#crowsiin

You know I'm gonna include the BYURD in this one!!

Send me an OTP and I will give you my headcanon of:

Who’s the messiest one:

Def Roisin. But while her nest is unruly, it's comfy as fuck. And it comes with reading material; cute little notes on loose leaf.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA:

I imagine Al wouldn't be the most fond of them out of the two. He's very reserved and prefers privacy for most if not all of his activities.

Who's the funniest drunk:

I think Roisin would be the most entertaining, but Wes would likely cause his own mischief, most to Roisin's dismay. to be honest, this one might be up in the air.

Who texts the most:

Roisin once she gets a handle on it, as we've established. God forbid she send any more unfortunate images when Wes is trying to do a presentation.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music:

That's a good question, I'm not sure... I suppose it depends on what Roisin listens to, and what genres she discovers.

Who reads the most:

I'm thinking Roisin would be the bigger reader, having been without much technology or internet until recently. (i think)

Who’s better with kids:

Definitely Roisin, Wes would likely just dump the kids on her and let her deal with handling them. But she wouldn't have a problem with muchkins..

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house:

Albert most likely would be the fixer-upper. He's goes with his hands and very adaptive to environmental changes, so it wouldn't be much of an issue for him to patch a hole and fix a circuit or two.

Who’s got the weirdest hobby:

I'm thinking Al does, what with his habits of practically living in the lab..

Who cooks and who cleans up:

An hour or two is already an hour or two more than Chris ought to have been out for the count, but instead of reaching for the phone in his pants pocket, he focuses on getting his head in order. There’s a hot throb in his right shoulder, sharp and shaped like four lines, and as he looks down at himself-- at the ripped state of his shirt and coat, at the blood that mars what’s left of the green of his clothing-- he scowls at his foolishness for jumping in on his own.

With luck, the Hound Wolves had stayed on the outskirts of the village as per his instructions. Chris rubs a hand down the lower half of his face as he sighs. He’ll pencil his personal disappointment in for later when the situation isn’t so dire.

“We came here to see if this place was real,” he mumbles as his hand drops, lifting up now to touch where he’d been bandaged. “You hear stories out there about the Village of Shadows...”

Which isn’t a lie, per se, but also serves more as an excuse than any real answer.

Looking around, Chris’ brows furrow when he registers the dim light. His handgun and his knife are both gone, but that doesn’t come as a surprise to him at all. If his apparent saviour hadn’t taken them, then perhaps one of those B.O.W.s outside did.

@crowsiin

He tilts his head slightly, unsure of what she’s trying to accomplish. Then, ah yes! He remembers what it is to hold hands! Thinking about how to return the gesture he curls his large fingers slightly, and very very gently. Friendship! Yes!

@crowsiin​ sent: Mother/parents for the drabble? uvu

Send me something to drabble about

They had escaped. All four of them. Karl, Nikolai, Ethan, and Rose. Four people now just trying to live their life while on the run as bioweapons. Really, it wasn’t too bad. Maybe an alibi here and there, but they fled away from the Romanian village to somewhere more... normal. A large city, where people mingled and no one was all too different.

It wasn’t too far from his hometown, actually.

“I’m going out for a while, don’t know when I’ll be back.”

He didn’t take a no for an answer. He wasn’t even asking for permission.

It wasn’t much of a trip. His town wasn’t far off, but it was still a little difficult trying to understand the train times and things for public transit. Weird how technology had changed so much, he thought. He didn’t dwell long on it, though, as soon he was there and he got off the train.

It had started to rain and thunder, autumn in the area brought a lot of rain. Nothing he didn’t mind, though. His body absorbed the static in the air from the lightning that came and crackled in the clouds. It gave him more energy.

He entered the gate and looked around the place from the entrance. His footsteps gave small splashes in the quickly-gathering puddles. He had his coat on, but no hat. No, the hat was always Karl’s thing. He just didn’t want his clothes to be drenched, especially since he would be taking the train back. He looked at the worn names upon stone as he tried to search.

Then he found her.

Holly Margaret Adkins-Haas October 14th, 1940 - November 10th, 1967 God bless a mother that loved her child.

He also found him, too.

Markus Damien Haas June 23rd, 1935 - December 26th, 1971 Loving father to one son.

He sighed and sat down to their graves, putting down a small bag. He took out a scraper, and started scraping off the moss on his mother’s gravestone.

“Hi, mom. Sorry for not visiting sooner. ...I think you’d understand, though. But I’ll do you a favor, okay?”

The rain helped wash away some of the dirt and grime, along with the cleaning brush the boy used. And soon her stone was much more readable, and cleaner. He started to do the same to his father’s grave.

“...I’m sorry for stressing you when you were alive, father. But, hey, Karl and Ethan are alright. I think you would’ve liked them. Rose is... well, she’s something. She’s a good kid. Still just a baby though.”

Soon, he was finished. He stood as the lightning slammed the ground not too far away, hitting the pavement. It made him jump, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Alright, alright. I’ll get out of your hair.”

He put the scraper in the bag and the brush, soaked with rain. He looked back to the two stones with a smile.

“And... thank you. I hope I made you proud at some point in my life, if not for anything I did recently.”

Turn my muse’s species to yours! Or vice versa.

For @crowsiin

Lightness.

He was no longer fit for lumbering about but rather…there was something lithe to his form now. Something springy. Looking down, he tapped his taloned feet upon the ground, marveling at the feel and sound of it before moving his gaze to his hands. Their wiry forms startled him and he promptly put them back at his sides. Although that resolve only lasted as long as he could bear the strange prickling he felt about his face and various places on his body.

With a huff he brought his hands to his face. The flesh was softer. More…human? Minding his newfound claws, he went about trying to scratch at whatever he could. He beard was still upon his face. Some of its snow-white lustre had even returned yet it was…different somehow. As was this accursed-

He pulled his hand away to find a pale feather in his grip. “Hehh!” He gave a sharp bark of a noise that came out more as a confused honk as he dropped it. It fluttered softly to the ground, and it was there in his idleness in watching it, that the cold on the breeze caught up to him.