It would be of no use training you in haki when we have no access to it here. So, you and I will take up learning about this world's magic system. We need to learn how to take advantage of it.
(Books! Boring! But also:)
In the meantime, we will hunt the strange creatures of this world together. It will give me a better idea of your actual skill level and where you need improvement. It will also keep our collective red blood stock high and no doubt provide us with valuable trade goods.
You will exercise with me each morning as well, obviously.
[Koby still has literally no idea where Mihawk is sleeping -- if he is at all, maybe he just spends the nights breaking into Koby's room to silently watch him sleep. That is...actually a shockingly likely scenario, now that he thinks about it.
The point being, he can't really send deliveries or show up unexpectedly or anything like that. He has to settle for whenever they're together (which, granted, is fairly frequent; for someone twice his age, Mihawk has incredible stamina) and for sending written messages as he thinks of them.]
It's raining outside, in case you aren't awake yet. The rain is the same here as at home. I'm telling you because I'm not sure if you actually own a shirt.
I think I've gotten better with the claws. I don't accidentally stab myself as often.
If you're coming over tonight, I'll be back late. I'm charting part of the castle, still.
(This was.............really new. Mihawk wasn't used to being this accessible. Even if Garp had a direct line to him back home, Mihawk still only vaguely entertained the man when he was bored enough to. This was different. Mihawk scoured his notebook on a regular basis in earnest to try and better understand their world.
He was also keeping tabs on the straw hats, Koby, and maybe Jennifer too. So, of course, he sees Koby's handwriting pop up. He's confused at first which means he doesn't respond for quite some time. Then he realizes what's happening.
Koby's just... Talking to him. No real motives, no requests, no questions. Checking up on him, apparently, which could make Mihawk laugh if he were the laughing sort.
One by one, he begins to respond, writing in his flourishing cursive beneath each part respectively because he figures this is how you do this whole thing.)
I fail to see the connection between rain and my choice to disregard shirts.
Have you learned to stab something else with them?
Rest then.
Something quick.
(Mihawk is too deliberate and controlled to scratch out half-formed thoughts. What he does instead is trace back over his own letters, as if emphasizing some silent message tucked between the swoops and curls of his responses.)
[Koby hadn't been expecting an answer. He's trying very hard to keep all his expectations low -- the physical aspect of this thing going on between them is fantastic, and it's strategically sound to have Mihawk as an ally. And he isn't terrible to talk to. That should be more than enough.
So he writes, mostly just to reassure his own desire to obsessively check in with everyone. And then, towards the end of the day: a response. And another, and another.
Koby's somewhere in the castle, dutifully charting and mapping, when he sees the lettering, swooping and elegant and ornate. He has to fully sit down to process this, cross-legged in a window seat, suddenly dizzy from the rush of emotion that slams into him with the force of a cannonball. It's -- a warm, pleasant feeling, a thrill that fills up Koby's chest like butterflies. It's absurd. It's ridiculous.
Oh. Oh, no. He's in so much trouble.
Eventually he responds:]
You'll get wet or sick or something, walking around in the rain.
I'm figuring it out. I think the rituals are more doable right now.
I'm not tired. If you still want to come by, I'll be awake.
(Mihawk would probably argue that he just had nothing better to do with his time in this world. Although he was now training Zoro and doing his own amount of research, it was a special kind of hell for Mihawk. He felt restless.
Koby eased that somewhat.
Quite more than Mihawk cared to admit. He realizes rather sullenly that he is actually waiting for Koby's replies when they finally come. How embarrassing.)
Koby, I might think you are concerned for my well-being if you keep talking like that.
[If it's any consolation for Mihawk (and he'd probably be very satisfied to know this), Koby has to actually force himself to stop and count to a hundred before replying. Can't seem like he's sitting and waiting for responses. Even though he fully is.]
I don't want you bringing puddles into my room, that's all.
Thank you. The healing ritual is all I know right now, but that seems like more than enough for the moment.
No. Just y Maybe more ink? I'm almost out again.
It's not because of your stupid jokes, I can tell you that much.
[It says something about them that Koby's first instinct after the new arrivals -- after his flesh literally shreds off and he ends up as a spotted, bewildered pink seal -- is to check on Mihawk.
So he sends a message:] Were you in town? Did you see the ritual?
[And he waits. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. He folds and unfolds the spotted sealskin. He paces. Forty-five minutes.
(For the first time since beginning their situationship, Mihawk doesn't respond at all. His new biology made him nocturnal, but then the transformation hit and the situation with Shanks happened. It wore him out in a way he had never been worn out in, and it sent him into a dead sleep.
He's passed out cold in his bed. The door to his cottage was open, complete with claw marks on the floor and on the door. He wasn't dressed at all, his body covered in dirt and streaks of blood, but he was in one solid piece on the ground by his bed. He hadn't quite made it.
His hair was now dense black fur, ears replaced with two elegantly tall wolfish ears, the hair on his face fur. He was even bigger than usual, his muscles thicker, his body bulkier. The witch's hole in his chest was gone, along with the claws, and now he simply had a mark in one of his paws. His legs were dense with the same fur, groin darker, a thick trail of fur leading to his belly button.
Other than all of that, he was completely fine. There were no injuries, no wounds. But it was too bad he hadn't had the chance to check his notebook at any point. Oops.)
[There is, quite literally, no reason for Koby to be anxious. He talked to Mihawk that morning, telling him it was snowing out and to please maybe consider wearing a shirt. Mihawk had deflected entirely by asking if Koby had eaten yet and cautioning him about the Witches gathering in the town square. And then Koby had retorted by saying he needed to check in on the Straw Hats and Jennifer and buy some things in town, but he would be careful. That had been mere hours before, and they didn't talk constantly. Mihawk had training with Zoro and building up his supply store, and who knows what else. Looking dramatic and shirtless in the snow somewhere.
But in the middle there'd been the ritual. There'd been the sudden appearance of more Witches -- something Koby had wondered about, but hadn't anticipated so soon. Then there'd been the change, the agonizing tearing and shredding of flesh, the sense of becoming something else. The hunger that had come as he slipped into the river near the town, sleek and spotted and nimble, eyes dark and whiskers twitching. And then, once back towards the castle, the shedding of the skin, the realization that everything Koby had started to trust in was changing dramatically.
What if a similar change had happened to Mihawk? What if he'd been disoriented, unused to his new form and had stumbled into trouble? What if he was hurt?
Koby snatched up the notebook, scribbling out:] If you don't answer me in ten minutes, I'm coming over there.
[That's a lie. He's already walking over, sealskin tucked into his bag -- he'd tried to leave it behind and it made him illogically, wildly anxious, fearful in a mindless, animal way. The snow is still falling, so Koby's wearing the warmest thing he'd gotten from Nami. His breath comes a little quicker as he strides as fast as he can through the woods towards Mihawk's cabin.
The scratches in the ground, the wide-open door freeze Koby in his tracks, stomach wrenching, heart dropping. Mihawk was a man with many enemies. What if one of the new arrivals was one of them? What if --]
(Apparently it wasn't quite a dead sleep. Maybe his senses were still on high alert from the fight and whatever frenzy consumed him afterward or maybe it was just the sweet, succulent smell of Koby moving into his space. His ears twitch and his eyes flick open. They were mostly the same, only now there was less white exposed in his eyes, mostly yellow and with another ring.
His body felt as though he had been weighed down with lead. It didn't feel like a hangover, but nearly so. More than anything he felt disoriented. Being the wolf had mostly been a blur and the onslaught of uncontrollable emotions was so unlike Mihawk that the rawness it left him with was foreign and strange. He felt like he was a boy again and it wasn't just because of the exposure. Despite the heaviness, there was something fresh and springy in his joints as he shifted on the floor, stretching until there were cracks and pops here and there.
He felt like he was crawling out of hibernation except without the hunger. He's fairly certain he ate something during the night though he couldn't recall what.
Then he hears Koby's voice calling his name and his attention snaps to the sound. He could smell a tinge of anxiety, and fear, and it made his fur bristle. He rolls over and that's when his tail shows, bristling just as much as the rest of him. The only instinct rolling over and over again in his mind was that Koby was in distress, mate in distress, protect mate at all costs.
He's on his feet without thinking and stalking through the cabin with heavy steps. When he sees Koby at last, intact and whole, something in him unfurls.)
Koby. (His voice is deeper now, a faint natural growl punctuating the word. Even with little spoken, his new fangs flashed.
In speaking of new...He could smell something salty. Something that reminded him of the ocean, of rushing water and foam, of waves crashing against the shore. The familiar rocking of a boat.
It's a beautiful scent.
He stares at Koby, calmly, silent, and then, softly:)
What's wrong? (Yeah, he isn't quite awake or with it fully yet. He'll get there.)
[For a moment it doesn't register. Mihawk is a full foot taller than Koby anyways, so maybe it's just the lighting making him seem especially enormous? The priority is that he's okay, he's safe, he hasn't been attacked or hurt, and that tight coil of fear in Koby's chest loosens like a cut rope. He exhales, shoulders dropping, going right from fear to exasperation.]
I sent you a message an hour ago. The ritual, it -- made things happen, it. [Then it clicks, that it isn't the shadows making Mihawk's lean body seem extra dark -- that's fur, thick and soft and black, over his legs, rising up his toned stomach towards his bared chest. His hair is thicker and -- are those ears? Yes, they are, pointed and elegant and unmistakably canine.
A part of him, the part that's cautious and watchful and nimble as foam on a wave, senses the predator in Mihawk, something more feral and wild than even the norm. Mihawk the pirate had been deadly, dangerous. This Mihawk is that and more, an untamed ferocity that's thoroughly unpredictable and uncontrollable. Koby should be absolutely terrified, should turn and bolt, should get back to the river and disappear beneath the surface immediately.
But there's a more firm, solid resolve, standing like steel beneath the fear. It's Mihawk. Mihawk would never hurt him.]
I was worried. [Soft, stepping closer, noting the dirt, the fangs, the tail. This last new addition gets a brief, bemused flash of teeth that are significantly more pointed than before. The witch's claws are gone too, replaced with smaller, more blunt nails.] I thought something...might've happened. Are you okay?
[When Koby was younger, he had trouble sleeping. It was like his mind couldn't turn off, kept spiraling over and over all the potential things that could go wrong, all the things that made him feel ashamed and fearful and confused, all the things he was afraid of, combining into a fraught knot of emotion that lived between his ribs and crushed his lungs every single night. He'd jerk awake from uneasy dozes, staring into the darkness and shivering all over for hours and hours, trying not to make too much noise, trying not to panic in a way anyone could see or hear.
Later, on Alvida's ship, things had been worse in a lot of ways, but at least he was usually exhausted enough at the end of each day to collapse into sleep for as long as the pirate captain would allow him to, too drained to question it. However, Alvida expected Koby to be ready, the second she bellowed his name, ready to jerk awake and be present, immediately, ready to clean or attend to her every whim or whatever it was she told him to do. If he wasn't -- well. Koby was the one who cleaned blood off her club every night. He knew what it could do to a person. So he got into the habit of staying awake for long stretches of time -- fifteen, sixteen hours, sometimes longer -- until he was absolutely positive she was asleep and he could curl up and pass out for a handful of hours.
And then: the Marines. Working too hard was rewarded there, it was a sign you were doing something right. Staying up late into the night, waking up at the crack of dawn were all viewed with approval. Sleeping only four or five hours a night meant you were dedicated, that you had what it took. Koby's whole existence was about proving just that. Besides, he hadn't been enlisted long enough for it to start to have a detrimental effect.
So he'd carried the habits over into the new world he'd woken up in, sitting up studying or reading or charting by candlelight, usually falling asleep at his desk and waking up with his back aching and his glasses shoved up into his hair. The only times Koby actually slept well were the nights -- rare at first, then steadily more common -- when Mihawk stayed over, or when he stayed at the cottage. And then they were living together, and there was something insidious and cruel in Koby's subconscious, whispering: it's only a matter of time, before he sees. Before he understands what a mess you are.
Koby had hoped this wasn't true, that he'd somehow found the magic solution to his constant nightmares -- a combination of memories and hypotheticals, logical and ridiculous, a swirling miasma of fear he barely kept in check while conscious, but which ran rampant at night. He'd pinned his every hope on Mihawk's mere presence being enough to keep the terrors at bay.
He'd been wrong.
It's one night, several days after he'd moved in for good, bitterly cold and well past midnight, when Koby goes from curled up in the protective circle of Mihawk's arms to sitting bolt upright, gasping sharply, his whole body seizing up in immediate, mindless terror, staring unseeing into the darkness. It's fast, it's loud and it goes on, that awful inhalation lasting and lasting in the pitch blackness, heedless of anything or anyone else. Just thoughtless, senseless fear, so acute it's almost tangible -- and, more than likely, something Mihawk can smell as well as hear.]
(By comparison, Mihawk had a rather privileged life growing up compared to many people from their world. He had always felt confident in himself. He was unfamiliar with fear, guilt, shame, or inadequacy. The only thing that had ever really come close to "haunting" him had been whatever had failed between Shanks and him, but even that was less of a haunt and more of an ache.
He's just not used to fear. He slept soundly and blankly every time he closed his eyes. The sort of annoying person who could fall asleep wherever he was and whenever he wanted and who would wake up refreshed and ready to go. He never felt vulnerable.
Not in the way he knows Koby has - and probably still does sometimes. Coming to live with Koby had taught him that sleep wasn't quite as easy for Koby as it was for Mihawk. He would try to talk with Koby or touch him til he fell asleep, falling asleep soon after. But this was a first. Mihawk immediately wakes up, a swordsman's senses are never that far away, especially with the wolf's newer instincts as well.
He's upright almost an exact single second after Koby, his eyes glowing in the dark with an animal, violent feral quality because his first instinct is that something had come into the room with them. He had automatically drawn the dagger from his neck, his other hand clawed, the fangs in his mouth thicker than they were mere moments ago.
Mihawk didn't get where he was by being reckless though. His eyes sweep the room quicker than any human could even imagine, registering the complete lack of a physical, visible threat. His ears prick, and swivel, listening to the stillness of their cottage, and of course, the scents are what truly make him realize that there is nothing at all. It wasn't even snowing outside. The nearest living thing he could hear was some creature hibernating somewhere beneath their cottage, their soft, sluggish heartbeat pulsing in the earth. He takes all of this information in within less than a minute.
Then his attention boils down to Koby. The raw sour fear coming off of him in waves, the sharp panting.)
Koby? (He ventures carefully, because hell, in this place, it could be more complex than something he could detect with his senses. He doesn't lower his dagger, but he does reach out, his claw shifting into something more familiar and human. He curls it carefully, protectively over Koby's waist, a frown growing on his face.)
Is it something in your mind? (Nightmare, curse or whatever it may be...This is so out of his league, but there wasn't an inch of him that was prepared to go back to sleep or move away until he had this sorted. Because whatever could make Koby feel so much fear - Mihawk wanted it dead.)
[The thing is -- Koby is easily startled, by nature. He's hypervigilant as a rule, always aware of what's going on around him, assessing for potential threats and looking for tables to leap under, if it comes to that. He's very realistic about his ability to defend himself, and how flight is usually the better option in situations of life and limb.
And Mihawk moves with the quiet care of a predatory creature, so sometimes Koby jumps or yelps or otherwise has a dramatic reaction to his appearance. But it's always only been an instant, a momentary surge of pure reaction that easily dissipates into indignant squawking or laughter or an eyeroll. It's an instinct, not a deliberate act. Despite all the myriad ways Mihawk could physically hurt him, Koby's never acted frightened of him before.
But this time Mihawk reaches out, the familiar hand curling in the familiar way around Koby's waist, gentle and careful and instead of relaxing backwards with an explanation, an apology, instead of curling into the welcoming warmth of the other man's sleep-warmed body -- Koby cringes away, arms wrapping tightly around his chest, breath catching on an awful, hoarse, almost-sob sound, whole body curling into a rigid, protective ball. It's also instinct, but something much, much deeper, something honed by terror and helplessness, the instinct of a caught prey animal to hide it's stomach, despite knowing perfectly well it's about to be torn open.
And it doesn't stop. He doesn't straighten up or look over and realize that he's awake, that the nightmare's over. That he's safe. There's no recognition, no response that suggests Koby knows who Mihawk is, or even where they are. Just senseless, animal fear.]
(For the first time in Mihawk's life, he has no clue what to do.
It's not the first time someone has been terrified to see him. It's far from the first time someone has flinched away from him.
It's just so different when it's coming from Koby that Mihawk nearly feels it like a slap to the face. Normally startling Koby was just something amusing that he liked to tease his lover about, but this wasn't that by any means. His hand automatically snaps away from Koby because if he can figure out anything right now it is that apparently touch isn't what Koby wanted.
It doesn't stop the sting of irrational hurt, the sting of concern. He doesn't move at all or say so much as a single word. His mind is painfully blank. Shanks was better with this sort of thing than he ever had been. Mihawk was never a patient or kind man. Even his short-lived empathy for the Straw Hats was always curt and direct.
What would Nami do? Hell, she's enough like him that should would probably be frozen on the spot too. Zoro would no doubt be awkward about the whole thing. Sanji was- well, Sanji was an idiot when it came to other men.
What would Luffy do? Mihawk blinks slowly and puts his dagger away. He doesn't understand a single thing about Luffy, but he knew the place he had in Koby's heart and he knew the general type of person Luffy was. Luffy wasn't someone anyone would be afraid of or flinch away from, but Mihawk was, and that wasn't something he could change right then. For a split second, he wished he could, wished that he was a different person because it doesn't matter - he just wanted to stop...This.
Whatever this was.
His ears are pinned back and he sits next to Koby, hands uselessly balled up in his lap, and he realizes the time keeps on going and he doesn't...know what to do.
Thankfully, another part of him seems to. That same part of Koby that reacts like an animal - Mihawk winds up reacting like an animal too. Mihawk might find his back the vulnerable part, but right now, he knows things operate more simply. He slowly lowers himself to lay in front of Koby, on his back, curled in toward Koby, and he gives a low whimper at the back of his throat.
He tucks closer to Koby without really touching him, but then he reaches his face out and nuzzles it just against Koby's leg, all wolf and no man, his face even partially morphed more wolf, an actual proper wolf's snout pushing affectionately against Koby's leg. He doesn't even intend the change to happen, but it's a gradual shift as if he knew instinctively that dealing with a canine might somehow be less intimidating than dealing with a person for Koby right now.)
( unlike the rest, all appearing in the late evening hours, shanks leaves this particular gift in the late afternoon after a long morning of helping nikholas' children with their toys โ which is also why it is a toy that he leaves: a small wooden sword, clearly meant for a child, freshly painted to vaguely resemble yoru. the proportions are all wrong, of course โ the cross guard is laughably short, the blade the wrong angle โ but the black and gold color along with various shiny embellishments make it obvious what the inspiration was. a red bow is tied around the grip with a short note attached:
Hawk Eyes,
Rematch?
-S โ ๏ธ
deliberately, he doesn't use mihawk's name. there's nothing sentimental about this gift. it's simply all in good fun, that's all. )
that thread where kobes realizes he might be a furry oop >> action
[What happened to "hello"? "How are you"? Koby just barrels in from the cold, arms full of papers and books, which isn't an unusual state of being for him at all, but usually he pauses for at least a greeting before he launches into an explanation of all his thoughts. But he'd done his research on the moon phases here, and plotted them along with certain events -- the fireside orgy, of course, but also the initial change into a werewolf and Mihawk's disappearance and even Koby's own seal transformation.
So he goes on and on about that, laying out charts and maps and lists of various factors -- position of the moon, stars, sunrise and sunset times, where the wind was blowing and how, the currents of the river and on and on and on. He hasn't even bothered to take his shoes off, coat hanging open, sealskin wrapped around his neck like a too-big scarf.
Eventually, though, Koby runs out of breath and finishes:] -- based on all these factors you'll most likely hit a peak of wolf-like instinct just after sunset tonight, and need to find an outlet so that's...that'll be the best time to try. Make sense?
slapping a general nsfw content warning on here because it just gonna be porn
(At this point, Mihawk's completely used to the variety of ways in which Koby comes tumbling in at the end of each day. Mihawk is sprawled out in his chair, as per usual, already nursing a glass of wine. Mihawk doesn't say a word, instead just watching Koby with a faint look of affection, but listens all the same.
Koby was right though. Mihawk had been far more studious about the wolf these days, and it had been steadily growing more uncomfortable the closer it got to the full moon. Like he had a low-grade fever and the desire to sprint.)
It does. (Sliding his feet off of an ottoman, he stands up and rolls his shoulders, tipping his head to the side with an audible crunch.)
I've felt uncomfortable all day. (He's not...fond of admitting this sort of thing, but it was a necessary evil.)
My mouth hurt. (Some part of him just wanted to chew on something, and he wondered how satisfying that would be. He isn't wearing his hat, as he usually doesn't in the house, but he is in his coat. He slips that off, draping it over the back of a chair. Shortly after, he is carefully taking the books and papers from Koby, like he tends to do.)
We'll give it a go. Are you ready for it? (Whatever "it" may be.)
[Koby lets Mihawk take the papers -- he has them almost memorized at this point, and he's satisfied he won't need to cross-reference anything -- and pulls off his coat and shoes, finally. Beneath, he's wearing yet another of the sweaters they'd ostensibly bought for Mihawk, but which Koby has an almost daily habit of stealing -- burgundy, this one, the sleeves rolled up so they don't cover his hands. Koby's also figured out that if he gathers the loose fabric and knots it at one hip, the stolen sweaters don't slide off his shoulders or fit him like tents.
A problem that would be avoided if he wore his own clothes. But Koby likes Mihawk's sweaters, returning them only once the soft scent of bergamot and soil and sweat has fully left the soft fibers. At least he's wearing his own pants, right? Progress.
His entire expression turns into one of concern, though, as Mihawk mentions his discomfort. Koby quickly steps closer, rising up on his tiptoes by pure habit at this point, hands going out to cradle Mihawk's face, stroking along his jaw.] Does it still hurt? Do you need to -- hunt something, bite something before we try anything? [He doesn't want to let Mihawk out of his sight, but if he's in pain, that simply won't do.]
(Honestly, part of the reason Mihawk wore more clothes lately was purely to seduce Koby or to see Koby in them. It was a far more enticing reason than to just keep warm or whatever nonsense Koby rattled on about. The burgundy was a gorgeous color on Koby and Mihawk is distracted for a second, trying to figure the odds of convincing Koby to sleep with him before going into the whole werewolf thing.
He's staring now at Koby's shoulders, somewhat sad that the sweater wasn't sliding off a bit. He's just about to touch Koby's waist when Koby holds his face and Mihawk's eyes are inevitably forced upward. Oh-.
Mihawk blinks slowly, the loading bar in his mind chugging in over time. He is so unaccustomed to pain, he realizes with a bit of a start.)
Are you an option to bite? (He can't help it! It was right there, but on a more serious note, he sighs.)
No, I think I'll be all right. It's tolerable. It's more annoying than anything. (He bares his teeth a bit, as if to show Koby, and in his defense, his teeth have absolutely grown more into fangs, bigger and a bit too crowded for a human mouth. He does move his hands to Koby's waist after all, squeezing tightly.)
You don't need to look so worried, love. (He doesn't even realize he's said it because his mind is already kind of split to the natural instincts of a wolf, and right now, love felt far more natural to say than his usual darling. The word would normally be completely foreign on his tongue, but the wolf apparently felt otherwise.)
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i'm ready.
( is he?? )
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(#SKEPTICAL.)
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( they'll find out! )
what's your plan for my training?
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(Books! Boring! But also:)
In the meantime, we will hunt the strange creatures of this world together. It will give me a better idea of your actual skill level and where you need improvement. It will also keep our collective red blood stock high and no doubt provide us with valuable trade goods.
You will exercise with me each morning as well, obviously.
1/2
a girl gave me a file... it's no sword but i bet i could stab something through the heart with it anyway.
( but also ... )
or our claws. i don't like them but they could be useful.
2/2
written at random throughout the day (u can ignore me, i'm deranged)
The point being, he can't really send deliveries or show up unexpectedly or anything like that. He has to settle for whenever they're together (which, granted, is fairly frequent; for someone twice his age, Mihawk has incredible stamina) and for sending written messages as he thinks of them.]
It's raining outside, in case you aren't awake yet. The rain is the same here as at home. I'm telling you because I'm not sure if you actually own a shirt.
I think I've gotten better with the claws. I don't accidentally stab myself as often.
If you're coming over tonight, I'll be back late. I'm charting part of the castle, still.
I hopePlease tell me thatI missSend something quick so I know you're alive.
i am incapable of ignoring u actually!!
He was also keeping tabs on the straw hats, Koby, and maybe Jennifer too. So, of course, he sees Koby's handwriting pop up. He's confused at first which means he doesn't respond for quite some time. Then he realizes what's happening.
Koby's just... Talking to him. No real motives, no requests, no questions. Checking up on him, apparently, which could make Mihawk laugh if he were the laughing sort.
One by one, he begins to respond, writing in his flourishing cursive beneath each part respectively because he figures this is how you do this whole thing.)
I fail to see the connection between rain and my choice to disregard shirts.
Have you learned to stab something else with them?
Rest then.
Something quick.
(Mihawk is too deliberate and controlled to scratch out half-formed thoughts. What he does instead is trace back over his own letters, as if emphasizing some silent message tucked between the swoops and curls of his responses.)
i am truly blessed we are so normal abt them
So he writes, mostly just to reassure his own desire to obsessively check in with everyone. And then, towards the end of the day: a response. And another, and another.
Koby's somewhere in the castle, dutifully charting and mapping, when he sees the lettering, swooping and elegant and ornate. He has to fully sit down to process this, cross-legged in a window seat, suddenly dizzy from the rush of emotion that slams into him with the force of a cannonball. It's -- a warm, pleasant feeling, a thrill that fills up Koby's chest like butterflies. It's absurd. It's ridiculous.
Oh. Oh, no. He's in so much trouble.
Eventually he responds:]
You'll get wet or sick or something, walking around in the rain.
I'm figuring it out. I think the rituals are more doable right now.
I'm not tired. If you still want to come by, I'll be awake.
You aren't funny at all.
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Koby eased that somewhat.
Quite more than Mihawk cared to admit. He realizes rather sullenly that he is actually waiting for Koby's replies when they finally come. How embarrassing.)
Koby, I might think you are concerned for my well-being if you keep talking like that.
Good. You'll be a quick study, I'm sure.
Okay. Do you need anything then for when I come?
Yet I seem to amuse you just fine.
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I don't want you bringing puddles into my room, that's all.
Thank you. The healing ritual is all I know right now, but that seems like more than enough for the moment.
No.
Just yMaybe more ink? I'm almost out again.It's not because of your stupid jokes, I can tell you that much.
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flees 2 this at last
EMBRACES
cw: probably themes of transphobia and gender stuff moving forward
DEFS lmao
Re: DEFS lmao
cw: very vague assault allusions
Re: cw: very vague assault allusions
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i can't believe they invented love
LITERALLY i'm literally feral abt them
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a mile long of pining lmao
put that tag in the moma tbqh
Re: put that tag in the moma tbqh
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sometime after the transformations and mihawk's big gay fight
So he sends a message:] Were you in town? Did you see the ritual?
[And he waits. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. He folds and unfolds the spotted sealskin. He paces. Forty-five minutes.
After an hour:] Are you all right?
PERFECT
He's passed out cold in his bed. The door to his cottage was open, complete with claw marks on the floor and on the door. He wasn't dressed at all, his body covered in dirt and streaks of blood, but he was in one solid piece on the ground by his bed. He hadn't quite made it.
His hair was now dense black fur, ears replaced with two elegantly tall wolfish ears, the hair on his face fur. He was even bigger than usual, his muscles thicker, his body bulkier. The witch's hole in his chest was gone, along with the claws, and now he simply had a mark in one of his paws. His legs were dense with the same fur, groin darker, a thick trail of fur leading to his belly button.
Other than all of that, he was completely fine. There were no injuries, no wounds. But it was too bad he hadn't had the chance to check his notebook at any point. Oops.)
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But in the middle there'd been the ritual. There'd been the sudden appearance of more Witches -- something Koby had wondered about, but hadn't anticipated so soon. Then there'd been the change, the agonizing tearing and shredding of flesh, the sense of becoming something else. The hunger that had come as he slipped into the river near the town, sleek and spotted and nimble, eyes dark and whiskers twitching. And then, once back towards the castle, the shedding of the skin, the realization that everything Koby had started to trust in was changing dramatically.
What if a similar change had happened to Mihawk? What if he'd been disoriented, unused to his new form and had stumbled into trouble? What if he was hurt?
Koby snatched up the notebook, scribbling out:] If you don't answer me in ten minutes, I'm coming over there.
[That's a lie. He's already walking over, sealskin tucked into his bag -- he'd tried to leave it behind and it made him illogically, wildly anxious, fearful in a mindless, animal way. The snow is still falling, so Koby's wearing the warmest thing he'd gotten from Nami. His breath comes a little quicker as he strides as fast as he can through the woods towards Mihawk's cabin.
The scratches in the ground, the wide-open door freeze Koby in his tracks, stomach wrenching, heart dropping. Mihawk was a man with many enemies. What if one of the new arrivals was one of them? What if --]
Mihawk? [It comes out tight, strained, shaky.]
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His body felt as though he had been weighed down with lead. It didn't feel like a hangover, but nearly so. More than anything he felt disoriented. Being the wolf had mostly been a blur and the onslaught of uncontrollable emotions was so unlike Mihawk that the rawness it left him with was foreign and strange. He felt like he was a boy again and it wasn't just because of the exposure. Despite the heaviness, there was something fresh and springy in his joints as he shifted on the floor, stretching until there were cracks and pops here and there.
He felt like he was crawling out of hibernation except without the hunger. He's fairly certain he ate something during the night though he couldn't recall what.
Then he hears Koby's voice calling his name and his attention snaps to the sound. He could smell a tinge of anxiety, and fear, and it made his fur bristle. He rolls over and that's when his tail shows, bristling just as much as the rest of him. The only instinct rolling over and over again in his mind was that Koby was in distress, mate in distress, protect mate at all costs.
He's on his feet without thinking and stalking through the cabin with heavy steps. When he sees Koby at last, intact and whole, something in him unfurls.)
Koby. (His voice is deeper now, a faint natural growl punctuating the word. Even with little spoken, his new fangs flashed.
In speaking of new...He could smell something salty. Something that reminded him of the ocean, of rushing water and foam, of waves crashing against the shore. The familiar rocking of a boat.
It's a beautiful scent.
He stares at Koby, calmly, silent, and then, softly:)
What's wrong? (Yeah, he isn't quite awake or with it fully yet. He'll get there.)
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I sent you a message an hour ago. The ritual, it -- made things happen, it. [Then it clicks, that it isn't the shadows making Mihawk's lean body seem extra dark -- that's fur, thick and soft and black, over his legs, rising up his toned stomach towards his bared chest. His hair is thicker and -- are those ears? Yes, they are, pointed and elegant and unmistakably canine.
A part of him, the part that's cautious and watchful and nimble as foam on a wave, senses the predator in Mihawk, something more feral and wild than even the norm. Mihawk the pirate had been deadly, dangerous. This Mihawk is that and more, an untamed ferocity that's thoroughly unpredictable and uncontrollable. Koby should be absolutely terrified, should turn and bolt, should get back to the river and disappear beneath the surface immediately.
But there's a more firm, solid resolve, standing like steel beneath the fear. It's Mihawk. Mihawk would never hurt him.]
I was worried. [Soft, stepping closer, noting the dirt, the fangs, the tail. This last new addition gets a brief, bemused flash of teeth that are significantly more pointed than before. The witch's claws are gone too, replaced with smaller, more blunt nails.] I thought something...might've happened. Are you okay?
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ugly sobbing
legit rending my garments b y e
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action ~ sometime mid-december ig idk
Later, on Alvida's ship, things had been worse in a lot of ways, but at least he was usually exhausted enough at the end of each day to collapse into sleep for as long as the pirate captain would allow him to, too drained to question it. However, Alvida expected Koby to be ready, the second she bellowed his name, ready to jerk awake and be present, immediately, ready to clean or attend to her every whim or whatever it was she told him to do. If he wasn't -- well. Koby was the one who cleaned blood off her club every night. He knew what it could do to a person. So he got into the habit of staying awake for long stretches of time -- fifteen, sixteen hours, sometimes longer -- until he was absolutely positive she was asleep and he could curl up and pass out for a handful of hours.
And then: the Marines. Working too hard was rewarded there, it was a sign you were doing something right. Staying up late into the night, waking up at the crack of dawn were all viewed with approval. Sleeping only four or five hours a night meant you were dedicated, that you had what it took. Koby's whole existence was about proving just that. Besides, he hadn't been enlisted long enough for it to start to have a detrimental effect.
So he'd carried the habits over into the new world he'd woken up in, sitting up studying or reading or charting by candlelight, usually falling asleep at his desk and waking up with his back aching and his glasses shoved up into his hair. The only times Koby actually slept well were the nights -- rare at first, then steadily more common -- when Mihawk stayed over, or when he stayed at the cottage. And then they were living together, and there was something insidious and cruel in Koby's subconscious, whispering: it's only a matter of time, before he sees. Before he understands what a mess you are.
Koby had hoped this wasn't true, that he'd somehow found the magic solution to his constant nightmares -- a combination of memories and hypotheticals, logical and ridiculous, a swirling miasma of fear he barely kept in check while conscious, but which ran rampant at night. He'd pinned his every hope on Mihawk's mere presence being enough to keep the terrors at bay.
He'd been wrong.
It's one night, several days after he'd moved in for good, bitterly cold and well past midnight, when Koby goes from curled up in the protective circle of Mihawk's arms to sitting bolt upright, gasping sharply, his whole body seizing up in immediate, mindless terror, staring unseeing into the darkness. It's fast, it's loud and it goes on, that awful inhalation lasting and lasting in the pitch blackness, heedless of anything or anyone else. Just thoughtless, senseless fear, so acute it's almost tangible -- and, more than likely, something Mihawk can smell as well as hear.]
HELL yea
He's just not used to fear. He slept soundly and blankly every time he closed his eyes. The sort of annoying person who could fall asleep wherever he was and whenever he wanted and who would wake up refreshed and ready to go. He never felt vulnerable.
Not in the way he knows Koby has - and probably still does sometimes. Coming to live with Koby had taught him that sleep wasn't quite as easy for Koby as it was for Mihawk. He would try to talk with Koby or touch him til he fell asleep, falling asleep soon after. But this was a first. Mihawk immediately wakes up, a swordsman's senses are never that far away, especially with the wolf's newer instincts as well.
He's upright almost an exact single second after Koby, his eyes glowing in the dark with an animal, violent feral quality because his first instinct is that something had come into the room with them. He had automatically drawn the dagger from his neck, his other hand clawed, the fangs in his mouth thicker than they were mere moments ago.
Mihawk didn't get where he was by being reckless though. His eyes sweep the room quicker than any human could even imagine, registering the complete lack of a physical, visible threat. His ears prick, and swivel, listening to the stillness of their cottage, and of course, the scents are what truly make him realize that there is nothing at all. It wasn't even snowing outside. The nearest living thing he could hear was some creature hibernating somewhere beneath their cottage, their soft, sluggish heartbeat pulsing in the earth. He takes all of this information in within less than a minute.
Then his attention boils down to Koby. The raw sour fear coming off of him in waves, the sharp panting.)
Koby? (He ventures carefully, because hell, in this place, it could be more complex than something he could detect with his senses. He doesn't lower his dagger, but he does reach out, his claw shifting into something more familiar and human. He curls it carefully, protectively over Koby's waist, a frown growing on his face.)
Is it something in your mind? (Nightmare, curse or whatever it may be...This is so out of his league, but there wasn't an inch of him that was prepared to go back to sleep or move away until he had this sorted. Because whatever could make Koby feel so much fear - Mihawk wanted it dead.)
i love crying~
And Mihawk moves with the quiet care of a predatory creature, so sometimes Koby jumps or yelps or otherwise has a dramatic reaction to his appearance. But it's always only been an instant, a momentary surge of pure reaction that easily dissipates into indignant squawking or laughter or an eyeroll. It's an instinct, not a deliberate act. Despite all the myriad ways Mihawk could physically hurt him, Koby's never acted frightened of him before.
But this time Mihawk reaches out, the familiar hand curling in the familiar way around Koby's waist, gentle and careful and instead of relaxing backwards with an explanation, an apology, instead of curling into the welcoming warmth of the other man's sleep-warmed body -- Koby cringes away, arms wrapping tightly around his chest, breath catching on an awful, hoarse, almost-sob sound, whole body curling into a rigid, protective ball. It's also instinct, but something much, much deeper, something honed by terror and helplessness, the instinct of a caught prey animal to hide it's stomach, despite knowing perfectly well it's about to be torn open.
And it doesn't stop. He doesn't straighten up or look over and realize that he's awake, that the nightmare's over. That he's safe. There's no recognition, no response that suggests Koby knows who Mihawk is, or even where they are. Just senseless, animal fear.]
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It's not the first time someone has been terrified to see him. It's far from the first time someone has flinched away from him.
It's just so different when it's coming from Koby that Mihawk nearly feels it like a slap to the face. Normally startling Koby was just something amusing that he liked to tease his lover about, but this wasn't that by any means. His hand automatically snaps away from Koby because if he can figure out anything right now it is that apparently touch isn't what Koby wanted.
It doesn't stop the sting of irrational hurt, the sting of concern. He doesn't move at all or say so much as a single word. His mind is painfully blank. Shanks was better with this sort of thing than he ever had been. Mihawk was never a patient or kind man. Even his short-lived empathy for the Straw Hats was always curt and direct.
What would Nami do? Hell, she's enough like him that should would probably be frozen on the spot too. Zoro would no doubt be awkward about the whole thing. Sanji was- well, Sanji was an idiot when it came to other men.
What would Luffy do? Mihawk blinks slowly and puts his dagger away. He doesn't understand a single thing about Luffy, but he knew the place he had in Koby's heart and he knew the general type of person Luffy was. Luffy wasn't someone anyone would be afraid of or flinch away from, but Mihawk was, and that wasn't something he could change right then. For a split second, he wished he could, wished that he was a different person because it doesn't matter - he just wanted to stop...This.
Whatever this was.
His ears are pinned back and he sits next to Koby, hands uselessly balled up in his lap, and he realizes the time keeps on going and he doesn't...know what to do.
Thankfully, another part of him seems to. That same part of Koby that reacts like an animal - Mihawk winds up reacting like an animal too. Mihawk might find his back the vulnerable part, but right now, he knows things operate more simply. He slowly lowers himself to lay in front of Koby, on his back, curled in toward Koby, and he gives a low whimper at the back of his throat.
He tucks closer to Koby without really touching him, but then he reaches his face out and nuzzles it just against Koby's leg, all wolf and no man, his face even partially morphed more wolf, an actual proper wolf's snout pushing affectionately against Koby's leg. He doesn't even intend the change to happen, but it's a gradual shift as if he knew instinctively that dealing with a canine might somehow be less intimidating than dealing with a person for Koby right now.)
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special delivery โจ
Rematch?
-S โ ๏ธ
deliberately, he doesn't use mihawk's name. there's nothing sentimental about this gift. it's simply all in good fun, that's all. )
that thread where kobes realizes he might be a furry oop >> action
[What happened to "hello"? "How are you"? Koby just barrels in from the cold, arms full of papers and books, which isn't an unusual state of being for him at all, but usually he pauses for at least a greeting before he launches into an explanation of all his thoughts. But he'd done his research on the moon phases here, and plotted them along with certain events -- the fireside orgy, of course, but also the initial change into a werewolf and Mihawk's disappearance and even Koby's own seal transformation.
So he goes on and on about that, laying out charts and maps and lists of various factors -- position of the moon, stars, sunrise and sunset times, where the wind was blowing and how, the currents of the river and on and on and on. He hasn't even bothered to take his shoes off, coat hanging open, sealskin wrapped around his neck like a too-big scarf.
Eventually, though, Koby runs out of breath and finishes:] -- based on all these factors you'll most likely hit a peak of wolf-like instinct just after sunset tonight, and need to find an outlet so that's...that'll be the best time to try. Make sense?
slapping a general nsfw content warning on here because it just gonna be porn
Koby was right though. Mihawk had been far more studious about the wolf these days, and it had been steadily growing more uncomfortable the closer it got to the full moon. Like he had a low-grade fever and the desire to sprint.)
It does. (Sliding his feet off of an ottoman, he stands up and rolls his shoulders, tipping his head to the side with an audible crunch.)
I've felt uncomfortable all day. (He's not...fond of admitting this sort of thing, but it was a necessary evil.)
My mouth hurt. (Some part of him just wanted to chew on something, and he wondered how satisfying that would be. He isn't wearing his hat, as he usually doesn't in the house, but he is in his coat. He slips that off, draping it over the back of a chair. Shortly after, he is carefully taking the books and papers from Koby, like he tends to do.)
We'll give it a go. Are you ready for it? (Whatever "it" may be.)
so! much!!! porn!!!!
A problem that would be avoided if he wore his own clothes. But Koby likes Mihawk's sweaters, returning them only once the soft scent of bergamot and soil and sweat has fully left the soft fibers. At least he's wearing his own pants, right? Progress.
His entire expression turns into one of concern, though, as Mihawk mentions his discomfort. Koby quickly steps closer, rising up on his tiptoes by pure habit at this point, hands going out to cradle Mihawk's face, stroking along his jaw.] Does it still hurt? Do you need to -- hunt something, bite something before we try anything? [He doesn't want to let Mihawk out of his sight, but if he's in pain, that simply won't do.]
foulest dirtiest explicit porn ever
He's staring now at Koby's shoulders, somewhat sad that the sweater wasn't sliding off a bit. He's just about to touch Koby's waist when Koby holds his face and Mihawk's eyes are inevitably forced upward. Oh-.
Mihawk blinks slowly, the loading bar in his mind chugging in over time. He is so unaccustomed to pain, he realizes with a bit of a start.)
Are you an option to bite? (He can't help it! It was right there, but on a more serious note, he sighs.)
No, I think I'll be all right. It's tolerable. It's more annoying than anything. (He bares his teeth a bit, as if to show Koby, and in his defense, his teeth have absolutely grown more into fangs, bigger and a bit too crowded for a human mouth. He does move his hands to Koby's waist after all, squeezing tightly.)
You don't need to look so worried, love. (He doesn't even realize he's said it because his mind is already kind of split to the natural instincts of a wolf, and right now, love felt far more natural to say than his usual darling. The word would normally be completely foreign on his tongue, but the wolf apparently felt otherwise.)
once they stop being Incredibly Soft
that will Never stop
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