#prompt: ice time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kj-yikes · 29 days ago

Text

17. Family

(on ao3 here)

Kara's eyes open blearily to see the beginnings of the morning sun's rays shining through their bedroom window. Running a hand through her hair, she rolls over and sees that her wife is still asleep, clutching her pillow and feet touching Kara's. Kara smiles and watches Lena's steady breathing. Years of waking up next to Lena, and it's still the most beautiful sight in the world to Kara.

Smiling, Kara slowly extricates herself from the bed, careful not to wake Lena, and opens the bedroom door. She stretches, yawns. Crossing the kitchen, she opens a cabinet and grabs two glasses. From behind the closed door down the hall, she hears rustling and a muffled voice. Smiling, she sets the cups down on the counter and crosses the kitchen to open the bedroom door.

"Yeyu!" a small voice calls. Her three-year-old daughter sits up in her bed, surrounded by stuffies she had so carefully arranged before bed last night. Kara's heart swells with affection the way it always does when she looks at her daughter, her little miracle.

Years ago, Kara had given up on ever having a family of her own. As Supergirl, she thought she had sacrificed a quiet, domestic life, because how could she have a partner who was willing to always have their life in danger? How could she take care of a child when she was busy saving the city?

The dance between friendship and something more with Lena had lasted years, and on Kara's side, part of the reason she never acted on her feelings was the fear that one day, Lena would decide it was too much, that while she could love Kara Danvers, she wouldn't be able to love Kara Zor-El, who flies off at a moment's notice to save the day.

But Lena had stayed anyway. Lena loved every part of her. Lena wanted a life with her. Lena wanted it all with her, and a couple of years ago, when Kara had whispered her greatest secret desire to her wife one night laying in bed entwined in one another, Lena whispered that she wanted it too, and she worked tirelessly to make it happen.

Their daughter, Kieran, a perfect blend of both of them, was born a year later. It had been some of the best months of Kara's life, watching their little miracle grow inside of the love of her life. Thirteen-year-old Kara, who crash landed on Earth and was heartbroken to discover that her mission, to raise little Kal-El, was moot, would never believe the life that she has now.

"Good morning, iskah," Kara says in Kryptonian as she places a kiss on her unruly, dark curls, mussed from the night's sleep. "Ready to get up? It's a little early, but I won't tell Mama if you don't." The girl's bright blue eyes light up as she grins and moves to clamber out of bed, carrying her favorite stuffed elephant and her blanket dragging the floor as she runs out of the room.

"Shh, don't wake Mama yet, okay? Do you want to help me make coffee?" Dark brown curls bounce as Kieran nods enthusiastically. Kara preps the beans and puts them in the grinder, then lifts Kieran up to sit beside the espresso machine. Her little legs dangle and kick the counter.

"Okay, do you want to press the bellow? Make sure all the grounds are out?" Kara guides her tiny hand to the bellow and helps her pump it a few times, until Kara can hear that all the grounds have cleared. She slides the portafilter out and tamps it before sliding it back into place into the machine.

"Do you want to hit the button?" Kieran nods enthusiastically and reaches around the machine to press the flashing button. "Perfect, baby. You make the best coffee." The smile Kieran gives her is the splitting image of Lena's, and it makes her heart clench.

"Can I have coffee?"

Kara laughs. Kieran has been asking for coffee for the past few weeks, and every time Kara gives her a sip, she hates it. Even at three years old, Kieran is strong willed and curious, always wanting to try new things and explore and experiment. Kara thinks she knows where Kieran gets it from.

"How about I give you a sip of mine when I'm done making it, and we make you some chocolate milk too?" Kieran squeals in delight, little feet kicking the cabinets. Kara pulls out the milk and chocolate syrup and lets Kieran squeeze a little syrup into a sippy cup.

Kara finishes making the coffee for herself and Lena, letting Kieran drop a few ice cubes into each glass. "Let's go bring Mama her coffee and wake her up."

Having been let loose from the cabinet, Kieran races to the bedroom door and stands on her tippy-toes to open it. She scrambles up onto the bed as Lena stirs, Kara following close behind with the two cups of coffee.

Lena's brow furrows briefly as an elbow accidentally lands in her stomach. Kara is always amazed that Lena, her sweet, grumpy wife who sometimes can't form a coherent sentence before her morning cup of coffee, always manages a smile and words of affection for her daughter no matter how early in the morning it is or how little coffee she's had. She smiles affectionately as she watches her daughter squirm until she's burrowed in Lena's arms.

"Mmm, good morning, darling. It's a little early for you to be up on a weekend." Kara grins guitily.

"Sorry, sweetheart. She was already awake."

"We made you coffee!" Kieran exclaims.

"Oh, good, thank you iskah. Because you know if your Mama doesn't get her coffee in the morning, she's a monster." Lena raises her arms and growls before digging her fingertips into Kieran's stomach. As the girl's laughter echoes throughout the room, Kara climbs into bed and hands Lena her coffee. Lena smiles at her gratefully and leans forward for a quick kiss.

Kara adores slow, sleepy mornings like this with her little family. Her heart swells with gratitude as she wraps an arm around her wife and her daughter settles between them.

Kara once thought that her purpose in life, the reason she survived the destruction of Krypton, was to be a hero and save Earth. Now, though, she's found other meaning in life too. She finds it in these quiet moments and in the way her daughter smiles up at her and in the way she discovers with Lena how to be the kinds of parents that honor their pasts and their daughter. Teaching her daughter to be brave, strong, cunning, and kind like her mothers, and holding and remembering the stories of Krypton. That seems like just as good of a purpose in life as being Supergirl, and she's so grateful she's able to have it all.

#i had to go with soft slow supercorp with kids for this #how could i not????#i'm a sucker for soft sweet moments #also i have Big Feelings about what supercorp would name their kid #naming kids is hard so you get Kieran this time #also shoutout to my wife for teaching me how to make espresso even though i don't drink coffee #rachel's the real mvp of this fic #yes they are having iced coffee they are gay don't at me #OK i'm done yapping #supercorp #supercorptober #supercorptober2024 #supercorp fic #my fics #oh final thought i haven't forgotten about yesterday's prompt i just need more time with it

24 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 10 months ago

Note

Number 19 for the prompt thing. The parents meeting because of their kids. I’m kinda imagining Korkie being like a tutor/school reading buddy for the twins or something but you can just ignore that if it doesn’t match your thoughts on it.

hello!! i thought back as much as i could, and i don't think i actually did this prompt the first time around a couple of years ago, so there's nothing to link to save for the prompt list!

i stuck with korkie as obi-wan's kid and the twins as anakin's, but made the kids the same age and then took...a few more liberties with the prompt haha

(19. parents meeting while taking their kids to class) (sort of)

(2.8k)

“Leia, baby, why do you always decide to get into fights at school when it’s my week with you?” Anakin asks the steering wheel as he buckles himself in and turns over the engine. “They’re going to start thinking I’m raising a truant. Then they’re going to start asking about your home life, then they’re going to bring in experts to ask me more questions, then Padmé’s parents are going to throw their considerable legal weight around and get my partial custody revoked and then where will we be? Is that what you want? To only see me on your birthday and Christmas?”

Anakin pauses and reconsiders. Knowing his daughter, she may very well only want to see him for birthdays and Christmases. It would mean double the presents.

Thankfully the silence of the car doesn’t offer much in the way of constructive critique.

At a red light, he puts his head down on the steering wheel for a long enough moment that the car behind him honks when the light changes to green.

“They’re going to stop letting me leave work to come get you,” Anakin mutters a few minutes later as he turns the car into the school’s parking lot. “I have a partner meeting in thirty minutes that I really can’t miss, baby. Can’t you at least schedule your schoolyard fights around my calendar?”

It’s all rather pointless, but it feels good to grumble and bitch in the time it takes him to leave his office and arrive at the school, before he has to put on his adult face and demeanor to sit through another round of We’re Worried Your Five Year Old Is Too Violent As She Seems To View The Monkey Bars As Sacrificial Zones.

“Maybe she’d like hockey,” he says under his breath as he grabs his jacket from the other seat and swings it over his suit. It’s fucking freezing already, not even December. It’s indecent, that’s what it is. Surely a place as cold as this has a peewee hockey team in need of another angry little girl.

“Thank you,” he says when a woman holds the door open for him on her way out the building.

He’s stil sort of freaked out that the elementary school his children are going to is fancy enough to have an entrance hallway with a chandelier hanging from the ceilingk, but it’s not him that’s paying for their private school education that doesn’t offer discounts for all the collective hours they’ll spend napping on the floors.

To the immediate left of the door is the receptionist’s desk—behind her, the nurse’s room. He’s quite familiar with both. Mrs. Whitsdale even waves when she sees him, which means, unfortunately, she’s just made the shortlist of people Anakin needs to make Christmas cookies for. She joins the ranks of everyone else that’s been made to deal with his son and daughter in the tumultuous year after the divorce.

“Hi, ma’am,” he says dutifully, sticking his head into the receptionist area. “Do I need to sign in or can I just go up?”

She waves him away. “I’ve already got you, sweetheart. You’re late anyway, they’re waiting for you upstairs.”

“You’re a miracle amongst men,” he calls out as he turns instead to the right of the door and up the old staircase that leads to the principal’s office. This is also a route he is incredibly familiar with.

How can he be late? He practically flew here on light feet and broken speed limits. It’s enough to take his mood from bad to worse, which isn’t optimal for a meeting with the principal of the school when it’s his kid who caused the fight. Anakin’s role is to nonconfrontational, contrite to the point of groveling—because he knows his daughter won’t.

That’s already hard enough when he’s feeling normal. It’s practically impossible when he’s feeling foul.

But Padmé did always say Leia got her stubbornness and temper from Anakin.

Anakin’s always said Leia never really had a chance considering who her parents are.

After all, someone threw a hairdryer at the hotel mirror before they got divorced and it wasn’t Anakin. But he’s not stupid enough to even think that when Padmé’s around.

The big oak door at the end of the hallway on the second floor is elaborate, looks heavy, and stays closed. He knows that this is the headmaster’s office, but he’s never seen the guy around. He doesn’t even know what the guy does. What’s a headmaster of an elementary school doing every day?

It’s an elementary school.

But, again. Anakin’s not paying for all this pomp and circumstance.

He takes another right instead, down the corridor in the opposite direction to the principal’s office. The door’s left ajar, and Anakin knocks politely before entering at the call to.

A couple of things bring him up short as soon as he steps into the room. For one thing, it’s not Principal Cinoff behind the desk, but a stranger who has the remnants of a three-piece suit on, jacket hanging neatly on a coat rack in the corner of the room. His vest is a deep red that should do nothing but drain his complexion—all pasty white skin, freckled and sun-starved, paired with his reddish hair and beard. It doesn’t, which is unfair to the point of duplicity. Or–something.

The way he’s sitting at the desk, hands spread wide on the wood and shoulders back, leaves no doubt in Anakin’s mind that the stranger is in a position of power here at the school. And probably in, like. Life. He looks like the kind of guy who gets his groceries on discount even without providing a loyalty card. He also looks like the kind of guy the system bends to accommodate. As a lawyer, Anakin is offended and deeply disturbed. That’s why his stomach does two or three flips in quick succession when they make eye contact.

The stranger’s eyes are cool and focused as they run over Anakin, and he gives him a perfunctory incline of his head. At least his eyes are warmer when they fall to the kids in front of him.

And that’s the other thing that shocks him.

The amount of children in front of the desk. One pouting ginger kid off to the side, arms crossed and staring down at his light-up sneakers.

And then two very familiar heads of hair on the other side.

“Luke?” He asks before he can stop himself, surprise dripping from his tone. “What are you doing here?”

At this rate, he’s going to give his daughter a complex, he knows it.

But Luke has never been in trouble before. Sure, they’re only five, and it’s only been three months of school, but in that time, Anakin’s been called down here six times to deal with Leia-related emergencies. He’s always imagined that meanwhile, Luke was in his classroom, chewing on crayons or diligently helping the teacher pass out homework assignments.

The stand-in principal coughs slightly and rises. “Ah, Mr. Skywalker-Amidala. Thank you for being able to join us today.”

Anakin scowls automatically before schooling his face into something far more diplomatic and pleasant when his children whirl around in their seats to look at him. The last thing he needs is for his children to think they can sneer at authority figures, given that he’s one of their main authority figures.

Luke leaves his chair to hug onto his leg, pressing his small face into the fabric of his pants, presumably seeking comfort and also to wipe his face dry of tears and snot.

Anakin puts a hand on his head and strokes through his hair, darting a curious glance at Leia, who has turned around to glare forward again, arms crossed over her chest.

“It’s just Skywalker, actually,” he tells the stranger. “Amidala is their mother.”

The man’s eyebrow goes up and he picks up a pen to make a note on the papers before him. An actual note. Regarding Anakin’s divorce. “Ah, apologies then,” he says. “Our contact list notes you as the father, Skywalker-Amidala, and their mother as Amidala-Organa.”

Anakin squints, trying to decide if the stranger is just trying to correct a clerical error in the school’s records or fishing for gossip. He gives him the benefit of the doubt. “Amidala is their mother, recently remarried to Organa. Organas. And she’s always been better at remembering to file paperwork than I am.”

The stranger keeps his face admirably placid. “Ah,” he says. “Well, Mr. Skywalker. Should we begin?”

“Uh,” he says. “What about the other parent?”

The stranger blinks at him, both eyebrows raised. “I’m a widower.”

“Uh,” he says. “I meant…” he gestures at the other child, the surly looking ginger kid.

“I’m afraid it will just be us, Mr. Skywalker,” the stranger says. “Please, sit.”

Anakin sits, and Luke is quick to scramble up into his lap with a very plaintative, “I didn’t really mean to.”

“So at recess today, the children were playing on the swings,” the stranger who must be the principal for the day says. “And—”

“Sorry,” Anakin interrupts. “Can I get your name please? I was expecting Principal Cinoff.”

The man pauses. “Sheri has been put on sudden maternity-leave a few months early,” he says. “For the next couple of weeks, I’ll be dual-hatting as both principal and headmaster while we continue to search for a temporary replacement.” He raises an eyebrow at Anakin. Anakin really doesn’t appreciate that. “This was in an email the school sent out to all the parents recently.”

“Yes, well,” Anakin says. “I get a lot of emails.”

The man looks unimpressed. “I encourage you to prioritize the communications from your children’s learning institute.”

Anakin bristles. What a dick. Who the fuck says learning institute?

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” he asks in his best unimpressed voice.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man’s unimpressed voice is ten times more chilling than Anakin’s, which is also not fair. “Please, call me Dr. Kenobi.” Anakin scowls. “I appreciate the fact that you feel as though you can cover the extremely busy roles of both headmaster and principal of an elementary school, but I would really rather wait until the other parent gets here so we can most productively discuss the altercation, Mr. Kenobi.”

“Please, Mr. Skywalker,” Kenobi says. “Leave the litigation to the court rooms, we—”

“It’s Esquire, actually.”

Kenobi’s face grows very pinched around the mouth and eyebrows. Anakin feels a vicious thrill course through him even as his stomach flips again.

“I suppose I should have made it clearer at the beginning of this session,” Kenobi says, tone dripping in you idiot. “This is my son, Korkie.”

Anakin’s mouth falls open. His immediate thought is, of course, Korkie Kenobi? And he thought Luke and Leia were too cutesy for twin names.

“Korkie is a family name,” Kenobi adds rather dryly. “My late wife’s grandfather’s.”

Anakin doubts that’s even true. He bets it’s not actually, that Kenobi just plays the dead wife card to get out of judgemental questions about his naming abilities.

But then another, worse thought occurs to Anakin. “Wait a second, you can’t be the parent and the principal!”

“I assure you, I am impartial.”

“Like hel—heck you are!” Anakin straightens in his seat and Luke lets out a grumble, clinging tightly to his front. “I demand a different authority.” “No,” Kenobi says firmly, as if the matter is at rest. This, of course, is absolutely infuriating.

“It’s unfair bias and I will not see either of my children punished in a tyrannical and self-serving institution—”

Kenobi pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Skywalker, unless you would like to have me call Mrs. Cinoff away from her pre-mature baby, I am the best option this school has. Please. Settle down.”

“Dad,” Leia says, “I don’t want to miss reading time.”

Anakin breathes out in disgust. Shitty, overpriced private school. This sort of thing would never happen at a publicly funded school.

“The fact of the matter is that Luke pushed Korkie off the swings,” Kenobi says with a stern look at both Luke and Anakin. He holds up his hand when Anakin opens his mouth. “An incident that many were witness to. And before you make an accusation, there were many witnesses who were not on the school’s payroll, Mr. Skywalker.”

Anakin closes his mouth sullenly.

“Korkie could have been very hurt, Luke,” Kenobi says, clasping his hands in front of him and looking down at Anakin’s son. “He was swinging pretty fast when you pushed him, and he could have broken his ankle in the fall.”

Luke’s bottom lip trembles. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” he mumbles, turning his face back into Anakin’s sleeve. “He was being mean. I just wanted him to stop.” “I wasn’t!” Korkie cries, sitting straight in his chair for the first time since Anakin’s arrived. “I wasn’t being mean, dad!” “You said Leia’s hair looks like cinnamon buns on her head!” Luke shouts back, pushing away from Anakin’s arms to glare at the other boy.

Anakin winces. When it’s Padmé’s turn with the kids, Leia always turns up to school with elaborately braided hair, twisted on top of her head in elegant formations that look effortlessly pretty. He knows that’s not Padmé’s work, but he also can’t figure out if Breha or Bail is responsible. It’s not something he wants to ask.

The fanciest Anakin can do, after all, is two buns on either side of Leia’s head.

That do, truth be told, look rather like cinnamon rolls.

“Ah,” Kenobi says. “I believe I understand the miscommunication here. Korkie, would you like to tell the Skywalkers what you meant when you told Luke that Leia’s hair looked like cinnamon buns?”

If possible, the kid turns even more red, blushing furiously. “I really like cinnamon buns,” he mutters, crossing his arms tighter. “They’re my favorite.”

“He’s started asking for them for breakfast several times a week,” Kenobi tells Anakin with a smile lingering around his lips. “I’ve been wondering why.”

Anakin isn’t sure he likes the explanation. Sure, Korkie can have whatever sort of crush on his daughter that he wants to have, but likening her hair to cinnamon buns isn’t very kind, and he’s pretty sure that if someone else was the judge in this trial, they wouldn’t be so quick to justify the other boy’s words.

Luke seems to agree with him. “Your hair looks like carrots,” he snaps, crossing his arms.

Because Anakin is an intelligent adult who understands that making enemies with the headmaster’s son isn’t the best move, he adds on the Skywalker family’s behalf, “Luke loves carrots.”

Luke, in fact, hates carrots.

“There is still the matter of Luke pushing Korkie off the swing,” Kenobi says, eyebrows raised like he understands exactly what’s going unsaid here. “We do not encourage physical violence of any sort here, and it was dangerous. Korkie could have been hurt much more badly than a scraped knee.”

The words are very serious and grave, and Luke wilts under the headmaster-principal-father’s disappointed stare. Anakin bristles.

“Well, it’s his first infraction,” he says. “And he was sticking up for his sister. I think that’s fair. He won’t do it again.”

“Hm,” Kenobi says, pushing papers aside and pulling out a glossy leaflet. “Now, I cannot force you to consider this, but I noticed that neither Luke nor Leia are currently enrolled in any of our extracurriculars.”

“They’re five.”

“We have many on offer at Jedi Prepatory School,” Kenobi continues as if Anakin hasn’t said anything. “And I wanted to highlight our peewee hockey league. I think both Leia and Luke would enjoy the rigorous schedule, and they may…benefit from the…structure it offers. And team activity.”

Anakin glowers. He can read between the lines. Kenobi’s just called his parenting style structureless and lazy. It makes him want to grab the pamphlet and rip it to shreds in front of him. “I would have to talk about it with their mother,” he says stiffly instead.

“Of course,” Kenobi says cheerfully. “When you do, please give Bail and Breha my well-wishes as well. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the time to see them, given how exhastingly busy it is to be the headmaster and principal of an elementary school.”

“Right,” Anakin grits out. “Yeah. I’ll let my ex-wife’s new partners know.”

Kenobi’s smile is all teeth. “I look forward to seeing you in the rink, Mr. Skywalker Esquire. My son plays on the team.”

Anakin wonders if there’s another peewee hockey team he can have his kids join. Just so they can beat Jedi Prepatory school and then laugh in Korkie and Dr. Kenobi’s faces.

Yeah. That sounds really nice.

He’ll look when he gets back to work.

This takes priority.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #i actually love writing aus where they're assholes to each other from the start and also insane about the other #anakin definitely finds a different peewee (baby hockey) team for teh twins #and makes sure he can make it to their every game #especially those against jedi prep #so he can spend the entire time sniping at kenobi #this time with gloves off because their kids can't hear them from the ice #rude and mean and barbed enough that all the other parents throw kenobi startled looks #and given them a wide berth #they hate each other they're flirting like mad they sneak away from the school cupcake sale to fuck in the computer lab #anakin has never been more involved in his twins' kindergarten education #neither has dr kenobi

93 notes · View notes

apendixisapain · 1 month ago

Text

DAY EIGHT EVERYONE

Back to one of the classic befs with Finn.

I actually praticed a lot when it came to his prosthetic since i really struggled with it before in another thing i was making.

So i like how it turned out in this one.

Would you try making a snow friend as well ?

Day 8: Winter

Join our discord server for more fun stuff !

#bad end friends #ice finn #farmworld finn #bef #beftober #adventure time #fionna and cake #october prompts #october #prompts #my art #He made a little guy to observe #they will rule the world together #meanwhile Bipper and Beast Wirt are just arguing off screen from afar #and some other befs are having a snow fight #don't worry tho #Finn is very much invited and very ready for war #he is just being silly first

8 notes · View notes

ratzhatz14 · 1 month ago

Text

WAZZUP FUCKERSSSSS

Hey Redzania I think ur wish for a good nap worked cuz I slept like half of my freetiw away lol

Anywayssss I remembered about the silly October thingy and I got the idea to make an abomination of a pastry with 2 of TheTastyTrio fellas!!!1!1

If you're wondering why sprout isn't here is because we couldn't bake him multiple times

Took me a worth-it hour

I like how this turned out tho :D

#RAAAAH THE URGE TO PLAY WITH SOMEOEN IS ISNANE #anyways imma go play dandys world until 12 pm :3 #LALALA GAMBLING TIMEEE GAMBLING AND DISTRACTING TIMEEE #dandy's world #dandys world cosmo #dandys world oc #dandys world october prompt #art prompt #Dandys Spooky World #← AYO NEW AU???#im also thinking of making an au where instead of the toons it was just my ocs because i have too many #GRAAAAAAHHHHH I LOVE DRAWING GLAZE AS A ZOMBIFIED DONUR #cosmo sure is decorated #dandys world fanart #BTW I AM NOT SHIPPING GLAZE AND COSMO. THEY JUST HOMIES BRO SOBSBSBSBS #i am a loyal cosprout soldier #hhrhrh i wanna publicly apologize again to all the poeple who sent asks that i didnt asnwer #im bad with time management #horrendous even #mmmm i shouldve eaten the apple pie with ice cream...#eh. still have a slice to enjoy tho #tu mumyumyum why am i acting like a baby- OH YEAH- BECAUSE I AM A FETUS AND HAVE FREE WILL ON THIS PLATFORM #grjjidkwksndjww lemme be sillyy

12 notes · View notes

deathfavor · 2 months ago

Text

@yeonban said: “I’ve got you” I can't possibly gloss over JGY and XY when this meme's downright perfect for them ^_^

send "I've got you" to help my muse wash blood off their body

Xue Yang slinks out of the shadows like a nightmare made flesh ; a monster come back to welcomed company. He even has the accompanied accents of streaks of blood and freezing rain water clinging to him. Meng Yao Jin Guangyao is in the spotlight so often these days in dazzling golden robes. He can have the light for all Xue Yang cares ; Xue Yang will be the dagger hidden in the fold of clothing and sleeves, the beast to be sicced on enemies under oppressive darkness in the blackest night. Perhaps thankfully, tonight he brings back no organs or body parts as some morbid gesture of caring. ( It's hard to say with Xue Yang WHAT the exact reason is and he never tells, only offers a cheerful smile and playful teasing in stark contrast to the violence of his eyes. )

" A-Yao before you go on a lecture, I'll get cleaned up I promise ~ " Also because he's cold. " And everything went perfectly before you ask. " He certain that holds more weight to his friend than anything else. Xue Yang doesn't mind whereas other people might be OFFENDED if only their results mattered.

His body language is relaxed despite the blood and rain on him when he shifts towards the basin. Such is often the case; Xue Yang moves like a shark surrounded by minnows - confident and unbothered. Except his eyes. No matter how relaxed his shoulders are, his eyes track ever movement with a predator's instincts. Too many years on the street. Survival of the fittest, or something like that. The world slaughtered any goodness and kindness Xue Yang might have been ; it rummaged around the shattered pieces of a broken boy and built him into terrifying killer instead, all violence and cruelty and the thrill of the kill stitched into his soul. So it's only natural his crimson eyes watch Jin Guangyao with a guarded wariness under the playful spark and boyish smile.

. . . What?

" Huh? "

It's hard to catch Xue Yang by surprise. Even in his sleep he's coiled and ready to attack or defend himself at the slightest detection of a threat. Yet Jin Guangyao's words manage to do exactly that. Confident eyes waver subtly, a twitch at the corner of his lips when he sees the other approach with a warm rag. The muscles in his legs tense but he doesn't run - he LOATHES the idea of fleeing from anything. It's funny, really. Xue Yang laughs in the face of pain with his terrifyingly high pain tolerance and never backs down from a fight no matter the odds, but the subtlest of gentle gestures makes him want to flee. No matter how much he craves it.

Xue Yang sucks in a brief, sharp breath when he feels the warm cloth pressed to his cheek and wipe away at some of the blood that's dried against his skin. He's not surprised at how meticulous the other seems to be about it either considering that attitude seems to apply to EVERYTHING Jin Guangyao does. But Xue Yang doesn't quite know what to do in the face of the very kindness he seeks deep down. He knows how to bite, how to kill, how to torture, how to make people bleed and scream and cry. He DOESN'T know what to do with gentleness, with someone caring FOR him. Try as he might to figure out what game or scheme might benefit from this, Xue Yang comes up with nothing.

The slow, meticulous approach pays off. Xue Yang's shoulders slowly relax again and dark lashes flutter down so his eyes are half-lidded even as he washes the blood from his forearms and watches the water in the basin take a reddish hue. Fitting. He leaves a trail of red wherever he goes. Meng Yao knows this ; but they both do in a way, don't they? Xue Yang thinks Meng Yao finds some kind of relief in a shared ugly side even if he wants to pretend otherwise with his fancy robes and mannerisms. That's fine too. Who else would be insane enough to sit here helping Xue Yang wipe away blood? He's even been nice to use warm water! How nice. ( He doesn't quite know how to palate it. )

" A-Yao. " Xue Yang starts to say something and then thinks better. " Mm, never mind actually. "

#yeonban #you are so right #xy trying to process bc it just gets him #hehe the moment of the monster in me knows the monster in you #its okay he likes you just the way you are jgy :)#lowkey loves the contact but he has such a rough time accepting it #even as simple as this #aha i also maybe have a second idea for this prompt #that i might write for them if you do not mind 👉👈#᛭ — [IC] poisoned soul craving the taste of blood [XUE YANG]

9 notes · View notes