#ashnbone

                                      ❛ I've been thinking of basing a character off you. ❜ The ghoul hums , the charming smile tugging along her lips as she lifted her coffee to her lips with a low sigh. It slid down her throat with a subtle warmth , making her fall silent for a moment. ❛ A handsome hero , trying to save someone ? What do you think , Ash ? ❜

From their first heart to heart Asher’d been taken in by the half demon and his big brown eyes. Driven to protect and to sooth and to calm an anxiety that surfaced when thinking about the boy’s well being. Social Media was a blessing and a curse - and his first clue that Kyungsoo wasn’t feeling well. A small complaint on twitter alerted the shapeshifter to the other’s state of health, and barely an hour elapsed before the giant was knocking against the smaller man’s door, bearing a cup of Starbucks™ labeled ‘chai tea’.

The halfling seemed surprised when he opened the door to Asher spilling his bulk inside without further invitation, the hot cup held out as a peace offering.  “Here,” heat spills into his neck but he presses on, ignoring the flush and bringing a smile onto his face, “I brought this to help you feel better.” 

he’s already paid rent three months in advance. he stopped tracking in rain from his shoes every other night, and he’s told the landlady at least five times now that, no, it isn’t his dog waking up everyone on the fourth floor at two in the morning. (he doesn’t even have a dog.) so when he cracks the door open, he has half a speech already sorted out amongst his muddled thoughts, only to blink dumbly when he finds another familiar face. 

“what’re you--” he barely gets the words out before asher invites himself into the flat, the half-hearted ‘doing here?’ dying on his tongue at the sight of tea in his taller companion’s hand. behind a face mask, his muffled thanks is nearly lost, but he accepts the offering of sorts and motions vaguely for asher to sit...somewhere. there’s a sleeping bag on the floor by the open window, with an oversized sweater rolled into a makeshift pillow--and not much else. (no sofa, no coffee table, no fancy television set, or even a proper mattress.) 

...

“It’s not mine, either, please” the much taller man grumbles, eyeing the police around them and watching the remains of their fun smoldering under the bright line of a waxing moon. Seven fireworks, all set off at once and of course none of them actually made it to the sky. A few burns on both of the trouble makers but no one else had been hurt, except the park bench they’d been stupid enough to set them up on. It was pretty much dead.

The changeling sighed, knowing he had to get out of the cuffs unless it was found out that Asher had no real legal identity. He couldn’t afford to play games with police. One glance at his companion and he knows the only way to free them both is to change - to give away his not-so-secret. Hadn’t his burn told him to be more careful? Would the police believe their eyes? it was a risk, the two in cuffs had barely become friendly enough to do stupid shit together. Ash hadn’t really cared whether or not Kyungsoo was anything but human, although he suspected not. Being no witch, the Changeling wasn’t quite sure.

He shrugs, “I have a plan,” and lets the change begin over him. cloud after cloud of thick black smoke obscuring the tall man until he seemed to disappear entirely. The new smoke caught the attention of the law, who began shouting at one another and into their little radios.

In the meantime, Asher the rat began working on Kyungsoo’s handcuffs, too. 

it’ll be fun, he said. live a little, he laughed. and kyungsoo, determined to prove that he indeed knew how to enjoy himself, took it upon himself to light the row of fuses with a zippo from his pocket. in the middle of a park at god knows what hour of the night, they painted their own portrat of youth and abandon, snickering in the summer heat made that much warmer by the flickering sparks. true to asher’s words, it was fun--until it wasn’t anymore. now they’re both sat on the ground with their   hands cuffed and lips skewed with petulant frowns, a group of officers grumbling into their radios not that far away. near the officers’ feet lies his confiscated backpack, holding everything he owns save for the clothes hanging off his skinny frame. 

“what’re you gonna do, break your thumb--?” the last words just barely leaves his lips before smoke billows around asher, engulfing his figure and leaving only a rat and an empty pair of handcuffs. well, kyungsoo thinks as he sends a friendly shrug to the panicking officers, this works too. as soon as his own cuffs rattle with a telltale click, he gathers his companion-turned-rodent in one hand and holds the other out, willing his bag to return to its owner before telling the universe to twist. gravity takes a dive as the earth and sky trade places, stretching the seams thin and tangling at the fringes of reality, and the cosmos sighs with a heay groan before the springs recoil and the elastic snaps back. 

in a split-second they land on a rooftop in the neighbouring district, tumbling over concrete with all the grace of a collapsing universe. he barely has enough time to drop asher-rat on the ground before turning away to heave up everything he’s eaten in the past twenty-four hours. jumping across the city has never been kind to his body, never mind while under stress, but they didn’t have much of a choice. and this was faster. 

above all else, he smiles. past the worry cloying in his lungs and the fear pooling in his fingertips, the relief that clears his throat is almost more than he can take. his hands are shaking and his knees are a breath away from giving out, but he smiles. (he’s okay. he’s safe. he’s here.) without realising it, he’s already clasped asher’s hands in his own, grip perhaps a fraction too tight. silent for a moment, he glances between their hands and the shifter’s gaze, as if to confirm he wasn’t dreaming. (he’s okay. he’s safe. he’s here.) it’s difficult to get the words out, to fight through a hundred worries and yet more questions, but even though his voice trembles as terribly as the rest of himself, he finally manages-- “i love you, too.”

@ashnbone​ / the last of us inspired starters / accepting!

he can’t tell for sure if the universe has ever been on his side. since the moment of his birth, it feels like life has just been a series of things going and staying wrong. every day feels like a battle against the tangled seams of the cosmos, pushing through the stitches that threaten to keep him in the dark. and just when he’s gotten out, time leaps forward, latches onto his ankles, and swallows him whole once more, daring him to keep up the struggle. he fights like he’s known nothing else, nothing more, and more often than not he’s been prone to thinking that these little tête-à-têtes with the universe might be more trouble than they’re worth.

but this morning, he wakes to the gentle press of cotton to his cheek and a pillow of an entire night’s rest beneath his head. where he expects icy steel and coarse concrete, he finds threads of marigold slanting in from the window and a trace of what he can only imagine is the forest, tinting the air with a subtle heat that follows only the rain. in the way that he feels homesick for a place he’s never known, it’s familiar. comforting. blinking slowly, he catches a faraway crackle of something hopping around a pan, joined soon by the syncopated humming to a tune he doesn’t recognise. it feels like hours before he finally moves, then days before he slides open the door to the kitchen, hair stuck up at every angle and cheeks still warm from sleep.

by the time he finds himself sat at the table, with a plate of scrambled eggs and a fresh cup of tea, time finally starts to catch up. after another slow blink, he lifts his gaze from breakfast and nearly jumps when met with the sight of asher sat across from him. a question eases out from the shapeshifter’s lips and lingers in the air between them, waiting to be caught in his inhale, but kyungsoo doesn’t have an answer yet. he can’t even tell if the familiar is talking about the food, the flat, or the curious sense of belonging that’s sewn itself between their fingers without preamble.

hesitation worms into his shoulders, tightening the muscles he uses to run from danger. even now, in the comfort of a home that exists only out of care, his fingers twitch from a deep-seated restlessness. he should hop out the window, move closer to the door, grab the bag that he’s hidden under the bed out of habit, and melt back into the masses on the streets because that’s where he belongs–but he doesn’t want to run. maybe the whispers are right. maybe he does belong out there, but this is where he wants to be now. it’s an uphill battle against the universe trying to put him back in his place, but it’s a fight he’ll take on every morning if he has to. he wants to be here. he wants this.