It was a well known fact that Itward had no soft tissue on his frame- it was obvious, of course. It took no genius, one glance was more than enough to realize he was fully comprised of bone. No muscles, no skin. Not a speck of fat. If you stared long enough you'd notice the total lack of visible connective tissue pulling his joints together. Despite this, he was far from the strangest creature roaming around. He was actually quite normal, if one were to follow Pandora's standards for the average creature who was capable of vocalizing thought. But that was such a narrow mindset when you've since surrounded yourself with bugs the size of people and roots of all shapes and sizes.

The point was, there was nothing to muffle the ancient creaking of Itward's bones. He was old. There was no doubt about it. Just how old he was was a mystery to you, but the aged yellow of his skull and the faded cracks worked in from his bolder and dumber days gave you some clues. It never annoyed you, it never could. The way his fingers softly crackled as he flexed them in the morning before he sat down to work at his workbench- all sorts of doohickeys and doodads and what have yous to decorate the walls of the flying ship. He certainly had an affinity for forks. The joyful snap of his teeth whenever you offered him a new piece to his collection carved itself and echoed around in your skull. Like the clicking of a bird's beak. His very own chirp, just for you as he carefully took the silverware from your loose fingers. Rough and nicked finger bones against your soft and fleshy hands.

…That was another thing, Itward loved holding you against the bones. You were soft, and the both of you loved it. The way your fat curved and molded to the sharper turns of his hips and ribs as he securely wrapped your limbs around his middle- it was a little awkward given his lack of stomach but you've since learned to love nesting your thigh within the gap. Like a bolt slipping itself into a nut, nesting snugly in its new home. Your flesh always left a warm residue against his spine.

He didn't have to come to bed, he didn't need to sleep. But the shudder as the cold air found itself back on his bones where you once laid was almost always enough to allow himself to succumb to lethargy- was it true sloth if he were only in bed for a few extra minutes? He wouldn't say so!

Your one true complaint was the way your hair would tangle within the grooves of his fingers when he finally found himself bold enough to rub his digits against your scalp. Untangling the loose curled strands from him was always a nightmare but it never fully stopped either of you from fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Not when you could catch the creak of his rickety ribs each time you lifted your head enough to look up at him. The way his eyes expanded, the way his sharp teeth parted just barely. It was nothing in the way the mock breath slipped through the air- unnoticed by Itward, who had grown accustomed to the sounds of his body long ago. But as loud as a gunshot to your fresh ears.

"I love yous" were never in short supply- he would remind you just about every morning and night, and Itward always made sure to send more than enough letters when the two of you were forced about. You would sure his bones would fall apart if you told him you kept every single piece of paper and vintage post card. Landscapes of far away lands scattered across the five realities and neatly looped writing confessing that he was still thinking about you even across the borders that separated each layer of this world all paled in comparison the moment his bones crooned for you as he stepped through the heavy metal gate of his flying machine. No amount of whirring and gears could hide it from you as you rushed into his arms and slipped against him perfectly like a puzzle piece.

Stuttering breaths- if you could call them that due to his lack of lungs- as he wrapped his thin arms around your waist to tug you closer once the force you pushed through his joints settled and faded. It didn't matter to him how many times you ran into his arms or how much he expected it before the impact. The act always left a warm buzz somewhere in his ribs where he liked to believe where his heart would have been if he were comprised of flesh.

It was sudden acts like that that squashed and killed any doubts that he had made you wait for him too long or that you'd grow to prefer someone softer. Itward was well aware of the fact that he was hard and sometimes his worn down knuckles could scraps and catch against your skin each time he stroked the back of his hand across your cheek to remove a stray crumb from whatever baked sweet he had treated you to. Or the way his teeth grazed against your soft lips in a pathetic but endearing mimicry of a kiss. He'd been long forgiven for pressing a little too deeply against the flaked skin- also forgiven for the knee jerk concerned comment that your lips were dry… he may have set his passion to machinery but he stopped at nothing to make a personalized lip balm for you from some of the best ingredients he could get his hands on.

You had a sneaking suspicion he slipped some of his stash of Palontras's water- your lips never peeled again once the tiny vial was pressed into your hands.

…You'd really need to step up your game if you ever wanted to get close to returning the favor, even if he insisted that you didn't need to stretch past your means and change your expression of love.

Flufftober Day 1: Eye Contact w/ Narinder

Flufftober Day 2: Handholding w/ Heket

Flufftober Day 3: Rain w/ Jorge Sanchez

Flufftober Day 4: Kisses w/ Jason Voorhees

Flufftober Day 5: Change w/ Shamura

Flufftober Day 6: Letters w/ Itward

Flufftober Day 7: Sick w/ Kallamar

Flufftober Day 8: "Come to bed" w/ Winslow Leach

Flufftober Day 9: Comfort w/ Astro

Flufftober Day 10: Drunken Confession w/ Ragatha

Flufftober Day 11: Exploration w/ Spot

Flufftober Day 12: Cuddling w/ Laughing Jack

Flufftober Day 13: Bathing Together w/ Captain Caviar Cookie

Flufftober Day 14: Staring w/ Sebastian Solace

Flufftober Day 15: Lunch w/ Almond Cookie

Flufftober Day 16: Rest w/ Moon

Flufftober Day 17: Birthday w/ Yatta

Flufftober Day 18: Hugs w/ Sun

Flufftober Day 19: Mapping w/ Leshy

Flufftober Day 20: Flowers w/ Splendorman

Flufftober Day 21: Combing hair w/ Dark Cacao

Flufftober Day 22: Sunset w/ Baal and Aym

Flufftober Day 23: Moving Day w/ Various CRPs

Flufftober Day 24: Pet names w/ Ticci Toby

Flufftober Day 25: Protection w/ Rodger

Flufftober Day 26: Perfume w/ Glisten

Flufftober Day 27: Kiss marks w/ Finn

Flufftober Day 28: Mall w/ Jeff The Killer

Flufftober Day 29: Reunion w/ Eggson

Flufftober Day 30: Heal w/ Dark Choco

As much as you had loved Itward, he could never stay in the same place for long. His sense and need for adventure was the only true rival to his affections for you- and you felt it wrong to force him to anchor his ship down in one place… and you’d join him, in fact you’d love to join him, but there was one tiny… almost comical problem…

You hated flying. 

In fact you hated it as much as you loved the skeleton- the heights, the motion, the speed; even when he slowed it down enough just for you it was all too much. 

…and while you both haven’t found a true middle ground yet- he would have planted himself permanently on the ground for you if you let him. 

It was you who insisted he still ventured out- his “enrichment” as you had light heartedly called it when the topic was brought up. An Itward with a permanent home simply didn’t make sense to you. 

And so… here you were in Ithersta waiting for him to return home from wherever he’s gone this time. He always had a habit of over explaining where he was going and why. This time however he seemed to be in more of a rush, despite himself saying “It’s still early,” 

He left with a rushed kiss on the top of your head. At least the best kiss he could muster without lips; his sharp teeth lightly pressed into your skin… you were sure it left a faint imprint when he pulled away to rush off to his ship.

“I’ll be back my Dear, don’t fret!” 

Life in Ithersta was peaceful, but it was slow. EVen with the giant clock in the center of the kingdom that could change the season… at least for you… or whoever used it. You never could quite wrap your head around the multi-layered time thing- maybe you’d ask Itward to dumb it down for you when he returned from wherever he’s gone. 

Today you decided to live in Spring. The breeze smelled lightly of lemon blossoms and fresh grass- the smell of plants blooming during Ithersta was probably one of your favorite aspects of the reality. Even some of the plant based inhabitants grew their own flowers and fruits from their bodies, further pushing the smell of life and freshness through the town even after you had long strayed from the lemon orchards.

It wasn’t too warm or cold, and the breeze prevented the air from feeling too stagnated. Stray leaves and petals danced through the air between your legs as you walked home- it wouldn’t have been fair for you to move in with Itward and have him steal your home away for weeks on end. It was nothing special, only a small wooden hut… though you and the skeleton have added your own touches to it to make it feel more… you. 

Despite his put together and neat appearance Itward had a habit of being cluttered and messy with his living habits. The letter in your hands addressed to you was another sign of that juxtaposition- it was folded neatly. Time stained the material a faint yellow, concentrated around the edges… He had used the gear stamp for the wax seal- no doubt he had chuckled the first time he got the chance to use the customized press. 

The distant sound of music from the town was instantly silenced as you closed the front door behind you. This wasn’t the first time Itward had sent you a letter in his absence. Far from it… you had a collecting building up from the past few years the two of you had been seeing one another. 

Actually, since you’ve known each other; he wouldn’t let you go weeks without hearing from him even back when you were both only friends. 

The envelope smelled vaguely like metal and oil. Your nose slightly scrunched against the whiff- it was so different compared to the smell outside that it nearly knocked you out. A part of you wondered if you’d need to readjust to Itward’s scent when he returned- if just a faint stick of fuel made you react like this you weren’t sure how you’d be able to handle the undeniable stench that would cling onto his clothing. 

…Maybe not so jokingly… 

 You step towards the small dining table. With the skeleton gone you were actually able to clear it up fairly well… maybe you’d have a talk with him about order and tidiness. Perhaps you could set up a shed for his return to move his tinkering… as if he didn’t have enough room for it in his ship. 

It was cramped- so…

You bring yourself back to the moment and pull out a chair. Where you once tore open the letter to get to the contents as soon as possible when you were new to being left alone without Itward’s company… you slowly and carefully hooked your finger under the envelope’s flap. Tearing was an inevitability, but you wanted to take your time with this. There was no rush, and there would be more letters soon. You were sure of that. He always sent at least one letter a week. Usually more… a part of you wondered, though… How accurate were these? How long had it been since they were written- 

You brushed the thought away. You knew too little about how mail delivery worked through the five realities and honestly even thinking such a thing existed as a proper system made your head hurt. 

The envelope is shifted around in your fingers. The paper feels… like paper. Dry and thin, almost like a semi dried up leaf. Actually this particular envelope felt like it’d be far more crinkly if it weren’t so full. 

The opened flap is pushed back with care and the contents are dumped rather half haphazardly onto the table. So much for care. 

A folded up letter landed on a small pile of photos and various other goodies. 

The soft scent of flowers hit your nose and it took you a few seconds to notice there were dried petals in the pile. Roses as well as some from plants you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t nearly enough to cut through the smell of fuel but it took the edge off even if for a moment.

It smelled like honey and rain. 

Your hands find themselves to the photos first. You didn’t know Itward was the type to take pictures.

…judging by the quality it seemed like a new hobby. The images were slightly blurred and in a few you could see the tips of his boney fingers creeping into frame. In an instant the image of him cradling a camera far too small for his hands flashed in your mind and you had to stifle the giggle bubbling up in the back of your throat. A soft smile would suffice. 

Most of them seemed to be taken in the third reality. Sidewalks where flowers grew in through the cracks with notes scribbled on about how much they reminded him of you. You recognized the petals belonging to a few of the flowers in the cracks. Not all, but it was nice to know where a few came from. Even if their names still evaded you. 

Deer grazing on greenery, Pandora’s full moon- it had always intrigued you how the moon there looked the same as the one in Ithersta. 

Did you and Itward look up at it at the same time and think of each other? 

More notes- updates on how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. Hints of whatever he’s preparing for sprinkled in here and there- but not enough for you to fully piece together the full picture. However the mere mentions of Remor and Kamalas were enough to make a chill run up your spine. 

It didn’t matter if you were safe and sound in Ithersta- and that, at least as far as you were aware, the kamalas were the only evil that could slip in… and even then they were rare. Incredibly rare. You’ve only ever heard of them through Itward and others mentioning catching one. You… didn’t know where they went after they were sighted but the Valokas always seemed to be spotted soon after.

The mention of them only told you that whatever Itward was doing was some dangerous business… and you wished you could have gotten over your fear of flight to be by his side.

There was nothing you could do about it now and if you knew the skeleton well enough he would have refused to let you come regardless of if you were scared of flying in his ship. Itward was careful and he hated taking risks on you.  

The only thing you could do now was wait for his return and try not to worry about it too much. This wasn’t his first rodeo doing something intense and it probably won’t be the last. 

You’d talk to him about it when he returned, you decided. 

Finally your eyes brought themselves back to the letter; which was still folded neatly. The photos are lightly pushed to the side with the dried flower petals. The scent had only lasted for a few seconds… already long gone and consumed by oil and combustion. 

The paper of the letter was a faint brownish yellow- almost like it had been dunked in coffee. As you unfolded it you didn’t even register the words neatly written across the front. No, it was the darker clusters of gears concentrated around the corners of the paper that caught your attention first. 

It was so… like him… 

At least he seemed to be having fun with filling the envelopes for you- he didn’t have to go out of his way to find themed papers and seals, or to attempt to tone down the smell that clung onto him. But he still did. 

Itward’s handwriting was neat. But crammed together- small. Your eyes squint against the tightly packed words. He could have spared to write a little larger, there was still plenty of room on the paper. If the words were any closer you could have sworn the entire thing would have looked like it was just one long conjoined stream. 

“My Dearest,”

You dully note the comma. He never forgot it. Even just by looking at it you could tell it was intentional. Always at the same angle, the same length, the same line weight. You could almost imagine Itward leaning over the paper to get it just right before allowing himself to continue on with whatever he wanted to tell you. 

Warmth made itself home somewhere in your chest as your eyes continued to scan the paper. 

“I am happy to say that I will be returning to Ithersta soon,” 

Your heart nearly jumped. After a few weeks of being separated he was finally coming home. Soon. He provided no window but soon was something for you to work off of. You missed him. Of course you did, but you didn’t realize just how much you missed him until you were given an unclear window. You try to compose yourself to focus back on the words. 

“I truly had no intention of dragging this out for so long, but I could only interfere so much without throwing a wrench into some gears,” 

You could nearly hear him chuckle to himself over the mention of machinery. He must have felt so clever for his pun. Your thumb subconsciously swiped itself over the gear imagery on the paper. 

“If everything goes as planned I will fly back home by the end of the month,” 

There was your window. What was today? Two weeks to go if you were lucky. Fourteen days. You could hang on for that long. 

You scan the rest of the letter.

“I do wish I could have brought you with me, the ship isn’t in the air as often as I had originally thought. You would have loved the plants growing in Pandora. I’ve tried to uproot some specimens to bring home but none have survived the process, yet… I won’t give up just yet, though, I promise you that. In the meantime, I’ve prepared some petals for you. Perhaps we can return to Pandora to pick some together,” 

Some ink blots had dripped onto the paper. He had paused his writing. For someone who was more than happy to rattle on about his interests he seemed to struggle putting his thoughts into written words. Speaking was easier for him. 

“I miss you dearly, I hope Ithersta is still treating you well.”

Some words were crossed out- between the added lines and his handwriting it was nearly impossible to make out what he had tried to say before giving up. 

“Fran” was the only word you could make out but with zero context you were left lost. 

You swear you had heard the name from him before. Extra attempts to try to decode the mess of ink was nearly impossible. 

“Fran” “Remor” “The asylum” “free” 

Slowly the words were strung together but what he was even talking about still escaped you. 

Now more than before you wished you toughed it out and joined him on his flying machine- or at least tried to stall him for a few minutes longer to ask him what in the world was going on. Frustration pierced through the hope of seeing him soon. The teeth in the back of your jaw tightened before releasing. 

He’d return soon, and you could interrogate him. 

He was still clearly thinking about you, and he was still sending in letters weekly. 

“Would be nice if he could summarize everything,” You muttered under your breath before gathering everything up. The rest of the letter reaffirmed that he was eager to return to you. 

A vague promise of maybe even seeing him sooner- if his math of Pandora’s and Ithersta’s time differences were accurate. That was… another thing that hurt your head. If you were here without him for weeks, how long was he without you? Pandora’s time seemed to pass by slower. 

The idea left you with a bittered feeling. You were hopeful to see him, but you felt almost selfish for the brief pang of anger aimed at him. 

How long had it been for him in Pandora? 

The slight curl of your mouth deepened downwards. There was nothing you could do for him right now.

Itward was always an outwardly pristine and put together individual- his suit was always neat and his bones clean. Behind closed doors, however, things are a little different. The inside of his flying ship was a chaotic mess, although one must give the skeleton credit; it had a system to it. Everything belonged in their own areas, each pile a junk (calling it so would only earn a chuckle from Itward as he insisted the purpose of the piles) tying into one another into a not very neat scene. Along with that the bulk of the chaos was centered in the main area of the ship. Forks hung from the walls and ceiling, and various stuffed animals were sat around the table. Books were everywhere, too. There was at least one streak of muddied dirt in one of the ship’s rooms from a kamala that had managed to worm its way on board. Itward… hadn’t had much of a chance to clean that up…

…Because you were currently sitting in front of him with his long hand in yours- his nearly doubling yours in length alone. Between the bones of his fingers, muck resided. 

You see, the mess didn’t just come from the aesthetics of his house. Being a mechanic and a skeleton posed its own hygiene problems… especially when one couldn’t find gloves that fit them well enough to not slide off of their bones. It was a miracle that Itward’s suit remained unstained…. Or perhaps it was riddled with stains and no one noticed thanks to the material being a deep black.

Usually he would handle cleaning himself up on his own, but after recent events that left everyone scattered you had offered to do it for him.

And it was… worse than usual. Likely from him rushing putting the flying machine back into working order after it had crashed so he could find Fran. The girl in question was nearby flying on the back of Palontras. She was far braver than you, you’d give her that. 

“Truly Dear, you don’t need to do this… you need rest, too,” Itward cut the silence, but despite the statement he doesn’t make a move to pull his hand out of your grasp. You stop your picking for a moment and leave the toothpick between his knuckles as you raise your head to stare at him. You weren’t going to lie, you were tired too… and the idea of sinking into the nearby booth in the common area of the ship enticed you. You force the thought away, and return to your work. “You need to rest too Itward, besides I’m already almost done with this hand… I can go lay down while we’re soaking it… you really did a number this time…” You click your tongue as you force debris from the grooves. 

He stares at you. 

There seemed to be something brewing behind his eyes, but before he could begin to speak you continue. “I understand why,” You began, forcing your eyes back down to his hand. Thankfully, you had already done what you could for now with the other hand. 

“We were both panicking, and you wanted to get the ship off of the ground as soon as possible… but just because you’re the captain doesn’t mean you need to do everything on your own, you know?” You continued. 

“Let me do this for you, all you need to do is rinse out your hands with soap and water.” You said, firmer than you thought you could muster. 

Another piece of debris slips out from the space his knuckle and ring finger. The piece was just slightly larger than the others, and it looked like it hurt when it came out given that Itward’s hand twitched for a moment and the hiss between his teeth. You wondered how it even managed to get in there in the first place, and how it felt…

Not good, probably. 

You push the piece to the small pile with the others and continue. “We really need to find you some gloves, though…” You mumbled. “Maybe we can ask someone to tailor some for you since the ones on the market don’t fit you that well?”

Itward remained silent. 

“Maybe we could tie up the ends… openings… to them so they stay put?” You added thoughtfully after a moment. 

You run your finger soothingly over the knuckle where the larger debris popped out, albeit you were a little late in providing comfort. Still, the action seems to prompt Itward to relax into your arm.

“Perhaps I can go into Ithersta tomorrow and see if someone can give me a… hand…” Itward chuckled. You give him a look, and he seems rather pleased with himself. Even though he was a skeleton who couldn’t smile, you just knew that he would be doing so right here… and god damn it was it infectious. You can hardly fight the grin creeping onto your face as you half heartedly shake your head.

“How long were you waiting to use that joke?”

Itward tapped his chin with his free hand. 

“The past ten minutes, actually!” 

You shake your head again and huff lightly, but your mouth continues to betray you. You return to your work, now only having one finger left to sift through. “I guess Ziar was right, you really do have a funny bone don’t you?” 

Itward chuckles once more. “Actually, the funny bone isn’t a bone! It’s a nerve that runs down your arm, it gets its name from the sensation you receive when impacting it,” Itward corrected. You roll your eyes. 

Did… he have nerves?

Actually, now that you thought about it, Itward didn’t seem to follow normal biological functions, at least not the ones you were used to having as a human… it made sense, for one he wasn’t human and he was from a completely different plane of existence. 

You decide to file away the questions for another day, and instead focus your attention back to Itward. The toothpick in your hand makes contact with something in his hand… You rotate the pick for a bit to feel it better, and after finding a good enough angle you popped the piece out from the gap.

“I think that was the last piece,” You mumbled, and as an extra measure you drug the pick along the opening to feel for anything else. Nothing, it ran smooth through him. 

You let go of Itward’s hand and he slides it out from your palm and flexes his fingers. “Oh this is much better… thank you, Dear,” He takes the hand in his other hand and feels through it and tests each finger to make sure everything is in working order. “Very nice work…” He repeated. 

“Why thank you,” You respond back as you swipe the mess into one of your hands and walk to the nearby bin to discard it. You glance down at your own hands and purse your lips… now your own hands are covered in smudges of gunk- oil and dirt, mostly, but it’s nothing a quick wash won’t fix. 

“Let me get some water so you can clean yourself up,” You speak over your shoulder as you dip into the neighboring room to rinse your hands in the sink. Long and shallow, not too different from the ones you would see in your science class when you were still a student in your native reality. Made sense given the room was used to mix chemicals and the like. 

“There…” You say to yourself as you shake the excess of your fingers. “You’ll just need to soak for a while to get any stains off your bones, right?” You call out as you fill one of the buckets in the room with water and a few drops of soap.

You nearly jump as your back nearly makes contact with Itward’s front. In an instant he’s apologizing and steadying you, slipping the bucket of water from your hands into his.

“So sorry Darling!” He takes a step back to give you some space. “I had thought you heard me come in,” He added. 

“I didn’t startle you too badly, did I?”

You lean against the counter and allow your heart to compose itself. Shaking your head, Itward lowers back to his usual hunched posture. 

“I added some soap to the water, that should be fine right?” You break the momentary pause of silence. Itward swishes the bucket around and nods. “Yes that will work wonderfully, thank you Dear,” He gives you another soft look- his own version of a smile- before he steps out of the way so you can exit the room.

He follows behind you.

By the time you’re looking back to him Itward is shrugging off his coat as best as he can- and somehow manages to do so without the use of his hands. He lets it hang off of the back of the chair he was sitting on moments ago, and he dips his hands into the soapy water and leaves them.

“I’ll only need a half hour… we should be in Ithersta by the time I’m drying off…” He began. “You,” He says, his voice turning just slightly stern. “Are to lay down until we get there,” 

There was no use arguing with him, you knew that. After spending so many years by his side you knew that when he wanted you to rest, he was going to make sure you at the very least laid down. Soapy hands or not, he was going to find a way… and you weren’t too keen on finding out how he was going to make it work- not that you thought he was going to get angry or hurt you. 

No, he would never. 

It was your own body betraying you that finally made your stubbornness waver. “Sure, sure,” You nod, and wave him off. “I’ll be in my quarters, then… wake me up when we land?”

Itward blinked, no doubt not expecting you to go down without a fight.

He doesn’t give you the chance to backtrack and change your mind, though.

“Of course, there is still lots to be done- I’m afraid it can’t wait,” He said softly. 

You only nod, and spin on your heel.

“Very well, I’ll leave you to… that… then,” and with that you were walking down the hall to your small quarters- small, but not bad. You crawl into your bed and sink into the bedding with a long sigh. 

You flexed your hands, your own fingers now sore from picking through Itward’s.