BRING THE RUCKUS

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A set of knuckle dusters that had been carved out of a sturdy wood! The holes don't fit his fingers at all anymore, they're basically his first pair of what would be a long time staple to his fighting style. Sett keeps them in a box on a console table behind his desk, sort of as a reminder to himself how far he's come and a motivator to continue to push him forward.

Sett barely register the vibration from his phone in his pocket, he’s way too busy putting as much space between him and the heartsteel house as he could. Man, all he wanted to do was have a little fun, send Aphelios a cheeky text after making them both dinner; how the fuck did he manage to send that text to Kayn of all fucking people? His ears flit outwards as he groans, the instant texts he got back from him didn’t help ease Sett’s mind either, god he wanted to disappear from the sheer fucking embarrassment of it all.

He finds himself at a park that’s far enough away from the house, planting himself on a bench to begin to weigh his options. There’s a few routes to go here: he can either own up to it right, really just act like he’d meant to send that to Kayn? No… No, that's more trouble than it’s worth. Tease him back because Kayn alluded to him being too big? Sett drags a hand down his face as his thoughts race. He could just dip out of the house for a few days, because really he doesn’t wanna hear it from Kayn at this point-- god, but Aphelios…

Aphelios. 

Suddenly Sett’s fumbling for his phone, frantic the whole time until he sees the notification front and center. A weight settled heavy on his chest, rereading the text over and over. He has half a mind to lock his phone, pretend he never saw the message and whistle innocently until he shows face back at the house. But then his nerves would eat him alive anyways. Eventually his fingers move a little bit faster than he can think to at least not look completely insane.

to: [ Moonlight 🐰💜 ]: WH TDID HE TELL U

Like main verse is high up on that list considering he has a reputation to hold, so it usually manifests itself when he's at the pit. But it's also something he definitely doesn't let go of when he's not there. Overall he's a lot more short fused and is a lot more prone to settling disputes violently. Tends to lean into macho man, "I'll give you something to cry about" type shit and in general is harsh on himself when he tries to express emotions to those other than his mom. He's made some progress but he defaults into it a lot and has to switch his mindset in the moment.

Surprisingly, Odyssey is right up there with main but not by his own choice I think. He falls more into perpetuating toxic masculinity in this verse out of survival. He tries not to be emotionally involved more than he has to with anyone, doesn't manage his anger well, and keeps a lot of his issues internalized that tend to manifest in a very specific violent matter. And then when you couple that with the only outlet being, well, fighting it tends to nurture this unfortunately (good for the Emperor probably though).

As I put more thought into Star Guardian (and hopefully write all the ideas down fr) I can say he sits at a solid middle ground with this. Being an outer guardian cemented him in having to unlearn a lot of bullshit he internalized so he's... better about it mostly. He's still short fused but directs his anger in a healthier manner aka I'm going on a walk if you need me I'll be one punching some space monster. Which, is ideal than taking it out on a fellow Star Guardian. He's a lot more in tune with his emotions here too, it's really just the anger and the violence setting him back a little bit.

send me    ‘ not  just  a  scratch ‘    for your muse to catch mine trying to patch up a wound in secret…

Maybe he shouldn’t have stormed off—

What’s the point in being collaborative if he was just going to take everything to heart? This wasn’t like before. He wasn’t nineteen standing before his own flesh and blood, where he was presenting something and already bracing himself for it to be torn apart. It’s so far divorced from everything he’d gone through for years with his music and yet it still made the weight on his shoulders unbearable, the strain in his jaw almost crushing. And before he could let the wounds from the past tear open at the drop of a simple critique he’d excused himself from the studio, despite the odd look Yone had thrown him as he shoulders past K’sante roughly (much to his offense). 

He doesn’t care what it looked like, up and leaving and shoving his seat backward with a growl as he did it. But the sting from just… he can’t even fucking remember what it was that Ezreal commented on that triggered that dread that manifested bone deep within him. But he knows it was enough to echo the words of his father once upon a time and it was enough to make him fly off the handle. This is how he ends up outside the studio; his back pressed firmly against one of the trees nearby as his ears pin flat against his hair despite hidden in the pockets of his beanie as an itch spreads across his arms while he tries to shake out the trepidation. Fruitlessly, really— he knows better than anyone how to shake it.

Is he overreacting? Maybe. 

He can’t think about it now, not when the sting of wood splintering beneath his knuckles scratches that itch far better than talking this out ever could. At least that’s what it feels like. Another wind up, another punch, more wood cracking beneath the hit and digging into his skin. It doesn’t stop till his breathing evens out and it doesn’t feel like there were ants crawling all over him. Doesn’t stop till he realizes just how stupid he was to start in the first place. A flex of his hand blooms a new pain, knuckles bloodied with skin split. Fuck.

Sett up and leaves, angry but not really, set off by something he can’t quite put into words yet with the boys, doesn’t have the patience to talk about it anyways, but to then come back with his hand fucked up? How the fuck was he supposed to explain this? As soon as the adrenaline is gone the regret begins to flood in as he holds his hand carefully, fangs bared at no one but himself. 

Sett thinks he’s been gone for what feels like forever, rushing back inside and moving as quickly as he could to a bathroom. He had to wash it away, hide the fact he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was. Suddenly he’s nineteen with watery eyes and a busted lip and a bloody nose, washing his face silently until the water ran clear and he could stand to look at himself again.

So, no— he doesn’t hear when the door to the bathroom creaks open. Doesn’t hear the footsteps that approach him cautiously, methodically, before stopping not too far behind him— watching. Sett’s only concern was cleaning his hand until he could stand to look at himself again. When the sting of the cold water blasting away the splinters and scabbing was enough to make him wince, that's when he catches the glimpse of white hair posted behind his reflection and he stills completely. Mouth falling open to try and speak only to find nothing to say, distress lingering in the crease of his brow while the water continues to run down his mangled handiwork.

Sett doesn’t try to hide it, but it’s evident in how he sucks in a harsh breath and clenches his fists that being found was frustrating him beyond what he’d ever admit. Perhaps it’s good then, that his ears stay pinned closely to his head, his tail flicking roughly from side to side as he begins his ritual of cleaning his fist once more. In moments like these, Sett’s rather thankful he has them opposed to the myriad of times where they’ve done him dirty. Either way, Yone of all people finding him bloody knuckled and mere moments from panic had not been something Sett was looking forward to.

“I don’t need ya checkin’ on me. S’fine.”

The words cut clean and dry when he does eventually speak, his eyes locked on the other man through the mirror. He wasn’t planning on opening up about what he felt right now or about what dragged a knife across the tender scars within his chest in the studio any time soon. Silently, Sett just hopes that the image of him frantically scrubbing away blood stays hidden within Yone’s mind, and dies with him really. 

For a while afterwards they hover around the gym, using empty benches to sit and fummble with their belongings or busy themself with looking at other equipment. But eventually Talon approaches the only other person currently working out. Hair wet with exertion and circles beneath their eyes only adding to their disheveled look. "Hey," They begin, voice dry and underutilized as they stand a little too far away. But they press on; doing their best to keep dark irises trained on the other, and force the words out of their teeth.

"Do you have a charger?"

Sett’s usually an early riser anyways after all it’s easier to get through his usual workout when half the world is asleep. He’d grown used to the occasional soul pushing their limit just like him at this time of day, so he doesn’t pay others much mind as he pushes himself with each rep. Today is no different, passing by the cardio area and giving a nod to the person he sees as a polite gesture before striding past towards the free weights. He’d avoided his bench routine long enough (not that he was necessarily *avoiding* it… but it wasn’t his favorite currently anyways) so he settles into the beginning of his reps after a few minutes stretching.

The time passes by quickly, as it always did when Sett found himself at the gym, leading him into his break period before he’d move on to cardio himself. He’s usually so focused on his own thing with his music blasting in his ears he hadn’t factored in he’d be approached today. So yes, when the only other soul in the gym manages to find their way into his sight-line they do manage to startle him enough that he almost drops his protein shake-- ears flaring outwardly as he tries to play it off like he almost didn’t jump to the ceiling.