#drew adults this time around instead of kits

[dapplemoth]

Pine(star) x Jake and Tallstar x Jake

-

Their kits are both different arcs, like:

Scrouge (from Quince) | Firestar (from Nutmeg)

Jake is literally a hella Polyamorous Tom with

2 girlfriends and 2 boyfriends

As much as I like Jake and his kittens can warrior cat two legs PLEASE just neuter their damn kitties like oh my god.

PineJake kit is named Fish Sticks (Fish/ Sticks for short) and TallJake kit is named Flarestreak. more info under the cut

Pinestar and Jake actually never set out to have kittens together, but by the time they were well into dating each other Pine's two legs began to foster kittens he needed Jakes help fitting into a more fatherly figure role due to..well, you know. Jake happily agrees to help Pine watch the kittens and they're able to raise several until Pines housefolk fall in love with the she-kit named Fish Sticks and keep her permanently. Even though his twolegs don't foster anymore kittens after Fish Sticks (out of fear they will not be able to resist more cats) The cats couldn't be more content with each other. Fish Stick has a good relationship with both of her dads and even some of her half-siblings (the ones she's met, anyway) Firestar has probably encountered her at least once as a kitten and overall she lives out a long, comfortable life in the twolegplace. Although she never joined the clans, she does believe in Starclan and hopes that one day she'll be able to find Pinestar there. (And she does, she breaks into Starclan on a technicality and no one knows what to do with her its hilarious.)

Flarestreak is the only child between Tallstar and Jake (Reena was a surrogate) in a universe where Jake very briefly joins Windclan before Tallstar realizes Jake is sacrificing his own happiness to be with him in the clan. After a long and painful discussion, Tallstar and Jake separate and he tells the clan that Jake had passed away in order to protect his partners integrity as well as the reputation of their future kit. When Flarekit is born, she is raised within the clan first until she's old enough to decide if she wants to live as a clan cat, kitty pet, or even travel as a rogue with Reena if that's what she prefers. Flarekit decides to stay with Tallstar and though it is bittersweet, Tallstar cannot help be relieved that his kit chose clan life with him. She grows up into a fine warrior, arguably the fastest cat in both the forest and lake territories. Throughout her life, she tries to hold onto her fathers virtues in spite of it all, her fire for life never extinguished no matter how impossible the odds (I'd imagine her and Onestar have a..complicated relationship) She doesn't retire to the elders den until the later half of the broken code and is probably still kicking by the time a starless clan ends. Despite what you may think, she looks great for her age as an elder, and probably invents warriors yoga classes or something like that to keep herself spry. Everyone jokes that she refuses to die until the day Windclan doesn't need her help anymore, which likely isn't anytime soon.

[authoralexharvey]

INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @andromedaexists

Who You Are:

Andromeda || He/they

I am a student in undergrad with a Classics major and two minors in Latin and Attic Greek that likes to write!

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Fantasy, Horror, Tragedy. New Adult and Adult

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Tragedy 100%

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

High Fantasy. I do write fantasy, but the world of high fantasy are just something that I cannot figure out on my own. I'm also very particular on what high fantasy I will read because of how hard it is for me to keep everything straight.

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

I think my ideal target audience is the social outcasts. I write for the queers, the country folk, and disabled folk. Honestly now that I put it like that, I write for myself and people like me. People that have been overlooked for far too long in media in my opinion.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

I focus a lot on expressing emotion and anger in my writing. My stories tend to revolve around characters who are angry for one reason or another. Icarus is angry about his abuse under the ATLAS program, Kit is angry about the lies that the church has spread for centuries and the fact that they kept a God chained in the basement, Ash is angry that he opened himself up to love only to have it taken from him too early. These themes drew me in and kept me captive for so long now that they became my home. I think it originally started because I am autistic and was raised without that knowledge. As a country kid who doesn't quite grasp what's socially appropriate, you end up being pigeon-holed and told that the only appropriate emotion is anger. I have spent a long time unlearning this, but good lord is there a lot to be angry about in life and this is how I get to express it. Anger and hatred run rampant in my stories alongside other themes and tropes. I am quite fond of found family and every piece of writing I produce does contain that to a certain extent.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

I cannot stand the common trope of older person with a barely legal lover. It is very 'popular' in literature right now and I just cannot stand it. It creeps me out, frankly. Like, why couldn't they find a lover their own age? Or, better yet, why not just write the older lover as someone with a reasonable age for the main character? Why does he have to be hundreds or thousands of years old? Why couldn't he be in his twenties, too?

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

I have a couple projects under my belt at the moment. My biggest project is Call Me Icarus, the book that introduced me to the writeblr community in the first place! It is a tragedy following Icarus as he takes a look behind the curtain of the Elysian Program and sees the disgusting framework that he was disillusioned to. Now the only thing on his mind is bringing down the program and the entire ATLAS corporation. Will he be able to when the world seems set against him? Who knows! I sure don't, I haven't written that far yet😅 My next project is Desecrate, a novella exploring the idea of a slight change in history and the creation of the Catholic Church. Basically, what if there were two gods instead of just one and we chained the God of the Material in the basement? My final project is just a collection of short stories. I plan on writing a short story every month this year to just keep myself writing. So far, I have Death Comes For Us All, a short story about grief and losing a loved one. This month (February) will be a retelling of Orpheus & Eurydice's myth!

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

I write because I want to. Honestly, I write because I had an idea for a story I'd like to read and realized that no one else was going to write it. When I tell you that I am going to read and re-read Call Me Icarus so many times when I publish it. I am so excited!

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

I have been writing on and off my entire life, but once I entered high school and college it switched strictly to academic and scientific writing. As far as creative writing goes, I did Power of the Pen in middle school (A competition where we had an hour to hand-write a story from scratch). I didn't pick up creative writing again until last year when I started Call Me Icarus.

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

I get inspiration from everywhere. I like to write about the modern times, and take my inspiration from wherever I can. However, the way I do this is through a lens of the past. With my major being in Classics, I tend to read a lot of ancient stories and documents. These tend to give me interesting ideas and perspectives on today's issues that I end up putting on paper!

What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?

I am extremely proud of Call Me Icarus so far. It has been a roller coaster, but I am extremely proud of how well I am managing to get down exactly what I am thinking. As far as actually published works, I am proud of Death Comes For Us All. IT is a hard read, as it is supposed to be, but it is written well and makes you feel. Do I know what it makes you feel? No, I can only speak for myself. But more me, I am able to feel Ash's anger and sadness when I read the story.

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

Kinda? I put Death Comes For Us All up on my Ko-Fi, but it's technically not publish truly yet. I plan on publishing it officially in an anthology at the end of the year. I do want to be published. I was looking at Nathrheim Publishing here on Tumblr as a home for Call Me Icarus since it would fit well there, however I am now looking at other publishing houses. I want to traditionally publish, but I am also open to self publishing if I can't find a home for my works for any reason (the trans main character. That's going to be the biggest hurdle). (ALEX: It's been over a year since I collected this interview and now CMI has been published!!)

What part of the publishing process most appeals to you? What part least appeals to you?

I am looking forward to the design aspect. I have ideas for what I want the cover of CMI to look like, but I am obviously no artist. I am really looking forward to what an actual artist can do with it! I just really love the idea of giving someone my book and being like "what visual image to you think encompasses this story". I wanna see what all people come up with! One the other hand, though, I am not looking forward to editing. I tend to become… set in my ways. I like what I write and don't take criticism well (unless I specifically ask for it). I know this is something that I will have to get over and deal with, but I have heard horror stories of editors basically changing a story through the editing process and I Do Not Want that.

What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?

Ironically my favorite part of the writing process is editing. Like, everything is down on paper and I get to polish it and make it into exactly what I want! What isn't there to love about that! Going in hand with that, my least favorite part of the writing process is the writing. I have a thing where my brain gets really upset if what I write isn't perfect right out the gate. This makes it difficult to just get the story out! Some recent advice that I'm trying to take to heart though is the idea that the first draft is just to get the idea on paper, the second draft is to transcribe it into your language of choice (for me, English).

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

🤣 now that's a funny question, Alex. My writing process is "Open Scrivener and stare at the same three words until I get tired and go to bed". I am trying to establish a better process, but it's really hard. I have a tendency to actually write when I'm not supposed to, so I keep Scrivener open now and write in the down times between classes or during 'mandatory meetings'. As far as a setup goes, I've got it good. I have three monitors and a laptop as well as a desktop (thank you work). I have Scrivener on both, so I can type in my good good work setup as well as anywhere else I wanna write. In the warmer months I tend to sit out on my balcony and write or take my laptop with me down to my little nook on the river. It's wonderful! I feel like "Writing in pure chaos" is the perfect way to explain my writing method. As you know, one of the quotes I live by is "Be the Chaos you wish to see in the world" and my writing is no different. I live and thrive in chaos!

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

I have been in writeblr for about 6 months. I originally joined when I asked my at-the-time studyblr if I should write a novel. From there, writeblr found me, abducted me, and bribed me to stay with good company and amazing reads!

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

oooo there's so many! Well, first on the list is you! You were one of the first writeblrs to find me and actually talk to me and I will always appreciate that! I'm going to do this sort of rapid-fire, because there are so many wonderful people I have met on here! let's start with @writingpotato07, who is just so kind and supportive all the time! There's also @crypticcodexcreations, @smol-feralgremil, @writteninstarlight, @lockejhaven, @inkspellangel, and @witherednightmare who I would describe as my closes friends on this side of the internet! There's also @wildjuniperjones (one of my writeblr parental units), @the-finch-address (and fleet two, both of y'all are amazing and great to have as friends), @artbyeloquent, @howlingbreeze, @flowerprose, and so many more! honestly too many to list out!! A lot of these people found me first, and all of them have amazing wips and great personalities that keep me following them!

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

I really like the community. I have run into an issue as of late with certain people, but even with that damper the community is still just so accepting and loving. I have met amazing people through here and hope to meet many more in the future!

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

I think we need to work on not attacking each other. I have seen too many people take just one line of a multi paragraph post and twist it to fit their perceived "wrong" and then use it against others. I firmly stand against doing that, especially now that I have been on the receiving end of it. I think we collectively need to do better about reading a person's whole post and understanding that not everything is a personal attack, sometimes things are just worded wrong in the heat of emotion.

How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?

I like to participate in events and send asks to people! I also post my own writing and do my best to reblog other's writing and encourage them. I don't think there is anything more I could be doing, I know there is. I can always be more present and just do better at being here and being happy and encouraging. However, I am just a human and am trying my darndest!

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

Lore posts! I love learning about other people's lore!

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

I like sharing my writing and making shitposts about my characters

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

I am technically on twitter still, tho not really. I do have a tiktok @/andromedatalks that I plan on starting up again! Other than that, not really. i just like my anonymous corner of the internet over here lol

[jihyuncompass]

Link to the Other Boys

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Giving: Physical Touch

Luke could always tell when you were having nightmares. Even in your sleep you didn’t hide your emotions from him well. He could tell by the way your nose scrunched up, how you seemed more tense than you normally were while you slept. 

He watched the way your face tensed up, how your hands balled into fists as you clung to his shirt. Your face pressing into his chest further, hide you were trying to hide from something. 

Watching you for a while his hand lifted up to rub circles into your back, he didn’t want to wake you up just yet, hoping that maybe the nightmares would go away with some time so you could rest peacefully. However the more that time passed the more tense you became, clearly this wasn’t a nightmare that you were going to be able to shake off in your sleep. 

“Hey.” Luke said, his voice is soft as not to scare you awake. He shook your shoulder. “Hey, wake up.” Not seeing your eyes open he shook you a bit harder, not enough to startle you yet, but the motion did force you to open your eyes. Bleary and hazy from all your sleep. 

You lifted your heavy head off his chest, glancing around the room to get a grip on your surroundings. You were in Luke’s apartment, the sun was still high in the sky but starting to fall into the early evening. Trying to recall the events before you drifted off you could remember watching a movie with Luke after coming to his apartment. You’d helped around the antique store for a couple hours, then you’d come up to rest and watch a movie. Then you must have fallen asleep. 

The next thing you remembered was the dream you’d had. How you’d been trapped, stuck. The dream remained in your mind as only vague images and the way it had made you feel, your heart was still beating fast and heavy. A layer of sweat coating your skin. 

“What happened?” You asked him, voice hoarse from sleep. Luke looked concerned, his hand rubbing circles into your back. 

“It looked like you were having a nightmare.” Luke said, gently he pulled you back down to lay against his chest, embracing you tighter. You melted into his embrace, holding to him. 

“I was having a nightmare.” You said. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Luke asked. You shook your head. 

“No. I don’t even really remember what happened. I just remember that it was a nightmare.” Luke glanced down at you, his face etched with concern. Holding you tighter he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m okay. I promise.” You whispered. 

Luke didn’t loosen his grip on you. “I just don’t want you to be scared, and it looked like the dream was pretty scary.” You shifted your head to look up at him. 

“Luke, I promise I’m okay.” You said. “Nightmares happen, but I’m okay.” Luke sat up, lifting you with him so you both were upright. His arms around your waist to keep you close. 

“Do you promise you’re okay?” He asked, voice soft with concern. You nodded, reassuring him again. Leaning forward Luke kissed you, pulling you closer as your hand reached up to rest on his shoulders. 

As he pulled away his hand went to cup your face, brushing his thumb against your cheek. Smiling down at him you kissed him again, letting him keep you close. 

“I love you.” You whispered. 

“I love you too.” Luke said back, bringing you into a tight hug. “I love you so much.” 

Once Luke could allow himself to let you go he pulled himself just enough to see your face clearly. His eyes were staring right into yours, warm and full of love. His fingers traced shapes into your back as he held you, completely focused on you. 

“Luke?” You said. “What’s on your mind?” 

“Just you.” He said. “I know you came here to help with the store but. Could we stay like this for just a little while longer?” 

Grinning you nodded. Luke brought you in to kiss you again, deeper and more hungry than he had before. His softness started to slip away to become something else. Smiling into his kiss you didn’t even dream of pulling away. 

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Receiving: Gift Giving 

You’d given Luke millions of gifts over your lifelong friendship. Everything from birthday gifts to holiday gifts to just little presents here and there because you’d felt like it. Over the years giving gifts had just been a regular thing you did for him, a way to show him just how much you care. 

Even after he had left you still thought about him often. Even accidentally buying things you normally would have given to him, but instead they just ended up as boxes in your closet, or knick knacks on your shelf. A pile of things you mentally planned on giving him once you had the opportunity. 

At some point you had stopped buying those little things. It seemed that you finally realized and game to terms with the fact that Luke had left, and you couldn’t just give him these things anymore. So you had just stopped buying them. Then of course, Luke came back, and it was both like nothing had changed, and everything had changed.

There was something about old bookstores that drew you in. Maybe it was the smell of the old books or the excitement about the possibility of finding something rare but every time you came across one you couldn’t help but to wander in at least for a few minutes. 

You wandered through the shelves, reading the spines as you went. The shop wasn’t large by any means, the shelves were tight and close together, books crammed tightly onto the shelves to keep as many books as possible. You ran your fingers over the spines of the books, reading the titles as you went. 

Stopping at the end of one of the shelves you stopped as your fingers landed on one of the books. Carefully you pulled the book from the shelf, looking at the cover. The words had been worn away with age but you could still make out the title. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. 

You flipped through the pages, careful not to damage the already old paper as you skimmed it.  You’d seen dozens of copies of this book before, however this was the first time you’d seen a copy this old. Turning it over in your hands without thinking much on it walked towards the checkstand, handing over the book to the man behind the counter. 

You waited until the end of the next NXX meeting to give the book to Luke. Between his own schedule and your work it was hard to arrange times for the two of you to meet, so it seemed most time effective to just wait for a few days when you knew you’d see him. 

As the others took off you’d asked Luke to stay for a little while. Your request had earned a strange look from him but no argument as he waited for the others to leave first. 

“I have something for you.” You said, reaching for your bag. 

“You do?” Luke asked, his brow was raised as you dug around in your bag. Feeling your fingers brush against the book you pulled it out. To protect the already old book you had wrapped it up. Perfect for keeping it safe and even more perfect for presenting it as a gift. 

“For you!” You said, handing over the packaged gift. Luke paused holding the gift in his hands. He stared at the gift wrap for a moment, glancing up at you as if to ask permission to open it. You motioned to the package. “Go on, open it.” 

Luke tore open the paper, careful to not do any damage to the gift inside. Seeing the book he was careful to remove it from the packaging. His eyes widened as he realized the title of the book. 

“Wow.” He said, a bit stunned. 

“Do you like it? I’ve never seen a copy so old in person so I thought you’d appreciate it.” You explained. 

Luke stared at the book in shock for another moment before finding the words he needed. “I do. I-” He broke into a smile, looking up at you. “I love it.” 

“I know it’s an old copy, so you probably can’t do much reading out of it but.” You shrugged. “Between your love of Sherlock Holmes and your antique shop. This just seemed right up your alley.” 

Running his fingers across the cover Luke smiled. “I’ll treasure it then. Keep it safe.” He held the book close to his chest. I promise to take care of it.” 

Your heart soared seeing Luke’s happy face. Seeing him like this reminded you just how much he hadn’t changed since childhood. Despite being grown now and looking more adult, some things about him had never changed. Including his smile when you gave him a gift. 

Not long after you and Luke said your goodbyes. You headed off to work while Luke went back to the antique store. The book carefully tucked away into his bag as he went. 

As soon as he returned he hurried upstairs to his apartment. He couldn’t spend much time up there but he did need to do one important thing. 

Taking the book from his bag he admired it. The worn cover, the fading lettering on the spine, the slightly yellow pages that crinkled as he turned them. Seeing it all brought a smile to his face. 

Being careful he adjusted his shelf, making room for the book to slide onto the shelf. Stepping away Luke admired the shelf filled with small knick knacks and other books. Copies of other classic novels, kid detective kits, even a couple funny shaped rocks. All the things on display had one thing in common with one another. Each one had been a gift from you, although it’d been hard, he fought tooth and nail to hold onto even after he left. Now he was able to keep them displayed like this. 

He needed to go downstairs, he thought. He couldn’t leave the store unattended for much longer. But before he left he shifted a few of the objects on the shelf, making a little more space. 

More space, for the other little things he could only hope you’d give him.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

What is August going to do if his little decides to play with his forbidden knife collection? :3

Omg so this took a while and i'm sorry but im sooo happy with this! It got a little long so im hidig it under a cut but i hope you enjoy! @littlefreya @viking-raider

August swore vehemently looking around for the blades he'd sharpened specifically for his next assignment.

This needed to be silent and precise, he'd sharpened each blade twice! Not once but twice!

He wouldnt even attempt his 'arm hair' shave test this time knowing he may have gone over board with the sharpening.

But he couldnt help it, he found it therapeutic running his hands over the blades again and again, it was like medatation for him.

But they were no where to be seen! Hed placed them each delicatly in the rolled travelling leather holster, useing the small poppers to lock each dangerous blade in place and then hid it in the small safe in the wardrobe.

"Baby girl! LITTLE ONE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE SAFE?!" He shouted down the stairs only not to get an answer, the radio on the kitchen drowning him out.

You were baking, well 'bakeing' he had bought a 'unicorn gingerbread box kit' for you both to make today.

It was a small treat he would spend the day with you doing anything your little heart desires befor setting off onto his week long mission.

You were currently rolling out the gingrbread and he had decided to sneak his weapons into his bag while you were preoccupied.

August never liked rubbing innhis occupation with you, never liked faceing the awkward questions, he wont lie to you but in being truthfull he can sometimes frighten you.

In the bedroom he was as ruthless and rough and demanding as he was at work.

But like this when you were little, you drew out a softer side. Well as soft as he was capable of, he was a stern man in everything he did, even in daddying you.

August huffed and zipped his case violently stressing out he needed to go down and pversee ou before you did something foolish, like tried to put the gingerbread in the oven.

Your panicked hyperventilating and bitten 9ff screams drew his attention immediatly!

He bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, so panicked by the cries and screams from the kitchen he raced through the housestomping and crashing with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

Oh hell.

He froze, face paling mouth agape as he took in the scene.

Then he roared in a way you'd never heard.

You cowered holding your hand tightly as it bled profusely red life blood poured all over the white counter ruining the sheet pan dusted with what was once pure white flour.

The blood was also over the rolled out gingerbread, along with a very familiar knife.

You cried and staggered over you august holding your wound tightly tripping over your feet to him, wandering blindly unable to see much through your tears. Or hear past your frantic crying and yelps of "daddy!?"

August quickly decended on you grasping a teatowel from the laundry basket on the counter and tookover holding your offered wounded hand whislts snappjng at you in worry fueled anger.

"What the fuck are you dojng with that!? They are daddies special knives! You know not to touch thwm you silly little girl!"

"I'm s-so-rry! OUCH, NO-OO DAD-DY IT HURTS!" You cried out complaining as he dabbed the wound inspecting it.

It wasnt to deep just long, across the whole of your palm. He could tell your slipped and probably didnt evwn notice youd cut yourself untill it'd sliced fully across.

He'd sharpened them that much.

"You will be! By god little lady you will ne so very very sorry when im done woth you!"

"Come on sit down before you pass out and bleed all over the kitchen" he said tying a knot in two corners ot the teatowle making a triangle like a sling and looped it around your palm then fetched a wooden spoon slotting it in the large opening and began twisting it tight making a tourniquet.

You hissed as he pulled the clother thighter and tighter then slipped the wooden spoon into your fingers holding the teatowel still, before raising your hand high letting gravityhelp slow the bleeding.

"Now hold that there, dont you move, w need to stop the bleeding so i can mend it" he snipped grunting to himself. He wasnt worried as such, it looked worse than it was he had tended to worse on himself.

"Y-you can fix it da-ddy?" You sobbed tryi g to be brave but you were shaking like a leaf, youd never bled that much before.

"Yes daddy can fix it poppet, daddy can always fix it" he said quickly pulling out his... vast medic kit that was fully stocked to deal with everything from burns and cuts to bullet woulds and decapitated fingers. Because ou never know.

"A-are you mad da-addy?!" You whined eyes wide as he huffed and sighed dragging his hands through hos hair irritated

"Im not angry im very very disappointed. And you can bet your little ass is gonna be meeting that spoon shortly!" He said vehemently trying to calm himself and remind himself it wasnt too serious and he could deal with this cut.

You didnt even argue just looked down, dropping your watery eyes to the floor like a kicked puppy, and it wasnt even to soften him either.

"Why were you touching daddies private things?" He spoke tyring to take both his and your mind off your wound as he located everything he needed from the box.

"A'cos i wa-nted to see...they were shiney after you were polishin'em" you explained hicupping slowly weeping still as the pain and throbbing set in.

"I was sharpening them poppet, not polishing" he uttered quickly with a sigh trying to find a quaze big enough to wrap in a bandage.

"I just wanted to see... Never gon' touch" you sobbed bijng your lip eyes flickingnup the the now red teatowel, your figers were going a ittle numb from the tight tourniquet.

"And then?" He asked quirking a brow as you before waling to the kitchen sink washing and rinsing the washing up bowl thoroughly befpre filling with fresh warm water and a new clean cloth.

"Then the box said cut round the unicorns with a knife... And I already got it out to look at" you said shrugging a little as he moveed down your hand. Luckily the bleedig had stopped.

"I also says let and adult do it" your daddy chided as he slowly and gwntly unwrapped your hand making our fingers sting a little at the renewed bloodflow

"Im an-adult" you argued weakly then hissed as he begancleani g the wound dabbig it ever so lightly knowig he had to use clean water instead of antiseptic that could slow the healing of the delicate skin.

"Your a baby" he said with a roll of his eyes 'a spoilt baby' he added as an after thought to himself.

"...but im carful never cut myself with my big girl knives!" You agrued then gasped giving a small 'uh oh' you mouth had run away with you again.

"You mean the kitchen knives?" August asked quickly coming down on the new information like a... well hammer on a land mine.

"No... my saftey knives daddy" you uttered under your breath hissing as he moved on to the next stage of tending to your wound pressing the gauze to it.

"What do you mean your safety onives little one?" He said paying close attention to the bandages he was unravling over your hand trying to keep it firm but comfortable.

"My safety knives... i-in my purse?... Incase of baddies" you whispered slowly praying he wouldnt hear you. But his fingers paused for a second before quickly tying off the bandage in a knot and gave you a fierce look.

"You have knives in your?- wait hold-" august frowned and held a hand up singnalling you to stay then left the kitchen.

He returned moments later and emptied your pjrse only to growl shaking his had as a plethora of 'cute' weapons fell out. Hello kitty switch blades, rainbow blades, pink pocket knives and suspicious looking comb, key knives, pen knives you name it! There was even a ... cat keyring obviously meant to be some sort of pointy eared knuckle duster.

"Really poppet? Knives and... knuckle dusters- these are" he began scolding you but you cut him off

"I know i know daddy im sorry-" your apology was halted as your daddy spoke over you in a warning to e, he didnt like being interrupted.

"No where near good enough! These are all close range! If your close enough to use these then your already fucked! No you need pepperspray and a tazer!" He growled quickly picking up the feeble knives that had no grip to them, and wasnt ever sharp!

"T-tazer?" You stuttered tiltinnyour head cradling your injured hand to your chest.

"Yes, they are close range but will stop any attacker in their tracks! You can get away whilst your attacker is convulsing and laying in a pool of his own piss!" August growled becoming more and more aggravated as he realised you had now real way of protecting yourself when he wasnt around, big or little!

"Im getting you a tazer- today! Before i leave" he decided nodding to himself as he binned the now soiled teatowel and wash cloth.

"...can i have a pink one daddy?" You asked not being the slightest bit against having a tazer, it would make you feel alot safer then a knife.

Knives needed a proper opening and some brute force to protect you and could really really hurt someone!

A tazer was just a button and could work nomatter where ou hit the baddy and would kill them just make em gall over and pee.

"You can have a pink one princess... or a lipstick one or a tampon one?" Auguast suggested trying to thinl of the best one for you... he was sure a smaller discreet one whould be better than a law enforcement grade.

"That sounds uncomfortable daddy..." you uttered shuddering at the thought of that... being mistaken.

"Its not really a- fuck it... Right come on lets get in the living room you can go pick a tazer online" he said beginni g to pack up the first aid kitpillig everthing neatly into the box.

"O-okay... but no spankies daddy... I'm hurt" you warned cautiously waving your bandaged hand

"Yes spankies! Absolutly spankies! You take this spoon with you and you can pop it on the table as a reminder!" He ordered holding you with a level gaze blue eyes warning you to do as you were told.

"But my hand-" you said sniffling cradling it.

"Will be the least of your problems when I'm tanning your naughty butt! Now go or else" he threataned clipping the first aid box shut still watching you, staring unblinkingly.

"Or else what-" you started but your daddy was havig none of it and cut you off again.

"There is a silicone butter icing spreader in this kitchen that will be much worse than thw wooden spoon! Now get in the living room befpre i make you find it" he growled not about to let you throw a paddy about getting your ass blistered after the stunt you pulled.

Your lower lip wobbled but yu nodded giving up, plucking the wooden spoon and turning around leaing the kitchen in a walk of shame muttering a tiny 'yes daddy, sorry daddy'

Auguast watched with a stern face, before turning his attention to the bloody kitchen he will clean before coming to deal with you.

A good fifteen mineut wait will let you have time to reflect before he comes in and tans you hide.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Leather Jacket

Summary: Your genius business idea seemed to have attracted the wrong sort of people to your brother’s bar- at first

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 2.3k (one shot)

Warnings: Moderate smut, language

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a shorter story but I got carried away :)

---

‘Same again, oh sweet goddess of the nectar.’

‘You keep that up George and I might have to take you home with me tonight.’ 

You smiled at the swaying, grey-bearded man supporting himself on the bar, before moving over to the beer tap and refilling his used pint glass. Most punters would get a fresh one each time, but George was never sober enough to care. Steve trudged towards you with a crate half-full of dirty glasses and dropped them on the counter exasperatedly. 

‘Everything alright?’ You asked.

‘Not really.’ He leant against the counter and crossed his arms. ‘It’s the same as last night and the night before- I’m barely making ends meet. When I bought this place we had at least twice as many regulars as we do now. What am I doing wrong?’

You’d worked in your brother’s bar for three years now and you hated to admit it, but the place had gone downhill. It was clean and the booze was cheap enough, but there was no real reason for someone to stop there instead of at the three other bars on the street. 

‘Maybe it’s not about what you’re doing wrong, maybe you’re just not doing enough things right...’ You were careful choosing your words, not wanting to upset him. 

‘What the hell does that mean?’ 

‘Well, the bar down the street seems to have a little monopoly on attracting those biker guys- if we could get some of them in here we’d be sorted.’ 

Steve actually seemed to be considering your idea, which was new. Usually he treated you like a child. 

‘I’ll think about it.’

---

When you arrived at the bar the next evening, you were taken aback by what you saw hanging in the window. A huge piece of neon-yellow card that’d been scrawled on in black marker.

‘Leather jacket = 20% off drinks’. 

Christ. No subtlety there. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but at least he was trying. You noticed that there were no bikes parked outside, so it must not have worked yet. Opening the door, you saw an empty bar, as usual.

‘Just give it time.’ Steve said to you at least ten times during the first two hours of your shift. ‘It’s foolproof.’

Much to your annoyance, he was right. About half an hour later you heard a chorus of motorbike engines approach the bar and then shut off simultaneously. Steve gave you an excited grin. 

The door swung open and a dozen surly-looking guys in leather jackets spilled in. One of them, presumably their leader, approached the bar and asked Steve for twelve of his cheapest beers. 

You glanced over at him. He was handsome- really handsome. Slicked back hair, stubble and bright blue eyes. He spoke with a pretty thick Brooklyn accent, joking with his friends whilst passing round the bottles. You only realised how inconspicuously you’d been staring when he met your eyes and gave you a knowing smirk. Whoops. 

‘How soon is too soon to say I told you so?’ Steve propped himself next to you with a smug smile.

‘It’s still too soon.’ You feigned sadness, pushing past him to go on a glass run. ‘My feelings about the situation are very raw.’ 

Before you could move more than a few steps, Handsome stopped you in your tracks. 

‘Could we get a couple more beers darlin’?’ 

‘Sure’ you muttered, trying to avoid the eyes of both your smug brother and the attractive stranger. When he took the bottles from your hands he smirked at you again and your stomach flipped. 

Nah, you weren’t about to hook up with a random stranger at your brother’s dive bar- that’d be a terrible habit to get into. Next thing you knew you’d be waking up next to George. 

You collected a couple glasses, absentmindedly humming along to the rock music that Steve played because he thought it gave the place ‘an edge’, when someone grabbed your arm. They yanked it, hard, causing you to drop the crate. 

‘When you gonna marry me sweetheart?’ your captor slurred, uncomfortably close to your ear. 

‘Rumlow you fuckin’ asshole, you know you’re now allowed in here anymore.’ You tried to pull your arm out of his grasp but he squeezed tighter and drew you closer to him. ‘I swear to god let me go or else-’

‘Or else what, sweetheart?’ His hot liquor breath spread all over your face. You backed away, just about to shout for Steve. 

‘Or else you’ll be leaving on a stretcher.’ A gruff voice from behind you chimed in. You spun your head round. Handsome was still sitting on a bar-stool, holding his beer, but his head was turned and he was staring intently towards the two of you. Looking around, you saw that all of his leather-jacketed friends were doing the same.

Rumlow gave an indignant laugh. ‘You know who I am?’

‘I couldn’t give a fuck.’ Handsome stood up and approached the man who still had your arm grasped tightly. ‘Let her go and leave quietly, you don’t want any trouble.’ 

Your arm was finally released. The two of them were squaring up, you could see the shit heading towards the fan. 

‘Alright guys, break it up.’ Seemingly from nowhere, Steve placed himself between them, setting a hand firmly on each of their shoulders. Neither of them broke eye contact. ‘Rumlow, you need to go.’

You barely processed what was happening, it was so fast. Rumlow swung his fist up and hit your brother right on the cheekbone. Steve stumbled backwards, and less than a second later five guys in leather jackets had Rumlow pushed up against the bar, with Handsome’s hand firmly against his neck. You sprinted towards Steve, steadying him on his feet and examining the side of his face intently. 

Handsome didn’t take his eyes off his target. ‘You need him gone?’

‘That’d be great.’ Steve replied while you ushered him towards a bar-stool and found the first aid kit. 

Rumlow was lifted off the ground by a cluster of leather and unceremoniously thrown onto the street outside. 

Once the vigilantes had returned, Steve reached out to shake their leader’s hand. ‘Thanks for that. I appreciate you looking out for my sister. When she stops fussing she’ll grab you all a round of drinks, on the house.’ 

‘Anytime.’ Handsome replied, flashing you a wide smile. 

The rest of your shift was, thankfully, pretty quiet. The leather jackets stayed for hours and almost bought the bar out of cheap beer. Despite the throbbing pain in his face, Steve was thrilled. If this kind of business carried on he might even be able to open a chain. 

Closing time came, you grabbed your jacket and headed out, leaving Steve to happily cash up. When you opened the door you were marginally surprised that Rumlow wasn’t still lying in the gutter- he must’ve scuttled back to his cave. 

It was a beautiful evening. You stood outside and took a deep breath of fresh air.

‘You need a ride home?’ 

Startled, you turned to your left and saw Handsome, standing by a motorcycle and finishing off a cigarette.

‘How much have you had to drink?’

He chuckled and dropped the cigarette butt. ‘Probably too much. How about I walk you home?’

‘It’s three blocks and I’ve done it every night for three years- I think I’ll be alright. Thanks anyway.’

‘Well why don’t you let me take you for a ride? Tomorrow night?’ He was persistent, you’d give him that.

‘My mother told me not to trust strange men with motorbikes.’

‘Am I a strange man?’

You smiled and turned to walk away, adding over your shoulder ‘Jury’s out.’ 

‘The name’s Bucky by the way.’ He shouted after you. 

You didn’t look back, but you guessed that wouldn’t be the last you saw of Bucky.

---

As predicted, the leather jackets turned up at the bar again the next night, much to Steve’s delight. Bucky planted himself down on a bar stool in front of you. 

‘Eleven beers and a tap water.’ He passed the beers out amongst his friends, shooting you suggestive looks over the rim of his water glass. 

For the rest of the evening you fought an internal war. On the one hand, you were a grown-ass adult and you were allowed to hook up with devastatingly attractive men on motorbikes if you wanted to. On the other, you didn’t want to make a habit of hopping into bed with seasoned bar-dwellers. Christ, you wished you weren’t so susceptible to a deep voice and a good smile.

When you left, he was waiting outside for you again. 

‘I’m stone-cold darlin’. How about that ride?’ 

‘If I say no, will you give up?’

His smile widened into a grin and you went a bit wobbly. ‘What do you think?’

‘Alright. Just to shut you up.’ 

You approached his motorbike, grabbing the helmet he was holding out for you. He straddled the silver machine and patted the seat behind him. Cautiously, you joined him on the bike, making an effort to keep a pretty sizeable gap between his back and your body. 

‘You’ll want to hold on tight darlin’. I don’t hold back when I’m trying to impress.’

‘I think I’ll be alright.’ 

He gunned the engine and sped away from the bar. Less than a couple seconds after you’d set off, you found yourself swiftly closing the gap and grasping Bucky’s waist as tight as you could. He wasn’t joking about holding back. You buried your face in the back of his shoulder and felt his chest vibrating- he was laughing, obviously very pleased with himself. You stayed in that position for a while, sneaking peeks but quickly burying your face again when you saw how fast the landscape was whizzing past. 

Finally, he stopped.

‘You can look now.’ He whispered over his shoulder.

Slowly lifting your head, you saw the breath-taking view. The Brooklyn Bridge, lit up and shining against the East River.

‘Holy shit.’ You whispered. Bucky laughed again.

‘Thought you’d like it. Beautiful, right?’

‘I’ve never seen it like this before, it’s incredible.’ 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, in awe. Both of you sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, bodies pressed together, feeling every breath and movement the other made. He closed his hands around yours, still resting at his midriff, and leaned his head back to look at you. You blushed, feeling his gaze resting on the side of your face.

The moment was shattered when you heard shouting coming from behind you.

‘Hey! No bikes in the park, asshole! What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ You turned to see a dark silhouette with a flashlight sprinting towards you.

‘That’s our cue to leave.’ Bucky declared as the motorbike roared back into life and sped away. You couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Where do you live?’ He shouted over his shoulder, and you shouted the answer back. 

A couple of blocks before your apartment, the heavens opened and rain battered down on the two of you. Still holding Bucky’s waist, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes- feeling the rain, the vibrations of the bike, the body pressed tight against yours. You’d never felt more alive. 

When the bike stopped, you hopped off and wiped the rain away from your face. Bucky stood up and moved towards you. Both of you were drenched, both breathing heavily and not taking your eyes off each other. 

He smiled, pulled you in by the waist and pressed his lips against yours.

Before you knew it, the two of you were spilling through your apartment door, mouths still locked, tearing at each other's clothes. He pulled your legs up to circle his waist and pushed your back against the inside of the door, moving his mouth down to your neck. Before you knew it you were down to just your underwear, feeling the wet fabric of his jeans scraping against your bare thighs.

‘You know’ he muttered, ‘you never even told me your name.’

You pulled his face back towards yours and, just before your mouth collided with his, you whispered, ‘y/n.’ 

‘Well, y/n’ he breathed between your lips, ‘where’s your bed?’ 

You slowly pushed him away before grabbing his wrist and tugging him towards your bedroom. Seeing the direction you were headed in, he grabbed your waist from behind and lifted you off the floor again, carrying you towards your bed. Your breath hitched and your head collapsed back onto his shoulder, your whole body going limp under his touch. 

‘You like that?’ He teased, softly biting at your ear.

You were flung onto the bed. Bucky watched as you flipped onto your back and gazed up at him in anticipation. He slowly undid his belt, stepped out of his trousers and, not moving his gaze from your face, pulled his t-shirt over his head. Climbing onto the bed, he pushed your legs apart, settling himself against you and lowering his head to your chest. 

Starting slow, building up your pleasure until you could barely think straight, he kissed and caressed every part of your body he could find. You occasionally heard a deep chuckle in response to your unbridled moaning, the gruffness of his voice and vibrations from his chest only sending you further into your spiral. You clawed at his back, feeling your climax approaching with every one of his increasingly vigorous movements. Feeling you come undone underneath him sent Bucky over the edge, and he collapsed onto your chest.

He rolled over onto his back, both of you panting and sweating. After he’d caught his breath, he moved in closer and snaked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you onto your side to rest against him.

‘I’ll be honest’ you smiled ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a cuddle-after-sex type guy.’

He kissed the top of your head, ‘I didn’t have you pegged as the kinda girl who’d end up in bed with a motorbike-riding stranger from a bar. Guess we’re both pleasantly surprised.’

---

[bonesofapoet]

We Are Unsung Hymns

[jason todd x you]

author’s note: me: im only writing requests this year! also me: what if i explored the more Intense and Darker Themes of being with an anti-hero, especially when they kinda disappear, then show up half dead for the 32nd time? me again: so what im actually saying is due to Recent Events i am once again, projecting onto jason peter todd

p.s. dont judge me for the out of context Shelley quotes + this is a little rusty, i havent written in a hot second. tw blood + injury, alcohol, adult language, loneliness.

word count: 1678 (WOW)

Silence, to you, meant many things.

It was the soft hours of dawn, honey golden light streaming through curtained windows. It was the hush in your soul after a day so divine it felt more like a dream than anything else. Silence was the eye of a hurricane, the calm before the storm.

Sometimes, it was sinister. Silence meant unknown things seeping into hairline cracks left unguarded when things had been going good, going smooth, going so well you forgot life could be anything else, forgot that surprises still existed.

A day of silence had melted seamlessly into two, then drew slowly into four, even five. It had grown harder to keep your mind from straying, to keep yourself focused on the world in front of you and the people beside you. It was easier during the day as most things seemed to be, but, well.

Things were always fine, until they weren’t fine at all.

An arm of the couch, a corner chair. The windowsill cleared of clutter for seamless exits and entries under the cover of night – they all became prime places for dreaming and thinking, for worrying and waiting. For wondering if you were even allowed to be this worried, this affected, because it wasn’t like you and Jason Todd were technically dating, after all.

It was like being suspended in a sort of limbo, a liminal space; floating at a fixed point in space and time where you danced around whatever it was that had grown and blossomed so beautifully between the two of you.

Also known as: a purgatory, of sorts.

So you scrolled through old messages, camera rolls, curled up in the windowsill with a blanket and city lights for company, with city life for a soundtrack. This all dispelled the tension, the sporadic bouts of cracked composure; reliving memories that reminded you of his warmth, of his smile, focused on the ones that surrounded you with comfort. He would come home because he always came home, in one way or another – a little rumpled and tired, or a canvas stained with his journey.

You crawled into bed, grazed fingertips feather-light across his pillow, then dreamed.

Of course Jason was fine. Probably.

-

A few days later, you had become familiar with this feeling, you realized. Adjusting, finally, to all of this from the past, the present. This was your life now, and patience was a virtue. Resilience had to become one too.

Life went on.

And then you received a message, phone vibrating while out on an errand. Twilight was fast approaching, and you tried to race against the heavenly hues as they melted into deep peony pink, bled into bruised violet, became that deep navy blue always mistaken for midnight black.

Night was unpredictable, after all, and this one was no different.

{ Tuesday, 5:36 pm. From: Roy Harper

Coming in hot }

“Oh,” you said, startled. Your feet stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, crowded and loud – then suddenly, abrasively silent – but you began to move again, when your mind remembered what, exactly, that phrase meant. “Oh.”

You were home in record time. Everything happened fast, after that.

The first aid kit was in your hands within seconds, contents already finding their way onto a table, hands acted on muscle memory as they pulled a bottle of liquor, half full, from the cabinet as your front door flew open, ricocheted off the wall.

You didn’t even flinch.

“In here!”

Heavy, shuffled footsteps followed your voice. Roy and Kory hauled Jason onto the cleared space, and you didn’t bat an eye at that either.

His gear was off already, the clothes worn underneath already stained deeper, darker, saturated in places. His white streak wasn’t so white anymore, either. The harsh overhead light hid no details, and you wished this sort of scene still made you cringe, still made your breath catch and your brow crease in worry.

No one ever thought about what changed within you, when the life you crafted was suddenly full of superheroes and vigilantes. It’s never just learning how to stitch, how to help clean fancy bulletproof kevlar, or your rugs by extension. No, some changes ran too deep for anyone to see them, except for you, in moments like these.

Jason’s eyelids fluttered open, closed, rinse, repeat. He groaned, swore brutally when you began to clean up his wounds; you had learned a thing or two by this point, and this was nothing you had not handled before. Kory and Roy held him down while you worked, while you stitched and cleaned and bandaged.

Your routine was a well oiled machine. Everything slowed down after that.

“So this is what it takes for you to answer my messages,” you said, voice loud in the fresh silence, tone caught between a soothing murmur and a sardonic dig. “Just get yourself mortally wounded, avoid all that ‘don’t worry, I’m alive,’ small talk.”

Jason swats away his Outlaws, breathed a cuss as he pushed himself unsteadily upright. He tells them to wait in the jet, and they listened only after you shrugged your indifference.

“Mortally wounded. I thought you just saved my life,” he tried to joke, but this time it didn’t quite land. Not with his voice so rough and his blood on your floor.

“Take what you need on your way out,” you offered to his friends (yours too, now, you supposed). A balm in contrast to Jason’s demand.

You shared a look with Roy and Kory before they shut the door behind them.

“Rarely a dull moment.” Jason continued, more to himself than to you. He picked up the bottle of liquor within arms reach. The cap screwed off easy and he took a drink, then another while you hid the bloody dressing in the trash.

You swore you felt every emotion under the sun in the next seconds that passed. You were careful not to overwhelm either of you with any of them.

“Why didn’t you go to the Manor? You know Alfred does a better job than I do.” your fingers grabbed the bottle cap, played with it while your heartbeat rose and rose and rose. Jason probably heard it from across the room.

You knew the answer of course, at least the one he always told you.

He was quiet this time, though. Tired eyes left yours in favor of looking out the window, curtains still wide open to the prying eyes of nightfall. He went over to close them. “You never told me, but you were worried.”

It was a small truth; he had grown to trust you with those.

You wanted to smile, but you pulled a glass down from the cabinet, filled it with water and took it to Jason instead. Tugged the bottle gently out of his hand, replaced it with the glass.

He huffed a laugh, breath hitching when the movement pulled at stitches. Jason shifted his attention back to the city beyond, peeking behind the curtain every so often. His indifference to the last twenty minutes, the last two weeks-

You ventured out, turned the words over in your mind as you spoke them. “I don’t want to ruin your dramatic return.”

“But?”

“Being temporarily ghosted gives a person time to think.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, eyes bright. “Does it?”

“Jay.” you had grown careful with your words, with their delivery, but they always said fortune favored the bold. “I know you’re not my knight in shining armor -”

Jason snorts, took a drink. You were half tempted to push him out the window.

“- and I’m the farthest thing from royalty locked in a tower,” he kept his eyes to the streets, but yours could never leave him again. They didn’t want to, now that he was here in front of you, acting as if he never left. “But it feels . . . it feels like we’re in a fairy tale, sometimes, you know? And then I don’t hear from you for weeks, or you come home with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, and I can’t help but wonder, ‘What the actual hell am I doing?”

Jason looked at you then, expression closing off, bright blues steeled. “What are you doing?”

You don’t know, and you tell him that too.

But you were still here, and you hadn’t told him to leave. He knew that, and you could see him begin to remember, see him begin to let the tension ease up just enough to be casual.

He said nothing before he stole the breath from your lungs, just like he always does.

“’Death and love are yet contending for their prey.’” he quotes, and you allow yourself that small smile then, moving close enough to touch him, for him to touch you.

You wondered how long it would take, for him to start quoting a poet. Little did he know, you spent enough of his time away reading his favorites to feel closer to your anti-hero, and, well. At long last, two could play that game.

“’Though storms may break the primrose on it’s stalk, though frosts may blight the freshness of it’s bloom, yet spring’s awakening breath will woo the earth, to feed with kindliest dews it’s favorite flower, that blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens, lighting the green wood with it’s sunny smile.’”

Jason’s grip on the glass tightened; he had to look away, because – what the fuck.

Shelley always had a way with words, but hearing them spoken in your voice, so raw and practiced with that glint in your eye -

Oh.

The expression he wore now – it was the most real, the most wholeheartedly Jason, you had ever seen. He cleared his throat. “That’s not even the same poem.”

A quiet laugh fell obnoxious and graceless through your lips, and you couldn’t stop it.

“I’ll work on that one next time you leave me.”

Jason Todd pulled you into his arms then, hid his smile in your shoulder as you held him tight, and held him close.

[aonesteddybear]

Little Maiden

tanaka ryuunosuke x  female reader

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, highly dub-con. fairy tale/red riding hood au with kitsune!tanaka (breeding, innocent!reader, knotting, manipulation, oral sex, vaginal sex, request for others)

word count: 7575

notes: this is for the hq server collab, which the prompt was fantasy. tanaka was my pick and i saw this delicous piece of artwork for kitsune tanaka...and i knew what must be done. this has some crack moments but is mostly pwp and please heed the warnings! (also spot daichi in this!) be sure to check out the masterlist here and see all the other great writings and artwork done!

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden who lived within a village on the outskirts of a forest. It was a bustling town, with plenty of travelers that came to it and held many stories. Despite this cluster of activities, the town knew not to let any of their ladies wander into the forest, and certainly not every third moon cycle when even the animals within the forest seemed jumpy and on edge. The ladies that did stray off on their own, often came back with clothes torn and speaking of a beast with nine tails disguised as a man who would trick them into performing lewd activities with him, taking their status as a maiden and leaving them heavy with child. Those that encountered him, almost never were the same, lusting after what they encountered. Often they would disappear later on, back into the woods in an attempt to find the creature, never to return.

These stories are of course whispered from adult to adult, careful not to let young ears hear in case they would seek out the beast itself to find out the source of the stories. Most travelers believed the story to be made up, a legend to account for women who sought out companionship of men before they were wed, and had to deal with the consequences when they started to present. Yet the town remained insistent, that there was a beast within the woods, and it was determined to corrupt the maidens within it.

You of course knew the whispers, or just the stories and repeated instructions to never enter by yourself. “Always take your brother,” your parents insisted, “And don’t stray from each other's sight.”

It was that mantra which was told to you yet again, as your mother fixed your cloak around your neck. “Do not leave the path, and Daichi, please do not harass your sister anymore. Stick together, closely. I need you to get this to Grandma. Go straight to her house, don’t dawdle, and do not talk to anyone, Y/N I mean it. The woods are dangerous.” Your mother insisted, pressing a kiss to your hair line as she slipped the basket into your arm. “I will see you both tomorrow.”

Your brother rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as you walked past as you slapped at him even as your mother tsked at both of you. You waved at your mother one last time before you skipped after your brother with a call of “Wait up!”

As you both disappeared into the woods, your mother's voice of “Be safe! Don’t talk to strangers!” called after you.

The start of your journey was uneventful, the trees whispering to you both as you wandered further and further along the path into the woods. Despite the forest darkening as you continued within it, the foliage along it continued to grow. Soft flowers bloomed along the path, butterflies flitting to and from them as you watched in awe.

Anytime your step would falter, convinced to go smell them your brother’s hand was firm on your back pushing you along. “Come on, we have to make it before nightfall.” He urged, and you reluctantly continued on.

As if the forest seemed to hear your internal struggles, it seemed each time the path curved a new batch would be there, with more flowers blooming within it as if you couldn’t resist the next plot. Eventually your brother opted to walk in front of you, not wanting to slow to your pace. Still he would call out for you, a “Y/N, hurry up!” anytime you would slow too much to look at the intricate  blossoms.

Still as his pace continued steady, you fell further and further behind him. Until, this time when you stopped to bend over to look at the flower stalks, his voice didn’t call out to you. You lifted your head, squinting at the darkness of the forest as you followed the path around the curve.

It will be alright, you thought to yourself, He is surely just ahead. I can smell these and then run and catch up with him.

Yet as you leaned over again, a hand reaching out to grip the orangish flower, a shadow fell over you.

“They’re foxtails.” A voice mused from behind you, causing you to jump slightly, stumbling forward as you landed in the patch as you spun around to stare up at the man who spoke.

His hair was shaved down, short which drew attention to his face instead. Sharp brows were arched as he looked down at you, who was still sprawled upon the ground, but dark lines framed his eyes, sharpening his appearance. “Here, let me help you up.” He offered a hand out, and you carefully took it.

Subconsciously, you realize just how warm the man was as he pulled you up, and you examined his clothing in confusion. His pants were baggy, hanging off his frame and he wore only a vest which revealed his stomach and arms to your view. “Are you a traveler?” You blurt out, and he smirked, looking down at his own appearance thoughtfully.

“I suppose so.” He decides on, eyeing you. “And what about you? What is a young-” he paused, inhaling softly as he eyed you up and down before he continued, “maiden, doing out here all alone?”

You flushed at his words, smoothing your hands on your dress as you looked down. “I’m not alone.” You stated, “My brother is just ahead. We’re going to Grandma’s.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You surely look alone. I do not see anyone. Just you and myself, young maiden.”

Do not talk to strangers. Your mother's words float back to you as he stepped forward closer towards you, and you stumbled back. “I-I should go.” You stuttered out and he laughed softly, “No, stay. It is alright.” He promised, reaching down to pluck one of the flowers off to hold up to your face.

“They’re foxtails.” He repeated, “I personally think they’re lovely. Don’t you?” He questioned, waving it in front of your nose, and you felt your eyes cross as you try to examine it.

“Yes,” you admitted, and he grinned as if you just complimented him. “There are  even prettier flowers further along here.” He purred out and your eyes followed his hand where he pointed, further off the path and deeper into the foliage.

You stared longingly at the flowers, foot shifting as if you would head in the direction before you hesitated, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t, my brother will surely be looking for me and my mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

The stranger frowned, irritation flicking over his face before it faded just as quickly. “My apologies, I must have forgotten my manners. You may call me...Ryuunosuke Tanaka.” He offered, “Surely your brother hasn’t gone far, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to see the flowers and be back before he comes looking for you. Now, little maiden, shall we?”

Your nose crinkled slightly as he stepped into you, “My name is not ‘Little Maiden’.” You retorted, “My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled, a foxish grin appearing on his face. “You are a maiden though, are you not, Y/N? You’re also rather little compared to me. Therefore...” his words trail off as he eyed you with a certain hunger, and you stepped back slightly at the close proximity of him.

You looked away in embarrassment, back towards the path where your brother had left, but the man’s presence next to you had you looking back at him for guidance. “You know my name. Now, we are no longer strangers, right? Come. Let’s go see them together.” He coaxed, voice soft as it washed over you and you nodded, taking his hand as he led you through the flowers and further off the path.

As he continued to guide you, the slightest uneasiness bubbled up in your stomach as he led you deeper into the woods and away from the way you were supposed to have been going. Anytime you attempted to turn to look behind you he’d jerk your arm, causing you to tumble into him as you attempted to not fall. “Sir-” you started, but a soft tsk from him had your words dying off as he interrupted you. “We’ll be there soon little kit, do not worry.”

As if his words were understood a bit too literal, the woods opened up around you and instead revealed a meadow of flowers. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, pulling from his hand to instead investigate further into the field, bending over to sniff them as you went.

The traveler (Tanaka he said his name was, you reminded yourself) followed you around as you flit between each flower, but it isn’t until his hand gently touched your hip that you gasped and turned to stare up at him in confusion. “Do you smell that?” He questioned pulling you into him closer, and you flushed as you are pulled into his chest.

The warmth of his body is evident even through your clothing. Your hands came up to attempt to push at his chest, even as he held you tighter to him. “Do you smell that?” He repeats, voice a low rumble in his chest and you paused your wiggling to inhale deeply.

The smell of the forest dominated your nose, overwhelming you with an earthy scent of rain even with the proximity of the flowers surrounding you. Underneath it all you could smell the hint of spices, (Cinnamon a voice in the back of your head states) and the touch of wood smoke as you inhaled again. Confused still though, you look up at him. “Smell what, Sir?”

He licked his lips, looking down at you as a smile appeared over his lips and once again, you wiggled slightly, attempting to pull away as his head leaned down to press into your hair. “I don’t know,” he mused. “It smells sweet. Like..a treat.”

His face moved down your head, nuzzling along your ear and down into your neck even as you giggled at the tickling sensation, attempting to wiggle away from him. “Sir-!” you attempted again, even as his hands tightened on your flesh.

His body dips as his face moved down your body, opting to press his face into the valley of your breasts even as you gasped, hands pushing at his head. “W-Wait! You can’t do that!” You gasped as his tongue flicked out, running along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, voice monotone. “I’m just trying to find..the source of that delicious scent.”

His hands tightened on your body even as you attempted to squirm away from him and he continued his path down. He paused at your stomach, inhaling through the fabric, and you aren’t able to see how his pupils dilated at the scent. His hands gripped painfully tight on your waist before he shoved you back, allowing you to sprawl out on the bed of flowers which caught your weight as if it was a bed rather than solid ground.

He ignored your soft cry of objection, his hands bunching your skirt up as he pushed it up and his head dips down in between your legs, seeking out the source. “You can’t!” you attempted to argue, but the feeling of warm, wet muscle sliding over your underwear had you gasping and pushing at his head in objection. “S-sir!”

He looked up at you, annoyance clear on his face. “What?” he questioned and you quickly shake your head, attempting to wiggle backwards even as he grabbed at your hips, attempting to prevent you from moving away. “You can’t!” you insisted again, your voice dropping. “It’s...indecent.” You whispered out.

The traveler snorted, eyes rolling as he grabbed at your clothes, tugging them down even as you let out a squeak of objection, “It’s alright. Look, I found what smells so sweet. I wonder if it’ll taste just as sweet,” He questioned, his head dipping down as he licked a stripe up your folds even as you cried out.

“I-Sir! You...you shouldn’t!” you again attempted to argue, even as he held your hips to his face, licking and sucking at your core as you trembled. “Mother...Mother says I shouldn’t touch myself there. You shouldn’t lick there.” You whimpered out, eyes filling in tears upset by his action.

Sensing your distraughtness, his head raised and you feel your cheeks heat up as you realize his face is wet as he sits back.  “What is wrong? Does it not feel good? Surely your mother just didn’t want you to get hurt.” His tongue flicked out then, and not for the first time you feel your stomach turn in anxiety at his tongue, a bit too long to be fully human.

One of his hands slid down your body, rubbing at your thigh as you wince. “Did it feel good?” he asked again and you shrugged slightly. “It felt funny.” You repeated, and he smirked at that. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth again, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the point of teeth you could have sworn weren’t there earlier when he smiled.

“Did it feel good?” He repeated, his hand moving over your mound, his fingers dipping into your folds as he rubbed at a spot that had you gasping and attempting to jerk away from him in response. “Look how good it feels.” He purred, his words filling you with warmth. “If it doesn’t feel good, I’ll stop. Okay?”

When you nodded in a hesitant response, his eyes glinted in excitement, leaning forward once more as he pulled you close to his face as he licked a new stripe up your cunt, holding you firmly even as you gasped and attempted to pull away. “Does it feel bad?” His voice against your core sent trembles up your spine as you shook your head in response as he continued his lapping.

You watched curiously as his own hips grind against the ground in earnest. Your focus diverted for a moment, quickly back to his face as you felt his tongue press against you, and slide into you as you jerk, attempting to pull back. “W-wait!” You cried out in surprise. Pushing at him as he held you to his face, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours, even as you attempted to get away.

His tongue continued worming it’s way into your body, stroking at areas you didn’t know existed as you whimpered for him to stop. “It feels weird!” You manage out, panting as he watched you with eyes that are blank and emotionless. His hands were painfully tight on your hips, preventing you from moving as you effectively grind against his face instead.

As your legs trembled around him, you began to feel a tightening in your stomach. “S-Sir...Wait! It….I...stop….it feels...too much!” You attempted to whine out a coherent sentence even as he continued, nose bumping into your clit rhythmically as he nuzzled into it.

One of his hands removed from your hip, opting to slide down as he pressed a finger into you alongside his tongue as you cried out, jerking as both of them curled, stroking opposite walls. As he pushed in another finger you cried out, not sure what exactly you were crying for as a wave of euphoria poured over your body.

He held you with his free hand, refusing to let your hips part from his face as he eagerly drank up your cum. As he attempted to add a third finger inside you, you let out a squeal.

“Your fingers! They’re so big!” You managed out in overstimulation, and he smirked this time, pulling back as he sat back for the second time, sliding them out of you as he raised them to his face. His tongue wrapped around them as he lapped off your juices from them. “Better to finger you with little maiden,” He purred out as you flushed.

“You are, right? A maiden?” He clarified. “Never had anyone else touch you like this.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, and you swallowed as you nodded. He hummed in appreciation at your answer. “Good, I don’t like to share.”

His hands reached down to his pants, pushing them down and you quickly averted your eyes as he wrapped his hand around his straining cock. “What’s wrong?” His voice was teasing, “Have you never seen a cock before?”

You shook your head in embarrassment, “No, Sir.”

He hummed in excitement, energy radiating off him as he inched closer to you, reaching out he grabbed your hand. Jerking you forward to wrap your hand around his cock, alongside his. “Here, feel. What does it feel like?” He questioned, hand enclosing around yours as he instructed you how to stroke him.

Warm, “It feels warm.” You admitted, and he hummed, hips pressing his cock up into you harder. “What else?” He asked and you swallowed nervously, looking from where your hand was wrapped around him to his eyes. “It’s...big.” you decide on and this time his amusement is clear. “Better to fuck you with.” He explained bluntly, grinning as your eyes darted away in embarrassment.

He shifted, standing and you flinched back slightly as his cock became eye level with you. A hand found the back of your head, preventing you from pulling back further and instead nudged you forward in encouragement.

“C’mon, little maiden.” He purred out, and you swallowed looking up at him in confusion, unsure of what he had wanted. “Take it in your mouth.”

You paused, looking at it again as if you were considering it before you looked up at him once more, “I’ve never done it before though, Sir.”

He tsked his tongue, stepping forward and tapping the head of his cock against your lips as you flinched, pulling back, but his hand was there again, pushing you back against it as he rubbed the beading precum against your pursed lips.

“That’s alright, you can practice.” He promised, his words comforting despite your situation. “"Now, didn't your mother ever tell you it's good to try new things?” He scolded and you flushed at his words, nodding your head reluctantly as his cock pushed at your lips.

He rubbed his cock against the softness of your lips, coaxing you to open your mouth for him. “Look, it's leaking milk just for you,” and he was right. You could see the white fluid bubbling out the tip, and being rubbed over your lips.  “Go on little kit, drink up…” He encouraged and you allowed your lips to part as he pressed it into your mouth and you immediately attempted to recoil at the bitter taste of his precum.

A firm hand on the back of your head prevented you from moving as your eyes fluttered up to him in panic. “Doesn't it taste good?" He asked, his other hand leaving the base of his cock and opting to brush fondly over your cheek bone, as he allowed you to pull back.

You immediately made a face, your hand moving up to wipe off your face as you avoided his face, instead opting to look past his hips. However, your thoughts were paused by the sight of what appeared to be a tail hanging from his hip, and as you watched it split into three separate ones.

You stared at them curiously, at their see through form, and as you watched one curled around towards you. The tip of the tail coming forward but before it could brush against your nose, a hand on your head was pulling you back into reality, and when you flicked back to look at the tails they were gone.

“I asked you a question, little kit,” Tanaka repeated, except this time, his voice was light as if he was on the verge of laughing. You hesitated, “Um,” your eyes flicked back to his hips in confusion at the illusion you had seen. “I..No. It didn’t taste good.” You admitted and this time the man snorted, an attempt to stifle his laugh.

“Now, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to someone who just offered you something to eat. Certainly not to someone who already ate you, little kit.” His voice was amused as his thumb ran over your lips, pressing on the bottom one as you parted for him again. “You know, you should know better. Didn’t your mother teach you to have better manners?” He questioned gently and you felt your eyes burn at the scolding words, tears welling up in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You whispered out, and this time as his thumb moved into your mouth and pushed down on your tongue he looked excited. “It’s okay. I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

You looked up at him, in confusion at his words. “What? Really?” You asked around his finger, and he smiled, head cocking to the side and you blinked at the glint of light as it wrapped around his head, the illusion of ears appearing just as quickly as it disappeared.  

“Yeah.” He whispered out, “Close your eyes, hold open your mouth.”

You obeyed, and as his thumb left your mouth, you’re empty for only a moment before a new heavy weight is pressing into your mouth the saltiness returns. As your eyes fluttered open in curiosity, your head is pushed forward, the soft head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as you jerked backwards into his hand which remained steady in pressure in an attempt to hold you on his cock.

Your hands found purchase on his thighs, pushing on them even as they rolled against your face, forcing you to take more of his cock into your mouth and throat as you gagged. Saliva ran down your lips, tears trickling out your face as you looked up at him in panic as you struggled against him. “Shh it’s okay, just relax. You’ll get it,” He insisted, his free hand petting tears from your cheekbone as the other holds painfully tight in your hair.

As his cock hit a particularly sensitive area of your mouth, you gagged, your hands fly out, grabbing at his legs and as your fingers brush against fur you grab at it. The man stiffened underneath your other hand, body jerking in response as you pulled at what you held.

A shaky noise escaped his body and as he released your head, allowing you to pull off his cock with a gasp as you looked up at him. Slowly you process the fact that the noise he made was a whine. He looked just as startled as you were, your eyes tracking from his face to your hand which currently held- “A tail.” You blurted out, the words escaping from your mouth before you could stop it.

He looked unamused at this statement, the tail twitching underneath your grasp as it writhed. “Yes,” he stated plainly. “Now, you should do that again, please.” He requested, pulling your head forward once more towards his cock, and as you opened your mouth to object his cock was pushed into your mouth again, except this time he was much rougher.

His thrusts were unpredictable, and excited as he forced your head down on his cock in sync with his thrusts. Your hands blindly fumbled at him, the fur warm under your one as you tugged at it in objection, and that only seemed to further spur him on. New fur brushed against your other hand, and you obeyed the silent request to grab at it with the other side.

His noises of pleasure only increased as he fucked into your face, you tugging at the-, no, his tails. You whimpered in objection as his thrusts became uneven. You could feel the trembles in his body, and as he hit the back of your throat yet again you couldn’t help but jerk on both of his tails. Fingers fisted in them tightly as you pulled at them in objection at the treatment.

His hips stuttered as he gasped, and just as suddenly warmth flooded your mouth as he allowed you to jerk away. Coughing at the taste you spat out what you could, looking up at him through teary eyes as he sighed, taking a step back as he yawned.

This time you could see the fangs protruding where his canines would be, much too long to be human. If that wasn’t a big enough of a hint, his eyes were dark, pupils slitted fully now and behind him...multiple tails swayed behind him, trembling with energy.

“You have a tail!” You accused, still coughing, voice scratchy as the man snorted in amusement. “I have nine actually, can’t you count?” He mocked and you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears that were already threatening to spill.

“What are you?” You questioned, trying to sound brave despite the quiver in your voice and he grinned. “Guess,” he demanded and you couldn’t help the pout of your lower lip. “I don’t know.” You admitted, and the man rolled his eyes. “That’s no fun. That’s not even a guess.”

He frowned, rubbing his own arm as he considered for a moment. “Fine though. I’ll tell you, but only because no one has played with them in a while and I’m in a good mood.” He leaned forward, gripping your face tightly in his hand and you winced as long nails (Claws, a voice told you) pinched into your skin.

He smiled, leaning forward as he pressed his lips to you, kissing you softly. “I’m a fox. A trickster god. A kitsune, don’t ‘cha know.” He whispered to your lips, and as a tear spilled from your eye, his free hand came up to wipe it away. “And right now, it is breeding season, sweetheart. You caught me right at the start of my rut. I very much do appreciate the help, but I’m not even close to done, yet.”

“I don’t want to help. I want to go home.” You decided, and the man let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh silly little kit,” He mused, petting your cheek again even as you attempted to flinch back from him in fear of what he’d do next. “I may be a trickster, but I didn’t even have to trick you here with me did I?” He purred out, voice dripping like honey over you.

Your lip trembled as you held back your tears, “It’s late. My brother will be worried. I have to go.” You insisted, and the fox god scoffed now, tails lashing in annoyance at his plans being interrupted. “You help me, and I’ll get you back before they even notice you are gone. They won’t know a thing.” He offered, “Deal?”

You hesitate, before you nodded, “Deal.”

A smile spread across his face, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips as he eyed you, and you can’t help but feel once again you’ve made a terrible mistake. “Good. That makes this much easier.” He purred out.

“Makes what easier?” You question nervously, eyes shifting from his looming figure to the empty meadow you were in. “This,” His voice was deep, dangerous as it wrapped around you.

He moved forward forcing you back as he grabbed your legs, spreading them roughly apart as you gasped. One of his hands slid down, running along the inside of your thigh and back towards your cunt as you attempted to close your thighs around him. “Stop it.” His words were harsh, and you froze at the command. “You agreed to this.” He reminded and you swallowed, suddenly regretting your words from just a few moments ago.

“You haven’t told me what this even is!” You accused as he shifted to fit himself in between your thighs preventing you from closing as he forced a finger back into your cunt.

He ignored the squeal that fell from your lips as your hand came up to push at his shoulder, “It hurts!” You yelped and he ignored you, pulling back only long enough to add another as you cried out his name this time.

“Did I not already tell you? It is breeding season.” He stated plainly, bored as he curled his fingers inside of you appreciating the squeal you let out at the sensation again. “I have no interest in making you behave, or fighting with you honestly. I really only want to stuff this little cunt of yours with my cock.” His words were punctuated with particular hard curls of his fingers causing you to whimper, “I’m going to knot you, and see how you drip with my cum, and look swollen with my seed.”

His words have you shivering, trying to form coherent sentences as he continued to play with your hole. He pulled back again, this time forcing a third finger in as you whined at the stretch, your hands flying up to your mouth as you tried to silence your noise this time. His eyes flick from where you were stretched on his fingers, to your face as you covered it.

An amused expression crossed his face as he cocked his head to the side, “You know, no one is going to hear you here. Feel free to be as loud as you want. No one will find us.” He promised, and if he realized how much his words filled you with dread he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed quite happy at this fact that no one would stumble upon your acts.

Still you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at a particularly hard thrust of his hand, his long fingers hitting a spot inside of you that made you wince in pain. Satisfied with your response, he pulled back licking at his fingers again as you panted underneath him watching in confusion as he mused. “You’re ready.” he stated simply.

“Ready for what?” You question again, and this time he doesn’t try to hide his annoyance at your repeated question. “Ready to be fucked open by my cock, that’s what, Little Maiden.”

This time the name is mocking, as if he was taking great glee of the fact he was about to take your maidenhood status, and as you attempted to push back slightly on the ground his hand was grabbing at your skin painfully tight, in a bruising grip.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t be scared, little kit. It won’t hurt much.” He promised, fingers coming up to smooth over your cheek as he fitted himself between your thighs. His other hand fit between your two bodies, brushing up against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he palmed his own cock.

“I could have been rude, not tried to make you feel good and stretch you out a little. I told you I would, right?” He questioned, touching your face fondly, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeding on his words.

“Of course, it’s not going to help when I knot you. Can’t exactly prepare human bodies for that before it happens.” He muses on, more to himself as his words drop and you feel your face contort in confusion. “Knot?” You question and he smiles, his face bright at that. “Oh yes, I’m going to split you open on my knot, little kit. Fill you with my kits.”

You start to ask what he means once again but a pressure on your core had you attempting to scoot back. His hand connected with your shoulder holding you steady as he pushed up, and into you.

You gasped in pain, tears welling up in your eyes as you grabbed at him. “W-wait, sir!” You attempted to call out, hands flying up to grasp at his body and arms as he pushed you down with the same force he was pushing his hips up with.

The stretch was painful, and you could feel as he pushed each new inch inside. Even though he had used three fingers inside of you, it felt nothing compared to the stretch of his cock as he made your cunt provide room for him.

If he cared for your whimpers, or the soft tears flowing down your face he didn’t comment on them. His own head dipping down as his eyes fluttered shut at the velvety sensation wrapping around him. “You feel so good,” He purred out, eyes fluttering open to look up at you and even through your tears you could see the unnatural glint to his eyes.

You swallowed, trying to hold back your whimpers as his hips pressed flush against yours. You felt like you were going to be split open, the sensation uncomfortable as his cock pressed firmly against your cervix. “Hmm? Why are you crying now?” He questioned, his thumb coming up to wipe at your tears as your lower lip trembled.

“It hurts.” You stated plainly and he tsked softly, “We’ve barely begun, I told you this.” He attempted to soothe. You could see his tails lashing in anticipation behind him, the goldish red of his fur catching your attention. Drawing your focus away from throbbing dull ache in between your legs  “Now, quit crying little kit. You barely have anything to cry about. I haven’t even moved, you can cry later.” He promises, and once again you start to question his words, lips parting to ask what he meant by that.

However, his hips drew back, causing you to yelp softly at the sudden removal of pressure and new friction from your body. “W-Wait-!��� You start to object, as his hips snapped back into you causing the air to leave your lungs as you stared up at him.

“There, see? Don’t cry.” His voice was light, teasing as he pushed himself up on his arms, shifting to a new position as he started to roll his hips in earnest, head cocking as he listened to your squeaks of objection as you attempted to form a coherent sentence.

“What is it? You have to tell me.” You knew he was mocking you as your hands gripped at the flowers beside you, trying to find purchase as he fucked you in order to ground yourself. “Oh? Nothing. Hm, disappointing. Well if you’re not objecting….”

His voice trailed off, as he suddenly pulled out, grabbing you by your hips as he flipped your body over. You started to object again as his body covered you, his cock pressing  up against your thigh for a moment before it entered you just as suddenly. One of his hands gripped your hip, holding you tightly as the other found the spot in between your shoulder blades, shoving you down before he gripped the back of your neck.

The new position caused him to groan at the tightened sensation, a soft praise of “That’s a good girl, just like that.” as he encouraged you to hold the position as he draped over you. His hips slapping into you as he fucked into your body.

Your soft mewls of pain slowly turned into pleasure, trembling underneath him at the odd pressure as he drilled into your core, pressing up against your cervix with each thrust. His presence was warm, stifling as he covered you.

As if he could sense your discomfort, his hands moved to pull at your clothing. Ripping it down the seam along the back as he shoved to the side. Your protesting words were cut off as he pushed your face further into the ground with a soft snarl of “Quit complaining.”

His words left your stomach flipping as he undressed you, pausing only briefly with his thrusts before he leant back over you his skin flush against yours. The smell of cinnamon and smoke clouded your head as he pressed his face into your neck. You could feel the soft rumble of a growl in his chest, his hips stuttering against you as he found a new pace which had you both gasping for air.

Chills trembled through your body as his hands wrapped around you, grabbing at your chest and pinching at your nipples as you whined in objection. “W-wait, please slow down. I-I can’t.” Your words were whimpers, barely formed as your fingers dug into soft soil as he pounded away into your sopping cunt.

You couldn’t see it as his fingers dug into your neck pushing further into the ground, his eyes rolling in annoyance. “Can you shut up, and just whine for me instead?” He questioned, each word punctuated with a thrust, the finals one hammering directly into your cervix as you sobbed out for him.

Pleasure and pain mixing together in a ball in your stomach as he fucked into you with skilled rolls of his hips. As pleasure continued to grow in you, you could feel his thrusts begin to change. Rather than fucking you with a speed and intensity that left you struggling to breathe, they became much more targeted as he grinds into you with his hips.

Each press you could feel the nudge of something at your folds. You attempted to turn your head, looking back in curiosity at the new sensation but his hand was immediately there pressing your face further into the ground. “Stay,” His words were a soft growl that vibrated through you as he held you firmly and you found yourself nodding weakly even as he continued pressing into you. Soft fur ran against your legs, and you could feel his tails wrap around you, an attempt at a comforting gesture.

His grinding became more insistent as his lazy thrusts continued, and as it built you couldn’t help but push back against it, the pressure rubbing against your clit. This action of yours seemed to please him greatly as he leaned back over you, covering you effectively as he purred praises into your ears.

It wasn’t until he started to push it forward into your hole with purpose that it clicked in your mind that he was attempting to fit it inside you. You hadn’t seen what this new pressure was, but you could feel your hole painfully stretching at the pressure and your instincts told you that it was going to hurt.

As if he could sense your panicky thoughts, his hands were suddenly back on you holding you painfully down, his weight on your back as he continued to shove his hips against yours. “Don’t even think about it.” His words chilled you but the pain had you continuing to squirm as he tightened his grip on you, tails running against your skin.

As the pressure increased on your cunt, your breathing started to increase. Tears rolling down your cheeks and onto the ground at the burning pain continued. “Relax, it’s only going to hurt worse if you fight me on this. You’ll be okay. Breathe.” His words were attempting to be calming to you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His fingers dug into you as you attempted to calm your breathing as he instructed but the pressure only increased as your eyes squeezed shut. Your teeth gritted together for a moment before a sob of pain escaped. “It hurts!” You accused and he hummed, licking at your skin. “I know, you’re doing so good.” He promised.

“You said it wouldn’t!” You sobbed out, and he snorted in amusement.

“Did not...I told you I was going to split you open on my knot, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Your lower lip trembled as he continued to push into you, “It hurts really bad, please stop.” You attempt again he shushes you pressing his lips against yours, “Shhh little kit, it’ll be okay. It’ll be done soon, I promise.” He whispers against you, leaning up to lick the tears leaking from your eyes and down your face. “Go on now, cry for me. I told you, you could cry later. Didn’t I?” His words were spoken into your skin, soothing as his fingers release from their bruising grips rubbing at your skin in soft circles instead.

For the briefest moment, the pressure alleviates and you make the mistake of letting out a soft exhale, thinking he had stopped. Eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft “Thank you.” However, as his hips snapback forward connecting you two firmly again, you feel your mind blank for the briefest moment before light explodes behind your eyelids.

Pain clouds your mind, and you are convinced you definitely were just split open as the knot at the base of his cock pushes into you, sinking past your hole and into your cunt. As blinding as the pain is, the shuddering euphoria washes over you following it, a sharp sob escapes from you as his teeth dig into your neck.

His hands pinning you to the ground under his weight preventing you from pulling away as you cum around him spasming underneath him. His noises of pleasure fill your ears, muffled as his teeth puncture your skin. His body trembles over you, his scent of cinnamon and smoke overwhelming you as he effectively ties the two of you together, his tails sliding against both of your skin before falling slackly.

As both of your orgasms wash over you, the pain returns as a dull throb in your cunt. As his fingers loosen on his hold of you, his weight sagging slightly you squirm attempting to pull away from him but just as quickly his fingers are back bruisingly tight on your hip and shoulder. His teeth dig in further into your skin making you cry out in pain. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. You’re gonna hurt both of us.” He snarls, his voice muffled by your skin. “Stay still.” He hisses out, breath uneven as his hips ground into you once more, his movements limited now but not prevented.

With each half-hearted roll of his hips, tugging at your hole you whimpered in pain. You could feel the warmth filling your stomach, and after a few more minutes you could feel it dripping down your legs. Sensing the fluid leaking also, the man shifted. His arms wrapping around your body as he rolled to the side, pulling you with him as his hands ran over your belly fondly cupping it lightly as he held your firmly to his chest.

As both of your breathing lowered back to normal, his hands continued to rub softly at your skin. His tails wrapping around to tickle at your skin as well. He was much more gentle now, his touches almost loving, but you still couldn’t help the soft tears roll down your face at your bruised skin. Sensing your emotions the man nuzzled into your throat, tongue running along the bite mark he had left. One of his tails reached up, brushing off your cheek of your tears as you turned away from it.

“What’s wrong, little kit?” He purred out, his words sleepy and you shrugged in response. When a few seconds passed and you didn’t continue on with an answer, he pinched at your skin lightly as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Come on now, talk to me.”

You let out a soft sight, turning to look at the man, your lower lip trembling and he immediately stiffened in concern. His tail coming up to brush against your face again, as he nuzzled into you. “Oh stop, you’re okay. I promise.” He soothed, fingers running over your body in encouragement. “You did so good.”

“I want to go home now, Sir.” you whispered softly, and the man laughed gently at the statement. “You know you don’t have to call me ‘Sir’. I gave you my name,” he pointed out, avoiding your request. “Oh...I’m sorry, Tanaka.” You decide on and he hums, pressing another kiss to the corner of your eye. “Ryuunosuke is fine.”

“I’m sorry, Ryuunosuke.” You repeat, and he hums happily rubbing his face against you. You two laid in silence for longer, his fingers running up and down your body as he held you to his body.  His lips pressing soft kisses against the skin he could reach, his tails rubbing against your legs, and wrapping around your body providing warmth to you both as your eyelids drooped against your will.

“Ryuunosuke?” You questioned, voice slurred with sleep. “Hmm? What is it, little kit?” The kitsune questions you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “When can I go home?” You ask and the man laughs softly.

It was a sound that warms your body as you feel your body drift into unconsciousness, his head moving to rub down over your stomach fondly, and the soft bulge still there from the kitsune’s actions earlier. As you feel the world fade to black, it is his words in the background, a soft whisper into your skin that guides you into sleep.

“Oh silly kit, you’re not going anywhere just yet. You’re not leaving until you’re heavy with my kits. Then you can return to your realm, just like I promised.”

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

MASTERLIST Warings: My English. Pics aren’t mine. This has to be one of my favorite chapters.  Word Count ~ 3k. Prologue | Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust | December | Nightfall | Revelations

Chapter 11. Friends. 

      After that particular talk she had with Minerva, she felt lighter, as if the weight she was carrying on had been lifted from her chest, freeing her from the invisible tyrant. She had finally found someone she could be honest – she hated lying, even white lies put her in a hard position.      She was slowly learning how to be at ease when things falling apart and that she had to start over; how to trust those new beginnings once more, how to trust in the rebirth of things and people, including herself; that with every new beginning, she found another lost piece of herself, and with every new adventure, she fell  in love with something she  would never have thought she’d love. They were scary and confusing but they were also spectacular and extraordinary. Running away was not always the solution.       Slowly, but steadily enough, she was learning how to let new people in – how to reawaken her faith in people and their ability to love and their ability to open her heart again. And while she was dreading it, she was hoping that people could see all the different sides of her and still stay.        She was never big on trusting herself but she had to; she had to find the ability to trust all those tough experiences that left scars inside her heart or stitches inside her brain, all of that contributed to who she had grown to be. She had to finally understand that things didn’t always fall apart to give an ending, but sometimes they fell apart to present a new beginning. Couple of days passed her by, as she decided to do nothing at all but take of herself, occasionally talking about her secret with her professor and giving in to the pleasure of the beauty world. She was a 2020’s girl and could not, would not, compromise that for the makeup trends of the 70s and 80s. She hated the bold colors that were used without blending – the big hair and the extreme statements. She was a girl of her time, and that time wasn’t this one. Her things were cut-creases and winged eyeliner, matte foundation and contouring, perfectly shaped eyebrows and soft lips. She had to ask her professor for a couple of favors, but Minerva was more than happy to oblige, remembering her young years as well.       She had spent the last days, happily alone – of course she was thinking about everything. Her old life, however, seemed too far away from her now. Like a distant dream. She knew that it was more than just a possibility to never live in her time again, and even though that saddened her, she found herself relieved – she had formed attachments despite her initial thoughts of being distant and alone. Yup, that went well. 

The 29th day of December had arrived and she was still contemplating whether or not to go to the party. Thanks to Minerva, who was even more excited than she was, she had now a gorgeous dress and high heels but her gut feeling told her that maybe, she just wanted to go so she could see him. With another girl. And in the process, hurt Remus again. While all that time, she should be investigating everyone and everything so she could find a way to change the story and the outcomes. Oh, well, she was twenty-two, after all.         She was one of the very few Gryffindors who had stayed and she had the common room to herself most of the time – just like now; she was enjoying silence with a bottle of sparkling wine. She was ecstatic for not having to buy more bottles but simply conjuring more delicious wine – magic was helpful. Unknown to her, she was being stared at.       She had stars behind each eyelid and a galaxy in her soul that drew people to her endless heart, like the pull of a black hole, she was made of earth and fire, of wishes cast on shooting stars. She was a brand-new solar system, unlike the ones he had known so far, with constellations ever changing. No one could memorize her skies and he thought the thing for all of her previous relationships to do was bring her down to size. He could see, they had tried to shrunk the universe within her, told her that her vast expanse was wrong, that she should make her life much smaller, if she wanted to belong. But she had denied them that privilege over her and he was amazed by her strength.         He threw himself to the couch and she yelp in surprise. He was the last person she expected to see there. He was enjoying her loss of words very much, trying at the same time to convince himself that his visit was purely out of friendly interest. “What can I say? I felt bad for leaving you alone” he exclaimed rather provocatively. She sneered and arched her eyebrow. That was how they were playing at. “Don’t. I was having fun” she answered truthfully, pointing at her drink. He knew he was supposed to follow her hand but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a vision of heartache and blooded marches that hadn’t even started yet; a battlefield of blossomed roses about to sacrifice themselves to the Gods so that their love would survive. “What kind of a friend would I be then, huh? Speaking of, I didn’t know your birthday was a month ago. But guess who did… ouch” he said and even though it was a mockery, he did sound hurt, or rather jealous. She thought about the word he had used – friend. He wasn’t. Even though she so desperately wanted him to be, he wasn’t. “He asked, you didn’t” she fired as soft as a bullet hitting the petals of a rose. Raising her glass to a toast she never proposed, she saluted him and he knew she was in a mood, alright. “Careful there, you were almost being sweet” he provoked her further. She simply turned her entire body towards him, taking notice of everything, his outfit, his hair, his eyes. He could wear a rag and he would still look incredible. Of course, the leather jacket and the black biker boots were making her imagination run wild. She forgot what she wanted to say to him – probably something sarcastic – and instead offered wine, face masks and her room. Bold move – and a risk he accepted.         Sirius was a dilemma; a broken crown wanting to reclaim the throne; a shuttered mirror trying to depict life as it once was. She thought how childish he had been described in the books – but she kept forgetting that all of that was supposed to be parts of a book. He felt real, next to her, with a green tissue mask on his face, pretending to be a zombie and drinking wine. He was just a young adult and he had every right in the world to enjoy his life as much as possible – she wanted him to have those moments, for later he would lose all hope. “What is this? I love it!” he proclaimed his love to the bottle of wine he had also claimed for himself only. She tried not to laugh because she, herself, had a tissue mask on her face but it proved to be impossible. “It’s called Moscato d’Asti – and it’s my favorite” she told him as she laid on her bed, closing her eyes, not wanting to meet his. Next thing she knew, he was right beside her, his hand grazing her thigh. She swallowed hard and shot up – straight to the bathroom. Removing the mask and washing her face with cold water, she did a breathing exercise to calm her nerves but her stomach had been replaced by a knot. She looked at the mirror, a reflection she didn’t recognize. Taking a deep breath, she went out finding Sirius pacing back and forth. It would have been a rather serious scene but he still had his mask on, something he realized and looked down embarrassed.         After a moment or two in the bathroom, recollecting himself, he exited with a fake smile that made her guts twist, so she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “I met your brother. Nice guy” she commented honestly but his cringed. Arching her eyebrow, and raising her hands up, she surrendered. He sat down next to her, eyeing her and wanting nothing more than to tell her the whole truth. “I will answer any question you have but let me give you your birthday present” he gave in once his eyes met hers. He was lying to everyone when he was pretending to be her friend – he wasn’t. Before she could register what was happening, Sirius had an entire tattoo kit to play with. Her mouth hung open, not even close to believing the scene unfolding. “No, no, no, no. First off, you’re drunk. Then I don’t trust you with a needle to draw something permanent on me and no!” she summed up quickly but he wasn’t listening. “I know what I am doing. Trust me” he informed her rather nonchalant. They did have a deal… She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Fine. She had an excuse now, for revealing her tattoos to him. He hadn’t asked her too but she wanted. “Okay. But you have to see my other tattoos first” she carefully told him, watching hi prepare the equipment; his head shot up in the words. He had never thought she would show him her story – because each tattoo was a part of her story.       She had never been good at hiding her feelings… and here she was, swallowing her emotions, mutilating her own self for someone else’s sake. She saw the broken pieces in his eyes and wished she could tell him that he would heal in four months, or two weeks, or by next Monday if he really tried. But she couldn’t and that costed her. For if there was anything, she had learned about moving forward, about letting go, about becoming the person she wanted to become — it was that it happened in the quietest moments. Growth crept into her, it burrowed and it stretched, it cracked her open from the inside, and one day she woke up and she had to open her eyes. Maybe he would need more time or better suited people around him.        Slowly, she revealed each of her tattoos to him. She removed the spell concealing them and let him explore her. He was tracing his fingertips on her skin. He had seen the lotus flower and remembered her explanation. Her left ring finger was delicately decorated with a small rose. His hands traveled to the inner part of her forearm just below her right elbow, caressing the bracelet of the phases of the moon and the sunflower that reminded him of the sunflowers Van Gogh used to paint. Her shirt was loose enough for him to push the strips off of her shoulder to reveal the Arabic quote she had tattooed on her left collarbone. Before he could stop himself, he was fondling her inked skin – his hand was too close to her neck – he could see her pulse quicken, he felt her breath on his mouth. He knew she had more tattoos but stopped before leaning too close. “I didn’t run away to leave my brother behind. I was thrown out and I am haunted by the ghost of him. I know I have screwed up but they were right about one thing. I don’t believe that I deserve love – I couldn’t give it when I had to” he confessed, gathering his tools to create a birthday present for her that would last. She didn’t dare to move, looking at him as if any moment now, he would vanish. He carefully took her left hand and cleaned the inner part of her forearm just below her elbow with pure alcohol. With an eye contact to seal their deal, he begun drawing. It hurt but it was a sweet burning sensation that she didn’t really mind. “It’s a lie to think that you don’t deserve love if you aren’t able to love yourself. You deserve it. You deserve companionship and care and relationships that feel good and spaces where you’re cherished and valued. Even if you have days where you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear. Even if there are moments when you feel inadequate and unlovable. You don’t have to be alone just because you’re battling your own darkness. Carrying that weight doesn’t make you defective or too much or unworthy of love and belonging. It makes you human. It makes you someone who’s internalized judgments that were never yours to carry. It makes you someone who’s survived a lifetime of trauma and loss and pain. Someone resilient and inconceivably brave. Someone courageous enough to connect, despite the lies in your head. And there’s no shame in that. So please, don’t withdraw or close yourself off. Self-hatred doesn’t get unlearned through isolation. It’s unlearned through love. Through connection and care. Through having relationships and gathering evidence that you can be imperfect and struggling and still be valued. That you can hurt and be at war with your head and still be wanted. I know it’s hard to trust, but you belong. And no matter how much darkness you’re carrying, you deserve to love and be loved” she told him while he was still focused on the piece, he wanted her to have. His hair falling elegantly on his face, eyes silver as mercury dancing across her skin.         ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in’ it read as the quote was mingling with the swirling blues and yellows of the Starry night. It was a bracelet as well but it made her teary – her favorite painting with some of the most meaningful words she had read. He wrapped it and sealed it close but she already knew how to take care of new tattoos. When his eyes met hers, the entire world seized to exist. It was just them and nothing could intervene. She didn’t stop herself from hugging him and thanking him – a whisper that made him melt inside her embrace.   “There is a Japanese word; kinsukuroi. It’s the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. I find it strangely reassuring” he tenderly told her and she felt a blissful breeze of refreshing air calming down her lungs. “If you want to see the other tattoos, you can. It’s just that…” she trailed of and cautiously grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull it off. She knew it was too much – she could have just described them to him. But she knew it was a risk she was willing to take because the moment would never be perfect, the circumstances would only worsen and her heart would only break even more. He took a sharp breath in but didn’t stop her; quite the opposite really. He found himself helping her out of her shirt with shaky hands. His touch burned her but she could only look at him and see a future – it scared her.       His eyes stayed on hers but slowly they roamed her upper body and suddenly    they fell on the canis major constellation, tattooed right in the middle of her chest – underneath her bra. There was a small blue bird in the left side of her rib-cage, probably the one from Bukowski’s poem. He wasn’t able to do anything but stare at her and explore her body. She softly nudged her hair out of the way and his eyes traveled to her neck once again.       It was the most intimate thing he had ever done. She twisted her torso so he could see her back – a pair of antlers resting close to her hairline and the planetary system running down her spine. Not just any tattoo. It was almost identical to his. “How is this possible? The moon, the canis major, the antlers, the planets? How?” he asked disoriented, not knowing which tattoo to look at because if he looked at her face, he would kiss her, crush her in his arms. She shrugged and put her shirt back on. He knew those tattoos were done at least a year ago – she didn’t know them. “Maybe not in your reality. But is was in mine” she airily told him, leaving him with questions to which he did know the answer. The girl in front of him hadn’t simply fallen from the sky to his embrace. She had fallen through time. He was too close, his breath on her mouth, her hands on his arm, tracing the patterns of his tattoos. She closed her eyes, not wanting to collide. Not now. Not yet. But she couldn’t say no all at once. She placed a small peck on his cheek and thanked him again. “Care for a cigarette?” she mouthed too close to his lips. No, he didn’t. He cared about her. All the right ways – and all the wrong ones. He was hers in a way he never belonged to anyone ever before. A little. A lot. Passionately. Not all.

___ Taglist: @nadinissavage​ @mycobrakai1972​ 

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) cin vhetin STAR WARS

Their new protectors seem… off to Qui-Gon.

The Senate had assigned the Jedi Master and his young Padawan to a diplomatic mission in the Mandalore system, to guard and advise the young Heiress to the Duchy during the turbulent times of the Civil War. They were supposed to be helping her guide her people into a new era of peace and prosperity, but it seemed the people claiming a hereditary connection to the planet hadn’t wanted to give up their barbarous and bloody ways for a perceived outsider. Death Watch, a terrorist branch of the Mandalorian traditionalists had launched a vicious attack on the capital, bombing the Sundari palace and killing Duke Kryze, and supposedly his youngest daughter as well. Qui-Gon had been forced to take Duchess Satine on the run, never settling in one place for long, while waiting for the Kryze forces to chase off the terrorists in the capital. They had been running for almost four months when they had been found.

The abandoned farmhouse on Concord Dawn had originally seemed like the perfect place to hide out the Death Watch for a few days; no one would have expected the Duchess to have hidden away in a half-burnt ruin of an overgrown farmstead. They hadn’t expected two Mandalorians in armour to come across the three of them, and at the time, Qui-Gon had hoped that a fight would mean that Bruck could release some of his temper into the Force, and that his teenaged Padawan would stop getting into arguments with their charge.

But they hadn’t been Death Watch. No, the Mythosaur skulls painted on their pauldrons was the symbol of the self-identified True Mandalorians - a political party that was supposed to be dead. The massacre of Galidraan under false pretenses was one of the Jedi’s greatest mistakes, they had trusted the Senate’s information and it had led them astray. The leaders of the movement had been killed nearly four years ago, by a party that Qui-Gon’s own Master had led. The Jedi who had gone to Galidraan never recovered, be it from their injuries or from the mental strain, and many of them, including Qui-Gon’s own Padawan-sister, had chosen to walk away from the Order, their trust in themselves and the Senate gone.

He had been worried that the Mandalorians would try to take a piece of flesh out of them in vengeance for their fallen comrades. Mandalorians were known for holding long grudges, and the True Mandalorian loyalists had been quiet for a lot longer than was necessarily comfortable, putting all the Jedi near the Mandalorian sector on edge - it wouldn’t have been too bad if the Clans had sworn themselves to the New Mandalorians, but they didn’t, and it worried Qui-Gon that they had instead bowed to the Death Watch. They had all expected an attack, and when the two Mandalorians walked into the farmhouse they had been hiding in, Qui-Gon had braced himself, but nothing had happened. Instead, the smaller of the two, armour painted dark red with small details in white, had offered them a lift. Even with the helmet on, his youth was obvious, and it must have been the reason why Duchess Satine had agreed.

Qui-Gon, his Padawan, and the young Duchess had been brought to their ship, and Satine had been reunited with her younger sister, who had been clinging to a third Mandalorian, a woman with black and gold armour, like she was the only thing between young Bo-Katan and violence. According to the woman, Death Watch had made a habit of stealing children young to indoctrinate them, and there had been something in her muffled Force signature that had soured Qui-Gon’s stomach. None of the three Mandalorians had given their names, but the man, identifiable by his grey and blue armour, had promised them safety and a ride, even if he hadn’t seemed pleased with the fact. The youngest of the three seemed to make an effort to make them feel welcomed, even if he seemed more at ease with the Duchess than he did the two Jedi, and Duchess Satine had begun to try to sway him to the ways of the New Mandalorians. He’d listen politely, and agree with some of her points, but he’d also argue others, turning basic conversations into debates that would get heated and lead to Satine storming off from their talk in a huff - but she’d always go back for more, never turning down an opportunity for a verbal spar.

Something about the boy seemed almost familiar, in an eerie, haunting way. He never removed his helmet, but something about him drew Qui-Gon towards him. Perhaps he was an undiscovered Force Sensitive? There was no law outside of Republic space that said that parents had to register an infant’s midi-chlorian count, so there was no way for the Jedi Order to find all of them. Qui-Gon himself had once trained as a Finder, so that could be what he was sensing. The Force moved around the youngster as if he were a favoured child, a bundle of Light and love that lit up whenever he was around the older Mandalorians - his father and aunt, if Qui-Gon’s translations were correct. He was a mystery but not one he would have to wonder about for much longer.

They had been dragged into another fight with Death Watch, having been off the ship to refuel and resupply when they had been cornered. It had been fierce and bloody, and the male Mandalorian had torn through the Death Watch warriors, his sister at his side and his son picking off others with his sniper from up on the ridge where he and Bruck had stayed behind to guard the two Kryzes. Qui-Gon had moved to join the other two adults on the field, when the youngest Mandalorian’s shots had stopped, and the screaming had begun. If the adult Mandalorians were fierce before, they were bloodthirsty afterwards.

The Death Watch soldiers didn’t stand a chance, and within moments, the armoured sentients had been loping back up the ridges to find the younger half of their party facing off against another group of Mandalorians. Bruck had his orange ‘saber lit, and the youngest Mandalorian was at his side, his sniper abandoned in favour of one of his pistols, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Even young Bo-Katan had a hold on a weapon, and both boys had put themselves between the Duchess and her sister, and the assassins after them. The gray Mandalorian took out the last group on his own. He had shot them without hesitation to get to his son, before ushering them all back to the ship, all-but carrying the protesting youngster in his arms. The female Mandalorian had hurried to the cockpit to take off, and was looking for the medkit, and the rest of them were left in the cargo hold.

And then the helmets had come off.

Qui-Gon can’t look away from the teenager that had been revealed. He’s looking at a ghost - older than the Initiate he had known. His round face had slimmed, but there’s still a layer of baby fat on those freckled cheeks. His ginger hair is longer, down to his chin in sleek waves, but his eyes are still blue.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon murmurs, carefully releasing his shock and unease into the Force, and those blue-grey eyes shift towards the Jedi Master. The youngling is ashen with pain, the unmasked Mandalorian leaning over his doubtlessly broken arm and gently stripping it of armour, and he’s wincing every so often, though he’s carefully releasing the worst of his pain into the Force.

Qui-Gon had seen his face in his dreams for years. He had seen the petulant boy he had been when they had parted ways on the Monument, the way he had stubbornly refused to accept the path the Force was leading on. He had been clingy and argumentative; not cut out of the life of a Jedi. He had hoped the life of a farmer would help the child commune with the Living Force, and teach him how to release his arrogance. Instead, Xanatos had mistaken the boy for Qui-Gon’s Padawan, unaware that his former Master had been instead looking toward young Bruck Chun - who had been so much like Xanatos had been when he was a child, who Qui-Gon hoped to save from the same fate as his second Padawan - and had sold him to the slavers in an attempt to hurt Qui-Gon. The atmosphere in the Temple had seemed heavier after Xanatos’ mocking holo had reached them, and Master Yoda himself had led the search party trying to find the missing youngling. Qui-Gon had even joined a few groups scouring the Galaxy, his quietly stunned Padawan at his side, but there had been nothing to find; Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone.

Apparently not as gone as believed though, because Kenobi sits in front of him, stripped of the top half of his Mandalorian armour, one arm a mottled mess of swelling coloured purple and green. He had been right in front of Qui-Gon’s eyes for the last three weeks, but he hadn’t revealed himself.

Kenobi stared back at him, expression carefully neutral, and grey eyes distant. “Master Jinn,” He replies slowly, head tilting and shoulders hunching slightly, “My name is Ben now. Ben Fett be Mereel.”

Beside Qui-Gon, Satine sucks in a sharp breath, and Bruck goes carefully still, both of their alarm flaring in the Force. “Fett.” She says smoothly, but her fear is obvious in her Force signature.

The man kneeling beside the Temple’s lost Initiate straightens, turns, and stares the three of them down with dark, angry eyes. Next to Qui-Gon, Bruck flinches back -

“Buir.” Kenobi chides, voice thready with pain, but carrying enough steel to make the muscle in Fett’s jaw jump, and Kenobi gives the Mandalorian a pointed look. “Arla is on her way back with the kit.” Fett glowers at them a moment longer, before he bares his teeth - an obvious threat - and turns back to the teenager on the crate. Kenobi’s blue eyes drift back to the two Jedi, and his head tilts again, “Do you need medical attention Padawan Chun? That bolt that got past your guard must have been painful.”

Qui-Gon stiffens, turning his head to study his Padawan, who shuffles guiltily with a faint wince of pain that twists the old burn scar covering the left side of his face. He’d need to run the boy through more training katas to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

“I’m fine.” Bruck says quickly, ducking his head - a far cry from the arrogant child he had been, and Qui-Gon is proud of how he was growing.

“Doubt it, Jet’ika.” The female Mandalorian had returned, her own helmet removed, revealing a handsome woman with a strong resemblance to Fett, though her brown hair had been bleached a sunny blonde. She has a medkit in hand, and is studying Qui-Gon’s Padawan with unimpressed brown eyes. “Take a seat. I’ll look at you once I’ve got Ben’ika’s arm under control.” She sneers at Qui-Gon, before her eyes flick away dismissively. “Kat’ika, Lady Kryze - either of you need bacta?”

“No, sir!” The eleven year old chirps, and Duchess Satine soundlessly shakes her head, pale eyes still locked on Fett’s back.

“You’re Jango Fett.” Satine says blankly, and - oh. That would explain the aggression. The disgraced and supposed-to-be-dead Mand’alor had been right under their noses this entire time, likely biding his time until he could remove the Duchess from her throne and seize power for himself.

“Nayc - I’m Arla.” The older woman says cheerfully, but there’s something sharp in her eyes - a dare to them to reveal Fett’s identity, and thus recognize him as a challenger for the Throne of Mandalore, no matter how illegitimate. “Grumpy over there is my vod’ika, and of course, there’s my vod’ad, Ben.” She gives Bruck a pointed look, gesturing at the crate where Kenobi is sitting. “Sit, Jet’ika.”

Qui-Gon sighs, “Go ahead, Padawan. You’ll just slow us down otherwise.”

Bruck flinches guiltily, “Yes, Master.” He murmurs, ducking around him and limping over to the crate where he sits down beside his childhood rival, expression suitably apologetic.

“Initiate Kenobi.” Qui-Gon turns his attention to the other teenager, folding his hands in his sleeves and studying the boy with quiet disappointment that has him twitching closer to the Mandalorians. To have caused so much worry, to run around with Mandalorians instead of doing his duty - “A word.”

Fett growls, spinning around to plant himself between the run-away Initiate and the Jedi Master. He bares his teeth, fury swirling around him and writhing like a Dark shadow. Qui-Gon eyes him serenely, calculating. The man, if he had been Force sensitive, would have already Fallen to the Darkside. He’d have to remove his influence from Kenobi, to ensure he hadn’t tainted the boy.

“My son isn’t going anywhere with you, Jetii.” Fett snarls, “You and your pet Duchess are only here because he wanted to help; you want to talk to him? You do it while I’m there or not at all.” The disgraced Mand’alor glowers, dark eyes burning with hatred, and over Fett’s shoulder, Kenobi watches silently.

His eyes are still blue, but they aren’t warm anymore. There was none of the bright hope and adoration of a Jedi Initiate, there was nothing familiar about them beyond the colour. Instead, they’re cold - frigid and distant with distrust, and similar enough to Xanatos’ gaze in the last years of his Padawanship that it had Qui-Gon itching to palm his lightsaber.

He’d have to report this to the Council.

[treenahasthaal]

Hey!! I just discovered you & your blog and you are so amazing 💝💝 your writing is so good!! I was wondering if you could write something about Anakin doting on adult/teen Luke (maybe after they just met??) Idk I just really love your writing and I love the fluff so 💞💞

My apologies for taking so long to respond. I have been inundated with Asks and between work and family commitments getting time to respond has been difficult (hence the reason fic updates are slow, too).

Thank you so much for your very kind words about my fic and I’m thrilled to have been discovered. I hope I never disappoint you. 

I admit that I am not very good at fluff, I tend to bend more towards angst, but I will do what I can!  :) 

ooOOoo

Putting his arm around the boy’s shoulder Vader led him up the ramp of the waiting shuttle craft. His son appeared dazed, and he could feel tremors shiver through the slim body. 

Shock. Emotional shock.

The boy had just found his guardian’s charred bodies, had been trying to bury them by himself, and had just been told that Darth Vader was his father. Stuck out here on Tatooine did the child even know who Darth Vader was?

Another series of trembles and the boy’s...

Luke, Vader told himself, his name is Luke.

... teeth chattered. 

“Sit down,” he told the youth and he helped lower him onto the acceleration chair in the cabin. 

Luke sat, hunched over, head down, tears still running unbidden from swollen eyes dripping into his lap and Vader didn’t know if it was from grief or from the Tatooine sands that had gotten into them. It was encrusted all over; on his face, his hands, clothes and in his hair. 

 Reaching up to an overhead storage bin, Vader retrieved a med kit. Opening it he withdraw a thin emergency blanket and draped it around Luke’s shoulders. The boy grasped at it, drew it tight around himself as though the material could give him the comfort he so badly needed. 

Unsure what to do, it had been so long since he had cared for someone, so long since he had someone to care for, Vader stood in silence just looking down at his weeping child. He laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder and felt the boy stiffen. 

“I am sorry,” he intoned, the words coming out strange, strangled. It had been a long time since he had apologised to anyone. 

Luke’s head snapped up, blue, bloodshot eyes staring at the eye pieces of his father’s mask. 

Blue eyes, like his. A cleft in the chin, like him. Suns bleached blond hair, and Vader knew that it would darken as his had done once off the Force forsaken planet. 

This boy was his son! 

Vader wanted to reach out and touch that face, wanted to wipe away the sand and the tears, wanted to brush the hateful grains from his clothes. He wanted to brush aside the unruly hair to really see the boy’s features, instead he reached into the Force...

...squalling emotions, gusting anger and fear, a love that burned into terrible pain at his aunt and uncle’s deaths, a curiosity at this black giant of a man who claimed to be his father....

....but that was impossible because his father had been killed by Darth Vader... 

“I did not kill your father,” the Dark Lord told him, repeating, “I am your father.”

Another shiver, but the boy set his jaw, his eyes narrowing, and Vader felt...

... strength, a resolve and.... 

.... her! His son felt like her! 

Fury spiked in those eyes; they darkened. “My father was called Anakin Skywalker,” his voice was dry, hoarse from crying, from lack of water.  

“Yes,” Vader confirmed, “I...” He stopped. He was about to say that he was Anakin Skywalker, but that wasn’t true; he had shucked off that name in Palpatine’s office in the senate building, left the remnants of that man behind on the hot ash banks of Mustafar. 

And yet... 

“My Lord Vader!” 

The call from the hatchway drew Vader’s attention and he had to dampen down his sudden rage at the interruption. “What is it?”

The lead stormtrooper took an involuntary step backward. “We have completed the burial, my Lord.” 

Vader glanced back down at Luke, seeing the boy swallow, seeing him fight a new wave of grief. 

“Call your men,” Vader instructed. “We are returning to the ship.” 

The men trooped on board, stowed their weapons and settled on the seats around Luke, some glancing at him in curiosity.

He was loathed to leave the boy, but he had piloted the craft down and had not brought a co-pilot, so he simply nodded to Luke knowing that there were many conversations still to be had.

As he settled into the pilot’s chair and ran through the pre-flight engine start Vader felt, rather than heard, the movement behind him. He turned to find his son standing in the doorway, still wrapped in the blanket, with a water bulb in his hand. The sand, sweat and tears had been wiped from his face. 

There was a moment of silence as father and son regarded one another, then Luke held up the half empty bulb and said; “Your medic... he, uh, he thought...”

“I am glad he did,” Vader rumbled, surprised and pleased at the initiative showed by the trooper. 

“Uh,” Luke tore his eyes away from Vader’s mask and stared out of the view screen, at the sandy plains and the only home he had ever known. “I... can I sit with you,” he looked briefly at the empty co-pilot chair, shrugged awkwardly, “I... I’m a pilot, but.. I’ve never...”

Behind the mask, Vader began to smile. Perhaps it had not been the trooper who had taken the initiative; his son had courage to approach him. “You may join me,” he invited, and the brief half smile that grazed Luke’s lips lifted his heart.

Vader waited until Luke was settled and strapped in, before engaging the lifters and thrusters. The craft rose from the sands.

It was time to bring Luke home. 

ooOOoo

I hope this was okay. It reads a little rough.... 

This is a small follow on scene from my Don’t Look, Don’t See one-shots. 

[calitraditionalism]

Arc One: Chapter Eleven

Flyfang’s first impression of this apprentice was of a shrunken, half-drowned snipe with a long, muddy tail. The little thing was shivering with not an inch of dry fur – even her belly was dripping water – and she looked like she was trying not to seem as stressed as she obviously was. It had never occurred to Flyfang that other cats outside of the marshes would not have pelts made to be dunked in water without getting the undercoat wet. Wherever this cat (she had to be a brand-new apprentice, she was so small) came from, she clearly did not have to deal with water very often.

“Well…” the apprentice said, and shook out her fur too, scattering droplets that were smaller than the raindrops pelting the both of them. “Maybe we can help each other. I’m from the Hillock, and I’ve never been this far away from there, and I’m completely lost. I was trying to find someone who might know where the Margays are.”

Flyfang blinked. “That far away? What are you doing out here alone?”

The apprentice looked around, as if expecting someone else to be listening in. She leaned in to say quietly, “I actually ran away this morning. I’ve been traveling nonstop since I woke up.”

“Wow,” Flyfang said, and laughed. At the apprentice’s surprised and mildly offended look, she added, “Don’t worry, I’m a runaway too. Just left the Marish myself.”

“Really?” The apprentice’s offense vanished, replaced by distress. “Well, then…then I must be pretty far south.”

“I have no idea.” Flyfang looked behind her. “Once the rain clears up, we’ll be able to tell.” She turned back to the apprentice. “You must be freezing. Here, come on, I saw an empty den close by. We can wait out the storm there.”

The apprentice hesitated and looked Flyfang up and down, scrutinizing.

“I’m not going to take you home, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Flyfang said, offering a confident smile. “I know how it is, wanting to leave. It’s just that you’re going to get sick if you stay out here.”

The little molly’s blue eyes lowered as she thought, and eventually she nodded. Flyfang turned and started off, the apprentice squelching along in the mud behind her.

The entrance to hollowed-out earth beneath an old stump was close enough that Flyfang found it easily despite the weather. She ducked her head and dipped into the den, which was completely dry and almost warm compared to outside. She didn’t bother shaking out her fur again, the water not having even started to penetrate her double coat. Instead, she got into a corner and settled down with a sigh.

The apprentice did shake out her fur, not that it did much good, and followed her in, choosing the opposing corner to rest in. She started grooming out her pelt, tail trembling a little from the cold.

“I didn’t get your name,” Flyfang said after a moment of silence.

The apprentice paused and lifted her head. “I’m Littlepaw.”

“Apt,” Flyfang remarked, and added, “My name’s Flyfang.”

“Hello,” Littlepaw said. “Thank you for showing me this den. I’ve probably been passing by tens of them, but I don’t know what to look for.”

“They’re doing their job, then,” Flyfang said as Littlepaw resumed grooming. “We couldn’t really make our own dens in the ground at the Quag – mostly grass-coverings and such – but when you’re close enough to the north, you get to learn how to locate burrows. But wouldn’t you make your own dens in the hills?”

“No,” Littlepaw said between licks. “We have some scrapes, but we never dig for ourselves. They were there already, and they’re pretty easy to find.”

Flyfang hummed a response and let Littlepaw continue with her grooming. Meanwhile, she considered what her next course of action should be. This was a tiny and very young apprentice out here on her own and, like Flyfang, fleeing some situation at home. Living with the Marish was miserable. Were the rest of the families that bad? How many apprentices were running around, trying to escape their parents and deputies? Would Flyfang have to find more of them and guide them like she did her sisters?

“So what’s your story?” she said abruptly, her words sounding much louder in than she intended, ringing in this carved-out den. “Why did you leave?”

Littlepaw stopped again and swallowed air. Slowly, she turned fully to Flyfang and gave her front paws a nervous shift.

“Well,” she mumbled, looking down, “It’ll sound dumb, probably, but... my mother is really overbearing, making me be a seer, trying to push me to work for the leaders - and no one was telling her to leave me alone or let me be a normal warrior. And I didn’t really have any friends there, so I thought… I thought I’d find the Margays and travel together, and make friends with them.”

She had been shrinking further and further into herself, getting quieter and quieter as she spoke. When she finished, she was almost crouching, wet tail curled as far around her body as it could go (which was quite an unusually long distance), looking deeply ashamed of herself.

Flyfang felt a sharp stab of protectiveness and anger in her chest. “Hey, I know how that feels. The Marish are just the same way. They try to control every aspect of your life, down to how you raise your kits.”

Littlepaw looked up. “Really?”

“I have sisters there,” Flyfang said. “Their father is worthless and tried to give control of their lives to the deputy, so I stepped in to raise them with the freedom to be whoever they wanted to be.” Her voice darkened. “The rest of the family isn’t very fond of me for a lot of reasons, but that’s the biggest one. I know they’re going to try and take the spirit out of my sisters, so as soon as they turn nine months old, I’m going back and getting them out of there.”

Littlepaw said nothing at first, drawing out the silence and giving Flyfang time to make herself relax. After a while, Littlepaw spoke up.

“How come you left them there?” she asked. “Instead of just staying with them?”

Flyfang sighed. “I couldn’t stand another second in the marshes. I made sure they have good mentors who will encourage their personalities… or about as well as one can when you’re in the Marish. The broad in charge of that stupid family made sure to tell me that I wasn’t going to be tolerated if I kept getting involved after they became -paws, anyway.”

“Oh,” Littlepaw said softly. “That sounds a lot worse than what I had to deal with.”

“No, no,” Flyfang hastened to assure her. “It’s about the same. If your entire family wasn’t helping you with your mother, they might as well have all been against you. Did the deputy even say anything?”

Littlepaw shook her head. “Never. She kind of…deliberately ignores bad things that happen.”

“And my deputy was overly focused on everything and treated it all as bad.” Flyfang’s smile returned, bigger than before. “So we’re in the same stream, more or less, just facing different directions.”

Littlepaw did return a faint smile at that, though it looked like it took a lot of effort. Silence fell in the den as she continued clearing off the water and Flyfang took to thinking again. The only sounds were the rasp of Littlepaw’s tongue on soaking fur and the steady pummeling of the rain outside.

“You’ve got it rougher, though,” Flyfang said finally. “You might have to go back, being as young as you are. Unless someone were to claim you, or-“

Littlepaw’s head jerked up. “I’m nine months old. I can travel.”

Flyfang gawked at her. “You are?”

This time, Littlepaw managed a tiny, weak laugh. “I’m just runty, that’s all.”

“That could be to your advantage, you know,” Flyfang said. “Just pitch up your voice a little and come up to older cats asking for prey. You wouldn’t have to hunt until you became a warrior.”

“I actually caught my first prey today.” Littlepaw straightened further to puff out her soggy chest. “I was never taught how to. I guess I got lucky.”

“Your mom wouldn’t even let you learn how to hunt?” Flyfang guessed, angry again.

“She said it’d distract me from my connections with StarClan,” Littlepaw replied, and smiled a little wryly. “And yet they were the ones to tell me to do whatever I wanted. So joke’s on her, I guess.”

“Thank the stars, eh?”

“Thank the stars.” Littlepaw’s smile melted away. “But now I don’t know where to go. I have no idea where the Margays are going, and I’m worried my mother will track me down and drag me home.”

Flyfang felt a sudden pressure to be the experienced, smart adult and make decisions for the both of them. She knew Littlepaw probably wouldn’t travel with her, but she couldn’t just let someone who only hunted once in her life wander into the great big world with no one to help.

“What about the Clast?” she blurted.

Littlepaw blinked.

Flyfang fumbled for further ideas. “Well, no one goes to the Clast unless they’re looking for a fight, right? And your mom wouldn’t expect that of you, would she? You don’t seem like the fighting type.”

“I’m not,” Littlepaw admitted.

“And they might have someone there who knows where the Margays are going,” Flyfang continued, quickly becoming enthused by the idea. “No need to stay there for long, but it’ll throw everyone off – your mom, the Marish, if they come after me-“

“Ah-“ Littlepaw interrupted, immediately looking apologetic and shy. “I didn’t know we would go together.”

“Is that an issue?” Flyfang tilted her head. “I can hunt and fight, and do both pretty well. I could teach you what you need to know. And I’d feel bad just leaving you alone after the storm’s done. Plus, I’d like to see the Margays myself. I’ve never gotten to watch their stories, but I hear they’re great.”

“They’re awesome,” Littlepaw said with such enthusiasm that Flyfang almost drew her head back in surprise. “I saw one yesterday. It’s amazing. They have so many stories memorized! I’d love to learn them all.”

Flyfang laughed. “I like stories myself. I have pretty much all the ones about Derecho and Calcine memorized.”

“The disaster stories?” Littlepaw said, paw lifted to her mouth to poorly hide her amusement. “Those are a little grim.”

“They’re action-packed,” Flyfang corrected her. “Very exciting. I’m sure they’re popular in the Clast settlement too.”

Littlepaw gazed at the ceiling, head tilting back and forth in thought. She eventually looked back down at Flyfang, beaming. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

Flyfang nodded her affirmation with a grin.

[restingdomface]

So... Vampire Game AU???? Vampire Game AU.

So. Here goes. An AU where the mighty Undead King Wei Wuxian was in a battle against the Lightholder Lan Wangji. They used to be best friends and probably boyfriends but then battle happens (or maybe WWX just thinks he was trying to fight him like in canon, whatever, but no matter what, he thinks LWJ was out to kill him in the end) and in that moment before the undead king died, he cursed them both, so the next time Wangji was reborn into the world, he would reincarnate there too, so he could hunt him down and destroy him again. WWX was kinda a dramatic bitch in the end.

So. Sometime a couple centuries later, WWX is reborn... as a rabbit. Whoops. Lol that whole ‘levels of karma in rebirth’ thing came to bite him in the ass and now he’s an angry little muffin in some dumbass field with a bunch of other buns running around.

He’s annoyed af. Rabbits had been LWJ’s favorite animal. How dare karma come back for him in this way? Rude. So anyways, one day, some random kiddos are walking through the GusuLan rabbit fields, when they notice one of the kits won’t stop getting mad with all the adults trying to baby him. He keeps hopping away from Momma and making angry noises. What is sweet little Lan Sizhui (the Lan Sect heir, dontcha know) to do other than try to calm the little brat down. So, he picks up the little one, who instantly bites him! Drew blood and everything!

Well, to his and Jingyi’s Shock, instead of that being that and Sizhui abandoning the little blood sucker, he??? Turns into????? A human????????? Lemme just say, ‘what the fuck.’

Wei Wuxian, now an adult human (with neither a golden core, or ability to do much demonic cultivation because of this body’s weakness tbh, therefore, helpless af) and naked, just looks at the two of them, collapses, and is taken to the healers.

Of course, everyone insists that he should be let back out into the world, he’s probably just some wandering hobo that got lost, but LSZ and LJY, who saw him turn into a human, are like ‘nah, we’re... adopting him...’

Let me tell you. Wei Wuxian is pissed that the Lan Sect still exists, and even more pissed that he’s unofficially a part of it now. But he accepts it, because after explaining what happened to these sect heirs (bored children who are attached to him for some reason now) that he’s looking for a long dead sect leader and he can only be reborn by their blood (‘by the way,’ he also explains to Sizhui one day, ‘you’re adopted. You don’t have any Lan blood in you at all’ ‘oh, yes, I know that already. Our father, sect leader Lan Xichen, adopted us when we were little’.)

Of course, since it’s a Vampire Game AU, that means Wei Wuxian can transform into a rabbit on will now, so LSZ gets away with carrying a spoiled black bunny to random sect functions and generally treating him as a lap pet. Lol LJY does it too, but he doesn’t get away with as much, cause WWX is weak to A-Yuan’s big eyes.

About a month or two in, a Living Undead appears in Cloud Recesses, immediately identifying WWX and telling the children he would always know when his young master was reborn into the world. He takes WWX on hunts sometimes to help him regain his core but mostly just hangs out and builds a garden, since their sect leader is so open about things like the unliving now days. Such a change from when LWJ was in charge. Mainly though, because they still had a council of elders back then.

So, anyways, idk if WWX dies again and is reborn as LWJ’s twin (lol if you go by Vampire Game fun) or if LWJ was already reborn as a rabbit who didn’t realize his BF was a rabbit too and later on WWX is annoyed with this dumb white bunny that won’t stop trying to court him (in both rabbit and human form lolll) until it occurs to him one day, that that’s. Fuckin. Weird.

You know what? Let’s go with that one. One day WWX tricks LWJ bun bun into biting a human and he turns into human LWJ, and everyone’s all ‘oh shit, were gonna have to stop WWX from killing him now huh’ but??? WWX just sorta???? Hugs him and says he missed him??? And it’s gay. Idk. The end.

[jabberbeans]

Wangxian Coffeeshop AU: First encounter

I put Wangxian, coffee, urban magic, fluff and slowburn into the melting pot and crossed my fingers - read at your own risk. I’ll be updating this story in shorts before revising and posting a full length version to A03 (somewhere in the distant improbable future).

Featuring confused pining over magic tea and magic sweets, cafe shenanigans and baker/patissiere(?) WWX and LWJ. 

Tranquility turned tea from pear-green to a deep sea foam. Lan Wangji felt this was appropriate - water was the most tranquil thing he knew. His uncle disagreed - as he often did - and had attempted to shift the colour back to its original green many times. That one was a failed experiment - it reduced the efficacy of tranquility and made the tea taste like grass.

“That’s not green tea,” Lan Qiren had scowled, pointing an accusatory finger at the perfect sea foam brew. “It isn’t traditional.”

Was magic traditional? Lan Wangji had been tempted to ask, but held his tongue. Using their energy to shape the natural order of things into something else - perhaps that betrayed tradition, or at least some law of nature. But magic ran as deep as blood, and the healing teas were so much more healing when they used magic, so sea foam it was.

They still called it green tea on their menu. It was very popular. 

Gusu had been a traditional Chinese tea house, once. Lan Qiren would have been quite content to keep it that way too, but even he couldn’t shout gentrification into going away. Gusu was dying. So he turned the shop over to his nephews with the vague hope that they could reassess its business model and bring in some customers. Then he went on a long vacation.

When he returned, Gusu was transformed. Literally. Its dark wood finishings were gone, replaced with snow-bright walls. The tea was unrecognisable. There was a dessert menu. And a bar counter. 

But there were also customers. So many, in fact, that Lan Qiren was forced to don his apron and help out not five minutes after walking through the door. Lan Wangji had never seen his uncle so disturbed as he’d been that day, trapped behind the counter while teenagers pointed their phones at his hands and cooed over the quaintness, the rarity, the sheer aesthetic - of hand brewed tea.

It wasn’t that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had betrayed their uncle and tradition. It was more accurate to say that they took his best ideals, put them in the proverbial blender and stood by silently to receive the scrambled results. 

Floor seating and low tables remained - but there was also a large communal table and benches, and of course, the dreaded bar counter with its stools. The tea menu was largely the same, just tweaked to look and taste better. Ice blended options were now available, to their uncle’s everlasting horror. And there were traditional desserts - almond soup, sesame balls, milk pastry, cakes - all arranged artfully and minimally on little porcelain plates.

And so Gusu was preserved, albeit not quite in the shape their uncle would have preferred. But four years on, the cafe continued thrive - building a solid reputation among locals and visitors. Lan Qiren had mostly adapted to the teenagers with their phones and the cakes by now, but he still eyed the green tea with deep suspicion.

Lan Wangji was doing the very same that morning, as he regarded Lan Jingyi’s practice brews. The teen had arranged the tiny glass cups from dark amber to pale yellow. Perhaps he thought he might get points for neatness.

“Again,” Lan Wangji said with finality, eyes sweeping down the line. “When you make clarity, the oolong should lighten to parchment.”

Jingyi wilted first at again and segued quickly into bafflement at parchment. 

“Parchment?” The boy repeated, unsure if he heard right. Lan Wangji paused to think it over, then nodded.

“Like paper white, tinted with yellow or tan. Parchment.”

Jingyi looked exasperated then, eyes wide and swivelling in their sockets to catch Lan Sizhui’s, who pretended not to see. Finding himself without allies in the kitchen, Jingyi’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yes, Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji didn’t blame him. Clarity was difficult to make. Oolong got particularly stubborn when energy was channeled into it. If one had poor magic control, the colour could turn almost violently, from amber to walnut to black.

He left Jingyi to continue his oolong studies and approached Sizhui instead, who had finished divining the difference between parchment and white the day before, and so was allowed to move on to desserts. Lan Wangji approached from behind silently, but Sizhui’s hands remained steady as they attempted to transplant a sesame ball onto a spun sugar base. It wobbled unsteadily when he drew back.

“I’ll do it again,” Sizhui said before Lan Wangji could. “The base is too brittle. It must have been the temperature.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji approved. “Continue.”

The boys were young, only fifteen, but they were fast and eager to learn. Their progress came at no little effort however, if Jingyi’s growing army of oolong cups was any indication. But Lan Wangji was not worried. His uncle had handpicked them himself from some branch or other of their very, very extended family, and they were proving to be dedicated workers. It had been less than a month since they began training, but they would soon be ready to work the counter.

There was a loud rattling sound from Jingyi’s corner of the kitchen, a hastily bitten off curse, and then Sizhui was abandoning his station to fly over with a towel. Lan Wangji pointedly did not turn around to look. Perhaps not /too/ soon.

Jingyi’s cups were no closer to parchment by the time Lan Xichen poked his head in. “Wangji,” he called. “Would you check outside? The customers say there’s an obstruction near the entrance.”

“The deliveries?” The deliveryman occasionally left their parcels at the front, if he was busy.

“He would have called if he wasn’t coming in.” 

“I’ll check.”

It wasn’t a parcel. Lan Wangji spotted the problem the moment he stepped out - it was taking pains to make itself known, actually.

A little stickman was drawn onto the walkway in what looked like chalk. Someone had magicked it to life so that it danced about - harmless, but an annoyance regardless. It surged towards Lan Wangji’s foot, circling playfully and attempting to slide onto his shoe. If it succeeded, the chalk drawing would transfer to the leather.

Lan Wangji stepped briskly out of its path and tried to trace its spiritual source. It was strong, and he followed it easily out the gate. The little stickman raced to stay close, its arms waving about.

He was so preoccupied ensuring it didn’t touch him that he nearly tripped over the problem’s source. 

“Careful!” The man squatting on the pavement said, flinging an arm up in reflex. His hand was covered in chalk dust. Lan Wangji stepped back to look at him. Then he looked again. 

“You…” He had no words for what he was witnessing. The man was surrounded by chalk drawings that stretched all the way up the pavement, past the neighbouring lot. They were wriggling with life - little stick figures dancing, animals prowling, scribbled phrases vibrating - and food - so much of it, all moving.

It was a simple matter to implant spiritual energy in the drawings - small children could do it with enough practice. But that was precisely the problem, it was a trick for children, not adults.

“You’re blocking my sun, do you mind…?” The man said, not unkindly. He still hadn’t turned around, eyes focused on his next drawing. Lan Wangji did not move.

“This is vandalism,” he told him.

“It’s only chalk. It’ll wash away with the rain. Or a good sweep.” 

The man looked up then, and…Lan Wangji did not know what he was expecting - he had no preconceived notions. But he felt a flicker of surprise. The man’s mouth was curved like he was laughing, though no sound passed his lips. His smile was sun-bright. For a brief moment Lan Wangji allowed himself to notice the rest of him - his impish features, his haphazard ponytail, and the red ribbon that tamed it, just barely. 

He looked away.

“You’re obstructing our business,” he told the air in the middle distance. He sensed the man was staring at him but he kept his gaze averted. There was a small gasp, like the man realised something.

“Oh! You run the cafe?” Lan Wangji let the weighted silence speak for him, and the man continued to speak as if he’d received a proper reply. “I didn’t notice I was in front of your shop. I started drawing and I had so much inspiration that I forgot -“

“Please remove yourself and the drawings. You are inconveniencing the customers.”

The man pouted. “I want to save the drawings first…but I don’t have paper. That’s why I’m drawing out here. You see, I had this amazing idea for a triple tier reverse lava cupcake and I needed to sketch it out before the idea got away from me but all I had was this chalk in my pocket so -“

Lan Wangji was quite finished listening to him somewhere around paper. He said sternly, “If I give you paper will you stop?”

“And a pencil too, please!” The man said shamelessly, as if it was perfectly normal to make demands of strangers that he was inconveniencing.

Lan Wangji unfolded his wallet, and ran his fingers through it briefly. He kept some useful things inside - stationery, a first-aid kit, a spare apron - and his notebook. It was twice the size of his wallet and the man hummed with interest when he extricated it.

“Handy trick,” he commented, eyes twinkling. 

Ignoring him, Lan Wangji carefully tore three pieces of paper from the spine. Then he glanced at the chalk drawings and tore another piece. The man was gleeful as he accepted them.

“I drew a lot, didn’t I,” He sounded pleased with himself. “Thank you.”

“Hm.”

He stood aside while the man lay the paper sheets on the ground, spreading them neatly. Then he wriggled his fingers and whistled once, sharp. The doodles froze where they were, some in the midst of sneaking onto the street. When the man tapped the paper with his finger they began to slide along the pavement very quickly, shrinking as they went, until they were paper drawings. Lan Wangji was surprised by the sheer number of doodles of cake, sweets and desserts - each one elaborately drawn and unusual. 

Unbelievably, there was a reverse three-tiered cupcake - just like the man had described. A long string of untidy handwriting accompanied it, jostling the cupcake as they both slid onto the last empty spot. Then it was over, and the pavement was clean once more.

Almost.

“You forgot one.” The little chalk man was still trying to climb his foot despite the slight energy field Lan Wangji had put up to rebuff it. It hopped around the toe of his shoe, waving indignantly.

“Hm...” the man crooked a finger at it, and when that didn’t work, he whistled sharply. The little chalk man appeared to toss its head rebelliously at his efforts, marching away until it was behind Lan Wangji’s shoe. 

The man only laughed, “You should keep him, I think he likes you.” Then he winked and turned away, his ribbons flying as he did. Like they were taunting him.

“You...!”

“Take good care of him,” the man called back, already walking away. 

[fullmetaldevil-blog]

Stitched AU Short: The First Day

         Summary:            

The studio was yesterday's memory and now the recovery begins today. The road to full recovery is a long one, but it has to begin somewhere as both respective families learn with the two toon demons they just brought home. Their first day in the world beyond the studio was a long one.

                 Notes:    

This is actually a rewrite of a short I wrote a long time ago shortly after I began writing the main AU. After several months of debate, I decided to bite the bullet and rewrite it (with omitting obvious key information) and simply focus on how the families dealt with bringing home their respective toons for the first time.

Golden beams of light danced through the dusty old curtains to shine their rays of morning cheer on a small sleeping face. The figure lightly groaned at the brilliant intruder, but despite small urges to block out the offending light he couldn't find the energy to do anything about it. His mis-matched pie cut eyes blearily opened after several failed attempts to find that he was wearing some sort of cloth and was wrapped in a larger piece of thicker fabric. He realized that he was bound within this fabric cocoon and attempted to free himself of it, but again found himself lacking the strength to even move a finger.

A squeaky toy whine escaped him as he mentally recounted what happened to him last, trying to recall why he felt so exhausted. He remembered lots of fighting, running and his body falling apart, but not much else afterwards. The last thing he could remember was seeing a door before his world began to turn black and 2 sets of hands trying to catch him. He cautiously looked around and realized that he was back in his normal form which warranted a wave of panic to sweep over him. His normal toon form in the studio meant he was vulnerable, and being vulnerable meant death.

Benny wiggled as best he could loudly whining as he tried to escape, not realizing that he was nestled between two figures who were rapidly stirring from the demon's panicked cries. The demon failing to realize that he was no longer surrounded by musty yellowed walls nor the miasma of old ink. The only thought process running through the devil's mind was to escape as he lacked the strength to go to his Ragdoll form.

Tom quickly woke from the small movements and the panicked cries he was hearing next to him. He hoped that a searcher or lost one hadn't infiltrated their base. His eyes shot open and quickly reached behind himself and reached for his ax only to be met with air and that he was under a blanket on a bed rather than on a cot in the corner of an old abandoned room. He realized that the room was a soft green rather than the yellow walls of the studio and that it vaguely smelled of flowers rather than ink. Realization hit him, he wasn't in the studio anymore. His sudden movement cause a pair of pie cut eyes to land on him in horror while he himself looked down at the sight before him.

The little Ragdoll demon Benny was in a pair of pajamas wrapped in a blanket between him and Allison whom was also waking from the demon's distress. The demon looked at him in a mix of shock and horror before it warped to anger while a distressed squeaky toy whine escaped him and he tried to wiggle out of his blanket, but clearly was having trouble doing so.

Benny looked at the strange man in horror before anger took him. Who is this guy? Wait is that Thomas? Why is he here? Why can't I transform? What is wrong with me, I can't move. Where am I? The toon's mind raced mile a minute as his whining got louder and his attempts at freeing himself more desperate. His body all the while unwilling to move beyond the motions of his floating head.

Tom quickly reached down and attempted to pet the distressed demon to calm him down, but had to quickly draw his hand away when said devil opened his mouth to reveal large sharp triangular teeth. The demondoll repeatedly snapped his teeth every time Tom's hand got too close earning a small look of pain from him. Did Benny not recognize him? Did he think he was still in the studio?

Benny bared his teeth at Tom and snapped at his hand if it got too close and soon found himself being pulled into something. He was about to try and bite whatever was tugging at him when he was met with soft humming. The demon's teeth hovered over the offending limb grabbing him before his teeth turned flat again and he closed his mouth.

Allison woke to see Benny lashing out in fear at her husband as the devil’s teeth could be heard harshly snapping together. Her mind quickly ran through the previous nights events and she realized that Benny most likely doesn't realize he isn't in the studio anymore and is on the defensive. She saw the confused and pained look in her husbands face as he tried to approach the demon, but it seemed that Benny didn't recognize him. Then again the man isn't a Boris toon anymore. The devildoll only seemed to recognize her as she still vaguely looked like herself when she was an Alice toon and that further cemented the suspicion when she began to hum. The devil’s reaction at the time made her realize that the Ragdoll monster was her little Benny all along. Perhaps if her humming worked then, it could work now.

Allison's humming drifted through the air as her gentle hands pulled the agitated demon away from her husband and into her embrace, allowing him to feel the vibrations in her chest from her humming a gentle yet familiar tune. Benny's fear and anger melted away to comfort and security when he realized whose embrace he was in, it was the only woman he ever considered his mother. Allison. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be embraced by her and gently hummed alongside her as best he could from an old faded memory.

Tom watched with relief as Benny visibly calmed down and relaxed into Allison's hold. He was thankful that her tunes can calm him down as the last thing he wanted was to get bitten or to be dealing with the plushtoon’s problematic other form. It surprised him even more when the small toon was humming lightly alongside her, he was doing the best he could, but the melody was still there. Still, it pained him that Benny was very aggressive towards him. He hoped it was out of fear and lack of recognition rather than something else.

The mechanic lightly cleared his throat finding that after 30 years of being unable to speak he was finally able to hear himself. He had begrudgingly grown so used to hearing nothing from himself as he nearly forgot what he sounded like, sure his voice was a little deeper then he remembered, but he was able to make a sound. The man relished in the little noise he made before trying to see if he could convey his desires.

"Do-" Tom paused in his words carefully, trying to get back to the rhythm of speech. "Do… you want some breakfast?"

Allison looked at him in brief shock at his voice, but warmly smiled. "You can speak again. I'm so glad, you've been unable...for so long" small tears formed at the edges of the woman's eyes.

A wave of concern hit Tom and he leaned down to try and wipe her tears away, but instead was met with a row of sharp teeth as Benny wasn't letting him near Allison. The man had to quickly drew his hand away lest he'd be searching for a medical kit after Benny was through with him. Allison wiped away her own tears while nodding slightly for which Tom assumed was an answer to his earlier question. She gently pulled Benny back away from Tom hugging him while she rested her chin between the demon’s horns.

Tom said no more and he edged out of his side of the bed briefly taking in the look of the room before finding his ink soaked boots and begrudgingly slid them on taking mental note to look for new shoes later. He got up from the bed and picked up his room key opening the door before turning to look back at Allison from the doorway. The woman watched him with worried eyes mouthing 'be safe' before Tom closed the door behind him and began to scope out the building.

The hotel wasn't very large, but it was the closest one they were able to find after leaving the studio. Henry was a blessed man and was able and kind enough to drop them off at the hotel to rest before figuring out their next step. The news of the current day and year hit them like a ton of bricks and the grim reality set in that they are all now homeless due to the unforgiving passage of time. Their homes long since repossessed and sold as their former owners were trapped in a hell of their bosses own making. The only small silver lining was that their bank accounts had miraculously survived giving them all a chance to start over. Everyone was able to withdraw some funds, and with Henry's help, raid the local corner market for a quick change of clothes along with some supplies. Tom had gone in for his and Allison's sake, and grabbed 2 adult pajama sets and 1 child set alongside a sewing kit. It wasn't much of a start, but it was something. Tom shook the thoughts away as his best method to a new beginning was to get a decent meal, can’t start the day off hungry.

Prior to Henry dropping them off at the hotel he informed them that this one was more of an inn and thus had free breakfast in the morning hours should they get up early enough. Tom cautiously walked about the grounds checking every corner before realizing how stupid he looked, old habits die hard. He straightened himself up and managed to locate the central living quarters that was packed and ready to go with all the fixings for breakfast. Much to his relief, no other patrons of the establishment was frequenting the room giving him free rein to do what he needed.

The room had 2 large machines in one corner while several vats of coffee had been left sitting out for guests alongside several jars of what he assumed was syrup and a few large dispensers of cereal. Tom drifted to the 2 machines and realized (after lightly pulling on the lever) that one dispenses batter and the other was a waffle maker. Once he had the machines figured out, he grabbed three plates and laid them on the table next to the machines and began to fill the small paper cups with the batter before pouring them in the waffle maker setting it to cook. After he set up the machine to make 4 at a time, he located a small cart for room service and set the plates on it since he knew he wouldn't be able to carry the plates back easily.

Tom paced about the kitchen area grabbing several boxes of juice alongside 2 small glass bottles of milk before pillaging the cereals and bowls. He set all the items in the cart just in time to hear the bell of the waffle maker indicating they were ready. He carefully used a fork to pluck them off the pans and set them on a plate before making 2 more rounds of waffles. He grabbed one final cup filling it with syrup before setting it down with the rest of the food. With the last item was in place he looked at his cart mentally scolding himself as reality set in. Could they possibly eat all that? The man regretting grabbing so much food as an old habit of stocking up on bacon soup was hard to break. Deciding to leave things to chance, he grasped onto the cart and carefully wheeled it down the walkway to their room.

He fumbled with the keys as it was taking a minute to get used to having a full set of 5 fingers rather than the cartooney 4. Once the keys cooperated he slowly opened the door poking his head in to see Allison look at him critically before relaxing at a familiar face. Once he got her visual confirmation he pulled the cart in behind himself and shut the door locking it.

Allison gently moved coaxing Benny out from her side, the devildoll whining in protest. She smiled as his stubbornness, but ran her fingers between his horns. "C'mon. Foods here."

At the promise of a meal Benny ceased his protests allowing Allison to move him since he was unable to move too much on his own. His limited mobility earning twinges of concern from both Tom and Allison, but both decided to focus on getting in a real meal before worrying about assessing Benny's injuries. If the toon would even let them.

Tom handed Allison the first plate containing the waffles. She reached for the cup of syrup and lightly poured some over the waffles before trying to pass them to Benny. The toon whined as he couldn't even lift his hands to accept the meal earning looks of pity from the couple.

Benny lightly scowled at his body's refusal to function, but squeaked in shock when Allison lifted him up and set him on her lap leaning against her arm. He looked at her confused until he saw Tom cutting up some of the waffles into bite sized pieces and held the plate while Allison picked up a piece with a fork and held it in front of his mouth. He quickly realized what she was doing and graciously accepted the food.

Inky tears began to form at the edges of the plushtoon’s eyes the more food he ate gaining looks of concern from Allison and Tom and before they could ask what was wrong, Benny openly cried making Allison stop trying to feed him and focus on trying to comfort him. The toon bawled in her arms while she hummed and whispered comforting words to him while Tom lightly patted his back. They stayed like that for awhile trying to calm the demon down.

Allison was reminded of the first day she met Benny and how the toon cried at her simple act of kindness. He had been so scared and on the run to survive that when he met her he couldn't believe that someone actually cared. It saddened her that after all this time the demon seemed to be back to step one all over again, except this time he doesn't have the band to help him. She waited patiently until the demon had quieted down, and once she felt he was ready, tried to feed him again.

Tom felt part of his heart break at watching the toon's meltdown. Benny had shown unending strength throughout the madness of the studio alongside Bendy with both demons their own respective horrors of the halls, but now he was weak and scared. Just like his first day. The toon was as frail as he was when he was first born and that fragility made him fearful. He didn't like seeing the large inky tears streaming down the toons face nor the teeth bared in fear, he wanted to see the little one smile genuinely. It seems that may take some time as for now he needs to start the road to recovery as his may be longer than theirs.

Tom waited patiently for Allison to feel that Benny was able to continue before silently handing her more and more food for the toon to eat. Much to their surprise Benny ate and drank all the excess food and drink he had brought not counting his and Allison's breakfast he had set aside. Once the toon was finished he yawned as (to Tom and Allison's amazement) little cartooney 'Z' occasionally appeared above the toon's head before they burst waking him. Allison chuckled at the sleepy demon remembering this odd toon logic while Tom looked on in a mix of amazement and confusion. Who knew some manners of cartoon logic could work in the real world?

Allison lifted Benny into her arms signalling Tom to prepare the bed. Instead of making a sort of cocoon to lay the demon in as he did the night before, Tom made a sort of doughnut for which Allison placed Benny in the center. The pair ate their breakfast while they watched Benny until the tooney 'Z's consistently floated above his head meaning he was out like a light. Making sure the demon was dead to the world, Tom carefully unbuttoned Benny's pajama top silently cursing why he even bought the thing since it had so many buttons. It made him wonder if it was normal for children's clothes to have so many buttons solely for the purpose of driving their already sleep addled parents insane. The final button came undone much to Tom's relief and he carefully slid the top off Benny giving him and Allison a proper look at the state of their toon.

Benny's arms were nearly completely severed and were literally hanging on by a few threads and his normal toon body strongly resembled how tattered and torn apart his larger Ragdoll form looked. His stomach was in better shape with only the thread that held it together being loose rather than being completely severed. The toon's ink and stuffing were still contained within. It was heartbreaking for the couple to properly see how much damage Benny had sustained from their escape as the demon took many blows that were meant for them rather than him. He used himself as a shield even though his body couldn't handle the stress. Seeing his injuries made them wish they could have done something about it sooner. They were so tired from the studio they only managed to put on a pajama set on him putting him to bed before they washed up and put on their sets before sleep took them.

Tom lightly shook his head trying to clear himself of the negative thoughts before looking for his other purchase from last night. He reached for the small nightstand next to their bed and grasped a small mini purse like bag. While normally he wouldn't be caught with such a bag in a million years, it was the bags contents he desired. He held the bag carefully and opened it to reveal a mini sewing kit with several needles, 2 spools of black thread and a pair of scissors. He held out a needle which Allison quickly took from him while he measured out two lengths of thread and handed Allison one of them. The couple threaded their respective needles and slowly started working on Benny's worn and tattered body.

A shared sigh of relief graced Allison and Tom when they realized that Benny seemed to be sleeping through them trying to sew him back together. Before they began, Allison had whispered a small warning to Tom about the first time she repaired Benny finding that it hurt him severely, but after a few motions of her needle on the toon's shoulder he wasn't phased at all. He must be recovering his ink to numb the pain. She couldn't help, but wonder what happened to him to have his limbs completely severed and held together with thread and ink. He wasn't this torn up when they got separated. What did he go through for the 30 years they were separated? That question best be asked another time.

Tom was a bit slower at sewing then Allison as it wasn't his strong suit and if anything he was getting a better look at the toon's body now that he wasn't trying to sink his teeth in his hand. With each loop of the thread and the more Benny's body was slowly put back together, he watched in amazement as ink was filling in the small imperfections along with the fabric that was stretching over most of his wounds. To his annoyance the only injuries that didn't heal was where his limbs had been completely severed and sewn back on. He silently hoped that if Benny had been completely put back together his disturbing injuries would heal, but it looks like whatever happened to him was permanent. Many questions crossed his mind as well as potential scenarios, but for now he let it go to focus on the task at hand. As long as Benny would be able to move on his own again was all that mattered to him.

Benny was completely sewn back together and redressed in half an hour allowing Allison to cover him back up in the blanket making sure he was tucked in. She hoped that now he was sewn back together that he would be able to move better than before. Though it baffled her how he had such difficulty moving, but memories of his Ragdoll form came to mind and she remembered that his threads were intact while this time his threads were broken in many places. It seems that he can split himself apart as she observed him doing so to attack, but as long as his cords are intact he can move perfectly fine. Was this toon logic or just the odd nature of Benny being a former stuffed doll?

A small groan and the cracking of a back was heard as Tom straightened himself up. He glanced sheepishly at Allison while she chuckled at the noises whispering a small comment of him being an 'old man'. Tom playfully huffed at the comment before deciding to lay back down in the bed. He had to admit he was completely exhausted from the events that unfolded and now that he himself had a full stomach he wanted some sleep as well. He turned to face Allison laying down and after a short time was out like a light.

Allison smiled as she watched both Benny and Thomas sleep, they both needed rest as they had fought so hard to help free themselves of the studio. Taking the quiet moment, Allison got up from the bed and carefully rolled the cart outside and down the hall towards what she suspected was the central portion of the complex. She returned the cart to the central room and returned to her room and sat back down on the bed looking over her shoulder at a piece of paper laying next to the phone on her nightstand. She picked it up remembering it was Henry's phone number he left with them the night before and had asked for them to call him in the morning, or at least once they woke up.

Her fingers glided over the rotary phone on the nightstand as she was thankful that the phones had not changed much and slowly dialed the number.

--------- Henry's House ---------

Henry blearily drifted through his home still edgy from the previous events of the studio. It didn't help that they spent much of the night calming Bendy down as the demon in question was curled up on Henry's ink soaked couch under his blanket. He was so thankful for Linda's patience and understanding as she went into full mother mode when Henry brought the injured demon home.

The woman spent a good chunk of her night helping Henry dig through his art supplies gathering up as much ink as they could to feed the demon to try and help his injuries recover. When Henry ran out of ink to feed Bendy and he was still leaking a lot from open injuries, Linda took over to bandage him as best she could. While she was busy with Bendy, Henry was attending to his own injuries and getting in a solid meal while answering any questions about what happened in the studio to the best of his ability.The pair spent the night changing Bendy's bandages and trying to comfort him when he finally woke.

Henry nearly fled in fear when Bendy tried to change into his ink demon form, but stopped part way through the transformation when Linda yanked the demon's head into her chest hugging him tight while whispering and rubbing his back gently. Bendy remained frozen from the action for what felt like forever before his accumulated ink washed off him reverting him back to his normal toon form. Linda looked as exhausted as Henry was, but she was used to Henry's now rare panic attacks from his time spent in war, the man screaming or fighting in his sleep. She long since learned that by hugging him while talking to him or forcing him to look at her all the while trying to regulate his breathing helped snap him out of his attacks or at the least calm him down. Bendy seemed to lose his eyesight so her bear hug was the next best thing. It made Henry smile to see that her tactic of calming him down during his panic attack seemed to help Bendy calm down as well. Once the demon was somewhat sedated Linda passed him back to Henry for which the demon clung to him like he was his lifeline. Henry let the little demon sleep next to his side noticing that his presence seemed to be a calming factor for the toon as he himself succumbed to exhaustion.

Now he found himself roaming his house in the morning hours trying to get some semblance of food while Bendy was still sleeping on his couch. The phone rang in the kitchen catching his attention as he made his way over to it and picked it up.

"Hello? Stein Residence" Henry tiredly yawned into the phone.

"Morning Henry." A soft voice answered with a slight giggle.

Henry realized instantly who was on his phone and smiled "Morning Allison."

"How are things with you?" She asked quietly on the line.

Henry lifted a brow as how softly she spoke on the phone as it was a bit hard for him to hear her, but he figured she was probably the only one up. "Once I got home I introduced Linda to Bendy and told her what had happened at the studio. I fully expected her to fear him, but she immediately took him in her wing and started caring for him while giving me a chance to relax a minute."

Allison listen to him before asking "Did he cause any trouble?" She was well aware of the demon's abilities and feared he may be lashing out as much as Benny was. There was a pause on the line before Henry answered.

"Yes and No. He did wake up and had a panic attack, but Linda was able to subdue him before it got out of hand. Once he relaxed she gave him to me where just being near me seemed to calm him down. I guess my being his creator was all he needed to feel more at ease." Henry chuckled on the line. "How's Benny? I know he wasn't in the best of shape when we left." Henry remembered driving down the road towards the hotel occasionally looking at the rear view mirror at Allison in the backseat trying to hold Benny together as his body looked like it had gone through a shredder. The plushtoon's body more fragile than his ink demon counterpart.

Allison let out a long sigh in the phone. "Broken. His body was so worn and beat up. His arms were the worst as they were hanging on by a few threads."

"Isn't that normal for him? After all in his larger form that's how his arms were and they moved just fine." Henry recalled how the stitched demon fought with his arms swirling around him like snakes before they lashed out like whips.

"No, Benny never had severed limbs before. When he was with me before the studio fell he only had stitching on his face and his stomach. His arms and right leg were never cut off. They were injuries that happened some time after we were split apart."

"I see. So how is he now?"

Allison looked over her shoulder at Benny whom was nestled in his blanket with Tom's arm over him protectively. "He's weak and it will take awhile for him to recover. Thomas and I sewed him back together and his injuries are slowly healing, but I worry. He doesn't seem to recognize Tom at all. He was biting at him to keep Tom from getting too close."

"Well keep in mind that Tom was a Boris toon for a long time, he probably doesn't know that the man and the toon are the same person. Heck he barely recognized you when you met." Henry tried to ease the woman's concern.

"Thing is Henry, Benny has shown that he remembers his time with me before the studio fell. He should remember how Tom used to look before he was turned into a toon." Allison's voice died down "At least I hope so. I don't want to see him being fearful or hating Thomas."

Henry could hear the sorrow in the woman's tone. Thomas built the Ink Machines and Benny and Bendy were the results. The confrontation with Joey proved the suspicion that a little of each person was put into each toon, himself with Bendy and Thomas with Benny. It would stand to reason that under that logic that the toon's are, in a sense, offspring with both men as their respective fathers. Henry felt a sense of pity knowing that Allison most likely has drawn a similar conclusion and was afraid that Benny didn't recognize or hated the man that's supposed to be his father.

The animator thought for a minute before softly answering "Only time can tell. If you fear he doesn't remember Tom, tell him who he is. Benny may need a refresher since it's been so long. The sooner the better. If he doesn't remember right away then maybe they need a fresh start."

Allison agreed with Henry and the two idly chatted away all the while unaware that the small figure behind her had stirred.

-------- The Connor’s Hotel Room --------

Benny had woken up and was about to crunch down on Thomas's offending arm laying on him until he heard Allison talking about Tom and how he should remember him. Benny quietly listened to her as well as whomever she was talking to. He could just hear the other person talking about how he may need a reminder. Benny looked at Tom and lightly bared his teeth. Oh he didn’t need a reminder, he remembered Tom all right. That man was supposed to have brought him home a long time ago and instead left him in that room. It was this man's fault he was left behind, but his thoughts died down at remembering how Allison and Tom both looked in the studio let alone the fact that they were still there. He could have sworn they had long since left, but why did they look like toons?

Benny cautiously tested his arm finding that it was responsive, albeit numb, but working. He slowly lifted his arm and shadowed his fingers on the side of Tom's sleeping face. His pie cut eyes studying the man critically. He could have sworn Tom didn't have this many wrinkles on his face let alone looking a bit pale. He remembered him as strong, stern with fully tanned skin, but before him was an older man looking weary from the world. How come he looked so different? Even Allison looked older than he last recalled. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice behind him.

"Do you remember him?" Benny turned to look at Allison whom had hung up the phone and was looking at him with worried eyes. "He's Thomas, my husband and the one who built the Ink Machine."

Benny looked at Allison before looking back at Tom and nodded. He slowly scooted out from under Tom's arm and pressed himself against Allison's side all the while keeping a watchful eye on the sleeping man. Allison watched the toons response to the question and realized that he wasn't much of a talker. Did he forget how to? He hadn't really spoken since leaving the studio and even in the studio he hardly said a word. Did being separated for all that time make him withdrawn? She let out a soft sigh and gently ran her fingers between his horns before laying down herself. Soon after awhile sleep welcomed her back into its embrace.

Benny all the while had nestled himself next to Allison feeling the comforting warmth of her side and to give himself some distance between himself and Tom. He still couldn't forgive Tom for what had happened and opted to lay there silently.

He didn't know how long he laid there listening to Allison's heartbeat nearly falling back asleep himself before the figure next to him began to stir. The toon tensed up when he saw Tom's brown eyes open and a small smile graced his features as he looked at him. The man slowly edged his hand over to Benny for which he flinched away making Tom pause.

Tom looked at Benny with small concern before slowly proceeding to gently rest his hand on the toon's head. Benny made a small distressed whine and tried to edge away, but couldn't because of Allison. Tom removed his hand with the demon quieting down a bit before he slowly sat up in bed and looked at the clock. The hour had grown late and was well into the mid afternoon hours earning a small groan from Tom. He looked over his shoulder at Allison whom was sleeping and Benny whom was nestled under her blanket watching him.

Taking the quiet moment to his advantage, Tom carefully got up from the bed and looked at his clothes that he had tried to scrub out the ink the night before and left to dry. They were beyond hope, but at least they looked a little cleaner. He freshened up in the restroom and got dressed before grabbing a piece of paper and left Allison a note saying that he'll be right back before setting it on his pillow.

All the while Tom knew he had a little pair of eyes watching him and once he was done with his note he looked over at Benny. "I'll be gone for a little bit, take care of Allison while I'm gone… Can you do that?"

His answer was a small nod before the toon completely disappeared under her blanket. Tom frowned and just gathered up the room key and quietly opened up the door before leaving. In the back of his mind it pained him to see Benny rejecting him and hoped that he would be able to mend that, but in order to do that they need a home.

Tom managed to back track to the bank, but just before he approached the door he took a look at his clothes and decided that perhaps he needed to look a bit more presentable first. He drifted to the small shopping center that to him was once a grass field full of wild flowers and a few trees. He couldn't believe how much had changed through the 30 years they were gone. Businesses and homes covered areas that used to be fields and there were so many new streets and vehicles that he didn't recognize at all. He sauntered up and down the boardwalk taking as many mental notes of what was in the area as he could. The sooner he had a mental map, the better.

Through his pacing up and down the walk he spotted a small clothing store with a young man standing out in front of the place passing out fliers for the boutique to any and all passerby. A large sign hung above the place reading 'grand opening'.

The young man looked at Tom and his eyes lit up. "Good evening sir! We are celebrating our grand opening, might I interest you in our wide range of wares?" The gentleman gestured toward the interior which had several rows of clothing all different styles and patterns while passing him a flier. "To celebrate, all items are 30% off!"

Tom looked at the flier that had been given to him and into the shop. He shrugged, 'it couldn't hurt to at least see what they have' he thought to himself before entering.

The shop was like the cave of wonders to the old mechanic. So many different outfits were hung from the walls along with a wide range of styles of clothing from children's play clothing to business suits. His first stop was the children's section remembering that Benny stood about 3' tall and would need small clothes to try and hide himself. He fingered through a few basic outfits finding that their prices were higher than what he remembered for clothing, but wasn't about to complain when the prices for everything had increased after 30 years. He selected a few small articles of clothing setting them aside before heading to the women's section.

While he considered himself a modest man, he was familiar with Allison's sizes in terms of clothing. His face was dusted with pink when he went through the lingerie section grabbing her a set of undergarments. It wasn't exactly his favorite past time of shopping with her for clothing, but he was thankful for all the times he looked at the tags. With her undergarments secured he grabbed 2 dresses and 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts for her figuring it was at least a decent start. He handed the accumulated clothing over to the clerk to have him hang onto them for him while he continued shopping.

The last stop was the men's section as he grabbed some undergarments for himself along with 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts. While he was rifling through the clothes racks he spotted the hat section of the store. While he himself rarely wore them unless it was for a formal function, he knew he needed to have some way of hiding Benny's horns. He handed the clerk the additional clothing before backtracking to the hat rack.

He had never seen so many styles of hats as there were a good quantity and variety of them to choose from. He didn't want anything formal and just simple everyday wear as he mentally grumbled at the selection. Towards the end of the pile was a plain black Fiddler hat. Tom picked up the cap like hat and examined it, he felt it was a bit large, but it should be more than enough to hide Benny's horns comfortably. With final purchase in hand, Tom retreated to the front counter to pay his tab.

The clerk happily rang up all his items and noted that the older man was lacking a means to carry them. "Sir would you like some sort of bag or briefcase to carry your items?"

It dawned on Tom that he had no proper way of carrying all the items with him and he sheepishly nodded. He got so spend happy that he failed to think about the realities of how he was gonna carry everything without a car.

The clerk chuckled at the man before grabbing 3 suitcases, 2 adult sized ones and a child sized one. Tom was about to object since they would be an additional expense, but the clerk held up his finger over his lips silencing him and told him that they are part of their grand opening being their promotional items and gifts. The cases were simple, but bore the logo of the shop and seemed to have been well made. The young man rang up all the items except the cases and carefully stowed each item in the cases based on their assumed owners. The final price was within reason for Tom and he had no problem paying the price for them. He thanked the clerk for his efforts and nabbed a business card pocketing it before hefting the cases. He left the shop waving goodbye before heading up the street to find an eatery to bring some food home.

There was a small diner that had dozens of cars circling it as waitresses went to and from the diner to the vehicles on roller skates delivering platters of food for the patrons. Since the place seemed popular enough Tom walked up to the counter and waited patiently until a clerk was able to take his order. The poor woman looked at him like he lost his mind at the sheer size of the order, but dared not question him and simply jotted it down and accepted the payment before giving him his order number telling him that they'll call when it's ready for pick up. All the while Tom waited patiently alongside the restaurant finding within himself a sense of peace watching people, real people and not the inky remains of the staff he once worked with. He stayed in his own little world silently admiring the outside world until his number was called. He returned to the counter thanking the clerk again as he gathered up the bags of food in his free hand.

The trip back to the hotel was a bit tiring as Tom balanced several bags and briefcases in his hands and arms. He truly wished he had a car to make his travels easier, but first things first. They need a new home. One the way back he passed by the bank again finding it had closed for the evening hours. A small scowl graced his face but at the very least they have clothes and food, they can try again for the bank tomorrow. He repositioned his grip on his purchases and steadily strode down the road with the hotel sign in the distance.

All the while Tom was gone Benny carefully slid out from under the covers and paced about his new surroundings. He found himself surrounded by some colors he vaguely remembered alongside new one along with items he's never seen before. Curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly pulled himself up onto the little hotel dresser to better look at a strange box with some sort of black glass in the middle. The box wasn't very large and had 2 large circular dials next to the screen with a 3rd smaller under it. The third smaller one read 'off' and 'on' unlike the 2 above that read 'channel' and 'volume'. Whatever that meant. Benny looked at it before slowly resting his fingers on the dial and slowly turned it till a small click sound was heard and the dial indicator pointed towards 'on'.

A small hum sounded out as the item seemed to be coming to life. Next thing he knew, the glass lit up with flashing images and the sides boomed with a loud banging sounds and music. Benny squeaked in shock and fear like a startled cat hopping off the dresser onto Allison's bed diving under her blanket waking her.

Allison jolted awake from something trying to wedge itself under her and she frantically looked around the room before hearing the loud sounds coming from the edge of the bed. She looked to images of men in cowboy costumes riding horses chasing each other shooting their guns wildly along with blaring energetic music to match the climactic moment. A small smile crept on her face as she lifted a portion of her blanket to see a pair of worried pie cut eyes looking at her.

"It's ok Benny. Its only…" her voice died down looking at the box that was somehow playing a film within it. "It's only a movie, it can't hurt you" she smiled warmly at him and gently ran her fingers along his horns trying to coax him out. She glanced over at the other side of the bed noticing Tom wasn't there and a small note had been left in his place simply reading 'I'll be right back'.

Benny's pie cut eyes peered out from under the covers as Allison got up from the bed to examine the box with moving pictures. She first lowered the volume to a more manageable level before she curiously fiddled with the other large dial. Much to her surprise, there were several other films all playing at once and she wondered how many film reels are inside the box. All the while she fiddled with the box Benny crept out from his covers and sat at the edge of the bed. After a while a film’s title caught the toons attention.

"A...li son" Benny softly spoke. He realized himself that his words were choppy since he hadn't properly spoken in so long.

The woman turned to look at Benny with a small mix of surprise yet at the same time relieved that he had finally spoken. "Yes?"

Benny pointed at the screen before scrunching his face slightly in concentration, finding difficulty in forming words hardly used. " Can… I watch that…. please?"

Allison looked at the screen to see a film title come onto the screen saying 'up next: Godzilla, King of the Monsters'. She chuckled as she removed herself from the dresser. "Sure."

She crawled onto the bed sitting up and gently lifted Benny onto her lap as they prepared themselves to watch the movie before a knock was heard at the door along with small grumbling. Allison recognized the frustrated muttering outside the door as it can only belong to her husband. She lifted Benny off her lap getting an annoyed squeak from him before she peered through the eyehole confirming it was her husband.

"Welcome back" Allison smiled at Tom who looked a little worse for wear bogged down with baggage. She chuckled at the bag man and gently grabbed hold of some of the bags. "Let help you with that"

Allison helped Tom through the doorway while Benny scrambled back under the covers with only hints of his pie cut eyes visible. Tom set the suitcases down opening them up to show Allison who leapt into the man hugging him overfilled with joy. They lightly chatted between each other all the while Benny grew anxious. His movie was about to come on. A small annoyed huff alerted Allison to the fact that Benny wanted to watch a film.

"Can we save the clothes for after the film?" She looked at Tom sheepishly.

"Film?" Tom lifted a bow and saw the small box Allison gestured to.

"This, apparently it can play quite a few films on it and Benny wanted to see one." Allison explained getting a small 'oh' from her husband.

Tom lifted up the bags that Allison took from him and opened them up revealing the food he had bought. "Why not watch the film and have dinner?"

The mentioning of the word 'dinner' brought Benny out of his hiding place. He remembered the word as it was associated with a time of day to eat a meal. He cautiously approached the mechanic hoping to get some of the food, but stopped when Tom looked at him. He hadn't been the best of demon all day as he kept giving him the cold shoulder, he couldn't help it. He was still angry. His hesitation gave way to confusion when Tom knelt down with two bags filled with food smiling warmly at him.

"These two are for you." Tom carefully held the bags out a good distance from Benny. He wanted the toon to come to him as he noticed that when he approached, the demon shied away. "Just make sure to put the wrappers in a bag so it can be thrown out later."

Benny stared at Tom and at the bag for several minutes before he slowly came to the man. He reached his hands out and gently took the bags from him all the while Tom didn't dare move a muscle. Once the bags were in the toons grasp and withdrawn to his side Tom stood up taking his bag and sat on the edge of the bed. Benny looked down at his bag and then back at Tom whom was quietly undoing his wrapper for the burger.

Just before Tom bit down on the burger he felt something tug on his pant leg. He peered down to see Benny lightly tugging on his leg. The toon looked up at him making eye contact.

"Thank… you."

The voice was soft and shy, but once Benny said his thanks he scrambled to Allison's side of the bed hopping up so he can get a view of the movie as it's opening credits began to play.

Tom looked at the toon wide eyed before he was hit with a wave of relief. He found a shared look on his wife as they both looked at the little demon sitting between them before eating their dinners. Tom quietly ate his burger watching the film with a dinosaur like monster scaring the locals on a hilltop before leaving. After a time he felt like someone was watching him and he spied a pair of pie cut eyes looking up at him. He wondered what the toon wanted and lifted a brow in question. His answer; a small smile before Benny turned around watching the movie once more.

A tap dancing pink elephant in a polka dot tutu could have passed in front of Toms face and he'd be none the wiser as he was frozen by the image he had just witnessed. It was a small smile, a genuine smile from the little plushdemon toon he cared for. Soon a smile grew on the older man's face as he felt all the tension in his body release. Benny smiled at him, it was a small start on the road to recovery, but a start all the same.

[etjwrites]

OC Backstory Week 7 - Free/Secrets:

Here we are at the last week – thanks so much to @yourocsbackstory​ for hosting, I've had a blast! As always I've discovered a couple new WIPS I'm eager to learn more about, and I've had the best time digging into Bo's past and uncovering what goes into his prickly and standoffish yet unexpectedly delightful personality.

Bo is a viewpoint character from my current WIP Thorunn, which will be my second young adult novel, and my first published sci-fi tale, and I can hardly wait to share his further adventures with everybody in 2020. But without further ado, the last backstory! (Yes, I wrote my own questions.)

What secrets does your OC have? Is it something innocent, or something that would be their downfall if discovered? To what lengths will they go to protect their secret?

Haven't you wrung enough secrets from me already? Fine I'll bite. No, not literally. Tch. You people. Anyway, growing up I didn't really have much of a filter – still don't, much to certain people's, whats the word, consternations – so me and secrets didn't mix much. But uh, there's a couple things I can think of that were big enough for me to keep quiet about. (Hey, Ken, remember that time the Innah's ceremonial spinner-floss robes mysteriously vanished?)

Bo hadn't meant to take them, he really hadn't.

What he'd wanted, just a for moment, were for things to go back to the way they used to be. When P'rraa wasn't gone, and Bo would help him piece together the exquisite robes worn by the Tribe Elders on special occasions. He'd been little, but his father had had him fetch spools and tie knots and snip dangling threads. Together, they'd created delicate, shimmering garments that seemed spun of flowers and wind and sunlight. P'rraa had always squinched his eyes tightly together and purred deeply whenever he caught sight of an Elder wearing one of his creations, embroidered with scenes telling the wearer's personal history – their battles, their losses, their accomplishments – and Bo couldn't help but bask in his happiness. He'd always been happy when P'rraa was happy. He hadn't touched anything related to the craft since that awful day five years ago. And then he'd seen it. While playing hunters and prey with Ken and Seri at the Innah's loft Bo had discovered a hidden compartment cleverly disguised to appear as part of the wall. He'd slipped inside, grinning wide at his success; Ken and Seri wouldn't find him this time! He'd quickly grown bored of the waiting however, certain in his imminent win, and started quietly exploring. The space he'd concealed himself within was cramped but smelled pleasant, like fragrant flowers after a morning mist. Clothes hung all around him, and he felt his ears prick with embarrassment at realising he'd chosen a hiding spot inside the Innah's personal closet. But he'd wanted to win, so he stayed put and occupied himself by trying to read the histories writ in pictures on her many colourful robes. The very last spinner-floss garment he'd taken into his hands had forced tears to well up. He knew the cut of the cloth, the style of the embroidery, the peculiar placement of the buttons. Afterall, Bo watched Nyss slip on a similar set of robes before hurrying to his work every day, spent hours sitting amongst the forever unfinished projects hanging in his father's long neglected workshop. Why hadn't P'rraa stuck to stitching? Why did he have to call upon his dusty Igis training and go out to Ethaba with everybody else? The thoughts overtook Bo like the Laika river dragging storm-broken branches downstream, and he heard the rip before he saw the unwitting damage he'd caused. Eyes wide, he'd stared at the leaf thin garment irreparably shredded between his claws – but no, no it wasn't. He could fix it, P'rraa had shown him how to make them, and he remembered the process. And so that was how Bo had ended up in his current predicament, feigning a sudden cough to beg off playing, the priceless robe stuffed under his vest while he stole back to the cobwebbed space that was at once comforting and unfamiliar. He laid the ruined material on a dusty workbench and stared at it, close to tears at the extent of the damage. Hours, days worth of work, and he'd destroyed his father's most prized handiwork in a matter of moments. Slash marks tore right through the scene depicting the Innah being anointed Elder, and long trailing threads had pulled away from the fraying edges. But he could mend it, Bo knew he could, so he blew off the dust and cleared away the cobwebs and set to work. His first attempt was an utter disaster, wherein he made the problem that much worse, and lost several buttons which rolled away and refused to be found, no matter how hard he looked. He learned then, to test-sew on scrap pieces of fabric first. His second and third and fourth attempts were hardly any better, and he quickly learned to wear gloves to stop his claws piercing and damaging the flimsy bolts of cloth he worked with. But bit by bit, Bo improved, dashing into P'rraa's workshop every day after school before Nyss could return and ask what he was up to, and taking a sudden, avid interest in spinner-floss production. The ruined parts of the robes he replaced entirely, carefully cutting together pieces from what parts of his father's half-finished garments hadn't been moth eaten. Some of the Innah's story ended up missing, but he carefully drew it as best as he could remember, before following his dark lines with bright coloured threads. The better he grew, the faster he worked, driven by guilt and the memory of the night the robes had been discovered missing. They'd questioned everybody on the garment's whereabouts, as the Innah used them for all her most important ceremonies, and was not pleased to have lost them, and Bo had almost fainted after squeaking out that he knew nothing of the missing garments. Nyss had thrown a rather sideways look at him, but never thought to look in P'rraa's workshop. Afterall, Bo was known for destroying things, not trying to fix them. He started begging off playing at the loft, electing instead to take their adventures to the river and the mines, unable to sit still for an afternoon in the Tree of Elders knowing the Innah's jaggedly stitched robes sat stuffed into a box in the corner of his workshop. But the day finally came when Bo could do no more, and he climbed out of his window one night, trying to return the repaired mass of fabric before anyone could see him and discover his awful secret.

“I've been wondering when this day would arrive.” Bo froze, a dark shadow between the beams of moonlight slanting soft across the floor of the Innah's loft. “It's alright, child, come closer.” The Innah melted out of the darkness, a pipe in one hand and beckoning with the other. Terrified, and already caught, Bo did as instructed, almost shifting to s'hinoian form half a dozen times in his fright. “It was you. I thought so. May I see?” “It, it was an accident!” Bo stammered out, unwilling to part with his precious bundle right away. The Innah only waited, patience written in every crinkle of her smiling eyes. Bo gathered up what little composure he had left and shook out the cloth in his arms. Even as he offered it to the Innah, he could tell his best efforts hadn't been enough. The parts he'd added weren't the same colours, and where P'rraa had originally made the scenes life-like and vivid, Bo's attempts looked like a kit who'd just learned to glyph. “It was an accident,” he said again, trembling, his fur rising puffy from his skin. “I didn't mean to, I'm sorry.” The Innah took the garment from him, smoothing it over and inspecting every inch. Bo screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the loathing in hers when she discovered how badly he'd destroyed his fathers' handiwork, and what a poor job he'd done in repairing it. “You've worked hard haven't you?” Bo cracked open an eye to see the Innah still smiling at him, the robes now draped over the soft sleep-tunic she wore. “I do wish you'd come to me straightaway – the sooner one confesses their misdeeds, the less one has to live with guilt. But I forgive you, child. You've done your best to make amends, even if you don't quite have the touch with stitchery that your father did. Now go home and sleep, and come back and play with Ken and Seri in the morning.”

(Yes. It was me. Surprise!) I quit sewing again after that, but I never forgot how kind she was to a scared little kit who was convinced she'd throw him out of the tribe on account of his destroying and rather badly repairing her favourite robes. She never told anyone either, despite the looks she got the next time she wore her obviously altered robes to the next important tribal affair, and I was always honest with her after that. We're done now, right? It's been an. . . a not entirely awful experience, and I'm looking forward to coming back never.  Jolene, Matt, Brett – thanks. You've not been terrible hosts, and if this whole thing helps humans be less afraid of klia'ans, I guess it was worth it. But next time, ask Seri?

@igotablankpage​​​ @musicofglassandwords​​​ @elaynab-writing​​​ @sheabutterskyes​​​  @alcego-writes​​​ @valdifarniente @writeanapocalae​​​

[taiyang-too-long]

A man and his Qrow

Taiyang had always loved the smell of fire, something about it comforted him. Perhaps it reminded him of all those nights camped out on missions with his team, sharing laughs and stories under the stars. He snuggled into his pillow with a slight smile. What a wonderful smell to wake up to. Fire.

...fire?

He snapped up out of bed "Fire!" He cried out, sprinting towards the black smoke he could already see pouring into the hallway.

Had he left the stove on? The coffee pot? Oh gods he couldn't let anything happen to the girls.

He burst into the kitchen, extinguisher in hand finding not the raging inferno he expected but instead a lanky, dark haired man desperately smacking a flaming skillet with a towel in what could be assumed to be an attempt to smother the flames out. Taiyang sighed deeply as he grabbed a second skillet and covered the first with it, before switching off the stove.

The bleating of the smoke alarm wasn't the peaceful morning sounds he had hoped for. He opened the nearby window, letting the breeze clear the room of smoke and carry it outside. He turned back to the man, arms crossed.

"I can explain" Qrow began.

"Oh I'm sure you can.." Taiyang said rubbing his temples. "Please go right ahead"

Qrow paused. Then gestured to the skillet.

"Breakfast" he said.

Taiyang sighed and lifted the second skillet. The fire had suffocated leaving only a black circle that perhaps had once be a pancake. He gave Qrow a questioning glance.

"What?!" Qrow exclaimed indignantly "it's edible!"

"Oh?" Taiyang shot back "then by all means ...dig in"

They held each other's gaze for a moment until Qrow, not looking away, tore a piece off and popped it into his mouth. He grimaced immediately but struggled through and chewed the food.

"See?" He said between coughs "it's -ulg - it's fine.."

Taiyang put a finger to Qrow's chest agitation creeping into his voice

"You've been here all of five minutes and already trying to burn down my house!"

"I was just doing something nice you idiot!" Qrow snarled not backing down.

"Well next time don't bother!" Taiyang retorted

"Blonde numbskull!"

"Melodramatic whiner!"

"Brainless oaf!"

"Dusty pigeon!"

With each statement the men drew closer to one another until they stood forehead to forehead growling. Their expressions dark and angry.

Taiyang was the first to break. his snort shattered he mask of anger he had been pretending to hold. Qrow was soon to follow with a snicker. The laughter grew until both were leaning against the counter to hold themselves up. It was hard to say at what point exactly in there time together, was the moment those jabs and insults became more a game than any legitimate criticism but nonetheless they found themselves slipping into it time and again.

"You laughed first" Qrow managed to get out "I win"

"Anyone would have to laugh if they saw a face like yours" Taiyang said getting himself back under control.

Their laughter faded but was echoed by the small giggles of Ruby and Yang who were peaking around the doorway. The two girls only nine and seven respectively may not have entirely understood the exchange between the men but they had seen it play out like this enough times to know it was just grown-ups being silly.

"Hey you munchkins" Qrow said dropping to a knee, his arms outstretched.

"Uncle Qrow!" The girls cried in unison leaping into his embrace.

Qrow smiled holding his nieces,as they hurriedly babbled questions about where he'd been? What kinds of monsters did he fight? Did he bring them any presents? Qrows characteristic broody expression softened as it always did around the girls. They had a warmth and enthusiasm whenever they saw their favorite uncle that could melt even the most frozen of hearts, but Taiyang noticed the wince he had made as the girls latched in around his shoulders.

"Alright girls" Taiyang said a hand on each of their heads. "Why don't you get dressed and then we can all go to the park or something"

The girls jubilantly ran off, screams and cheers of excitement filled the house as they did. Taiyang watched them go with a soft smile. They were his everything. He looked back as Qrow rose to his feet with a grimace,

"How bad?" Taiyang asked bluntly

"I'm fine" Qrow said waving him off.

Taiyang sighed and motioned for Qrow to follow as he walked into the bathroom. He retrieved the first aid kit from within the closet there in and set it on the sink.

"Sit down and take off your shirt" Taiyang said spreading out the kits contents in front of him.

"But Tai.." Qrow said quietly. Covering himself with his arms in mock modesty "..what about my innocence..?"

This prompted nothing but a stern slightly bored stare from Taiyang. Qrow grumbled and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it into the bathtub and sat on the toilet his back to Taiyang.

His shirt out the way. The problem was apparent. A sizable gash in Qrows right shoulder. Taiyang put his hand on Qrows back, taking a good look at the wound. It wasn't serious but it was too large to let it heal on its own. It looked about a day or two old. Taiyang sighed. This is how it always went. Qrow would leave on his missions and come back torn to shreds, Tai would patch him up and he'd run off to his next adventure. Taiyang felt a scowl grow on his face, damn bird just always had to make him worry.

His eyes caught sight of the flask in Qrows hand just moments before the man took a swig. Swallowing it's contents with practiced ease.

"A bit early for drinking isn't it?" Taiyang said

"Oh my dear friend" Qrow laughed taking another gulp " it is never too early"

Taiyang held out his hand. "Mind if i have some?"

Qrow held the flask above his head letting Taiyang take it. "Knock yourself out"

"Vodka?" Taiyang asked taking a whiff of the open flask.

"You guessed it. triple distilled and pure as snow. perfect for-" Qrows words were cut off by a stream of curses as Taiyang poured the alcohol onto the open cut and wiped away the excess with a bit of cloth.

Tai closed the lid to the flask and tossed onto the mans lap a grin played across his face. Qrows drinking was hardly something new, and Tai new better than to push him too hard about it. Still at least he could put some of the booze to good use and keep it out Qrow's stomach. His drinking had gotten worse over the years and had peaked after-

Taiyang stopped himself mid thought. He couldn't think about that, about her. Not right now. Only later, when he could be alone in his cold empty room would he allow thoughts of her. He had worked hard to reign in his grief. To properly care for his daughters. It hadn't been easy but compartmentalization of his emotions had helped. His feelings had a time and place and they were when his daughters could not hear or see the pain he still felt.

"You know as much as i love playing doctor" Tai said threading a needle, eager to bring his mind back to the now. "A hospital could do a much better job"

"A hospital?" Qrow scoffed finishing the contents of the flask. "The last thing a bunch of sick people on their deathbeds need is someone bringing them bad luck...besides you do just fine.."

Tai sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere with this topic. He focused on his task. Qrow didn't even wince as the needle poked through his skin. It's hard to say whether that was a result of his inebriation or his impressive pain tolerance, but he remained still and quiet as Taiyang worked to pull the flesh of his shoulder back together.

His first aid skills had certainly improved thanks to Qrow. The mans piss poor luck usually left him with plenty of cuts and scrapes. As Tai cleaned off the newly stitched wound once more he looked it over. Feeling a bit proud of his medical prowess. Gently he placed some bandaging over the stitching hopefully to keep infection at bay.

'There, all better" Tai said heading out of the bathroom

"What no lollipop?" Qrow called after him

"Your insurance wont cover it"

After heading to his room to change into something a bit more appropriate for an outdoor outing than his pajamas, Taiyang returned to the kitchen to find Qrow leaning against the wall. mug in hand, looking out the window at Ruby and Yang running around the backyard laughing loudly as the game of tag went on. No doubt waiting for the adults to come whisk them away to the day of family fun.

Qrow didn't need to turn away to know that Tai had entered the room. He brought the mug of coffee to his lips and took a long drink, knowing he needed to sober up a bit before spending time with the girls.

"How have you been holding up..?" Qrow asked not looking away from the window

Tai didn't answer right away as he walked to the window alongside him. Qrow held out his mug and Tai took it gladly, the warm porcelain nearly as comforting as the bitter drink it held. He sipped the coffee silently glad to find it not spiked with anything.

In the months since Summers death, Qrow had at first attempted to put as much distance between his teammates family and himself as he could, sure that his semblances would bring nothing but further misery to the grieving man and his children. However as the depth of Taiyangs emotional damage became more apparent Qrow had made a point to drop by frequently.

"Better.." Tai said quietly.

He glanced over at the tall, thin man. Even when not looking directly at him, he could see the mostly hidden concern in his pale red eyes. It brought a sad smile to his face. Qrow was never very good with emotions. A trait, it seemed, all the Branwens shared, but his actions spoke volumes. He had been there for Tai when he had no one. When he felt lost and alone it had been Qrow who saved him from the darkness that encroached upon his mind and heart.

Qrow nodded. " good"

There was a long bit of silence before Qrow spoke again. Leaning over the windowsill using both hands to prop himself up.

'I.. should probably head out after we get back from the park or whatever" he said.

Qrow was already worried. Nothing besides the small fire had happened yet but who knows what trouble could be caused if he lingered too long.

"You could always stay.." Tai said softly

Qrow sighed, taking one hand away from the window to rub his weary eyes. Before he could explain why that was a terrible idea he felt Taiyangs hand lay overtop his own on the windowsill. Surprised the bird man look down as the hand tightened its grasp gently. Tai wasn't looking at qrow, his eyes were on his daughters, still playing in the yard.

"Its alot easier when you are here" Tai said with a soft smile. " i understand why you want to go..but this is always your home..so.. Don't stay gone too long."

Qrow scoffed as he turned his hand over interlocking their fingers. Stupid blonde idiot, stupid adorable girls. It was going to make him go soft.

"Come on" Qrow said "we can talk about it after the girls get some fresh air and sunshine"