#Kit is just both of those combined She would make sense for her to be a Sona in a way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lolita-lollipop · 3 years

Note

Hizashi and Aizawa kidnapping a young teenage girl, and her bonding and quickly finding comfort with Hizashi, leaving Aizawa to awkwardly attempt at being super soft and all the more gentle to his sensitive little girl, his heart panging with pain every time she flinches or cowers away from him. “You don’t need to be scared of me, kitten.. please”

your little acts of favoritism weren’t necessarily intentional, you hated both of them. they were your brothers teachers, and whoop dee doo, they kidnapped you. but... you liked hizashi more.

it was just something about him that made you believe he was some form of comfort item, probably because he wasnt brooding, and didnt have a mean face, and he was the first human yud ever seen in this place, that all combined into one and he became your rock, your shoulder to cry on. he was just... so nice, although his quirk was loud, somehow he managed to speak softly with you. it was such a bright contrast to at home where two firey blondes always scream at each other, and your father tries to calm it down.

on your first night ever here, you had tried to jump out the window, and were captured by the thick scarves you once admired, hed lectured you, yelled at yiuu even, all you could see were those red eyes of his, and hear his voice. and he scared you, he scared you so much. i guess it justtranslates to now, first impressions are everything, and to you, he looked like a big scary man who would yell at you.

eventually, you stopped caring about how you hated him, or how you wanted to leave, as you clearly never were. so, instead of glaring at them, or crying, you accepted the fact that he was taking care of you. hizashi, hizashi was taking care of you... aizawa though? no way in hell, he was just so... you'd never seen him with a smile, he never tried to talk to you, he just kinda watched you, and it freaked you out, at some point you started believing he was trying to kill you, don't even ask how you came up with that conclusion.

you just couldn't manage to warm up to hi as you'd done so quickly with hizashi, and it showed. you were always tense when alone with him, like he was going to jump out at you any second and stab you, you didnt talk to him , sometimes you felt so anxious around him that you would outright start crying, shaking in some form of fear, or hide yourself under a blanket. although hizashi was proud that you loved him so much, he knew that this was hurting his husband, that his own little girl was scared of him.

so he would always try to coax you into doing things with him, saying things like "can your papa come and help" or "how about we have papa do this with you while I make lunch?", just trying to get him included so you would feel just as comfortable around him as you were with his own self. Sometimes he just left the room to let you have alone time with him. He’d even lectured his husband about how he always looked angry, and that he has to smile form time to time, and not the creepy “I’m gonna kill a villain” smile.

And so Aizawa started trying, not trying to be like hizashi, even that was too much for him, but trying to be nicer, he was a gentle person when he wanted to be, so this came with ease for him, he would tuck you in at night, read you stories, hold you if you cried, feed you, help you bathe (which you usually liked hizashi to do, and in general, inserted himself as a gentle roger in your life. You would expect taht this would work, that because he was so nice to you, because he was so sweet like hizashi, you would accept him as your father.

But nope! Again, first impressions are everything to you, and now, he was written off as the villain of you story, now, you jsut ran off to papa whenever he was around, and didn’t even give him the chance to hang around you, it just made it worse honestly, because now, not only did he look scary, but he also looked fake, which is never good. Every time he would try to if you, you would clutch onto hizashi for dear life, acting like his hand would do nothing but burn you.

Tears would cloud your vision, and he would pulle back, not wanting to cause you any more pain, and jsut stare in. Pure jealousy at his husband, who cooed and gave you a hug.and guess what? You hugged him back, and hid yourself in his chest, willingly, without a fight, without a tear, instead with a smile, most of the times mic wouldn’t interfere, wbatigg ns this to everyone a safe space for you, a place where you should naturally do things, but sometimes, he would give you little bushes int he right direction. Like disappearing completely for my he house so you’ll be forced to talk to Aizawa.

This is one of those times.

Yo been wandering the house for about ten minutes now, waking up form a nap, to find mic absent from his usual place in the rocking chair at your bedside. It was a little after lunchtime, and they’d only given you a small cup of fruit for breakfast (intentional, from mic), you were fairly hungry, and usually he was there to give you food, but you had no idea where he was, you had heard the… other one on the phone in their shared office, but you did not want to talk to him right now.

Aizawa could tell you were awake by the fact that all of the cats were meowing like crazy, and little pattering footsteps had followed his hearing around, mic had left abruptly, probably some little plan of mischief again, he was hizashi after all. He was just waiting for you to either 1: go back to bed, or 2: come to him for help. Mic had specifically told him to follow these rules for after nap time, so he did. And grew progressively more worried as over twenty minutes, trying to read through his students grading work, too distracted by the urge to go find you to accomplish anything.

His worries dissipated though when he saw your little head poking through the door, cat in hand, confused and tired looking, small tears beginning to prick th corners of your eyes, little sniffling sounds left you. His wha specked up form the desk, you’d given up walking around the whole house, your restarting had slowly pent up, you couldn’t manage to find him, and you were so hungry.

“Oh- hey honey, I didn’t know you were up. Do you need something?” He questioned, smiling intently at you, you just inched back into the door frame, breathing heavier by the moment, your hands shook and your head felt like it was going to explode at any point. Youbcontenoajted runnign back to your room and waiting till mic came out where you could hear him, but your stomach grumbled, reminding you how hungry you really are.

“I’m- im looking for daddy. Where is he.” You spoke, a very hushed tone overtook your words, making them almost inaudible for him. His face sunk slowly, he tougher you were actually gonna come for him, but the he remembered taht patience is key, and that he shouldn’t get mad, because it is t your fault taht you’re just a little sensitive, too fragile to handle more than one attachment, he gets it. He jsut at least wanted you to look at him, instead did your little feet, I’m Ayer if you could meet his eyes the. You would see how much he loves you.

“Oh, he left a. Little while ago. Is there something you need from him? Your papa can give him a call if you want, you could even talk to him!” He exclaimed excitedly, plastering that happy smile across his face to seem more inviting, liek mic had told him to do. He stood out of his chair, rounding up the papers and putting them in his file folders.you tried to sink back furthers, almost disappearing behind the doorway, you shook your head aggressively, almost running off, then yet again, your stomach made another noise, and forced you to stay.

“I- no. I’m- im hungry-“ you spluttered, not caring if it was embarrassing that you were stuttering so much, you just wanted food. And calling mic would just get you a lecture on how you could’ve just asked your papa, the same thing would happen whenever you went to uncnecesary lengths to avoid the man, your daddy would make sure you knew that it made him feel bad, while you’d at there bored. Not caring, at all.

“Oh- well you should’ve told me sooner kitten, if I’d known I would be up already. Cmon, let’s go to the kitchen, your daddy made you some food earlier” he spoke, rising from his chair slowly, you cowered slightly as he walked over, clutching the little kitten right to you for comfort, he mewed and snuggled closer, completely asleep. The man sighed when he saw you backing away from his grasp, he knew you were still scared. But he was just so impatient… he was tired of waiting, he wanted to hold you, even if it was jsut foena few minutes. He needed it feel you there with him.

Is he acted quickly, moving in a matter of seconds, he swooped his arm under your leg, and hooked his other around your torso, pulling you straight up into his grasp. Youu huh froze, his hands felt cold as ice on your skin, like they were burning you, immediately after he started walking, it snapped you out of it and you threw a fit. You dig your fingernails into his skin, and kicked and flailed in a panic, still trying to keep the little kitten in your lap safe. A full blown panic washed over you, clogging all your senses.

The dam holding back tears form your eyes crashed, and immediately you were sobbing, biting at his shoulder to let you go, he tried to rub your back to calm you down a bit, but just made it worse, as his hands felt like living anxiety creeping up and down your spine. He didn’t know what to do, let you ride it out, andkk no possibly have you get sick because of how much your crying in an empty stomach? Or let you down and go straight back to square one.

Your veined felt like pure ice had flooded in them, and it felt liek someone was repeatedly jabbing you in the head with tiny needes, fear was jsut so prominent in your sense, it overcame you, and made you whimper and scream.

“Whoah, breath for me alright? I just want to hold you. I’m not going to hurt you okay? I would never hurt you. Kitten… you don’t have to be scared of me” he spoke, trying to keep a proper computers, he wanted to cry with you, he wasn’t a very soft or emotional man but honestly, he was so upset with himself already, this was jsut pushing him for the edge. You cried, and cried, at some point you weren’t even crying and screaming at him, more with him. He held you close, you’d stopped the struggle almost five minutes ago, letting him hold you. It was odd. It almost felt… nice.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m being stupid again” You alien through your remaining little hiccups, shove my your face into his shirt, smelling the woody scent he carried around with him. He cooed, letting you hide yourself from him, savouring this soft moment was of top priorirty in his head… you jsut looked so sweet, so different from those harsh cries that would sound usually whenever he came around.

Who would think, shouts aizawas hand couldn’t feel nice? The same ones that had just been burning you, the ones that made you scream, felt like a breeze on a spring day, he actually felt warm, he felt like happiness, like contentment.

“No hon, it’s not stupid. Your scared. I know that, we all get scared and it’s not a bad thing, I love you, I really, really love you kitten. Just know that” he continued on with his little speech, leaving down to kiss you in the forehead, Jsut to be suprised when you didn’t flinfh, you were too tired to be scared; and too hungry, plus, he was really warm, the cat had pretty much snuggled up to him already, who says you shouldn’t.

“I- um- I love you… to?” You spoke, more of a question than anything, you’d spent so long Harding him that you didn’t know if you even could love him, it didn’t even feel possible, then again, you litterally cling to hizashi like a koala, and your mental state has relaly said “swoopity swoop” and scattered itself everywhere. Maybe having two comfort items was actually better than one… huh.

“Well, let’s go eat then. All taht crying probably made you tired, I’ll let you watch a movie in my office, you can watch pinto again, I know you love taht one. Cmon, let’s go” he spoke, and started walking again, you cuddled closer to him as he did, smiling slightly at the warmth. Hizashi was very extravagant, exiting, and hyper, this man felt very cool, calm, it was such a dark contrast, but it worked so well. You jsut… you Jsut liked it.

Well… now we’ll just have to wait and see who’s the favorite

———————————————————————————————————

Thank you for requesting! It was super fun to write and had me feeling super happy when I finished :)

I’m thinking about doing yandere todoroki family asks, because I’m litterally in love with @i-cant-sing one… so, requests are open for those if you want to put them in (please do I’m begging)

Anywho, have the most wonderful to days today! Goodbye!

#platonic obsession #platonic yandere #soft yandere #yandere my hero academia #yandere platonic #yandere #yandere poly #yandere erasermic #yandere Aizawa #yandere hizashi #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere present mic #yandere eraserhead #yandere x reader

774 notes · View notes

dragoneyes618 · 3 years

Text

Ivypool stared at her daughter's body. Bristlefrost lay at the edge of the Moonpool, so still, with only the faintest stirring of her gray fur to show that she was breathing.

It shouldn't have been like this. It should have been Ivypool instead.

She shuddered.

"They'll be fine," Tree told her. Tree's son, Rootspring, had also braved the Place of No Stars.

"You don't know that." Ivypool hissed. "You can't know that. You don't remember the Great Battle...."

"The one where you could see the spirits walking the earth?" Tree asked. "So tell me."

Ivypool opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak.

It was always like this, whenever someone asked her about the Dark Forest or the Great Battle. She never spoke to anyone who hadn't lived through it about it. They couldn't understand.

The elders told stories of it-scary stories, the kind no cat was allowed to hear until he or she was at least seven moons old, but the elders told stories nonetheless. Lionblaze had spoken to both of his litters about his experiences. Jayfeather didn't speak to anybody. The warriors would tell their children, or make too-casual references. But Ivypool did none of those.

You spied for us in the Dark Forest! the apprentices always said excitedly whenever they found this out. What was it like? You must have been so brave!

Didn't they understand-no, they couldn't understand, no one could understand-that she hadn't been brave, she'd been terrified, but she'd had no other choice? She'd been sucked into the Dark Forest by her own petty jealousy, like so many others, and once she found out the truth-how could she go on training like nothing was wrong, now that she knew what she was being trained for? And she couldn't simply stop dreaming herself into the Dark Forest. Once the Dark Forest cats had set their sights on you, you could never extricate yourself from their clutches. You couldn't just leave. Beetlewhisker had been proof of that.

Once again, in her mind's eye, she saw Beetlewhisker's body on the muddy ground of the Dark Forest, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, the fur around his muzzle stained with blood, his wide, terrified eyes staring desperately at her.

"It's not-" she tried to tell Tree, but she couldn't.

She'd attacked Flametail. Well, his spirit, but wasn't it the same thing? And then Tigerstar-Tigerheart, then-had jumped in front of her, blocking her, refusing to let what was left of his brother be destroyed, and ironically, this was what had cemented her loyalty to the Dark Forest, as far as its residents were concerned. Even Hawkfrost had said so.

Hawkfrost.

He'd been so kind at first, so understanding. He said he knew what it was like to have a sibling who was always better than you. He said he could teach her new hunting and fighting skills, so at least she could be better than Dovepaw in something...

She remembered his ice-blue eyes as he'd tried to kill her, any trace of warmth that had ever been there gone-it hadn't been there in the first place, had it? She remembered the pain of a hundred small wounds-

She remembered Hollyleaf's broken body lying on the ground, her blood almost invisible against her ebony fur, her breathing raspy as she strained to speak to her kin in her last moments.

Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost, fighting in a blur of fur and claws, almost indistinguishable from one another, a crack and a gasp and an exhausted brown figure staggering away from another one collapsed on the ground-

And a single, terrifying moment as, in the dim light, she could not tell which one had won.

Antpelt's body, lying on the ground as his blood soaked the earth of the Dark Forest, his eyes angry, sad, scared, his fur in her claws, his blood in her mouth. She had killed him. He was already dead, yes, but had he gone to the Dark Forest after he died because he deserved to go there or only because he had died there?

And she had killed him.

It kept her up at nights.

For a long time after the Great Battle she had been afraid to sleep at all. Sometimes Jayfeather had given her poppy seeds-if she was in a deep enough sleep, she couldn't dream herself into the Dark Forest, right? Other times she had simply slept in the medicine den, trusting that Jayfeather would sense if the Dark Forest visited her.

She hadn't known yet then that he'd lost his powers.

But the Dark Forest had never come back.

Until now.

The Dark Forest was treacherous, unholy, generations of cats' nightmares made flesh, home to the worst cats ever to walk the earth.

And she had let her daughter go in there.

Tree was still waiting for an answer, she realized.

"It was terrifying," she managed, but that alone brought up a whole slew of memories: Sorreltail's kits covered in their mother's blood, Firestar collapsing as Tigerstar faded, a flaming tree toppling down from the heavens like a brand from StarClan. "ThunderClan alone-we lost six cats, including our leader. The other Clans-combined, we lost more than twenty cats. Each Clan has a memorial to them. I can tell you their names." She knew the name of every single cat who had died in the Great Battle.

She had trained with many of them, in the Dark Forest. The Dark Forest trainees had been disproportionately targeted by the Dark Forest-the ones who had fought on the side of the Clans, anyway. The Dark Forest did not take betrayal lightly. However, all the Dark Forest trainees of ThunderClan had survived that terrible night, perhaps because their Clan was lucky enough to have the Three.

Dark Forest cats had died in the battle, too. Not nearly as many dead as the Clans had lost, of course. And of course, a few Clan cats, like Redwillow, had joined the Dark Forest upon their deaths. But Hawkfrost, Brokenstar, and Tigerstar were all definitely dead. Lionblaze had said he'd kill Shredtail.

She didn't know what other Dark Forest cats, if any, had died. The Clans had been too busy mourning their many dead to compare notes for a while, and when they finally had, it had been with problems of the living.

But she wished she knew for sure which cats her daughter might be facing. Mapleshade, Sparrowfeather, Snowtuft, Thistleclaw...

Of course, if any of them realized that Bristlefrost was her daughter, she was probably as good as dead.

I should have gone with her.

Then they would know who Bristlefrost was immediately. They would probably kill Bristlefrost just to torment her.

I should have gone instead of her.

What sort of mother let her kit put herself into danger that she herself had experienced?

What kind of mother was she?

Bristlefrost was young and naive and idealistic. She had no idea, no idea...

She should have given her more advice, told her more about the Dark Forest. She should have told her all about it, how to find her way around, notable landmarks-like the woodpile, or the river-or which cats to avoid-everyone.

I should have gone instead of her...

She wished Fernsong was here.

She wished Dovewing was here.

She wished Whitewing was here.

She wished she was a kit again, three moons old and completely, blessedly oblivious to the world outside the ThunderClan camp or why Dovekit was always able to find her when they played hide-and-seek.

She took a step toward the Moonpool, but she felt cold and her legs began to shake so hard she had to sit down.

"Are you all right?" Tree asked, looking concerned, but she didn't answer.

The Dark Forest was closer to the Clans now than it had been in moons, and she was terrified.

The Three had no powers to help them now. And StarClan was gone.

She should have gone instead of Bristlefrost. What kind of mother let her own daughter put herself in danger in her stead?

But every time she thought of the Place of No Stars she remembered tall, bare trees, and a rotting woodpile, and a viscous, filthy river, and eyes and claws lurking in the ever-present shadows under the starless sky, ready to pounce on you at the first sign of weakness-

And she couldn't.

And so she let her own daughter enter the Dark Forest, knowing full well what Bristlefrost was going to face, and did nothing.

Like a coward.

#ivypool #bristlefrost #tree #tree warriors #the place of no stars #dark forest #the dark forest #the great battle #the aftereffects of spying on the Dark Forest and then turning on them and witnessing a lot of deaths #warrior cats

201 notes · View notes

mathewryf · 3 years

Text

Some conjecture about Kit the Fennec (With a little heap of Surge the Tenrec on the side)

FOREWORD: This is a HEAVY HEAP of speculation, assumptions and a little bit of projection (in hindsight). Also I will refer to Kit with they/them, as although Kit being male is likely, I'm not confident that I know for sure. Further note after fully writing: HOLY COW this is long. I wasn't expecting to have all of this to say from just a glimpse! Please do take my thoughts with a grain of salt, as all of this is speculation!

I take one look at Kit the Fennec and all I can think is

"... that doesn't seem like someone SUPER hellbent on taking down Tails. It looks more like a Shadow version of Tails."

With Surge, heck yeah she's definitely got the vibes of wanting to take down Sonic. On top of the combined Scourge/Fiona vibes, her general demeanor just from the cover and the concept art SCREAMS "I'm a rival to SONIC THE HEDGEHOG". Of course the Asura glitch inspiration for the design helps.

Kit though? Honestly, even though I can seem them going the Zor route of saying edgy stuff to sound menacing... it just doesn't give the same "I'm better than you and I'm gonna prove it" vibes. Not even the same way Anti-Tails/Miles did.

To be frank, what I DO just from design are the COMMONALITIES that Kit has with Tails. The apparent lack of confidence compared to the other half of their duo is already apparent. The backpack gives the same vibes of preparedness and planning that Tails would come to be known for.

Outside of the "Blue Knuckles glitch" often theorized as being an inspiration, I have a pretty good hunch that Kit pulls influence from traits that Anti-Tails/Miles had... but I feel Pre-Reboot Archie!Tails vibes, too.

With that said, here's what I think is gonna go down in terms of characterization:

Whereas Surge will take on the typical, pro-active "I'M BETTER THAN YOU" rival affair, Kit will instead have a more "reactive" approach.

From the moment of awakening it will of course be pretty standard stuff from Starline ("I've made you to be better bla bla") . Where Surge would probably build a false sense of pride, these words would instead plan the seeds for an anchor in Kit's mind.

Now of course Kit would certainly try to live up to that potential, much the same as his partner! But I think, in much that same way that Tails struggled to keep up with Sonic early on, Kit will struggle and fail to live up to the ideas of "potential" thrust upon them, which will of course cause a lot of anxiety. And, like with Tails, that anxiety would only fester with further mistakes and failures. This would cause a lot of internal conflict, as I'm certain Kit would have a need to feel accepted in the eyes of both Surge and Dr. Starline.

Now, with consideration to the influences Surge would have from Scourge and Fiona's personalities, I can see Surge leaning very heavily towards the Fiona side in her relationship with Kit. I can picture someone who's very manipulative, who would seek to twist the feelings of those around them to their benefit. With Kit specifically, I can see her using his desire for approval as a means of motivating him to make things that would help her get the upper hand on Sonic.

It would be a villainous twist on Sonic and Tails' dynamic. Where Sonic would be asking and encouraging, Surge would be subtly demanding and -- again -- manipulative. So of course this leads to the logical conclusion that when (and I do mean WHEN) Surge and Kit inevitably fail to overcome Sonic and Tails (and also the other characters because let's face it, Amy, Tangle, Whisper, Jewel and Belle will absolutely be helping Sonic and Tails in stopping the bigger conflict around these fights) this will inevitably lead Surge to shift all of the blame for the failure to Kit in an effort to save face AND protect her pride. Once again, causing Kit's anxiety to fester.

Now of course, in all this talk about Kit's anxieties and need for approval, we have one of their most prominent paralells with Tails: a constant questioning of their self-worth. We've seen before that when Tails fails, it sends him into a panic feuled by self doubt and self-deprecating thoughts. We see it several times throughout the Metal Virus saga, most prominently when the survivors flee to Angel Island.

I can see the same internal conflict being present in Kit. However, unlike Tails, whom has a lot of support to pull him to his feet after being knocked down... Kit only really has Surge and and Starline. Though I'm operating on assumptions about Surge and her manipulative nature, I can say with confidence that Dr. Starline is definitely not the type to support Kit the same way Tails would be supported by his own friends. In fact, considering Starline created Kit in the first place... I could see him treating Kit increadibly abraisively. This would coincide quite greatly with Starline's own failure to avoid being like Eggman. Much like the great Doctor, Starline would take his frustrations out on his own creations, and unfortunately by being Kit's creator, this would create that power dynamic, even though Kit is of flesh and blood instead of metal and wire. Combined with Surge's manipulative nature, all of these dynamics serve to leave Kit to deal with their internal struggle alone.

And of course, this all could come together in a horrible cacophony of emotions and skewed rationale. The constant comparisons between Kit and Tails, whom they are pressured to be the superior of. The ways in which they fail, with the external and internal consequences thereafter serving to create immense stress. And of course, the constant reach for the approval of their surrogate family, only to come up short at every turn. THESE are what would lead Kit to resent Tails. It's not what they ARE. It's what they AREN'T. It's what Tails has, that Kit does not. That's what would push him to fight Tails like any of the other Rival characters.

Tails isn't pressured to be better than anyone. He's encourage to just be himself. He's ACCEPTED for being himself. In success, in failure, it doesn't matter. He has APPROVAL. He has SUPPORT. UNCONDITIONAL SUPPORT. Tails doesn't HAVE to make all the gizmos for any of it, either.

Now, while Kit probably would have a synopsis of Tails' history, they wouldn't have enough details to know that Tails didn't actually have ALL THAT handed to him on a silver platter. With the information they would have, it would definitely look that way in their mind. It would probably drive Kit crazy, make them obsessive. After all, if Kit is supposed to be so much better... why aren't they accepted?

This version of Kit I'm predicting is the dark reflection of who Tails is. A representation of his greatest flaws and anxieties, made manifest. There's even a glimpse to the type of person Tails could have become had he never met Sonic. And nowhere is this chemistry more poignantly shown than in Surge and Kit's powers!

So, it's no secret that Surge has electrokinesis, nor is it a secret that Kit has hydrokineses. As is expected, these powers are made to be COMPLEMENTARY. Water conducts electricity, and with readily accessable water, Surge's electrokineses could function literally ANYWHERE. Kit's abilities are meant to boost Surge's already potent capabilities, the same way Tails's abilities further boost Sonic's. However! Like with all plans Starline has come up with thus far, there are already several problems and flaws that make what should be an effective mixture a case im toxic chemistry.

First, Sonic and Tails' abilites aren't inherently dependant on each other to be so effective. Their synergy came together naturally! Both parties are still capable when on their own. While I'm sure both Kit and Surge are plenty effective on their own as well, they're going to be far more hampered when fighting alone BECAUSE their powers are purpose-built to be used in tandem! This means that even though their powers CAN synergize, they'll be leaning on that synergy as a crutch. Any chance of learning to use their powers when alone and then taking those lessons and organically working them into their teamwork will be stunted without enough time and guidance.

This leads me to the more pressing problem: the actual physical properties of their abilities, and how Kit is getting the short end of it. While the mixture of electricity and water is a great means of enhancing the pair's potency, it also means that Kit is being placed at extreme risk of being badly electrocuted just by having their powers active. While Surge can probably redirect the electrical current should it be used against her, Kit would only be able to redirect the water, and even then that wouldn't stop any electricity. The only workaround for this would be for Kit to have control of a large enough mass of water that the electricity would dissipate down to harmless levels. Unfortunately, this, in and of itself, poses problems. It would require a lot more effort to control that much water, which would exhaust Kit. It would require way more space than would be practical in most hand-to-hand fights, especially against Sonic and Tails. And lastly, it would completely nullify the synergy that they and Surge would normally have. In an extreme case it might even lead to Surge fully shorting out with her own powers!

Honestly I can't think of a better metaphor for a dysfunctional relationship. You have to risk harm for a chance at approval. Any other action you take is counterproductive and guaranteed disappointment.

Either way, Kit is living in the shadow of both those expectations AND the destiny thrust upon them.

At least, as far as I can gleam from this design xD

For all those who stuck to the end in reading this, I really do hope you enjoyed it! I know I had fun writing it, thinking about it. And also fearing for how they will massacre this poor soul! As a final aside... for some reason, I still hope Tails and Kit can become friends for some reason. It's not the most likely thing considering that Kit was literally MADE to be a rival to Tails, but if Shadow can become a good guy after all that happened, anyone can!

#Kit the Fennec #Surge the Tenrec #IDW Sonic

77 notes · View notes

imherongraystairstrash · 3 years

Note

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#thomas lightwood #kit lightwood #christopher lightwood #tsc fanfic #tlhfanfic #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #alexander lightwood #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #tlh

108 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 3 years

Note

when is anakin going to get his revenge and kiss divorced obi-wan back

yes hello this got out of hand and the best moment would be in the hypothetical part two but here is a KUWSK directly post kiss from Anakin's pov. For context, this snippet and this snippet probablllyyyy should be read?

(2.8k, ffs @ kit)

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself after he drops the kids off at school and starts making the drive back home. His hands are tight on the wheel. He’s been trying to think about something else--anything else ever since it happened, but his mind refuses to let go of that moment.

He’s replayed it so many times in the last hour and a half that it doesn’t even feel like an actual memory anymore, just a combination of sensations.

The chill of the almost winter morning that made the hair on his arms stick up. The tacky feeling in his mouth because he had slept a bit later than he had wanted to and didn’t have time to brush his teeth if he wanted to make breakfast before the kids and Obi-Wan left.

The woodsy-spiced smell of Obi-Wan’s cologne, stronger than normal. They’d been standing closer together than normal too, but it had been so early and Obi-Wan’s mind had obviously been miles away.

Anakin had been saying something stupid, something that didn’t mean anything, and Obi-Wan had replied and then Obi-Wan had leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth. His beard had felt so soft against Anakin’s skin, his lips even softer, if a bit chapped.

Had they been chapped? Now Anakin can’t remember, he’s turned this memory over in his head so often. It had been for less than a handful of seconds. A quick brush of lips, a taste of a life Anakin has dreamt about for well over a year now. And Obi-Wan had just turned and left, as if he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. As if he hadn’t just kissed Anakin on the porch for everyone to see.

Obi-Wan would never be that cruel on purpose. Perhaps to that one profesor who always tries to refute Obi-Wan’s papers, but not to Anakin.

Which means Obi-Wan hadn’t been thinking. He had been perhaps caught up in the domesticity of it all, of having someone wish him luck and see him off. And maybe Anakin has been doing something like that for the last two years, but there’s a person who did that for Obi-Wan for much longer. A person they ran into at the park just two days ago.

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself as he gets out of the car and unlocks the house. He tries desperately to keep the despair and jealousy out of his voice, but at least no one’s around. It’s not that he hates the woman or anything. Really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand her, but that’s a given.

He’d never have Obi-Wan’s heart and soul and throw it away. He’d never get tired of fighting with Obi-Wan if he was fighting to stay with the man. He’d never be able to run into him at a park and then just leave again as if seeing him stirred up nothing inside of him.

Seeing Obi-Wan always stirs things up inside of Anakin. It makes no sense that Satine, who had had Obi-Wan’s love--knew all those things about the man that Anakin did not and could not know as just his housemate--had just been satisfied with saying hello and then just as quickly goodbye.

The same cold sinking feeling that Anakin’s been trying to shake off for the last two and a half days returns, and he has to lean against the countertop in the kitchen for a second to ground himself.

They’re going to get back together. They will.

At the park, they had seemed so in their own world, as if everything else had disappeared except for them. Anakin had had to send Luke over, couldn’t stand watching that reconnection happen without at least trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has a family now, that he’s not alone anymore, that there are people who love him.

Obi-Wan had glared at him for his meddling, which hadn’t admittedly done wonders to his confidence. And when Obi-Wan had deposited Luke--Luke--on the ground to chase after Satine, when he had hugged her, Anakin knew for sure.

They were going to lose him.

Anakin had had his set of chances and had taken none of them, and now Obi-Wan’s going to re-fall in love with his ex-wife and Anakin’s going to have to be the supportive best friend who has to figure out how to tell his children that due to unforeseen and tragic circumstances, their Obi is probably going to elope to Paris and maybe send a postcard once or twice a year addressed solely to the children and Anakin will grow old and die alone and the name Obi-Wan Kenobi will be banned from his small, shadowy apartment, and all Anakin will have is a few memories of the two most important and heart wrenching kisses he’s ever been a part of in his entire life.

“He was thinking about Satine,” he tells himself. “He kissed me but it wasn’t about me. It hasn’t ever been about me.”

There’s no denying that Obi-Wan loves Anakin’s children and also no denying that his children love Obi-Wan. Anakin thinks he wouldn’t love Obi-Wan half as much if he hadn’t absolutely been charmed by the kids and vice versa. But he had been. They had been. Those few weeks when Anakin had thought about leaving a year ago had been absolutely awful because he knew he would be breaking his twins’ hearts, not just his. He’d be hurting Obi-Wan too, he had known that.

But he had had to try. Because he knew that if he didn’t try to leave then he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of Obi-Wan’s life when it came time for the man to grow tired of his presence.

It had been a last ditch attempt at saving his dignity. And it hadn’t taken much argument from everyone else to get him to abandon the idea completely.

Now he can’t help but to think he should have put his foot down, gotten some distance. Because now he’s entrenched in Obi-Wan’s world, the same way Obi-Wan is entrenched in his and the twins’ world. Leaving now will feel like ripping himself in two. He’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night five years from now and wonder about the academic response to Obi-Wan’s most recent publication.

He’ll probably have read it. He’ll probably still be fielding questions from his kids’ friends’ parents about whatever happened to that handsome man that used to come in to help during Show-And-Tell Day? Do you remember who I’m talking about, Anakin?

If he had left then, the idea of leaving now wouldn’t hurt so much. But there’s a ticking clock in his head.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

But he was thinking about Satine.

He calls Padme, because that’s sort of what he does when he doesn’t know what to do. She’s never turned him away--with the rejected marriage proposal being the one glaring exception, of course.

Thankfully, she doesn’t start now, though she does sound a little stressed when she picks up.

“Hey,” he says trying to sound normal and as if he isn’t a few minutes alone with his thoughts away from crying like a baby.

“Ani?”

“Are you--are you busy? Something sort of happened.”

“My flight is boarding,” Padme admits, but there’s a rustle on the other end of the line like she’s just sat down. “But it’s not like I’m not assigned a seat. They won’t leave without me. What happened?”

Anakin smiles in spite of himself. She’s really just such an angel of a person.

“Are the children alright?” she asks, sounding worried the longer it takes for Anakin to respond. “Ani?”

“No, yeah, the children are fine. I dropped them off at school this morning. But. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “Obi-Wankissedme.”

“I’m sorry?” Padme asks.

“Obi-Wan kissed me.”

The other end of the line is silent. “And we’re calling this a problem now?” she asks faintly. “Is he a bad kisser?”

“He’s a great kisser,” Anakin defends, shifting awkwardly on his feet, catching sight of the fridge door and quickly turning away.

“Then I don’t…?” Padme trails off uncertainly. Anakin can understand this confusion. Padme has only had to hear about how much Anakin wants Obi-Wan to kiss him for about two years now.

“I don’t think he realized he did it,” Anakin confesses. “He just did it as he was leaving. Because I said goodbye. It--I don’t think he realized who he was kissing.”

Now Padme sounds a distinct mix of skeptical and sympathetic, a tone Anakin’s only ever heard her use with him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because--because we went to the park the other day and he ran into his ex-wife and they were together for, for years so--so obviously he just--he wasn’t--it wasn’t me he was kissing. He was thinking about Satine.”

The words sound dull and practiced and lifeless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Padme says.

“And they’re probably gonna get back together, and we’re going to have to leave, and he’ll never know that I--” Anakin cuts himself off and thunks his head on the countertop with a groan.

Padme hums disbelievingly. “Anakin, I know you’ve never believed me when I say this, but that man is gone over you. And I think if he kissed you long enough for you to tell me for certain that he’s a good kisser, then he definitely knew he was kissing you.”

Anakin bites his lip and debates the pros and cons of being completely truthful. But he had called Padme for help, and she can’t provide the best advice if she doesn’t know the full story.

“That’s not the first time he’s kissed me,” Anakin finally admits, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck.

“What?” Padme exclaims, probably much louder than appropriate for a public space. “Anakin Skywalker, explain yourself right now.”

He exhales forcefully. “Last New Year’s Eve party.”

“That was almost a year ago! And nothing else ever happened between you two? What? We always thought that once the first kiss was out of the way we’d need to beat you both with sticks to keep you off each other.”

“Well--wait, who’s we?”

Padme tsks. “Myself and Obi-Wan’s coworker.”

“You’ve been gossiping about me?” Anakin asks, torn between being flabbergasted and offended.

“That’s not important right now,” Padme says airily. “What’s important here is the fact that you apparently kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi and never told me?”

“He doesn’t remember, okay?” Anakin snaps. “He. We’d been drinking. A lot. It was after everyone left. And. I was in the kitchen and he was in the kitchen and he--”

--had pinned him to the front of the fridge and just looked at Anakin for a few seconds like he was the most precious, important thing in the entire world, and Anakin had opened his mouth to say something and Obi-Wan had--

“--kissed me,” Anakin says out loud. “And then he--”

He had pressed impossibly closer to Anakin, one hand wrapped around his hip, caressing the thin skin there while his other hand ghosted down Anakin’s hair and back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, as his tongue mapped out Anakin’s mouth for what could have been seconds or minutes, and Anakin could have stayed there forever, but his own hands had grabbed too tightly onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders, must have jerked him forward too roughly, because he had been pushed away and--

“--threw up in the kitchen sink,” he finishes.

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line before Padme bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she says once she’s calmed down. “But how do you know for sure he forgot about that? Sounds like something he might just never want to talk about if it ended up with him vomiting in the kitchen.”

“I just know,” Anakin promises. And he does. Obi-Wan had no idea about that kiss. It was a secret Anakin thought about too often, but one he had kept to himself for nearly a year, too afraid to reveal it to Obi-Wan only for the man to say he hadn’t meant to, it hadn’t meant anything, he’d been much too drunk.

Even the idea of Obi-Wan apologizing for one of the hottest kisses Anakin’s ever experienced in his life has been enough to keep Anakin silent on the matter.

But now he’s been kissed again, this time by a sober Obi-Wan, and it still--it still doesn’t mean anything.

“It didn’t mean anything to him then, or he would have remembered,” Anakin tells Padme. “And this one doesn’t mean anything either. The timing is just...it can’t be a coincidence, Padme. He’s never once thought about kissing me, about...about coming home to me like that, and now, a few days after he runs into his ex-wife he’s suddenly planting one on me as he walks out the door? I know--I know you think he...he might...he might have liked me, or...or wanted me, but. There’s no way I can hold a candle to a decades long marriage. I just. I can’t compete with that. He doesn’t want me to.”

Padme’s Anakin is cut off on her end by what sounds like a flight attendant. “Yes, I’m coming,” Padme tells the person, and there’s shuffling and then the distinct sound of the harsh beep of the ticket scanner, before Padme’s heels are clicking on the flight tunnel. “Do not rush me,” Padme tells someone. “What are you going to do, close this thing while I’m in it?”

Anakin has to hide his only sort of watery smile in his hand as he listens quietly on his end.

“Anakin?” Padme asks, and she must be on the plane because there’s a buzz of other people’s noises around her. “Anakin, I know you won’t believe me, and maybe--maybe you’re right and they’ll get back together, maybe you’re going to lose him.” Anakin’s heart hurts quite painfully at these words. “But do you remember what you did the first time you proposed to me and I said no?”

Great, yeah. Just bring up all his biggest failures in love. Sure, why start with Padme? When Anakin had been five he had tried to kiss a boy and been shoved into the mud for his efforts. That’s a fine place to begin, really. Just drag up all the old hurts. He sighs. “I went and got you a bigger ring.”

“And do you remember what you did when I told you that I couldn’t raise the children, but my parents wanted to?”

“I threatened to take them to court if they didn’t let me have them,” Anakin says. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, of course, but Padme’s parents had never really liked him. They still don’t.

Someone’s trying to talk to Padme on the other end of the line. “Yes, fine,” she snaps. “Anakin. Anakin, what I’m trying to say is I’ve never seen you give up on anything without at least trying to fight for it. And I don’t know why this should be different. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you have to watch him get back together with his ex-wife and know you never even tried to tell him he had other options.”

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, speechless. “Then what--”

“So go,” Padme cuts him off. “Go tell him he has other options! For fuck’s sake, yes, alright I’m getting off the phone. Anakin, when I land I expect to have a very detailed account of events waiting for me on my email. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. Anakin stares at the phone in his hand for a handful of seconds, thinking over what she’s said. What she’s implied.

She’s right, of course. Anakin never gives in this easily. He doesn’t fully understand why he’s so ready to capitulate now. Maybe he knows full-well he can’t compete with whatever Obi-Wan had with his ex-wife. They have history. They grew up together, became adults together. Anakin’s just this weird twenty-eight year old man with a pair of kids too old for his age who crashed at Obi-Wan’s house during the lowest moment of his life. Of maybe both of their lives.

Love can’t bloom from that. Not really. Not...not the sort of love that turns into a lifelong marriage.

But. Padme’s right. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t know for sure.

So either he could putter around the house all day waiting for Obi-Wan to text or call or come home, talking himself into and out of confessing every emotion he’s harbored for the man for the past two years, or….or he could drive to his campus and confront him in his office, put himself on the execution block and hand Obi-Wan the axe. At least it would be a quick death.

He glances at the digital clock on the oven. 9:38. The idea of waiting ten hours for a resolution makes his skin crawl.

And besides.

Obi-Wan hadn’t packed a lunch.

#this is unread through #because i have housework i have put off in order to type this #i think we all know where this is going though #anakins gonna Do Something Ill-Advised #asks #KUWSK #poor anakin :'(#i imagine obi-wan was probably very pensive for the rest of the day after the park #and anakins just panicking and thinking that he's thinking about his ex wife #and obi-wan kind of is but he's mostly thinking about his new family #and he's thinking a lot about anakin #if only they c o m m u n i c a t e d

93 notes · View notes

leupagus · 3 years

Text

Honey, It's the Mileage pt 5: obviously this was going to happen at some point

Taking a break by writing this scene in Continuing Adventures of Nightwinkgal prompted by the wonderful robinade, who wanted some sort of rugby-related shenanigans.

Meeting the love of your life and the person you will cherish in your heart forever is one of those things that you want to remember so you can tell your grandchildren, or maybe your brother’s grandchildren, or at any rate somebody’s grandchildren. I really wish I had a bit worse memory of it, though. Speaking personally.

I was sitting in one of the really uncomfortable hospital chairs at UCH, playing the new remastered Angry Birds on my phone and waiting either for Tommy to wake up or for someone from Charing Cross or the Folly to descend on me like an avenging angel and smite me into the ground or turn me into a toad or sack me or something. At this point I’d sussed out that Tommy had some sort of connection to the Folly and that the Folly was the Weird Bollocks Division of the Met (and that said bollocks were really fucking weird) but looking back I really didn’t know the fucking half of it.

The door opened and a woman slipped in, taking in the whole room with the kind of once-over summation that I’ve been trying to learn for the past year and a half. She was small and curvy, her hair cut short with a fade on the right side. She had on a pair of worn jeans and a sweater that looked really, really soft, like you could curl yourself up in it and do something cosy like knitting or reading or petting a cat. I recognised her as one of the women who sometimes picked Tommy up after our patrols, though usually she was in terrifyingly well-pressed suits. Her jeans did have an ironing crease in them, to be fair.

'Constable Brown, right?' she said, extending her hand. I scrambled to my feet and managed not to trip over the chair as I took it. 'DS Abigail Kamara. What happened?'

'Rugby,' I blurted, because I was busy falling in love. DS Kamara’s hand was small and soft, but you could still sense strength there. She had the kind of dark, serious eyes that you can get lost in; but even though she was maybe thirty, tops, she had faint laugh lines already. I wanted to know every joke she’d ever been told, everything that had ever made her smile. 'Hi,' I added.

Which did make her smile, for some reason. 'Hi,' she said, and let go of my hand. 'He was playing rugby?'

It’s important to be honest to superior officers and also to loved ones, but you shouldn’t overdo it. 'Yeah. Yes, ma’am, I mean.'

She looked skeptical. 'Playing it well? Actually I don’t need to ask that, since,' and she gestured at the bed. Tommy was still asleep from the anaesthesia, his left arm propped up on a little pillow and encased in plaster.

'Well,' I said, ’No.'

He hadn’t been bad, really. But when he’d offered to cover for Michael, whose wife called him pretty calmly ten minutes before the match to tell him that the delivery date had been moved up about a month or so and he needed to get to hospital right the fuck now, we’d agreed mostly because there wasn’t anybody else. So Michael had donated most of his kit, which was a hilarious combination of too big and too short for the living string-bean that is Thomas Nightingale, and tooled off in the direction of UCH. He and Deb were probably still here, I realised; I should go say hello.

'There was a scrum and he got sort of on the wrong end of it,' I explained, as Kamara went over to the bedside and pulled something out of her purse — grapes, of course, and a couple of bottles of water with the UCH logo on them.

'And what side would that be?' she asked, arranging everything just so on the bedside table.

'The bottom,' I said.

She laughed, and I wondered where the nearest jewellery store was or if I could propose without a ring. 'That explains a lot,' she said.

'Do you have any of his family’s contact information?' I remembered to ask. 'He gave me ident-auth for his phone in case there was an emergency, but it got fu—messed up somehow while we were playing.' Which had been weird, since everyone’s phones were scattered on the sidelines with our various piles of shit, but at the time I didn’t think it was weird-bollocks-weird. I have gotten a lot better about that sort of thing, for the record. Even Grant has said so, although I think he considers that a pretty low bar where I’m concerned.

'I’m sure it did,' Kamara sighed, which I did notice. 'Don’t worry, his people have all been notified. Including DCI Grant, but—' she added off my panicked casing for the exits, 'He's decided not to fly back from Chicago in order to laugh directly in Nightingale’s face. A few other people might turn up, though, so brace yourself for that.'

'Or I could just leave,' I suggested, which is when Tommy began to stir. We did the whole rushing-to-the-bedside thing that you don’t think you’ll do if you’re the one waiting for someone to wake up in hospital, but trust me: you’ll do it.

Tommy blinked a few times and tried saying something, but it was just a raspy sort of wheeze. Kamara opened one of the water bottles and put it to his mouth. He made a half-hearted attempt to take the bottle, but with one hand in a cast and the other hooked up to various machines he didn’t get far, so he just took a couple of sip.

'Better?' said Kamara, settling on the edge of Tommy’s bed when he was done.

'Abigail,' Tommy said, or croaked rather, 'You are munificent.'

Her eyebrows shot right up into her hairline, but all she said was, 'Thanks, sir.' Which I also noticed, but at the time I thought must be a joke. Which I found out later it was, just not in the way I’d been thinking. 'Dr. Walid will be here in a minute to start poking you, just so you’re warned.'

'Abdul!' said Tommy, with all the enthusiasm of the truly stoned. 'A soldier against the forces of ignorance, a true scholar of the demi-monde, a healer of wounds both physical and psyloligsm. Psycholigel.' He frowned as his ears, which were presumably more sober, caught up to his mouth. 'Hmm.' And he lifted his hand — the one with the wires, not the one in the cast — fingers closed like he was making the chef’s-kiss motion. There was a weird feeling, like you feel when you’re just about to push down on the gas pedal at a red light.

'Oh, god,' said Kamara, with the kind of resigned concern that pretty much everyone has when they’re exposed to Tommy for any length of time, and grabbed at his hand. 'There will be absolutely none of that,' she said in a very bossy tone of voice which I was depressed to discover I found really sexy. 'You’re going to rest and not try something stupid.'

'Have you met Tommy?' I asked, momentarily forgetting that this was my future bride and the beloved of my heart, because honestly, 'Try Something Stupid' was practically his motto. See: volunteering to play rugby with people twice his size.

Kamara blinked. 'Did you just call him Tommy?' she asked, at which point Tommy made an irritated noise and fell asleep again.

#it's the mileage #ficcage of interest #rivers of london #fuck me I can do magic #I just want Nightingale's life to be difficult always

65 notes · View notes

handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

Text

Inyez

Rating: NSFW Length: 5331 Pairing: Male Bat Creature x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Winter comes early up in the mountains, but I'm used to that. I like to sit by my living room windows and look down into the valley where I work, enjoying the way the city lights give the snow a warm glow. I figure myself lucky; I come from a happy family, I have a good career in a field I love, and I've managed to make a home out of the old observatory that sits like a squat little guardian at the top of a hill twenty minutes from the city.

My job gives me incredibly flexible hours, so I work whenever I'm awake and sleep whenever I want to. I've ended up with a mostly vespertine sleep schedule, which means I get to watch the sunset while I break for lunch. I'm a workaholic, though, so this "break" usually means that I step away from active work and focus on replying to emails from clients or looking up resources and reference images for my latest project as the sun goes down, and this time is no different.

I don't even notice the dark settling around me until I realise that I've been squinting at my laptop for the past half hour, and by then, the only source of light is its screen. I have outdoor lights, sure, and there's a street lamp or two on the way up the hill, but they amount to nothing unless they're on or nearby. I sigh and close my laptop to give my eyes a break, waiting for my vision to adjust properly to the lack of light around me.

I'm just contemplating making myself another cup of coffee when the window beside me explodes, and I have no qualms with admitting that despite being over six feet tall, I scream like a frightened squirrel. Instinct takes over and I find myself taking shelter behind my chair, waiting for the glass to settle before I risk peering around it. Adrenaline has made my vision sharper faster, but there's only so much I can make out in the darkness. I know I heard something heavy hit the floor after the crash, but nothing moves in the shadows, so I take the risk and scuttle over to the nearest switch plate to flick the lights on.

There's blood on what's left of the window and the scattered glass, and wide smears of it left in skid marks across the floorboards. Whatever has bled on my flooring is crumpled halfway behind my couch between me and my kitchen, cutting me off from any makeshift weapons I could use to defend myself. I creep around the other end of the couch with all the exaggerated stealth of a cartoon cat burglar, getting my first real look at the thing. It's dark and huge—about the size of a very large dog, at least—and even as my fingers grope for something to defend myself with, I don't take my eyes off of it for a second.

I approach the wounded creature with a skillet in one hand and a broom in the other, using the broom handle to prod gingerly at the thing that seems to be bleeding out on my living room floor. The first few pokes don't garner any reactions from the beast, and so I grow bolder, sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods might be listening that the thing doesn't have rabies or worse. I feel myself grimace as I lift one large, leathery wing to see more of the creature, only to snatch the broom handle back and away.

Whatever it was was awake, and it had been staring right at me with large, luminous eyes.

It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to repeat the action, and only then do I notice that those eyes are dazed and unfocused, shock settling in as blood dribbles down along its flat face. The creature murmurs when I prod it again—nothing I understand, but definitely something meant to be words—and that's when I realise that the thing on my floor is not a what, but a who. I swear and pace in my kitchen while keeping the thing well within sight at all times, but eventually my conscience wins out; I can't just let them bleed to death in front of me. Even knowing this, I know I don’t have the skills for what I need to do, so I pull an earpiece on and dial my cousin on my cell phone, grimacing when I glance at the time on my oven.

The phone rings a few times before there’s a shuffling on the other end, and then her groggy voice mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey, Maraia,” I say, taking my first aid kit from beneath my sink and slipping a chef’s knife into my belt just in case. “I need your help.”

“Cuz? Do you know what time it is? I just got to bed an hour ago!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

I hear more shuffling, and then Maraia’s voice is much more alert. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of bat crashed through my window,” I say, hurrying over with my first aid kit and kneeling in the blood beside the lump on my floor. “It’s hurt real bad. Blood everywhere. It won’t make it to the vet if I don’t do something now.”

“You’re treating a wild animal?!”

“Maraia. It’s dying!”

“Fuck,” my cousin mutters, slipping back into her role as an ER nurse. “You owe me. Okay, tell me what you see.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and try to turn off my anxiety as I listen to her expertise. First and foremost, I rush to apply pressure to a particularly ugly wound on the creature’s pelvis and thigh, cleaning and bandaging it up as best as I can once I’ve stopped the majority of the bleeding. This is about when I bump into the creature's, er, fiddly bits, barely hidden by a thick patch of fur. I work around them as I wrap him up in long bandages.

Per Maraia’s guidance, I check the creature's eyes and find wide, fixed pupils that indicate significant head trauma; it doesn't seem like he can see me, or even sense that I'm here. Still, I speak softly to him as I work, carefully picking glass and small twigs from open wounds and doing my best to clean and close them with a combination of butterfly closures and careful stitches. He whimpers and whines very softly when the discomfort is too great, but for the most part he hardly makes any sound at all, which Maraia and I agree is more worrying than if the creature were screeching and struggling with all his might.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I sit back on my legs with a sigh, certain that I’ve gotten to every wound that there is to be found. “I don’t think I can move it,” I say to Maraia, wiping my shaking hands clean with antibacterial wipes. “Not without popping something open.”

“You can’t keep it there with you,” she replies, using the same stern, reasonable tone that she uses on her children and patients. “Bats have rabies. What if it bites you?”

“I don’t think it can. I don’t even know if it will survive the night. For all I know, it’s haemorrhaging somewhere and this will all be for nothing.”

“All the more reason for you to take it to a vet! They can treat it there, maybe put it down if they have to. Whatever they decide will be better than what you can do at home.”

“I know,” I murmur, packing away my supplies. “Thanks, Raia. I’ll take care of it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Maraia sighs, and I can hear her exhaustion creeping back into her voice when she says, “Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Sorry for waking you.”

“Oh, bull,” Maraia scoffs. “You were scared and came to me. That’s a good thing. Love you, kiddo.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my weariness. “Love you, too,” I say, and hang up once we’ve said our goodbyes. It would be cruel to leave this poor creature on my living room floor, so I haul my inflatable mattress out of storage and set it up in my bedroom, grateful for the large amount of floor space in the converted observatory. I check on my guest several times during the time it takes the bed to inflate, and then I carry him into my bedroom, careful not to jostle him too much when I place him on the air mattress.

I watch the shallow rise and fall of the creature’s chest for a moment before I look up into his elongated face, taking in his small, black, dog-like nose and the sharp teeth that I can see peeking out from behind parted lips. Two large, velvety ears poke up from the thick fur on his head, motionless in his unconsciousness.

From what I can tell, whatever this creature is appears to be around four feet tall, with long curled toes on each slender, delicate foot and sharp claws on the tips of his hairless fingers. He's barrel-chested from the musculature needed to support both arms and wings, with a slightly narrower waist and wide hips that lead to lithe, muscular legs. The majority of his body is covered in a short, dense layer of dark russet fur over deep brown skin, perhaps a shade or two darker than mine.

Whatever he is, I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know with certainty that I can't take him anywhere—not without possibly endangering him further. The last thing I want is this creature ending up dissected in a lab somewhere, or worse. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to go clean my living room, taking one last glance at the creature in my bedroom before closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

The first night is harrowing. Batty—as I've taken to calling my guest in my head—has his first of three seizures shortly after I finish taping garbage bags over the hole in my window. I drop the duct tape and run to him when he lets out an unearthly wail, all of the air in his lungs being forced out by seizing muscles. There's nothing I can do but make sure that he doesn't hurt himself further, sitting vigil beside him until his convulsions die down and praying that he'll still draw breath when they're over.

He's unconscious for the entirety of the next day, so thoroughly insensate that I risk calling out a repairman to replace the broken window so that the cold stops seeping in. Other than supervising the appointment, I hardly dare to leave Batty's side, taking my laptop into my bedroom to do as much work there as I possibly can. I clean him up when he messes himself in his sleep, though I worry about him dying of dehydration. To prevent this, I pulse ice cubes in my blender and carefully feed him ice chips at first, being mindful of his body temperature by keeping him thoroughly bundled in blankets.

By the third day, Batty makes as if to swallow, and I drip water into his mouth in an effort to keep him hydrated. I don't know what he eats, so I climb into my car and make the drive into the city, buying a variety of potted baby foods with what I'm sure is a wild look in my eyes that keeps the cashier from attempting any small talk with me. I make it back to the observatory in record time, and though Batty doesn't stir when I waft different foods under his nose, I still manage to coax him into swallowing mixtures of meat and vegetables.

He runs a temperature that night, and I spend most of the early morning hours before dawn wiping him down with a cool cloth and stroking my fingers along his brow when he starts to shiver and mumble in his sleep. His fever finally breaks the following afternoon, and in the fading light of sunset, his eyes crack open. He's still exhausted and disoriented, though, so he only blinks sluggishly at me when I ask him gentle questions, eventually fading back into unconsciousness again. I figure it's progress.

Batty recovers slowly. For a long time, I only hear his voice when he mumbles in his sleep or when he whimpers as I tend to his wounds. Eventually, he begins to communicate with me using little humming noises, or he summons me from other parts of the house with plaintive chirps that break my heart. I carry him into the bathroom and find that he's fascinated by the toilet after startling at the sound of the first flush, though that's nothing compared to his awe when I decide to show off the shower. He's visibly disappointed when I deny his peeping requests to be carried under its spray, but he seems to understand when I explain that we should wait for his stitches to come out.

He gets a little stronger every day. After a couple of weeks, he's able to sit up for short periods of time as long as he's propped up with pillows. He holds his water bottle by himself a few days after that. Eating still takes more coordination than he's capable of, at least when it comes to utensils, but he's happy enough to nibble at the fruits I cut up for him. I take him out to the living room with me when he’s well enough, and there I play nature documentaries for him and keep him warm as the snow falls outside. He stares at the television in reverent silence when the voice of David Attenborough warbles through my speakers, and he spends the majority of the day curled around a couch cushion in a nest of blankets.

I learn that he’s as omnivorous as I’d hoped he’d be, and so I go to the store and get him a few different meats. I cook them with little to no seasoning at first, feeding him like one would a dog, but it isn’t long before he begins showing interest in my own meals, too. This urges me to start buying healthier food for myself; I figure that if I wouldn’t feed it to Batty for fear of his health, I probably shouldn’t be eating it, either. That doesn’t stop me from indulging in the odd treat, and his face when he tastes my favourite soft drink is priceless before he spits it out in shock, smacking his lips and looking at the bottle as though it’s bitten him.

“What?” I chuckle, taking the bottle from his hands and offering him a cloth. “Don’t like the fizz?”

“‘Fizz’?” Batty echoes, and I nearly drop the bottle before I can get the cap on.

“You can talk?” I ask, and I feel my eyes widen when he nods. “All this time?”

Batty hesitantly shakes his head, claws gently scratching at the cloth on his lap. “Don’t know,” he slowly replies, brows furrowing over his big, dark eyes. “I remember some. It’s hard.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, reaching out to stroke between his ears in a way I’ve learned soothes him. “You took a bad blow to the head. I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you to someone who could treat you better. I didn’t want someone bad getting their hands on you.”

Batty nods his understanding, sighing deeply and nosing up into my palm to guide my hand along his muzzle. “Wanted to say all this time,” he murmurs, his soft, fluting voice growing weaker. “Thank you.”

I smile; my heart warms. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. I’ll take care of you for as long as it takes. Do you have a name?”

He frowns again, briefly closing his eyes. “Inyez.”

“Inyez,” I murmur, testing the name in my mouth and finding it fitting. I introduce myself in turn.

Inyez’s face relaxes into a small, sleepy smile. He echoes my name, and doesn’t resist when I tuck him back under the covers.

“Rest,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips between Inyez’s eyes. They flutter closed and don’t open again as he lets exhaustion pull him under, and I turn down the lights to let him fall asleep to the sound of whale song.

Once I know that Inyez can speak with me, I go a little bonkers with the need to provide enrichment for my guest. It’s been a while since I’ve had the company with which to play games, so I’m at once overwhelmed and exhilarated when I stand in front of the tabletop game section of the city mall’s toy store. I grab classics like Jenga and Parcheesi, but I also pick up games like Tokaido, Wingspan, and Betrayal at House on the Hill. Inyez fawns over the beautiful illustrations and pretty trinkets needed to play each of the games, and he’s held rapt by the game mechanics and advancements.

I can’t help but mirror his delighted smiles, watching him delicately place tokens on the boards with his slender fingers. The furrow in his brow as he puts together jigsaw puzzles is incredibly endearing, and he’s quick to summon me from where I’m working to show me his accomplishments. “Come!” he cries. “Hurry, come see!” My name on his tongue is the sweetest sound to my ears, and I look forward to hearing it in that cheerful tone throughout the day.

I buy an extension for the desk in my office and give Inyez his own space while I work, though more often than not, he ends up watching my monitors at my elbow, marveling at my work and asking countless questions. At his urging, I show him my digital portfolio, where I have most of my character designs, logos, and even a few structural blueprints and landscapes.

“Where is this?” he asks, hardly daring to tap my monitor screen with a claw.

“Nowhere,” I say, enlarging the image so that he can drink in the details. “Nowhere real, anyway. It’s a fantasy world.”

Inyez frowns. “A fantasy world? But it looks so real.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I specialise in realism. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

Inyez doesn’t look entirely mollified by this response, but he subsides for the most part, only murmuring, “You even got the horns right.”

I turn my head to look down at him where he’s resting his cheek against my arm. “The dragon’s?”

“Yes.”

I can’t hold back my surprise. “There are dragons? They’re real?”

Inyez looks up at me, and I briefly get lost in his eyes. “Of course they are. They’re rare, though. Rarer than most everything else.”

“Rarer than you?”

Inyez bares his tiny sharp teeth at me in a cheeky little grin. “No. I’m one of a kind.”

I laugh, helplessly charmed. “That you are. Maybe I’ll draw you sometime.”

Inyez’s mouth drops open, eyes growing wider until I can just about see the whites. “Would you really? Me?”

“Why not?” I pull up a new canvas on my illustration programme, sketching up a quick little scene from the memory of looking down into his upturned face. He gasps softly at my side and shifts to cling to my shirt, murmuring in his strange language and making soft little cooing noises as I add colour and detail.

“Do I really look like that?” he breathes, looking from my face to the screen and back.

“Mhm.” I zoom in on the eyes, adding depth and highlights before moving to adjust the shape and fullness of the lips. Inyez goes very quiet for a few minutes as he watches the portrait come to life, only stirring to place his hand at the crook of my elbow to call my attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Do you really think I am so lovely?” asks Inyez, voice very soft and gaze shy.

I’m grateful for my dark skin as I feel warmth creep up into my face. “I do. You’re very beautiful.”

Inyez scoffs, but I can tell that he’s flustered. “You’ve only met one of us. Who are you to say that?”

“Sometimes one is enough,” I murmur, gently stroking Inyez’s small chin with a crooked finger. He makes an odd little twittering noise and hides behind his wings, and I feel my heart flutter wildly in my chest. I'm falling for this creature, I realise, and I can't bring myself to care; as far as I'm concerned, Inyez is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

“Where do you go when you get into that terrible thing?” Inyez murmurs some nights later when we’re cuddled on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap and my fingers gently stroking his head.

“In the car? To the city, mostly. To get food and toilet paper and other supplies.”

Inyez shifts to look up at me, confused. “You get food in that noisy place?”

I nod, brushing my hand along his cheek. “Everything we’ve eaten here, I’ve bought there.”

“But it doesn’t smell.”

“Smell?”

“The city. It smells, but the food doesn’t.”

I feel myself frown in thought. “Probably because a lot of it is washed and kept in clean places, or in airtight packaging.”

“I smell,” Inyez mumbles unhappily, tucking himself up in his wings. “When may I wash?”

I hum thoughtfully, rubbing one of his velvety ears between my fingers in a way that he likes. “Probably tonight, if we’re careful. If you really feel that bad.”

“I do.” Big, dark eyes look up from my lap, beseeching. “I don’t want to smell anymore. I want to be clean.”

“Alright,” I say, shifting to gather him up in my arms and carry him to the bathroom. “As long as we don’t scrub too hard or get your wounds too wet. I’ll still need to clean and redress them after we’re done.”

“You’ll wash me?” asks Inyez, a note of excitement in his voice. “Like lovers do! Could we be lovers?”

I can’t help but laugh, startled at the sudden change in conversation; I distract myself by fiddling with the shower controls. “We could be,” I reasonably reply, “if we both felt the same about one another.”

“Then we can,” says Inyez as he slips under the spray, cooing softly at the water’s warmth. “You think I’m lovely, and I think you’re lovely, too. It’s really that simple.”

“Is it?” I ask, dubious, even as I pull my clothing off and over my head to join him.

“Why does it have to be complicated? Is it more for humans? Is it not enough to feel safe and happy and goodness when I look at you? It’s like my heart has bitten a big, juicy apricot—it’s full of sweetness and the juice is overflowing!”

“A heart-apricot?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the silliness of the comparison. “Well, I’ll try to find you an apricot next time I’m in town.”

“Would you?” asks Inyez, burrowing against my chest and sighing. “I’d like that. I like you. Can that be enough?”

I run my hands carefully between his wings, earning myself a sleepy little burble. “I think it can.” I curb my enthusiastic reaction to this new turn of events and focus on gently cleaning Inyez’s fur to his satisfaction, and then I blow dry him until he’s warm and redress his wounds. By the time I carry him to bed—my bed, our bed—he’s limp as a noodle and snoring softly in his exhaustion, and I take great pleasure in tucking him in so that he’s safe and sound.

The next morning, I am kissed awake. That night, we kiss until we drift to sleep. Kisses and affection make up the bulk of my ‘duties’ as Inyez’s lover, and I take to the task of keeping him satisfied with relish. For his part, Inyez is content to groom me seemingly at random, running his small, clawed fingers delicately through my hair and humming to himself as he does so. I get a little less work done, but I don’t mind it if it’s to see Inyez so pleased with himself when he’s decided I’m primped to perfection.

It’s another couple of days before I give Inyez the all-clear to fly after his injuries have healed for a couple of months. We have to wait until nightfall until he takes to the air, but then he’s a dark blur against a darkening sky until I cannot see him at all. It makes me breathless when I realise that he’s lost to the night—what if, I think, he decides right then that he prefers the night and its freedoms to me? What if he misses his family, his friends, his former life. When he lands in front of me, panting and exhilarated and beautiful, I wrap him into my arms and crush him to my chest, burying my face against the side of his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asks, petting fretfully at my face and hair. “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d not come back?”

“Yes,” I say, and the word chokes me, making me realise that I’m crying.

“Oh, sweet one,” Inyez coos, wrapping me in his wings as best as he can. “I would never. Why would I? I am fed and loved and pampered, and you are a very good snuggler. You don’t even have fur, but you are very warm! Why would I leave, mm? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I laugh damply. “Missing your family. Your friends.”

“I’ll visit my family when my body is stronger,” Inyez tells me, tutting softly and nosing at my ear. “They deserve to know where I am, and they can come and visit us when the spring comes. They’ll be jealous of my roost and my mate.”

“Am I that?” I ask, sniffling and pulling away to look down into Inyez’s eyes. Inyez turns his face away, however, and I recognise that he is shy.

“You could be,” he murmurs, “but it’s not official yet. To do that, we have to—well, have sex. Hopefully more than once.”

“Do you want to?” I ask him, stroking between his wings so that they relax and rustle softly.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Inyez says all in a gust, looking up at me plaintively. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with you for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “You could have asked.”

“I could have.” Inyez pouts. “You would have said no, because of my wounds. You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile, in comparison. But you’re right, I would have denied you. Now I won’t. So, ask.”

Big eyes blink up at me from that small, furry face, hopeful to their core. “Really? You’ll be my mate?”

I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll be your mate.”

Inyez wriggles against me, clutching at my clothing with a sudden fervour. “Mine?”

“Yours,” I assure him, drawing him against me and carrying him back up into the observatory. The next few minutes are a blur as we leave my clothing strewn across the apartment in a trail that leads to the bed, and I manage to find a bottle of lube I haven’t touched in months but mercifully has enough for at least a round or two.

Preparation happens before all else. Normally, this is the part where I would begin to lose interest because my previous partners have treated it like a means to an end, but Inyez is so sensitive and receptive that every little touch I give him sends him into a fluttering little tizzy on the bed. His prick is slick and red when it hardens out of its sheath, tapered at the end and thicker at the base. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I play with it with a careful touch that seems to frustrate and overwhelm the small creature beneath me in equal measure.

I drink Inyez in as he squeaks and squirms with my fingers inside him, watching his claws tear tiny little holes in the sheets as he grips them in his hands and trembles like a taut bowstring. When I finally push into him, he makes a noise like an exultation, and I fight to keep myself from coming right there and then when he wraps his legs around my hips and digs his feet into my ass to drive me in deeper. He wants more of me and I give until there’s nothing left to give, letting him adjust for a moment before I take up a rhythm that rocks the bed against the wall.

I need him, too, and I tell him so as I fuck him down into the mattress, listening to him mew and moan and say my name in a way more beautiful than any I’ve heard yet. He clings to the headboard when I roll him over onto his stomach, breathless and gasping raggedly, wings trembling like they’re weathering a storm.

“There!” he cries when I angle my hips a certain way, one of his hands diving between himself and the sheets to pump away at his hard, leaking cock. “Oh, please, there! There!”

“You want it?” I ask, and I hardly recognise my own voice, so low and guttural it is.

“Yes, gods, I want it,” Inyez mewns, almost sobbing with his need. “I’m close. I’m gonna—I’m—Please—“

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay!” Inyez squeaks, not a hint of hesitation in his desperate tones. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll never leave this roost! I swear!”

“Yes,” I growl, pushing my chest down against his back and reaching a crescendo that makes the headboard hammer against the wall. I come so hard and so suddenly that it feels like I get pulled inside out from the toes on up, and my vision whites out to the sound of Inyez wailing beneath me. When I come around, we’re tangled together in the sheets and I have him on top of me, both of us panting heavily and both of my hands buried into the soft, downy fur at the small of Inyez’s back.

“Christ,” says Inyez, and I choke on a laugh, turning my head to cough.

“That’s not an expletive.”

Inyez grunts. “You use it like one.”

I laugh. “That’s fair.”

Inyez takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, stroking the skin of my torso with careful fingers. “Would you be willing to meet my family?”

I blink up at the ceiling. “Of course. How many of them are there?”

“I have six brothers and eight sisters. I’m fifth down in the birthing line.”

My eyes bulge. “How old is the youngest?”

“Tiisa? She’s six months old. The oldest is in her forties.” I can feel Inyez smother a smile against my chest. “Mother says she’s done for now. We don’t quite believe her.”

I laugh, shaking my head up at the ceiling. “I would offer them shelter for the winter, but I don’t think they’d all fit in here.”

“Oh, Mother would hate it here,” Inyez chuckles. “It would be much too quiet for her liking. She likes life with the roost. I’ve always preferred quiet. This roost is perfect for us.”

Us. The word makes my heart swell, and I bury a smile against the top of Inyez’s head. “We’ll figure something out for their visit.”

“Mm,” hums Inyez, sighing softly before he sits up and smiles impishly down at me in the darkness.

“What?”

“Again.”

“Again?” I laugh, wrapping my hands around Inyez’s hips as they begin to rock and wriggle on my lap. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Your monster,” Inyez smugly coos, kissing my chest right over my heart.

#exophilia #gay exophilia #mlm exophilia #exophilia fic #exophilia lemon #monster lemon #monster fic #monster boyfriend #bat boyfriend #Inyez #a twink for you monster toppers out there ;3 #My work

266 notes · View notes

tanyawritesstories · 3 years

Text

Bliss Beneath Waves | Kit Fisto x Reader

Here is the fic based off this request. Sorry it took so long, anon 🥺 I loved the idea that this inspired! You can either think of it as before the Clone Wars or if they never happened, since it's peaceful and cute. 🥰 Also, I just started reading The Cestus Deception and have been simping extra hard over Kit recently 😍😍 enjoy!!

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, one NSFW scene, fingering, cuddling, adorable themes, more fluff, Kit is such a sweetheart and I love him

•••

The planet was gorgeous at night. It’s moon was closer to it than on Coruscant and provided more light, bathing everything in a soft blue glow. The surface of the planet was mostly water with islands of every size scattered about here and there. The only noise was that of the gentle waves lapping at the shore and songbirds whistling their lullabies for all to hear. It was so peaceful, even if you were sitting by yourself on a boulder at the edge of the water, not currently joined with your partner just yet.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the fresh air. Glee Anselm was one of the favorite planets you’d ever visited and it wasn’t just because the locals were nice and the scenery was beautiful. It held a special place in your heart. You smiled thinking of all the reasons why it did.

One of those reasons was currently walking towards the rocks where you were sitting. You could faintly hear the shuffling of the sand as it sunk under his boots, your smile widened. You knew he was looking at you. You heard what sounded like clothes rustling together before small grunts as he clambered onto your rock, sitting down beside you. “Evening, my love,” he greeted. You turned your head, still smiling, and was treated to the sight of Kit, looking just as happy as you. “How did your mission go?” You asked.

“It went great,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to go so well. The Senator even invited me to dinner afterwards, hence why I was so late. You remember meeting her, don’t you?” You nodded, resting your head on his chest. “I remember. I’m shocked you two are still good friends despite the idea that politicians and Jedi don’t mix.” He chuckled. “She and I have been friends for years, our political ideals and lifestyles don’t get in the way of that.”

You had initially been a bit jealous when you first met the Senator of Kit’s home planet. He seemed very fond of her, and her of him. Kit had sensed your emotions and explained that Senator Kadis and himself had been good friends when they were growing up. When he became a Jedi he took attachment very seriously and purposely forgot about her, but as he grew older and more comfortable with his life, his interpretations of the code had loosened and that had been when he met you. His relationship with you was stronger than anything and nothing could tear him away from you.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes until Kit noticed your attire. “Where did you get this dress?” He asked, thumbing the material. You had almost forgotten that you were wearing such a nice outfit. “I had a formal dinner meeting to attend, I came here right after,” you explained. “I don’t mean to sound dull, sweet thing, but your business dealings sound more boring than anything the Senate has to offer,” he commented. You laughed. “They are for the most part,” you agreed, “but I love investing in promising people and helping their ideas make it big.”

Kit smiled and returned his attention to your dress. It wasn’t anything too fancy. It had been a warm Coruscant summer day and you wanted something that would keep you from overheating. It was a light yellow flowy, strapless dress that came down to your knees. A white ribbon with a small bow acted as a belt around your middle, and also kept the chiffon fabric from getting out of control. “Where did you get it?” He inquired. “Just a small store I found, it was the cheapest formal looking thing I could find,” you answered. He hummed, “you look stunning in it.” You smiled, a small blush dusting your cheeks and ears. “Thank you, baby.”

Kit decided it was that time in the day to relax and promptly whisked off his shirt, leaving him in just a loose pair of knee-length, brown pants. “Would you like to join me for a swim, darling?” He asked, slipping off the boulder and into the water. “I’ll think about it,” you said. You swung your legs off the rock, letting your feet dip into the water as you watched Kit walk into deeper water and dive under. You hadn’t known much about Nautolans when you first met Kit four years ago. You remember how sheepish you felt after you got worried when he had been underwater for ten minutes without surfacing, only to have someone tell you that his species was mostly aquatic and had gills to breathe underwater.

Kit resurfaced near you and swam over, running his hands up and down your legs, coating them in a sheen of warm water. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” He wondered. “I’m fine right here, for now,” you replied. Kit planted a few kisses to your calf before smirking to himself and looking up at you with an innocent stare. “How much did you say you paid for this dress?” You looked down at him, curious as to why he was asking. “Not much, why?” Kit moved his hands farther up your legs. “Do you like it a lot?” You shrugged, “I mean it’s alright, it’s not my favorite thing I’ve ever purchased. Why are you-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if it got a little ruined, would you?” Kit asked with a devious smirk. You were confused until his grip on your legs tightened, by the time you realized what was happening, it was too late to stop it. “No, no, no, Kit!” You shouted in shock as he pulled on your legs, dragging you off the rock and into the water. He caught you in his arms before you completely submerged, laughing at the annoyed expression on your face. “What? You said it wasn’t your favorite,” he joked, his smile so big and genuine that you had a hard time finding it in you to be mad at him. At least the water was warm.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you joked along with. Your arms linked around the back of his neck bringing you closer together. Kit cupped your cheek and brought your lips to his. The kiss started slow, but it quickly escalated into heated passion and want. One of Kit’s hands wandered down to the hem of your dress, running his hand up your thigh and pushing the wet fabric up. You broke away with a small gasp. “Kit…” you breathed. “Shh, I know, we don’t have much time,” he said, “but I’ve finally got some alone time with my wife, there is no way I’m going to spend it without pleasuring you in some way..”

You whined and wrapped one of your legs around his waist, opening them just enough for Kit to rest his hand on your barely covered sex. “You’re warm down here,” he observed, sending you a lust filled glance. “Well, my husband did just promise to finger-fuck me within an inch of my life so I don’t know what you expect, you handsome devil,” you replied cheekily. Kit chuckled, the sound a low and enticing rumble. “Then finger-fuck you within an inch of your life I shall do,” he settled. In a few quick movements Kit pushed the offending fabric of your thong aside and ran two fingers firmly along your slit.

You gasped and gripped onto his shoulders, grinding down onto his long digits. Kit attached his lips to your neck and gently nibbled, he didn’t want to leave marks knowing where you both would be heading after this. He teased your entrance before sinking two fingers deep into your needy cunt. “Kit..” you moaned out, running your hands through his head tendrils softly. He groaned in response, working his way down to lick the skin of your collarbone. His fingers sped up, your slickness combined with the water meant little to no resistance for his fingers. Your breathing was shallow and you squealed when he hit your hidden pleasure point. He hummed, now nibbling on your earlobe. “You going to cum on my fingers, sweet one?” His thumb found your clit and he rubbed firm circles on it. You only nodded, not able to produce words.

His fingers were thrusting in and out at a blinding pace now, he curled his fingers up sharp and hard, sending you over the edge. You wailed as your orgasm washed over you, Kit removed his fingers when it got too much for you. He gently pulled your panties back in place and watched as you came down from bliss. You sighed happily, continuing to run your hands over and through his head tentacles, it helped you both relax. When Kit was calm he gave off a calming aura that you latched onto, bringing yourself into the same headspace. He nuzzled into your touch as one hand moved to his back and you pulled him in for a tight hug. You massaged his back, working out any tension in his muscles, the water providing an extra relaxing effect.

After a while of calming down and spending time loving in silence, you both decided it was time to get moving. You both exited the water and dried off the best you could, heading to a familiar side of town once you were both presentable. “I hope your mother won’t be angry that we’re fifteen minutes late,” you wondered aloud. You and Kit stopped at a simple, cozy looking house at the end of the road, where Kit began pushing in the code for the front door. “I’m sure she won’t mind, you know she loves the kids,” he assured.

The door opened and you both stepped inside, not seeing anyone at first. You weren’t standing for very long until you heard the thundering of footsteps coming your way, the two young boys rounded the corner, barreling towards you and Kit. “Aiden! Mika! We missed you,” Kit said, kneeling on the floor as his son ran to him at full speed. “Mommy, dada! You’re back!” They both shouted. Mika ran to you and you grabbed under his arms, lifting the youngster into your arms and balancing him on your hip. Aiden ran straight into his father’s arms and Kit scooped him up and spun him around. Kit’s mother rounded the corner shortly after with a smile on her face. “You two came back just in time, they were starting to get restless,” she said.

“Thank you again for watching them.” You said, planting a kiss to Mika’s forehead and smoothing your hands over his tiny head tentacles that were just starting to grow out. “Daddy, can we go home now, I’m getting tired,” Aiden voiced with a yawn. “Of course, little man,” Kit answered, “say goodbye to your grandmother now.” Both boys waved and said numerous goodbyes as you and Kit carried them out of the house. Your ship was parked a short distance away and by the time you reached it Mika had fallen asleep in your arms and Aiden could barely keep his eyes open. You got to the ship and set both boys down in their on-board bunks, kissing them goodnight before you and Kit joined each other in the cockpit.

You pecked a kiss to his cheek as he punched in the coordinates for Coruscant. “I love you, Kit,” you said. He smiled and planted a kiss on your cheek as well. “I love you too, darling. Now strap in, it’ll be awhile before we reach home.”

#star wars the clone wars #kit fisto #kit fisto x reader #star wars fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Text

more of tauriel’s hellfamily adventures! there’s still a couple of gaps in my conception of this au, which is why these are bullet points and not an actual fic, but i think i’ve got enough to progress the plot, such as it is. certainly got a bunch of anecdotes i think are funny

i’m not even going to bother explaining how tauriel ended up in one of the fëanorians’ boltholes being treated for mild injuries

nothing super serious, but enough that she’s out of action for the rest of the night. the palace is on fire

the bolthole opens, and celegorm (who’s doing first aid) turns his head. his preemptive scowl melts away instantly. ‘hi elrond!’

the former lord of imladris just sighs. ‘please tell me you idiots haven’t abducted tauriel’

legolas has concerns, apparently. he saw celegorm vanish into an alleyway with her slung over his shoulder and immediately started panicking

‘i've talked him into delaying his rescue mission until i had the chance to check that she was safe’ elrond finishes, sounding absolutely exhausted

tauriel confirms that she is doing fine, as much as she can through the concussion. celegorm’s like ‘if he’s so worried about her why doesn’t he just come up here’

elrond disappears, and a few minutes later legolas scrambles inside

he’s glaring at celegorm. celegorm tells him where the first aid kit is, punches him on the arm, compliments his tracking skills in a vaguely threatening manner, and jumps back out to assist with the chaos

legolas collapses by tauriel’s bedside, still clutching his bow. tauriel pats him on the thigh reassuringly

neither of them are surprised elrond knows the fëanorians - they stayed in his place in tol eressëa for a while, dude knows literally everyone - but they don’t really know why

closer to dawn, elrond’s voice drifts up into the hideout. he’s going on this long irritated rant that climaxes in an extremely exasperated ‘valardamnit dad!’

maglor cackles. tauriel’s like ‘huh didn’t know that.’ legolas makes a face like he accidentally swallowed a spider

by this point, tauriel’s known the brothers hellspawn for long enough legolas has been unnervingly close to a kinslayer way more times than he’d like

this is the longest he’s spent in proximity to them by far, but it’s not the only time he’s interacted with them. they seem to like tauriel, and he knows she can take care of herself

but like still

it keeps happening, though. as tauriel further ingratiates herself with these awful awful elves, her two separate social circles keep bleeding into each other

take the time legolas and co visited the aulendili

before they left middle-earth, gimli whipped round every dwarf they knew and assembled several volumes of complaints. they refuse to confirm or deny whether aulë is the maker, but they are determined someone’s gonna hear their grievances

and thus a small wagon train of wood elves head up into the mountains. including tauriel

tauriel offhandedly mentioned the upcoming trip to the twins, and amras was like ‘hey we’ve got family up there!’ a few messages went up and down the funicular, and now gimli and crew have a place to crash up there

they’re put up by some of the fëanorians’ less murderous (if equally loud) relatives. it’s a pretty interesting trip

half the town is redheads. several people still mistake tauriel for a fëanorian. it’s been happening a lot in the wider noldorin territory lately, it’s weird

caranthir stumbles up into town about halfway through their visit. he gets into an extremely long philosophical argument with gimli that somehow ends with a mutual dwarven nod of respect

he also ends up fighting back-to-back with tauriel in one of those debatebrawls so common among the noldor. neither of them is quite sure how it happens

that’s the way it goes, isn’t it. there’s no big official moment when tauriel becomes part of the family

she just grows closer to them over her time in valinor, as they do to her

she merges into their social world. she develops a rapport with maglor’s wife - a first age mountain sinda and a third age forest avar don’t have that much in common, but they are both looking at noldorin culture from the outside. they have so many injokes about ridiculous bling

(it goes the other way too. this childhood friend oc of hers i’m developing - pretty sweet guy, the token sane man in the legolas-tauriel-him trinity - gets along really well with celebrimbor)

this one time tauriel punches a guy out for calling elrond a traitor. it doesn’t matter that he’s like three times her age, he is babey

she gets chewed out by maedhros and tests out new devices for curufin and drops in on nerdanel for tea. even though she doesn’t permanently live in the definitely-not-fëanorian quarter, she has her own personal space in its innermost warren

she’s one of them long before anyone consciously realises it

what causes that realisation is, admittedly, partially the conspiracy theories. if you say something often enough, you’ll start to believe it, and while the tauriel origin stories circulating through the noldorin rumour mill vary a lot in the details they all agree she is a fëanorian

but that’s a gradual long-term thing. it’s one more thread that leads to the moment

because there has to be an inflection point, i think. the fëanorians have plenty of family friends within the ranks of their definitely-not-minions. some are even as close to them as tauriel’s become

something has to happen to show she’s something more. fortunately, as demonstrated by the darkening and the númenorian invasion, no matter how peaceful it seems, history never stops

shit goes down. the exact details i’ll admit i don’t know yet, but at some point some sort of massive crisis rocks all of valinor. it’s during that crisis that tauriel does stuff that makes it blindingly obvious she’s not just on her side, but one of them

what stuff? again, i don’t know yet. i have this mental image of her leading a strike team that’s half definitely-not-minions and half legolas’ people through a burning city to do... something badass, but that’s as specific as i can get atm

what i am certain about, is that throughout the unfolding of the crisis, tauriel is permanently on the fëanorians’ side, just like they’re on hers

it’s one thing to be someone’s friend in bright happy days. it’s another thing to stick by them when everything’s falling to pieces and the whole world is against them. it’s in the depths of this crisis that both parties have the chance to fully prove their worth to each other

that probably wouldn’t be enough on its own, but combined with the friendship and the conspiracy theories and just the general way she is, once the dust settles it’s blazingly clear that tauriel is a daughter of the house of fëanor

there’s a little debate about where exactly she fits on the family tree, but not much. our sample size is admittedly small, but third generation fëanorians tend to have the slightest modicum of common sense? elrond and celebrimbor both have a fair degree of self-awareness and at least a few brain cells

tauriel does not. tauriel is mad, bad, and dangerous to know, just smart enough to understand that her sheer chaoticness is something she can channel but not nearly close to regularly thinking through the consequences of her actions. she’s loud and violent and does whatever she wants whenever she wants without a single thought towards what people will think of her

and more than that, she doesn’t relate to the second generation fëanorians the way the third generation does. she’s their friend and partner-in-crime, not one of their precious perfect must-protect children. she gets jerked around and bullied and does all that stuff right back, and while she doesn’t have a solid place in the second generation’s internal hierarchy yet she would easily slot in

no, tauriel’s a second generation fëanorian, one of fëanor and nerdanel’s horrible children. the fact that fëanor is currently indisposed and unable to provide an opinion on the matter doesn’t seem to bother anyone

she gets inducted into the family in a massive group hug, and from then on out the brothers hellspawn are the siblings hellspawn

her new family doesn’t replace her old one, of course, she has a long talk with elrond wherein she hashes this out. she’s still a silvan of the greenwood

she’s just also the little sister of the most bloodthirsty elves in history

(that sound in the background is legolas screaming)

#silmarillion #tauriel #feanorians #house of feanor #the feanorian tauriel saga #my terrible fic #this is late because i needed to sleep last night #extremely panicky background legolas #the worst part is he can't even deny it #current plan is looking like one more main entry and a couple of errata #there's a scene i don't think i'll be able to fit in and a little minific about why tauriel doesn't believe in maedhros

66 notes · View notes

luffles424 · 4 years

Text

Lucidity (8)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (this chap is Taehyung x reader ft. Yoongi!)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, fluff, angst

☼ Count: 4.9K

☼ Warnings: 18+, mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, grinding, some nipple play, big dick Tae (duh), guided sex, dom/sub undertones, voyuerism, exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, slight choking, lots of kissing, dirty talk, creampie

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: I’m sorry this took a while! But the truth is coming! Next chap will be a flashback! As always, let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

You don’t know how long you run for. You feel well and truly like you’re drunk for the first time in centuries as the city blurs around you. Only you don’t get to enjoy the dizzying feeling, instead the lightheadedness makes it harder to navigate, tripping over your feet as you stumble, aimless in your journey to just get away. You know you can’t go home, she’ll just track you there. And while no one else lives on the same floor as you, there are plenty of people in the building, some who are very nice and you’d hate to put them in harm's way. You do your best to double back and make your trail as confusing as possible. But all the doubling back in the world will still eventually lead to her finding you. You duck through some still populated areas, trying to avoid the curious looks of the more sober people that trail over your bleeding figure.

This is the longest you’ve ever been bleeding for. But your energy is completely spent, everything is going to just keep you upright and moving, nothing left to spare for healing. The sun is beginning to peak over the horizon and you know you need to get off the street. While people wouldn’t stop you this late at night with your injuries, people in the morning surely would.

You find yourself in front of a building, tall and pristine. It takes you a moment to realize where you are and you almost want to scoff that of all places, you came here. You hadn’t even realized that you’d traveled so far. You hear a howl in the distance, she must be awake. You thought you had more time. Panic siezes you and you ignore how dumb of an idea this is and quickly make your way inside, navigating the halls to the familiar frosted glass door, pounding on the frame like Taria is already there.

The door is wretched open after a long moment, Yoongi’s face twisted in annoyance before quickly morphing into surprise at the sight of you. Before he can say anything, you’re shoving him back into the room and spinning to slam the door shut. You pant as you lean against it, heartbeat pounding your eardrums as you try to reason that you’re safe for the moment. When you pull away, there’s a smeared, bloody handprint left behind. How much blood had you trailed around the city without noticing?

“Y/n?” He sounds so concerned. “Hang on, let me call Jin-”

You turn to face him, eyes frantic. “No! Don’t do that! Please you can’t, don’t let them know I’m here. This was a dumb idea anyway. I needed somewhere safe and this is just where I ended up. I-”

You stop as your gaze lands on the other body in the room. The one you hadn’t even noticed at first. Taehyung. You just really can’t catch a break. “Fuck. Shit, I’m just gonna…” You turn immediately, hand already attempting to open the door again, but the blood causes your grip to slip.

Yoongi’s arms wrap around your middle and he lifts you away easily. You try not to think about just how easily he moved you. You weakly try to fight against him, but it only serves to exhaust you further. You sag in his arms and just try to breath.

Yoongi pats your head gently, shushing you. You didn’t even realize you were whimpering. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Taehyung knows already. Jimin told him. It’s okay.”

You fight for another moment, you should leave. But ultimately your injuries catch up to you and you feel consciousness slowly slipping from your grasp. Now that you’re not actively running or fearing for your life, your exhaustion crashes over you and before Yoongi can say more, you pass out.

“Hyung… What are we gonna do?” Taehyung’s voice is quiet as Yoongi gently lays you out on the towels Taehyung placed on the couch.

Yoongi looks down at you, brushing some of your hair from your face. He sighs. “I don’t know. We have to wait for her to wake up. But given how beat up she is, that might be a while.”

“Are we really not going to tell the others?”

“Not right now. We’ll wait for her to get up first. Find out what happened. Then we can decide from there.” Yoongi turns to look at him. “In the meantime, I have some spare clothes in my locker in the practice room, can you go grab those and some extra towels and water.” He glances at you before tacking on, “And the first aid kit. Drop those off with me and then go pick up some food? She’ll probably be hungry when she gets up.”

Taehyung looks like he wants to say more, but finally he nods, slipping out of the room quietly.

Yoongi’s gaze slowly trails over you, taking in the extent of your injuries, at least what he can see without cleaning the blood off of you. There’s a ring of bruises around your neck, shaped suspiciously like a hand. More bruising covers your jaw, along with a thin line of split skin than has left a thin trail of red down your neck. Most of the exposed skin of your right arm and thigh are covered in the criss cross scraps of road rash and it’s coated both extremities and a good portion of your clothing wet with blood. Your palms share a similar fate, the heels of them holding the brunt of the damage.

Yoongi wonders how angry you’ll be if he rips up your clothes to get them off of you but decides that he’ll just buy you new ones if you complain. He steps closer, trying to carefully tear the clothing so he can remove it from your body without jostling you too much. He knows you’re out cold, but he doesn’t want to risk anything at all possibly waking you when all you need it rest.

He’s just stripped the last of your clothes from you, tossing the ruined things into a plastic bag when Taehyung returns. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he sees your undressed state, gaze quickly averting as he thrusts the requested items in Yoongi’s direction. Yoongi takes them, setting them on the coffee table. He catches Taehyung before he can retreat once more, handing him the bag of bloodied items.

“Can you destroy this too? Don’t need it getting found or sniffed out.”

Taehyung gives Yoongi a little salute and then is back out the door to carry out the rest of his duties. Yoongi pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and you and perches on the edge. Taking one of the hand towels that Taehyung had grabbed and the water, he begins slowly and carefully wiping the blood from your body. It takes longer than he expects, the irritation causing a few wounds to begin bleeding again. But once the layer of grime is cleaned from your body, Yoongi sees more bruises on your stomach and sides and he’s sure there’s probably some on your back as well. Just what had happened to you?

He dabs ointment onto the worst of the wounds, hoping it helps a little until you can feed properly and heal up. He takes a few aspirin from the med kit as well setting them beside the glass of water that waits for you.

Staring at his clothes, he wonders if he should even bother putting them on you. They’re certainly baggy enough, but putting them on would require a lot of movement and he doesn’t want to jostle you more than necessary. But then he thinks of times he’s woken up injured and in an unfamiliar place, vulnerability already high even if he was near someone he knew. He would want to be clothed. He carefully slips his shirt onto you, which proves much more difficult given your unconsciousness. His shorts are much easier to slip on you.

You look peaceful, so still actually that Yoongi panics for a minute thinking you’ve died and he presses his ear to your chest just to reaffirm the thumping in the air is your slow heartbeat and not someone else’s in the building. All his time on this planet, and you are by far the most enchanting, frustrating, and mysterious creature he’s ever met. He can only hope that you’ll allow him and Taehyung to help you. That you won’t push them away again. But for now, all he can do is wait for Taehyung to return and for you to wake up.

The first thing you feel when you regain consciousness is pain, radiating from multiple points on your body and you wish you had stayed unconscious instead. Sleep sounds so much preferable to trying to take inventory of what hurts and why. But now that you’re slightly more aware of your surroundings, the smell of food invades your senses and your stomach gives a loud grumble. You hear talking, though your half asleep state keeps the words from filtering through and making sense, and then there’s the soft click as a door is shut.

It’s quiet for a moment before someone speaks. “I know you’re awake and I know you’re hungry. You need to take something for the pain anyway.” Yoongi murmurs, kneeling down next to you.

You groan and peek one eye open to glance at him, noting the way his face is twisted with worry. Guilt twists your stomach that you’ve made a problem for him. He slips a hand beneath your head as he helps you carefully sit up then he’s turning to pick up a glass of water and some pills, offering the pills to you before helping you with the water. You gulp down as much as you can before Yoongi is gingerly pulling it away, an amused smile on his face.

He sets the glass on the table and your gaze is drawn to the food and you suddenly feel ravenous. Yoongi hands you one of the containers.

“You can eat. I know you’re probably hungry after whatever happened.”

You eye him skeptically for a moment before you begin eating, quickly wolfing down one container before moving onto the next. You don’t even realize Taehyung has returned until you’ve finished most of the food, belly full almost to the point of hurting, but it at least gives your body enough energy to sit up straight without help. You look between the two of them as you drink some more water. You think you remember Yoongi mentioning Taehyung knew before you passed out, but most of your time post fight is a haze. But the fact that Taehyung is here and not upset at Yoongi or your presence means he knows something at least.

They share a look before Yoongi speaks. “So what did happen?”

You swallow, waving the question off. “Oh, it’s fine. There was just a thing at the club. No big deal.”

Yoongi blinks at you, incredulous. “You can’t be serious? Nothing that could’ve possibly happened at the club could’ve wiped you out this much. You were practically dead when you got here. That’s not just something as simple as a ‘club thing.’ What happened?”

You look from Yoongi to Taehyung. You don’t know what, maybe you’re hoping that he’ll back you up despite having never met you formally. But he just looks at you with pleading eyes. You want to continue to deny what happened but you know that they won’t give up until you tell them the truth. And you’re too tired to try to fight it anyway.

You sigh, head dropping back against the couch. “I was attacked. By this werewolf that I had a run in with a long time ago. I guess she thought I had died and that she didn’t need to deal with me herself. She came to Seoul to visit someone and caught wind that I’m still alive. She’s been hunting me down since.”

It’s silent for far too long and when you glance at the two men, they’re exchanging worried glances. Your gut churns with even more guilt. You shouldn’t have come here, no matter how exhausted you were. You’ve put them in danger, worse you didn’t even know until now that they had been in danger. Maybe you should’ve been the one to listen to Namjoon. You really do just hurt everyone you care for. You can’t read their expressions, but you have a feeling about what’s coming so you make it easier for them and push yourself from the couch.

You wobble for a second and they’re both quick to rise and reach out to steady you, hands so gentle that you can feel tears well in your eyes. “Look I’m sorry for coming here. I didn’t mean to put you guys in danger. I’ll get out of here and draw her away. So you guys will be fine.”

You manage to take only one unsteady step before hands are wrapping around each wrist and you look back to see each of them holding one.

“I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours, but you’re wrong. We’re worried about you and your safety. You can barely stand. You should not be out on the streets where she can find you.” Yoongi tugs gently but you refuse to move, though you both know that he could easily pull you back right now.

You turn to look at Taehyung, who’s been quiet the whole time. He tilts his head before he tugs your arm as well until you finally give in and fall back against the couch. You don’t think you could’ve stood for much longer anyway. Taehyung’s hand slides down to encompass yours.

“What do you need?” He asks softly.

You shift uncomfortably. You need to feed. But you can’t possibly ask that of them. You’ve already asked too much as is. You wave him off. “I’m fine. Just a little more rest and I’ll be fine.” You feel so human and vulnerable right now. Being this weak around someone else would normally have you crawling in your skin, aching to get away and take care of yourself but somehow, with them, you feel safe.

Yoongi looks unconvinced. “When was the last time you fed?”

You purse your lips in thought. “Not too long ago. Few days maybe?” When Yoongi looks like he’s going to argue, you continue. “I swear, it was really recent. But the fight… Fuck have you ever fought a werewolf? Look I’m not built to fight much of anything, let alone a werewolf who knows how to counter the few things that are at my disposal. It took everything in me to just get away. It just…” you sigh and run a hand through your hair as you close your eyes. “Drained me.”

The couch beside you dips and when you peek an eye open, you see Taehyung has sat down, close enough that your thighs brush together. He seems to hesitate for only a moment before you see something switch in him.

“Feed from me.”

You blink at him, unsure if you heard him correctly and turn to see if Yoongi is going to object or… something, you don’t know what. But Yoongi’s face is frustratingly neutral as he gazes back at you. You turn back to Taehyung and his face is firm as his hand lands on your thigh and squeezes.

He leans closer, until your lips are just an inch apart and his eyes hold their intense gaze on yours. You swallow, suddenly overwhelmed by his scent. His eyes flicker between yours and his breath ghosts across your face as he speaks.

“Aren’t you hungry, little demon?”

Your breath hitches and you struggle with rational thought. All you want to do with his invitation is sit on his cock and feast. Arousal wafts off of him as he smirks and it’s making your head hazy, all thoughts not about devouring him leaving you. You try to fight it, but you’re so drained that it’s hard to resist such a pretty, willing boy. You finally resolve to wipe the smirk clean off his face; he has no idea what he’s in for.

You close the small distance, pressing your lips to his and tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him close as you lick at his lips, moaning as you feel yourself already slowly gaining energy. Pushing him back to sit flush against the couch, he goes willingly, hands digging into your thighs to help you as you plant yourself in his lap. You’re quick to lick into his mouth, chasing the small sparks of pleasure that feed and energize you. You feel slightly delirious and it takes all of your willpower not to just feed right now. But you know if you do it with his cock buried in you, on the brink of orgasm, that it’ll be so much better. More potent and sweet. The thought makes your toes curl. Taehyung already tastes so sweet.

Taehyung seems perfectly content to let you take what you want and manipulate him as you please. You grind down, delighted to find how hard he is beneath you already and you continue to shift your hips against him, drawing small whines and groans from his throat. Wanting to draw more of those delicious noises from him, you slip your hands beneath this shirt, nails drawing lighty up his belly till they rest on the swell of his chest. Your pussy drips in your borrowed shorts as Taehyung’s hands slip beneath the fabric to squeeze at the bare skin of your thighs.

You’re so absorbed in the kiss and the feel of him beneath your hands that it’s not until you hear the creak of a chair that you remember the two of you are not alone. Yoongi. You pull reluctantly from Taehyung’s lips and you have to quickly drag your gaze from how kiss swollen they look lest you just dive back in. Instead you shift enough to find Yoongi, slouched down in his chair and legs spread. He almost looks bored with the way his head is propped up on his hand, but the heat in his gaze and the slight tent in his pants give away his interest in what’s unfolding before him.

When your eyes meet, he smirks. “Don’t let me interrupt, babygirl.” You go to speak but he gives you a small shake of his head and continues. “Why don’t you focus on Taehyungie, hm? Show him what he’s been missing out on.” His eyes flit behind you to Taehyung and then land back on you. “I’ll just enjoy the show.”

You hesitate for only a moment more, but Yoongi’s quirk of an eyebrow finally has you turning back to Taehyung. His gaze is dark and there’s a smirk stretching his lips once again. Well that certainly won’t do.

“Jiminie had high praise for you, you know.” He murmurs.

You return his smirk with one of your own, leaning close until your lips just brush his. “Is that so? Do you want to see if I live up to that praise?”

Taehyung’s hands tangle in your hair, pulling your lips firmly against his with a groan. You shift closer, chest pressed to his and resume grinding, pulling the sweetest whines from his throat.

His hands slip beneath your borrowed shirt, sliding up your belly until they cup your breasts. He kneads at the flesh, drawing a moan from you. You tear yourself away from his mouth, tugging the shirt from your body. Taehyung’s eyes drop to where his hands are, slipping down slightly so his fingers can play with your nipples.

You hum at the feeling, head falling back as the pleasure-pain shoots through you. Warmth envelopes a nipple, Taehyung teasing the bud with his teeth. You tangle your hands in his hair, encouraging him to continue his suckling, his tongue warm and gentle countering the sharpness of his teeth. He switches to the other, laving the same attention to the bud.

You tug at his hair, drawing a whine from his throat and he pulls away to capture your lips in another kiss. You let him, enjoying the way his tongue slips into your mouth, the way his hands flit around to touch every inch of skin they can. The longer you kiss, the less your body aches, but you know you need more.

You slip off Taehyung’s lap, quickly working to shove the shorts down your legs. “Strip.”

Taehyung works just as fast, tugging his shirt over his head and shoving his sweats down his legs. Yoongi chuckles as his frantic movements.

“Eager, Taehyungie?” he coos.

Taehyung glares at him but before he can respond, you cup his cheeks, effectively pulling his attention back to you.

“I like them eager,” you peck him on the lips as you slide back into his lap, grinding your bare cunt against his cock.

Taehyung gasps at the feeling of your wet pussy sliding along his length causing his hips to buck against you. His cock is thick and long and pretty. Everything about Taehyung is just so pretty. Under more normal circumstances, you’d love to feel the stretch of your jaw as you sucked him down, to take your time to work you both up and make you both mad with need. But that will have to wait till there’s more time. All you can focus on right now is having his dick inside of you as you suck the pleasure from him.

You giggle. “Eager and big. My favorite.”

You reach down, hand wrapping tight around Taehyung’s cock as you position him at your entrance before sliding down his cock until your hips are flush. You moan as he stretches you. It feels perfect. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your hips.

“Holy fuck.”

“How’s she feel, Taehyungie?”

Taehyung groans beneath you, hips flexing like he wants to move but is waiting for you first. “Good. So good, hyung… She’s so wet and tight.”

You grin down at him. “It’s about to get better.”

With that, you lift your hips until just the tip of his cock remains in you and then you drop yourself back down. You start a fast pace, thighs protesting almost immediately but now that Taehyung is inside of you, that’s all you can focus on. His feet shift, planting firmer on the ground so he can meet each of your thrusts.

“Play with her tits too, Tae. You want her to cum, don’t you?”

Taehyung nods, hands abandoning your hips to cup your breasts. His fingers tug at your nipples, pleasure coursing through your veins. You grip the back of the couch, grinding yourself on his cock. Yoongi groans behind you as he watches, the creak of the chair preceding the slick sound of skin on skin.

“Is Taehyungie being good, babygirl?”

You nod. “He’s so good. Fills me up so well. So close already.”

“That so? You wanna cum, babygirl?” You nod frantically, working your hips faster and Yoongi chuckles. “Play with her clit, Tae. Make her cum around your cock.”

Taehyung follows the order immediately, fingers slipping between your folds to pinch your clit before circling the bud.

“Come on babygirl, cum for us. Isn’t Taehyungie being so good?”

You shudder, Taehyung’s fingers picking up speed as he leans forward to let his teeth graze your nipple. You moan his name, back arching as the coil in your belly snaps and your pussy convulses around his cock. The world goes fuzzy for a moment as euphoric bliss floods your body. Taehyung chokes on a noise, fingers continuing to work your clit to draw your orgasm out.

Your hands dig into his hair, pulling his head back as you lean in to press your mouth to his. Taehyung tastes potent. So on edge that desperation clings to the edges, sweetening him up even more. He’s so addicting. You lick the seam of his lips as your hips rock against him.

“Cum for me baby,” you murmur against his lips, pairing the command with a dirty twist of your hips.

It only takes a few more grinds before Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin to the point of pain and a muffled moan pressed to your lips as he begins to fill you. You kiss him harder, finally letting yourself feed freely from him, his orgasm making him taste divine. He remains hard as you feed, no chance at a break as you draw his pleasure out almost torturously as you continue you to grind against him. You feel his cock twitch within you as he squirms beneath you in oversensitivity. You barely register the wetness of tears as they hit your hand, consumed as you are in the bliss you’re taking in.

He whines against your lips as you feel vitality fill you, your aches disappearing as you begin to move more frantically against him. His nails dig into your skin and with a smothered cry, he cums again, cock twitching feebly as it dribbles more cum into your stuffed pussy.

A hand wraps around your throat and you’re pulled away from Taehyung’s lips with a gasp. Your grind and then there’s a small squeeze that leaves you shuddering as another orgasm rips through you. The hand on your throat tugs you a little further away from Taehyung’s face and you tilt your head back to look up at Yoongi through hooded eyes.

“That’s enough, babygirl.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, taking a deep breath to try to ground yourself. Right, you only needed to feed enough to help start healing. You can’t drain Taehyung. You don’t want to get him anywhere near that and have the possibility of him turning feral. You feel a twinge of guilt when you think about how you hadn’t wanted to stop. Opening your eyes again, you glance at Taehyung. His head is tilted back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling with hazy eyes. You hadn’t even realized how far you had gone. You’re glad Yoongi was here. God you haven’t done something like that on accident since-

“Do you feel better, babygirl?” Yoongi asks, cutting your spiraling thoughts off before they can get worse.

You nod and let Yoongi help you off of Taehyung’s lap and back onto the couch.

“Jimin did not prepare me for that.” Taehyung mutters and Yoongi laughs, patting his head.

“Imagine if she was at full strength, Tae.”

Taehyung whines, flopping down onto the couch. “Please don’t make me think about that. I can’t get hard again. I will actually die or my dick will fall off.”

Silence descends and you gather your borrowed clothes as Taehyung tugs his sweats back on. “I should probably go.”

Yoongi gives you a flat look. “Will you stop that?”

Your lips twitch as you get dressed and shake your head. “You’ve already done so much. I don’t want to put you anymore in danger.”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose and then he pushes you towards the couch again. “Sit.” When you don’t move, something dark crosses his face. “Sit. Down.”

You swallow and quickly sit down, you’ve never heard Yoongi like that before. You can’t tell if he’s angry or just really frustrated. Either way, you don’t want to see it get worse. His look is already intimidating. You’re nervous about where this might be going. But he’s done so much for you, the least you can do is sit and listen.

“What happened between you and Namjoon?”

You tilt your head. That’s a little unexpected. You figured this would’ve been more about Taria or why you’ve distanced yourself from them all. “Well… You know the answer to that already, don’t you?”

Yoongi sighs and sits on the coffee table in front of you. You feel a little bit like a child being reprimanded now. “We know Namjoon’s side. We want to know yours.”

You look from Yoongi to Taehyung, who gives you a kind, encouraging smile despite the fact that he still looks completely fucked out. You look back at Yoongi, resigned. “You’re not going to give up until I tell you, are you?” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face. You sigh. “Fine.”

You lean back, letting the memories you’ve tried to keep buried for centuries come back. “Me and Namjoon met not too long after we were both changed. We lived together with another vampire in a nice little place just outside a village in China. Things were… really good back then.”

A sad sigh escapes your lips as you prepare to tell them of the worst moment of your long life. The moment that’s kept you closed off from people. Kept your guard up and from letting anyone close again, at least until a bright doe eyed vampire inserted himself into your life and just wouldn’t leave, who wore down your defenses until you felt yourself helpless to do anything other than trust and care for him and everyone that he brought with. You try not to think about how it feels a little like the l-word. You can’t let yourself get that far. You can’t do it again. You guess it’s fitting that the story begins and ends with Namjoon. You rub the tears from your eyes and start from the beginning.

257 notes · View notes

sociallyawkwardfoxwriter · 3 years

Note

Beau using her Jeweler's kit to make everyone in the Nein customized jewelry.

As I am known to do, this ended up being longer than I intended it to be. Beau gifting the Nein customized jewelry is adorable and I love it.

Enjoy!

After carefully wrapping the last gift, Beau placed it in the bag with the others and shoved the wrapping beneath her bed. With the bag slung over her shoulder, she headed to the kitchen where she knew the others would be preparing for dinner. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, Jester's flour covered hand waved enthusiastically at her.

"Beau! What took you so long?"

"If you finish that, I could show you."

"Oh, is it a present?"

"Maybe."

A wide smile stretched across Jester's face as she picked the pan up and quickly placed it in the oven. "We have an hour until dinner."

"Is that your way of asking for your present?"

"Does everyone get one?"

"Yeah, Jessie, I have something for everyone."

They're in the sitting room. Come on."

Jester grabbed her by the hand and practically dragged her to the sitting room as quickly as she could without running. Conversation paused when they burst into the room, then a few eyebrows raised when Jester gave her a gentle shove to the middle of the room. Once Jester took a seat next to Yasha, Beau pulled the first present out and handed it to her. After passing the other out, she dropped into the empty spot next to Caleb.

"Go on. Open them up."

While Jester and Veth tore into their presents, the others calmly removed the wrapping from the boxes in their laps. A loud gasp from Jester pulled her attention to her just in time to see her carefully removing the silver ring. The pink and blue jewels shimmered when Jester slowly turned it in the light of the fireplace.

"Beau, it's beautiful!"

"You like it?"

"I love it!" Jester slipped it on her finger, then held it out to admire it. "Where did you get this?"

"I made it. I made all of these."

"I love it even more now!"

She placed the hand with the ring over her heart, then rested her other one over it at the same time her smile turned absolutely blinding. While she tried not to blush, a gentle elbow in her side and a soft chuckle told her she was failing miserably. It only grew worse when Yasha revealed an almost identical ring. The dark titanium band fit perfectly onto her finger with the blue and white gems shimmering equally in the fire light.

"You should have proposed with those." Caleb's low whisper was easily covered to the others by Veth's chattering with Jester about the new bracelet on her wrist. "It's not going to be nearly as impressive the second time."

"Fuck you. At least I gave it to them, unlike someone else I know."

"That had nothing to do with me."

As if sensing them both looking at him, Fjord looked up from inspecting the new cloak pin held carefully between two fingers. "You're both disasters."

"Don't expect me to argue with you on that."

"You'd lose if you tried."

"Which is why I won't try. I like the new earring, Caduceus. It is very fitting."

"Hurry up and open yours."

"You have no patience."

"I worked hard on this shit. Do you know how long yours took? I spent more time on yours than all the others combined. It was a pain in the ass."

"I feel so special." With a quick tug, Caleb undid the final knot, then removed the lid to reveal his present. "I'm going to be honest. I'm not sure what this is."

"It's for your hair. Here."

She plucked it from the box and shoved at Caleb, until he turned his back to hair. After carefully redoing his typical low ponytail, she pinned back the stray strands on both sides. The third pin clipped onto the hair gathered at the back of his head, then she slowly pulled the chain tight. Once it felt tight enough to keep the pins in place, she did up the final loop and twisted it around his hair tie.

"There, now your hair won't get in your face."

"You know you're going to have to teach Fjord how to do that."

When Caleb turned back to face her, Beau hummed to herself and internally patted herself on the back for picking the perfect gem to match his eyes. "I'll do it after dinner."

"Thank you, Beauregard." He shuffled a little closer to her and held his arms out. "Hug?"

"Hug."

#anon #critical role #empire siblings #beauyashter #widofjord #caleb widogast #fjord #gift giving #fluff #prompt fill #fanfic

65 notes · View notes

mallowstep · 3 years

Note

For the love of god, please consider renaming some cats, I've seen names like

"One-Eye, Halftail, Oddfoot, FLIPCLAW (what kind of prefix is 'Flip'?) Twigbranch, Clawface etc. Don't get me started on those atrocious SkyClan names with KITTYPET PREFIXES

Harrybrook, Snookthorn, Rileypool

Like tf?

so i'm going to start with saying! as a general rule, i love these names. i will address them each in turn, but i don't have a problem with warriors having "bad names," i have a problem with names that don't make sense given their context.

it does not make sense for blackfoot to be named blackkit, when he's mostly white. (and, as a colorpoint cat, i assume, would be born entirely white.) etc.

but i have no problem with bellaleaf, because well, yeah! makes sense to me.

after all, leaf was named leafdapple, why shouldn't bella be named bellaleaf.

i'm going to discuss each name you brought up in turn, and then, under the cut, i'm going to ramble about naming philosphies.

one-eye: i'm fine with this. i don't mind cats being named after their disabilities, not when it's an established part of warriors culture. (even if it doesn't happen anymore because people would be pissed about it.) i don't know if i think it's right, or if i think cats would have a problem with it, but i think it's good. i'd like to think most cats wouldn't have a problem with it, though. that said, for one-eye in particular, her name was already white-eye, so it feels redundant. food for thought, i suppose.

halftail: i'm not okay with this, because he lost...half his tail? trust me, as someone who had a cat with half a tail, you don't notice it. doesn't make sense. he can keep sparrowpelt, altho tbh i almost always forget about him.

oddfoot: oops i forget him initially! i actually assumed he was named odd because of numbers or something, but apparently it’s a deadfoot situation. we don’t know his kit name, so i’ll assume he was named as either an apprentice or a warrior to fit. it wouldn’t make sense for him to just have the prefix odd, and i’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he didn’t. if he did, however, i would have a problem with it because that makes his name a compound name, not because his leader renamed him.

flipclaw: i don't have a problem with it. what kind of name is flipkit? the kind of name a mother would give who looks a lot like the cat who traumatized her, i think. more importantly, i think it's cute! doesn't bother me. would i name an oc flipkit? probably not, but that's just me.

twigbranch: oh no i love her name. i love it! it's so cute. it means something, too! it has meaning. nope. no one is taking twigbranch away from me. i love it.

clawface: mixed. i don't really have a problem with a cat being named clawkit, but it feels...violent. shrug. i don't like it, but like, i also don't like sandynose.

and i won't directly address skyclan because uh i already stated my thoughts on them.

skyclan in particular, tho, it actually makes a lot of sense for their names to be like that. there is no reason to apply any clan norms to skyclan names.

i really hope they keep their names, too. tradition and legacy of names is important to them (pebbleshine and violetshine for the most direct example, but it's everywhere), and i want that to stay. i love that leafstar named her kit harrykit. never change skyclan.

as always, i want to say that i do not have a problem with anyone's methodology of naming cats. i do not care. i support every single name in existence (barring certain combinations of color and "-face," and anything in that vein), and i do not want to come across as telling you what you should do.

that includes you, anon! i do not think you should listen to me when i say i like these names. i think you should rename them whatever you want. (i strongly suggest reconsidering skyclan renames, tho. there's established reasons in canon for them to have those names, and i think it's a cool cultural thing worth exploring. i keep meaning to write a funny lil one-shot about it.)

but you know! if you want to rename them, go for it! i support you!

that said, here is what i think (and i am not an authority on this in any way, shape, or form) about names:

i've written extensively about naming traditions in the clans. if you want to read that, "names. leaders. meaning" and "names part two" are where i recommend you look. (note: first link is to my main, before i migrated warriors content here.)

i'm not going to go over any of that in detail, because well, i'd rather talk about something new?

anyway, i don't think there's a reason to rename the vast majority of cats. i have very, very, few rules. heck, in ashes, i even had squilf come out and say that there's not even a problem with cats sharing a prefix.

the two cats i have renamed are yellowstorm and runningcloud, both for very specific reasons: -fang is a suffix that only makes sense if you're a warrior, and yellowfang names runningpaw runningnose, but in this au, sagewhisker names him, and she doesn't seem like the type to give that kind of name.

in yellowfang's secret, which i do generally treat as canon, yellowfang explains runningnose's name. i don't have a problem with her giving that name to him in the slightest. i just don't think sagewhisker would, and that overrode my general conservative approach to cat names.

but i do think, to an extent, cats are named for the world around them. i explored this in "without warning," where cats can be named after all sorts of strange things (elevator is my favourite), because well, they don't know what strange names are and are not.

so, for example, if there was a kit named, say, chaffinchkit, i would probably rename them, because i've set my warriors in the pnw, and there are no chaffinches in america.

i would just name the kit finchkit, because really, a chaffinch just a specific type of finch anyway.

i also refuse to name a kit maggotkit. there are probably other canonical prefixes in this nature that i refuse, but maggot is the big one that comes to mind.

but i don't care that ferns are green and cats aren't green. maybe it's a name passed down through the generations, one they don't even remember the origin of, but now, it is a thunderclan name.

or maybe, it is given to a riverclan cat simply because their mother thinks ferns are nice and soft.

none of that matters to me, because i personally find limiting name to appearance is incredibly boring, and gives up a really nice chance to worldbuild.

in "fair is the night," ivypool and tigerheart have a brief conversation exploring this.

"ThunderClan is different," he says. "You don't use names in the same way. You don't know the Ivy before you. But ShadowClan isn't like that. Dawnpelt knows Dawncloud and Flametail knows Flamefur, but...I have Tigerstar." "That seems ineffective," Ivypool says. "You can get more mileage out of your names. Here, Ivy is for grey kits, right? But wiry ones. We need strong roots. And Dove is for grey kits, or white ones, but its for the ones who are born soft."

they go on, but i would never pass up an opportunity to explore that type of thing. (and yes i see the typo)

similarly, i like the renaming system. i am like, this close to saying i love it.

the only reason i don't make brightheart lostface in everything i write is because it'd be too much of a headache to remind people, and i also don't want to needlessly invite arguments about it.

she keeps her name in "saccharine tithes of love and glory" because it's the kind of au where i can throw small things like that, without worrying, because it fits, tonally.

i wish it didn't set a fic in a very specific tone, but it does, and so, i usually use brightheart.

(also, it's clear that she prefers brightheart in the books, and i respect that. i don't think, in my culture, that makes sense for her, but i've talked about my works as being on a spectrum between canon and me, and most stuff is far enough away from me that i call her brightheart.)

anyway.

part of it is, renaming cats is imposing my rules over canon. i feel that saying "flipclaw should be named something else" asserts that my world is correct, and canon is wrong.

like, tallstar as a name does not make sense in my windclan. a kit can't be tall, and i've established that windclan names are very literal. but i've let it go, because i chose to make that a rule, and now i live with it.

i hope i didn't come off as prescriptivist, here, because i honestly believe if you want to rename cats, you should. i'd even be happy to discuss alternatives.

for clawface, might i suggest scorchface? (the suffix is malleable, frankly, but i don't feel like thinking much about it.) scorch deliberately has negative connotations in shadowclan, so you keep the same effect as clawface. especially since it just kind of sounds ominous.

but as for what i will do, it is not rename cats. i like their names (especially skyclan's), in all their idiosyncratic glory.

#ask #anon #long #essay #names #warriors names #traditional naming #name discourse #kind of?#mine #txt #warriors #warriors culture #warriors worldbuilding #4th #June #2021 #June 4th 2021

18 notes · View notes

cherrywoes · 3 years

Text

— 𝖙𝖜𝖔.

— 𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓻𝓪.

FOUR YEARS HAD GONE by since you had vanished. To Oikawa Tooru, that had been a lifetime; he had gone through a lifetime's worth of misery, at the very least, in those handful of years that you were probably off with an adoptive family.

He had tried to find you, of course. But once his true devil powers had embedded themselves into his body, unrestrained from the age caveat that God had set upon him, he had become a monster in more ways than one. And that wasn't something he wanted to subject you to.

His human form was nice, of course, he'd give it that. It was almost worth the trouble of dealing with mortal girls; after all, his needs weren't exactly being fulfilled when he was wandering the human world. It didn't stop him from destroying the girls he was with, however—they refused second rounds and were downright terrified to sleep with him once they'd had a taste of him.

Oikawa Tooru didn't do gentle.

"Another one running for the hills?" Iwaizumi Hajime watched as his latest fling slowly picked up her cheap lingerie from the floor, the scraps torn and ripped at the seams. Her flesh was littered with bruises and scrapes and bites, the imprint of Oikawa's fingers upon her throat livid and purple and painful. "You can't just do that to every girl you come across that doesn't know who you are."

Oikawa shrugged loosely from his place at the foot of his bed. He'd tossed on a pair of sweats when he'd finished with the girl, Maya or something, and healed her just enough to send her walking out the door. Iwaizumi was lucky he'd even decided to put pants on at all.

"They haven't stopped coming yet." He smiled wickedly and reached for his vape on the nightstand. Oddly enough he couldn't stand straight nicotine. "They'll just keep getting worse."

Iwaizumi grunted and took a seat on his couch. He was aware of Oikawa's issue with his temperamental devil side, had known about it since they were children. It had been almost like a switch had been flipped one day, out of the blue. He'd never spoken about what exactly had happened, but he seemed to mull over it often when he thought no one was looking or between rounds of beating his opponents into the ground.

Looking more closely as his friend blew smoke out through his nostrils, a combination of diluted nicotine and the unholy brimstone in his lungs, he could see dark rings underneath his eyes.

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Mm?" Oikawa raised his eyebrows and reached up to ruffle his disheveled hair. "Not lately. The bad guy's acting up again."

The 'bad guy' was, in a sense, Oikawa's true form. Or, at least, the truest version he could be refined down to. The only time Iwaizumi had been privy to seeing it was during a particularly bad time in Oikawa's life, over two years after the incident that turned him into the beast he was now. He would never forget the terrible monstrosity his friend had become.

And it was only getting worse. Iwaizumi watched as his friend got up and fumbled for his seal kit, haphazardly putting together the rune brush and witch blade. After his first outburst, he'd taken to sealing his devil down as far as he could get it without forsaking it completely. So far the seals had held and kept him docile, if not slightly high at all times, but lately he'd noticed Oikawa seemed more alert and fine tuned to everyone around him.

"Here." Oikawa handed him the blade and motioned to the only unmarked section of his body: his left pectoral. He had drowned the rest in intricate scrolling linework dotted with the occasional decorative snake and panther, scarred to be permanent and inked over to hold the seal. "Do it."

It was the first time he'd ever asked him to do it before.

Iwaizumi accepted the blade with a narrowed gaze. "Why do you want me to do it? Don't you usually do it?"

"Yes. And I would have." Oikawa's eyes were unusually bright in the darkness as he regarded his friend. "But lately they've become immune to my magic, so I figured you would be a good buffer to set me right for a bit."

Iwaizumi could see the devil lurking in his aura. With a sigh, he got up and waved Oikawa to lay down on the couch. "You know, Shittykawa, we've been friends forever and I still don't know why you're like this."

"And if I have my way, you never will," he replied with a hard edge to his voice. "Get to carving."

He sighed and lifted the blade to his skin. Oikawa seemed oblivious to the pain he should be in from his heavy hand. He stared at the ceiling and drummed his fingers to a beat only he could hear, oddly mimicking the pattern of a heart, and vanished into a world of his own creation. Iwaizumi could see him zone out and relax. Whatever he was imagining it had also calmed the devil down to the point he had a hard time sensing it.

Interesting.

When he was finished and had followed the pattern with an ink seal, Oikawa snapped out of it and his devil was present again like a third entity in the room.

"Thanks, Iwa." He rolled his shoulder and got up off the couch. Blood ran down his chest and he didn't seem to care, just swiped at it with a stray shirt and tossed it into a laundry basket. He then reached for a bottle of whiskey he had on his desk, uncorking it and taking a deep swig. "So what were you here for? Other than to make remarks about my sexual proclivities of course."

"Right." Iwaizumi had almost forgotten. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, scrolling to a text message and tossing it to Oikawa. He caught it effortlessly, the devil's reflexes more accurate than usual. "There's a match tomorrow night, midnight. The betting pool is pretty high. I figured you would be interested."

"You'd be right." They both listened to his hookup slam the door down in the stairwell; Iwaizumi with a grimace and Oikawa with a dark smirk. "She didn't do the job so a fight would do me some good."

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Sex didn't do anything for your temper? That's new."

"Yeah." His brows furrowed in thought and suddenly he was far away again, somewhere Iwa couldn't reach him. "A lot of things are new lately."

"Tooru, what's really got you wound up like this?"

Oikawa blinked at the sound of his first name. He almost seemed offended but thought better of the first thing he wanted to say and regarded Iwaizumi with a long stare.

He almost thought he would give in and tell him.

And then the devil made him close up, his eyes hardening like chips of ice. He took another swig of his whiskey.

Iwa: 0. Devil: 1.

"Guess not." He patted his thighs and Oikawa tossed him his phone back. "Well, I'm gone. Let me know if you need anything."

Again, he seemed on the verge of asking; but every time the devil stopped him.

"I will," Oikawa said, instead, a fake smile erupting across his face. Iwaizumi hated it. "Have a good night, Iwa."

He gave him a two fingered salute and headed for the door, locking it behind him.

Oikawa tapped his fingers against the glass bottle and drained the rest of it in one go, slamming it down on the desk with a frustrated sigh.

The devil didn't want just any random girl.

It wanted [Name].

He had tried to put her out of his head and had succeeded for the most part. He didn't deserve her, even if she had left like he didn't matter. He would drown his sorrows in whiskey or the most potent vodka he could find. And if that didn't work, he went to taking his frustrations out on the women he took to bed. But not even that was riding over the devil now.

The devil plagued him with dreams of [Name] in that field as if it had just been hours ago and not five years. It was just as obsessive over her as he was and time had not changed that. It just made it worse.

Oikawa almost pitied himself. He was pining over a girl he wasn't even sure wanted anything to do with him anymore.

With a hard rub of his eyes, he headed to the bathroom to clean up his seal and, hopefully, manage to deal with the devil for another day.

But things, unfortunately, were never always that simple.

MASTERLIST.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >

taglist:

@dancing-in-the-rain54 • n/a

( let me know if anyone wants to be added to the taglist. 💕)

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader x iwaizumi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

30 notes · View notes