#it had something about husks instance stare and stuff

[glittter-skeleton]

Can’t for the life of me find the post I based this on but oh well

#it had something about husks instance stare and stuff #I know Angel has a thing about not showing feet but let’s just imagine he trusts husk enough to do this okay? #fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin #huskerdust #husker hazbin hotel #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #v’s art

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Pheromones

Fandom: Mass Effect

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Selene Shepard x Garrus Vakarian

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: T - Suggestive themes but nothing NSFW

Warnings: N/A? I think (if i’m wrong let me know!)

Summary: Selene’s a little confused about something Javik says to her, she naturally asks her Turian boyfriend about it. 

Notes: Based off this conversation with Javik. I’ve never actually written Shakarian stuff in all my years of loving the ship. But, with Mass Effect: LE taking over my life, why not? 

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“So...Javik said something really...weird when I went to see him earlier.” 

It had been a long day; finding out Cerberus was turning people at Sanctuary into husks, seeing Miranda again, stopping her father from killing Oriana...it had taken a toll and then to come back and have a really bizarre conversation with their Prothean teammate? Well, Selene Shepard was glad to be back in a pair of yoga pants and a large jumper. 

If Selene was completely honest with herself she was exhausted. The war was taking its toll on her, all the responsibility that lay on her shoulders only seemed to be lightened by the support of her team and most importantly, Garrus. Her cybernetics had been bright and bold across her skin as of late, a sure sign that she was running out of steam. Despite the exhaustion, Javik's words weighed on her mind, confusing, curious and just a reminder of how alien he really was. 

Garrus came out of her, no, their shower, towel around his cowl, visor, no longer obscuring his face for once. God, it is so utterly domestic between the two of them now and something in her aches with the awareness that this might all be cut short, that domestic might never be a long term option for them. She hopes it will, hopes silently that they’ll get to retire somewhere, have a couple of kids, a varren or two, and life out their days into old age. 

“Weird? Weird to humans or...just weird?” The dual tone of his voice rings with curiosity. It had taken her two whole years of missions with him for her to actually get a good grasp on his subharmonics and even now there were things her weak human ears couldn’t quite pick up on, or even hear at all. 

She thought for a moment as Garrus sat down next to her on the bed, nuzzling his face between her shoulder and neck like he always did. It was something she’d taken as a turian sign of affection, the way his plates scratched at her skin and mandibles fluttered across her shoulder, she could only compare it to a human placing kisses down. A nuzzling that he never failed to do, whether they were standing and he had to bend over or they were sitting or lying down. 

Leaning into him with her eyes closed, she traces a hand across the plates on the back of his neck. “I...think it's just weird? He said he could tell we were ‘joined’ because of my...pheromones…” 

Garrus froze in his nuzzling, pulling back with his face plates drawn together, mandibles fluttering in confusion. “Well, yeah? I scent you all the time, been doing it since you agreed to be a one turian kind of woman. I thought...I mean I smell like you too…?”

“Scenting? I what?” Selene was decidedly confused, Garrus didn’t smell like her at all. In fact, the little scent that he had was of the more metallic and engine grease kind from spending all his time tinkering with things or modifying his sniper rifle. She certainly didn’t smell like him, not to her nose anyway. 

She pressed her face into his cowl and took a big, over exaggerated sniff. Nothing. He didn’t even smell like her shampoo or the jasmine soap she’d managed to find on the Citadel. Just...Garrus. 

Garrus chuckled, three fingered hand cupping her cheek, filed down talons grazing carefully across her skin to smooth out the furrow between her eyebrows.  

“Oh, right, you humans and your terrible sense of smell. Cute.” His grin flared his mandibles out wide, sharp teeth on show in a display of good humour.

“Garrus!” He liked getting a rise out of her, enjoyed seeing the pale skin of her cheeks turn as red as a Palaven sunset, something Turians just could not do. It was always so distinctly human, glaringly alien, but adorable. Not that many people would describe the Commander Shepard as adorable, but most people weren’t in a committed relationship with her...or he hoped most people weren’t. 

“Honey, it’s normal. We sleep together, we make love,” She groaned a little at the word choice as he returned to nuzzling underneath her neck, talons moving up and down her back in soothing motions, “we shower together, we go on every mission together, we spar together…” Selene can’t help the little moan that leaves her mouth as his breath warms across her skin before that tongue of his, blue and ridiculously dexterous, carves a path over her shoulder and up her throat, lingering on a spot behind her jaw that he knows all too well. 

“And turians are kind of known for scenting their partners.” 

“What does that even mean? Scenting? Like a cat? Are you marking your territory?” She’s never taken Garrus for being possessive, in fact, he was decidedly cool under pressure whenever someone decided to try it on with her. Occasionally he’d shift in a way that told people to back off, pressing his chest to her back, but that was only in instances where the person didn‘t know when to quit. Usually an overzealous asari or persistent human. The idea of him marking his territory, or even seeing her that way was kind of out of character to her, he just wasn’t like that. They were equals in everything they did. He was her person and she was his, one of them wasn’t more dominant in the relationship, they were partners. 

“Yes and no. You're not my territory, honey, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you're a one turian kind of woman, but I trust you and I know you can handle yourself. It’s a habit really, an instinct. I’m surprised you don’t know, you do it too.”

It’s a relief to hear him say that. While she finds Garrus ridiculously hot when he goes all bad boy vigilante turian on someone, the raw power he exudes is something else entirely, something different that starts a fire in her belly, she also doesn’t want to be seen as an object or possession. 

“I do?” They’ve gravitated, as they always do, towards each other. Selene finds herself curled up in Garrus’ lap, arms wrapped around his cowl and nose pressed to the junction of his neck, pressing light little kisses there had become a favourite pastime of hers. Calming, soothing. 

“Mmm...all the time, that little nuzzling thing you’re doing?” She pulls back, startled, eyebrows almost comically high and red still tinting her cheeks, “Yeah, I thought you were just a little possessive, but maybe this is one of those interspecies miscommunication things, huh?”  

“I...oh.” She curls back into his neck, bashful in a way no one else sees. Garrus enjoys seeing her like this, out of her element but trusting, seeking comfort in him even as he’s the source of her embarrassment. Their relationship is unconventional and with it has come embarrassment and nerves from both sides, but it’s the trust in him, and his trust in her that’s made it work, that makes it worthwhile. 

He runs his fingers through the red of her hair, the strands soft and silky, a sensation that he still finds fascinating all this time on and one that he knows she finds soothing. He can only compare it to how he feels when she caresses underneath his fringe. 

“So is that why that C-Sec officer stopped flirting with me every chance he got?” She thinks of the dark brown turian, bright orange markings across his face. Before she’d seen Garrus again, before they’d rekindled their relationship, he’d been determined to flirt with her, no matter how many times she politely turned him down. He’d since stopped, his tone always overly polite and formal, nervous even. She’d assumed Bailey had given him a dressing down, but...maybe not. 

“Mmm, probably.” His chest rumbles with the hum, soothing and deep, reverberations running through her, “Most turians aren’t going to flirt with a taken woman, ever seen two turians get into a proper fist fight? It’s more claws and teeth than anything else.” No turian wanted to get into a fight over someone they had a passing fancy for, that Garrus knew for a fact, best to leave someone alone if they were clearly in a relationship.

“Would you? If someone tried it on?” She’s curious, deeply so. Part of her wants to know he would, but part of her wants to know that he’d think about it, and take his time to decide if it was necessary. Garrus had always had a bit of a temper, quick and righteous and determined to put things right. But, he’d mellowed with age, with her nagging him and convincing him to spare people who’d wronged him and others. He was more calculating these days. 

“Depends.” A hand falls to her waist, circles being rubbed into the skin underneath her jumper, absent minded and soothing as his blue eyes look to the skylight above her bed, staring out at the stars. Contemplating his next words.

“On?” She leans up to press a kiss underneath his chin, the soft exposed skin tempting her.

“Do you want me to? How badly are they trying to get into your pants? Are you in danger? Do you need me to? Is it someone I know and despise?” His voice rumbles in his throat, she feels the vibrations against her lips and ringing through her ears. That was something about being with a turian that she loved, the subharmonics were soothing to her ear, the rumble that always seemed to roll through his body was comforting. She wouldn’t call it a purr, mostly because Garrus would fix her with that look, narrowed eyes, mandibles drawn tight against his face. He’d probably go back to calibrating the guns for a week or two straight. God, she hated that. 

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t fight for my honour?” She’s teasing him, but she can still feel him tense up. Her lack of subharmonics tended to confuse him whenever she joked and he couldn’t see her face. 

Taking pity on him Selene pulls back so he can see the amused little smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth, freckles scrunching up across her cheeks and nose. 

“I...you’re messing with me aren’t you?” There’a a palpable sigh of relief from him as his shoulders relax and he rolls his neck before pinning her with a playful glare, huffing through his nose at her. He’s the only person she can truly be playful with and she knows he enjoys it, the closeness of their relationship isn’t lost on either of them. He makes her feel less tired, more alive, younger, even if it's for a brief moment before reality crashes back down again. 

“Yeah, just a little, big guy.” She tugs his face down gently by a scarred mandible, he follows easily, putting himself in reach so that she can press a kiss to his cheek, across the blue colony markings that are oh so familiar to her. Affection with Garrus is easy: “I love you, but I don’t need you tearing someone’s throat out for me...unless it’s Kai Leng, you can tear his throat out.” 

The assassin was a thorn in her side and she was close to snapping, her usual restraint and desire to talk things through was failing. She wouldn’t negotiate or talk with Kai Leng. If she finally got the chance...well, he probably wouldn’t be recognisable afterwards. 

“Oh, I'm tempted, believe me. There’s nothing I'd like more than to put every ounce of my anger and hatred into beating Kai Leng into a bloody pulp. Buuuut, I think you deserve the satisfaction yourself.”

“I love you, you know that right? Even if I'm walking around stinking like a turian vigilante.” She caresses the lengths of his crest and underneath, scratching short nails against the soft skin there and the purr, because it is a purr, that rumbles from his chest is almost as satisfying as the thought of finally getting revenge on Kai Leng.

“Reaper Advisor actually.” He brushes his cheek against hers, hard plates brushing against soft skin, gently, not hard enough to chafe or rub. “I love you too, even if I'm walking around stinking like a self-sacrificing human spectre.”

#shakarian #selene shepard #selene shepard x garrus vakarian #female shepard x garrus vakarian #fem shep x garrus vakarian #shepard x garrus vakarian #garrus vakarian #mass effect

[paradife-loft]

False

CW: uhhh, discussions of blood and violence and death; Bad Depression Brain; brief instance of self-harm at the end Hey look, it’s moar TGCF! Still not sure how I feel about this one..? Still feeling out character voices and stuff, for one thing. (Will I ever write someone who’s internal monologue isn’t a giant mess of contradictions and other things they don’t really want to think about? Probably not :P)

-----

After staring at the bound, unconscious nearly-god almost until their eyes started hurting, they finally made a decision.

They were not going to take his face. His name, his title; his position; his spiritual device - they would take all those, everything but his fate, which was apparently now to lie chained at the mercy of his betters, subject to the whims of anyone who could overpower him, because the heavens in truth cared nothing for justice. (Justice was something you had to take for yourself, like a dog savaged in the street, stealing a bite from another with growls and yelps and teeth.)

But they would not take his fate, and they would not take his face.

Perhaps it would fuck them before they’d gone ten steps in the heavens. Perhaps all the heavenly officials would know the face of Ming Yi, and know it was not this, and rip all the sinews of this constructed body asunder with all the spiritual powers and righteous weapons they possessed.

Not that it would matter. They’d been brutalised before, beaten until they couldn’t stand and the black of their eyes wouldn’t close for the light. They’d been gouged, kicked at, stabbed, in futile self-defense until their body was practically a husk, leaking a great trail of blood between each ostentatious courtyard in the houses of miserable, unrepentant sinners. And all of that while they were still alive.

They hadn’t been alive in over a century.

So now it was all just simulacra: flesh sculpted just like the real thing and made flawless, like a heavenly official should be - Black Water barely recognising itself in the still reflection of a pond, even if - because - this was what they could have been.

Like this, they could bleed - gouts and gouts, everything inside this new body they’d formed over the old. It would be enough to send a mortal or even a god into senseless collapse, and it would do nothing to them, so long as they had the power left to retain their form. How cheap was blood? They could make more. They had the power of so many lesser spirits swallowed and digested inside of them. They’d notice it less than the loss of any real blood as a human.

Or so they assumed, anyway. They couldn’t quite remember. (They’d have to remember though, at least enough to pretend. Or - no. What god ever needed to be injured, where others could see? Only the foolish. Black Water did not intend to be foolish.)

But they were stalling.

They turned away from the almost-Earth Master, secured in his exitless chamber. They paced through the manor they’d built, knowing it was time to go; reluctant to leave its cold comfort of stone and water. Being bowed to and hailed in the unclouded light of day had never seemed so unappealing.

When they stopped in front of the lake in the middle of the island again, that old, living face stared back up at them.

It felt disgusting. It felt so breakable. Black Water grit its teeth and growled.

With impulsive rage, the nails on one hand lengthened to claws. A second later, like the flash of a knife, those claws raked across the live flesh of the body’s forearm, and let it run wet with rivulets of blood that dripped into the earth.

It didn’t feel like anything.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Just another reminder of why they had to do this. As if the four back inside hadn’t been enough.

It would have to do for now.

#that time James wrote fic #hua cheng's ghostly down with cis bus #He Xuan #ngl I was in a beefleaf mood but none of the prompts for today were really doing it for me for them together so.... #(tomorrow I might try and write hua cheng WISH ME FUCKING LUCK :'D)

[shy-violet-soul]

Dream for a Mermaid

Summary: When she struggles under the weight of a lost goal, will her heart start buying the lies her head is spitting out? Or will she let her family speak the truth she needs to hear? Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, and a precious friend Warnings: discussions of anxiety & depression, so very much fluff Word count: 1600-ish

A/N: This is for my precious friend, @pinknerdpanda . Always listen to your heart, sweetie. And when your head starts lying, listen to me! Xoxo

The air in the Impala hung like a wet blanket. All she wanted was to get in her room and hide. Under-the-blankets hide. Under-the-bed hide. Dig-a-hole-in-the-world hide. Every time she saw Dean stretch his neck to the left at the kink there, every time Sam absently rubbed at his relocated shoulder, or Cas shifted gingerly around the remnants of his slashed ribs, the guilt squeezed her throat and burned her eyes. While Bob Dylan crooned out “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”, only one note thrummed through her.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

The tunnel into the bunker’s garage filled her with a dizzying mess of relief and panic, her system overloaded from the last three hours. When the driver’s door creaked and Dean groaned his customary back popping, she arrowed herself out of the car and hurtled towards safety.

She didn’t see her boys staring after her before turning to each other. No explanation needed. They’d all lived it, too.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

Ammonia wrapped around her in a fog. Familiar, bracing, she let it fill her head as she militantly painted. Color came and went under her hands as she sloughed off a new vision and pulled the comforting customary into its place. Grief dripped free in ribbons of salty soot. The tap on the door went unnoticed, swamped beneath the cacophony in her mind.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

“Hey.”

Color slopped astray when she jumped at the voice. Her eyes snapped to the mirror, fixing studiously on the man behind her and not her own reflection. The reply she gave was all croak and no fooling to a Winchester.

“So...blue hair again?” Sam queried, offering her a hesitant smile.

She cleared her throat of the guilt before slapping out the truth.

“Well, brown hair is for blending in. You know, for real hunters.”

The bowl and brush slammed into the sink, blue showering wet and shiny onto the white porcelain as she ripped her gloves off. Her chin trembled as her chest clutched hard, and the need for air churned with the nausea in her belly, anxiety spiking sharp and cold along her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking Sam out because she didn’t deserve his understanding. This was her problem.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

A croaking, choking sound broke from her as her head sagged down.

“Are you kidding me? How was it not my fault? You were there, Sam! It was a complete shit show!”

“Hunts go sideways all the time! How many times have you bandaged us up because it didn’t go the way we planned?”

She scoffed, swiping at her dripping grey tears.

“You guys are wired for that crap, Sam. It’s practically in your DNA. Have Cas check!” she snarked. “I trained for days for this. Days! The shooting and sparring with Dean, the research stuff with you, what-kills-what quizzes with Cas, and hours, frickin’ hours of what-iffing enough scenarios to fill a book. And for what? Nothing!”

The juggernaut of grief ripped free, shoving her anxiety up into her heart, throat, and head hard enough that her vision swam, pressing her down, down until the weight became too much as she wobbled to the tiled floor. Sobs, all the more painful as she tried to choke them back, filled the sudden silence like an uneven fall of breaking glass - sharp, hitching, hurting.

Slow, steady, Sam stepped close and sat. Near enough to reassure, far enough to not crowd.

“I just wanted -” Stopped as she dove her face into her drawn up knees.

“What?” The gentleness of his question squeezed more tears free.

“I just wanted it... to work. I thought being a hunter was what I wanted. All I wanted. And I just wanted it to work so bad. Why didn’t it work, Sam? Why couldn’t I make it work? Why?”

Sam’s chest vised hard and painful at the pure heartbreak on her face. He scooted himself closer, long fingered hands resting on her shins.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey,” he husked to her. “Listen to me.” Sam waited until she raised her gaze to his. “Now, you listen to me, alright? You did not fail.” His hands squeezed her legs for silence when she rolled her eyes to protest. “You didn’t. Hunting in the field...it’s fourteen kinds of crazy. And yeah, not gonna lie - the adrenaline rush in the moment? Wow. The feeling that gets me here,” he rubs one hand over his heart, “when we do save someone? Or put a tormented soul to rest? Knowing we made one little piece of this messed up planet better? There’s no feeling in the world like it.

“You didn’t fail. If you truly feel like being out in the trenches isn’t for you, that’s not failure. That’s courage! You know how many people keep clawing after something that isn’t for them? And they’re miserable. I know it hurts right now, and I’m so sorry you’re hurting. But, think about it. Having the guts to say ‘no’ to one dream, as awful as it feels in the moment, puts you on a path to a new one. And you?” Sam let all his admiration and care for her shine in his warm smile. “You are freaking amazing. And you’re going to do amazing things. Just..be gentle with yourself. And remember - we’re here for you. Whatever you decide to do.”

She let his words wash over her. Let their truth sink into her and loosen the stranglehold panic still scrabbling at her throat. A deep breath pulled in, and she nodded weakly, still heavy under everything. Ready to try and put some of it down.

Sam’s smile widened as he watched her nod, watched her body soften just a touch.

“Besides, I like your blue hair better, anyway.”

She snorted at that, swiping a wet blue strand out of her face and wiping the smudge of color left behind on her pants.

“So, did you draw the short straw for this deeply emotional encounter?”

A true laugh coughed from her scratchy throat as Sam’s eyebrows did a comical up-and-down dance.

“What? No! Just...no!”

A gentle tap on the door, and Dean poked his head in the bathroom.

“Hey, short straw. You finish telling her how kickass she is? And that Cas is currently stuck in the ice cream aisle at the store, trying to figure out if there’s any dangerous bits of porcelain in her favorite Ben and Jerry’s ‘Kitchen Sink’ ice cream?”

Chuckles bubbled up as Sam leveled his bitch face at Dean while the older man stepped over to help her to her feet.

“You’re bringing the mermaid hair back? Awesome! You gonna put any purple in with it this time? That look on you was my favorite!”

She let herself have the hug Dean pulled her in for, smiling tiredly.

“I don’t have the stuff for purple. But I’ve got enough to give you some blue.”

When Sam laughed at that, Dean scoffed at him.

“Bitch, please. I could rock me some blue hair.” Draping a companionable arm around her shoulders, he rubbed his hand on his chin as he pondered. “For Sammy, I’m thinking green. Bring out his eyes.”

Sam rolled those eyes hard enough to see inside his skull, and she shooed the brothers out so she could concentrate on her timer and color. For the moment, grief had let go. She wasn’t ready to think about new dreams yet, but in this instance, setting down this one didn’t sting as badly.

***********************************************

3 days later

“C’mon, girl, it’s movie night!” came Dean’s voice down the hall. She yanked her favorite hoodie over her head, grabbing her pillow as she sailed out the door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your shirt on, Winchester,” she hollered back. Quick steps navigated to the Dean Cave, heart light as she welcomed the R&R with her family. Dean had even agreed to let her pick the movie. Turning the corner into the room, she stopped short, and burst into hysterical laughter.

Dean had aqua blue and teal strands glistening in his dark hair. Sam smiled, chagrined, when she took in the shamrock green throughout his own strands. And Cas, dear sweet Cas, looked preciously confused about the hot pink tufts poking up out of his fluffy tresses.

The look of delighted pride on Dean’s face, coupled with Sam’s resigned grin and Cas’ adorable but supportive bewilderment, had her leaning on the back of the couch as hilarity pealed from her in waves.

“Now we can be as awesome as you with our hair! Bring it in, mermaid.” Dean pulled her into one of his famous bear hugs as Sam tucked her pillow into her preferred spot on the couch. Cas proudly offered her a pint of ice cream and a spoon.

“I’ve thoroughly checked this for porcelain and nickel traces, it’s contaminant free from any kitchen sink particles.”

It was a sheer force of will that kept her from laughing right in his face as she snuggled into her spot.

It was never easy letting go of something so deeply desired. A part of her would always hurt at the loss, would always cry out ‘what if’. But today? Today she let her heart tell her the truth. Today, she knew she was loved, and she knew tomorrow was another chance.

Another chance to find a new dream.

#dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #anxiety #depression #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #shy vy writes #dream for a mermaid

[imagine-darksiders]

Haven

Chapter 4 - The Blessed Dark.

There haven't been many instances in your life where you've stopped and taken a few moments to really appreciate just how much of a blessing the darkness can be. As a child, the pieces of literature you'd hungrily consumed had all taught you that the dark is a frightening thing, a mysterious, encroaching force that hides monsters and brings nightmares to life.

Now though, having cautiously stolen through a city in the wake of a world-wide, apocalyptic event, you couldn't be more grateful for the darkness and its penchant for hiding things you don't want to see.

The maker – Ulthane – had insisted upon walking behind you as soon as your feet touched the black, crumbling tarmac, explaining that he’d feel a hell of a lot better with you in his sights at all times. Though you weren’t sure whether this was to ensure you didn’t run off again or to keep you out of danger. Either way, you had little choice but to reluctantly comply. 

Having him at your back the whole way to the museum set your nerves on edge, not only because your trust in the strange, otherworldly giant is flimsy at best, but also because you wish you could have had something to focus your eyes on. The straps of his boots, the pebbles that bounced up off the ground with every step he took. Anything to keep your attention away from the eerie, indistinct lumps that laid scattered all over the streets you passed through.

Night had obscured most of their features, and if it weren't for the moon that shone overhead, you could have quite easily pretended they were no more than piles of fallen debris, perhaps some upskittled rubble. But every now and then, you crept around a corner or through an alley, and in searching the area for any signs of danger, your eyes would happen to pass over one of those lumps and the moonlight would glint off a glassy eyeball, a mouth gaped open and frozen in place, sometimes a pale hand, reaching, stretching out to grasp for help that never came.

Each time, you reeled back and threw a hand over your eyes, assuring yourself that you hadn't just seen what you thought you saw. “Just a pile of rubble,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, “Or mannequins... a trick of the light...” 

If you started seeing them as humans, you feared your heart might just cease to beat.

But there were hundreds of them. Thousands perhaps. And it quickly became harder and harder to pretend.

“This is where I found you.”

The sudden intrusion of Ulthane's rumbling bass rips you out of a foggy haze and you leap out of your skin, suddenly aware that you’ve made it all the way back to the museum carpark. Swearing under your breath, you berate yourself for drifting off. You've no recollection of getting here, your body seemed to know where it was going, even if your mind didn't. At least Ulthane had his wits about him. You shudder to think what might have happened if he wasn't following close behind you, his head on a constant swivel, senses primed and ready to intercept any demon that tried to get too close.

The carpark you've stumbled back into is wildly different than it had been during the day because suddenly, the silhouettes of all those construction vehicles parked nearby look more like abysmal, eldritch horrors, all jagged and sharp and twisted out of shape in the dark. While the museum, you find, craning your neck back to gulp at the imposing structure, is no less daunting.

What had once been a place to learn and preserve aspects of history now stands as a silent monument to a terrible memory. You will always remember you were here the day the world ended.

“Cold?” 

Jolting, you glance up at the maker and manage to squeak out an eloquent, “Huh?”

In response, he wordlessly points down at your arms and it takes you a moment to realise you’ve wrapped them around yourself. 

“O-oh, no!” Hastily, you whip your hands back down. “Not cold...Just-”

“-Scared?”

There’s little point in trying to lie, especially when he’s giving you such a knowing look. “A...A bit,” you mutter eventually. It isn’t a total lie, at least.

A single brow slides smoothly up the giant’s forehead and remains poised there, dubiousness thick and blatant in his resounding hum. After a few seconds of subjecting you to his unwavering scrutiny, Ulthane draws himself up tall and grabs his belt, hoisting it a little higher on his hips. “You know, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about with me around, lass,” he declares matter-of-factly. 

It’s all very well him saying that, it’s another thing entirely for you to feel it. Still, all the same, you flash him a smile and offer a noncommittal, “Mmhmm,” before taking your first, tentative steps towards the museum. With your eyes kept peeled for anything that could be lurking behind upturned cars or in the still smouldering craters left by demons, you pick your way over loose rebar and head for the museum's south side. 

Along the way however, your eyes are drawn to a familiar sight.

The mouth of a concrete pipe stands several feet away, its concrete surface flecked with blood and covered in long, shallow scratches.

Behind you, your staunch sentinel catches you looking and he follows your gaze, pushing a low hum up his throat when he sees what you've spotted. “Sorry if I frightened you before,” he mutters, carefully considering the side of your face, though you're quick to turn away from him and march rigidly onwards. 

“What was that thing?” you ask softly.

Ulthane decides to let your deflection slide for now.

Scratching at the underside of his coarse beard, he waits for you to clamber through the gaping hole in the museum's wall before he replies. “S'what's called a Sufferin'. Horrible beast. Takes what's dead n' brings 'em back. Just not in any way that's good.”

“Wait-” You pause to get your bearings, squinting into the darkness of the cavernous room. “It can....what? Bring people back to life?” A semblance of hope creeps into your question and the maker's mouth screws up, hating that he'll have to be the one who stamps that little light out before it can gain traction.

“No, no, lass,” he explains softly, watching your face crumple, “It turns 'em into husks. Empty shells with nothin' in their heads but hunger.”

“...Oh...”

Ulthane sighs as you kick a loose stone and listen to it skitter beneath the monstrous skeleton he'd marvelled at earlier. Once the sound fades and you've begun to trail numbly after it, brushing your fingertips along an ancient fibula, the maker's brow creases, but rather than squeeze through with you, he hurries around the front of the skeleton, meeting you on the other side of its leg and allowing himself to be led over to a set of double doors that seem barely wide and high enough for him to fit through. Determined that he won’t be bested by a few, flimsy planks of wood though, Ulthane glares them down, his frown growing by the minute. 

Oblivious to the giant's new predicament, you hastily trot through to the other side and find yourself promptly awash in the sickly green of numerous emergency lights. “We're close now,” you whisper, pointing down the hall. “The kids should be in a room just down here.”

There's no answer for several seconds, save for a grunt and then a firm thud, and finally, “Uh oh.”  

“Uh oh?” Confused, you spin around and immediately have to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent a laugh from jumping out.

Somehow, the giant has managed to wedge himself halfway through the too-small doorframe. One of his legs has made it, along with his head and forearm. The problem however, lies with his broad shoulders, their bulky girth too wide for the opening and he, in all his wisdom, has obviously tried to stuff them through at the same time instead of one after the other. What results is the rather comical sight of a poor, mahogany doorframe trying its best not to buckle around Ulthane's bulging deltoids and failing miserably.

With another grunt, he gives his arms an experimental thrust, only succeeding in getting himself even more stuck and he curses, looking down at you helplessly.

You don’t know where the courage to laugh came from. “Are – ha! Ahem, are you okay?” you squeeze out through pursed lips, stepping closer.

“Oh, I'm dandy,” the maker grumbles and strains hard against his wooden bindings once more. Suddenly, the wall all around the doorframe begins to creak and moan in protest and a loud 'snap' splits the still air and makes you flinch. There, in the plaster, right where Ulthane’s shoulders press most firmly into the door, are two, fresh cracks that have spidered outwards along the wall.

“Woah, woah! Stop!” you hiss, waving your hands in front of his face, “You're going to break it!”

Halting his efforts, he tucks his chin in and slides you a flat stare down his nose.

“Oh.” You suppose it does seem somewhat odd to want to preserve a door when the rest of the world has gone completely to ruin. “Alright, well....You’re like, super strong right? Can’t you just like, bust through?” 

He tries not to swell with pride at the unintended compliment. To be honest, that had been the first solution Ulthane had considered. He’s certainly strong enough to simply burst through with sheer, brute force, but after some more thought, he realises that while this building’s infrastructure is solid enough by human standards, any sudden stress to the foundations could potentially cause a wall or ceiling to collapse. And with you standing right below him, even ‘potentially’ is much too risky. “Oh, I could, easily,” he at last replies, “if I wanted to bring the whole roof down on our heads.” 

“Right. Best not do that then.” Chewing on your lip, you consider the giant warily for a moment before throwing your hands up in defeat. “Oh for goodness sake. Here, let me help.”

A bemused smile replaces Ulthane's frown as you step close to him and wrap your hands around the thick chain connecting his shoulder pauldron to his belt and after testing your grip, you plant your feet and give a tremendous heave backwards.

At least, it's tremendous from your perspective.

The maker, at best, feels you give the chain a gentle tug. 

Forgetting himself, his eyes soften and a fond smile sprawls out across his face. All he can do for is marvel over your sudden burst of determination and admire the way your face scrunches up with the effort as tiny, delicate knuckles turn white and your feet begin sliding across the marble floor. From this close, the dust drifting up off your hair tickles his nose when he inhales, taking up the scent of sweat and dirt that clings to your skin. 

Suddenly, he blinks. 

For the briefest moment, he's reminded of his realm - the sticky heat of the forge, the earth under his fingernails when he'd build with his hands, the salt he would taste on his upper lip after tussling with his brother.... Ulthane's eyes slip closed. By the Stone....You smell of home.

A short, sharp scream yanks him back into the present and his head jerks up just in time to see your feet slip out properly from underneath you after giving the chain another, hard pull.

Without thinking, without remembering that he's jammed inside a doorway, the maker jerks his arm forwards and twists his hand around, letting you fall harmlessly into an upturned palm. The chain you'd been yanking on had slipped from your grasp as you fell and now it clinks gently against Ulthane's chest as he stares down at you, his surprise mirrored by your own.

“Uh....Thanks,” you pant uncertainly, blinking a few times at the giant's abrupt closeness. 

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs and you get a good view of his tusks with each word, “Don’t want to exacerbate that any further.” Just then, one of his enormous fingers curls inwards to prod ever so gently at your bruised side, although you hardly notice the responding twinge his touch produces, your attention too swept up by his smokey, grey stare. You instead find yourself wondering what makes up the biology of his eyes that causes them to glow faintly in the dark corridor. And has he always smelled so strongly of leather? It quickly dawns on you that you’re staring and you balk, tearing your eyes away to focus on the wall, only to let out a breathless laugh seconds later, jutting your chin and indicating his shoulder. “Uh, hey, check it out.”

“Hmm?” He had been so busy admiring the sculpt of your face and pondering how it could only have been carved by a skilled artist that at first, your words don’t register. “What?” Tipping his head to one side, Ulthane follows your gaze. His lips part around a soft chuckle upon discovering that his shoulders are no longer stuck. “Well, would you look at that?” In moving so suddenly to catch you, he'd managed to tear an arm free of its confines, allowing ample space for the other to follow through, all without taking the ceiling down.

A noisy exhale spews out of his nose as he places you back on solid ground and heaves the rest of his bulk into the narrow hallway. It's cramped and he has to stoop considerably to keep his head from constantly bumping against the ceiling, but it is manoeuvrable.

He raises a hand with a view to sheepishly scratch at the back of his neck, finds his elbow hits the wall, and drops it back down again. “Right,” he says, “That was...uh...”

“Kind of funny?” you dare to venture, trying to gauge his expression in the meagre lighting.

In response, the maker snorts. “I was about to say embarassin' but I reckon it's all about perspective.”

Indeed. To him, the whole ordeal of being stuck inside a doorframe while the human he rescued is present as a witness is utterly mortifying. You however, didn't just find it funny. It also came as somewhat of a relief.

To see the unassailable giant make a mistake, to blunder, to err like that....

Perhaps these makers are more like humans than you'd previously thought. Suddenly, Ulthane doesn't seem like such an unearthly stranger anymore.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you jab a thumb down the hall. “We should...probably hurry up, right?”

And just like that, the atmosphere thickens once more. Tension creeps back into your stance and Ulthane's lips tilt down at the corners, the gruff visage slipping into place as if it had never left. With a resolute nod, the maker waits for you to turn before he lumbers after you down the shadowy hallway, his eyes trained on a small, green glow at the far end.

You proceed hesitantly, jumping every time one of the emergency lights flickers and sparks, and you can't help but to notice that they aren't as bright as they'd been when you left. The fact that whoever had the wit to install battery operated ones is a minor miracle or you'd be fumbling around in pitch darkness right now, though it seems they've finally started to run out of juice. 

‘Well... I know how they feel.’

Closer and closer you creep until the vault door at last looms into view, its metal surface glowing eerily beneath the led sign nailed above it that reads ‘Caution.’ Hardly daring to breathe, you wipe your sweaty palms on your blouse and reach out, fingers stretching slowly towards the door. However, just before you can push it open, you freeze, inexplicably overcome by a sinking feeling. Darting out your tongue to nervously wet your dry lips, you stare at the tremble that's started to spread up your arm and take a bumbling step away from the vault.

“What if...What if they're-” You don't want to finish.

To your back, you hear the telltale thud of Ulthane's knee hitting the ground as he shifts. Moments later, a gentle knuckle is prodding you in the spine - perhaps as a reassurance of his presence, or perhaps to encourage you to keep going.

“Can't start thinkin' about 'what ifs' now, bonnie,” he tells you, allowing his hand to linger for a moment before pulling it away again and you can’t help but feel that it’s his way of letting you know you won’t be facing whatever lays beyond that door alone. 

Swallowing past a lump, you nod, take a steadying breath and press your shaking palm flat against the door, drawing solace from the metal's cool surface.

With agonising slowness, you push yourself against the door and it swings open to reveal the darkened room beyond, where silence is the only thing to greet you, a perfect quiet so impermeable, it makes you acutely aware of the tinnitus ringing in your ears and you have to shuffle your feet just to have something else to hear.

“Kids?” you call softly, trepidation rising with every second that passes in which you don't receive an answer. “Ashleigh? Sam?”

Nothing.

The horror of what you may have condemned these children to finally begins to sink in. Behind you, the maker’s brow furrows as you raise a hand to cover your mouth and the sight instantly has him battling down the urge to put his fist through the nearest wall, enraged at himself for not checking the area more thoroughly after he found you. More children needlessly lost, all because of him.

But then, just as your knees start to wobble, there's a rustling from deeper in the vault, somewhere too far to be illuminated by the emergency lights. Ulthane's ears perk up and a voice – small and weary – calls out, “Miss?”

Your head snaps up. You hardly dare believe you'd really heard it.

"....Archie?”

To begin with nothing more is said. Then suddenly, with the gradual steps of a cautious fawn, a shape starts to emerge from the shadows. 

Two feet clad in red sneakers appear first, followed eventually by pale, skinny legs with grazes covering both knees just below where a pair of black shorts cut off. Finally, Ulthane can make out the figure's face as it steps into the light. Wide, round glasses sit upon a freckled nose, the lenses dusty and marred with cracks that have splintered the glass, creating zigzagging spiderwebs across their surfaces.

Ulthane’s breath hitches in his throat.

He always imagined human younglings would be small, but this? He’s seen makers born bigger.

Silently, he remains crouched in the doorway, so far undetected by the minuscule boy, and observes, enraptured as you collapse onto your knees and release a cry fraught with relief. Hearing your distress, the boy staggers forwards blindly, his arms outstretched and his face crumpling before he can reach you.

“Archie, you-what happened to your glasses!” you exclaim, but your question is ignored. By the time he comes close enough for you to circle your arms around his scrawny waist, the dam has burst and he lets out a miserable sob, curling his hands into the front of your blouse and lowering himself down onto your lap.

And just like that, Ulthane’s heart soars as four more children melt out of the darkness.

You suddenly find yourself almost mowed down by Kitty and Lucia, both of whom are also crying and each girl fights for the space to loop their arms round your neck.

“Where were you!?” Kitty wails and beats her fists against your back. “You left us! You left us alone!”

At the same time, Lucia's fingernails dig like knives into the skin under your blouse but at this point, you honestly couldn't care less.

With two children buried into your shoulders and one actively trying to burrow his way inside your chest, you glance up to see the last few – Sam and Ashleigh – standing nearby. They, like the others, had rushed towards you, yet something has caused them to freeze in their tracks, their stares fixed on a point above your head. Haunted, exhausted expressions shift swiftly through confusion, dawning horror and finally, their eyes burst open wide and abject terror sweeps everything else away. You soon realise that they've just spotted what their classmates haven’t, but before you can tell them not to scream, Ashleigh's jaw drops open and she lets out a shriek so piercing, the others yelp and jerk away from you to look back at her.

Shaking his head with a gentle frown, Ulthane instinctively tries to extend a hand through the door, his fingers skirting past you and continuing on towards the diminutive girl, who gives off another screech and falls onto her backside in her haste to scramble further into the vault. Swallowing, the maker retracts his hand, glaring at it accusingly as if it were the sole reason for her fear. 

“Guys, no! It's okay!” You reach out to try and coax Sam back towards you but he remains rooted to the spot, staring silently up at the door. It's at that point Kitty, Lucia and Archie finally whirl about and look up as well, frantic to see what has their friends so badly frightened. It doesn't take long for them to find it. Realising that this is quickly getting out of hand, you stumble to your feet and spread your hands out, fingers splayed. “Don't!-”

But it's too late.

Kitty immediately sees the enormous figure crouched in the doorway and leaps from you while Archie and Lucia grab your sleeves and begin to pull you with all their might, away from Ulthane. “Run!” Archie yells, at the same time as Lucia shrieks, “Monstruo!”

You have to wince on Ulthane's behalf at that one. Although not his native language, you're fairly certain he doesn't need a translator to figure out what he'd been called.

Ulthane Blackhammer has been hurt many a time in his exceedingly long life. He's been burnt, shot at, beaten up by his own brother, taken a blade to the back more times than he'd care to admit. Yet that right there, being called a monster by a human child somehow hurts his chest worse than any blow he's ever received. Crestfallen, the maker tries to school his face into steely indifference but ends up failing miserably.

Pulling out of the kids' grasps, you once again hold out your hands in a placating gesture. “He is not a monster, he's a...a...” Frowning, you twist your head over a shoulder to look at the giant. Even with the measly light, you can see him avert his eyes and press his lips together tightly in what you assume is an effort to hide the fearsome tusks behind them. “He's one of the good guys,” you murmur at last, prompting the maker to raise his head a little and glance at you. Maybe it's your imagination or a trick of the light, but you could swear a troubled grimace darkens his features at your words. Before you can dwell on it further though, Lucia – arguably the bravest of the gathered students – stops back-peddling and gulps instead, venturing, “Is – Is he gonna eat us!?”

“What!? No, of course not!” You suddenly hesitate, looking back at the maker again. “Are you?”

Ulthane's nostrils flare as he scowls, offended by your doubt. “No!”

At his unexpected growl, the kids gasp and retreat further, prompting the giant's frustration to evaporate like water off a scorching pavement. Heaving out a great sigh, he says, far more gently, “No, lassie, I'd never hurt any of you.” He casts his eye over each human, trying his damnedest to convey complete and utter harmlessness – a difficult task for someone so much more vast than any human who ever lived. 

The children don’t seem in the least bit convinced by his sincerity.

Both the maker and yourself lock eyes for a second. Neither of you know how in the world you’re going to broach the subject of leaving. Something in the kids’ faces tells you they'd all raise a few objections about going anywhere with this strange giant, even if you say it's safe.

“Right, well. There you have it. He won’t eat you, Lucia.” Brusquely, you clap your hands together, anxious to get moving. Any longer on your feet and you may just up and die of exhaustion on the spot. 'No time for that though,' you tell yourself, somewhat bitterly, 'safety first, then sleep.'

Forcing your body to stand tall, you level a somber but weighty look at the five children, the duty you've set yourself staring right back through frightened, bleary eyes. It settles heavily on your shoulders. “Listen to me, I know you're all scared, but we can't stay here.”

“Why not!?” Kitty contests and stamps her foot. She always did try to disguise her fear with anger.

“Because we don't have any food.” Raising a hand, you start listing things off on your fingers. “There's no more water, this door – this whole building - isn't going to keep us safe for long!...But Ulthane-” Here, you pause to share a meaningful glance with the maker. “-Ulthane knows somewhere we can stay. Somewhere safer than this museum.” 

Ashleigh squeaks, looking horrified at the mere suggestion. “We’re going with him!? But, he's so-”

“Big? Yeah, I know,” you chuckle humourlessly and earn a harrumph from the man behind you, though his grumbling falls silent when you continue, “But big doesn't always mean bad. He won't hurt you, I promise.” You really hope that’s a promise he doesn’t end up breaking for you.

Oblivious to your innermost concerns, Ulthane feels a weight lift off his chest, pleased that you seem to be coming around enough to finally start trusting him. He just wishes he had half of Eideard’s know-how when it comes to dealing with younglings.

For some time, none of children move or say a word. They simply glance among one another, Ashleigh clutching onto Sam's hand like he'll disappear if she lets go, Archie cowering behind Lucia and trying to make sense of the scene behind his cracked glasses whilst the latter looks torn between believing you and believing the stories she'd read as a young girl – of ferocious giants that stomp around and terrorise humans, gobbling them up whenever they get hungry. At her side, Kitty is desperately trying to jut her chin up at Ulthane in an attempt to appear brave, despite how her limbs tremble and her face is streaked with salty tears. 

It occurs to you, not for the first time, that you are way out of your depth. For goodness sake, you're just the art technician! You're only supposed to tidy up after the class, wash paint brushes and mind the lessons if their teacher has to pop out to the main office! By your very nature you aren't an authority figure to these kids. Not quite their teacher, not quite their friend....

A weary sigh blows past your lips and you slowly lower yourself onto one knee, mirroring Ulthane's stance. “Do you guys trust me?” you ask out of the blue.

Caught off guard by your question, the children all recoil and glance uncertainly amongst one another, the same question entering all of their heads at once. 

Do they trust you?

You who allowed Ashleigh to seek refuge in the art room during lunch where she could be left to read her books in peace. Or when Kitty had come storming in one day like a roiling tempest, itching for a fight and you'd grabbed some acrylic paint, a large canvas and told her to attack it with everything she had. The mess was hell to clean up but she'd left that class with a tranquil smile on her face and a sprinkle of blue in her hair.

And then there's Archie, who'd crumpled to nothing in your arms one afternoon and wept into your shoulder. He wouldn't tell you what had happened. He wouldn't say a word, and eventually, you gave up asking and simply held him close, telling him that it would all get better soon.

Every child in this room, for one reason or another, has had something happen that drew them down into the underbelly of the school where the art room waited and in it, they always found you.

Maybe it's because you aren't their teacher, not really. You like them, you liked most of the students and you never tried to hide that for the sake of preserving some inflated sense of pride.

After another few seconds of quiet contemplation, all five of them look back at you. The decision seems to be unanimous. Cautiously, they nod their heads. 

“Then trust me now,” you breathe, on the brink of begging, “We have to get out of here. And like it or not, Ulthane is our best chance for survival.”

To the maker's surprise, that single, unassuming question appears to do the trick. Almost right away, the younglings start edging closer and you smile, stretching out a hand and offering it to Archie, who squints at it for a second before he plucks up the courage to lean forwards and grasp it in his own. 

Giving the boy’s fingers a light squeeze, you turn to Ulthane. “Okay, I think we're ready. We'll follow you out.”

In seconds, the maker’s stomach twists with worry - ‘No, not worry’ - he stubbornly corrects himself, but rather, something more along the lines of anticipation as he realises that in order to get these younglings back to the Tree, they’re going to have to leave the museum and venture out into the wild and dangerous city beyond. 

It has to be done, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. In truth, he fears what might happen if something goes wrong and one of the humans is injured, what will he do? Will he be able to hold it together and get the survivors back to the tree or will he be consumed by the desire to tear their attackers to pieces? That desperation, that primal instinct to protect the young is already clawing raggedly at his insides, leaving an uncomfortable, squirming sensation in his gut that won’t be shaken loose no matter how much he wills it away. 

Determined not to let his agitation known, he screws one eye shut as he hoists himself back onto his feet and twists about, his proportions large and awkward in the confines of the hall. Like you though, he's eager to get the children out of that cramped room and somewhere he can actually see them and get to them if they're in danger or worse, hurt.

The second he moves, Archie’s hand clamps down around yours, though you can understand the boy’s trepidation when Ulthane’s spine is to you, leaving you with an uninterrupted view of the gigantic hammer that he's slung across his back. All you can do is turn to the kids and offer them what you hope is a reassuring grin. “Okay, here we go. Does everyone have all their things?” You can't imagine there'll be much use for sketch books and pencil cases in this situation, but you aren't about to tell them to leave their only worldly possessions behind. After having to wait for Sam and Kitty to dash back and retrieve their discarded rucksacks, you lead the gaggle of children out and into the hallway, dragging Archie by the hand with the other four following almost toe to heel.

At the set of double doors that open out into the main room, you slow everyone to a halt as Ulthane bends himself down to squeeze through.

“Try not to get stuck again, okay?” you warn him, failing to hide a smirk when he swings his massive head around and grumbles at you lowly for a second before he ducks through to the other side, this time without a hitch.

One ear trained on the footsteps pattering along behind him and one listening out for trouble, he cuts straight across the main hall, his head periscoping this way and that until he focuses in on the collapsed entrance you’d used to get inside. Dimly, he wonders if you’d be more willing to accept a lift from him this time around? 

All of a sudden, a shadow skitters across the opening, moving fast and low like some insect crawling about between the bricks and rebar.

In a flash, Ulthane jerks to a halt and throws his arm out protectively, stilling you and the children in your tracks.

“What!?” you hiss, “What is it?”

There's no response from the maker at first, he's too busy raising his head to sniff at the air, nostrils twitching. Then, quite abruptly, he drops his sights to the gap in the wall and peels his lips back over formidable, gleaming teeth. “Trouble,” he growls, low and threatening, but before you can ask him to elaborate, he takes several, measured steps backwards, shuffling his enormous boots towards you until you're forced to back up with him or risk getting a nudge from his iron-plated heel.

To say you're perturbed by the sudden change is a gross understatement. “Ulthane, what are you doing!?”

Once again, he doesn't reply, and instead reaches up to wrap his fingers around the handle of his war-hammer, swinging it into both hands, the weapon's bulbous head casting a vast shadow over your little group. Behind you, several pairs of eyes widen in horror and you feel a tug on your shirt sleeve as someone latches on. “Miss? What's happening!?” It sounds like Sam. All you can do is shush the children as you're continuously herded backwards by an increasingly bristling maker.

The sound of pebbles being knocked loose snags your attention and you squint through the colossal legs in front of you, spotting movement in the gap as something stalks inside the museum. Its shape is difficult to make out, but whatever it is stands upright on two legs and the top of its spine curves over, painfully contorting the figure's stance into something misshapen and crooked. But at a glance, it could almost pass for a....

“Wait a minute,” you murmur, furrowing your brow and planting your free hand on the maker's boot, calming him down a fraction, “Wait just a minute, is that a-!?” All the breath leaves your lungs as you excitedly smack your palm against his ankle. “Ulthane! It's alright! It's just another human!” The idea that someone else could have survived this nightmare is almost too much for you, sending your head in a dizzy spin for a few seconds. 

To your dismay however, Ulthane doesn't seem so pleased. “That's no human, lass,” he says out the side of his mouth.

“What? Of course they're human, look at them!”

At the sound of your voice, the figure's head snaps in your direction and it freezes, as if it were no more than a statue, no movement, no sound, just the moonlight at its back and the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh blowing in with the night's wind.

“A-aren’t they?” Just like that, you curse yourself for praising the darkness outside. Being unable to clearly see what’s about to tear your apart is maddening.

Letting a dangerous breath hiss through his teeth, Ulthane backs you up another few metres until your backside hits something solid and you jump, twisting about to see that you and the kids have been corralled up against the circular reception desk.

“Remember what I told you about the Sufferin'?” he asks suddenly without taking his eyes off the creature, “About how they take what's dead-?”

You cast your mind back even as a cold tendril of dread winds around your chest. “-And bring them back...Oh, god.”

In poetic conjunction with your sudden realisation, the creature blocking your exit throws it head back and unleashes a howl so chilling, Archie lets go of your hand to cover his ears while the others let out startled bleats and begin to cry. The sound of their fear hardens your resolve and, without warning, you whirl about and grab the closest child – who happens to be Lucia – underneath her arms, hoisting her up on top of the ringed desk.

“Get behind there!” you bark, indicating the space inside before leaning down to get Sam.

Unbeknownst to you, the maker standing to your rear is slowly working himself into a bloodthirsty frenzy. Of course...Of course the very thing that crawled through that opening just had to be one of the swarm, an undead member of the very species he’s currently trying to save. Though small and relatively weak by themselves, when a group of them get together, they can become as deadly and tenacious as any demon. And that’s the thing about the swarm. There’s never just one. Hence the name. 

Every single muscle in Ulthane’s hefty body is wound tighter than a coiled spring in anticipation of a fight, and all because behind him, there are six humans - six, innocent, petrified humans who never asked for any of this to happen, five of whom are small enough to be engulfed in the palm of his hand. This new world is unkind to small things. They can't protect themselves, so they have to be protected.

Up ahead, crawling through the rubble and dust like an oversized cockroach, is a threat - a threat to his charges. Unfortunately, it isn't the only one of its kind.

As he feared, another shadow flits along the ground and he has to tear his eyes off the first figure to see a second emerge into the museum's makeshift entrance. Then another appears, and another....and another...

Your voice cracks above the snaps of teeth and scrabbling of long fingernails on the marble floor. “Ulthane!?” 

“I see ‘em,” he growls, the blood in his veins reaching boiling point.  

One of the human younglings lets a sob escape their throats and it serves as kindling for the fiery rage that blazes in Ulthane's chest. 

“So! You bastards want a taste of human, eh!?” he jeers suddenly, eliciting snarls and growls from the aggressors. They slither closer, their hunger for a fresh meal curtailing their wariness of his immense hammer. Teeth bared and feet planted squarely between you and the swarm, Ulthane puffs his chest out, and you can't help but to be reminded of a bird fluffing itself up to try and ward predators away from its chicks. 

“Well then,” he continues and a dark smirk creeps onto his face, “You're goin' to have to go through me first.”

#Darksiders #Darksiders 3 #Ulthane #Reader #Kids #oh yes that good protective maker stuff #reader/Ulthane #fluff #angst #Ulthane scares some kids lol #gentle giant

[thekagepro24]

Can we appreciate Kou as a character? 

MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS UNDER READ MORE 

Usually in these kind of series with a trio, one person inevitably gets less spotlight, but JSHK makes sure to give Kou lots of depth. And in a way, I see him as more of a main character at times. With Young Exorcist arc, we see him blindly aspire to be just like his older brother, but he gains the independence and courage to tell Teru off for trying to exorcise Hanako before he's had a chance to prove himself.

With this being a supernatural series, having one of the main trio be an exorcist puts a great spin on things. And not just in a lighthearted sense.

Kou resolves to do his best as an exorcist and make his own decisions as to what is best to do. Afterwards he's set up with one of, if not the biggest challenge. After reuniting with Mitsuba, Tsukasa quickly steals that happiness away from him. A mysterious supernatural out of nowhere that turns his best friend into a husk of his former self.

This proves to Kou that pure resolve isn't enough to be an amazing exorcist. Resolve didn't save Mitsuba from turning into that, and resolve didn't save him from almost being killed just then.

But Hanako's appearance in this scene is very interesting. Instead of scolding Kou for lack of strength, Hanako doesn't even consider it. Through all of the hardships Hanako had faced during his life, and his now constant routine of having to get rid of spirits that become corrupted, Hanako feels like nothing can be done, and tells Kou just that.

"There was nothing that could have been done, this was for the best."

But Kou rejects that. He's not the type to take this kind of thing sitting down, which is very very resilient of him! After seeing all of that happen to Mitsuba and having flashbacks to human Mitsuba dying, he still says, through a tear-filled face, that this WASN'T for the best. That something COULD'VE been done. He just needs to find it.

We'd assume that whatever Hanako says must be true, as he is the most knowledgeable of the trio, but this scene proves that even Hanako is flawed and has something to learn from Kou, the sobbing mess gripping onto an old camera.

Next is Clock keepers. When the reveal is made about Yashiro, Kou confronts Hanako only to be told the same thing. "It can't be helped." Hanako had known what would happen to Yashiro and had been keeping quiet, believing there was no changing her fate, and thus, wanted to make do with the short time left.

Hanako informs him that with the time reset, Kou will forget all about learning this. He rejects this as well. He doesn't want to just go along with forgetting and inevitably losing Yashiro. Something had to be done. He had lost Mitsuba, what good would losing another close friend do?

In Hell of Mirrors, Kou is met with the grave reality that Tsukasa has stolen his best friends' memories and made him into a school wonder, all for his sick idea of fun. Mitsuba has no idea who he is, but calls him the same nickname. He's still Mitsuba, after all, even down to the funny nicknames. Kou gives Mitsuba the gardening book with photography done by Mitsuba himself. And along with that, he tells Mitsuba his name again. "I'm Kou Minamoto! Remember it, girly-face!"

And finally (so far) is Picture Perfect. Kou has to find out the meaning behind this fake world with Yashiro, and is told to kill Mitsuba.

He talks to Mitsuba, who's caught up in insecurities and learned helplessness. Kou himself is even taken aback when Mitsuba projects his past self on the window. Mitsuba breaks the window, claiming that even Kou doesn't care about him, only longing for the past Mitsuba. He breaks down, claiming no one else except Tsukasa could grant his wish.

Kou is faced with a big problem. He had resolved to save Mitsuba, to get him back, to help him out, but things have turned out this bad. His best friend is stuck here crying, helpless, and alone. No wonder he'd love this world. How else would he be able to live out the normal life both of them had lost to the distant past?

Mitsuba stares him dead in the eyes and makes the offer to Kou. "Let's stay here! You can save the friend that you lost, and we can just stay here! It'll be like Mitsuba never died!" He extends a trembling hand.

Kou can't accept this. But not in the same way as the two previous instances. This time, he has to know what to do and what to say on the spot.

After exchanging blows due to Mitsuba attacking in self-defense, Kou is able to recall Mitsuba's previous words, and brings them up as a rebuttal. "You didn't want to become 'Mitsuba', you wanted to become a human in the real world!"

Mitsuba tells him he's wrong, but that's a lie. Mitsuba knows full well Kou is right, but again retreats into helplessness, claiming to be alone.

And so, Kou leaps with Mitsuba. I think a lot of people misread this scene as Kou suddenly resolving to end it all, but Kou himself claims that's untrue. He resolves to return to the human world alongside Mitsuba and to stay by his side. (Remember that Kou had not yet learned the other way to leave the fake world. He believed the only way out was to kill Mitsuba, so he lept with Mitsuba as a means of going together instead of just pushing Mitsuba.) The leap was a means of proving to Mitsuba that he was serious about staying together. Even though only Mitsuba and Hanako had to be killed to return to reality, Kou leaps with Mitsuba.

Mitsuba stops this, worried about Kou's safety, and after some light bickering, they come to an understanding. For the first time since Young Exorcist, Kou has proven himself as dependable, and Mitsuba stays by Kou's side for the remainder of the arc as they find another way out of the fictional world.

Having a strong contrast to Hanako's all-knowing sort of aura, a great dynamic with figuring out all of this spirit stuff alongside Yashiro, and a strong drive to save Mitsuba from his misfortune, Kou is a very dynamic character that is amazing all-around. I ended up writing so much, but Kou deserves it. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#hey kous pretty neat with how dynamic he as a character #kou minamoto #jshk spoilers #hanako kun manga spoilers #jshk manga spoilers #I WROTE SO MUCH #I ONLY MEANT FOR IT TO BE A TINY THING LIKE #OOPS #my rambling

[irrlicht-writes]

underneath

A/N: Welcome to my BrOTP, HUsk & Vaggie. Sadly I didn’t do them the justice they deserve but I just wanted to write something, and it’s been too long since I wrote something for my AU. It’s not long & that good but hey (: I did a try.

Summary: Husk hasn’t been in school for a few days. Vaggie wasn’t expecting him to be sitting outside of the building, smoking and drinking on the premise. Something was wrong with him and she didn’t know what it was. She would learn but something was still wrong. High School AU, FTM Alastor (doesn’t come up here), Human

________________________________________

She found him sitting outside the school. Truth be told, she hadn’t been expecting to see him here at all – he had been missing for a few days. He had told Alastor he wouldn’t be around for a while, so she hadn’t been surprised but now he was sitting here. Al hadn’t said anything about Husk coming back, so what was he doing here?

Vaggie found herself to be standing just right here, staring at him. Husk was sitting on the ground and if she could make this out right, he was smoking something. It might be a cigarette, or a joint. From this distance, she couldn’t tell. He looked beat.

Should she go over?

In truth, she hadn’t really interacted much with Husk ever since he joined their little group. She didn’t dislike him, not completely anyway, but she didn’t really know how to approach him. Even though he was only about a year older than them, to her, he seemed to be an old and grumpy man already. She had no idea what Alastor saw in him but then again, Alastor was a bit insane himself.

“You just gonna stand there?”

She looked up from her thoughts. Apparently her feet made the decision for her because here she was, standing in front of the grumpy man.

“You’ve been missing for a few days,” she said instead of walking away. She grabbed the straps of her rucksack and looked Husk over. There was a bottle in his hand and it was indeed a cigarette he was smoking. She didn’t think he should be doing that on school grounds but then again, he didn’t seem like he cared about stuff like that.

“I’m amazed you noticed that.”

Husk looked up at her and she saw the bruises on his face. He had a blue eye that looked really bad and his lip was bust open. His gaze seemed to be a bit glassy, although she didn’t know if that was from the alcohol or not.

“Alastor missed you,” she said even though Alastor had made no indication that he did so. Maybe she felt bad for the guy? She didn’t like lying to anyone but maybe it would cheer Husk up. Why she cared about that, she didn’t know.

Husk chuckled. “He didn’t.”

Well, that went well.

“What happened?” she asked and Husk groaned as he pushed himself up against the wall. His posture was hunched and his clothes looked dirty. He was breathing heavily and Vaggie was uncomfortable looking at him.

“What happened?” she asked again and once more he ignored her. Instead, he stepped up next to her, put his hand on her shoulder and limped away. His hand was warm. She didn’t look after him.

*

Husk didn’t come to school the next day even though Vaggie expected him to do so. Alastor didn’t say anything either. She was conflicted if she should tell someone what she saw as she hadn’t even told Charlie. Charlie would just worry and insist that they go and help Husk out. Now, Vaggie wasn’t opposed to help people out and if it made Charlie happy, it’d be good enough for her. But with Husk she wasn’t sure he could be helped and she rather not have Charlie get disappointed with her inability to help a friend.

“Alastor,” she approached him during lunchtime, “do you miss Husk?”

He looked up at her, blinked and finished chewing. “Not really, no. Why? Do you miss him, Vaggie?”

“What? No. But he’s your boyfriend, don’t you miss him at least a little?”

He simply shook his head. “He’ll come back eventually.”

Vaggie stepped away, sitting down next to Charlie. How could Alastor not miss Husk? If Charlie were gone, she’d miss her dearly. But maybe she just didn’t understand a guy’s mentality.

Charlie had offered to take her home and most days, Vaggie accepted. But today she had wanted to walk and not ride with Charlie’s dad in their car.

With Husk gone, it fell to Vaggie to organise their electronic equipment. She had done it before Husk arrived but he was just a lot better at it. She didn’t like admitting it, but it was just the truth.

While walking him, she thought about what Alastor had said. And yesterday, Husk had even said that he knew Alastor wasn’t missing him. She didn’t even know if these two were really in love. At least in school it seemed like they were just friends, like they were with Angel maybe. Most people didn’t believe it when they were told that Husk and Alastor were a thing.

Somebody bumped into her shoulder. “Fuck,” she heard the person muttering and stumbling away. She knew that voice. “Husk?”

She looked at the man and indeed, it was Husk. He was stumbling hard and it seemed like he was barely standing upright. “Fuck,” he muttered again and tried to look at her. His gaze was unfocused and maybe she was mistaken but his face seemed to look worse than it did yesterday.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and she realised he didn’t recognise her at all.

“Husk. Husk, it’s me, Vaggie!”

He stared at her for a bit, blinking a bit. He didn’t seem to recognise her at all still but nodded anyway. “Sorry,” he said again and he tried regaining his balance to keep walking.

In this instance, she made a decision. Something was wrong and she couldn’t just keep walking.

“Husk, wait!” She grabbed his arm, stopping him. She could feel the heat radiating through his clothes and she thought that maybe he was running a fever. Husk stopped and turned to look at her. He cast his gaze down at her hand and then back up at her face. “Let go,” he requested and his voice was awfully differently than usual.

“Come home with me, please,” she said quietly and he just stared at her. She still didn’t think that he could truly see her. Vaggie held his gaze in trying to convince him. She didn’t know what she would be doing with him at her home but she just knew she couldn’t let him wander the streets like this.

His shoulder slumped and he just nodded. She let go of his arm and instead took hold of his hand so she could drag him after her. His hand felt clammy and she was absolutely sure he was sick.

 It didn’t take long for them to reach her house and she knew her parents weren’t home yet. Good. At least she didn’t have to explain what a guy was doing in her bedroom.

After entering, she tried to drag him to her room immediately, but Husk wouldn’t budge. “Your house is nice,” and his voice was definitely starting to sound a bit sluggish. “Husk, come on,” she pressured him and he let himself be pulled.

She put him on her bed and took the time to really look him over. He was still wearing the same shirt as yesterday and it looked like it needed to be thrown away. His pants weren’t any better – they were full of dirt.

“Husk, can you look at me?”

He tried, she could tell. But he kept losing focus on her face and looked right next to her. “Stop moving,” he told her and she didn’t have the heart to tell him she was standing absolutely still.

“Are you hurt?”

He chuckled. He let his head hang and his breathing was haggard. “Husk, I’m going to remove your shirt, okay?”

He didn’t protest when she reached for the buttons on his shirt. Still, she made sure to move relatively slow so that he could tell her to stop anytime. He didn’t and she removed his shirt. “Husk,” she whispered upon seeing him. “What happened?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Gotta earn money somehow, yeah?”

His upper body was covered in a lot of bruises and scratches – and some hickeys, too. She knew that Alastor wouldn’t have put them there and she didn’t like that knowledge. Vaggie set her jaw and she got up.

“Wait here,” she ordered him and she quickly left the room. She wasn’t gone long and she returned with a first-aid kit. “I’m going to clean some of the scratches, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

She rummaged through the kit and offered him a pill. “It’s for your fever. Take it now, okay?” Husk took the pill and just nodded. He swallowed it as Vaggie set to work.

To his credit, Husk didn’t flinch or protest once. She tried to not think too hard about where the scratches and the bite marks came from. She didn’t want to know but she also didn’t want to forget. It was important and eventually, they would need to talk about this. Not now, and not with Charlie or Alastor, but someday.

 She wasn’t quite done when he took hold of her hand and pushed her away. “I have to go home,” he said softly and leaned forward to press a dry kiss against her forehead. “Sorry for making you worry about me. Forget about it, yeah?”

He stood up and simply walked out of her room, leaving her and his discarded shirt behind. Vaggie just sat there on the ground, looking at the spot Husk had just sat in.

Something was wrong. And she didn’t know what to do to make it better.

*

When Husk returned to school a week later, he didn’t really pay any attention to Vaggie. His black eye was almost entirely gone and he seemed to be back to form.

She wondered if he was hurt beneath his shirt.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #hazbin high school #irrlicht-writes #writing #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin vaggie #platonic relationships

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 33: Declarations 

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Implied/Mentioned abuse, mentions of terrorism, death mention, injury mention, depiction of an emotional breakdown, trauma aftermath; Illustrated; Pesterlog

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

— carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling tipsyGnostalgic [TG] —

CG: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

— tipsyGnostalgic [TG] is an idle chum! —

CG: FUCK YOU, I CAN SEE THAT FOR MYSELF, YOU PIECE OF SHIT PROGRAM. I’M GONNA FUCKING YELL ANYWAY.

CG: I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO PICK ME UP AT NOON. IT’S LIKE, 1:30 AND YOU STILL AREN’T HERE, WHAT GIVES?

CG: IF YOU GOT KIDNAPPED, TOO, I SWEAR TO FUCK I’M PERSONALLY PUTTING THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN FAMILY UNDER PERMANENT WATCH.

CG: I’M NOT ABOVE SITTING ON YOU ASSHOLES IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES.

TG: okay first off i know youre like a literal alien but heres a protip for ya:

TG: general human earth etiquette is to not text people who you know are probably driving?

TG: its like a whole thing

CG: WHY

TG: idk probs because texting while driving’s a great way to fucking crash lol

TG: anyway!!

TG: yeah im real sorry about that mom fucking rang me up like

TG: hi im at the airport come get me!

TG: out of fucking nowhere because everything has to be a fucking hassle with this woman

TG: so i had to go get her

CG: WHY THE FUCK WAS SHE AT THE AIRPORT?

TG: because fuck me is why

TG: and THEN shes like

TG: ooooh i gotta do some mysterious whatthefuckever errand at some mall out in the middle of nowhere

TG: so now im sitting in the parking lot waiting for her to get back which might be a while because her bad leg’s been acting up lately

TG: and thats why im not there yet >:(

CG: WAIT. WAIT, HOLD ON, I’M CONFUSED.

CG: BY “MOM” ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RACHEL? I DIDN’T EVEN THINK SHE HAD A BAD LEG.

TG: nonono

TG: ray is like. dirk and dave and rose’s mom

TG: i dont call her mom i just call her aunt ray cuz shes not my mom yknow

TG: my mom is aunt ray’s sister

TG: aunt ramona? they talk about her?

CG: OOOOOOH. YEAH.

CG: THE WOMAN WHO WRITES THOSE SHITTY SUPERNATURAL ROMANCE BOOKS KANAYA LOVES.

TG: hahaha yeah her trashy shit is great

CG: SHE’S HERE?

TG: apparently!!!!!!!!

CG: I’M SENSING SOME BITTERNESS.

TG: ugh its fine she just always does shit like this

TG: womans always gotta make a fuckin entrance even if that means not telling anyone shes coming

TG: and its goddamn annoying as shit!!

TG: but its fine i get it shes here to help out and we are kinda all hands on deck

TG: speaking of tho i heard something about kanaya not coming along after all?

CG: NOT YET, NO.

CG: SHE’S BEEN TALKING TO ROSE, AND APPARENTLY DAVE’S BEEN PRETTY UNEASY WITH THE NUMBER OF NEW FACES AT THE HIVE.

CG: HOUSE. WHATEVER.

CG: TEREZI’S PROTECTION DETAIL HAS HIM KIND OF ON EDGE, I GUESS?

CG: SHE’S GONNA COME AROUND LATER PROBABLY. AND MIGHT END UP STAYING WITH PORRIM AND KEEP IT TO VISITS, AT LEAST UNTIL THINGS SETTLE DOWN A BIT.

CG: SO IT’S JUST ME FOR NOW.

TG: ooooh yeah geez i bet

TG: poor dave :( :( :(

TG: i gotta tell you and mom some uh. serious shit about him when i pick you both up

TG: id pass it on here but its probs better if i just tell you face to face?

CG: OH, WONDERFUL!

CG: MORE NO DOUBT HORRIFIC NEWS REGARDING DAVE.

CG: I CAN’T WAIT. THIS PANIC ATTACK’S GONNA BE ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS, I CAN JUST FEEL IT!!!

TG: :(

TG: tl;dr hes not in great shape but hes getting better but theres some stuff we gotta go over

TG: jfc mom what the fuck are you doing its been ages

CG: SO WAIT. SHE JUST HAD YOU DRIVE HER OUT SOMEWHERE AND WALKED OFF ALONE?

TG: yeah

TG: woman can take care of herself just fine so like im not worried??

TG: but still, like. cmon woman!!! whatever it is hurry up a little

TG: it cant be that important we got places to be

In terms of location, it was almost an outlet mall; somewhat detached from the nearest city and surrounded by forest. It was mostly all one building, positioned in a dip in the ground next to a clear stream, and these features had helped make it a serviceable fortress during the invasion, although Derek had regularly complained that he’d have preferred a site that held the high ground. Still, they’d made do; the roof was high enough that one could see for quite some distance, the stream offered fresh water, the trees provided decent enough cover during skirmishes, and the walls were thick enough to turn away most weather and weapons. It hadn’t been much, but it had served well enough as home for six years for around threescore ragtag survivors-turned-fighters.

Out in the surrounding forest, those who hadn’t survived that conflict still lay buried in pitiful graves marked only with a stone or a chunk of wood. There hadn’t been time to properly put anyone to rest; it had been risky enough for two or three people to slip out during a stretch of quiet with a shovel and a body. They simply hadn’t been able to afford to have any sort of formal burial, not with the threat of an attack constantly looming.

Even so, even so…

Derek had picked a spot he would remember.

In life, the oak tree would have been the kind people would have thought of as a monarch, with branches spread wide and gnarled wood ancient and strong, holding children in its branches as easily as if they were made of nothing; but the tree had already been dead by the time the invasion started, a great, ancient, dried-out husk. Even so, decades later, it still stood, its branches reaching toward the sky, the other trees forming a circle around it as though too respectful to come too close. Mushrooms and trails of greenery crept about a quarter of the way up the ancient trunk.

At its roots, a rotting wooden spar stuck up out of the ground. This, too, had been reclaimed by flowers, grasses and mushrooms, decorating the splintered and decayed timber with dark summer greens and pale white-and-lavender blooms.

Derek Strider, down on one knee with his sheathed sword held in his right hand, sighed. Of course, the trouble with having to bury the dead so hastily meant that there’d been no one to look over the graves, so it was to be expected that it be in such disrepair, but even so, seeing this one choked out by the invading flora was…

It wasn’t right.

Overhead, the ancient branches rustled slightly, and the raucous calling of a bird broke the silence. Derek narrowed his eyes and ignored it, tried to write the disrespectful noise out of the scene.

The crow seemed to have other ideas. The bird lighted down on the wooden grave marker, red eyes fixed on Derek’s face. It flapped its wings a few times, cawing incessantly. Derek scowled, unsheathed his sword, and struck —

The blade passed through the bird with no resistance whatsoever. The creature’s body split in two, bloodlessly, as though Derek had cut through smoke — it even looked like smoke, like a cloud cut in two by a passing jet. As Derek looked on, uncomprehending and with a growing sense of dread, the bird’s body seemed to pull itself back together, a video played in reverse, and the bird’s accusatory squawks started up again as though nothing had happened.

Derek was on his feet in an instance, stepping away from the beast, and as he did, he happened to look up…

Perched on nearly every branch of the old tree were ravens. Unlike the crow, they were all silent, and aside from the occasional shifting of a foot or tilting of a head, motionless. Scores of staring animal eyes bored into him.

Derek had never been a superstitious man, but nor was he the sort of fool to ignore the truth his own eyes showed him. He’d spent six years fighting alongside a witch, and seen enough to learn that some things really couldn’t be explained away as coincidence.

Had it been anyone else, he would have responded to the sound of footsteps approaching this site with a furious attack; even Ben knew better than to disturb him here. But when he whirled to face the intruder, he froze.

She’d aged more since he’d last seen her than he would have expected. Hints of silver streaked her hair, and she leaned heavily on her gnarled black cane. A faint breeze stirred the black fabric of her dress, playing with the light shawl laying across her shoulders. The crow had fallen silent.

“Put that thing away before you take someone’s eye out,” said Ramona, nodding nonchalantly at Derek’s sword.

Derek narrowed his eyes, and did not respond aloud, instead choosing to slowly and deliberately slide the sword back into its sheathe. Only after his left hand had returned to his side did Ramona nod and continue.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now we can talk things over like reasonable adults. Mind you, I ought to do the world a favor and wipe you out right now,” and Derek took a slow, deep breath at that, as she continued, “But I’d prefer not to desecrate your brother’s grave by staining it with your blood. I respect him far too much for that. You, however, have somehow managed to exceed all of my worst expectations to a nearly unfathomable degree, as of late. I’ve held off on this confrontation out of respect for the past, but I can see now that this was a mistake.”

Derek shifted. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect our damn planet, Ramona,” he started, but was cut off.

“Really?” she said, “Well, then. I’m not about to attempt to ask you to cease killing trolls, as we both know that would be pointless, but I would very much like to know how exactly burning your own son alive plays into your grand battle strategy?”

“He…he turned on us,” Derek said, through gritted teeth, “He forced my hand, left me no choice!”

“He is a child!” Ramona snapped. “And you, of all people, should know better! If you really must follow this path of self-destruction to its end, fine, but he should never have been involved!”

“I—”

“And in any case, you had a perfectly good sword on hand, I’m sure. If young Dave really did need to die, you could have executed him with minimal pain, but no, you wanted him to hurt, to know he was dying and to fear you and suffer as he passed. How do you justify that, Derek? How does anyone, especially a child, deserve anything of the sort?”

The eyes of the ravens and that damned crow still drilled into him. He could feel the stares on his back, but kept his eyes locked on Ramona’s, refusing to back down.

He wasn’t going to take back what he’d done. There’d be no guilt, he’d done nothing wrong except overreact a bit. It was justified. That…that boy wasn’t Dave. Ramona was using the name like a blade, but she’d not win that way. He didn’t deserve the fucking name, didn’t deserve to have anything to do with Dave, he never would have let Rachel name the kid that if he’d known he was going to grow up to be such a pathetic, useless little coward.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” said Ramona, folding her hands over the top of her cane. “I’ve a fairly good idea, in any case.” She sighed. “The war is over, Derek. The time to put aside this violence and misery is long since behind us. Our children do not deserve to grow up as we did.”

“The trolls are still here,” Derek spat.

There was a long silence. Ramona sighed again.

“Fine, then,” she said, “So be it. Do as you will. Chase violence as long as you like. But if you come near my family again, I will consider it an act of war.”

She turned, and he was tempted to take the bait, to try attacking her while her back was turned, but he held still. It was infuriating, knowing what a pointed insult turning her back on him was, knowing that she knew he would not risk attacking her—but she was right. She was much too dangerous.

“Come along, little one,” she said, abruptly. The crow rose off the grave and flew to land on top of Ramona’s cane. If Derek had cared to pay any attention, he might have noticed the crow look back at him with something like regret in its eyes, but Derek was already far too lost in his own thoughts.

As one bird, the ravens took wing, dispersing in all directions, leaving him alone again.

The trouble with trying to go from Alternian to English was a multifaceted one, to be sure, but so far the most obnoxious piece of it that Karkat could see was the tendency of guides on how to speak English to simply use the closest Alternian equivalent as an English word’s translation. More and more, the two languages were notably extremely different, and while he could speak English well enough that he’d never had any serious problems, there were any number of words that he kept tripping over as a result of a translation being extremely unclear and culturally misleading.

Witches, for instance, were clearly something very different on Earth. The Alternian word that was translated to English as “witch” was, like most Alternian words, a series of noises in the ‘click and growl’ family that most humans lacked the anatomy to create, and generally refered to certain lowblood prophets and healers in Alternian folklore. They were those who lived away from society and who, through some lucky genetics and convenient psychic powers, were able to fend of drones and effectively disappear from the world at large’s knowledge. They kept to themselves, sought to harm no one who didn’t attack them first, offered shelter to the weak and the hunted, and as such were always portrayed as utterly despicable beings in fiction, as no writer with any sense of self-preservation had dared to portray such reckless treachery under the rule of the last Condesce. There might have been some changes to the lore under the new one’s rule, but things like that changed slow.

In any case, they certainly weren’t anything like the old woman in a shawl who was sitting next to Roxy in the front of her car.

She was dressed all in black, for one thing. Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear much black. Some Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear all that much clothing at all, really. Most seemed to belong to ancient religions that weren’t particularly fond of shirts.

Ramona was definitely magic as shit, though, Rachel’d been right about that much. Was that all a witch was on Earth, just someone with magic? Fuck, if that were the case, then probably like at least a third of all trolls were witches by Earth’s standards. Then again, maybe magic was another poorly translated word? English didn’t seem to have a word to separate “things that we (read: trolls) know exist, like psychic powers and psiionics and ghosts and chucklevoodoos,” and “things that are super fake and don’t actually happen ever and make no sense.”

Whatever. In any case, Ramona didn’t look at all like Karkat had expected, and when he climbed into the back of the car, she didn’t react to his presence with anything stronger than an amiable nod. She seemed to have her mind on other things, and was largely silent at first.

Roxy wasn’t; she immediately piped up happily as Karkat swung open the door with a “Hey, man! Sorry about taking so long! Can you, uh, do me a favor and check on Jaspers? He’s in the carrier behind Mom, Rose asked me to pick him up while she and Aunt Ray were gone. He’s been missing them a lot, all staring out the window and kneading his blanket and shit, and he’s not a huge fan of car rides.”

“He’s asleep,” Karkat said after glancing into the little crate.

“Awesome. Alright, buckle up and we’ll get this damn show on the road.”

“On the road again, just can’t wait to get on—”

Karkat tilted his head as the car’s radio abruptly changed from quietly playing some human pop song over to something much louder and completely different. Ramona stifled a snort as Roxy stabbed a button, switching the radio back to the previous channel.

“No, thank you,” she said, glaring. “Christ, the fuck is with this thing today, I swear to god.”

“I suppose it may simply be getting into the spirit of things,” said Ramona with a smile. As the car pulled away from the curb, she turned back a bit to face Karkat. “It’s Karkat, isn’t it? Rachel’s been sending me any number of emails with updates, and from the sound of things, you’ve been rather instrumental in bringing young Dave back into the fold, so to speak.”

“…Into the what?”

“It’s a figure of speech, meaning in this case that you’ve helped us return him home as well as helping him to adjust to being there,” she said. “For which you have all of our heartfelt thanks. Ours is perhaps not the most functional of families, but it  is ours, and as I’m sure you’ve seen firsthand, ripping away a piece of it the way Derek did has had some very painful consequences for all involved. We owe you a great deal.”

“Yeah, man!” Roxy said. “And from what Rose has been telling me, you were kind of a big part of why he finally spilled what he knows. Which, he did bee-tee-dubs, which means he’s off house arrest finally, so that’s good—”

“—And a partridge in a pear tree,” the radio crackled.

“What the fuck? It’s August,” Roxy scowled. She turned the radio off altogether as Ramona glanced hurriedly out the window.

“Speaking of Dave,” Karkat said, hopefully before anyone got distracted again, “Roxy, you mentioned that there was something that you needed to say face to face?”

“Right, shoot, yeah,” said Roxy. The car turned onto the long road that led eventually to the Lalonde hive. “Okay, so, like. There’s definitely some shit you should know before we get there, but I wanna preface it all real clearly by saying that Dave’s okay, y’know? He’s got a lot of healing to do, but the doctors said that as long as he’s looked after and we change bandages and shit and he gets plenty of rest, he’s definitely not in any danger anymore. He’s…weak, but he’s not like gonna keel over at any moment, okay?”

“Not actually making me feel any better, Roxy!” said Karkat. Oh, boy, with a preface like that…

“Well, fuck, I tried, I guess. Uh. So, Dave did get hurt…pretty bad, and there were some other complications—oh, for fuck’s sake!!”

“Watch me, watch me, hey, watch me, watch me!” The radio was louder than ever. Ramona’s hand flew up, poorly hiding a grin.

Karkat leaned around Roxy’s seat to glare at her.

“What the fuck, Roxy,” said Karkat.

“I’m not doing this!” Roxy said, waving her hand wildly. “I swear to fuck, I wouldn’t! I really do need to pass on some shit about poor Dave, and the radio’s never done this before? It’s been acting up since a little before we picked you up, keeps changing on its own and shit, augh!”

She fought with the controls, but the song stopped only for a moment before getting even louder.

“Why the fuck do you humans even have this obnoxious song?! Who listens to this?? It’s literally just some squawking wiggler screeching for its lusus’s attention!”

“I mean, I kinda love it for that honestly, it’s terrible and stupid and wonderful, but like, come the fuck on??? What’s with this thing?! Now is not the time!”

“Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass—“

“GOD, that’s even worse!!” Roxy yelled, slamming her fist down on the dashboard. “Fucking stop!!”

“That’s enough for now,” Ramona said, almost murmuring it.

The radio turned off. Karkat and Roxy both turned a suspicious eye on Ramona, and with equal simultaneity, decided to drop it for now.

“Anyway,” Roxy said slowly, “What I was trying to say is, um…Karkat, do you know what it means for someone to ‘flatline?’ Because, um. Dave kinda did, for like, a minute and a half.”

Karkat shook his head, realized Roxy probably couldn’t see him with her eyes on the road, and said, “Uh, I have no idea what that word means, no.”

“Well, um…”

“It refers to a heart monitor indicating that the heart has ceased beating,” Ramona said. “The machine indicates activity with a line which shows peaks and valleys, and it goes flat when that activity has stopped, thus, ‘flatline’. The organ we call a heart serves an equivalent function to what trolls call a ‘blood pusher’ or a ‘pump biscuit.’”

Karkat felt for a moment like his own pump biscuit had stopped.

“Shit, Mom, when did you get so good at translating to trolls?” Roxy murmured.

Ramona shrugged. “I’ve made efforts to reach out,” she said. “The war ended, after all, and since we’re allies now, it doesn’t hurt to learn about each others’ cultures.”

“His fucking—What?!” Karkat screeched, unable to keep the harsh buzzing whine out of his voice. God, that was such a moirail noise, and any other time he’d have yelled at himself for not keeping it under control, but not now, not when… “His fucking blood pusher stopped and I’m supposed to be calm!?!”

“They got it moving again!” Roxy said. “He’s okay now, the doctors said it was going strong! It was, um, mostly just exhaustion, they think? Like, the burn wounds could’ve killed him on their own, sure, but they got on those quick enough that if he’d been healthy to begin with he probably wouldn’t have been so bad off? But between ten years of, you know…and just, apparently he hasn’t been eating enough even while he’s been back with us? And Ray’s gonna get on his ass about that, but, just—look, the thing is, Dirk doesn’t know about this yet, and Aunt Ray’s asked that we try to keep it that way, and I don’t really get why but I think she has her reasons?”

Karkat was definitely hyperventilating, oh fuck, oh fuck—Ramona’s hand reached back to touch his own, snapping him out of it.

“It’s fine to be worried,” she said, gentle. “I promise you, though, it is as Roxy says: he’ll be fine given time to recover and the safety with which to do so. He’ll be alive when we get there.” She sat back in her chair, turning towards the road again. “As for Dirk, I suspect Rachel is waiting for things to settle down before breaking it to him gently. He is, for better or worse, very like his father, and Derek handled his brother’s death poorly, in large part because at the time we could not afford to mourn. Rachel probably wants to make sure that Dirk does not feel he has to force himself to be strong when she tells him.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Roxy muttered. “Anyway, the main thing about that is that he’s not got a lot of energy right now, so don’t…take it personally if he just falls asleep on you sometimes? Especially with the painkillers he’s on, apparently that’s a side effect, too. He can walk short distances, but he gets wobbly quick and needs help sometimes, so there’s that too.”

“Fuck,” said Karkat, softly.

The next ten minutes of the ride were carried out in tense silence. This was broken by the radio once again bursting back on and blasting the ass song again, at which point Roxy threatened to pull over and smash the fucking thing to smithereens.

By the time they actually got to the fucking house, Karkat felt like his soul was going to vibrate right out of his fucking body with impatience. They had yet another delay in the form of Terezi’s protection detail—Terezi herself wasn’t there, but some officers were, and they insisted on knowing about any weapons the three of them had as well as names, and went in to check with the family while making them all wait outside by the car. Karkat already had his fucking bag in hand, he was ready to go, but no, they had to go through this tedious procedure! Sure, it was probably a smart move, and when he was feeling a little more sensible he’d be more okay with it as it was the sort of thing that probably would make them all feel a bit safer (especially poor fucking Dave), but right now the were a pain in the ass and he was going to fucking explode!!! If they didn’t!!! Let him get in the fucking hive!!!!!

Rose stepped out as they were still talking to the police, and for the first time in his life Karkat was unspeakably happy to see her. She quickly confirmed to the police that all three of them were in fact expected and trusted by this household, and then gently let Jaspers out of his carrier. The cat immediately yowled and threw himself into her arms, kneading at her shoulders and rubbing his face against hers, and it all would have been super cute if Karkat didn’t have his mind on other fucking things.

“Come on in,” Rose said, nodding towards the door. “Dirk’s on the couch and Dave’s in Mom’s room, as neither of them can handle stairs right now and Dave needs his bandages changed at least twice a day. Karkat, do you—”

She was talking to air. He was already in the fucking door.

And then had to face the fact that he’d never actually been to Rachel’s room. Fuck. Rachel was coming up the hall, though, and a slightly bewildered young human (wait, fuck, that was Dirk, what happened to his hair? It looked so weird hanging down like that instead of spiked up) was sitting on the couch with an Earth husktop on his lap. Roxy pushed in the door with Ramona right behind her, dropped a heavy wheeled bag right next to the door, and immediately launched herself at Dirk, who gave a startled yelp as she did so.

Rachel rested a hand on Karkat’s shoulder as she passed him, rushing up toward Ramona throwing her arms around her shoulders. The two shared a long hug, and Rachel kissed Ramona’s cheek.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Karkat heard Rachel murmur, before Rose tapped his shoulder.

“I was asking if you knew where Mom’s room is,” Rose said.

“Uh.”

“It’s down the hall to the observatory, but you take a left before you get to it. Make sure to make plenty of noise on the way over, Dave gets really jumpy when he’s the only person in that room. He can’t block the door since we need to be able to come in and out, and it’s got him a bit on edge.”

Karkat nodded, unable to get any words out past the lump in his throat. He more or less just dropped his bag on the ground and pushed past, zooming around toward the room indicated. Dave looked half-asleep when Karkat pushed the door open, and waved as he sat up with some effort.

God, the photo Rose had taken didn’t do justice to how fucking bad he looked. There were bruises across his face and neck turned a weird greenish-gray but still dark against his skin, and bandages everywhere, his hair was a mess (although that might have just been from sleeping). He was in some oversized shirt with an Earth hoofbeast on the front that was probably Dirk’s judging by the size, and Karkat had no idea why Dave had it on but right now he didn’t care.

“Hey, man, uh. Shit’s been crazy, huh?” Dave said with an awkward grin. He didn’t have his shades on either, which made sense if he’d been sleeping, except they weren’t on the bedside table (which did instead contain a nearly empty glass of water, several bottles of pills and salves, and a first aid kit from which clean cloth bandages overflowed).

Two weeks of emotion boiled over all at once. Wordless, Karkat stomped across the room and grabbed Dave’s stupid fucking shirt in both hands and tugged him close.

“It was three days, Dave,” Karkat hissed.

“Wha—?”

“Three days! And you got yourself fucking kidnapped by a terrorist on day goddamn two!! What the fuck, Dave?!” His voice was threatening to abandon him, but Karkat forced it right back into place by sheer willpower. This tangent would not be fucking stopped, hell no. “I take my eyes off of you for two days, and you get yourself into shit again! What the fuck!!! Do you have any idea how-how fucking agonizing it’s been waiting for news?! And you’re just sitting there like ‘Oh, hey! What’s up?’ What’s up is my foot up your waste chute, you hopeless fucking—!” Okay, nope, his voice was leaving after all, actually. He felt tears roll down his face, and he should’ve been more worried about that, but Dave already knew about his blood color and he was the only troll in the house right now, so, fuck it, fuck it all! Helpless, he tugged Dave closer again, letting his face press against that stupid shirt, claws still twisted into the fabric as he sobbed.

“Holy shit,” Dave muttered.

“I was so fucking scared,” Karkat gasped. This was pathetic, they weren’t remotely a couple, Karkat had no right to be this worked up and he knew it, but…Dave wasn’t exactly pushing him away, either, was he?

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t even…It wasn’t planned this time, it just sorta happened, and Dirk got hurt, and I…”

“I’m not actually angry at you, despite having so much right to be that legislacerators everywhere have preemptively declared me innocent. I’m just fucking screaming for the sake of it, dumbass.”

“Oh.”

The awkward pause that followed was filled with only the sound of Karkat’s weeping, which, fuck, he was probably too fucking embarrassed to tell him off. Except…Dave’s hand lifted up to rest gently against Karkat’s back, so, maybe he didn’t mind that much? Was that wishful thinking?

“Sorry for this,” he said, just in case, as he pulled away a bit. “It’s really fucking embarrassing, I know, I just…”

“It’s cool, man,” said Dave. Then, with a wink, he said, “I know you got your massive Strider homocrush, it’s only natural—”

“Dave, I swear to fuck, injured or not, I will pummel you into dust with a fucking pillow, don’t test me!” Karkat snapped.

Dave snorted. “Hey, man, it’s fine, everyone’s allowed to be a lil gay sometimes with their friends, it’s only natural.”

“I’ll ‘natural’ you!! Motherfucker, I spent the two weeks worrying about your wellbeing and you come at me with more of this bullshit!!”

Dave cackled with laughter. Karkat rolled his eyes and sniffled. He feigned annoyance as best he could, but, God, it was such a relief to hear Dave laugh. Rubbing a sweater sleeve furiously across his eyes, Karkat pulled back, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Okay, but seriously, what’s with the shirt?” he asked, gesturing at the floating head of the hoofbeast. It wasn’t even a joke or a drawing. It was just…a straight photo of a hoofbeast’s face, with no text or explanation of any sort. What the fuck??

Dave glanced down, and snickered. “Oh, shit. Uh, yeah, we needed something that’s easy to get me in and out of, since the bandages on this fuckin’ burn need to be changed like, a lot, not to mention the gross-ass cream they have us slathering all over it on the regular. We tried a button down, but the buttons were kinda chafing, and like…who the fuck wants to ruin a fancy shirt with gross burn juices, right? And Dirk’s shit is more comfortable, and this one’s big enough that it’s real easy to take off even if I’m high on the damn painkillers.”

Karkat winced slightly, but decided not to comment. The scream from the video echoed somewhere in his think pan. “Where’re your shades?”

“Bro fuckin’ stepped on them or something, man, I dunno. They fell off at some point, and they were already cracked before all that, and Terezi just found pieces. Which fucking sucks, I mean God dammit, those were a gift from John. Shit sucks.”

“John?” Karkat tipped his head.

“Yeah, he’s like, an old friend of mine. Have I not mentioned him to you? Whatever, he, uh.” Dave scratched at the side of his head. “He was an online friend from before Bro started doing the, uh, raid shit, and I kept talking to him and another friend, Jade, for a while afterwards even though I wasn’t supposed to?”

“Jade’s name I remember,” Karkat said.

“Haha, yeah, yeah cuz I told you about…anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I guess since Dirk’s college is starting up again soon, not that he’s going for the first couple weeks with his leg and a fucking concussion, but, it’s starting up, and John’s sister goes there too, and he’s gonna come with so we’ll be able to hang out for a bit? Which is fuckin’ rad, I haven’t even talked to the guy in three years and we’re finally meeting in person.”

“You want him to be here? While you’re this badly injured?” Karkat yelped.

Dave blinked at him like he’d just grown a secondary head.

“I mean, yeah?” Dave said. “Like, yeah, I’m not in great shape and I guess it’ll be a lil weird for him to see me like this, but I’ve missed him.” Before Karkat could press the question further, though, Dave yawned. “Ugh, fuck, I wanna keep talking, but I’m…halfway to falling asleep, shit.”

“Oh,” said Karkat. He got up, ready to leave. He wanted to stay, wanted to curl himself around Dave’s obnoxiously lanky frame as best he could and protect this fragile idiot human from the entire universe, but…it wasn’t his place, was it? No.

“You leaving?” said Dave, rubbing at his unbruised eye.

“You said you wanna sleep,” Karkat said.

“Right. Uh. Could you, like…fill this back up for me, then, I guess?” Dave said.

“…Sure,” said Karkat.

He was…still confused, but Dave was tired, so he didn’t press. But he couldn’t wrap his head around wanting a friend around while he was so injured—well, he’d wanted Karkat around, hadn’t he? He’d seemed happy to see him, aside from the, uh, yelling. Still, it didn’t make sense! Every troll knew as a small child that the only people you could trust when you were injured were your lusus, your moirail, and maybe your matesprit! Anyone else might take advantage of the weakness and kill you, that was just basic logic! But Dave didn’t even seem to be thinking about it.

And…and yet, come to think of it, Roxy’d been awfully forthright about how bad Dave’s condition was. Hell, she’d heard it from Rose, who seemed like the one most likely to know not to spread that weakness, but the humans were all sharing it and passing it around. It wasn’t just that they didn’t seem to care who knew that Dave and Dirk were injured, it was like they wanted people to know.

And as he filled up the glass of water in the kitchen, he watched as Roxy and Dirk talked on the couch, as Dirk told her that he’d passed on the news of their condition to Jane already, that Rose had told her and Dave’s friends, and it just kept going. Everyone had to be up to date on the fact that both brothers were injured and vulnerable, and yet…

“I hope the flight wasn’t too long,” Rachel was saying to Ramona.

“Nothing would be too long right now,” she said in turn, blowing gently on a cup of tea that Rachel had just poured her. “Times like these, we all need to do our part. I know I might not be able to do much, mind you. My leg’s been acting up something fierce, as of late, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

Something clicked. All at once, the curtains pulled back and Karkat saw the whole picture—saw maybe not what it always was, and certainly not what the Lalondes achieved on any sort of regular basis, but what it was supposed to be, how it was meant to work.

On Alternia, everyone lived in constant competition. Trolls had to be strong as close to all the time as they possibly could, or at the very least find a moirail who could, because otherwise their society wouldn’t particularly care much if they died. That just meant they didn’t deserve to be a part of the gene pool or to contribute to society. If they were injured badly and left vulnerable, it was seen as normal for others to take advantage of that weakness and exert power or outright kill a rival. It was how they survived so long, or so the cultural narrative had so long stated: by this competition, the strongest survive. Nevermind that this survival was built on the corpses of uncountable trolls who didn’t make the cut, it Worked.

As a result, trolls had been bewildered just as Karkat had by how humans as a species managed to be so frail and yet so reckless and to still survive, especially when they didn’t exactly have the kind of numbers that trolls did. Humans lacked the numbers to be expendable, lacked the strength and toughness that kept Trolls alive, and yet they looked Death in the eye and pointed and laughed, and pushed themselves to extremes for no purpose other than to have some warped idea of fun. It was a question that had lingered around his consciousness for ages; how the fuck do humans even work as a species? How had such a seemingly doomed race not died off yet?

The answer that hit him now, as he watched Roxy help Dirk stand up and balance himself on a pair of crutches, was that humans didn’t have to be strong all the time, and that was the magic of their little social units, their families—they took care of each other. No one person had to be good at everything, or so good at one thing that it could keep them safe in any situation. It didn’t matter that their skin was thin or that they weren’t particularly strong or fast, they always, always had others around who would pick up the slack, others who would come even across oceans to offer what aid they could in times of strife; they weaved together all their strengths and weaknesses into a fabric able to withstand just about anything. Fuck, no wonder they’d wanted Dave back so badly. The Lalondes may have been less a tapestry and more a patchwork quilt, but it was still their quilt, and Dave was a part of it….

He felt a near-agonizing pang of envy that he didn’t have a quilt of his own. Humans might have been stupid about a lot of things, but this…this they’d gotten right.  

“Fucking water? Is that really the best you could think of? Fucking dumbass,” Dave muttered to himself. God. This was stupid. This was all really fucking stupid. He couldn’t even deal with being alone while he was asleep, for Chrissakes! Too scared of nightmares of a big mean dog, like some fuckin’ little kid.

Yeah, he was tired, but he really, really didn’t wanna be alone right now, was the thing. Not with that fucking troll-drug-induced nightmare lingering around the edges, waiting to chase him down again at its first chance. But. Like. Karkat was kind of right? Bros don’t watch each other sleep, that’s fuckin’ creepy. Like. Okay, so maybe they’d done a bit of that way back when Karkat had been kidnapped, but they didn’t have a choice back then, and anyways they mostly slept at the same time during that experience, which was super different from just asking his best alien friend to fuckin’ hold his hand so the  bad dreams wouldn’t get him. Fuck.

So he’d asked Karkat to refill his glass, even though he wasn’t thirsty right now, because it was an excuse to make Karkat come back, at least for a few more minutes, and they could talk for a bit, and maybe Dave’d stop being tired, wouldn’t that be rad.

Karkat came back in looking really thoughtful. He handed the glass over, and Dave took a sip to try and look like he hadn’t been 100% bullshitting there, and mumbled a thanks as he set it down. Then, just as a thought, he jerked his head toward the rest of the bed—it was a big king-sized one, probably left over from before the divorce and Mom had just never downsized or whatever, so there was a lot of space to Dave’s right—and told Karkat he could sit down if he wanted, Dave wasn’t gonna, like, pass out right this minute or anything, haha.

Karkat stayed quiet, which was fuckin’ weird, but he did sit down. He stared at the sheets for a minute, and then spoke up suddenly, saying, “I think I get it.”

“Get what?” said Dave.

“Why they wanted you back so bad,” said Karkat. “I mean, way back when you were first arrested. I kind of fought with Dirk over it at one point, because my only experience with the word Dirk used for why you should be with him was fucking Strider. And also I think I get why this shit all works, for humans in general. I mean, I’m probably just saying obvious shit, but it’s not how trolls work, we don’t take care of each other, not like this.”

Dave tipped his head.

“I mean with the whole fucking family thing,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get it this whole time, but this shit’s used to justify so much bullshit with you humans, and I think I get it now, and why it’s so fucking important to you as a species.”

Dave snorted. “Dude, it’s not that big a thing—”

“It is, though! It just seems normal to humans because it’s how you always work, but, Dave, I’m serious, back on Alternia it’s every troll for themself. Maybe you  have one person who has your back if you’ve got a moirail, maybe some are lucky like me and have friends who are actually consistently on your side and won’t take the first chance they get to kill you or fuck you up some other way, but we definitely don’t have a whole cluster of others we can just fall back on any time we’re met with something we can’t handle alone.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Dave started, but Karkat just kept going. Apparently he’d had some sort of fuckin’ epiphany in the past two minutes.

“It took me so fucking long to get this, but I get it now! You know what I don’t get, though, is why the fuck you ever tried to convince me that Strider is part of your fucking family.”

Something in Dave dropped like a stone.

He’d…had a similar thought, really. Repeatedly. Multiple times, over the past week or so. He’d been kind of trying to avoid it, because every time it popped up, he got really stressed out.

“And don’t give me any of the bullshit about being ‘related’ or what the fuck ever, I don’t wanna hear it,” Karkat kept right on going. “I still don’t get why you humans care so much about that. The whole point of this family thing is that you all take care of each other, not that you’re related or whatever! Your aunt’s here, did you know that? She flew across an entire fucking ocean just to make sure she could help out you and Dirk! What the fuck did Strider ever do for you?”

It was a good question. And the answer, of course, was: aside from trying to  kill him, do you mean? Hahaha.

Karkat was still talking, but Dave wasn’t really hearing him. Fuck, this had been a mistake, he should’ve taken his chances with the fucking nightmare dog. That was better than this old song and dance with his own thoughts.

The facts were pretty simple. He’d operated under pretty clear logic when he went up against Bro: We’re family, so he loves me, so therefore if I ask him to let me leave and explain that I really can’t deal with this, he’ll let me go. Except, Bro had tried to kill him, which meant that…

That was as far as Dave ever got. He couldn’t think any farther than that.

He felt like…like the next thought should be obvious, but he couldn’t make himself think it. It was too big—not so much a square peg in a round hole as it was trying to cram a grain silo into a pinhole, and the thought threatened to overwhelm and destroy him, so instead of thinking it, his brain kept rejecting it, the effect being like a broken record skip-skip-skipping, over and over, repeating the last thought he could get to before the Big One, because he couldn’t not think the Big One, either…

It was so fucking stupid, it was just a thought, why couldn’t he…

“Hah, yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I was always kinda wrong about this shit, wasn’t I?” Dave said, unable to stop the sardonic laughter bubbling up in his throat. “I mean, fuck, no wonder it took you so long to get, I probably gave you the wrong idea. My dumb ass was convinced he’d never try to kill me, cuz we’re family, and, well, here we fuckin’ are!”

Skip, skip, skip—

Karkat was still talking in stuttered phrases in the gaps of Dave’s own flood of words, looking almost scared, but Dave didn’t comprehned any of them, and anyway, the ranting had started, there was no stopping this shit now. “Like, what the fuck was I even thinking, right? I really thought that was gonna work, that somehow he’d just let me go if I asked, like a fucking idiot! Haha, what a fuckin’ dipshit, right?! And here I was thinking he—” Frantic laughter bubbled up, overtaking the words, not that more would’ve come, that next thought was just too big. Was he crying? Fuck, Karkat didn’t need to see any of this shit, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think

Skip, skip, skip, skip, skipskipskipskipskipskip—

It wasn’t Karkat’s fault. It really wasn’t. He might’ve set it off, but the storm had been building up for days, now, and it broke hard, sweeping Dave up in a torrent of just wordless mental screaming. He couldn’t think the next thought. He couldn’t. But the thing was damming him up, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore, and he was stuck in the middle and left to just completely melt down and dissipate into the flood.

A sound like a cicada crossed with the creakiest horror movie door ever to creak ripped through the tides, and suddenly Dave found himself tugged into a full body hug, wrapped up in four limbs with his face pressed into a thick sweater. The touch dragged him out of the flood and onto dry land, brought him back into now before he even knew what was happening. Karkat’s whole chest was vibrating with some intense cricket-cat hybrid purr, and this should’ve been so embarrassing but he was so tired and so lost and it was fucking comforting, so who the fuck cared. Who cared anymore. It was all bullshit. He could be embarrassed later.

Too soon, Karkat seemed to have the same thought, and tried to pull away. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is really presumptive and I know you aren’t even into boys,” he babbled.

Dave groaned, wrapping his arms around Karkat’s chest and pulling him close. “Dude, if you try to make this about alien romance right now, I swear to fuck,” he gasped out between harsh sobs. Christ, he was going harder than Karkat did like twenty minutes earlier, what the fuck.

Karkat paused. Good. It meant his warm arms were still there. “Dave, I…I mean, this is troll romance, this is textbook moiraillegience, and I shouldn’t just be throwing myself at you because you had a moment of weakness, no matter how bad I, uh.”

Dave sniffled, wracked his brain for a moment…Karkat had explained this stuff about a million times, which one was…”That’s like…the bros quadrant, right?”

“The what.”

“The one that’s, like, platonic and shit.”

“…Yeah?” The cricket-purr started up again, cautiously.

“We fuckin’ kinda do most of that shit already, don’t we?” Like. Yeah. He wasn’t gay. That was still a thing. But Karkat was warm and solid and real and Dave was fucking exhausted and didn’t want to be alone, especially not when he felt right now like he was wrapped in safety. “Please, Karkat,” he added, because why not beg. He was already at maximum pathetic, there was no digging this hole lower, fuck it. “I really don’t wanna be alone right now, just, please don’t go.”

Karkat was quiet for a long moment, but finally, the cricket-purr went back to full volume and Karkat’s arms tightened around him.

“Okay,” Karkat said quietly. Dave let out a breath he’d barely known he’d been holding and went back to crying.

“We’re going to have to talk about this later,” Karkat murmured, which put him at about normal volume for anyone else.

“Later, then,” said Dave, and let himself finally fall the fuck asleep.

#dave strider #karkat vantas #davekat #roxy lalonde #longpost// #u BET UR BUTT THIS OENS GOIN IN THE DAVEKAT TAG #ITS ABOUT TIME #fanfic #fanfiction #calmvsstormfic #calmvsstormchapter #katt does a writing #jkdfsgfjhsfjshf not the best start to a relationship but like its something #lord this got long. #why tf did i think 32 and 33 would ever fit into one chapter.