snow as he almost slid across it only to suddenly jump high!, and lodge his snout into the candid mound so hard that his spine bent from the momentum and sent him sprawling on the ground, tiny unmoving prey proudly secured in his jaws so tight that it probably hadn't even realized what had happened. He was a joy to watch, frankly, so graceful and goofy and happy - it made Pohatu almost whimper ruefully at his inability to emulate him: they could have had fun racing each other after ice lizards, or maybe one could have hidden in the snow and the other would have had to track him down and pounce him, or even just going off to find food together... Kopaka's sudden melancholy had managed to keep him even from his preferred source of fun, and if it kept going on like this the Toa of Stone was going to start seriously worrying for him.

It wasn't anything to be scared of, his instincts soothed him once again: it was a normal if fragile state for his peer to be in, just passing a little slow. His mere presence was helping, he was certain of it - he just had to wait for the right signal. After that, everything would have gone right back to how it always had been without a hitch. In the meantime all he had to do was take good care of him and make sure his needs were met.

It was very, very important, to show he could look after him so well; the Toa of Ice needed to be assured of that as much as possible, lest he found him unsuitable in the end. The beast within made his stomach clench at that discomforting thought, no doubt just as worried about losing such a close friend as Pohatu himself was. Felling his anxieties mount over his spine, the Toa breathed through his occupied teeth and calmed himself: there was no need to worry about such unlikely things, he reasoned, when Kopaka's body language had been consistently hollering with delight whenever the other so much as caught a glimpse or whiff of him. He had cuddled him out of his worst moments and offered him all of his support, and right now he had some fresh breakfast in his mouth just for him - or mostly for him, if he wasn't hungry enough or instead felt inclined to share. Pohatu could admit that hope was mostly gluttony, as he'd had quite a few snacks of his own already while stalking down a good enough prey for his friend, but still, eating together did always feel nicer than doing so all alone... But that wasn't important: the sight of the entrance brough him back to the present.

He readjusted his grip on the meal again and slipped into the cave, easily making his way into the innermost chamber. To his delighted surprise, Kopaka was up and about, looking much more energetic than he had in the past few days: he threaded across the ground restlessly as if looking for something, although his snout was not grazing the ground following a track and his stance was very different from the one he adopted when out hunting. He made a few quick turns, joints essentially sparking with energy, aching for something indeterminate. His curious, quiet enthusiasm stirred a satisfied excitement in Pohatu's chest, the source and meaning of it unknown; the Toa of Stone decided to make himself known by throwing the prey a little further in front of himself (just in case the other didn't feel like fake-battling for it for fun) and letting a long shudder cross his body to shove off any snow on it and make a curious yet mostly indiscreet noise which would have surely gotten the other Toa's attention. As predicted, Kopaka turned to look at him; Pohatu noted with no shortage of curiosity that his eyes were unusually clear.

He pointed with his snout to the breakfast he'd caught for his friend, wiggling with pride just a little bit. And yet, despite the rumble in his gut certainly pointing towards his hunger, the Toa of Ice did not even look at the tasty morsel but instead kept his gaze fixed onto his peer with a sort of twinkle in their light blue color, a quiet wordless excitement that made Pohatu's back straighten a little by reflex. Still in perfect silence, Kopaka trotted over to him until their noses grazed one another as though to sniff him - which made it all the more surprising when instead he ducked his head under the other's jaw and leaned heavily against him, rubbing between the crook of his neck and chin. Before the Toa of Stone could fully grasp the motion his friend had already slid his entire body against that spot, the bumpy spine massaging his tough skull from underneath it before slinking away once more, putting a little distance between them but immediately turning to look at him with that same strange gaze while Pohatu stumbled a little in an attempt to follow along so that the velvety feeling would continue. It struck him only then: Kopaka smelled really, really good.

Did he want to play? Kopaka never wanted to play. Not roughhousing. But something in the way he posed himself before him was very deliberately making him want to flatten to the ground and jump him, roll with him, push him, cling to him. His eyes frantically looked all over him, trying to decode his physical language and coming up with blanks - he seemed to be nudging him closer to something, but what? He'd never seen his siblings speak like that. His confusion was slowly overwhelmed by another feeling, one he couldn't put a word to - his instincts were clearly familiar with it though, seeing as they were singing along with it, exalted, delighted, bursting with joy: their reasonings weren't fully comprehensible (many of them weren't) but amidst the confusion clouding his mind he still understood the enthusiasm coursing through him, and that this was fine, this was great! He had done everything just right! Kopaka was over the stars about the careful and attentive way he'd been treated, and now he was inviting him! Waiting for him! All he had to do was follow his lead!

The Toa of Ice watched him intently. He trotted closer once again to repeat the motion: something in Pohatu's chest jumped as he felt those hips rub against his chin, and one of his legs rushed above and over them, to trap him - which caused Kopaka to swiftly slink away again, widening the gap between them with a sudden stiffness.

Right, right - this was Kopaka's game, under Kopaka's rules.

The Toa of Stone flattened to the ground sheepishly, asking for forgiveness with wide guilty eyes. He hadn't meant to do anything wrong, he'd just gotten a bit too excited... Could he really blame him? No, he read in the smooth tilt of his peer's head, he really couldn't, not when they both had that confused antsyness animating them. Another chance, just one, alright? But be careful this time. Just follow my lead, the cadence of his steps said as he approached him for the third time while his new tantalizing smell bloomed from him so magnificently that it almost made his peer shake, and wait until the right time. I'll show you. You will? I will. You promise? I promise.

Pohatu held himself very still as their snouts almost touched. On his best behaviour, wasn't he? Kopaka's throat rumbled, pleased and amused; his nose dug into the crook of the other's neck playfully, to make him squirm a little and ease him up. No need for all that formality - just pay close attention. His head slid under the Toa's chin, rubbing against it as he slid forward, and soon his skull was replaced by his neck, then his shoulders, then his back, his waist, his hips... Just as his tailbone was about to break contact, something snapped for the both of them: Pohatu shifted in an almost liquid manner until he was essentially laying on him, legs aligned with his own, chest and stomach pressed against his spine; Kopaka wriggled beneath his weight until he deemed himself comfortable enough, and his entire upper body went down placidly, laying on the comfortably cold ground while a sweet nose rubbed his nape affectionately and tickled it by sniffing.

A sudden pressure caused them to pause for the fraction of a second, confused. But their insticts purred loudly in tandem, the vibrations rattling through them so comforting and soothing, reassuring them it was alright, reassuring them everything was just fine and normal and good, everything was going perfectly, and they were doing so very good; so the Toa were gently sat back down once again and simply watched, curious, a little excited even, as the Hordika resumed to move in perfect synchrony, filling a void they didn't even know was there with a comfortable warmth.

The sensation was so good that they didn't even register anything else they might have been doing. The rest of the world didn't exist: there was just comfortable weight, their bodies' shapes fitting together like puzzle pieces, a gentle ondulating rhythm, and purring.

So much delightful and delighted purring.

All of a sudden the pressure increased again, much more forceful: Kopaka grumbled and squirmed at that, stopping his intense kneading as discomfort slithered into his mind. Pohatu was quick to nuzzle the side of his head in order to soothe him, promising it wasn't anything to be concerned about - but he too could feel it, some kind of uncomfortable opposition that kept him from going forward. He just needed a moment, a very quick moment, and if he could relax for just a second, if he could help him... They slipped closer against each other in unison, growling quietly to get rid of the foreign sensations together, and the action produced a welcome feeling, like sort sort of tactile equivalent of the onomatopoeia 'pop', dissolving both the pressure and the unpleasantness back into their rumbling enjoyment with a pair of long sighs.

The strain of getting through that moment had worn them out completely. They laid down on each other, not moving a single inch, eyes closed and breathing even; their paws rested close while they absentmindedly rubbed cheek to cheek, exchanging every now and then little licks to comfort each other without any real purpose, and their instincts continued to purr intensely, praising perfectly satisfied their performance.

They prattled on within their chests and minds about things that the two Toa couldn't hope to comprehend nor really wanted to try decoding at the moment, tired as they were.

Pohatu reached out enough to pull his morning haul a little closer: Kopaka nibbled on it without even prying an eye open, just thankful for the offered breakfast. They shared it like that, one laying over the other, buzzing with quiet affectionate rumbles between bites, wondering lazily what all of this had been about. By the time they were picking off the last morsels from the protodermis bones they'd each individually come to the conclusion not to think about any of this too much. The Toa of Ice was clearly feeling much better anyways, and his peer didn't seem to have caught whatever had been plaguing him during their strange game - so all in all, everything was back to normal.

It wasn't like this once in a lifetime happenstance was going to have any long standing repercussions in the future anyways...

#bionicle #kopaka #pohatu #kohatu #random writing #suggestive #extremely vaguely so. just the way i like it #its a hordika au! technically canon compliant due to it happening between lomn and iod but idc too much really #a discreet amount of the characterization for the nuva comes from crystaltoa's analysis tho i added the idea of pohatu wanting to stay rahi #also about that last paragraph.#:)#i will cancel this if i get too embarrassed

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paigemathews · 3 months

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Ok im resubmitting all of those pairings separately now please bear with. starting with:

chris and bianca in the past

Pairing: Chris Halliwell / Bianca Atwood

It ached to be here again. It'd been years since it had been this perfect, long before Bianca ever stepped foot there. It'd only been in the After - after magic was exposed, after the supposed paragon of good became the worst tyrant the world had ever seen, after Bianca betrayed every one of her coven's ideals for a witch with green eyes - that she had ever been in this garden.

It had been easy to make sure that no one came, a subtle spell redirecting their desires elsewhere. Bianca's mission had been clear but her parameters had been even more so: death encouraged. It would be... undeniably easier if she relied on her base abilities. He had been a spy, no stranger to innocent blood on his hands for the sake of the mission.

But he was, and always would be, a Halliwell witch first, even if he denied it. So, yes, she could gain his compliance with the lives of innocents, but she knew the Twice-Blessed. (Years and years of his being his favorite, his personal bounty hunter, his. And less than a year of being his prisoner, but, like any real occupant of their world could tell you, death was a mercy and the Twice-Blessed shed that a long time ago.) She would not let him twist her further than he already had, not as long as she had a chance to retain herself.

So instead of relying on her prey's instincts, she relied on her own. He had loved her enough to bring her into the inner sanctum of the Witches' Rebellion, make her a core part of the inner council that opposed the Twice-Blessed, gave her access to his family. He would come for her, whether he consciously knew it or not.

All she had to do was wait.

It didn't take long. With her power interrupted, he would continue bleeding out magic. It was an agonizing way to die, and she'd have turned herself over to the Charmed Ones before letting him die like that. (She wasn't sure if it was because she knew she could escape or she knew that they'd kill her. Everything was so twisted now that she couldn't be sure.) But he knew her, knew that they'd watched each others' backs for years, knew that she loved him.

It was something she'd been taught in her training: if a witch retreats, it will be somewhere they feel safe and protected.

It ached that he found her, when it had been her that had hurt him. But she had a mission to do.

Locking down her emotions was an innate response from years of training, missions, and apocalypses. Striding forward, she caught the shaky breaths as he materialized, pain in every gasp.

"You really shouldn't try to orb anymore, y'know? It could kill you."

"Is that what you want?"

Bianca couldn't help but scoff. He couldn't have forgotten that quickly. "If that's what I wanted, you'd already be dead."

It'd have been something his brother would have encouraged. Eye for an eye. Magic for magic. Pain for pain. He'd always confused his perspective with the Phoenix's.

The Phoenix held vengeance in their hearts, but this wasn't vengeance. This was pointless cruelty, a game that Bianca had never seen much point in playing.

"All I want is to bring you back."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

Circling him like a cat stalking its prey, she noticed his refusal to meet her gaze. It showed weakness, one they both knew he had.

"Same reason you knew I'd be waiting here. This is still our spot... Isn't it?"

Finally coming to a stop, she waited as he shook his head and met her gaze head on. There was a familiar steely determination, never broken over the years. It brought her no pleasure to know that she'd be the one to crack it, despite the many who'd tried.

"No. This is what we hoped it would be. This is what we were trying to preserve for our future. You remember?"

She couldn't totally contain the swell of anger at that, nearly cutting him off as she said, "We were naïve to think that we could change anything. To stop him."

"You don't believe that. Or at least you didn't." He looked away from her.

"Well, I do now." She'd been one of the Twice-Blessed's favorites, but she'd never known the full depths of his power. Not until it had been turned on her in combination with his rage. She'd only survived because he didn't want to give up his favorite prisoner.

She and Chris both decided that she would be left behind. He needed time for the portal to close, and she was the one who could best defend it. She could escape the Twice-Blessed, or at least hold out against him, they thought. They had been wrong.

"What happened to you, Bianca? How did you turn you back?"

"How did he turn you?" a mocking voice asked, uncaring of the answer. She couldn't have answered anyway-

Leaning on the bench, she said, "That's not important. What is important is that I was interrupted of stripping you of your powers. And if I don't finish what I started, you'll die soon."

She meant more than just her attack. She had one chance to bring him back, or Wyatt would send others. None of whom had a vested interest in keeping Chris alive, or bargaining for his safety, like she did. He was all she had left.

"Think of it as... an infection. And I'm the only one with an antidote."

"Here or there, I am dead anyway."

"No." Bianca had sacrificed enough to make this deal, and she would ensure that it was upheld, no matter the consequences. "He gave you his word he wouldn't hurt you. Please, Chris. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

He looked at her, and Bianca knew already that she'd lost him. He dissolved into orbs right as she lunged forward, only feeling the light brushing her hand as they disappeared.

He didn't understand, damn it. And she couldn't lose him. Not again.

#charmed #asks #starlightandsunshine #chris halliwell #bianca #bianca atwood #chris x bianca #february ficlets #sooo. i actually was initially gonna do a slightly cuter au thing of them in the past but uhm #we get canon compliant instead!#i'm not totally sold on this but i have a migraine need to shower and its almost midnight so we're posting #i technically could have waited but i got excited oopsies

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courtney-deserved-better · 10 months

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anyway i think emma and sanders should’ve been besties

#i’ve written like 25k words for a ridonculous race au i thought of on a whim last week and its certainly a wacky mental state to be in #sanders is actually not at all relevant to the fic but emma sure is. im just rotating her in my head i love her. she is so fucked up #(i am purposefully making her backstory even more fucked up than it is in canon while still technically being canon compliant wheeeeeeeeee)

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totaled-drama · 10 months

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So, in the little league AU, do the other kids know about Zee's prosthetic? If so, how do they feel about it?

Hi :) Thank you for the question!!

The other kids know!! Zee’s prosthetic is treated the exact same way it is in canon.

On the ice, he wears a prosthetic that has a blade attached to it for skating. He brings another prosthetic that doesn’t have the blade on it in order to swap it out when he’s off the ice.

#td talks #td little league au #the little league AU is like. technically canon compliant in the way that events will line up with canon #so like any reaction they had to his prosthetic in the show is pretty much the same

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featherlouise · 4 months

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I should actually start writing down all these ganlink fics that are in my head huh

#be the change u want to see #I have a technically canon compliant post MM ganlink au so that’s fun for my version of link #tfw ur hubby’s posessed by an ancient evil again so u have to kill him #(and then LU comes into it and he’s seeing the sword that killed his hubby every day ahahaah)#feather speaks #I made art for a Totk LU au with Time in Flora’s place #I’m fucking insane about ganlink u don’t understand #maybe u do #you’ve seen my hk aus

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divinefeline28 · 1 year

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two of them (image id in alt)

#deltarune #susie deltarune #kris deltarune #kris dreemurr #swift art #kris #technically for my au but in the beginning its mostly canon compliant. so #w/e im putting these in the tags im proud of these

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bizarrelittlemew · 5 months

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Hey thanks for that great detailed and researched answer about AU's in this fandom! (/gen) My curiosity is satisfied! It's always interesting to see how fandoms respond to their shows in fic, isn't it? 😄 AU's just aren't my thing and I'll keep digging for the canon-verse fics, but you all keep writing them! Ed and Stede *will* be in love in every 'verse if you carry on! 💕

you're welcome!! and thank you for the interesting question!

i wish you happy reading and that you will have a good time if you ever do give AUs a chance 😌

a note due to some of the tags on the other post: canon divergence is tagged as AU on AO3 (and is supposed to be tagged that way). "Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence" is the commonly used tag, and is a subtag of "Alternate Universe - Canon". so if you're interested in canonverse fics and don't mind that they deviate from canon, i'm guessing filtering out the "Alternate Universe" metatag will hide them from you. if you look at the subtags here, you can get some inspiration for exactly which tags you want to filter out (or search!) ✌️ (it's a long list but you can see which tags are subtags to other tags - e.g. if you filter out "Alternate Universe - Retail" you automatically exclude bookstore, flower shop, music store, pet store etc.)

#asks #Anonymous #i went and counted and was kinda surprised i actually had 5 canonverse fics because i feel like i just write aus #granted one is canon divergent and one is a microfic and two of the others are post-s1 so only one is technically canon compliant #anyway i hope this is helpful!!

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frienderbender · 2 years

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uhhh here’s something: i finally decided where rikki would get chanel and armani’s names tattooed after they’re born lol

here’s my full rikki tattoo sheet, though these two would just be in some guys AU

#i mean like technically the twins COULD exist in canon buuuut that makes me too sad #like i have thought about this AT LENGTH but #ultimately rikki in canon/canon-compliant setting has too much he needs to get figured out before even thinking about a family y’know #though i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have a very long IVV AU comic? scenario? the context of him having been a dad #but ohhh my god that’s so fucking sad. too much for me.#anyway this got so derailed. let’s just focus on some guys AU rikki (the better rikki)#my art tag #literally just a bunch of guys au

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sunderedazem · 2 years

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“you don’t have to tell me. but if you do decide you want to, i’ll be here.”

For Steve and Corrain

:D you have chosen the Best Bois from the MCU/Moonrise legacy monstrosity! <3 (yay!!)

(Set during Age of Ultron)

It was...quiet. Somehow.

The porch was empty aside from himself and the crickets singing softly among the trees and tall grasses framing Clint's farmhouse, and yet the silence was deafening. Even in the midst of the soft rush of reeds in the breeze, the distant cooing of an owl, or the gentle windchimes tinkling overhead- the silence was oppressive, pinning him down. Breathing felt faraway and dim, the whisper of his own heartbeat muffled. It wasn't normal, this heavy, choking silence in his head and yet it remained in place, too heavy for even him to lift alone.

He shifted, leaning against one of the sections of railing that Clint hadn't taken apart yet. It was sturdy, groaning only a little under the weight of his grip. Absently, he traced a thumb over the chips in the white paint, trying to ground himself.

Nat was shaken badly by whatever the Maximoff girl had showed her. Very badly. He didn't know what fear could have possibly broken the Black Widow's composure like that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't want to find out. And then there was Tony, and the catastrophe that had resulted from being shown his worst fears, whatever they were. Steve had to fight back a shiver, the world still oddly muffled around him, the ground and worn wooden floorboards a dizzying drop away from him now. Neither of his teammates had wanted to share their waking nightmares, but...clearly they had both been awful. Terrifying on a scale the rest of them couldn't imagine.

And maybe he'd understood that without them needing to say anything. Felt it, somehow, like the hollow ring of his shield against Thor's Mjolnir, except...echoing and cold and prickling down his spine like the ice of the Arctic. Fear not his own, clawing at his chest.

Sending him farther and farther from the creaking porch now miles below him.

Then there was a flicker of warm rain at his back, and suddenly the puppet strings attached to his limbs were reeling in, the earth rushing closer as he fell back into himself, dazed. Suddenly the noise was loud again, ambient sound enough to keep him present - and he whipped around, heart in his throat. And the tickle of warm rain, gentle and dry against the back of his neck - it smiled kindly at him. He knew this feeling, didn't he?

He blinked at the familiar silhouette before him as Corrain stepped quietly into the porchlight, humming softly to himself, his long white braid draped casually over one shoulder. His muted eyes were fixed on Steve's face, the soft grey-blue gaze searching. He had eyes like a summer thunderstorm, Steve thought absently, again.

"You've been out here for a while," the alien man said after a moment's pause, cocking his head to one side and gazing placidly up to meet Steve's racing-heart stare. "Everything all right, Steve?"

There was another set of chirps from the crickets in the reeds, a little, encouraging song to tamp down the instinctive urge to put the shield up - to hide Steve Rogers behind Captain America. But he swallowed it, trying to take a steadying breath the way Corrain had showed him, back before SHIELD's disintegration and Hydra's fall. The smaller man had never been anything but patient with him before - he deserved more than to be shrugged off. Besides - if what he'd said about his senses of empathetic perception was all true, then he'd already know the answer to his own question. And lying had never really been Steve's style - as Nat said, he was terrible at it.

"...I don't know."

The non-answer didn't appear to faze Corrain in the slightest. Instead, he just crept closer, until he was standing at Steve's shoulder, the top of his head barely level with Steve's chin. Vaguely, Steve wondered if they'd have been the same height, should he never have touched Dr. Erskine's serum.

"You don't have to talk about it." The alien man's - Zakuulan, he was Zakuulan, a human from a distant planet on the other side of the universe - tone was steady, still impossibly kind, as if he was trying to calm a spooked animal. "But if you decide you want to - and I think you should - I'm here. And your team is here. We'll listen."

The team? It took a moment for the concept to shape itself inside his head, of Natasha and Bruce, Clint and Thor and- and Tony, all somehow listening, withholding judgement as he laid bare the old, throbbing wound of loss. Three, almost four years had passed since he'd woken up from his long slumber frozen in the arctic, and yet- the ache hadn't faded. Bucky's capture and breaking at HYDRA's hands still haunted him, and even Peggy barely recognized him now and he dreaded the day he would finally lose her too. He'd had almost four years to get used to the idea and yet...

"...I didn't see anything frightening," he said finally, the words thick in his mouth. "Not the way the others did. I...No, it's not worth sharing, really."

Corrain frowned at that, and without warning his hand came up, smacking the back of Steve's head with a surprising amount of force from someone so petite.

"Ow? Corrain, what the-"

"You tell me that whatever has you disassociating out here for thirty minutes straight 'isn't worth sharing' again and I'll outright deck your dumb ass," Corrain said flatly. Steve blinked once- twice-

"Thirty minutes?"

"Well, Natasha and Tony both went on for at least an hour, if you're trying to needlessly compare your own troubles to other people again." The grey storm of that gaze was piercing now, searing holes in his face. Steve tried his best to meet it, but could only manage for a minute.

"Look. If you don't want to share- I'm not forcing you," Corrain said, flipping his braid back over his shoulder. His voice had lost the sudden brusque edge, returning to its previous warmth. "If you're not ready to talk, that's okay. But- I think you'd feel better if you stopped stewing in it. And I think your team is probably one of the only groups of people on this planet that could have even a prayer of understanding what you're dealing with. And vice versa."

For a moment, Steve let the idea settle in his head. And then, incredulously, he turned to the short man at his side, watching as the faint smile lines on Corrain's face deepened, his mouth curling.

"You want us to all talk about what Wanda made us see, don't you?" he accused - but he couldn't bring himself to put any bite behind the words, and Corrain's smile only grew.

"Not quite, considering she didn't hit all of you," Corrain chirped out, and that odd summer-rain warmth pattered lightly across Steve's back again, like an embedded giggle in the sudden curl of comfort he felt wrapping around his shoulders. "But similar enough - and yes. You can only understand each other more by listening to what you all fear most, and it can only help you in the long run. And I think what you all fear... those fears may explain more about how you all act than you think."

"Even if mine's not- not a fear, precisely?"

The porchlight flickered then, briefly casting the smile on the Zakuulan man's face into long shadows, and by the time the light clattered back to life the grin was gone. Only a soft, tired compassion remained.

"I know," Corrain said softly. "Grieving men don't fear death - they mourn that it didn't take them too. And you haven't been scared since I met you. That's the problem."

Silence sprinkled with the windchime's tinkling music fell. Steve tried not to think about how quickly, how accurately he'd been seen through, held his tongue even in the face of that placid acknowledgement. After all- what could he say to that? He was terrible at lying.

Corrain turned, gesturing back at the warm light of the screen door behind him, and then reached back, clasping a warm hand around Steve's shoulder.

"Come on, Steve." Thunderstorm eyes flickered back towards the house, unbearably calm in the face of what had just been laid bare between them. "You don't have to say anything, but I think if you wanted to, if you found the strength to trust them enough to be vulnerable...you'd find they'd listen, and they'd understand."

#the actual adults are talking and you're basically a college kid sit down son #swtor oc #swtor x mcu #mcu steve rogers #jedi knight oc #steve rogers #moonrise legacy meets mcu #swtor jedi knight #age of ultron compliant #fic snippet #corrain #corrain gealai #moonrise legacy #trauma prompts #yeah so this is a scene from the mcu/moonrise legacy monstrosity currently in my head right now #also known as the 'Corrain adopts Steve as a Padawan' plotline #in which one steve rogers is barely scraping 20 and some change when he gets pulled out of the ice #and Corrain crashlands on Earth due to tesseract shenanigans about a year prior to the Winter Soldier #it's fully compliant with my Moonrise legacy storyline so it's technically post-swtor canon #and ends up being an mcu au #it's fucking CHAOS i just want corrain to BEHAVE HIS GODDAMN SELF and no #he's out here stealing padawans from DIFFERENT FUCKING FANDOMS #fuck you you little brat of an oc #anyway corrain's in his thirties here and steve is like 24 but because of the captain america propaganda machine everyone thinks he's 30+#and steve being an idiot with a self-sacrificing complex has chosen to not correct this #anyway i have another entire fic outline for this too help me #i'm yelling about steve being younger here because corrain is being adamant about channeling Orgus at Steve #and that's objectively more hilarious when Corrain can go #and Steve just gets offended as all hell XDDDDDD

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literary-heights · 1 year

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wow guys thinking about the homoerotic subtext (they're both canonically gay just not with each other) of the unseen past (there's literally no flashbacks for me to have based this on) of those two guys (they literally each have maybe 5 pages of screentime in a 1000 page series none of which are together) from that book (self indulgent hero x villain kind of trash with the worst most confusing political commentary for some reason) i read (in middle school) again

#in my defense it fucking slapped #my weird headcanon au kind of #au in that. it wasn't what happened but maybe technically canon compliant #NOT the actual books #they were so

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wombywoo · 1 month

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do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

#asks #fic rec #I've never actually done a fic rec list like this before...#a small glimpse into my nightly routine of browsing the ao3 trenches for something remotely readable 🫡#funny how most of these are Ghost centric...#I'm *very* particular on how I prefer Soap to be portrayed and wooo boy...is it a struggle 😔

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comfortless · 6 months

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All That You Don’t Want

PAIRING: witch!fem!reader x apprentice!König

CONTENT: 18+! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. oneshot. obvious au— so not canon-compliant!, questionable morality, mutual pining, animal death (it’s still alive! but not!), minor character death, power imbalance? technically teacher/student, forced proximity, smut; unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, cockwarming.

NOTES: title from this song! (i will never stop titling my König fics after The Twilight Sad lyrics sorry) i have never written smut in my life i apologize if this is rough!! cover: Robert Bresson, 1951 wc: 7.7k

You never wanted an apprentice, never had the need for some bright-eyed whelp shadowing you for their own benefit. The kingdom had enough competition as far as your craft went— green magic, potion brewing and enchantments, why in the world would you risk teaching someone your secrets only for them to outdo you at every turn? Those with the propensity for magic weren’t treated human, anyway. You saw the looks, uneasy and disgusted, unless of course they had need of you.

The Guild keeps your protected, scrawl your praises in every fresh sheet of parchment passed about, brings in new clients for you to keep yourself afloat without you ever having to leave your little cottage in the forest just beyond the towering walls of the kingdom. So, when you receive the damned letter, how can you refuse?

Green magic couldn’t protect you from the King’s headsman, nor could it keep you hidden away from the constant threat of bandits and other malevolent forces, but the lines in the small letter detailing your new apprentice’s abilities are enough to make you swallow back some of that displeasure.

“… proficient in offensive magics…” and “… formerly in service to the King as a worthy candidate for knighting…” even “… a skilled huntsman…” all tell you that whoever this enigmatic pup is, he would have no qualms hissing at and chasing off a few rogues if they dared step too close to your territory. You picture some ruggedly handsome and charming gentleman arriving at your door with a sword of the finest steel hanging from his side and you loathe the way that your heart seems to flutter with excitement at the prospect.

A fortnight after the letter arrived at your doorstep, you realize that fantasy is often far sweeter than the reality.

You’re busying yourself sorting out a towering shelf with haphazardly placed vials, some labeled and others… well, if you had to guess based on the color of the fluid inside, you should probably toss lest you accidentally poison the next poor woman that comes by simply wanting something to charm the cute farmhand while her piece of shit husband, far too old for her, is off on another brothel visit. You may not be equipped to defend yourself in battle, but you know very well how to make nightshade and wolf’s bane taste like milk and honey.

It’s when you turn with your arms burdened by a heap of unlabeled, possibly poisonous concoctions that you see a figure just outside your window— tall, face shrouded with a blackened veil with only two holes cut out for his moonstone eyes. You curse the way the sight makes you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping everything you were holding onto the wooden floor, brightly colored fluid and glass shards staining a nearby rug you had spent an entire month painstakingly hooking yourself. The specter just tilts his head at you before inviting himself inside. Why bother pretending to be civilized when you look like that, anyhow?

You crouch to collect the shards of glass and wipe away the mixture of maybe-poisons as he enters, not sparing him a glance even as his footfalls lead him to stand uncomfortably close. Perhaps if the entire ordeal hadn’t pissed you off you would have the sense to be afraid, consider the fact that this titan of a man could have been a thief, but something tells you that this is the bright-eyed whelp you had anticipated. The man doesn’t even bother to greet you, let alone kick his muddy boots off at the door, he just hovers over you with his face tilted downward as you scrub up the mess you tell yourself he had caused.

“Leave it to The Guild to send me a dolt,” you mutter below your breath, barely audible as you move to deposit bits of broken glass into a wastebasket at the corner of the room.

“Ja?” The man huffs amusedly.

“Ja?” You question.

“Yes.”

You give him a look, one that suggests you’re in no mood for whatever this is and he seems to stiffen. Any mirth in those haunted eyes of his is quickly snuffed out, replaced with his gaze darting from perusing your backside to the corner of the room, then back up to your face.

He introduces himself as ‘König’. No surname, no title. Though, you supposed in his language, his name was a title in itself. Perhaps your disappointment is more notable than you realize, because the man seems almost nervous around you as you introduce yourself in turn. His fingers curl into his palms in repetition at his sides, and it’s impossible to tell by the small glimpse of his face whether or not he wants to strangle you or bury himself instead.

You rise to your feet, feeling acutely defeated as you lead him around the home, showing him to each room before stopping at the door to his own and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll stay here,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes as he lowers himself to look at you, thanking you graciously as his hand lingers a bit too long on your shoulder. You gently reach to pry it off, only to feel him grip at your fingers running his thumb over each knuckle before finally drawing away.

You watch from the doorway as he inspects the room. A bed a size two small for a man such as himself sits in the middle, a desk cluttered with spare vials of ink and a few quills made of swan feather, and a towering bookshelf filled with books on simple magic that you haven’t bothered to touch since you were a girl. He seems pleased, despite how very little effort was made for him. As much as you wish otherwise, you almost feel the sting of guilt when you watch him seat himself on the small bed and his eyes light up as he looks to you.

It didn’t take much perception to see the world hadn’t treated this brute too kindly.

He hunts your dinner, bringing home several rabbits that he took his time to skin and prepare for cooking in the yard. Even more, he roasts them over a fire he stoked up for you in a display of gratitude. You watch him from the fogged window as he seats himself by the fluttering flames, watching the meat with a focus that speaks volumes about his own discipline.

“Have you lived on the land for long, König?,” you ask him when the two of you are seated at the table, wiping away the remnants of your meal from your lips with a small handkerchief.

He’s only rucked up his hood enough to eat, the scars lining his jaw run deep, the skin pasty there. He looked far too pale to even be a living thing at all, but his thin lips pull into a grin at your question. “You can tell?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the tone of his voice suggesting sarcasm. “Perceptive little witch.”

You furrow your brow at him, surprised by his sudden arrogance. You would have sooner expected the man to tear a hole through you than meet your little question with a cocky response if his twitchy behavior was anything to go by. But… his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the amused lilt mixed with his accent, some natural charm that makes areas of you ache that haven’t been touched in years.

“A man must know to feed himself, ja?”

“Well, I don’t hunt.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, raising a hand to readjust his hood, pulling it back down over his face. König is not pretty, far from it from what you could see, but you almost find yourself downtrodden that he’s hiding himself again when you were only just starting to find yourself curious.

“I will teach you,” he suggests as he clears your table, depositing both your dishes and his own into the washbasin at the far corner of the kitchen. He’s helping, and your eyes merely track him dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to, König— I, um. I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember?” You’re trying to sound authoritative, like a proper mentor but it’s fruitless, really. How long had it been since a man was this close to you, living out in the forest? You had clients, sure, but in your craft you came to know about their proclivities, their ailments, and any interest you may have had died with their innumerable requests.

The Guild had set you up, surely, you decide as your eyes wander over to the man washing your dishes, the man who had prepared your dinner, who had stared openly at your ass. The man who smelled of dew and timber and fire smoke. The man with the most beautiful, tired eyes you had ever met.

You can see the muscles of his back through his tunic, tightly bundled up from where he’s drawn his sleeves to his bicep to wash up the remnants of dinner, mind almost numbing from the sight alone. It felt like some divine torture, to be sent something you adamantly did not want only for that very same thing to make your pulse quicken and throat dry.

“I want to teach you,” he tries again.

You feel sinful for the place your mind goes then. Do the ladies in the kingdom often allow monsters to bed them? Is his size comparable to the stature?

“Okay.” Your voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He finishes up his cleaning and turns to look at you as he wrings his hands over the washbasin, his eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Grinning again like a wolf knowing he’s got his claws in you.

— — —

You go over the standard protocol when dealing with customers seeking remedies with König as you hear the approaching horse whinnying out in the yard. Simple, standard. Most people had a wariness for those who were touched by magic, understandably so. It’s human nature to fear what isn’t fully understood. With König’s imposing height and the veil over his face, you needed him to be extra careful in these situations. He doesn’t seem to take offense at your fretting, merely smiles beneath the veil as you speak and all is settled and well by the time your client wraps lightly at the door.

You swing the door open with a polite smile, hands clasped at the lap of your dress. The smile is maintained even as you catch sight of his face, scars from a horrific burn covering over half of it, his right eye filmed over and sightless in its socket. He wasn’t here to charm a lady or conceal his face with glamours, only for a balm to alleviate the lingering, phantom pains that stretched from his scalp down to his neck. A decent man, and a damned good blacksmith from what you had heard. He was one of your favorites.

König observes from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest without a word as you fetch the jar of balm for the client, accept his coin and send him back on his way.

“Oh.. I don’t know how he got that nasty burn but it’s hard to look at isn’t it?”

König gives you a look, something unsaid hinted at just beyond the surface of his icy eyes, and you realize it’s a little too late to pull your words back.

— — —

Days seem to pass by with an awkward tension in the air. It’s not because of his tutelage under you, either, because he’s doing surprisingly well with his studies. Potion crafting is a tricky, fickle sort of thing. One mistake and an entire batch is ruined and the gods only knew when you would stumble upon what was required whilst foraging again. König is careful, attentive as he follows your instruction. He studies diligently, spending his free time reading through his books, often out in the foyer and if not for how skilled he was, you would assume it was all for show. Wishful thinking, a vicious yearning settling in between your breasts that wants for him to try and impress you, to court you.

It’s tense because you’ve found you can’t keep the man out of your head. In the late hour when the house has fallen silent, you could often hear his desperate grunts through the thin slats of wood separating your own room from his. You’ve imagined the sight of him fisting his cock, biting down onto his scarred lip as he whines through his release more times than you would ever confess. The gods themselves couldn’t pry the admittance from your lips that you wait up sometimes to hear him with your own hand between your thighs.

And König had this look about him now, more confident as he walks about. His hands don’t twitch as much when the two of you speak.

It’s the seventh morning as you’re preparing tea for the both of you that he enters the cottage entirely nude (apart from the hood; he seems insistent about keeping it almost entirely on in your presence). His body drips with river water, looking more like the skillfully carved statues that took residence in the castle courtyard than any man at all. You can’t help your staring, and he seems unperturbed by it as he slips behind you to set some freshly plucked milkweed on the wooden countertop. So focused on the cords of tight muscle layering his body, the obscene thing swaying between his legs, you hadn’t even noticed he had bothered to collect an ingredient you so desperately needed.

A man such as he should be seated on a throne, worshipped by a harem of pretty ladies, all pawing at his lap. Yet— he merely had you, ogling him as openly as he seemed to do to you.

“For the elixir,” he hums, sounding amused as he tilts his head to look you over as he had a striking amount of times already.

“Yeah.” You try to subtly clear your throat, cursing yourself for the way your reaction prompts his eyes to dart to the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Thanks.”

“You look pretty today.” He’s making everything worse. Turning your quiet life around and filling you with some horrid feeling you’ve avoided for years out here in near-isolation. “You look pretty everyday,” he corrects himself before you can speak. The obscene pillar between his legs seems to grow at the sight of you, and if you were not certain before, you know assuredly now that something has cursed you.

A good, knowing witch would tell him that his compliments were inappropriate, unwarranted. She would tell him to not walk around with his cock on full display and send him off to practice mundane spells as punishment. You are not a good, knowing witch at all if the warmth on your face is anything to go by.

“How was the river?” You ask instead, graciously retrieving a towel from the cupboard to hand to him. Despite how orderly you tried to keep things here, it’s not the water he’s dripping all over the hardwood that has your mind spinning.

“Gut.” He says words in his native tongue, often, and you’ve already grown accustomed to deciphering them. They sound prettier on his tongue than your own. He accepts the towel and merely draping it over his broad shoulders. “Come with me next time,” he offers, all but innocently.

God damnit.

“I made tea.” You’re trying to avoid his undressing stare, busying yourself with the tea kettle. The scent of mint seems to calm you as you pour the tea into your own mug, careful not to spill it out onto the counter with your trembling hands.

“I like you.” Blunt as always, you wonder if he even has any sort of control on the things he says.

God damnit all.

“I like you too, König. You’re a good apprentice,” you respond, your nerves alight with something that you can’t quite place; a twig on the verge of snapping under its weight.

He laughs soft, and graciously gives you a reprieve from well… that as he steps out of the room to finally dress himself.

Later that evening as the elixir is fully prepared and the client arrives to pick it up, you realize that König is no where in sight. It’s not uncommon; the man certainly lacked his social graces, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the shopfront side of what you do before until you had spoken so carelessly. The client is a nervous little thing, a girl not yet a woman, anxious and shaky as she takes the vial from you with an abundance of thanks. It’s no wonder why she had requested such a thing meant to put a patch over her anxieties and communicate better now. You steal only a spoonful from the cauldron as you empty it, praying that it silences the buzzing of nerves and the fluttering in your heart as you bed down for the night.

— — —

You wake to a door slamming shut in the dead of night, followed by the quieted hiss of what you believe to be a curse in a language that is not your own. It immediately sends you on high alert, thinking back to the threat of bandits and enchanted wildlife or whatever else. Jolted from your bed by the kick of adrenaline, you tiptoe down the stairs to see that… nothing is out of place. The den is as homey as always, every vial and potion bottle in its place on the shelves. The only thing that appeared to be missing at all was a book on your shelf. You knew that book, too. It was a favorite of many of your customers, the ones with weathered skin or features that were not the golden standard of delicate, royal beauty. A book on glamours was not something that would be stolen away by any thief in the night, seeing as it wouldn’t be of much help at all without a dedicated practitioner.

It only really settles in for you that your apprentice snatched it away when you take a peek out of the window and your eyes settle on a darkened corner of the garden. Tall sprigs of lavender sprung up from the earth there, and an even taller man sat, legs crossed with your book in his lap beneath the milky glow of the moon.

König looks… agitated. Even from this distance, the glass and wall and several meters of organized plant life separating you, you can see his hands shaking as he ghosts his calloused fingertips over the pages. His shoulders tense and a fiery look in his eye. He reads the incantations aloud with proper annunciation, forced through his thick accent. Repeats them, several times over. Not a thing changes.

But you leave him be, return to bed, because despite him being your responsibility, his private matters are still his own. As much as you would like to snatch the book from his hands and confess through tears that he haunts your dreaming just as he is now, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

When the book is in its place the following morning with König still in his bed, you read over the pages heavily scented by lavender. The ones that tell you how he sees himself in truth without a single word from his own being. Too tall, too ugly, too ruined.

It’s not enough to say your heart breaks. You feel it shatter somewhere in your chest, little pieces crumbling down into the darkest pit of your middle. Perhaps he’s only doing this due to your careless words about your client the other day, perhaps he wants to be seen as something beautiful for once.

The day is spent with a heavy weariness in your eyes. König picks up some slack for you as you fester in a sadness that should not even be your own; prepares something meaty for you both to eat, incorrectly sweeps some dust from the wooden floors that you know you’ll have to properly clean later on, and even tends to the garden. He’s good with the plants, gentle as he plucks berries from their stems and cuts away only what was required with a sharp dagger.

While you’ve thrown yourself over a cushioned chair, König kneels before you to speak. He’s just finished telling you some gory tale about when he squired for Ser… something, a name you don’t even care to remember. It was a rare occurrence for him to open up, you’ve come to realize that. Maybe it was simply too soon for him, but then again, he seemed to have no qualms allowing you to hear his desperate howling at night or walk about after a bath with his cock fully erect in your line of sight. If words were too much then what the hell was all of that?

“How come you didn’t become a knight, König?” you ask him, your tone sounding a bit more dead than intended. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in his stories, you were simply still coming to terms with one of his likely innumerable secrets. “The Guild said you were a good candidate, so why?”

You ask your questions, his eyes light up. He’s not used to this, it seems, and the fact that you want to know him at all makes him giddy. His fingers drum against his thighs, eyes creasing at the corners as he smiles beneath that veil and you wonder… wonder how the world could be cruel to someone like this at all when all that you want to do is bundle up with him beneath your thick quilts and kiss him in places only lovers would.

He doesn’t respond to your question, though. Another secret for some other time, you supposed. Instead, he asks his own, “Why are you so alone?”

König speaks freely, you knew that well enough but the words that escape his lips cause you to freeze all the same. His tone is neutral, not accusatory or mocking, but there’s something— something there you can’t properly uproot.

“I’m not lonely.” A little white lie couldn’t be too terrible, yet the thought of betraying your companion in even such a small way, hurting him like you assumed so many others had before is just unthinkable. “I am sometimes, but I like living here,” you correct.

“But you are alone,” he insists.

“I am not. You’re here.”

Your words are like a charm, really, and any rationale König may have had immediately dissipates when you speak them. He climbs over you, the chair creaking under your combined weight as he looks down at you with this hope-filled expression that tugs every one of your heartstrings at once. “Let me kiss you.”

His shallow breathing flutters his veil, the hunger in his eyes more than apparent, and you’ve the sense that a mere kiss would not suffice, turning into a long night with an impossible soreness between your thighs come morning.

You shake your head and he backs off immediately, returning to sit on the floor before you instead with a simple, “Okay.”

The room falls silent for a moment. You wanted to. You’ve been longing to. And yet the opportunity had gone and went; for any normal, sane person your rejection would have been enough. Weeks spent in his company should have taught you that König was a far cry from normal. The man treats you like you’re a doll, not a seasoned witch. Takes to hiding away from any company you may have and spends his nights outside in the dark wishing and failing to change what he was.

“If I tell you why I am not a knight will you kiss me?,” he tries again as you shift to sit upright in your seat.

“What? König, no… that’s not how—”

“I will court you,” he interjects quickly, rising to his feet to stare down at you. The man was practically buzzing with excitement, and you wonder if he intends to bolt out of the house right then to bring back ample gifts of flowers and fine silks just for a chance to mash his mouth against your own.

“You’re not here to court me,” you huff with a pinched brow. Stop making this harder! Why must you always make this harder?!

“I think about you at night.”

The giant professes his affections by telling you that he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you with all the simplicity of idle talk. Somehow, that seemed less alarming than the fact that you don’t even seem horrified. Words fail you when you desperately need them most, merely gaping up at him so dumbly you must have actually belayed interest, because he continues.

“In the river too.”

“König… that’s inappropriate,” you manage to find your voice then. You know that you’re a plaster saint, too, because the thought of bathing where he spreads his seed sends a swell of warmth from your tummy to the aching blossom between your legs.

“Ja, it is… why do you tease me? The way you look…” He trails off with a shake of his head, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. He was trembling as though afraid, so violently you almost fear he’ll come crashing over you like an ocean wave. You would catch him, drown in salt water and foam, a curtain of sharp teeth and darkness.

He fidgets as he waits for an answer that never comes. What could you say? Admit that the way he feels is a mirror of yourself, that the two of you are only seconds from diving into a pool that you could never resurface from.

But just like before, König retreats up the shadowy staircase, up to his room. Another reprieve, another stone weighing heavy in the recesses of your mind.

— — —

Secrets are stupid, evil things you decide.

You’re staring into the glazed eyes of a dead buck as it stands before you on it’s hind legs. It’s head hangs limply from its broken neck, mouth gaping with each fragile intake of breath. It’s bloated belly leaks it’s own entrails as it takes a shaky step towards you, trying desperately to kick at you with the stiff limbs tucked against its chest.

“I don’t know how to make it go away,” König pants at your side, and despite his shallow, rapid breathing there’s this calm look in his eyes. This has happened before. This has happened before and to a far worse extent than a deer.

It makes sense, now, why something as trivial as casting a glamour simply didn’t work for König. The man was touched by something darker, something the King’s men would happily cut his head from his shoulders for. Necromancy was immoral and frankly, horrifying. Seeing it now, it was really no wonder why this sort of magic would send one directly to the headsman.

The deer huffs a breath, too long and ragged. It’s not used to breathing any more, after all. König steps between you two, his dagger raised. “Just… close your eyes.”

It’s over as quickly as it’s manifested and König does well at shielding you from the aftermath, your face pressed to his chest as he pulls you into his arms and walks you back home. What was meant to be a simple practicing session, resulted in chaos, and you’ve no words to give to fill the silence hanging over the two of you as he finally deposits you by the door.

You stand on shaking legs, a million questions swimming through your mind, but even as you part your lips to speak not a single sound comes out.

He looks exasperated when he finally remedies the quiet. “You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question, only a resounding fact.

“No,” you lie immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“I will go.” König’s eyes are tired, always tired. He’s already slinking back towards the door when you reach for him, almost clawing at the length of his sleeve in your own desperation. If you were cursed this man was, tenfold, and you couldn’t bear the thought of sending him back out into a world that had hurt him so. One that would assuredly end his torment should this ever happen again. You don’t know whether you’re being merciful or selfish anymore; the definitions all a blur. You only know that the thought of König leaving your side feels like the ache of a thorn embedded in your heart.

“König, please— We can figure something out, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you huff as you bury your face against his shoulder. He’s both tense and trembling beneath your warmth. “I just need time to think.”

He cocks his head, a resounding twinkle of mirth breaking through the listlessness in his eyes. “Why?”

König isn’t dull-witted. He knows the words you never have a chance to speak. No one’s ever held fast to his side like this; no one has ever truly wanted him.

You know that the second he pushes his veil up and presses his mouth to yours. It’s clumsy, the force he uses, as if he’s trying to headbutt you instead of give you his affection, but you reciprocate in turn. You breathe shakily against him when you finally bring yourself to part your lips and he immediately begins to languidly lap into your mouth, drawing his arms around you; one finding the base of your neck as the other settles on your lower back, his fingers digging into your velvet dress, bunching up the fabric enough to reveal the meat of your ass.

You both moan as though you’re already having sex, caught up in a tangle of limbs he tastes your mouth as though it were sweet wine; his tongue flicks against your own before pulling back, lapping at your lip, pushing back in in some steady repetition that makes your knees weaker. Your hands find the hem of his tunic, slipping beneath it to feel a wall of muscle layered over his abdomen and he groans into the kiss with such fervor you would think he’s already come. He tears the cloth off the second you thumb over his nipple and drops to his knees clutching at your thighs.

“I need to taste you.” He sounds so desperate, looks so pitiful as though he’ll cry if you don’t allow him to fuck you with his tongue. You’re too far gone to give him anything more than a nod, and he all-too-readily lifts the skirt of your dress, hooks his finger around the seat of your panties and buries his face between your thighs. The first sweeps of his tongue are almost punishing; he wastes no time plowing the muscle into your cunt, writhing and grinding it against your velvety walls. The sound is already obscene, but then he begins to moan.

He sounds even more desperate than those nights in his lonely room, somehow, as he paws at his own erection straining against his trousers and drives into your pussy at a feverish pace. When he finally moves to take your clit between his lips, you grasp at the top of his head to keep yourself upright, moaning so loudly you’re certain that the entire kingdom could hear. He hums, amused at this, places his hands on your ass and pushes your hips for you to grind against his tongue.

When he jerks your panties aside again to rub circles against your asshole, the tautly pulled coil inside of you finally snaps. You curl over him as you mewl, cradling his head as his tongue pushes against your labia and your slit to lap up every bit of your essence. He releases his grip on your ass as you tremble, strokes himself freely below you as he pants against your pulsing cunt. Graciously, he gives you a moment to recover before he’s rising to his feet, tearing off your ruined panties and lifting you in his arms just enough to rub his leaking tip against you, you give him a strangled cry of his name when his length brushes against your swollen clit.

“Let me fuck you,” he rasps, his eyes wide and pupils blown as you squirm in his arms. “Bitte. Please. Let me fuck you.”

“Yes— Please, please fuck me König,” you whine as your arms curl over his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate when he lies you back against your rug and pushes your knees up to your chest. His fingers flex against your flesh at the sight of your pussy still twitching from aftershocks, soaked down to your ass and pleading to be filled by him. He drops a hand to spread your lips, groaning deeply from his chest as he watches in awe as the tip of his thick cock sinks into you.

You hadn’t realized just how dirty König was until you see that look in his eye, pulling his head out only to repeatedly push into you with a choked whine of sheer bliss. You hadn’t realized how filthy you were until you find yourself tucking your arms beneath your knees to keep yourself in position so he can grope at the flesh of your ass as he does it.

“So— fuck— so schön,” he mutters as he continues to tease you like this. It’s almost hell the way he still hadn’t filled you entirely when you ache to have that long, ugly pillar buried so far it’s bruising your very womb, and it’s almost heaven the way you squeeze against him with each shallow thrust, your pussy desperate to devour his weapon of flesh.

“König…” You’re breathing his name as though it were a prayer, and as though a gift from the heavens his calloused thumb begins to rub over your clit the moment he finally sinks himself into you. There’s resistance, your cunt wasn’t meant to take a cock so large, you’re certain, but he bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, parts your knees with one hand to see your face as he gasps. You take him all, enveloping him in a vise grip and he hissed something in his native tongue, a string of words you can only imagine are praise because the way he’s looking at you now is as if he’s found a goddess all for himself.

“I’m going to fill you,” he declares as he lowers himself atop you, his weight almost crushing. “I’m going to… feels so…” His words fall short as he begins to move, groping at one of your tits as his other hand remains over your mound, flicking your clit. König’s fingers trace against your nipple before pinching it just hard enough to draw a choked mewl from you as your back arches. “Ja, liebling… you need it..”

His pace picks up, thumb deftly rolling over your clit until you spasm around his cock. It’s savage, the fervor he puts into fucking into you, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix until you cry out, only to draw back enough to bully against your g-spot until you shiver. Your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly and so hard your bite down on your lip enough to draw blood. König licks at your mouth as your sex pulses around him, groaning in tandem with your pretty cries.

He trails small kisses along your throat before biting down as his own climax hits. He alternates between spitting out words that sound like pure venom and moans that make him sound weak as he gives you one more thrust. His cock twitches so violently inside of you as he presses against your cervix your mind entirely blanks. You can’t tell if it’s his semen or your own slick spilling past his cock, painting your thighs when it all ends. You hang limply against him as he carries you over to the chair, keeping you plugged as he pulls you into his lap.

He fully unclothes you as he peppers your face and neck in sweet, open-mouthed kisses, pets you from the crown of your skull down to your back, brings a hand around your waist to pull you close as his other squeezes and squishes at your breasts. König’s gaze is adoring as your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you with a love you’ve never even known, the warmth of summer somehow still present in those eyes like glaciers.

“Will you stay?,” you force yourself to ask as if the answer isn’t already clear, his cock’s still buried in you and the man seemed utterly in love after merely having a sweaty, adrenaline addled session.

König presses his face into your hair, nuzzling at you as he kisses your temple. “You want me to stay?” He sounds bewildered, so fucking broken that he’s confused by the prospect anyone would even want him around, even if he just gave her the best fuck she’s ever had, even if she’s been staring at him adoringly since he found his way to her door.

“Of course I want you to stay!”

“Then… Ja, I will.”

It’s a declaration of love, in a sense.

König drops his hands to your hips as he kisses you again. The desperation has been strangled, buried someplace in your core. It’s sweet now when his kisses become sloppy and overwhelming. He shifts below you as he maneuvers your hips to grind against him, his length already hardening within you again. He noses at your jaw and pressed kisses to your cheeks when you take a moment to breathe. You curl your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck as your ride him, the both of you moaning soft and panting against sweaty flesh. He finishes inside of you once more just as you lift his veil and kiss along his scars.

He bathed you in the river, carrying you down to the rocky shore as though you were a treasure, his hand stroking through your hair as the water laps over your bodies. It’s not enough to simply hold you, either, because one bath becomes two after he’s bent you over a stump and licked you to completion again before rutting into you like an animal.

Nights are no longer spent with a wall between, he takes to your bed without question, ensures you’re comfortable and warm as he holds you through the night. There’s a sort of desperation in you both, two outsiders that have finally found sanctuary in one another.

“I love you.” Followed by: “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure who says it first.

— — —

“A deer?”

There’s a man in your home that you don’t recognize, looking you over as though you were well-bred cattle rather than a human being at all. Says he’s concerned about a potential necromancer after something foul slipped its way past the castle walls and paraded itself through an annual ball, sullying a few too-expensive and uncomfortably layered dresses and goring a man with its antlers.

König was seated in front of him, rigid with a forced calm you had never seen on him before, hands clasped and unmoving. You know he’s nervous anyway, his shallow breathing speaks volumes for what the veil keeps from you. You round the table to bring them both tea, trying your best to play the part of indifference as the two men speak.

König had said he didn’t know how to make it go away, and of course he didn’t, because how do you kill something that’s already died? Neither of you would have anticipated it finding its way there of all places, and in retrospect, you’re not even certain that the thought came to mind at all, you had lost yourselves in one another the moment you arrived home. Seeing as you both were the only magic-touched folks roving these woods, it was obvious why The Guild had sent this creep to question you.

“Yes. A large buck, it was,” the man continues, winking at you as he takes a sip of the warm liquid in the mug. You wished you had poisoned it, ridding the world of a man that made your skin crawl like this surely wouldn’t be too sinful. Looking to König, you realize that there’s no need for poisons, because the look in his eyes suggests that before this interrogation is over your rug will have a more stubborn stain than spilled potions and come.

“We use green magic,” you chime in flatly, giving König a moment to quiet his fury as the man turns his attention back to you. “Maybe a traveler slipped into the kingdom, it has nothing to do with König and myself. Why are you here?”

If he hadn’t already told you a thousand times earlier that morning when he took you in the garden, laid you down in a bed of blue and purple wildflowers, König would have told you he loved you right then. You were true, protecting him and risking your own head as well.

“That’s the thing,” the man begins with a laugh entirely devoid of amusement. “Your apprentice here was under similar scrutiny while he was in service to the king. A dead man brought back to life…” he waves his hand as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as though he’s recounting poetry instead of listing the reasoning why he wanted to have your lover decapitated. “… killed ten good knights. We never suspected him at the time, but all of this…” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his brow, looking somehow even more insufferable than before.

You cross the room to gather the letter signed off by The Guild, detailing your apprentice’s arrival and thrust it into the man’s face. “He would have never passed any sort of eligibility exam if that were the case, and you sent him here.”

The man takes the letter with a click of his tongue before he laughs again. “We didn’t,” he says as he taps the signature at the bottom, hardly a signature at all, only a messy scrawl, the guild master’s name even spelled incorrectly.

König didn’t meet your gaze when you looked to him then.

You made a promise to him you would figure this all out, and you would. You just needed to buy some time, slip some wolfsbane into his tea—

“On behalf of The Guild, I do apologize for the trouble this monster has caused…”

There is no time.

“I’ll be sure that he and his rotting pets are disposed of prop—“

You’re clutching at the dagger König had left on the side table without even thinking it over, fingers curled so tightly around the grip, your knuckles felt alight. The man’s voice is silenced the moment he notices as he takes a wary step away from you. It’s not, really, that you could ever even see yourself taking a life, you never have, but the thought of losing König over a horrible chance in the stars that some uncaring god cursed him with makes bile crawl up the back of your throat and white hot fury course through your veins with all the subtlety of a stampede.

It wasn’t his fault.

König places himself between the two of you and curls his arm around you protectively. If lying for him hadn’t already resigned you to the same fate, drawing the dagger assuredly had. He gently pries the dagger from your hand and tucks your face against his chest, just as he had before when he tried to correct the accidental gift of life he had bestowed to the deer, only this time… you feel the pull of his muscles, you hear sounds of the dagger meeting it’s mark as he cuts through the interrogator’s tender flesh. It takes mere seconds for you to know his blade has struck true, the dying man eliciting a weak gurgling cry from his torn throat as König drops the dagger to the floor with a clatter and strokes your hair.

He makes you stand outside while he cleans up his mess.

A sane woman would run, she would count her losses and look back on her time spent with this unhinged man with criticism. You find that you are not a sane woman when you realize the tears falling freely down your cheeks are not of fear or anger at your own situation, but at the knowledge that he’s suffered being shunned on his own for so long; that he’s killed without remorse because this is what it takes for someone like him to survive at all.

When he finally returns from burying the body and scrubbing the blood from your floor, you readily embrace him and he nuzzles into your hair.

“Es tut mir leid,” he huffs out against you, pulling you so close to him you think, pray, he’ll never let go. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not and you both know it, but you reassure him with your words and soft kisses to his cheeks as he wipes away your tears. “We can not stay here.”

We. Us. Together.

Something breaks in him at your words, and he shuts his eyes tightly to fight back the tears like claws at his eyes.

“So, tell me where we’ll go.”

He tells you of a place he read about in a book, somewhere across the sea and past a stretch of hills where the accidents he may cause won’t have him looked upon like a monster, where you can love one another in comfort, a place he’s dreamed about since he was a boy and found out just what he was when he reanimated his mother’s beloved cat. He tells you of his father’s cruelty, that a cat’s claws aren’t the only thing that’s left him riddled with scar tissue.

He tells you everything as you pack your things and begin a long walk to a shoddy harbor by the sea, his hand in your own as your board the ship to a new home, a new beginning.

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