#begging starving for content and finding a lot of cool stuff and cursed stuff in the audio files

[koskela-knights]

The Koskela Fan Experience

Shoutout to @zephyrone01 @amiracleilluminated & Champion of Light for extracting the Koskelore

[sanguinolency]

Morning Coffee

Repost, since the old link is broken. The first Birdverse story I ever wrote, to fill in the RP gaps. Long since relegated to AU status.

It was morning. Gus was not ready for the morning. Sleep had offered him no reprise from the weight he felt in his chest. He’d been plagued with dreams of drowning, of thick sludge and something with too many eyes and too many voices muttering just beyond his comprehension. He felt no better upon awakening than he had falling asleep. Hey lay there under his comforter for the better part of an hour, repeating to himself as if it would make a difference “I’m asleep. I’m not awake yet. I’m not ready to be awake yet. I’m sleeping. I’m going to sleep forever.”

God, how did one feel so tired in the morning? Gus had never really been one to wallow in misery, but it was sorely tempting today. What was he supposed to say to Bart? “Morning, Brother! Don’t forget, you’ve got to get yourself out of here before the week is up! No dawdling, up and out and away you go!”

He groaned into his pillow. What kind of asshole threw his own brother out into the cold anyway? Not that either of them had been saints the night before- screaming and cursing in a manner that was quite unlike either of the usually very mild morticians. But… damn it that funeral of Gabat’s… it wasn’t illegal per se, but it was questionable at best, and Bart hadn’t even mentioned- probably wouldn’t have said a damn thing if Daria hadn’t brought it up. And when the one came out, the whole damn thing came spilling to the surface. Services held behind his back, shrouded in Bart’s abominable excuse for bookkeeping, and some of them were downright unnerving- taxidermy, for God’s sake! They were birds, not animals! You didn’t stuff and mount sweet Grannie Fran or whoever on the mantelpiece like some sort of hunting trophy, it wasn’t right! It was disrespectful, and one thing Gus had always believed was that Bart would never, ever in his own mind do the dead a disservice.

He supposed everyone had to be wrong at some point. He just wished it could have been about something else.

The alarm began shrieking at him- snooze time was over, time to get up and face… everything. Gus fumbled to turn the damn thing off, and sluggishly rolled out of bed.

They didn’t have anything in particular planned for today. The laundry needed to be done. They could probably stand to buy groceries. Gus had a flickering thought about how he was only going to need to buy for one soon and immediately pushed it to the back of his mind. That bridge when he crossed it. He ran a list through his head, looking for any excuse to be out of the house. Cowardly, he admitted, but he didn’t feel like brave-facing today.

He pulled on a sweater and pants- and after a moment of debate dug out a pair of his nicer shoes and pulled those on too. He’d just grab a cup of coffee and go for a walk. Maybe get breakfast at a diner (You little shit you’re going all out on this avoidance thing aren’t you?). Get out of the house, out of the parlor, just get out.

Sometimes, however, Gus forgot just how early his brother tended to rise. He had half a mind to slam his door shut and leave through the window, but before he could so much as budge the knob Bart was on his feet. “Gus, please. We need to talk.”

“Bart, I  really don’t think-”

“Gus, please.” Bart clasped his hands together in a placating way. Gus didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother beg before, and the sight sat badly in his stomach. “I’m your brother, just listento me.”

God damn it. Gus pushed the door slowly open and walked into the flat. It wasn’t large, and only occupied the second floor of the funeral home- morbid, maybe, but neither of the twins had ever thought much of it. The living room and the kitchen melded into one large, singular unit with only the change from rug to linoleum to mark the difference.

He pulled a chair from the table and sat down, slouching over the table. Bart looked like he was going to say something, but sighed ran his hand through his hair instead. He looked awful- bags under his eyes, and his movement was an oddly stilted sort of swaying. His head was nodding ever so slightly, like it was losing faith in this whole “staying upright” business. “Bart… did you even sleep last night?”

“What?” His head jerked up a bit, and he gave Gus a vaguely cross-eyed look. “No, no I… maybe a little. Around five.” He rubbed his hands anxiously. “I made… coffee. Made coffee.” He pushed a mug haphazardly toward his brother, who picked it up slowly.

He recognized this mug- He’d thought it was cute, with it’s cheery little “HANG IN THERE” plastered in large, block letters. And it had a cat on it- Gus liked cats, but Bart never seemed to get on with them. The fact that Bart didn’t get on with anythingseemed beside the point, and- damn it, he was avoiding the situation again. He looked up at his brother, who was sliding into his own seat, grasping his own mug as though it were a lifeline. Gus’s stomach turned again. “Thank you, Bart.” Bart shrugged.

The mug was cold. When had Bart made this? He swished it around, making a little whirlpool in the mug and resolved to discretely dump it out when he got the chance. He hated cold coffee, but it was the thought that counted. And his brother was trying (For once, now that he had something to lose) to reach out. It was something, it was the first olive branch his brother had extended in years, and Gus would be damned before he cast it aside.

“I can’t… I can’t just leave, Gus. This is my home.” Bart started, sounding as if he’d rehearsed this speech, but didn’t quite have the energy left to carry it out.

Gus stared fixedly at his coffee. “Bart, this isn’t working. I think…” he traced the rim with his finger. “Maybe I pushed it, a bit… too hard. But we’ve been at each other for… years now, and I can’t… it can’t go on like this. We need some distance, I think. Some time.”

“But why do I have to leave?” Bart was pleading. God damn it, Bart hadn’t plead for anything in his life. Not when he was starving his way through college, not when they were children and Bart had been handed another child to practically raise. It wasn’t in his nature, and it showed. His pleas were unpracticed, almost childlike in their logic, and Gus felt his insides squirm into sickening, guilty knots.

“You know why.” he said quietly, still staring into his mug. What a wretched excuse for a wretched excuse of a brother. The parlor was in his name, it belonged to him. Record-wise, Bart was just an employee. Gus wondered how much of this could have been avoided if his parents had just treated them like twins instead of partitioning them off into older and younger (You could have done it yourself you know. Too late for that now dipshit.).

The only reply from Bart was a choked sort of sob, and Gus couldn’t even bring himself to look up at him. He had to be strong on this. It wasn’t working, they weren’t working, they’d driven their sister to the other end of the damned country with their dysfunction, and if they kept along like this, they’d either kill each other or one of them would be found swinging from the ceiling fan.

Bart was trying and failing to cover his breakdown. Gus felt like sinking into the floor. He knew, he knew what the parlor meant to Bart, and he was still sending him out to fend for himself. Bart could get work anywhere- they had a mortuary college in this city and he was more than skilled enough to find work in another funeral home. But it wouldn’t be the same. Bart loved this place a hell of a lot more than Gus did, and Gus knew it. Just… damn it. Damn it all to hell.

The silence and the sobbing grew steadily heavier. It wasn’t that Gus was ignoring his brother’s breakdown, he just didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do? Absently, more to take his focus off of the situation and his own crushing guilt, Gus took a deep swig of the coffee.

It burned. For a brief second, Gus didn’t think anything of it. It was just another thing to focus on before he had to acknowledge his brother again, and… cold coffee didn’t burn, even hot coffee didn’t burn quite like this. This was chemical, it shot up his nose and shoved needles into his stomach. He slammed the mug onto the table, and some of its contents splashed over his hand and sleeve. He scrabbled at his throat with his free hand, pulling the turtleneck down to get at the skin where he rubbed it uselessly. “Bart,” he choked, his throat already raspy. He coughed. “Bart.”

His brother was still sobbing, much harder now. “I’m sorry.” He wiped his eyes, for all the good it did him. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

Gus tried to stand, but his legs weren’t capable of keeping him upright. He fell back into the chair. He was having trouble breathing, and his head was already swimming, little black sparks bursting before his eyes. His chest hurt. He was- oh God. He was going to die. He was going to die, and Bart…

Bart was still sobbing and repeating I can’t like a madman’s mantra. At least, he found himself thinking, I know why. It’s a small comfort.

Small comforts, like how cool the tabletop was, or how ugly the cat on his mug was. Did that count as a comfort? Maybe. HANG IN THERE floated in his vision before he forgot how to decipher words.

Then everything went black, and Gus disappeared into the void.