elisabet is a quiet creature. leavanny are known for their nurturing, calm nature. so it only makes sense that willow prefers her company beside her. the dual grass-type has a pot to herself in the corner of the living room, and often rests with feet planted in wet soil near the window when willow doesn't need her help. 

she's been at attention through most of the talk, red eyes trained on the boy and his father. she'd grown tense at willow's leave of absence, stepped neatly out of the pot without making a scene, and shook off the soil from her pointed feet. 

it's when hands go towards their respective pokeballs when her muscles tighten and she crouches, coiling like an adder might. anticipation ripples through her and at the slightest movement, she leaps. 

long, leaven arms arc just by bo's neck, catching the pointed fangs of the torracat. there's a harsh grating sound and with a chitter she bowls the cat over, antennae twitching with a rattling sound to alert willow. 

"mom, mom. stay in bed. dad's not here. ELEANOR." willow stumbles out of the bedroom, hair frazzled, eyes wide with shock as she takes in the scene in front of her. 

boruta maher  & Roman Maher

☉

wow. just like that. so fast. where the fuck had roman gotten his hands on this thing?

dropping the pokéball, his arm came up to grab for the incoming torracat, but it had been so quick—even for a trained fighter. he struggled with it as it strained towards his throat, set on blood.

”roman!”

a moment later, willow’s leavanny was assisting to pry the torracat off and send it back away.

”hold it down.” his voice was booming, firm. from a plump bird now sitting on the floor nearby, PSYCHIC energy glowed around the room like a nebula, tinging the warm kitchen lighting an unnatural, spooky purple. it engulfed roman’s torracat to immobilize it, if only temporarily.

his jaw was set, eyes not removing themselves from roman as willow entered the room. he was as pissed as he’d ever looked. his temper was lava boiling just under the rim of a mountain.

”you’re not leaving again! not even if you try to fucking kill me.” he had expected things to be bad with roman, but not this bad. ”you don’t want to talk to me? fine—but this isn’t gonna fly. return it. now!”

he brushed off his shoulder, his neck, where the slightest bit of blood bubbled from a cut. his golden eyes were brilliant in the purple light of his natu’s power, and they were glaring hard.

Roman Maher & willow atkins

☉

she takes everything in as bits and pieces. behind her, her mother, still murmuring exasperated, desperate nothings to herself. the weight of responsibility bears down across her shoulders. the stress pinches her back, spreads prickles down her spine, her wrists, the curve of her jaw because she can't stop tensing.

and here she sees bo, a menacing beast of a man, towering over their son. a spitting, wailing, vile thing writhes on the ground. gretchen cowers in the corner of the room, ears flat, tail curled around herself. 

even if you try to kill me. 

roman, standing wide-eyed. she reads every emotion flitting across his face and it mirrors her own. dread settles in the pit of her stomach. 

she should stop him. she should do something. she should throw him in her car and get him a psych eval. but he goes and she watches the pokeball roll across the floor. the caterwauling cat won't give it a rest and upon noticing willow isn't up to the task, elisabet skirts beside it and taps the return button on the capsule. 

she holds a hand to her mouth to cover her quivering lip, but it doesn't matter anyway. a sob rips from her and she crumples, finally giving way under every fucking ounce of stress she's been feeling. 

she slides back against the doorframe of her mother's bedroom. her hand comes down from her mouth to her chest. because her chest is tight and she's having trouble getting enough air and her shallows breaths aren't working and she doesn't ask for help because all she can say, over and over again, is "i'm sorry i'm so sorry i'm sorry" when really she doesn't know what's happening or why she can't turn it off and why everything's going a hundred miles a minute and her mother is still calling for her and calling for her father, but her father's gone and their family hasn't been a family since he passed and she can't do it alone, not anymore, not anymore, not anymore and why can't she breathe? 

boruta maher  & Roman Maher

☉

he wiped blood onto his pants. his scowl didn’t falter. the look of fear in roman’s eyes did nothing—because bo was immune to that particular expression. he’d been broken that way.

”it doesn’t matter what you meant.”

his glare followed his son as he ran to a bedroom much too far out of his jurisdiction. anger still flared. he felt the need for fresh air again. the wailing of willow’s panicked mother was too much.

as the torracat was recalled and the barrage of noise became only slightly lesser, he called down the hall:

”SAMUEL’S NOT HERE, ELEANOR.”

his baritone was like a heavy brick dropping in a storm. it was the wrong thing to say, and he kicked himself when he turned to see willow sliding down the doorframe.

fuck.

a pokeball pulled the natu and its strange purple glow right out of the room, and back into his bloody pocket.

will had always been strong as hell. he’d never seen her really break. willow tree; hard, resilient—but even the sturdiest tree could be chopped down with the right axe. there was a shadow on the house that day. timber.

he hesitated. later, he’d surely regret the lost moment—probably for the rest of the moments he had. honestly? add it to the fucking list.

”will...”

”fuck, will.” after a moment too long, his feet were moving. he was beside her, at eye level, fumbling. ”it’s okay, it’s okay. shit. i’m sorry. hey—” his hand went out gently to her shoulder, hoping to bring her back.

Roman Maher & willow atkins

☉

the low timbre of his voice. bridled anger. even if eleanor doesn't understand his words, she gets the tone. she goes silent. and the floorboards creak as bo shifts his weight and looks at her. willow hears all these sounds and not-sounds, but they're far away, curtained by the pulse pounding in her ears, the gasps that still sputter from her lips. 

something's not right something's not right something's not right. is she broken? is she wrong? is she dying? heart attack? is that what this is? body quivering, stuck in an endless loop of fight or flight, and then bo's hand on her shoulder. 

flight. 

she recoils, wide-eyed. hadn't noticed him before. not past the thumpthumpthump. her fingers curl against her chest, the hollow of her throat. the other hand goes reaching. it clumsily grabs his hand. fingers slippery, not working right. don't leave. she's dizzy. the world totters and warmth slicks her cheeks. 

"wh- bo. i. i. can't. breathe." wide eyes meet his. recognition sparks. make it stop. help. please. please. please. 

boruta maher  & Roman Maher

☉

he didn’t know what to do. what do you do when the strongest person you know breaks in front of you, and you ultimately caused it? when you realize a moment too late that touch seems like the last thing they’d want, or should want from you, and they reach back anyways?

he figured at that moment, it probably didn’t matter. even if he was the last person in the world that she really wanted to reach for, he was the only one there at her side right then, when she needed somebody. anybody, probably.

he took her hand.

“will… you gotta breathe. come on. it’s gonna be okay, i promise. i won’t do that again. i’m not gonna let anything bad happen anymore.”

ever the optimist even in his concern, once the foreign look of dark anger had left his face from a minute before, in a glowing purple kitchen.

“just breathe.”

willow atkins

☉

bo isn't panicking. bo isn't panicking so that must mean she's not dying. and he's telling her something. telling her to breathe. to breathe? but she can't. but she can't do that. those shallows breaths pick up again and she squeezes her eyes shut, fingers clenching his. 

finding warmth and steadiness. 

i'm not gonna let anything bad happen anymore. no more running away for him, for roman. he's here. that's a promise. tension slips from her shoulders into her hand as she squeezes tight. 

her last breath is sharp. she holds it, opens her eyes, and exhales. the next few are as forcibly slow. heartbeat steadies. things stop looking as sporadic - like the static is fading. 

her tears still fall, but she's slowly relaxing. she realizes it must have been a panic attack. anxiety attack? she doesn't know the difference between the two, if there's any at all. 

very slowly, she releases his hand. she wipes her tears. and then she's up on her knees, arms circling around his sides in a tight embrace. she scoots up and into him, exhaling again. she doesn't say anything. she doesn't want to say anything. 

she just wants to stay like this. however long she can. 

boruta maher   

☉

he wasn’t helping, he told himself. panic began to rise within him as well, but he did his best not to let it show. his bright eyes were wide with concern as he looked at her, and requested again, ”please breathe, will... please.”

her hand was held closer as she squeezed his. he was grateful to finally see whatever chokehold this was seem to let up on her. she was relaxing, to some degree. he sighed with relief. he wanted to wipe her tears, but decided against it. when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled close, he was surprised, but didn’t mention it. only held her back as close as she seemed to want.

maybe he’d made promises he couldn’t hope to keep, but he’d do everything in his power. if only he lived closer, and could watch the house. the only thing he could think about, over and over, was if the guy roman had stabbed had been a rocket, what might befall their family? maybe it wouldn’t have been something to worry about, had he not defected against them himself. had there not been people upset with him on the inside. people looking for a reason to hurt him.

he had to tell her. everything, or at least much more than he’d ever wanted to. somehow.

not now.

with big arms wrapped around her to keep the world out, he whispered again, ”it’s gonna be okay.”

willow atkins

☉